CHAPTER FIVE

Secret Meeting

“This is it?” the man almost spat as he walked slowly towards the large, unremarkable building that lay just thirty yards ahead. It was a solid, but dull construct, your typical warehouse or storage area built to blend in with the surroundings. Except in this case, there were no surroundings. The grassy dunes rolled over rocky terrain, dipping and rising like a nature-made roller coaster. As they dipped, the dull green ground was swallowed by the thick clouds of foggy mist that this area was known for. They were on the outskirts of the nearest large town, but close enough so a lone warehouse was not too conspicuous.

“Appearances can be deceiving, my dear man,” the bald man said solemnly as he walked side by side with the other one, who stretched his shoulders underneath his deep blue shirt. The long brown trench coat draped over his slim shoulders kept the dark crimson flak vest hidden underneath. His eyes wandered, his dark hair slightly tussled and out of place without the elaborate black helmet covering his head. With soft clomps, his black combat boots thumped over the soft green earth as he glanced back at the small Cessna which still stood at the equally small private airfield.

“Yeah, lighten up, Scrap Iron,” the young woman said softly, coming up beside the two gentlemen. She wore her familiar gray camouflage jumpsuit, although it was also covered by a lengthy jacket, and her mask was stuffed in one of the inside pockets, letting her long blonde hair flow freely over her contoured shoulders.

“Ah, you’re just happy because this place reminds you of home,” he snarled, glaring up at the almost dilapidated building. Dr. Mindbender rolled his eyes; the right one from behind his ever-present monocle, and guided the two recently freed Cobra agents towards the front door.

“Vypra is right, Scrap Iron. You have nothing to be upset about. Just the contrary, we are poised to regain our rightful spot in the world order.”

“If you say so,” he muttered, striding past the slim doctor, who like the other two, wore a long jacket to shroud his odd colored and distinctive uniform.

“By the way, Mindbender,” Vypra asked as she approached, “what happened to those guys that rescued us? Weren’t they Cobra agents?”

“Strictly freelance, my dear. They do the job and disappear until we need them again.”

Vypra nodded slowly and followed her comrade into the front door of the warehouse. She walked in, her eyes widening, and he head turning in wonder.

“Look at the size of this place!” she exclaimed, gazing about the inside of the large, looming structure, which was currently devoid of everything except the human life contained within.

“What was that about appearances being deceiving, Doc?” Scrap Iron asked, also looking around. “Looks just as empty and useless on the inside as it did on the outside.”

Mindbender smirked. “All in due time, Scrap Iron.”

The three walked in, their footsteps rolling through the empty corners and reverberating from every inch of empty wall space. It was a large echoing chamber, every whisper, and every sound bouncing from corner to corner. That made the thundering, booming voice all the more intimidating.

“Welcome to my parlor said the spider to the fly!” Vypra spun swiftly at the voice, her hand going down to her hip by reflex. She didn’t even have the pistol fully ripped from its holster before she saw the source of the voice and relaxed; but just slightly. With thin shrieks, darkened figures shot down from the rafters, previously hidden in the shadows of the arching, high ceilings. Vypra hadn’t even noticed the zip-lines when she first walked in. Or had they just been dropped? At any rate, black-garbed men dropped at a lightning pace, slapping onto the concrete floor with light taps on the balls of their feet. They landed in skillful crouches, and prepared stances, Uzi’s at the ready, and eyes scanning the entire area behind the red metal gas masks built into the oddly shaped dark helmets. Smooth chest pads were built into the somewhat bulky tunics, no doubt bullet and projectile proof. They were covered in sleek, almost stylish black leather, but still made no sounds as they moved, even as they hit the concrete in low bounces. Within seconds, the three Cobras were surrounded, and the rapid fire clicks of safeties disengaging and bullets being loaded into Uzi magazines filled the echoing chamber. Vypra smiled as one of them approached her, his submachine gun pulled tight to his cocked shoulder.

“Well, well, well,” she almost cooed. “So these are the infamous Iron Grenadiers, hmmm?”

The room had grown silent now, with only the steady breathing of the three lone agents and the low, gravelly rasp of a dozen highly trained assailants breathing through intricately made and brilliantly designed air filters built into helmets.

“Bravo, Sergeant Major, bravo!” the same booming voice echoed again, and the three agents turned towards the far corner, finally seeing him melt from the shadows. Even though the lighting was sparse inside the vacated warehouse, the glimmer off of the chrome helmet gave his identity away immediately, as if the black-garbed attackers weren’t proof enough. His dress boots were pulled high on his leather pants, adorned with gold buttons and snaps and other decorations. His broad chest was shroud in a similar fashion with an intricate gold emblem stitched onto his tunic. The red cape danced along the dull gray floor after his highly polished boots, which clopped across the empty floor, sending more echoes resonating through the building. As he approached, followed closely behind by his ever-present consort, the Iron Grenadiers fell in beside and behind him, standing at rigid attention as he faced the three Cobra agents and glared at them from behind his polished Beryllium mask.

“Destro!” Dr. Mindbender shouted happily, extending his hand.

Destro nodded and took the offer, his troops falling at ease.

“What’s with the Nazis?” Scrap Iron asked, gesturing around to the Scottish Arms’ Dealer’s own personal Gestapo.

“Merely a field test to make sure the boys haven’t lost their edge.”

“So, we are here on friendly terms?” Vypra asked this time, glancing around somewhat nervously.

“Of course, my dear,” Destro replied. “My recent return to the international arms market has necessitated that I gather my contingent of troops back to fighting strength again. I cannot be fully dependant on Cobra, after all.” He signaled each point with a wave of his hand, which like the rest of his body was garbed in tight, shiny black leather.

“So what made you want to make the full return to active duty status?” Scrap Iron asked.

The Baroness strode forward, a smile gracing her pleasant, but simultaneously malicious features.

“We need the money,” she said, but Destro waved her off.

“Please, my dear. No need to burden them with our financial troubles. Actually, I have been working with the good Doctor off and on on this “Phoenix Project” for quite some time now. I have an interest in it, and wish to see it to its full conclusion.”

“Well, you will most certainly be sure to get your wish,” Dr. Mindbender replied, a smirk turning up the corners of his thin mouth and wrinkling his thick black moustache. “Now, I believe we are here to discuss the progress?”

“Of course.” Destro glanced around, looking at the surrounding agents. “Sergeant Major, please take your troops back to their quarters. They need their rest. They’ve earned it.”

“As you wish, Lord Destro,” the lead Grenadier said with a slight bow and wave of his hand. In a flash, the leather-clad terrorists were gone from sight.

“Vypra? Would you please excuse us? We have certain “unladylike” business to discuss.”

The young woman glared at Destro with unhidden vehemence. Dr. Mindbender raised a calming hand.

“Please, young lady. All will be revealed in time. We have much to go over.”

“Very well.” She turned and left and Destro made a motion to The Baroness, who reluctantly followed her. They exited through the front door and out into the cool, crisp afternoon air. The sky was a gray-blue, but far more gray than blue. It was a dull, almost dirty color, spotted with the fluffy black of afternoon rain clouds. A brisk wind rolled through the grassy hills, and the young woman could almost hear the waves crashing on the rocks at a shore that was no doubt fairly near. Fog was rolling in, and wrapped its silky tendrils around her legs, and then continued onward, swallowing the grass and weeds.

“Any idea what they’re talking about in there?” Vypra asked with no hesitation.

“Only a little. Trust me, young one. It is unpleasant talk. Be glad you don’t have to be burdened with it.” Anastasia DeCobray lifted her glasses from her face and polished them swiftly with a cloth plucked from then thin pocket of her tight leather pants.

“Blasted fog,” she scowled as she replaced them on her head. Her long black hair swayed just slightly as she shook her head and ran a hand down one of her own slender arms.

“So, what happened, anyway?” Vypra asked, turning towards the older woman.

“Excuse me?” The Baroness replied, somewhat harsher than intended.

“Well, I thought you and Destro had left Cobra. Retired.”

The tall, slim woman in black leather chuckled slightly. “Oh, we had my dear. But Cobra is…difficult that way. It is far easier to join than it is to leave. We realized that no matter what we did, we weren’t going to escape our destiny. Our destiny is with Cobra. We know that now.”

“So what does this big warehouse in this God-forsaken country have to do with Project: Phoenix?”

Again, The Baroness laughed. “You shall see in due time. Probably sooner than you think.” Her eyes lifted upward, looking for the familiar Cobra Blue transport helicopters. She was expecting them any minute. They were part of the reserve force that had been taken from the island before everything went down. Actually, the particular ones she was waiting for had been in Destro’s inventory the whole time. Cobra was smart like that. They kept their resources sparse and spread out. Not too much in one place, so as to avoid getting everything eliminated in one fell swoop. That had almost happened six years ago, during the Cobra Island conflict that had almost cost all of them their lives. Cobra Commander had played it smart this last time, though. Cobra was still alive and still thriving, even if its leader wasn’t. Or was he? The Baroness honestly didn’t know, and wasn’t sure that she cared. She always envisioned Destro as the Cobra Commander of the future, and perhaps now he would be.

“A little cold out here, huh?” Vypra asked, hugging herself.

“You get used to it, child,” The Baroness replied, and then signaled towards the warehouse. “Come now. They’re probably done with their discussion. It is most likely safe for us to rejoin them.”

The younger woman nodded and followed the taller, elder woman back towards the warehouse. A low howl arose and drifted over the grass and dirt dunes.

“The cry of the banshee,” Baroness said with a smirk, and the two entered the large, looming safe haven.

Destro glanced over, seeing the two women enter, and signaled to hold off the rest of their conversation for a later time.

“Any sign of friends out there?” Destro asked. Anastasia shook her head softly.

“A little behind schedule,” Dr. Mindbender growled, glancing at his watch.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” Scrap Iron tried to console. “Everything will be set. You guys got this planned down to the letter.”

Destro looked around suddenly as if just remembering something. “Where is Zartan? Did you not say he was on board for this?”

Mindbender nodded. “Oh, he is. He has already adopted his cover identity to get the needed ingredients. The plan will be launched in one week.”

“Excellent.”

“So everything is covered?” Mindbender asked Destro, yet again.

“Well, I should think so—“

“I am hurt!”

Another unexpected voice shook the empty walls of the large, vacant warehouse. The three men and two women turned briskly, glaring at the front door, as it swung wide open. All mouths dropped.

“Yes. I am very, very hurt!”

The voice was a low whisper. A wavering growl, somewhat hostile, but eerily humorous in its tone.

“But…but…” Dr. Mindbender stammered as the figure strode closer still, his black boots stomping on the concrete below.

Destro smiled behind his smooth, polished mask, and yet was still somewhat uncertain.

“You throw this big old shindig, and I don’t even get an invitation!”

Again that raspy, almost crazy voice. The voice of a wild man. But Destro cocked his head. Or someone trying too hard to be a wild man…

“Unforgivable! Complete faux pas!” His black pants swooshed swiftly against each other as he strode forward, a confident, straight walk, right towards the five Cobra agents in the middle of the empty warehouse.

“But no one ever said I was an unforgiving man!” He smiled broadly underneath his rolling mask. “Or if they did, at least they didn’t say it to my face!”

Again, that high pitched squeal of a voice. Destro did not like this. Not one bit. As the man walked confidently forward, Vypra grinned, but at the same time was wary, stepping back slightly as all other eyes focused on the newcomer. His dark black uniform with silver trim. The jackboots, polished to sparkling, and the dress gloves. The bright braid falling ever so slightly over the right shoulder. That evil smirking red Cobra emblazoned on the broad chest, as if made from blood itself. And the hood. That regal, swaying hood, which swept side to side just under the man’s chin, the grin almost obvious underneath. His shoulders shook with laughter, and his eyes danced, but almost forcefully. He glared at Vypra, who still looked somewhat wary.

“My dear girl!” he shouted, walking towards her, all eyes still on him, unbelieving. “There’s no need to fear! Your beloved Cobra Commander has returned!”