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: April 2001


CHAPTER 8 - Pale Pink for Peril

The terrorist pushed the stage door open a sliver with his hip, yelling out: "Get away from the door. I have a hostage, and if anyone tries to stop me, I'll kill her!"

Daria stood, rooted to the floor, about ten feet behind him, as he held Quinn to one side. The terrorist had his left arm around Quinn's neck, and held his gun to her head with his other hand. Daria's hand rested on the pistol in her purse.

While Daria stood there, Quinn silently mouthed the word "help". Daria nodded, and mouthed, "wait" back. Daria watched Quinn nod back, impressed by her composure. She was obviously terrified, but she wasn't a screaming wreck. It couldn't be because she expected Daria to do anything useful, Quinn didn't know about Daria's recent training. In any case, all that training was useless in the present situation. There were ways to stop a terrorist with his gun to the head of a hostage, but they were fatal to the terrorist, and not without risk for the hostage. Daria needed the terrorist alive, and didn't intend to take any chances with Quinn's life.

Daria thought about her sister. If it came down to it, she'd kill the terrorist before she let him hurt Quinn. Even if it meant Washington might go up in a fireball tomorrow night. There were other options for finding the bomb, and she only had one sister. Funny, she hadn't realized Quinn was that important to her before.

Daria took her hand off the gun, and pulled one of the tracking bugs out of her purse instead. She mimed grabbing it in her fist, and then threw it to Quinn, who caught it in her left hand, looking down at it in puzzlement. The terrorist, still looking out the opened door, was oblivious.

He stepped out of the doorway, dragging Quinn. As it closed behind him, Daria spoke softly: "Fingers, patch me through to the team." She waited for his acknowledgement before continuing. "Okay team, he's holding my sister hostage, so we're not taking any chances. She's holding one of the bugs. Fingers, you keep track of her. Glasscutter, return to the van in case we need to get mobile. I'll join Artist in the hall once he leaves the building and we'll follow on foot. Fingers, what was the shooting earlier?"

"He went to leave and took a couple of shots at the FBI agents. Nobody was hurt. They took Sloane into custody, but haven't charged him yet."

"Okay, we can hold him for seventy-two hours without formal charges. Have someone from HQ take him off their hands. We'll need to wring anything he knows out of him before tomorrow night, just in case they let something slip in his presence."

"Isn't this your boyfriend's father we're talking about?" Fingers asked.

"Yeah. Life sucks. He's also guilty of at least securities fraud, and possibly treason and accessory to half-a-million counts of attempted murder. Ask me if I care about his delicate sensibilities."

"Point taken. Okay, the target is outside and Artist reports the hallway is clear."

Leaving the still panicking students behind, Daria stepped through the door, finding only Jane in the hallway, and closed it behind her. Jane was wearing black fatigues and a set of night-vision goggles that covered most of her face. Not exactly low-key, but probably no more conspicuous than her usual jacket and shorts would be compared to the tuxedos and evening gowns the guests were wearing. The outfit did have the benefit of rendering her anonymous. She held out a duffel containing another set to Daria.

"He went out the back," Jane said, gesturing at a fire exit. "She'll be okay, Daria. She's only useful as a hostage alive."

"Yeah, until he doesn't need one anymore, or feels too cornered to be rational," Daria replied, as she quickly stripped off her dress and donned the fatigues and boots.

"Well, we won't let it come to that."

Daria nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She stuffed her gown and shoes into the duffel and placed it behind a potted shrub, where they should remain hidden until she could retrieve them later. The two walked down to the fire exit and out onto a porch overlooking the golf course behind the club. Stairs in the center of the porch led down to the green. The lights along the porch had been shattered; Daria could still see the rocks lying below them in the broken glass. She nodded approval at Jane.

Below, the terrorist was making for the side of the building nearest the parking lot. He stopped, as sirens sounded in the distance, and turned back, ducking under the porch. Shortly afterward, a golf cart shot out onto the green and headed down a paved path. Quinn appeared to have been tied to one of the cart's seats with the terrorist's belt.

As soon as they were out of sight, Daria and Jane rushed down the stairs and grabbed a second cart.

"Jane, you drive. I may need my hands free," Daria said.

Fingers' voice crackled in her ear. "Cynic, you aren't forgetting we need him intact?"

"We need him breathing. Intact is optional. Relax, I'm still planning to negotiate. Have Glasscutter swing the van around to the far side of the course in case we need backup."

"Roger, we're on our way," he replied.

Jane threw the cart into motion, and they lurched off after him.

"Whee!" Jane cried. "Follow that cart!"

Daria smiled. Trust Jane to find some humor in the situation. "If you catch him before the eighteenth hole, I'll double the fare," she replied.

"That's no fair, I'm not getting paid for this." When Daria didn't respond, Jane looked over at her. "No fare, get it?"

"Yeah, just drive. My sense of humor isn't up to par for some reason."

Jane looked at the golf course surrounding them, and groaned.

The cart, its electric motor humming, rocketed down the path at a fast walk.

*

They came out of the woods, and could see the other cart several hundred feet ahead of them, heading down the slope towards a bridge over a small stream. Jane swerved onto another path, which veered off to the left.

"Hey, what are you doing? They went down there!" Daria yelled, pointing to the right.

"Relax, this is a short cut. Once he crosses the brook, he'll need to wind up the other hill between those sand traps. We'll duck over the ridge, and circle around the woods at the top of the hill. It's faster."

Daria looked at Jane, perplexed. "Fingers has a map of the golf course?"

Jane shrugged, embarrassed. "Nah. I played golf with Tom and his family once. We took the shortcut racing them back to the clubhouse."

"You. Played. Golf?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going to burn in hell, all right? Don't make it any worse."

"Ah, the things we do for love. Of course, I never went that far," Daria said with a smirk.

"So, what are we going to do when we get ahead of them?" Jane asked, ignoring the comment.

"Ambush. You block the path with the cart and distract him. I'll hide and come out behind him with my gun. As long as he isn't holding a gun to Quinn's head, I can disable him if I have to, and if he's smart, he'll realize he has no option but to talk to us."

"Yeah, but he could still take a shot at me before he realizes it," Jane protested. Her tone carried a mixed message: she was joking, but with a core of seriousness.

"I know." Daria turned to Jane, all humor banished from her voice. "If you want, I can be the distraction."

"But you at least know how to shoot one of these things. I just had Ms. Li's safety briefing this morning. I couldn't hit the ground reliably."

"With only two months of practice, I'm not really much better. But I'd rather it was my finger on the trigger if something goes wrong. Anyway, at night, at a distance, he's not really likely to hit you, if you keep down behind the cart, and duck if it looks like he's going to shoot."

"Yeah, like I believe that. But I'd rather it was your finger on the trigger, too. The only thing worse than shooting him, would be shooting Quinn by mistake."

"Yeah. I know."

Fingers' voice broke the silence. "Cynic, I may be able to help here. If you wait until he's past the woods on the top of the ridge, I should have line-of-sight from the road. That's only about six hundred yards, and it's a moonlit windless night. I have a snipers rifle with night sights, and can take him from there if it's necessary. It's probably less risky than you two waving pistols around and making targets of yourselves."

"Isn't that fairly long range? asked Daria.

"Not really, I've done longer shots."

"You're a man of unexpected talents," Daria said, and thought she heard Jane mutter, "You aren't kidding."

"Yeah, well, it was my military specialization. There's not much call for it in our line of work, but I've kept in practice."

"Okay, set up where you think is good, and let us know where to set the ambush. If you need to shoot, try to disarm him if you can, but the hostage's life comes first. You got that?"

"The Colonel won't like it if we kill him."

"That'll be between the Colonel and me. I'm asking if you're willing to do this my way?"

"You're the boss, Cynic, the Colonel said so herself. Long as I'm on your team, I follow your orders. The hostage comes first."

*

They'd parked their cart at the edge of the woods, blocking the path, with a radio set up on one of the seats. Jane and Daria crouched on opposite sides of the path, behind what cover the small trees offered. Daria was just far enough off the drivers side of the path that he shouldn't be able to see her, and with her night-vision goggles, she could see the area around the cart as clearly as if it were day, albeit with a monochrome green color to everything. Fingers kept up a running commentary about the range of the tracker Quinn was still holding.

As Fingers said, "Here he comes," the cart crested the ridge and started down, braking to a halt about twenty feet in front of Daria.

From the empty cart, the radio yelled: "Hold it right there. We've got the whole course surrounded. Why don't you make this easy and give up?" The voice was Brittany's, but it was electronically distorted to prevent Quinn from recognizing it.

Daria stood slowly and moved towards the path. She walked quietly, holding her gun in front of her with both hands, ready to shoot if the terrorist wouldn't surrender and Fingers missed. The terrorist waved his gun in front of him, trying to decide where the voice was coming from.

Brittany's voice rang out again. "Now drop your weapon, and place your hands atop your head."

This time, the terrorist located the voice, and fired. The broken radio crashed down some distance behind the cart. At the same time, the terrorist was thrown backwards as his shoulder fountained blood.

Daria ran up, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him out of the cart on his face before he could recover, but it didn't matter, he'd dropped his gun when Fingers shot him. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at Quinn, who seemed unharmed, although blood had sprayed her face, and she was being quietly sick onto the roadway. Daria sympathized; the smell of blood was turning her own stomach too.

Jane ran up, and shoved her gun in the terrorists face, whispering, "move and I'll finish the job." Daria saw that Jane had forgotten to cock the gun, so it wasn't likely to go off, either by accident or on purpose. Fortunately the terrorist was in no condition to notice such details.

Daria patted him down, finding another gun in an ankle holster. Then she took out her commando knife, and cut his waiter's jacket off. Quickly, she sliced it into strips, and formed a crude pressure bandage for his shoulder. It would keep him alive until they could get him to medical attention. Finally, she bound his wrists and ankles with plastic electrical ties Jane had brought, fast and as effective as handcuffs for her purpose.

She looked up at Jane, whispering: "Take the hostage down to the van in your cart. I'll stay here until the helicopter arrives."

Jane nodded, and holstered her gun. Then she walked over to Quinn, and untied her from the cart, handing her a cloth out of some belt pouch, and leading her over to the other cart as Quinn wiped her face and mouth off.

As she climbed into the other cart, Quinn looked back at the terrorist on the ground, with a smile of satisfaction. Then she looked up at Daria, crouched beside him. "Thanks for rescuing me, Mr...?"

Daria, anonymous behind her goggles, merely smiled back, and nodded her head. Quinn's smile faltered, and she turned away. Jane threw the cart into motion, and Quinn grabbed for the dash, as the cart lurched over the edge of the path and back onto the trail.

When the cart was out of range, she spoke into her microphone. "Fingers, the hostage is on the way. Make sure you don't have any speakers live once she's in the van. You can turn her over to the police to return her home and then meet me at HQ. I'm going to ride with the prisoner."

"Roger that, Cynic. I'll have Artist return with the cart once I have the hostage. That'll keep her clear."

"Good idea. Catch you later, Cynic out."

"Roger, out."

*

Back at the country club, Tom was frantic. Nobody had heard the original gunshots over the after-dinner speaker, but when the award recipients poured out from backstage in a panic, yelling about a gunman, the room had erupted in chaos. He'd fought his way up to his mother, in time for his sister to come running up in tears. Then state police had swarmed into the room, and tried to reassure everyone that the situation was under control. The room was still in chaos when a middle-aged man in a cheap sport coat walked up to his mother, and flashed an FBI badge.

"Mrs. Sloane? I'm agent McGee. Could you and your family come with me? We need to talk to you."

His mother took this calmly, as if such things happened every day. Tom was impressed, despite himself. "Of course, agent McGee," she said, "but my husband isn't with us at the moment."

"I know ma'am, he's safe. If you'll follow me...," he said, turning away.

Tom couldn't contain himself. "Excuse me, agent McGee, but my girlfriend was out in the hall, have you seen her?"

McGee looked over his shoulder. "I don't think so. What's her name, and what does she look like?"

"Daria Morgendorffer. Short, wearing a green dress, with auburn hair, and glasses."

"Nope, haven't seen anyone like that, but we'll check around. She'll be okay, though. Nobody's been hurt."

"She was backstage," Tom's sister, Elsie, blurted out. "When the gunman came through, she was with us."

The FBI agent pulled a radio from his belt, and spoke into it, giving Daria's name and description to someone.

When they finally fought through the crowd into the lobby, which was filled with state police in riot gear, agent McGee turned to Kay. "Ma'am, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your husband's been arrested on suspicion of securities fraud. He was also consorting with the gunman who disrupted your party, but we're still not clear on the details there. We've impounded your car as evidence, but I can arrange to have one of these troopers give you a ride home."

"Thank you, agent McGee, but we'll wait for Daria and Tom can give us all a lift home." She turned to Tom. "If that's okay with you?"

"Yeah, but it could be a while. Maybe you and Elsie should go home now, rather than waiting."

"No," said Elsie, "I'd rather know she was okay."

Agent McGee's radio cracked, and he held it up to his ear to listen. Then he turned back to the group. "Well, your friend is fine. Her sister was taken hostage, but she was recovered a little while ago. The police took the two of them home."

Tom was annoyed that Daria hadn't found some way to tell him, but then he realized she probably hadn't had a chance to think about anything else if she'd been there when Quinn was taken hostage. He'd call her when he got home, and make sure they were both all right.

"I'm glad she's okay," he said to the FBI agent, then he turned to what was left of his family. "Let's go home."

*

Daria and her team sat with Ms. Li in one of the conference rooms off of the operations center under Lawndale High. They'd been reviewing the night's events while they waited for word from the interrogation team that was working on the terrorist. The phone rang, and Ms. Li picked it up. Turning to Daria, she said, "It's for you, we intercepted a call from the Sloane's to your house."

Daria took the phone. "Morgendorffer residence."

"Daria, it's me," Tom said, "are you okay? We heard about Quinn, is she all right?"

"Yeah, we're both fine. Quinn's a bit of a nervous wreck after what she went through, and I had to ride back with her to help calm her down. I'm sorry I couldn't find a way to get word to you."

"That's okay, as long as you're both safe," he said.

Daria closed her eyes. Yet another lie between them. Maybe she wasn't cut out to be an agent after all. "Thanks," she said, in a quiet and defeated voice, "look, I've got to go deal with stuff, okay? I'll call you tomorrow, after school."

"Yeah. I may not be in school tomorrow. My father's been arrested, and we're going to see about bailing him out. If you can't reach me at home, call my Mom's cellphone, you've got the number."

"Oh, Tom, I'm sorry about your father. Yes, I'll call your mother's phone if I can't reach you directly. Got to go, bye." She hung up the phone, and cradled her face in her hands. "God, I hate myself. I've ruined his family, lied to him, and I can't even tell him so he can hate me."

The rest of her team looked away, as if they'd rather be anywhere else at the moment. Ms. Li pursed her lips in a frown. "You didn't ruin his family. His father did that all on his own. As it is, we'll probably do a deal with Angier in exchange for evidence against the other conspirators. His family should come through this with their finances intact, and if it makes it any better, they have you to thank for it. The SEC was about to land on Angier anyway. If you hadn't done this, he'd still be in jail, but without any reason for us to pull him out, and they'd be penniless."

Daria looked up at her, with tears streaking her eyes. "It doesn't really make it any better."

"I know," Angela said, with a note of sympathy, "deceit doesn't add that way. But it's still not your fault."

"Wait a second," Fingers said, "you're going to let him get away with attempted mass murder?"

"No," Angela replied, "that's one crime he wasn't guilty of. He was blackmailed into helping set up the Presidential kidnapping, but he didn't know any details of what they were doing beyond that. Technically, we're letting him get away with securities fraud and accessory to kidnapping, but that's all, and he doesn't get off scott-free. He's going to be in 'protective custody' until all the trials are over, and that's far longer than someone with his money would spend in jail for being an unwilling accessory to an unsuccessful kidnapping."

The door opened, and one of the staff walked in, carrying a red folder, which he handed to Ms. Li wordlessly, then he turned and left. She flipped through the folder, with everyone's eyes riveted on her. Then she closed it, and looked up.

"Well, our 'terrorist' cracked. He wasn't a terrorist after all, just a junior law clerk, in way over his head. He spilled everything. Between him and Angier, we can bring the whole conspiracy down with a little more work. Unfortunately, we still don't know where the damn bomb is, but we have confirmed that they have it, and plan to use it tomorrow night. And, we know who knows where it is. You should all get a good night's sleep, we'll probably be ready to move in the early morning."

Angela stood up, and walked out of the room. Daria looked around at the others. They looked back, grins on their faces. "We did it!" Jane yelled, and the others joined in.

Outside, in the ops center, Ms. Li smiled as she heard the cheers through the door. The team was settling in together nicely. It should, considering the years she'd invested in grooming the various members. It was a shame she'd be throwing them into the line of fire tomorrow, rather than using them for the kind of work they were best suited for, but it was necessary that she pull this off, and she couldn't risk outsiders who might not follow orders. Anticipation of a successful operation buoyed her spirits as she walked away.

*

Daria sat on her bed a couple of hours later, preparing for bed. She'd run the gauntlet of parental concern, but at least Quinn's night as a hostage seemed to have driven all thoughts of her supposed elopement out of her mother's head. Quinn had been subdued, which wasn't normal for her, but otherwise seemed to have come through her ordeal intact. Daria had to admit that her sister surprised her.

She sat there, thinking about the evening's operation. They'd taken Angier cleanly, and even brought in his contact in shape for interrogation despite the man's amateurish and suicidal stupidity of trying to shoot his way out of an ambush without being able to see a target. Now they had a line on the real backer, and could roll him up tomorrow. The conspiracy was falling apart like a Chinese puzzle with the key piece removed. She felt nervous: It was too easy, too neatly wrapped up. Something was going to go wrong tomorrow, she was sure of it, even though she couldn't say why. She stared at the far wall, without really seeing it, as she thought over the events of the last several days, trying to decide why she was so uneasy.

Her fruitless introspection was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Quinn asking if she could come in. Daria assented, and Quinn walked in and sat next to her on the bed.

"Daria," she said, "I wanted to thank you, for tonight."

"Huh? I didn't do anything Quinn, but I'm glad you're okay. You are okay, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Here, this is yours." She handed the tracker bug back to Daria, then grabbed her in a fierce hug. "I'm glad you're my sister."

Daria wasn't sure how to react, but decided that hugging her back was the best idea. "Look, Quinn, I really didn't do anything. One of the FBI guys asked me to get that to you, I don't even know what it does."

"Okay, Daria, whatever you say." Quinn released her hug, and Daria saw that there were tears in her eyes, above a big smile. "Then, the thanks are just for you being you."

She hopped off the bed, and walked to the door. As she stepped through it, she turned back and, still smiling, said, "By the way, I would have thought even you would know that you can't make black fatigues stylish by wearing fake pearls with them," and she closed the door.

Daria sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door without moving, for several minutes.

THE END (of Chapter 8)

Next week: Chapter 9, Daria's People: In which yet more secrets are revealed, and Daria closes in on the mastermind, followed by chapter 10, Our Man in Lawndale, where the team faces a nuclear countdown, and the final showdown with the villain. Be here in a week for the surprising two-part conclusion to True Cynicism.