Daria in 'True Cynicism'

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker (mystik_slacker@hotmail.com) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: March 2001


CHAPTER 4- Last Tango in Washington

Daria, followed by Jane, walked down the hallway from the elevator and out onto the west terrace of the Kennedy Center roof, overlooking the river. The sun was just setting, but the late spring air was still quite warm. Tables were scattered along the length of the terrace, except for a cleared area at the far end, in front of a makeshift bandstand. Instrumental music played quietly from speakers, but it must have been a recording, as no musicians were in sight.

Daria looked over the terrace, counting quietly to herself. Assuming the other terraces were as densely packed, she estimated that there were between seventy and a hundred tables set for eight people each. One of whom, or perhaps one of the dozens of white-clad servers bustling about making last-minute adjustments to the tables, was an assassin. She turned to Jane.

"Well, this complicates matters slightly."

"I take it you weren't expecting this many people?"

"Not hardly. I should have realized any event Ms. Li could foist the entire football team, and the cheerleaders, on at the last minute would have to be fairly large."

Jodie called from up ahead: "Hey, you two, c'mon. Let's get to our table before someone steals the rolls."

"Spoken like a veteran of many formal dinners. But she's got a point, we might as well eat while we try to figure out a plan," Daria said to Jane.

"Works for me. But shouldn't you try to get closer to the President, or isn't he here yet?" Jane replied.

"He's here, but they're keeping him secluded in one of the lounges with the school advisors. He's not due out here until it's time for his speech, after dinner. One of my people is watching him, and they've planted a bug on him so we can monitor him closely."

"My, what big ears you have, grandma," Jane said, "but you'll look a little out of place holding a radio up during dinner."

"The radio's in my purse. The earpiece is built into my glasses, and there's a microphone in my pearls," Daria replied. "That's what I slipped away this afternoon to pick up. Let's go join Jodie. I see Kevin and Brittany have already found our table, and it would be cruel to leave her and Mack alone with them."

"And this is a problem, why?" Jane replied, but followed as Daria walked towards the table.

At the table, Brittany and Kevin, for once not wearing their team uniforms, were already seated. Brittany wore an attractive dress, in dark blue. Coupled with her blond hair, it matched the school colors of blue and yellow. Apparently, even in formal wear she didn't stray too far from her cheerleader's uniform. Kevin wore a black tux, and his cummerbund was a checkerboard pattern in the school colors. Along with them were two other students Daria recognized vaguely from school, although she couldn't remember their names. Perhaps she'd never known them.

"Hey Daria," Brittany said, brightly, with a squeak, "that's a beautiful dress."

"Thank you, Brittany, I like your dress too."

As the others sat down, Daria turned to Jane, who had already sliced a roll open and was buttering it liberally.

"I need to powder my nose. Save me some rolls?"

"Sure thing."

Daria headed for the ladies room. Time to check in with the other team members, and also relocate her gun from its hiding place strapped to her leg to a more accessible location in her purse.

*

Exiting the ladies room, which had been packed, Daria was looking for a quiet corner where she could contact her team when she spotted someone in a tuxedo entering a service hallway. He was looking the other way, so his face was not visible, but none of the guests had reason to be wandering the building. She followed quietly.

At the hallway entrance she peered through the crack between the two doors. The person she was following was about twenty feet ahead, just turning a corner, and he held a gun in one hand. As soon as he was out of sight, she slipped into the hallway, and drew her own gun, as well as her ID folder, from her purse. Then she toggled the radio's send button.

"Cynic to Fingers, do you copy?" she said, as softly as she could.

"Go ahead Cynic," came the voice of her communications specialist.

"I'm entering the west service hallway, following a man in a tux carrying a handgun. Is anyone else near by?"

"Nope. Glasscutter is working the terrace. She's in cover, and I have to wait for her to call me. And the backup team hasn't arrived yet."

"Huh? Why not?" she asked, irritated. They should have been here before the students started to arrive.

"Traffic jam on the beltway, due to an accident. They'll be here in ten minutes."

"Okay, I'll handle this myself. If you don't hear from me in ten minutes, call Ops for instructions."

"Roger that, keep your head down."

She quietly made her way down the corridor.

"Damn, I really don't want to be doing this," she said to herself.

Approaching the corner, she heard a scuffing sound, perhaps a shoe on concrete, just around the corner. Taking a deep breath, she held her ID folder out in her left hand, and the gun close to her chest in her right. Just like the training sessions, Morgendorffer, she thought to herself, don't think about the fact that this time it's a real gun out there. Just do as you're trained.

She stepped rapidly, but smoothly, around the corner, holding her ID out in front.

"Federal agent, freeze!" she shouted, and then froze, looking into the barrel of a handgun from less than two feet away.

Her assailant also froze, looking into the barrel of her gun. The two held the tableaux for several seconds, before she took in the identity of the other person.

"Alex?"

Alex, Mack's friend from Midland Falls, looked back at her. If anything, he was more surprised than she.

"Daria?"

Then his eyes shifted to her ID, and he seemed to relax slightly.

"Or, should I say agent Powers?"

He took a breath.

"Look, I'm going to put my gun away. Don't shoot me while I do that, okay?"

"Works for me," she said, keeping her gun trained on him.

He slowly lowered his gun, thumbing the safety on, and returned it to a holster under his jacket.

"Can I see some ID, Alex?"

"I can show you my ID, but it may not help much."

He gingerly reached into a pocket, and pulled out a folder similar to hers, flipping it open. She looked at it for several seconds, never lowering her gun, then looked back at him.

"Okay Alex, you're right, it doesn't help much. I can't read Cyrillic, but I don't suppose the U. S. government issues ID cards in Russian anyway, do they?"

A wry smile appeared on his face. The effect was distracting, and she had to concentrate to keep her gun steady.

"I realize this looks bad, but I'm one of the good guys, honest."

"You're a Russian agent, armed, in the same building as the President. That looks very bad. Care to explain yourself?"

"I'm with the Russian Secret Police, one of the groups that took over from the KGB after the breakup of the Soviet Union. We're similar to your FBI. I'm here on the trail of some terrorists backed by a group of ex-Communist hardliners. I think they're here to make an attempt on your President's life. My government doesn't want that kind of instability right now, and if it became known that the assassin had been backed by Russians, it could impair our relations for years. My orders are to keep your President alive, at all costs."

"And I should believe this because...?"

"Because the President is in a lounge downstairs, and I'm sneaking around up here. Look, we can wait here until your backup arrives and arrests me, but all that will do is give them time to act. I propose we join forces; we both want the same thing."

Daria considered. Her backup wouldn't be here for ten minutes, and she had no way to call on the other security forces in the building without causing the Secret Service to evacuate the President, which would prevent them from flushing out the terrorists. And Alex did have a point, only an idiot would be flashing a gun this far away from his target, unless his objective wasn't the President at all. And Alex hadn't impressed her as an idiot. She thumbed her safety on, and lowered her gun. Alex let out his breath, and relaxed, as she placed her gun and ID in her purse.

"Okay, I buy it. Do you know who or where they are?" she asked.

"No, I've just been told to keep my eyes open. We were warned of this attempt at the last minute. And, by the way, my friends call me Alexei. Are you Daria, or Melody?"

"Daria. Melody's just a cover."

She thumbed her radio.

"Fingers, this is Cynic, do you copy?"

"Roger Cynic, good to hear from you. How's it going?"

"False lead, my suspect turned out to be a Russian Secret Service agent, not one of the terrorists. He's hunting them too. Designate him codename 'Ivan'. We're going to pool resources and see what we can figure out. I'm returning to the terrace."

She turned to Alex, or Alexei.

"We should get back to the others, unless you have a better idea."

"No, there's nothing to be done for now. I presume you have people watching the President?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"No, security is too tight to get that close this late in the game. My people are all in the serving staff upstairs."

The two of them began to walk back towards the terrace.

"I saw where Mack was sitting, are you at the same table?" He asked.

"Yes, why?"

"If anything comes up, I'll swing by and ask you to join me in admiring the city skyline."

"Great, that'll cause some gossip. I've got a boyf... whatever."

"Do you want to use another signal?" he asked.

"Nope. Let 'em gossip."

*

Daria leaned back as one of the servers cleared the empty dessert plates from the table. That had been a fairly decent meal. Not gourmet, but certainly better than the rubber chicken that had been served at her cousin's wedding. Someone had spent some serious money on the catering. In fact, reserving the entire roof of the Kennedy Center couldn't have been cheap either, which, now that she thought of it, was odd for a reception for a bunch of high school students. It was a more exposed location than a typical hotel function room would have been, and she wondered if there could be a connection. Follow the money was sound advice in terrorism, as well as crime. She'd have to ask someone back at Ops to do some research. It was time to check in with her team, as well. She stood up.

"Well, I need to take a walk to settle dinner, and begin burning some of it off. Want to come, Jane?"

"Sure, as long as you walk slowly. I think I've gained ten pounds in the last thirty minutes."

"Probably, you ate three desserts."

"Hey, I have a weakness for chocolate mousse."

The two strolled slowly down towards the bandstand, where musicians were beginning to set up their instruments. It looked like a jazz band, with a piano, and several large stringed instruments, although Daria wasn't enough of a musician to be sure. There were violins, which she didn't think belonged in a typical jazz band, and a guitar that also seemed out of place. It certainly wasn't Mystik Spiral, though; there were no drums in sight. She turned to Jane as they walked.

"I need to call my team and check in. Make it look like we're talking, and elbow me if anyone comes up behind us, okay?"

"Got it."

Daria thumbed the transmit button of her radio, which was disguised as a button on her purse.

"Fingers, this is Cynic, what's our status?"

"Hey Cynic, the backup team arrived, and is in place downstairs. Otherwise, no change. How was dinner?"

"Pretty good. Can you give Ops a ring, and ask them to find out who selected the location for tonight's bash, and who's paying for it?"

"Can do. I'll call you back when I hear from them."

"Roger, Cynic out."

She turned back to Jane.

"Okay, that's it with the cloak and dagger for a while. C'mon, I want you to meet someone."

Daria led Jane over to the table where she'd seen Alex sitting as they walked. He looked up from his dessert as they approached, and Daria could see from the plates that is was his second. Someone else had a weakness for chocolate mousse, it appeared.

"Alex, this is Jane. You missed her at the dress shop the other day. If you're through eating gourmet junk food, would you care to walk with us?"

Alex picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth, stood up, and smiled at Jane.

"What, monopolize two of the most interesting women at this bacchanal? That's even more decadent than this dessert. It would be my pleasure."

Jane looked at Alex, slightly irritated. She tended to dislike people who felt it necessary to show off their ability to memorize useless words, especially when they misused them.

"Nobody uses 'bacchanal' in a sentence, and this funeral is far too sedate to be one anyway. What have you been drinking?"

"Coffee. I have enough trouble pronouncing 'bacchanal' sober," he said, with an infectious grin.

Daria motioned the two to walk, and once away from the table spoke quietly to Jane.

"Jane, this is Mack's friend, Alex. We met at the dressmakers shop while you were being fitted. He's also here for the same reason I am, although he has slightly different employers." She turned to Alex. "This is Jane, my best friend. She's a civilian, but she knows what's going on."

The three moved towards the edge of the terrace, overlooking the river, Roosevelt Island, and the Arlington skyline beyond. Although it was now full dark, the landscape was brightly illuminated by the rising moon. The river drew a glossy black line against the surrounding land. Daria turned and leaned back against the edge of the wall surrounding the terrace, facing the other two.

"Alex, none of my people have spotted anything. Have you had any luck?"

Alex frowned as he replied: "No, they seem to be keeping a low profile. My people have seen a couple of them in the past, so there's a good chance they'd recognize any of them among the staff, but those faces haven't shown up. This is bad. If they're using someone new, we may have very little warning."

"Well, at least you have that much. My people are reduced to looking for anyone with suspicious bulges under their coats, or lurking in the wrong place. So far, all we've found is you."

"Yes, but you did find me. That suggests that if someone else was behaving oddly, you'd notice them, too."

"Maybe, or maybe I was just lucky, or you were just clumsy," Daria said, frowning, as she let her eyes drift over the crowd on the terrace.

As they stood there, the band began to tune their instruments. A mischievous grin illuminated Alex's face, as he turned to Jane.

"Excuse me, Jane, but I need to steal Daria away for a few minutes," he said, taking Daria's hand. Daria followed, only realizing that he was headed for the cleared area in front of the band when they were nearly there.

"Huh? Alex, what are you planning? I thought you wanted to talk. I can't dance. I don't know how."

"I do want to talk, and this is the easiest place to do so privately. As for dancing, just do what I do. You're not being judged on performance here, if you miss a few steps nobody will care."

"What if I maim someone with my purse?" Daria said, as she allowed herself to be led out onto the dance floor.

"Then we'll apologize, and if that doesn't work, I'll throw them in the river until they cool off," he said, with a grin. "Relax. This will be fun."

The band launched into its first number, and Daria realized she'd been wrong. It wasn't a jazz band, unless it was one with a very strong South American influence. This was a tango, she realized, as the rhythm grabbed her, and then she was too busy following Alex to worry about her lack of skill, or the fact that they were one of the few couples on the floor, or anything. If someone had assassinated the President in front of her, she probably would have missed it.

She concentrated on not stepping on Alex's feet, or tripping over her own, letting him lead as she learned the pattern. Gradually she became comfortable with the dance, and could bring herself to think of something other than where to put her feet.

"So, you wanted to talk?" she asked.

"Yes, your friend, how certain of her are you?"

"More certain than I am of you, why?"

"She reminds me of someone I met once. I can't recall who, and it's probably my memory playing tricks, but I didn't want to let her know who I was until I was certain."

"Well, I've known her two years, and she's had the same background check as I have, so it's very unlikely she's anyone other than who she claims to be. But if you need to keep your identity secret, that's fine with me."

Conversation stopped briefly, as he spun her away from him. Other dancers had joined them on the floor, as well, so there was less privacy. After an interval he continued their conversation as if it hadn't been interrupted.

"No, it's okay if she knows. This cover was blown the moment I showed you my ID card. I'll be transferred after tonight. Hopefully we'll be successful, and I'll get a promotion out of it. If not, I'll probably be reassigned to office work. We'd better succeed. I hate winter in Moscow."

"Right. Now I'm really motivated."

"Hey, he's your President. I didn't vote for him. I have my own worries."

The music ended, and the nearby diners who had been watching the dancers applauded. Daria realized that she was one of the ones being applauded, and felt her cheeks heating. Alex looked over at her, with an amused chuckle that made her knees weak. Then a voice cracked in her ear.

"Cynic, this is Fingers. I've lost contact with the agent in the Presidential lounge, and the bug picked up gunshots. I think we've got a situation."

Daria froze, stunned. Why would they make their move in a securely guarded lounge, rather than on the open roof? Then training reasserted itself: think about why later; deal with what was happening now. She thumbed her transmit button.

"Fingers, tell everyone to move towards the lounge. Don't worry about maintaining cover. If the Secret Service can hold them off, we may still be able to stop this before it's too late."

She looked up and caught Jane's eyes, waving her over, then turned and set off for a stairwell at a run, with Alex close behind.

"What's happening?" he asked, as he caught up with her.

"Gunshots, in the lounge." she responded.

He moved his hand to his belt, and snapped off a few sentences in Russian.

Jane caught up with them as they hit the door to the stairwell, and started down. Exiting at ground level they nearly bowled over a Marine guarding the entrance. Daria recognized the Major she'd met earlier.

"Attack on the President," she barked, as she ran past him, followed by Alex and Jane, "come with us."

The four of them dashed down a hallway, and into a cross corridor. Up ahead was a knot of people. The last person in the group looked up at them, and raised a submachine gun. Daria shoved Jane back into the corridor they'd just exited, diving after her as bullets chewed the wall. Alex and the Major took refuge in the limited cover offered by a stack of boxes on the far side of the corridor, returning fire with their pistols. The submachine gun fire cut off, and the Major bounced erect like an uncoiling spring.

"I saw the President in that group, but those weren't Secret Service agents. He's being kidnapped!"

He took off at a run, followed by Alex, and then Daria and Jane. They followed the kidnappers downs a service stairway, and came out below the JFK balcony in time to hear an outboard motor as a boat, hidden from view by trees along the riverbank, shot out into the channel. The Major raised his gun, but apparently decided that he was just as likely to hit the President as the terrorists. Daria thumbed her microphone.

"Fingers, Cynic here, the President's been kidnapped. Do we have a trace on him?"

"Shit! Yeah, if he's out in the middle of the river, we've got a trace."

"Good. Get the van moving, we'll join up out front. Two women in dresses, a short blond guy in a tux, and a Marine in dress uniform. You can't miss us." She turned to the others. "Let's move, people, we've got a ride to catch!"

She turned, and ran for the street. Not looking to see if anyone was following.

THE END (of Chapter 4)

Next week: Chapter 5, Executive Disorder: In which the president is rescued, and the situation worsens.