Chapter 6
Pathfinder had managed to blend in with the Cobra sentries seemingly without much effort. Since his new comrades wore face masks almost constantly, he didn’t worry much about being recognized or found out. He had also had enough time to scope out most of the info he needed prior to capturing the Cobra guard he was impersonating. He had gleaned the information about where he slept, who he was referred to as, and what his typical daily routine entailed. He was referred to as simply recruit number 413. His bunk was in the northern barracks, bed number 212 and his daily routine entailed sweeping the savanna for three hours a day, engaging in hand to hand combat training for two hours a day, and patrolling the perimeter of the compound for three hours at the end of the day. His daily schedule really didn’t change much and he reported to Officer 5 twice a day. Everything was very specific and regimented. Guards had to be on time and if they missed a scheduled sign in, there were severe consequences. Some of these could be quite terrible. An additional assignment that late reporters might receive was croc cleanup. This meant wading waist deep into the crocodile-filled moat with a net for scooping out the excessive poop. The biggest problem with this though was the gators were always hungry, and there were always a couple lurking below the surface of the murky water. One recruit had actually lost his arm a few months back at another outpost, and Dr. Mindbender was working feverishly on outfitting him with a new robotic replacement. Needless to say, most soldiers reported on time, if not early, for their assigned tasks.
Being a Cobra grunt was almost as daunting as being in the U.S. Army. In contrast, it was really impersonal and there was only a little discussion between the groundlings. Respect and a code name were earned, not guaranteed. The lower ranks were very ambitious though and back-stabbing was not uncommon. Every night before turning in, every member of the Cobra team had to either attend a formal sit down where they were addressed via satellite by Cobra Commander himself and if they could not attend the live feed, they had to watch a pre-recorded session. This was NOT optional!
Pathfinder was able to learn a lot in a very short period of time. Every day during his savanna sweep, he would deliver intelligence to the Joe team. The mission was, however, looking like it would be taking a little longer than initially anticipated due to the overwhelming and unpredicted organization of the terrorist threat. It was almost as if someone had tipped them off about a possible jailbreak. I could only imagine that it had been that wretched poacher. He had to be responsible for the added security details and visible show of force. Or perhaps, we had simply underestimated the threat from the start.
It had been three days since my initial incarceration and needless to say, my fellow Marines were beginning to doubt whether I had told them the truth. It took me back to the time in grade school when I had spotted one of my childhood rock heroes at a local music store and actually had a conversation with them. At the end of our meeting, I had even procured an autograph. I had been so excited to tell my friends the next day, but no one believed me. They kept telling me that I was a really good storyteller and kept questioning the validity of the signature. They insisted that there was no way he could have possibly been at the local “Tower Records” when they all knew he lived in Hollywood, California.
A few days later, I finally convinced a couple of my friends to go back to the music store with me to ask the manager if I was indeed telling the truth. When we got there and I asked the manager, he did one better for me. He not only confirmed my story to my friends but rolled back the security camera footage that showed me and my favorite rock star having a conversation in the store aisle and the actual autograph signing. He even offered to make me a copy of the video, even though it lacked audio, to secure the memory for the rest of my life. My friends were totally shocked and I became one of the coolest people ever back at school for about a week or so.
Although I had convinced them, it still bothered me that they hadn’t simply believed me from the start. It wasn’t like I had a reason to lie. So here I was again in a similar instance. I had told my brother Marines that help would be coming, but little had happened since my arrival. The guards still took one of us a day to try and forcefully coerce the purpose of our mission out of us. The hunger in our bellies continued to grow as the rations for prisoners became virtually non-existent. It had been a full day since the last time I had seen Pathfinder in disguise. He had nodded affirmatively at me but had not made any verbal communication with me in days. I had to believe in the promise of the mission. G.I.Joe would not let me and the rest of my unit continue to suffer at the hands of this terrorist group. I needed to stay positive and hope that the strike would happen soon.
* * * * *
Cobra Commander was quite happy with the progress his strike team had made. They had made easy work of the “few and the proud” as they liked to be called. The terrorist mastermind had anticipated most of what had already occurred, and his contact within the Dreadnoks had served him well in alerting him to the impending Joe attack. The world would soon learn that resisting the demands of Cobra was NOT an option.
“My dear Zartan, how great it is to see you again,” the commander purred. “Your information hasss been mossst useful in sssecuring our presenccce in the region. It will only be a matter of time before we crush doessss missserable G.I.Joesss.”
“Of course most esteemed Cobra Commander. The Dreaknoks and I are honored to be included and continue to be your most loyal and humble allies in this group venture. Please let me know if there are any other matters that need my immediate attention, and I will be more than happy to take care of them for you according to our current agreement.”
The master of disguise had a way with words and as he studied the commander for any signs of distrust, he bowed courteously. If Cobra Commander was on to his scheming, it wasn’t apparent in his body language over the satellite transmission. Zartan was after all an excellent actor. Sometimes he was so good at his role that he forgot where the truth ended and the lies began. He needed to keep the head of Cobra on his side, but at the same time, he did not want to give up all the personal stakes he had in the region. The Dreadnoks were slowly becoming a well-known player amongst the terrorist groups of the world and as far as he could tell, this “Cobra” was a mere upstart. In reality, most of the world had never even heard of them, but this too was what bothered the gang leader. “Who was conning who?”
“Your hard work and dedication are much appreciated Zartan. You will be rewarded mossst handsssomely if your intel leadsss to the ultimate defeat of G.I.Joe.”
“Not ‘if,’ dare I say Commander, but ‘When’ G.I.Joe is defeated.” Zartan interjected.
Cobra Commander held up his hand briefly to silence him. The mercenary knew his place and promptly stopped speaking.
“There isss definitely a placcce for you and your devoted Dreadnoksss in Cobrasss legionsss. And I foresee many lucrative joint endesvorsss. ”
Zartan bowed once again to the supreme Cobra leader and obediently waited to be dismissed. “I will expect your next report at 2200 hoursss.” The commander hissed as the video feed cut out.
The biker boss could finally fully react. He rolled his eyes dramatically and began to weave the strings of his next plan. How he hated the incessant ridiculous hissing of his new found ally. However, he knew better than to underestimate the ruthless and extremely dangerous serpent of a man. He needed to find an insurance plan to ensure the safety of his exploits in the southern hemisphere. But knowing so little about his new employer was making the task difficult. As much as the master of disguise liked a good challenge, this situation was weighing heavily upon him. If Cobra Commander found out his true intentions in the region... he would definitely not approve.
He turned in his swivel chair and faced his changing room. The extreme mimic had an idea. As was the case with many instances in his life, Zartan needed to become someone else. He had spent many years studying his subjects: Using hidden video cameras to catch subtle movements, audio bugs in apartments and phones to pick up on voice nuances, and hacking computers to discover their close friends and family. The master of disguise was an expert at his art, but many years of this activity had left him feeling as if he no longer knew who he was. A psychiatrist might classify him with extreme multi-personality disorder or simply as a sociopath. Either way, Zartan would never let that diagnosis interfere with his plans. He saw the positives of his condition. Never would emotion cloud his judgment. Years of enduring in the harshest of situations had taught him that. He had become as cold and calculated as many of his former employers. The only room for emotions came from imitating his marks. How the master of disguise enjoyed losing himself, if ever so briefly, in the newly acquired identity of his targets.
The mercenary swiveled back to his computer screen, hovering the mouse over a hidden icon. A left click opened a file folder and inside a second link opened a video feed of a person that he became immediately absorbed with. G.I. Joe would never even know he was there. His contingency plan was apparent and could soon be in full effect should the need arise.
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