White Noon

Would she lose her name? That was her greatest fear. She had chosen this name so carefully. It was not rare, but not that common either. One in 10000. The best odds. The naming ceremony had been one of those rare instances when her parents had been proud of her. No. If she knew Saark, her name is the one thing that would remain. He was the chameleon. Her career? Now that was another matter. She would probably never get an assignment again.

Saark came in like the wind. She could sense that he was there. There was a lot of stirring and Resse looked confused. Probably from the buzzing in his earpiece. He stepped out with a terse "Don't move." to her. Like she would, even if she could. Saark was here. The only thing now was to act according to his plan. Move as he did.

Saark flew into the interrogation sector. His face was a purple rage. With his alabaster skin and balding head, the effect was grotesque and striking. He gasped when he saw her. "Your Excellency!" She was shocked. Did he know? Saark mentally chuckled. He turned to Resse following in his wake, even more confused than before. "How dare you!! You shackle Yilmat the I? Hmph. How dare.." Masterful as always. The loss of words was sheer genius. She smiled to herself. He did not suspect. She knew the game now. "Rasool please. It is not his fault." "But your excellency!!" "He SHOULD know better." "I will have your lapels for this." "Unshackle his excellency this instant." Resse knew he should wait for orders. But this Rasool was here. He had come into the Patrol Unit. Well, they couldn't leave as they pleased. He can release the lad for now. Finally. She could stand up. She made sure Saark did not see her relief. But her buttocks did tremble. Saark missed nothing. "Your Haven, your excellency." He then handed her a Pesh-kabz dagger. Resse couldn't believe his eyes. A named dagger! With an Ivory hilt!  He had to get these people out before anyone saw them. He would never talk about this ever again.

As she saw him rub out the white out of his skin, and bring forward his hair to cover the razored bald patch, she could only marvel at his repertoire. A dagger! What an elegant, simple solution. No wonder he had lasted six whole years with the Carter Branch. Saark, was thinking along the same lines. Six years. No memory swipes, no blood. This time. Well a job well done for now. But the chameleon couldn't last much longer. He looked at his watch, it was about 12. He looked up and saw the white sun piercing the cloudless sky, like a dagger into the heart of the earth. High noon was approaching.

The many shades of Pink

"My name is Yahut Boaz Yilmat. How many ever times you ask, it's not gonna change." My southern drawl wouldn't hold out much longer. I had to stop talking soon. "I thought you checked with my embassy." He grimaced when I said embassy. I had to remember that. "Yeah, but I am not convinced." His scowl was beginning to get to me. "Look, I have co-operated with you. Why are you torturing me this way?" I hoped to gain some time, until He came. But I was under extreme discomfort. "Torture?? I have not laid a hand on you, lad!" His incredulity apart, I realized I could not continue in this vein. How was he to know, that the hard chair was torture to me? How was he to know, that my full name was Yahut Boaz Yilmat Ben Illahi the II? That was the one thing he mustn't know, or even guess. I cursed my debilitation. 17 years of training couldn't overcome a weak butt. That is what generations of sitting on cushioned chairs does to you. He would be laughing now, I should make sure He, Saark (whose real name probably wasn't that), never finds out.

I had to play this out right. "I have been sitting all day, Sir. My legs are going to sleep. Shackle me if you must. But at least let me stand." He scowled more. "You did give my embassy my full name did you not? Yahut Boaz Yilmat the I?" He grimaced again. "Aye, that is what your UC says, so that is what I gave them, lad. And call me Resse. This Sir business isn't getting you anywhere." He pronounced UC as a slow drawn out 'you see'. Definitely not a mainlander. Another piece of information that I filed away. Well father, you have what you've always wanted. They think I am a man. Well, if the Carter Branch couldn't find out, the Patrol Unit never would. And I was sure the Carter Branch didn't. I hoped Saark had got my message.

Saark, whose real name wasn't Saark, paced up an down the alley, slowly, methodically; As if sizing the alley with the length of his stride. It had taken years for him to recruit a Ben Illahi offspring. Be that as it may, a girl.  In actuality, that only made his coup that much greater. Now he had a Ben Illahi girl. A direct heir to the throne. He had found out the second time he had met her. He could identify a taped chest as well as a false bust. The skin tone tape was a nice touch. But they did strip search her, when she came in. She had to be careful. He had the eye, though. That was his greatest gift.... He paused in his pacing unconsciously. The sun was almost down. The sky turned from amaranth, slowly to puce; Going through all the shades of pink as his eyes followed the sun. "Stop, reminiscing!", He told himself. He no longer had her. The stupid Patrol Unit did.

Well, she was a clever one. He had to give her that. Making sure her UC said 'the I', that was a great move. But he had come to expect that.  Then again, she was not that clever if she got caught by the Patrol Unit. Argh! He had to get her out soon. He had to be careful. No memory swipes, no blood. This had to be old fashioned discombobulation.

A Crimson Dawn

Last night I had the unenviable task of preventing Mr. Klienveldt from leaving Boston. Mr. K had just lost his job as campaign manager for the candidate and in a huff was planning to go to Washington (D.C.). Somebody had let the ball drop. Things should never have reached this far. I should have never been called in. Of course, certain parties wanted to ease his passage to D.C.

Mr. K of course did not want to alarm his wife and so conveniently did not mention the loss of income to her. Well it wouldn't have mattered if Mrs. K had stayed in Wyoming as she originally planned to. But when Google flights suggests that you return a week earlier and save $300 (yes, you read that right) you do not just ignore it. So she came back. Just in time to conveniently run into Mr. K and Ben, their 1 year old son, at the waiting area.

Mr. K was reclining on the uncomfortable airport chair with his son slung over the arm of said chair, contemplating on his near future. This is when he heard the familiar sharp intake of breath which meant that, forget his near future, his immediate future was in imminent danger. He looked up startled, almost toppling his precious son. As I looked on from behind a useless newspaper, I congratulated myself on another job well done and rustled about, ready to up and leave. But my job is never that easy. It turned out I did not know Mr. K as well as I thought I did. He came clean about his job scenario and did not invent the convenient lie of having come there to receive his wife. Surprise! Now Mrs. K wanted to join him on his journey to D.C. What's more as they moved their discussion to the airport coffee house, lo and behold, a woman was loudly proclaiming her disinterest in traveling to D.C. in the very same flight as Mr. K. Mrs. K could not believe her good fortune and neither could I. As she fell into conversation with the non-traveling woman who wanted to surprise her sailor boyfriend by staying, I decided it was time I stepped in.

The exchange of pleasantries had happened and so had the ticket for money exchange. And to my dismay I recognized the sailor's good girlfriend for one of my former. This was not good news. I thought my chameleon days were over. They all ordered coffee and the girlfriend excused herself to presumably go to the restroom (probably to contact Control). I occupied the now vacant seat. Klienveldt was busy on the phone, so it was his missus who first noticed me. Naturally, she asked who the blonde gentleman might be. I replied that I was a former employee of her husband's and owed everything I was to him. She was so overcome by my sincerity that she responded with her first smile of the day. Her timing could not have been worse as Mr. K returned to profess no knowledge of knowing me. I laughed it off, holding her hand, spreading warmth through her, saying I was her kind hearted friend's sailor boyfriend and wanted to surprise her. Much relieved, the K family joined me in my laughter, Ben included (he probably knew better than his parents, my source of mirth). The coffees arrived and I took my former girlfriend's and excused myself, saying I will go find her. As I stood up, my Navy whites momentarily blinded them as the sun peeked out spreading crimson throughout the Boston sky.

I met my supposed girlfriend at the next table, and handed her, her coffee. The chameleon that I am she did not recognize me and accepted the coffee thinking that I was merely transferring it. I left them happy, my job once more done. The familiar scream, the instant panic followed by the crowding. Then I made the mistake of turning to look, to find Mrs. K's accusing eyes burning into mine. She shouted to alert the incoming security of my presence. I turned and ran in a most obvious fashion..

As I walked out of the airport in my tweed jacket, with the wind rustling through my dark receding hair, I silently appreciated my own foresight in paying the five Navy men to run through the airport corridor exactly at 6 am. I looked up to see the crimson dawn turning into day. Hopefully my days as the chameleon were at an end...

Shadow Bright

 The moonlight cascading through the shimmering leaves of the lonesome tree was an unsullied white. The tree weighed down by its loneliness perhaps was bent over in eternal apology and shame. And under it we were playing out our whimsical farce, our unique parody of a season long courtship. As the pacific purity of the moonlight showered its abundance on the stacked wooden floor through that enormous skylight, the non-existant roof of that singular log cabin, even our shadows seemed bright..

 A sudden gust of the previously lurking wind rose up among the full, weighty boughs of that lonely tree and as it rose it seemed to pass along a secret that the vibrant leaves whispered to each other. Slowly it grew, rising in a crescendo of cacophonous bloodlust and the tree let out a final carrying sigh of countless whispers saying killkillkillkillkill... marked with an exclamation of intent, its spine cracked as an outlet for the violence it was witnessing. I needed no further encouragement and I ended our flirtatious dance closing the wary distance between us. As she fell, her shadow bright, shortened in an exaggerated and elaborate mimicry of her fall.

 The blood was a blemish against the stark whiteness of the moonlight. And have you noticed, blood seems to shimmer with an ethereal quality under that brilliant light of a full moon. Even the violence seemed fantastical under that light. For a moment I doubted I was there, but then I heard it: The profound silence of the satisfied wind and the shimmering leaves. The tree seemed a little straighter; it had found a companion tonight.

The smiling moon

Some ancients believed the sky to be a living, breathing being. It is true, that on some nights, the sky seems to be a resting giant, its chest slowly expanding and contracting; while its whole body undulates in painful ecstasy. On other nights, those seemingly quiet nights, if you truly listen, you can hear the sky sing. The whole starry panorama looks like a giant instrument; maybe a piano. On either occasion the moon is the seat; of both intelligence and emotion. If there is music in the sky, it is the moon that is singing.

On these nights, the moon calls to us. Our ancients listened and some of us still do. But more often than not, it is only the tides that answer, the tides and all creatures canine, especially wolves. And they sing back. If you listen closely to the tides, and yes, to the wolves, it becomes clear that all nights are not similar. Some nights the moon laments, for sins forgotten and carnage unknown and the tides weep. These cold dark nights are to be rejoiced. On some other nights, the moon exults and the wolves howl in joy, for blood and gore and killing. These are the nights, Oh! when our moon calls out its song; its song for the dead, beautiful yet dripping with dread. The warm peaceful nights.

Tonight the wolves are expectant and the tides gather up their strength. Tonight the moon is smiling..

Silent black day

The day was dark. It was as if the sky was crying..

When in your line of work, taking lives is a component of your every day duties, emotion is something that maintains the balance. Yes, contrary to popular opinion, an emotionally sound man, can maintain sanity in this most depraving of trades.

Sometimes I wonder, if it is the act or the plan that makes it so heinous. But I smile and put the thought away. Ah! A smile makes even murder more acceptable. There is a beauty in death that escapes most. Most executioners, embalmers and undertakers either stumble upon the profession or are bound by external mores. But, there are some who believe in the sanctity of their chosen trade and can see the duty to the world. It is them who can appreciate this beauty...

The day was dark. The sky was crying. Sobriety is an emotion most suited to the dead..

Silent black sky

    The night was cold. The snow was light and dreamy. A lone star shone on the sleeping city.  I wished I were a wanderer, with my habit in the wilderness, traveling with the lone star guiding me.

   I wished I were lying awake underneath that dark canopy with loneliness as my only companion. Sometimes I think that surely, the thought of a warm house on a cold night is better than being in one.

   Wishes are sometimes dangerous.  Especially when you wish for them. The night was calling me, but so was my calling. Somebody had to die...