Report #3270, Transcript Section #45
(Operation SANDMAN)
©1998-1999 Shane Ivey

KEEPER: Your first conscious perception is basic awareness... you sense the black darkness of sleep, well before you hear or feel or smell anything around you. Your senses are sluggish in returning.

KEEPER: You gradually feel your blood pumping slowly, methodically, restfully... You feel the sensation of clothing on the skin of your legs, your arms, your body... the greasy stiffness of old sweat. The smell and feel of grime and musty sheets.

KEEPER: You hear the droning babble of a television set, nearby, its volume set low.

KEEPER: Slowly, the words come into mental focus: it's the news, a local New York news channel, 24-hours.

KEEPER: What do you do?

(Cabot whispered to Keeper): Do I have full recollection of the events preceding this?

(Keeper whispered to Cabot): Yes

CABOT: I open my eyes and attempt to focus on my surroundings, without overtly signaling my consciousness.

KEEPER: Your eyes feel stuffy, as if you've been asleep for too long. You see a small, dingy apartment room, dimly lit by a single hanging bulb. You are lying on an old, stained bed. You see two windows, one in each wall near the corner television set. Blinds are drawn fully over the windows, blocking out any light. You don't see the kitchen in your immediate line of sight: presumably it's behind you.

CABOT: Licking my lips and swallowing to moisten my mouth, do I detect any sedative or narcotic aftertaste?

KEEPER: No, only the dry, stale taste of overlong sleep.

CABOT: Through near-closed eyes, I scan the room for surveillance equipment.

KEEPER: You see nothing like that. Just old walls, the dusty, droning TV, and a water-stained ceiling.

CABOT: I check my wristwatch for the date and time.

KEEPER: (Digital or regular?)

CABOT: Digital, I would think.

KEEPER: It's blank, as if the battery is dead.

CABOT: (muttering to himself) "Terrific. . . fucking terrific."

DICE for Keeper: (1d100) = [ 52 ]

CABOT: I slowly ease to a sitting position at the side of the bed, gauging my sense of balance.

KEEPER: Your balance is off, but it is returning slowly. You feel a little hungover.

CABOT: Looking about, where is/are the door(s) and are they closed?

KEEPER: You see one door, left of the kitchen. It is closed, and you see a number of heavy-duty locks thrown to.

KEEPER: In the kitchen you see a couple of old dishes left on the counter, uncleaned, and a small table.

CABOT: Simultaneously, I listen in on the news broadcast for anything pertinent to our previous activities.

KEEPER: On the table you see a notepad.

KEEPER: The news reporter has the same voice that they all do: "...more on that developing story in just a moment. First, here's Cloud Stephens with the weather. Cloud?"

CABOT: Cautiously moving to the table, I look to see if there's anything written on it.

KEEPER: "Thanks, Charlie. Today's another muggy one in the Big Apple, with a cloud front floating in from the east, here, moving right across..."

KEEPER: On the notepad you see a large, handwritten scrawl: 'Stay put. Stay off the phone. Don't open the windows. I'll call when it's clear.'

CABOT: Do I happen to see a phone anywhere in the rooms?

KEEPER: Not in sight.

CABOT: I move quietly to the locked door and listen through it.

CABOT: LISTEN roll:

DICE for Cabot: (1d100) = [ 67 ]

(Cabot whispered to Keeper): That'd would be a dismal failure.

KEEPER: You hear the slight hum of distant, window-mounted air conditioners, nothing else.

CABOT: Looking about the kitchen area, do I see anything else that strikes me as unusual? (besides teh fact that I've been instructed to stay off the phone when none is apparent.)

(Cabot whispered to Keeper): You stated that the door from the kitchen is multiply locked, correct. Or just fitted with multiple locks?

KEEPER: There are few dishes or utensils in evidence, though the cupboards are closed. Dust is heavy.

(Keeper whispered to Cabot): multiple locks, all locked.

CABOT: I open the cupboards and drawers, looking for a potential weapon.

KEEPER: You find several plastic mugs and cups, a couple of old plastic plates--1970s style, off-white with earth-tone designs--and a cell phone. Not your own.

CABOT: No knives or forks among the utensils?

KEEPER: "...thanks for that report, Cloud. Let's recap our top story..."

KEEPER: No, just some plastic sporks.

CABOT: I jerk my head toward the sound from the TV, breaking several sporks to produce small sharp devices. I place two in each sock. (if I'm still wearing any).

KEEPER: "CNN today reported the arrests of a number of federal law enforcement and intelligence agents, in Washington and New York, as part of what appears to be a massive corruption ring. FBI agents arrested John Rogers, an agent of the CIA, along with Oliver Keen, a civilian employee of the National Security Agency, and Samuel Dee, also an employee of the CIA, at a farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania."

CABOT: (mouthing) "Oooooh fuuuuuck. . ."

KEEPER: "According to CNN, these men were engaged in a vicious plot to smuggle drugs and weapons into and out of the United States, aided by other agents of the intelligence and law enforcement community. CNN reported that their ringleader was arrested last night at his home in Virginia."

CABOT: I quickly move over to the TV and watch the report.

KEEPER: On the screen you see a severe-looking logo: DELTA GREEN: FIFTY YEARS OF MURDER

CABOT: Yet the sound is coming from the TV?

KEEPER: Yes

CABOT: Heh, time to blow this popsicle stand.

KEEPER: Above the logo, footage shows dozens of police officers and heavily-armed federal agents escorting one old man out of a modest suburban house.

CABOT: What am I wearing and what, if anything, do I have from my former equipment?

KEEPER: "...This ringleader was said to be one Joseph Camp, PhD, of the Library of Congress. However, Dr. Camp is retired from the Central Intelligence Agency, and CNN's sources speculate that he used his connections in that community to establish this criminal conspiracy."

KEEPER: You're wearing the clothes you wore when you passed out. That's all.

CABOT: "Yada yada yada. . ." I look carefully behind the TV for evidence of video tampering with the subject matter on the screen.

KEEPER: "CNN's sources further indicate that this conspiracy originated decades ago, in the years following World War Two, and is responsible for HUNDREDS, perhaps THOUSANDS, of extra-legal executions--murders--both in and out of the United States."

KEEPER: Just the cable coming from the cinderblock wall.

(Cabot whispered to Keeper): Cabot is keenly aware of how difficult it would be for CNN to get this much background on DG.

KEEPER: "This conspiracy reportedly survived by recruiting and brainwashing agents of intelligence, military, and law enforcement organizations, and convincing them to pursue bizarre occult-oriented cases which, Camp would claim, cannot be handled by legal means."

(Keeper whispered to Cabot): Difficult... without help.

CABOT: Is the cable electrical or coaxial?

KEEPER: Coaxial. There's a separate electical cord plugged into an old, painted-over wall socket.

CABOT: I unplug the electrical cord.

KEEPER: "The true motive for these crimes was, in fact, financial..." The television goes dead.

CABOT: Plug it back in. Move quickly to the curtained windows and peer carefully outside from the edges.

KEEPER: The windows are dark even as you pull the shade slightly back.

CABOT: Okay, why are the windows dark? Tinting? No actual glass? What's the story? (Keeper whispered to Cabot): "...sources say this group was, in effect, little more than a front for paid assassination, and an unwitting tool for organized crime and illegal, covert operations by the CIA." (Keeper whispered to Cabot): You pull the shade back a little more: the window is bricked over.

KEEPER: You pull the shade back a little more: the window is bricked over.

KEEPER: (Make a Listen roll.)

DICE for Cabot: (1d100) = [ 48 ]

(Cabot whispered to Keeper): That's a negative.

(Cabot whispered to Keeper): I've lost that low-rollin' feelin'.

KEEPER: You feel something strange about the bricked-over window. You can't put your finger on it.

CABOT: I touch it.

KEEPER: It feels normal, just dusty old brick.

DICE for Keeper: (1d100) = [ 82 ]

CABOT: I quickly check the other window, if it's the same, I move back to the kitchen, scanning the ceiling and walls for vent scuttles.

DICE for Keeper: (1d100) = [ 65 ]

KEEPER: The other window is the same. Walking back across the small apartment to the kitchen, you see a small vent in the ceiling above the refrigerator.

CABOT: Inconspicuously moving toward it, it check the stove. Is it gas or electric?

KEEPER: Electric.

CABOT: Is my leatherman still on me, and my Zippo?

KEEPER: Neither one.

CABOT: I climb up and attempt to remove the vent cover. How big is it?

KEEPER: It's only about six inches square. It's screwed in place, also painted over with thick white paint, now stained.

CABOT: One last quick look around the place, utilizing Spot Hidden skills if necessary.

DICE for Keeper: (1d100) = [ 8 ]

KEEPER: The place is bare. It's obviously meant for nothing more than a stop-over.

DICE for Keeper: (1d100) = [ 82 ]

CABOT: I check the burners on the stove. Is there electricity running to it?

KEEPER: No.

CABOT: Water from the spicket over the sink?

KEEPER: Water flows normally after a sputtering start.

CABOT: I check behind the stove, is it unplugged?

KEEPER: It is plugged in.

CABOT: What are the ceilings made of?

CABOT: Drywall?

KEEPER: Yes.

CABOT: I move into the room with the bed, and if possible, climb on the bed and saw a hole in the dryway above with one of the ex-sporks. Once I get a hole started, I pull the rest by hand.

KEEPER: The spork bends and nearly breaks as you push, but you jam your hand upward, dislodging flecks of broken and powdered plaster. Your hand slams hard into what feels like concrete, past the drywall.

DICE for Keeper: (1d100) = [ 41 ]

KEEPER: You hear something from the window.

CABOT: Yes?

KEEPER: It sounds like breathing.

KEEPER: Slow, very slow, deep and ponderous.

KEEPER: And faint.

CABOT: "Wonderful. . ."

KEEPER: Another chip of plaster falls onto your shoulder.

CABOT: I move back to the kitchen and break a plate in the sink, taking up the largest sharp shard.

KEEPER: It takes a little effort, but you snap one of the thick plastic plates in half.

CABOT: Plastic may be incorrect. . .I'm not sure what they're made of.

CABOT: Is there anything readily available to plug up the sink, a dishtowel, etc?

KEEPER: There's a roll of paper towels, about a quarter of it still remaining.

KEEPER: And a small stack of MacDonald's napkins.

CABOT: I wet as much of it as is necessary to completely stop the drains. Then turn the water on full blast. I grab the cell phone and move to the other room.

KEEPER: The water slowly fills the sink as you move out of the kitchen.

DICE for Keeper: (1d100) = [ 25 ]

KEEPER: Then you hear the door rattle slightly.

CABOT: I return to the kitchen and turn the water off, palming the sharp piece of the plate and stuffing the remaining piece in a drawer.

KEEPER: Done.

CABOT: Then, if I have time, I look for a ligfht switch and turn the lights off.

KEEPER: The switch is near the door. You flip it quickly and the hanging bulb blinks off, leaving the room dark but for the glow of the droning television.

CABOT: If not, I position myself beside the door and ready myself to attack the entrant.

CABOT: Is there still sound at the door?

KEEPER: Without further warning, the door explodes inward with a terrific impact. You see a bulky shape in the doorway pull away, then you hear incoherent shouted orders. Another man steps into view in the dingy hallway, with others behind him, all in black paramilitary BDUs, carrying rifles with laser sights gleaming. The one in front carries a teargas launcher. He stops and aims it in your direction, shouting nonsensically.

CABOT: I take it I'm made and raise my hands in surrender.

CABOT: I also move to a prone position on the floor.

KEEPER: The men swarm in. Two of them aim their laser sights at your head and body. Two others grab your hands and slam handcuffs over your wrists. Then you feel the sharp pain of a needle in your lower neck.

CABOT: Here we go again. . .

KEEPER: The world swims and begins to fade. One man mutters, "Good night, sweatheart." Then, nothing.

KEEPER: Time passes, probably. It must have: your neck doesn't hurt from the needle-wound. You still smell your own grime. Your hands are bound close at your sides in thick restraints. With your eyes still closed, you hear the dim breath of air in a cool, small room. Through your eyelids you can see bright light.

KEEPER: You remember being captured again, then dreams. You can't recall any details, only the discomfort of irrational fear.

CABOT: (weakly) "Top of the morning to ya. . ."

CABOT: (equally weakly) "Or evening, whatever the case may be."

KEEPER: "Yer late, boy." It's a man's voice, southern American, high and gravelly.

CABOT: "Well, I try to be punctual. Things come up. You know how it is."

KEEPER: You're in a clean, white, antiseptic room, strapped to what feels like an operating table, tilted at a slight angle above horizontal.

CABOT: "I suppose this is where I say, John Q. Fuckyou, 461-65-4350."

KEEPER: You're alone in the room but for the other man, a middle-aged caucasian in a sharkskin suit, skinny and hard-eyed.

KEEPER: He laughs. "Say it all you want, son. All you want."

CABOT: "Great. How 'bout 'eat shit' for starters?

CABOT: "You know, you really need to polish up your psy-ops. Afuckin' Cub Scout could see through that bullshit."

KEEPER: "I'll be sure to tell em that. Me, I didn't see the point. We already got everything we need from you."

CABOT: "Yeah, I'll bet."

KEEPER: "You better. Shit! Last night you woulda sucked my dick and asked for seconds, if I'da asked you." He grins, enjoying the conversation. "Hell, maybe tonight I will."

CABOT: "I suppose you got me here for my annual pap smear. Why don't you give it a try? I'm probably dead already, who gives a fuck if I go with your dismembered dick in my mouth?"

KEEPER: He laughs again. "That's right! Straight-up commando! You ain't here today to spill the beans, big boy. We're done with that. 'Orren.' SANDMAN, yer buddy Lundquist, Mister 'Kelley'..." He leans forward in his chair for emphasis. "Delta Green. I know the whole fuckin' story, Captain."

CABOT: "Gee, you get a year supply of Turtle Wax, buddy."

CABOT: "So let me guess, where have I seen this before? You want to cut a fucking deal, right?"

KEEPER: He grins and sits back. "It's a bitch, ain't it? You boys are so careful, then you go and shoot it all to hell." He chuckles again and shakes his head. "We ain't here for a deal. You think you got something on me, something we're gonna trade?" He laughs. "Shit, let's hear it! I'd LOVE to hear it."

CABOT: "So why are we even fucking talking, super-spook?"

KEEPER: "Why do you think? Maybe 'cause I feel like it. Maybe it's funny as hell to have this same little talk with you, every time you wake up."

CABOT: "Hehehehe, you obviously lead a boring life."

KEEPER: He chuckles. "Ain't nothin' further from the truth, boy. See..." He leans forward again. "The fact is, I'm here to give you your walkin' papers."

CABOT: (in an exaggerated Southern drawl) "Well I'll be a pig in shit. . . "

CABOT: "Shoot. Shock. Drug. Who gives a fuck. Just do it. Your hick accent's torture enough."

KEEPER: He keeps smiling. "On th' other hand, I could cut your fuckin' throat and send your partners on home without you."

CABOT: "Please. . . you're bringi' me to tears."

KEEPER: He watches you for a moment, his smile fixed. "Yes, sir. Just bring a blade across that neck, real quick. You'd bleed out, take a little while, not too long. See, son, I'm tryin' to tell you that you might get home in one piece. Now, I can understand you wantin' a piece of payback over all this. But if you don't want to die on that table, I suggest you learn some fuckin' manners and make me think you really do want to live."

CABOT: I look at him squarely, eye-to-eye. "You say you know something about me. . . you really think I give a shit? You want some pussy that'll cave that easy walking away from this? Uh-uh. Bullshit. You ain't lettin' nobody walk that'll crack the first time someone leans on em' a little. Try harder, buddy."

KEEPER: His smile broadens. "Well, that's a little better. All right. Here's the situation. I don't want to know a thing from you. Like I said, we been through that already. All you need to do is go on back to work. Take care of your mission. And tell Uncle Alphonse all about it, just like always."

CABOT: "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say. What's the catch?"

KEEPER: "The catch is, you keep to yourself about all this. You wanna tell Uncle Joe about it, your buddies, go ahead. But that's it. And that ain't a request, and it ain't a deal. It's an order. If you don't follow it, you'll get dead, and nobody ever'll think twice about it."

CABOT: "Aw man, and I was thinking of going straight from here to set the record straight about the real motherfuckers to CNN."

CABOT: "Of course that whole thing was a piece of amateur video-doctoring, so it'd be a long, hard story."

CABOT: "You know, I really expected better from you Majestic boys."

KEEPER: "Shit! Weren't nothin' amateur about it, and you know it. Why, the only giveaway was them damn bricks on the window."

CABOT: "Ooooh, touchy. Let me give you a hint: CNN ain't exactly reknown for checkin their sources accurately."

CABOT: "All those 'smart bombs' oohin' and aaahin' the television audience in Desert Storm? Ground-guided laser targeting systems. You know the spiel. You expected me to buy that shit on that television? Give me a break."

KEEPER: He laughs. "Well, either way, I'd a just skipped the whole damn thing, myself, and gone straight back into the interrogation. But, the doctors had some test or other they wanted to run on you. And it don't pay to make em too cranky."

CABOT: "So how many bugs am I carrying now, pardner?"

CABOT: "Careful how you answer. It could affect our deal."

KEEPER: "Deal? Ain't you listening, boy? There ain't no DEAL, here. You got two choices. You either leave, or you don't. I'll live to be a happy old man, either way."

CABOT: "I'm listenin' fine. Just not operationally-ignorant, unlike some of the others I've been pressed into service with. You wnat me to walk the walk, I want to know all the rules. Otherwise, whip out that knife, badass. I ain't nobody's nigger."

KEEPER: He laughs again, louder. "No, sir! No, sir, indeed! Shoot, boy, I might just offer you a job once this little mission is done! I sure as shit lost a few men the last two weeks."

CABOT: "So how many bugs am I carrying? I know you'd love to enamor yourself with the idea that you're the greatest of my worries here on out, but that ain't exactly the case."

KEEPER: "Bugs? You ain't carrying a thing. You wanna go to ground, maybe disappear when you get out of here, you go right ahead. Long as you keep quiet and don't start writing any memoirs, you'll be fine. Or you can get back in the field and do your mission, and my boys won't fuck with you anymore."

CABOT: "So I'm supposed to believe your 'doctors' were just checking me for prostate cancer?"

CABOT: "'Bug' is a relative term, as I'm sure you're aware."

KEEPER: His smile tightens. "No, boy. They was checkin' you to make sure we didn't hurt you too bad."

CABOT: "So when do I take the blindfolded drive?"

KEEPER: He stands and adjusts his suit-coat. "Just sit back and relax, son. It'll all happen in God's good time."

CABOT: "Among other things."

KEEPER: "Yes, indeed." He smiles and opens the smooth, white-paneled door, and steps out into a dimly-lit hall, white and clean as a hospital's. The door closes firmly shut behind him.