NationStates Jolt Archive

The AH/T-24 helicopter, emblazoned with the Roman letters "C.A.A.C." (Caedrynian Army Air Corps) in red, which contrasted with the desert camoflauge painted on, was patrolling along the edge of the territory claimed by Caedryn in Aintazain, in the desert. Sergeant Miles Gwenerth was leading the rather small section of soldiers that was sitting in the back (an AH/T-24 is just an Mil Mi-24 "Hind") and was looking out the windows to either side when Corporal Williams, the man assigned to look out the window with his M-60, was looking through binoculars when he spotted buildings in the distance. After Sergeant Gwenerth asked the pilot how far away he reckoned it was, the pilot hovered for about ten seconds before replying, "I think it's about a kilometer away," which incidentally made it about half a kilometer from the border. The helicopter dropped until it was hovering just above the sand and the pilot called for backup while the squad investigates. The field radio that one of the privates was carrying squawked, "Do not approach buildings until you have backup, repeat, do not approach target until backup arrives, over."

After waiting about ten minutes, a CH-47 "Chinook" arrived, carrying about 22 troops from the local patrol garrison. 11 of them were infantrymen, carrying an assortment of rifles; everything from the M-16 to the AK-74 was carried in the most numbers, with about 5 OICWs and a few AK-47s.

After recieving orders, Gwenerth brought his men forward until they got within about 10 meters, when they hid behind a dune and waited for further instructions.

The AH/T-24 was hovering above and what looked like a Stinger barely missed the rotors. Gwenerth could hear the machine gun on the AH/T and over the radio came the report of "They're hostile."

Then Lieutenant Lewis came on the radio said "Those of you with machine guns, shoot at anything that moves. If any vehicles pass, aim for their tires; riflemen, shoot at anything that shoots at you. Sergeants, I'm leaving the rest up to you."

Sergeant Gwenerth left Corporal Williams and Private Warfington behind the dune, but led the rest of the squad forward.

(OOC: I'm going to go a little off the 'terrorist' theme but a hired gun is a hired gun)

The blue eye squinted through the long range scope at the small group moving out from behind the dune. "We have targets moving in sector 3...repeat we have targets in sector 3." called out an alto that seemed to have a harsh edge.

The eye and scope turned with the barrel of the squad support gun then the whole unit jerked as a cluster of 8 6.25mm rounds went out the long heavy barrel towards the approaching troops. The sound of the shots was suppressed by the internal design of the gun.

The blue eye watched the enemy response to the sudden sniper fire.

(OOC2: Yes snipers don't fire full auto weapons but in reality she is just 'sniping' not a real sniper...)

An hour before the sun peeked over the distant horizon, the silent "chuffing" of three Nekku-9 attack helicopters rigged for operation in the chilling northern climate burned through the air. The three crews flew in simple V formation towards their target - a remote location, completely uninteresting until the launch of the UN mandated SETI monitoring satellite two weeks ago. At first, the odd telemetry was believed to be aliens - but technicians did manage to fix the signal not as extraterrestrial, but very terrestrial in nature.

The response was immediate.

From two miles behind, Captain Raava Eskilii monitored the situation showing on the piggybacked signals from the attack copters in front of her Gazelle and the aged B-52 Stratofortress high above and in front of the helicopters. She mentally ignored the CH-47 behind her, carrying her ground resources.

Seconds before dawn, the B-52 began it’s attack run, dropping it’s payload of three CBU 87/B cluster bombs towards the target location. Two dropped on target, the third drifted northward, impacting with only 68% predicted impacts.

Still, it was one hell of a wake-up call.

“Tabu Leader to Tabu Flight – Zero Zero Zero.”
“Roger, Leader,” came back from three separate sources.

As if choreographed, her three pilots triggered each of their four CRV-7 pods in staggered waves, sending 228 HEISAP rockets into the small camp, completing the inferno. Each of the Nekku-9s then chose a simple circle pattern over the camp, searching for targets for their M230 chain guns.

It was an agonizing four minutes until she heard the report.

“Tabu Two to Tabu Leader. Targets zeroed. I think we took them by surprise.”
“Copy Two. Am coming up with recon, secure area.”
“Roger.”

(OOC a Nekku-9 is a cold-weather variant of the AH-64D Apache Longbow)

The squad ceased their advance after the 6.25 shots came raining down around Sergeant Gwenerth's squad. Several shots kicked up dirt directly in front of the squad's current position, while the others hit where they had been about 2 minutes earlier. The entire platoon looked on in stunned amazement as the B-52 and what looked like Apache Longbows and a few other aircraft arrived. The platoon headed for cover but when they came back up, the Longbows were already firing rockets and their chain guns at the camp.

Corporal Williams and Private Warfington had since joined the team and Sergeant Gwenerth ordered the corporal to fire a few rounds near where those shots had come from. After a few shots were fired in the basic circle pattern, the 3 OICWs in the squad were ordered to fire a few 20 mm HE rounds in the area as well. They fired, using about one shot each.

(OOC: I'd say with that much firepower you've just about turned everyone in the camp into crispy corpses....I really only wanted to play one of my 'Lost Mercs' but I'd say you did a fair job on blasting the place up...)

The woman had heard the first cluster bomb from the B-52 falling and knew that the whole operation was going to be slaughtered. She slid back out of her hiding spot before it took any enemy rounds of fire and started to run the short distance to relative saftey before the camp vanished in an inferno of cluster bombs.

She made the small A frame opening of the bunker just before the second horde of cluster bombs hit the western section of the camp. She dove in as the surrounding tents and vehicles turned into a wave of explosions and shrapnel. The screams of men and women vanished behind the concusion wave smashing down the pile of wood and sand. The small A-frame flattened and collapsed.

A few moments later, Adrien Lars looked up into darkness. The wooden walls of the shaft above her still held, but the roof had collapsed sealing that entrance. A sudden boom above caused one of the plywood walls of the shaft to break. A trickle of sand began to pour down on her, filling the hole, like some hour glass writ large. She pulled herself out from the sand and debries. Her head hurt, she could feel the aches in her body from the fall.

The merc picked herself up and walked down the tunnel cut in the limestone beneith the camp. The impromtu bunker had been her idea, far less noticable than a full camp on the surface. Of course time had run out on that project.

She entered a small 'room', really nothing more than some natural ancient cave. Several teenage boys sat in a corner looking up as another boom went off overhead. "Just the gas depot going up boys..." she said in her native tounge. They just stared back at her, clutching their automatic rifles like teddy bears. The picks and shovels they had been using to expand the cave lay scattered on the floor.
Hell, they don't even know how to load those things yet...

She snuffed at them and was accousted by Blackie. She didn't know his real name, or couldn't care to remember the psydonym he gave himself.

Blakie just sort of waved his hands and screamed about something...
"We need...the enemy...bastards...kill them....shoot down those planes...it is our mission from...."

Her response was to pull out her nine-millimeter and plug two rounds into his forehead without saying anything. His green eyes went wide just as the barrel leveled with his forehead.

Adrien wondered if he thought an obsenity or a payer to his god before she turned his brains to mush.

She looked down at the boys, they were even more scared now then before. Adrien didn't really care. All she wanted to do was leave and get back to the sixty thousand Krondor she had been paid for this job.

Bloody right, not enough for job. Sitting in this heat trying to teach a modicum of discipline to this bunch. Hell, the oppostion clearly doesn't play around, sending B-52 out to swat at a bunch of terrorist punks? Well they don't mind spending money when they want to kill you...

She reached another small 'room' a radio crackled in one corner, no one was at it. Likely Blackie had been before the attack, but now Blackie was with his God.

more likely the devil...of course the old boy has a nice spot waiting for my poor dumba** soul when I get plugged one of these days.

Adrien grabbed a small pack and a canteen laying in the corner. She also picked up a submachine gun, and turned towards a small narrow passage. It had been cut from a nearby oasis, likely to act as a tomb or something in some long lost history. Now it acted as a convient emergency exit.

Vastiva while our government does not condone terrorism in the least it could be said that your approach is slightly, heavy handed. We can’t make that much of a comment as our information comes from grainy satellite imagery but we should hope that in the future you might offer them a chance to surrender before laying waste to the entire encampment of what may have been an armed and belligerent local tribe and not a terrorist cell.

Another eye watched the approaching soldiers, through a 20x scope. Peter Zion surveyed the uniforms & weapons of the troops...

'Nothing is standard issue... Either a private military organization with no funds, or a national military with the same problem... Easy pickings...'

Zion's rifle, a custom-built WA-2000 poked out from under a desert-pattern guillie net, beneath which he wore digitized camoflodge of the same pattern.
The weapon barely resembled the stock model it was based off of. The standard wooden frame had been replaced by carbon fiber, the trigger assembly had also been replaced. Zion's new trigger system consisted of a primer trigger & a hair trigger, along with a selector switch to simplify the process by bringing the two together for simplified semi-auto fire. A fully free-floating, cold hammer-forged barrel gave the semi-auto the accuracy of a bolt-action weapon of the same type.

The scope was a Knight Armament corp. custom job, a combination of NV, TV, and optical sighting systems, with a polarized lense to eliminate lens flare. A small laser microphone had also been installed, next to the laser rangefinder. An integral flash/sound surpressor had been installed at the end of the weighted barrel. The custom job was heavier, but far more effective. The weapon fired the over-powered .300 Winchester Magnum, Zion currently had full metal jackets, or FMJ's, loaded for armor penetration. The weapon was a bullpup, with the eight-round magazine situated behind the trigger assembly.

Zion's face was expressionless as he sighted in on some unfortunate soldier's head & squeezed the trigger... A dull thump emerged from the weapon. At his range, only Zion would have heard it. The rangefinder cycled wildly as Zion shifted his aimpoint to the head of someone with a higher rank...

'G'Night motherfucker...'

Zion's right index finger flexed, sending another .30 caliber round at his target...

(ooc - my post took place in the northern reaches of my country, which is rather distant from desert climes (I'm a snow covered region). But yes, heavy handed would be a good description... as to why...)

Raahmid Javani self-conciously straightened his robes of office, ignoring the bland glances of the two guards in front of the Crown Chamber. He took a moment more to right his badge of office and to put a bit more sheen on his official baton.

The guards pointedly did not laugh, but opened the door for him.

Inside, amid a pile of pillows near the official dias and throne, his Sultan sat among three beauties - two fed him grapes while the third waited patiently for him to move a piece on the chessboard between them.

Raahmid cleared his throat. "My Sultan?"

Sultan Sinjin Lefkowitz waved a hand in his direction. "Ab-shalom, my friend. What news have you?" He moved a bishop idly.

"Our troops have returned. Captain Eskilii reports at least thirty dead terrorists, with what looks like it could have been equipment in the remains of a few storage sheds."

"Only thirty? I would have expected more. Check." The woman smiled and moved her knight to counter.

"My sorrows, My Sultan, but with the extreme firepower you desired sent, there was little left to count. Captain Eskilii's troops had a hard enough time discerning one body from another."

"Yes, yes. The weapons were cluttering our arsenal anyway. And this way, there has been some training accomplished."

"As you say, My Sultan. If I can say, you handled this far more... decisively then your late uncle would have."

"Feh. My late uncle would have been paid much to keep such a place quiet from the international community. Such days are gone." At the loss of another grape, a rook slid across the board. "Shah mat, and another game to me." He smiled as the woman bowed her head. "Raahmid, this is a new world, and one it is time Vastiva took an active part in being part of. Our people must be exposed to the world, our industry must be made international, and our coffers must be enriched by tourism and archeologists seeking knowledge. But, my friend, perhaps you are right. Seek word from those in our region. It is a new day, and perhaps it is time we learned to use our many toys as they should be used."

~Toys?!~ thought Raahmid incredulously, but his outward reply was only to bow, make obescience, and to turn to leave.

(OOC: Er...missed the title of your post...and I think our host did also. So I'd say that I'm going to assume that someone decided a B-52 strike was a good idea.)

The unlucky private was in Beta Squad, a squad that was just over the sand dune from Gwenerth's squad. Beta was approaching the camp from the north-west when the private fell; a few men turned their heads slightly squad turned and the radioman was radioing in the fatality when the sergeant of that squad fell as well. After radioing in the losses, the lieutenant came over the radio and ordered that Gwenerth take command of the other squad and find who shot the two men. The radioman of Beta Squad inquired what they should do and the radioman for Alpha replied, "On which side of the head is the bullet and which way were they facing?"

"They were both facing south-east and they were hit on the right side of the head," was the puzzled reply. After some thinking, during which both squads were seated in the sand, Gwenerth ordered them to search to the east. Meanwhile, he asked for the AH/T that was loitering nearby to stick close.

Adrien Lars began to work her way back out to the sunlight. She smiled at the thought that she had gotten out of that mess.

poor putzes are going to be all riddled with bullets by now. I wonder if any of them are going to be left. Well that Zion guy...now he knew what he was doing...

The mercenary sniper zeroed in another target, only to have it vanish behind a dune...

'Fuck... Going thermal...'

The scope's view turned a dull grey hue, with several whiteish figured silouetted behind the dunes...

'Better stay low for a while... That heli's gettin' pretty close...'

We like to send Team-1 of the Republic Martime Special Operations Regiment. They are taking off from Raston AFB in Liberty City. They are arriving in a MH-56MO. The men are armed with M-14s, M-4A1s, M-870 shotguns, and M-20 Sniper Rifles.

OOC:Republic Martime Special Operations Regiment's RL counterparts are the US Navy SEALs.

"Director-General?" The crisply dressed adjudant produced dispatch, fresh from the fax, "It appears one of our new..." he waggled his eyebrows meaningfully, "'Extra-legal' divisions was liquidised in Caedryn this morning. Initial studies point to poor training and a lack of funding and equipment." He reported the facts in an almost bored tone, the deaths of a few minor employees was a minor setback but nothing to be worried about.

Director-General Carlos of the U.T.C's Exta-Legal Division took up the report and scanned it briefy with little interest. "Any survivors?"

"It's still a little early to tell but we believe our main resource, one Adrien Lars will escape. The others don't stand a chance. I realise we hire young to prevent strain on the personel budget, but grabbing some teenagers and giving them automatic weapons may not be the best strategy for executing well-directed terrorist strikes."

"We're overbudget already. Don't push me to fire you too." The Director-General sniffed and handed the report back, "Have the Lars woman killed. A waste I know, but I'd rather not have investigations leading back to us."

Republic Martime Special Operations Regiment arrives 1 mile from the terrorist postion. They created a camp and set up comm. Ok, looks like we got a sniper with a custom WA-2000 rifle. We going use our skills to stop the terrorists. I need recon of the area and the location of all terrorist.

The engine turned over and Adrien made a small thanks to whatever god looked over a working girl. "Alright, time to head back to town..." The engine of the jeep roared to life out of its hiding place at the oasis. It had been used a few times to pick up supplies and bring them back.

Adrien turned the wheel and started down the dusty trail back towards a paved road and the distant town beyound.

Or not Adrien Lars but Betsy Nessen, free lance photographic journalist at least that's what her worn Jiggdian passport said. And the camera and camera bag in the passenger seat made it fairly convincing at first glance. Her hand gun was stuffed under the front seat, and the submachine gun was pushed up under the muffler and secured with duck tape. her backpack was thrown in the back along with the canteen.

The 'Lost Mercs' had been on the run from their native government for almost two decades now. In some respects they were not really being hunted, but they didn't have anyplace to call home. Sent off on a protective and advisory mission deep into the nation of Franando Poo (not making that one up) things had gotten hairy when both the local government and the enemy seemed to collapse into chaos...they had done anything to get out of that hell hole, and not return to the back breaking labor of the Nepta mercury mines.

Those that still survived offered their skills to the world as 'advisors' on vairous things including giving support to terrorist activies. The most recent job had been a joke. Undisciplined, underfunded, and using kids as grunt labor. God, whatever beuracracy had spawned that little op had proven to have their heads up their a**.

Oh, it was some foreign government sponsring the whole thing. After all, even insane terrorists didn't buy AK-47's and then supply 9-mm parrellum rounds for them. No, only a government with peons in the requistioning department who never got caught because supply sargents and quartermasters then spent their time 'trading' to make up for the mess.

The a small group of 5 men began the recon the terrorist postion from a bunker. The Lt. looking though a polarized scope on a .50cal M-34 Anti-Material Rifle, the rifle is painted in a tan color. The rest of the men who make up a forward radio postion.
http://world.guns.ru/sniper/steyr50hs.jpg
M-34 Anti-Material Rifle

Raahmid stared at his aide, unbelieving.
"What do you mean, you can find out nothing?"
"Many sincere apologies, imperious one, but our ability to find out great tracts of knowledge from the outside world is somewhat curtailed by our lack of embassies throughout the world."
"I would say be clever, but that is beyond you. Be gone."
He ignored the man's bowing. Stupid cur! How hard could it be to find one company of usable mercinaries in the entire world.

How hard indeed. He eyed the phone for a few minutes before logging on to the internet. There were always ways when one was... clever.

OOC: Wow, getting plenty of help aren't I? Thank you all for the help.

IC: The surprised radiomen recieved the communications from the (I'm assuming it's Brydogian) Brydogian team, and sent in general recon of the area and the fact that the terrorist camp had been somewhat abandoned, however at the moment they were looking for a sniper. As soon as that message was finished the AH/T flew about 5 meters above Gwenerth. Corporal Williams looked briefly above the sand dune, looking for any unsuspected movement. Beside him was a private with a OICW and Gwenerth joined them after a short time.

Adrien stopped the jeep across the street from a three story building in an older part of town. The building was fairly old and disheveled, two shops filled the lower floor with a large passage between them leading to the rest of the building. Once a proud home of some wealthy merchant it had become a somewhat disreputable tenement known for being a fairly racus place at night. As such the woman who collected the rent didn't care who anyone was as long as they kept up paying the rent.

Adrien crossed the street looking both ways for anyone loitering about the place, fairly easy in at this time in the day. Most people were home, avoiding being out in the heat.
She walked into the cavernous hall that crossed from outside to a courtyard at the center of the building. A man, a local jhon, leaned against a gate. His eyes focues on the blond for a moment, then he rubbed his chin. He remembered quite vividly what happened to the last man who tried to employ her in his trade.

He stepped back from the gate as Adrien unlocked it and pushed herself inside. He gave her a small smile and decided to avoid making any comments.

Adrien cross the court yard and went up two small, dark flight of steps to the third floor. She followed along an outside veranda to her apartment door. She kneeled down and checked the clear plastic tape across the bottom. No one had used the door since she had left. The 9 mm came out of a pocket and she unlocked the door.

The apartment was really just two rooms, and smelled dusty. The front was about nine feet by nine feet. On one wall a group of shelves had been mounted over a wood counter. Only a few bowls, glasses and a box of rice crispy treats were on the shelves. A hotplate, a russian made toster oven, and a tea pot all competed for the single wall outlet. Their combined weight bowed the counter. The small refrigerator appeared to actually be getting power from the hanging light in the center of the room. The power cord droping down pulling the light to the far wall. On the other side of the room, was a small table with two plastic chairs. Those dirty white plastic chairs that were universal, littering the globe from Topeka to Palestine.

Adrien continued into the bedroom beyond. This had the same dimensions with a large metal bed shoved into one corner. A peice of wall board and a metal rod made a closet in another corner. It was filled with a few hanging clothes in plastic bags and a suitcase. The only other furniture in the room was a small table with a washbowl on the top and a piss pot on the bottom. A discolored dimond shaped mirror hung over the table

Adrien threw her bags and her pistol down on the bed as she sat down on it. She kicked down with one foot, causing a floor board to pop up. She grabbed the board and the one next to it, revealing a metal case and a well built submachine gun laying on top.

She picked up the metal case and layed it on the bed. The case opened to reveal a fairly sophisticated computer system with a sat communication relay.

After hooking the unit up to a socket in the light on the wall the woman checked her email...and then made a voice call.

*buzz* *buzz*

This is Hammersmith...

"Oh, sorry I was looking for the Baker"

The Baker lives on Ridgemont

"No, I was looking for the one on Herzog[/color]

Hey Adrien, saw a news report about a fire fight in your neck of the woods...and it didn't look pretty

"B-52's with cluster bombs on a bunch of under funded wacko's....the only reason I'm not a crispy chick sandwich is I knew to get when the going was good..."

Yeah....uh Adrien...I should tell you...word is that your previous employers want to terminated...

"F*** the bastards screw me then want me dead, sounds like my first boyfreind...so any word on the 'clean up' crew or are they using an in-house team?"

Unknown, but I should also tell you fellows on the Besra job look like they caught it...

"Any good news, or should I just be dictating you my epitath..."

You got a job offer, from some place called Vastiva, don't know much about them...offer is through their Grand Viser, Raahmid Javani, for an anti-terrorism team and some retraining by your 'team'.

"My team? Hmm, well what is Kennedy and the rest of them up to?"

cooling their heels on a job in some hell hole or another, general protection job, low pay but it pays the bills.

"Yeah, after your cut no less..."

Hey, I facilitate you meeting those who you would, ah help. The fact that I take a finders fee is just part of the deal.

"Hmm, well send me the info...I've got an idea..."

***
To: Grand Vizier of Vastiva, Raahmid Javani
From: Adrien Lars, Commanding Officer, 3rd Militia Expidationary Unit
Subject: Advising postion for Sultanate military

I am intregued by your offer of employment to help modernize your sultan's military to modern standards and create an anti-terrorism unit. At the present time my commitments are at a low point and would readily take up your offer. However, several obvious facts of what needs to be accomplished and how best to do it come to mind. As I study the situation it becomes obvious to me that some feild work is needed on my part to understand your real needs, and how best to meet them.

As such, and with your approval, I will travel to your nation to meet with you and those military commanders that my team is to deal with to select the appropriate individuals from my side. We can then work out the costs and personel needed to be reassigned to this project. At first glance I can see that experts in desert training would be a waste of time and your money, and would be better to remain at their current post.

If this plan is satisfactory please secure accomidations for me. I will be arranging travel to your nation under a psydonym for security purposes. Currently it appears I will arrive on a commerical flight into your capital next thursday, unless I am told that my plan is unsatisfactory. Please continue to send all communications through Hammerfist.

With best regards,
Adrien Lars

Two soberly dressed men strolled easily along the veranda outside Adrien's apartment. They were both well-built, clean shaven men in simple dark suits who chatted amiably as they walked. Anyone watching might assume they were businessmen returning from a meeting, certainly there was no air of danger or vindictive retribution about them. Even hitmen lose the illusion of glamour and excitement in their jobs after the fist few months.

"So you agree with it?"

"I understand what he did, that doesn't mean I condone it. It's a sensual thing, I can see why a man could get worked up over it."

"Now you're talking bullshit. A foot massage is a foot massage. It's harmless."

"Would you give a man a foot massage?"

"Hell no."

"Y'know, my feet are really aching right now. I could use a good..."

"Shut the hell up, man. This is the place." The pair stopped outside Adrien's apartment, checked the veranda for witnessed.

"Just the one?"

"Thats what Falkirk said."

"I still say we should have shotguns for this. Let's go."

The pair grimaced slightly at the thought of actual work, drew their silenced pistols and smashed open the door with one savage kick.

Adrien was in the bedroom, finishing her packing. As the sound of the door giving way hit her ears she grabbed at a metal canister in her belt. Her finger took out the pin in the throw. She sent the canister sailing through the doorway kitchen bedroom doorway to hit the far wall.

The gas canister shot out four streams of white gas. The small rooms quickly filled with smoke and atomized ethyl acetate. The acetate was a fairly good sleep inducer and even a small exposure would leave one with a nasty migrane headache.

Adrien continued to move, kneeling down and pushing an old gas mask over her face. She picked up the submachine gun in the closet. She leaned forward and fired a burst through the doorway.

By now no one could see much of anything...both rooms were filled with the gas. She pushed back along the end of the bed and opened a window. The breeze began to push the gas out the front door as she grabbed the metal case and threw it through the window onto a low roof about four feet away.

She fired a second burst at about knee level...

(OOC: I should have her just his the floor, guns blazing but I didn't want any interventions by god...)

Zion waited for another hour or so, until he was sure no-one was looking for him... He slapped the built-in bipod back into the storage position on his rifle, then carefully slipped away, stowing away aboard a truck into a nearby town... He ditched the guille suit in an alley, slipping his rifle back into its soft case & slinging the case over his back... His Berretta 96FS would be enough for what-ever came his way for now. The K-BAR in his boot clicked as it hit a rock. Zion preferred an external sheath, internal ones where uncomfortable & hard to access.

'What's with the rag-tag bunches of shit-heads attacking all of a sudden? Looked like two different nations, niether one looked that professional... Odds are they won't find me, so I can grab a beer or two...'

Zion headed for the local bar, passing a pair of bickering hitman-looking types in the process...

5 SIA agents with MP5Ks just happen to be in the bar. They see Zion, one of them gets and heads to him. He says " Don't move, we got submachines guns, come with us terrorist."

(OOC: Is it too late to join?

Horatio888
Grand Inquisitor)

5 SIA agents with MP5Ks just happen to be in the bar. They see Zion, one of them gets and heads to him. He says " Don't move, we got submachines guns, come with us terrorist."

OOC: ???

First you ID a gun without any knowledge of it even being in the field, then you pull five MIB's outta you ass? I'm drawing the line here. Unless you're providing cannon-fodder extras, no more random shit.

IC:

Zion promptly flipped the man off...

"Who the fuck are you callin' a terrorist? I ain't the one wavin' a fuckin' automatic around in a bar. Go fuck yourself..."

The sniper sat down at a wall booth, doing nothing to hide the nickel-plated handgun in the waistband of his fatigue pants...

OOC: M.S. calm down a bit...Brydog I t.g.ed you about this earlier.

OOC: Ok, I will redo it
In the bar was a SIA agent. He got up and began question Zion about the terrorists and if he know about them.

Is it too late too join? And if not, where is this taking place(in the world), as large amounts of my troops are converging to several spots in *undiclosed location*

i am new to nation states and was wondering what is a un delegate, how do i become a un delegate, and what are the advantages of being one?

“Is she out of her mind?”
“I assure you, my Colonel, she is not.”
Captain Eskilii shifted, not from being talked about as if she were not there, but rather from the uncomfortable fit of dress boots on her feet. She much preferred field gear. More comfort, less creak. These hadn’t even been broken in.
Col. Kai Nikulainen stared at her Major, weighing his words. It wasn’t every day two officers jointly lost what mind they had. “Major, it is unreasonable to transfer from flight to customs. Request…”
Major Ikonen held up a hand. “It is not unreasonable, my Colonel. It is unexpected. Captain Eskilii is a flight officer of good experience in operations concerning joint concerns. There is no reason she now could not find more experience in doing something she is not yet trained to do at her current level of skill.”
“This is true.”
“Further,” the Major added quickly, “it is not as though she could not be put to good use there. All our troops know of her role in the suppression of the northern terrorist camp…”
The Colonel spat. “Terrorist camp. There was far less resistance there then in machine gunning a day-care center.”
“Perhaps that was how things occurred, perhaps not. Who is to say, my Colonel? We were not there. And our Sultan did order an airstrike of rather epic proportions. It would have been… disrespectful not to follow his wishes.”
“Hmph.” The Colonel flipped through the paperwork on her desk, turning to “notice” Captain Eskilii for the first time. “On the request of your commanding officer, you are hereby reassigned to Air Customs Security at Gardemeister Aeroport in Sisu Vaari under Major Jokela. You will report there in 48 hours.”
“Aye, my Colonel.”
“Dismissed. Both of you.”
They both bowed to the Colonel - “Namaste” – and speedily vacated the room before the Colonel could change her mind.

Once safely down the hall, Major Pekka Ikonen stared at his prior flight leader. “Raava, I hope you know what you are doing.”
She smiled back. “Relax, Pekka. I would rather listen to some old lady fight over why her bags are not to be searched then to fly over the northern expanse one more time. I would rather sit and listen to muzak in all it’s forms then to fly over deep ocean and wonder if this is the time a storm will make trouble. And I would much rather return to a warm bed in a secure area then a tent in a snowdrift.”
That gained her a nod. “As you will. But I reserve the right to worry.”
Her smile broadened. “That right was always yours, my Major. Perhaps it will be necessary to remind you of that tonight.”

OOC: Ok, I will redo it
In the bar was a SIA agent. He got (?) and began question Zion about the terrorists and if he know about them.

OOC: What did he get?

AAH, I'm plenty calm. I'm just pointing stuff out & using my newfound language freedom.

OOC: I meant up
He asked his questions again.

OCC: rather than fill up this thread with these I will just save a bit of time

a) Good to know...

b) I think that Brydogs SIA agent is attempting to 'interview' Zion in the bar...(He got up (from the bar)...)

OOC: I'd be glad to type a response, but I don't know what questions you're asking.

He asking them about the terrorists and if he got any info.

Zion shook his head, his curly black ponytail swishing slightly with the motion...

"Nah... I'm a merc, man... They don't pay me, I don't fight. These bastards didn't pay me, therefore I didn't go to their camp, therefore I have no info for ya... That it?"

Zion was a decent liar, but the wad of currency in his back pocket might have aroused some suspicion... He decided to leave...

"If that's all, goodbye..."

The mercenary picked up his half-empty beer & headed for the door...

OOC: Thanks, that's what I needed.

Hammersmith sat looking at booking a flight into Sisu Vaari on this computer terminal.

Should I spend the extra money and get a refundable ticket...

Yeah, you never know if she's going to make it out alive...

The Apartment...

Adrien fired another burst of 9-mm fire through the bedroom/kitchen doorway. The fire was fairly inaccurate since she couldn't really see much. She reached forward, felt the side of the suitcase and zipped it closed by hand. She stood up next to the window and fired another round towards the doorway. She gabbed the suitcase and tossed it next to the metal case on the nearby roof.

Adrien pulled a grenade tapped to the window sill. She felt for the pin worrying about where the clean up team was. The pin went out, and she tossed the grenade towards the doorway. It hit the far wall and bounced off and hit the closet partial wall falling inside the doorway.

Adrien jumped out the window and hit the roof. She rolled across the roof, living small drops of hair dye. She got up into a kneeling postion, grappeled her bags and waited...

The grenade finally exploded...igniting the ethyl acetate in the air. The gas vapor flashed into a fireball and pushed heat and flame out the window and door.

The flash didn't generate mush of a force wave. Just the sound of a loud bang that could be heard in the surrounding neighborhood and a breif bit of flame as the ethyl acetate was consumed. However, the breif high heat caught the old wood cealing on fire. The white smoke of the gas grenade began to mix with the darker smoke of a serious fire...

(S.W. sorry for not waiting for you...but this thread seemed to stall so I'm trying to keep it moving. I expect both of your hitmen survived although they likely want to consume a case of Advil each...)

edit note: in reality this was not an "explosion" since it wouldn't have likely caused a supersonic force wave...In reality it would have been a very loud pop if you've ever tried to light a gas range without a pilot then you've heard the sound...just magnify by 800 times...

The echoing boom of the explosion caused Zion to spin in that direction, slinging cheap beer around him in an arc...

'What the fuck? Who the hell was that?'

The mercenary began to walk in the general direction of the explosion, keeping a hand near his sidearm...

In the abandoned stables nearby the sound of a two stroke engine could be heard to start. The old Enfeild motobike with a side car, that looked more rust than steel, pulled out the of wide doorway.

The woman with black hair, and a pair of shaded goggles, pulled out onto the small alleyway and then on to the main street.

She nosed the front of the bike out through the crowd. The locals had emerged to gape at the prostitutes and johns running out of the apartment building. The omonious black smoke rising like a thin column from the back of the building.

The horn of the bike blared a few times as the rider pushed it out to cross the main street and get on a side street. The rider stopped for a second to look at the man with the beer in his hand.

"Zion I'd get the f*** out of town if I were you...your employers are cleaning up all the lose ends..." Adrien said as she continued to force people to move out of her way, bumping a few gawkers with her front tire.

A small head jerk back towards the smoke and a cryptic comment..."Job out at the airfeild...keys are in the Jeep..." was the end of the conversation. The crowd had parted enough that the bike and rider sped across the street and down an alley.

Outside the City of Sisu Zavaala in Vastiva

The SWAT team burst into the small house with amazing rapidity; MP-5s rattled repeatedly - orders were to shoot to kill, no exceptions.

Within eight minutes, the house was completely under control of the governmental troops. Nine people inside had died, struck by bursts then a single round behind the ear.

The unit commander went in only after the demolition team assured him the house was secure and unboobytrapped. He made dispassionate notes.

Killed: six men, three women. Acquired - various hand-drawn maps of some of the downtown areas, a travel map with markings, fifty sticks of TNT and five timers.

Amateurish, at best.

A bad sign.

(Hmm...this has happened before...)
IC: Adrien stood at the counter of the local bar. It really wasn't much of a bar, just a board laid across two old packing crates in some quanset hut that appeared about ready to collapse. She belted back a shot of sh*** whiskey, and looked back at the computer screen before her. She smiled a little wicked smile, and finished authorizing the transfer. One moment the secret swiss bank acount of Blackie went from 720,000 pounds to 1,000 in a second. She wondered if anyone had figured out that ol' blackie had his fingers in the till. Likely someone would, but sending someone to cap her a** just blew all loyalty out the window.

She shut down the unit in the metal case and closed it shut, looking around the place. It was empty but for a few old times and the 'bartender', a local hag that looked to be as ancient as the sorrounding rock formations.

The sounds from a twin engined C-45 could be heard getting lounder outside. A man in a baseball cap and glasses pushed his face past the blanket that served as a door. "We're ready to go..."

Adrien nodded and walked up to a large corkboard on the wall. Many things had been stuck up over time and then just left. Including a schedule for flights in 1952. Most of the paper was old and yellowed. She grinned a bit as she posted her own note. The new white card and red lipstick made it stand out.


Zion, sorry I missed you...
If you want work
36 Marinzplatz, Munich
As for the Candy Maker


She looked at the card, looked at the people in the bar and then strode out into the heat and dust.

Well Hammer said I'm going to have a major change in scenery...luckly I've got a few stops on the way to my final destination, and my severence package just became much nicer.

Zion waved his quick two-fingered wave at his disappearing comrade...

'Jeep? What Jeep?'

The sniper made his way to the smoking apartment, and amazingly found a red Jeep. The keys where in it, luckily. Zion sped off to the airport, stopping at the bar again to grab a few brews for the road. A card on the wall caught his eye, so he snatched it in passing... The message made him forget any alcoholic craving... Zion made for the Jeep, then raced to the airport. He approached the ticket counter...

"Munich... First class..."

The sniper-for-hire laid a small wad of currency on the immaculate counter, then took his ticket. A flash of a fake law-enforcement ID allowed him to carry his weaponry onto the plane. Several hours later, he arrived in Munich... Zion took a cab to the address on the white bar-card...

(I'm going to assume a few actions on the part of Zion just to keep things from bogging down...)

Munich
The Marinzplatz was actually one of those streets that could look down it's nose at the Rio in Beverly Hills. The fact that number 36 was actually an antique shop, one where there was an armed guard in a uniform behind the old man at a small table and no prices on anything. The fact that small plastic sheets were attached to either stands or nearby walls made it look like a museum.

The old man was talking to a customer when Zion walked in...He said something to the lady and turned to the sniper.
"May I help you?"

The 'candyman' comment had him snap his fingers. The guard approached, "If you would please show this man to storage vault B"

The guard waved Zion forward and led him to a small elevator. He opened the door and waved Zion in. He closed the door on Zion. The elevator droped two floors and the door opened. At the end of a short hall before him was a glass door, and beyond that a steel door with a small blue screen attached.

When Zion approached the small screen the words "Who are You?"
appeared on them. An electronic voice also said the same thing.

***
Gardemeister Aeroport
The commercial flight landed in the fridgid air and taxied to the jetway. After getting the green light to disembark, the 777 degorged some 205 passengers. Including in a brunette Adrien Lars with glasses and green eyes. Her passport, and the flight manifest, indicated that she was Bridget Peters, a photo journalist from Britian. Since she had been a first class passener she was near the front of the line at customs.

OOC I love a playmate who pays attention to details.

OOC: I tried...of course I wasn't sure how diplomatic flights differed from commercial flights...

Landing in a blizzard wasn’t a new experience, though landing into what amounted to natural gas flares was disconcerting. Still, the inside of the aeroport wasn’t bad, if you liked all the colors of the rainbow – occasionally jarringly combined. Directions were set by stripes in the floor – it was almost as if the entire population had decided collectively to fight the grey bleakness outside with every weapon available.

As her luggage went through a cursory inspection – having been x-rayed and fluoroscoped to within an inch of its life – and her shoes arrived from their trip through, still in their little plastic box, she had a good enough look around.

While the agents themselves were unarmed, there were always at least four security types with AKMs and holstered pistols nearby. That was in addition to the roving patrols of SWAT types with MP-5s, and every other person had some sort of weapon somewhere ranging from decorative (and probably functional) scimitars and curved daggers, to holstered sidearms, to even more AKMs, AK-47s, a few Uzis… there was enough firepower in the airport to start your own war in a third world country.

The agents and the passengers were probably the only people unarmed – a thought she revised upon seeing a passenger disembark with a daisho in sash.

She turned to the agent. “Pardon, are weapons common in Vastiva?”
The agent rippled a shrug. “Pardon given, there are no restrictions on common firearms in the outlying areas: polar bears in particular do not respect individual rights. Some city areas request guests restrict the presence of weaponry to decorum, which, if it pleases, means hand weapons only. Duels are common enough – if you carry, you assert you can use, and you can invite challenge. There are rules…”
“Lots of guns.”
Another rippling shrug. “Guns, they are no big thing. If you have, you accept responsibility. Someone trying to shoot up an area would be shot to ribbons,” *SNAP*, “just like that.”
*SNAP* “Just like that?”
She grins. “Government has many snipers. They are very good. Much practice. Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure snipers?”
She giggles. “No, your stay. Business or pleasure? Your luggage checks, you are most free to go, if you would permit, once I stamp passport?”

Adrien watched the woman infront of her with a small grin.
Hmm, so everyone around here likes guns and swords...god I feel like I'm back home. They really do take security seriously, let's see how well they do with someone trying to walk through security with my little old case

Adrien's checked luggage consisted of a band new rolling case, and a black garment bag that smelled slightly of burned hair. Nothing really inside, a lot of new winter clothing and gear.

Her carry-on luggage consisted of a large metal breif case and a blue camera bag.

She dropped the checked luggage onto the system, took off her shoes and then looked at the agent. "Your not x-raying my film and this thing is radio-wave opaque so your going to have to inspect it by hand..." She proffered both for inspection.

The camera bag contained two Nikons of differing style, and a selection of camera lenes. An upper compartment contained both both rolls of expensive 35 mm and flat single use film. Both types of film corresponded to the camera types in the bag. The outside of the film bag was ballistic nylon surounding an internal, stamped metal frame. The inside walls were constructed of foam padding almost an inch thick. The camera bag was fairly heavy, but considering the construction did not seem to be overly so. The bottom of the case appeared to be sealed, although it contained a concelled zipper. The zipper would expose a compartment with a Glock handgun attached magneticly to the internal metal frame of the camera case.

The grey metal case, when opened, revealed communications gear that would make most of the world's spooks water at the mouth. The upper part of the case was a scarmbled satalite communication phone with a polymorphic encryption system and a small screen. The screen presently showed various communication satalites in orbit over this part of the globe. The handset was locked into the case. And rather than a 12 digit keypad, the sat-scram had a 19 digit key pad (base 16 codes). The lower part of the case contained an internal 'laptop' computer with a small, flat panel LCD screen. Pulling up the LCD screen also released the expanding keyboard. On one side of the bottom section of the case were several slots for inserting media as well as several ports of varying style.

Adrien just stood quietly as the locals did their work. She held out her fake British Passport and press credentials when asked. In general, she acted like some well travelled journalist who had to go through this thing all the time. She just smiled a small embarrased smile when her fellow passengers looked at her. Although, her eyes were keeping tabs on the personel with guns and high ranking uniform more than the unarmed agents.

(The passport and credentials are very good fakes...)

The agent smilingly removes everything from the camera bag, placing it into a light-opaque bag. She then attaches two inputs and a hose to the bag, waits while the bag deflates a bit under the vacuum, watches a light turn green, and sets this aside. The camera bag is introduced to a device that reminds one of a microphone. This too comes back with a green light. Everything is meticulously repacked.

One look at the contents of the gray case has her escort whistle, but the customs agent says nothing and contents herself to another close swipe of the same sensor over each and every open able and seamed face. Another green read, and this too is placed back together.

“Suggestion, if I might. That is military? No – you are press. Very well. Would suggest registering at security station as yours, down in central area. Will not be… repossessed by the military? Courtesy tram to the hotel is three floors down."

"How do you know which hotel I'm staying at?"

The agent looks at you. "There is only the one, the Burj Singinkatu. Unless you are traveling to Nassanuella? Snowcats are one level down, be careful of the blizzard. Very good, benches for putting back on shoes over there." STAMP "Next?”

And you are summarily dismissed from the agent’s attention, and apparently through customs.


OOC Assumes you have no explosives in either locale. If you do, the sensor will most likely go red and nice men with large firearms are going to take you out back to aerate your insides.

OOC: Er there is, but they are two one ounce sealed electromagnetic discharge devices. They designed to melt the circuts containing any programmed codes in the sat-scram and wipe 'clean' the harddrive. Basicly it's a battery that gets very hot, very fast when discharging. It has a critical point where it 'explodes' releasing battery acid all over the place.
(based on the hellfire missle's battery except much smaller and not thermally stable Also not detectable by trace anaylisis since it isn't a known explosive and is sealed.)

IC: Note One, customs effective to a point. And need to make more cross checking of press credentials. At least at the airport. Now, time to go register this thing.

Adrien walked to the central area looking for the security station. When finding it she presented the case and said. "I'm supposed to register this thing before you boys take it away from me?"

Bored Security:
"Press, yes? Good. Passport?"
*shuffle, turns on scanner, gets out form*
"Sign here. And here. And here. Initial here. And here. Sign here."
*removes sticker from form, applies to case*
*removes passport from scanner, adds a sticker, hands back*
"Have good day."

OOC Stickers both have electronic devices in them, and are codemarked. While she was standing there, the cameras on the security area took lots of pictures, including body partition measurements, and added to the central database for "updates". Ubiquity of cameras in city gives some idea of where you go, what you do, etc. Of course, you could dump the passport and remove the sensors... *grins*

She smiled picked up the case and then walked over to a chair. She sat down, reopened the case and typed in a code releasing the phone. After getting a tone she dialed a number that Hammersmith had dug up for her.

*Ring, Ring*
"Hello, is this the Grand Viser's office? Yes? Would you please inform the appropriate person that Adrien Lars is on the line, I did email that I would be arriving today."

(OOC: Er, we seem to have hijacked this tread...)

She smiled picked up the case and then walked over to a chair. She sat down, reopened the case and typed in a code releasing the phone. After getting a tone she dialed a number that Hammersmith had dug up for her.

*Ring, Ring*
"Hello, is this the Grand Viser's office? Yes? Would you please inform the appropriate person that Adrien Lars is on the line, I did email that I would be arriving today."

(OOC: Er, we seem to have hijacked this tread...)

OOC There were four posters total. Nothing is preventing them from "overposting" or running another story alongside. And this "hijack" is on the same thread - terrorism. How wide, how long, what other heads the hydra has, is yet to be seen - and anyone can flesh that out.

IC:
"Apologies, please hold for a transfer."
*clickclick*
"Ab-shalom and greetings from Kareem ben Alovar. You are Miss Lars? Very well. You will be arriving on what flight?"

OOC There were four posters total. Nothing is preventing them from "overposting" or running another story alongside. And this "hijack" is on the same thread - terrorism. How wide, how long, what other heads the hydra has, is yet to be seen - and anyone can flesh that out.

IC:
"Apologies, please hold for a transfer."
*clickclick*
"Ab-shalom and greetings from Kareem ben Alovar. You are Miss Lars? Very well. You will be arriving on what flight?"

OOC Agreed...I just feel sort of odd when the orginal host of the thread seems to vanish. And I guess I was sort of noting the vanishing act of everyone else.

IC: "Ah yes, I am Miss Lars. As you know who I am and likely why I was hired you will understand this next part. I am presently in your nation as we speak, obviously under a psydonym. It may be a bit rude, and a touch illegal, but an honest evalutation of customs is somtimes difficult under normal circumstances. Also for security reasons I thought it best to minimize my 'radar' signiture.
However, I am here. I suggest you pick me up at the Burj Singinkatu lobby in say fourty minutes? There are a few 'inquires' I'd like to make in my current undercover persona."

(a hand is inadequately placed over the receiver:
~"Inform Javani his office will receive the new HVAC units first, and inform the Major his security is lax."~)

"Yes, Miss Lars, we will gladly pick you up there in whatever fashion you would prefer. I would ask, if you would be so kind, how we are to recognize you, and in which part of which lobby complex you will be?"


OOC Not that you've seen it yet, but the single hotel is a 18,500 room monstrosity carved partially into the facing rock and facing the ocean. The lobby is a huge amount of the bottom floor.

(I'm going to assume a few actions on the part of Zion just to keep things from bogging down...)

Munich
The Marinzplatz was actually one of those streets that could look down it's nose at the Rio in Beverly Hills. The fact that number 36 was actually an antique shop, one where there was an armed guard in a uniform behind the old man at a small table and no prices on anything. The fact that small plastic sheets were attached to either stands or nearby walls made it look like a museum.

The old man was talking to a customer when Zion walked in...He said something to the lady and turned to the sniper.
"May I help you?"

The 'candyman' comment had him snap his fingers. The guard approached, "If you would please show this man to storage vault B"

The guard waved Zion forward and led him to a small elevator. He opened the door and waved Zion in. He closed the door on Zion. The elevator droped two floors and the door opened. At the end of a short hall before him was a glass door, and beyond that a steel door with a small blue screen attached.

When Zion approached the small screen the words "Who are You?"
appeared on them. An electronic voice also said the same thing.

***
Gardemeister Aeroport
The commercial flight landed in the fridgid air and taxied to the jetway. After getting the green light to disembark, the 777 degorged some 205 passengers. Including in a brunette Adrien Lars with glasses and green eyes. Her passport, and the flight manifest, indicated that she was Bridget Peters, a photo journalist from Britian. Since she had been a first class passener she was near the front of the line at customs.

OOC: That's fine with me.

IC:

The sniper glared at the screen...

"Who want's to know?"

He hissed back... He was in no mood for games...

Munich

The blue screen just had the phrase
"Moment..." (in German)

The electronic voice sutibly changed, as though the automatic system had been overridden
"I am Hammersmith, and you are not one of my clients, but you did know the passcode. So I am wondering who you are. I do know of a few people who may be contacting me about a job. However, If your some lowlife who is attempting to interfering in my buisness, I suggest you leave before I remove you."


***
Vastiva
Adrien smirked at the beuracratic infighting she heard.
"Just have the front desk page Lars, fairly easy. As for recognizing me, well I'll likely be the blond haired blue eyed girl in the grey overcoat. I'm sorry but I must be going now...ta ta." She hung up the phone and smiled slightly.

She had work to do, and wasn't about to stop for anything or one. She closed the bag, stood up and went down to the hotel tram, which she took out to the hotel with other passengers from her flight. She then made her way to the reception desk and asked, "I'd like to check in please..."
She proffered her Briget Peters passport as she spoke. Her presently green eyes and brown hair

OOC: Well sounds like some hotel complexes I've been in writ very, very large. However, usually there is only one 'reception desk' since it prevents confusion. (I'm thinking of the Wiki Hilton which is a resort more than a hotel. It actually consits of some three major towers, a five story parking deck, and several large pool complexes spread out over several acres of land...the reception desk is housed in one large, massive pavillion at the center of everything.) And I've assumed that the path to the reception desk from the tram is well marked.

OOC: http://www.mgmgrand.com/
Just over three times the size of this. And yes, everything is well marked.

IC: The "lobby" runs the width of the hotel, front to back, and could probably easily hold a marine regiment with gear. Most of the people around appear to be natives - Vastiva being new to the international scene, there just aren't that many tourists. However, the locals appear more then willing to take up space in the meantime.

The slim, attentive clerk looks at the offered passport. “Ms Peters, are you here for the press conference? Today’s has already begun… many apologies, but I do not see your name in our registrations. It would be entirely possible to check you in as a walk in, if you would. Single? With amenities? The press level still has some openings… do you have any other luggage? A bellhop could be summoned… credit or cash?... very good, here’s your key, room 628, ocean view. Have a pleasant stay, Ms Peters. Namaste.” And she smiles, handing over the electronic key.

The room is comfortable, bordering magnificent. There is a separate room for the Jacuzzi, and another for the bath. 52" plasma TV...

A knock at the door turns out to be one of the many staff, this one carrying a basket of fruits and such. "Many pardons, but the Sultan did direct each member of the press was to receive one of these upon arrival. Namaste", and he leaves just as quickly.

(OOC unless you detain him, yes he's staff. 22 minutes til)

Munich

The blue screen just had the phrase
"Moment..." (in German)

The electronic voice sutibly changed, as though the automatic system had been overridden
"I am Hammersmith, and you are not one of my clients, but you did know the passcode. So I am wondering who you are. I do know of a few people who may be contacting me about a job. However, If your some lowlife who is attempting to interfering in my buisness, I suggest you leave before I remove you."


Zion grinned slightly at the screen's remark... This guy had balls... Large, brass ones by the sound of it...

"You'd best come heavy... I shoot for a living & I don't miss. Woman named Lars sent me. Said you might have work..."

Zion didn't read or speak anything other than English... Whatever the screen said was a complete mystery... He kept a hand close to his Berretta...

**Munich**
The electronic voice replied again. "I know Ms. Lars, there appear to be several people looking for her. As far as I am concerned, only one do I have any buisness with. Unfortuantely, I do not have images of that individual. But I do have a name. The Final question is, for the game and your life, what is that name?"

**
Vastiva
Ms Peters, are you here for the press conference? Today’s has already begun…

"No, I'm here as a photojournalist, to do some scouting out for a potential article on Vastiva in one of our nature magazines."

many apologies, but I do not see your name in our registrations. It would be entirely possible to check you in as a walk in, if you would.

"Damn interns, give them a simple assignment and they still screw up. We don't pay them anything, and we're still getting robbed." She gave the look of a woman tired and annoyed.

Single? With amenities? The press level still has some openings…

"Fine, I don't really care...I won't be spending much time in it."

She paid in cash, mubbling "cash only country, piss poor contry doesn't own a pot to piss in... poor, cash only...my a**. I'm going to hurt that twit from Birmingham if I see her again." She finishes signing the paperwork and then says,
"Ah, please place a hold on all calls to my room. Direct whoever calls to call my sat phone, or email me please. If they don't have the number, then they shouldn't be calling me."

She let a bellboy take the large rolling suitcase and the garment bag. She carried the metal case and camera bag. When he tried to place it on the cart she said, "No, I'll carry these thank you."

After entering the hotel room, she tipped the bellboy generously and closed the door. Adrien began to undress, kicking off her shoes into a corner. She stepped into the bath as her top hit the bed. She wrenched on the shower and kicked her pants onto the floor. A moment later, the padded bra and padded panties hit the floor.

In her experience, men and women only looked at four basic areas of the body, tits, butt, hair, eyes and in that order with some casual passerby. Change those features and 80 percent of the population will never remember who you are after that.
Nice, but I'm going to have to find more secure digs than this...
passed through her head.

The cloathing went into a dresser drawer, the sudden knock caused a few problems...

The boy with the fruit basket found her standing there with just a towel covering her body. "Ah, thank you..." he got the door shut in his face without any tip. Maybe it was the grin on his face.

She pulled out a white bottle, and stepped into the shower. A few minutes later a blond girl stepped out. Adrien pulled the contacts out of her eyes and deposited them on a fragment of toilet paper. She let the water continue to run as she dried her short hair. The dark hair color washed out of the shower before she turned off the water.

She redressed in a pair of dark blue pants with a kaki blouce and a matching dark blue jacket. The cut of the jacket almost screamed uniform, without being marked. She followed up by placing on a bluish grey wool overcoat.

As she closed the door behind her, the garment bag hung in the closet. A quickly scribbled note on the fruit basket said:

"Staff-
Hi, I had to leave early this morning...go photgraph polar bears for the National Geographic...so please divide this basket up amongst each other and enjoy some free fruit. Really, waste not want not, eh?"

Adrien managed her bags well as she returned to the lobby. She poked the down button and dropped the folded toliet paper into a trash can.

A few moments later a blond woman wearing her grey overcoat emerged from the hotel elevator, with a few other guests. She smiled a few polite smiles at people as she made her way to a sitting area near the reception desk.

She moved to find a seat where she could watch the front desk. As she pulled off the overcoat she glanced at her watch. She had about three minutes to spare.

A small grin vanished behind a tattered paperback entitled "Nas Neuchez".
I've got to replace this book...the damn thing still makes no sense...'The Exestential Mind shall always be rulled by the Hobbits of the intellect'? What the hell is a Hobbit?....

OOC : ok, assumes you left the garment bag behind and are carrying the other ones, and that you are carrying the fake id with the sticker in it still.

IC : A rather short – then again, most of the natives you’ve seen are a “touch below average” in the height department – official in a deep blue burnoose richly embroidered with silver runes and patterns walks in from the outer doors, accompanied by two others – a man and a woman, both in simple green robes and outer wraps – and makes his way up to the reception desk without any attempt at subtlety. In a moment more – if there was any doubt – there is a page of “Lars, please come to the central reception desk. Lars, please come to the central reception desk”. Both of the green robed individuals pass notice over you, but neither informs the blue robed official.


OOC Officials name is Ozan Zagat ben Iblis, he is one of Kareem ben Alovar's aides, has the subtlety of a brick and is obviously a bean counter. The three will take you without search to a PolarBear, and from there to the Governmental Complex and Kareem's office.

OOC: Well in Adrien's case all I.D. is relativly false. Actually the mentioned passport is in the metal case. Which might or might not be giving problems since no radio signal would be able to find it or be sent (sheilding effect of the metal), only the fact that the phone antenna is actually in the plastic edge of the case, and has wires into the case, allows for the phone to catch singals while the case closed. (stick a radio into a closed cage made of copper wire, no radio signals will reach it.)

Adrien smiled and stood up. She grabbed her gear and walked up to the desk. She gives a wintery smile to the two in green.

Guards, or just general security forces. I wonder how they keep those wraps from becoming a mess in the snow?

She stopped a short distance from the group and said in a clear voice, "Ab-shalom, I assume you are my escort?" She held a blue Dyellbian Passport in her hand incase they wanted to check.

At VPS HQ, a computer had a bit of a headache after one signal in a twinned pair just... disappeared. Normally, the two signals would split, allowing both to be followed until something arrived on one of the myriad cameras around the city.

This time? *poof*

It took two processing cycles for the machine to figure it out enough to alert one of the watchers of what was going on.

It took the watcher about thirty seconds to call for a patrol to have a look see.

In the world of time, machines rule.



Elsewhere in the city, two green robed minders barely looked at the blonde haired woman moving toward them. Both of them still had their palmed Sparrow "one shots" trained on her, so there was no real danger - insofar as either had thought about it. Which, bluntly, wasn't very much. In the world of government, Ozan was about as important as a clerk, if that much.

Ozan, on the other hand, lit up at her approach.

"HA-ha yes! Greetings! Yes, yes, yes, Dyellbian, such a pretty color, Kareem will be very happy to review it... Yes, yes do come along, I have a car waiting outside, yes yes I do..."

It was at this particular moment two members of the VPS decided to come in with a caster receiver, looking for the thief of one case, assigned to a Ms Briget Peters, reporter. And as reporters were high up on the list of "must protect and serve" for the week...


OOC Sparrow Palmgun - 1 shot, 7mm glazer round, designed to penetrate body armor and cause multiple deep wounds. Both officers are uniformed, carrying FN-AS assault rifles (5.56mm bullpup design) in slung position, pistols are holstered but unfastened. Yep, glaring holes in security.

"Yes," she nodded and began to walk towards the doors with the group. Her eyes picked up on the VPS men and their guns. She also noticed the odd object they held and the fact is was pointed at her. (If I understand what a caster relay is)

Hmm, well looks like the police are looking for something...damn it may be me...oh, damn those tags must have some sort of tracking ability don't they. Fine, the only way to get passed this is full speed ahead.

She turned to Omar, "I'm sorry but I was hired to adivse on security, and such a glaring personal security hole needs to be delt with, will you hold for a moment."

"Excuse me gentlemen?" she stepped towards the VPS men as she finished putting on her coat. "I hope you understand english well enough, but let me explain something to you."

Her voice began to become icy, she wasn't shouting but actually projecting her voice so that it was filled with authority. "I have been asked to help in your fight against terrorism here, and you two are failing misserably." She pointed towards their side arms, "What exactly do you think your doing? hmmm running around with unfastened side arms? If you were distracted from interveiwing a terrorist suspect, the next thing you'd have is a gun in your back. Your own personal side arm no less."

Her eyes are almost blazing as she does her best drill sargent routine. "Now if your that careless I don't care what to think what other major problems there are right now with your gear. Now you have two choices, you can stand there and force me to take your names to put into my report to the Grand Vizir...or you can go immediatly to some secure location and check your gear"

(I'm going to assume they start to point at the Caster relay here...) "I don't care what your tracking at this moment, if you caught up with anything more than an alley cat you'd be the two in danger. So I suggest that you do as I say before your loved ones have to go to your funeral. Now, I have a meeting with Kareem ben Alovar and then the Grand Vizer. Do you want me to have to explain why I'm late? Good day..."

She grabbed her gear and stormed out the doors without appearing to look back. She shook her head and looked at the short pencil-pusher, "I'm sorry but can we get going now?"

OOC Congratulations, you’ve confused my police! *laughs* Alright…

IC: Ozan stands there, completely stunned and slightly overwhelmed as the blonde woman he was supposed to escort dresses down two of VPS finest. Not only that, they take it, look sheepish, and back off a bit after switching off their caster.

“Uhm, many pardons… this way, yes yes?” Acting more flunkyish then normal, he bowingly leads the way towards the door and a waiting PolarBear ground transport.

His two escorts roll eyes at each other before following.

Outside, the temperature drops immediately – the sun has set, with the thermometer falling quickly. The wind, fortunately, is moderate to light.

However, the presence of many autogyros overhead is disconcerting to say the least – they fly about in a near bewildering pattern of near misses and apparent daredevilry.

Ozan pulls his cloak tighter around himself as the downdrafts catch – his escorts make no modification to their dress, though it becomes obvious their robes are designed to keep out snow and cold. From the odd patterns the wind presses into their front, it becomes also obvious that body armor is part of the set up.

The PolarBear takes stepping up to get into : one wordlessly takes temporary possession of her baggage as she gets it (ooc – its not possible to enter encumbered), passing it in immediately afterwards, untampered with. They also take a moment more to circle the PolarBear and check its wheel wells cursorily. One takes the “shotgun” seat, the other enters a cupola in the rear.

The driver is a third of the green-robed men, face shielded with a flair of green cloth, eyes under a visor.

“Comfortable, yes yes? These are very good, very warm, insulated. I am told you can survive in one all winter on body heat alone, yes, though what you would eat who knows… yes, right… many pardons, driver, please to make way to the Governmental Complex?”

Powered by natural gas, the PolarBear has no problems with power or speed, even in the formed drifts. Six large wheels make short work of the ice, gaining traction easily.

OOC Man in passenger front is watching something like a radar unit, one you can’t see is in a gunners position (hidden) if needed. Feel free to pump Ozan or to just look around at the people walking in snow. If too slow, arrive at Governmental Complex (big red dome) and go up to Kareem ben Alovar's office, noticing all the cameras in the street and inside the gov't building.

OOC: Ah, yes...Philip Marlow philosophy, when on the wrong side of the law...attack verbally...

IC: Adrien looked at the Polarbear and ajusted herself in the seat. "Quite nice, and pratical for your climate..." she commented. "Now I suppose you have been told not to tell me what office Kareem ben Alovar holds? I am afraid I did not run across his name from my research before arriving." She asked polietly.

She listens to the answer, smiles at Omzar and looks a bit more out the window. She makes a few comments on the weather and dress before falling silent. Her eyes note the camera systems on the road.

I wonder if someone has a peep show of Bridgit Peters becoming Adrien Lars? Get the five minute DVD for only 19.95 plus shipping and handling. Call today! She snickered at her own joke and then looked at the flunky..."I wonder if you've ever read the novel 1984?"

She nods at the answer and muses on what that may mean. Falling silent for the rest of the way to the rest of the way to Alovar's office.

Inside the government complex, She took careful note of both the architecture, and how well integrated the camera's and the other security measures into it. Adrien smiled at those she made eye contact with, but in reality was visually scanning the whole area.

(OOC: wouldn't mind a nice description...but I also don't want to bog down in a conversation with a flunky before Adrien has any offical authroity...)

**Munich**
The electronic voice replied again. "I know Ms. Lars, there appear to be several people looking for her. As far as I am concerned, only one do I have any buisness with. Unfortuantely, I do not have images of that individual. But I do have a name. The Final question is, for the game and your life, what is that name?"


Zion's hand dropped from his weapon...

"Zion... Peter Zion..."

Hopefully this would work... Otherwise, he'd wind up shooting his way out of here, or into a bodybag... Niether was an attractive option...

IC: Adrien looked at the Polarbear and ajusted herself in the seat. "Quite nice, and pratical for your climate..." she commented. "Now I suppose you have been told not to tell me what office Kareem ben Alovar holds? I am afraid I did not run across his name from my research before arriving." She asked polietly.

Ah, many apologies. Kareem ben Alovar is Vizier of Domestic Activities. He and General Riva Sola al-Din would be, perhaps, the heads of military and security, much the same thing. But in this case, our General has been - how do you say - invited to listen to ben Alovar's recommendations?

She listens to the answer, smiles at Omzar and looks a bit more out the window. She makes a few comments on the weather and dress before falling silent. Her eyes note the camera systems on the road.

I wonder if someone has a peep show of Bridgit Peters becoming Adrien Lars? Get the five minute DVD for only 19.95 plus shipping and handling. Call today! She snickered at her own joke and then looked at the flunky..."I wonder if you've ever read the novel 1984?"

He smiles and nods a bow. "We have published it many times. Book Publishing is one of our major industries. It is possible a new edition with a version on CD is within our shipments to Thallos. Would you care for a copy to perouse during your stay in our nation? It can be easily arranged... " He takes her silence a bit wrong, and blushes.


She nods at the answer and muses on what that may mean. Falling silent for the rest of the way to the rest of the way to Alovar's office.

Inside the government complex, She took careful note of both the architecture, and how well integrated the camera's and the other security measures into it. Adrien smiled at those she made eye contact with, but in reality was visually scanning the whole area.

Blunt description - it's a huge dome structure, externally painted red with decorative paintings around the base. Given the length of the entryway and the absence of windows, you would guess armored. There are two T-10 Heavy Tanks installed at the front entrance (think of the lions outside the NYC Library) on pedistals.

(Description) Internally, it is also painted frivolously, but manages to keep that drab nature found in most governmental offices. The carpet is gray and has an odd sheen to it (metallic fibers inside). Many more of the same green robed keepers, these armed with FN-AS (bullpup assault rifle) or FN-MP (bullpup MP-5 variant), which they keep at the ready. You are aware of walking through at least two security checkpoints you could see, and the hallways definitely favor the defender. They are also confusing enough to disorient. Cameras are everywhere.

This is a fortress, and you'd gamble on tanks in the basement and SAM positions on the roof.

Kareem's office (probably in the middle of the dome) reminds you of M's (from James Bond) - external secretary, "airlock", internal plush office. You are "invited" to leave your luggage with the secretary for safekeeping along with any weapons you might be carrying "as a sign of respect for the Vizier". This appears like something out of the Arabian Nights. Kareem is largish, reminding one of Kingpin or Jabba the Hutt, though he is very well dressed. Four of the green robed keepers are here, all with FN-MPs. Absence of visible cameras, and what appears to be a window on one wall with external view (very good screen, projects "sunlight" into the room).

He does not rise, but puts down a firestick after a last puff and genuflects.

"Ab-shalom, Ms Lars. I trust you did not suffer overmuch in the presence of my underling."

(The gun is still hidden in the bag, so the only weapon is herself.)

The Office
Adrien clicked her heels together and made a small bow, "Ab-Shalom, no your underling was polite company. Of course he might be more talkative in less...inhibiting company." She continued to stand until invited to sit, but her eyes registered the face of every one in green.

"I appologize for my unorthodox method of entering the Sultan's lands, however there is a bit of a problem. It appears a contract was made out for my life, soon after the Grand Vizir made contact with my represenatives to retain my services. It might be coincedence, but I pefer to err on the side of caution?" She gave a very cold smile to the room.

"Now, I like pleasentries as much as the next girl. However, I am also a buisness woman who likes to know where she is standing on a job." Her smile became a bit more wry.

"From his email the Grand Vizir was intrested in training forces for anti-terroristm work and 'modernizing' the army. I've also located references to you having early versions of B-52 bombers and a number of soviet tank types and equipment. I am also assuming soviet block training and tactics at present." She pulled back her jacket to show she didn't have a gun. Her eyes looked at each one of the guards to make sure they acknowledged the fact before she reached over slowly to pull out a pen and pad of paper.

"Now, in my hours of spare time listening to airline Muzak and based on my understanding of the situation. My inital reccomendation is that I act as a military advisor to perhaps you or the Grand Vizir while directly overseeing the equiping and training of your anti-terrorist forces. As such, I would be charging a flat monthly fee plus expenses. I would want the ability to hire and fire people within my direct area, within bugetary constraints of course."

She cocked her head slightly to one side as though waiting for the man's response.

****
Munich
The electronic voice answered "Yes Mr. Zion, I was hoping it was you, finding new cansiters of Zexlon B would have been a pain." The door opened to reveal another door. The words "Please enter" flashed on the blue screen.

The door closed behind Zion after he stepped through, and a thump in the nearby wall could be heard. A moment later the door before him opened.

It was another elevator. This one wood paneled with a boxum blond wearing a short skirt and a Hello Kitty tank top stood inside. The tank top was fairly tight across her chest, the webbing of the sholder strap for the submachine gun she was wearing seemed to be helping things.

She waved Zion forwards into the cab. On one wall was an LCD display. It showed a profile view of a man in semi-transparent grey with small red objects. The grey was Zion, the red his weapons.

The woman made no comment until the door opened again. She pointed Zion out and then led him through an elegant, book lined office and out onto a terrace. It was enclosed by high brick walls covered in ivy with flower beds running along the edge. In one corner stood a small tree that shaded the terrace.

At a cast iron table sat a large man. He was strong and meaty with an almost flat nose and a large scar under his right eye. He wore an expensive suit and had a large dimond ring on one finger. Next to him was a rolling stand with a computer and small mike.

"Ah, Mr. Zion...so glad that you could make it...please take a seat...would you like some refreshment? I was about to enjoy my afternoon tea." The voice was cultured, with a slight austrian accent. He indicated a comfortable looking chair on the other side of the table from him.

Kareem’s first word is to Ozan. “Go.”

Once accomplished, he turns bored attention to Adrien. “Your actions were that of a professional, and it was a professional we desired to hire. There is no fault there. If you are of the belief anyone in Vastiva wishes you to take the long walk, it would not be someone here, or within the city structure.”

He turns a file open. “At one time, perhaps we were very Soviet in ideology and methodology. The Spetznaz did much training here. Our means now might be better compared to the Israeli doctrines. We do not seek expansion by military means, but rather to swiftly convince an attacker their ideology requires more thought.

“This terrorist question, therefore, concerns us. We will not harbor these people. Our Sultan has informed his military any and all means are to be used to root them out and eliminate them.

“You are, Ms Lars, part of that means. Therefore, it follows that an attempt on your life while here would be an undesirable event. We are not high on the tourist destination list as of yet. It would follow that few would come in and we would not in some manner be aware of their presence as Ms Briget Peters is no doubt aware.

He sits back. “I am curious who you desire to hire or fire, and for what ends. And, more to the point, what budget you seek and what fee you desire my office to forward, and to what location. I am also curious as to your initial plans.”

OOC: I realise that this was leaps and bounds but I wanted to get the ball rolling as quick as I could. Sorry about the delay BTW I wanted to bring the other RP up a bit.

IC:
Mina Conklin had arrived in Munich via a Czech Airlines flight earlier that day under the alias Edda Brill. Her day was spent making sure that she wasn’t on the radar of the local intelligence agencies. Finding nothing on the Interpol database or any of her other sources she made a reservation for an upscale hotel in Munich, the kind where they ask no questions when you whip out that platinum credit card. Approaching the desk dressed in trendy denim and a tank top she smiled at the attendant. Placing her bag on the ground she took her sun glasses off her face, which were in actuality a P-HUDD and smoothed blond hair back.* The attendant smitten with the attractive blonde stuttered out, in German,
“Wel-Welcome to, to the Eden Wolf Ms how may I help you?” Mina smiled and seductively moistened her lips before talking, she didn’t really have a reason she just liked to tease younger men a bit. Besides, she was probably making this teenaged boy’s day.
“Well,… I just of off the plane and I’d like a room, one of your suites please.” The younger boy tapped away at the computer and responded.
“One of them is free but we require that you register a credit card at the desk.” She giggled,
“But if its free why do you need my credit card?” The boy looked flush and tried to back pedal,
“Aah, uhh, well.” While the boy fumbled with his language Mina’s sub dermal implant sounded in her head.** Hearing the voice of her handler in her head now like it was one of her own she listened.
“ Your just drawing attention to yourself and making this kid feel awkward.”
“Oh pish I’m teasing, he should be so lucky.”
“Just don’t forget the mission.” The implant went silent and in a slightly, but not much, subdued tone she spoke to the boy again.
“Don’t worry, here’s my card.” Pulling out the platinum card the boys eyes didn’t flinch, this wasn’t a lower class hotel and now a day anyone could get a decent credit card with half decent credit. After entering in her information and looking at her passport a bell boy was sent up for her with her bags.

Later that night Mina was preparing herself for a night on the town, but not as you’d expect. Wearing tight black ‘bar pants’ and a solid black halter top that bared her midriff she pulled her hair back into a pony tail. While aiming to fit into the bar crowd her out fit was not the usual run of the mill outfit. The pants, while looking like the trendy wear of many women that will be out tonight, were actually worth hundreds of dollars. Compared to the cotton and polyester it was designed to emulate these pants were infinitely more flexible, breathable and durable. The top was in the same situation, designed for the same better performance but obviously of a different texture. Looking into her mirror she appraised herself. Yep, damn hot and now for the finishing touch. Placing her P-HUDD back onto the face she looked into the mirror again. Oh yea a little bit of hair dye and I’d be quite the femme fatale, as it is, hottie. Stifling a giggle she moved to the bed to check the contents of her purse and put the rest of her gear on. Picking up what looks like a handle with no moving parts she rubs her thumb over it and a carbon steel blade appears with a click noise. Pressing the bottom of the handle and repeating the motion of her thumb the blade disappears as quickly as it appeared with the same quiet click. Removing a piece of the sole in her boot she slides the handle into a perfect fit and replaces the sole over top. Next a cylinder about seven and a half centimetres long and about two centimetres in diameter came out of her luggage. Placing the nonmetallic cylinder under her shirt in a small clasp in the centre of her bra she strode back to the mirror to see if it was noticeable. Perfect, this push up bra gives jus enough space for me fit it in and since I’m wearing a halter top no one can look down my shirt this time. Picking up a small black purse she checked the contents before proceeding. Make up kit, flash bang, cell phone, wallet, gun, valet stub, silencer, credit cards, condoms, hotel key, and an extra ammo clip. I’m good to go. *** Going downstairs Mina got a few glances from the other guests, mostly men, but looking as Mina did she made more than a couple women wonder and she knew it.

A few minutes later Mina had gotten the company vehicle from the valet. She’d never driven the model but it was tailored to her, she didn’t even have to set the seat differently when she sat in the lamb skin leather seat. Gripping the handle bar and fingering the throttle a bit she smiled under her helmet. Speaking sub-vocally to her handler she gunned the Ducati ST4s ABS 04.
“I take it this was your doing?” the implant came on a second later with her handler’s voice.
“ I figured I owed you after what, or should I say who, you had to do on the last job. Mina grimaced,
“No what was the proper word, you still didn’t have too.”
“*inaudible* It was nothing, besides the company does well by their agents.” Mina could feel the uplink disconnect, she knew that her handler had gotten choked up on that one, she wondered when she’d see him again, she’d been in the field for almost a year now. Shaking her head she revived the engine and picked up speed, Just concentrate on the mission, and this sweet car.

Awhile later she spotted the HofBrau House down the street. Honestly she didn’t recognize it but the P-HUDD lit the building up like a Christmas with a wire frame overly and the data pop ups. Pulling into the parking lot of the bar across the street, Das Boot, she got out of the jaguar and pressed the lock. With chuckle at what a spectacle of European trade integration she was she made her way to the entrance of Das Boot, the clicking of her boots on the pavement becoming fainter and fainter as the music drowned out her approach. Coming up to the doorman she smiled and proceeded at his nod. Coming into the bar she looked around for a moment before taking a seat at the bar, risky if someone was expecting her but the chance of that was minimal, besides she wasn’t going to not stick out in this outfit. Ordering a kamikaze for a drink she sat and watched the bartender and his patrons while she worked on finishing her drink. More importantly though she was running the faces of everyone in the bar through the P-HUDD’s facial recognition program and uploading the geometric coordinates of their heads to see what databases they could be found on.




End Notes

* P-HUDD, Personal Heads Up Display Device. Exactly as the name suggests the P-HUDD is a pair of sunglasses with a small laser that projects an image onto the eye. The lens of the glasses include a great many nano-optics for greater information gathering allowing the wearer to take a reading of the light spectrum not available to the human eye. Other interesting features are included. EX. UV, Thermal, light amp, passive sonar, data receiving/transmission, recording etc.

** The reason it sounds like its in your head is because there is no speaker the device is surgically implanted into the jaw with nano-fibre running directly into the mastoid of the jaw. The electrical impulses are sent caring the vibration into the ear drum. Despite the best efforts of the developers the sound can’t be made to ‘sound’ more natural. This however does giver the user the ability to hear the distinction between what is ‘heard’ by the ear and what is ‘heard’ by the implant.

*** If it comes up later some items are in a ’hidden’ compartment of the purse.

OOC: Alright, but now I have two unrelated sub-threads in Munich...

The Office
He sits back. “I am curious who you desire to hire or fire, and for what ends. And, more to the point, what budget you seek and what fee you desire my office to forward, and to what location. I am also curious as to your initial plans.”

She had been taking notes as she listened. She looked him in the eyes again when he got to the last part. "The fact is that it sounds like you want a terrorist removal squad. Not say just a heavily armed police taskforce, I should point out that the training and tactics of both groups are vastly different. It goes back to the nature of your internal politics really. But I don't suppose to judge that for you, only build the team that you want and need."

She stopped for a second and leaned back a little. "As my primary responsibility will be to train a group of your nationals to be an effective anti-terrorist force, I am going to have to hire assistants; fellow professionals in my trade. To maintain my authority over them I am going to need the power to directly fire their asses if need be. The truth is that what a professional cares about is their paycheck, self interest obviously. If firing them involves some bureaucratic system my ability to keep the hired professional staff inline would be severely diminished."

She considered the fake window for a moment and then continued. "I would like the ability to kick officers and personnel out of the program and back into whatever pool they came from. It would make dealing with some officer types a little easier on me. However if that decision is left in the hands of the overall commander of this program, and they will work with me, that should work....not as ideally....but yes that would work..."

She shook her head, "In my line of work we tend to either make do with a pittance of a budget or get so much cash that we wind up buying crap because we can...no, at the moment I don't know what your goals are in terms of numbers….equipment, what the basic kit they already have is...these are all important parts of the budget. If you give me a budget that is too small for your goals I'll tell you. If too much, well I'll see what else we want to have these boys and girls capable of doing."

Her eyes seemed to brighten at the mention of her fee. "As I said before this is a monthly fee..." She wrote something down in her notebook. "...it is based my personal assessment of the frustration factor I'm going to have on this job. I should point out that I plan on highering a personal bodyguard out of this. Not that I don't trust you...but I did notice the wheel well check back there. I guess I prefer having someone around who depends on guarding my six for their meals." She pulls out a slip of paper and folds it as she hands it over the desk.
"I should point out that a good number of people in my line of work get kick backs from their suppliers and subcontractors. I personally do not do that, I'm here to advise you...not put my hand in your purse. And my account information is in my case outside."

The slip of paper said:
85,000 USD, per month
plus basic expenses
(gear, food, housing, transportation)

"Now for my initial plans. I need to see what we have to work with. And I'm a bit confused do you want my assistance in evaluating your equipment and training techniques to your doctrine or not? I should point out that the 'fast nasty porcupine' concept is fairly different from the 'we shall tread them under with superior numbers' concept of the soviet block."

Das Boot
(OOC: Driving around Munich, :lol: no wonder she want's a kamikaze…you can't get within five blocks of this area with a car…think 'really really narrow streets…but fine…)

Das Boot had no signs outside. In reality it stood on the second floor of a four story building with two tourist shops on the ground floor.

The bar was fairly small, and packed. The conversations were in German, men in suits and women in expensive dresses. In reality this place was less for partying than as the gathering place for those who had just gotten out of the Opera house or some function in the old Palace not far away. The walls were painted an ocre yellow and the whole place seemed festive. A single wall had windows opening up to the street below. The sound of pedestrian traffic could be heard as tourists stumbled out of the brewery across the street. This was almost drowned out by the loud, half-drunk talk in Dad Boot. A few men wandered into a small alcove with computers. It appeared that they were doing some electronic betting on horse races in the States. The number of single males about the place was fairly low, although one did attempt to chat the blond up.

The bartender just shook his head. He had been around long enough that this woman wasn't one of the normal customers. The man nodded and proceeded to vanish back towards the staircase and the exit.

A few faces popped up on Interpol. Apparently, one gent was believed to be an arms dealer. The man laughing at the table next to him was actually believed to have assassinated a diplomat in the Congo three years ago, he was a cultural attaché for some third world nation. The two women with them also popped up, both as expensive escorts available over the internet.

The cultural attaché rose and walked over to the bar. He threw a few hundred euro bills down on the counter and began to speak in an accented German.
-I hope that this will pay for my tab…
-Yes, the tab is taken care of…
-Oh, I found this on the floor…
-Thank you…we dropped it last night…
A small orange locker key was passed between the two men. The bartender nodded as the man and his escort left the bar.

OOC: there is a camera, but behind the mirror in the bar. Rp the contact as you desire…up to the phone call. They are going to change tactics since you have sent a woman.

OOC See? Works just fine. ;) Thread leapfrogged

A long breath. “Ms Lars, the Soviets took their superior numbers with them when they left. They also took with them that element of the population grossly interested in dominating the world. We rebuilt, and find we are no longer interested in warfare as entertainment”. He considers. “Combat, perhaps, but not warfare”.

“I already have a heavily armed police force, probably one of the few to regularly use Apache helicopters. Finding very silly people trying to do very silly things does not concern me – particularly when they are stupid enough to attempt open purchase of dynamite. But SWAT is insufficient for this. The team must be able to outthink these people, not just shoot well. Observe, track, counter, and when necessary, remove. Quietly would be a nice change. There is still too much Soviet ‘remove with extreme force’ to our methodology, and we cannot support this sort of thought in such a matter. You do not use a bulldozer to unearth a china cup, or cluster bombs on a small encampment.”

“Our Sultan recognizes things will get far worse as our people again are allowed to go upon Hajj, as tourism opens, as our country enters the mainstream of international society. The large dangers, we recognize and prepare for in due course. It is the parasites that concerned me sufficiently to find you.

“I want… that is, it is the Sultan’s wish that this team work quietly, with less interest or knowledge of function by the population of this nation or the world in general. It was made clear you can do this”.

He looks at the paper, shrugs.

“You will be given rank of brevet Major, which will allow you to ignore our local Colonels. You may choose any individual you like for your team, from any part of the VAS you like. Your unit is autonomous, answerable only to you and my office and General Sola. You may ‘hire and fire’ as you see fit.

“You may hire one bodyguard, who is your responsibility and whom we will hold you answerable for in the case of actions taken. You may hire up to ten additional personnel at up to one half the rate you stated, and you are also responsible for them. Budget for equipment will be discussed once you complete your initial surveys and determine what you want and need.

“Please do note, treason is punishable by execution in this country, and going against the wishes of the Sultan is the definition of treason. You may invoke such if you deem it necessary.

“You are also empowered to do a survey of our military, tell me what a fantastically bloated and inefficient entity it is, and to suggest methodologies to make it more efficient”. He spat into a spittoon. “This too the Soviet’s left us. Amputation may be necessary as part of the cure.

“Once you have completed your training of our nationals, you will either in person or by individual you decide upon review training at six months and one year. You will be paid for one year’s time for this one month service.

“Vastiva will also accept the responsibility of giving you safe harbor at any later date for your services, to the full extent of our ability. This assumes satisfactory completion of your contract, and a certain willingness to occasionally engage in activities which favor Vastivan interests. For due compensation, of course.

“If these terms are acceptable,” he reaches down to the printer under the desk and removes a contract, “a signature is customary. A copy will be forwarded to your… agent?... if you desire, though we have no need of such formality. Your first month’s fee will be available with your luggage with another, shall we say, 100,000 for expenses?” He shrugs off the question. “You are a professional, I expect professionalism. If I need to ask how you spend your expense money, you are not doing your job properly”.


OOC Note – Vastivan Armed Services (VAS) is integrated, no division between Navy, Army, Air Force. It operates as a whole.

Adrian looked at him for a moment. "Most of that is quite acceptable. I should point out two changes or additions. First, the inspections should occur at six months and one year after the training phase has been completed."

She pointed at the sheet on the desk. "Some bean counter is going to get confused by the present statement and send me a pile of money for services not yet rendered and another one will come after me for my embezzlement of his Grace's funds. As such we should make that more clear to avoid that situation."

She leaned back again and then stated dryly. "When I sign this contract I will consider my employer to be the Sultan. As such I will try to the best of my ability to do what he desires of me. However, as in any cross cultural situation misunderstandings of my actions and intents may occur. How many times have any of us wound up arguing about something only to realize that we are speaking about diffrent ends of the same object?"

She paused to let him consider this. "As such I would desire, and perhaps it is already standard, that if I am charged with treason that I may plead my case before the Sultan."

Really, I might have to step on a few toes in the roll your giving me. Someone is going to start shouting I am trying to overthrow the kingdom when I'm not.

She continued to look at him with her blue eyes considering the situation.

Kareem shrugs, types, waits, and presents the "more definite" version of the contract:

She receives :
- 85,000 USD/month plus expenses as noted
- Active rank of Brevet Major
- Answers only to the Sultan, the Vizier of Domestic Activities, and General Riva Sola al-Din
- Hire one (1) bodyguard at her discretion, salary to be paid by the ODA, up to 85000 USD per month.
- Hire up to ten (10) additional personnel at up to half her rate, salary to be paid by the ODA, up to 42500 USD per month per person.
- If accused of treason, allowed to plead her case in person before the Sultan himself - not a representative

(ooc: the rest remains as spelled out earlier, Im tuckered and am not redoing now)

"Was it your intention that a copy be forwarded to your agent?"

"Was there any further issues I could enlighten you on at this time, Ms Lars?"

OOC: Excuse my cultural ignorance then. I’ve edited the post to street bike, any where you can get on foot you can fit a crotch rocket. As for changing tactics I don’t think I specified gender :P The question is should I be afraid for Mina now?

And by the phone call I assume you mean when he contacts me, you didn’t mention how.

IC:

The bartender was nice, albeit preoccupied, something seemed to tug and him and he left quietly. Within seconds of the bartender skulking off towards the exit Mina was online with her handler sub-vocally.
“I think the bartender is aware of something, can we have him observed?”
“No, you’re the only one on the ground.”
“Damn, how about satellite? I’m transmitting the geometric points of his face and body.” A sigh could be heard over the link as her handler set up the orbital observation, for one person.
“I know we have a very large budget surplus right now but don’t you think that’s pushing it a bit?”
“Since when has the NNAO ever considered cost efficiency in anything but a passing thought?”
“Yea yea.”

The information that came up from the search was interesting, but irrelevant. She wasn’t here for that and as a professional courtesy to the person she was trying to get a hold of the NNAO wasn’t going to mention any of this, its company policy not to piss in your neighbor’s pool. Part way in the middle of her handler telling her about her bar mates someone looking to get lucky came over to and tried chatting her up.
“Hey I haven’t seen you here before.” Mina smiled, Minus one for lack of originality
“Well that’d probably be because I’ve never been to Munich before silly.” Mina rolled her eyes behind her P-HUDD, Why can’t I just be left alone when I’m working. The man, not catching the eye roll through the opaque glasses smiled and motioned to the chair beside her.
“Mind if I take a seat?” He looked cute, and so hopeful Mina almost took pity on him and let him sit.
“I’m sorry I’m not here for long and not really looking to meet anyone, sorry.” The guy looked mildly hurt and walked back to his friends after mumbling something under his breath. Her handler then continued giving her a brief on each of the people that had gotten hits on her facial recognition search. Finishing her drink it was about time to make the contact. Standing Mina made one last sweep of the bar with the P-HUDD to pick up any odd thermals or radio signals and then approached the bar. With a smile she clasped her hands in front of her over the bar and waited for the bartender to have a second for her. When he acknowledged her she smiled and in a melodious voice that hinted at joviality she spoke,
“Hi, I was hoping I could play the Dresden video poker game.” The bartender gave her a look, almost to size her up before replying with a shake of his head.
“No, We don’t have Dresden here.” Mina looked up at his eyes running thermals to see if he was nervous, if any heat came to his face.
“Oh rats, Do you have a video on the Frauenkirche?" Mina played it off as innocent enough. The bartender again looked her up and down, making Mina wonder if he was sizing her up or checking her out but she didn’t react. The bartender motioned towards the booths in the bar and she followed jumping for joy inside while holding a nonchalant visage. Led into a booth with a computer showing what appeared to be a blue screen of death the bartender nods his head at her and steps back towards the bar. Mina exhaled slowly to calm her nerves, the briefing before the mission coming to her mind. Moving her purse to her side she patted it to assure herself that she had access to it within seconds. Reaching to the keyboard she began to type…

Input

Edda {Return}
To train an inexperienced group to wage an extended urban guerrilla campaign in a heavily industrialized first world nation, doing so will include leading them into combat several times. A certain level of detachment and disclosure from the guerrillas is preferable. {Return}
5,000USD/day + expenses + early completion bonus + lump sums for successful combat missions. This is negotiable. {Return}

End Input

Mina took her hands off the keyboard and even her breathing out. I guess the ball is in their court now.

OOC: Again sorry about the mild slip up on the details, I’m going to re-read the other contact you have going right now so I don’t slip again.

(Oh well background is a story, and no reason to.)
She smiles at him for a moment,
"Yes, if you would...He'll place a copy of the contract in my swiss bank box. As for anything else, I think my first challenge will be to find my replacement."
Her eyes seemed to twinkle.
"Really, the local officer who will run this program after I've left...They need to be in on the ground floor...if you would forward canidates files to my quarters." She rose and gave another click of the heels and short bow.

OOC: Excuse my cultural ignorance then. I’ve edited the post to street bike, any where you can get on foot you can fit a crotch rocket. As for changing tactics I don’t think I specified gender :P The question is should I be afraid for Mina now?

And by the phone call I assume you mean when he contacts me, you didn’t mention how.

IC:

The bartender was nice, albeit preoccupied, something seemed to tug and him and he left quietly. Within seconds of the bartender skulking off towards the exit Mina was online with her handler sub-vocally.
“I think the bartender is aware of something, can we have him observed?”
“No, you’re the only one on the ground.”
“Damn, how about satellite? I’m transmitting the geometric points of his face and body.” A sigh could be heard over the link as her handler set up the orbital observation, for one person.
“I know we have a very large budget surplus right now but don’t you think that’s pushing it a bit?”
“Since when has the NNAO ever considered cost efficiency in anything but a passing thought?”
“Yea yea.” [/i}

The information that came up from the search was interesting, but irrelevant. She wasn’t here for that and as a professional courtesy to the person she was trying to get a hold of the NNAO wasn’t going to mention any of this, its company policy not to piss in your neighbor’s pool. Part way in the middle of her handler telling her about her bar mates someone looking to get lucky came over to and tried chatting her up.
“Hey I haven’t seen you here before.” Mina smiled, [i] Minus one for lack of originality
“Well that’d probably be because I’ve never been to Munich before silly.” Mina rolled her eyes behind her P-HUDD, Why can’t I just be left alone when I’m working. The man, not catching the eye roll through the opaque glasses smiled and motioned to the chair beside her.
“Mind if I take a seat?” He looked cute, and so hopeful Mina almost took pity on him and let him sit.
“I’m sorry I’m not here for long and not really looking to meet anyone, sorry.” The guy looked mildly hurt and walked back to his friends after mumbling something under his breath. Her handler then continued giving her a brief on each of the people that had gotten hits on her facial recognition search. Finishing her drink it was about time to make the contact. Standing Mina made one last sweep of the bar with the P-HUDD to pick up any odd thermals or radio signals and then approached the bar. With a smile she clasped her hands in front of her over the bar and waited for the bartender to have a second for her. When he acknowledged her she smiled and in a melodious voice that hinted at joviality she spoke,
“Hi, I was hoping I could play the Dresden video poker game.” The bartender gave her a look, almost to size her up before replying with a shake of his head.
“No, We don’t have Dresden here.” Mina looked up at his eyes running thermals to see if he was nervous, if any heat came to his face.
“Oh rats, Do you have a video on the Frauenkirche?" Mina played it off as innocent enough. The bartender again looked her up and down, making Mina wonder if he was sizing her up or checking her out but she didn’t react. The bartender motioned towards the booths in the bar and she followed jumping for joy inside while holding a nonchalant visage. Led into a booth with a computer showing what appeared to be a blue screen of death the bartender nods his head at her and steps back towards the bar. Mina exhaled slowly to calm her nerves, the briefing before the mission coming to her mind. Moving her purse to her side she patted it to assure herself that she had access to it within seconds. Reaching to the keyboard she began to type…

Input

Edda {Return}
To train an inexperienced group to wage an extended urban guerrilla campaign in a heavily industrialized first world nation, doing so will include leading them into combat several times. A certain level of detachment and disclosure from the guerrillas is preferable. {Return}
5,000USD/day + expenses + early completion bonus + lump sums for successful combat missions. This is negotiable. {Return}

End Input

Mina took her hands off the keyboard and even her breathing out. I guess the ball is in their court now.

OOC: Again sorry about the mild slip up on the details, I’m going to re-read the other contact you have going right now so I don’t slip again.

OOC: Nah, I didn't mind the mistake...I just made the comment to let you understand the details of the next bit (And you can not take a motor bike to the Olypmiaplatz...unless she's going to spend her time explaining to the nice munich police why she's trying to run down pedestrians. A bike fine...)
Oh, and the contracts will be greatly diffrent due to who is negotiating. Adrien is doing her own thing...Hammersmith is less involved in that one than yours. Oh, and the change is just I can't send you to the English Gardens...women don't walk around naked there.

IC: The screen went blank and then had in blue and white
[color=blue]Please take a seat at the bar, enjoy a beverage compliments of the house[/blue]

The bartender smiled at her a bit more after she reappeared at the bar. After serving her a drink he dove into an odd conversation, strangly his english sounded like he was from Manchester, not german "Your new to Munich, huh? Sorry, girls like you tend to be in two buisness around here. Well three, but if someone like you joined the Bavarian Government your face would be plastered on the sunday edition of every newspaper in town."
He laughed a bit, "You know your drawing more attention to yourself wearing the glasses indoors." He crouched forward a bit and wispered, "Mr. Hammersmith's guests tend not to like to be noticed, and everyone here is trying to figure out who you are. The running bet is Natasha Henstridge." He shrugged again, rising up to pour a beer for a customer.

The phone rang behind him. The bartender turned and picked it up. He smiled and said "ein moment bitte." before handing it to Mina. There was a electronic voice on the other end, cold and inhuman.

"Edda, I might be able to supply your needs. I suggest we meet tommorow. I recommend you have a swim at the Olympic Swiming Pool in Olympiapark. It opens to the public at 6:00 am. Rent locker 45A so that we know who you are, then go and relax in the pool. I hope you enoy the rest of your evening..." *click*

The phone went dead, and the bartender seemed intrested in retreaving it.

2:00 am The bartender left the Das Boot and traveled south with the bouncer. They traveled through a part of town that had several buildings actually built above the street. At 2:10 am both of them entered a bank off the Marinzplatz. The bouncer emerged and proceeded to walk to a small store nearby. He then left with a magazine and entered the subway system

The bartender, along with several other individuals never left the bank. (Assuming you have one) A german analyst familiar with the city announced that the bartender had left by a second exit from the secure depository into an underground mall conected to the interurban/subway system. He indicated with a large red circle the area the bartender could have traveled to, a good deal of it underground.

6:00 am
http://images.wcities.com/www.wcities.com/cityrecords/21154.jpg
(Olympic Pool Hall)
The cool morning air sat on the manicured grounds of the Olympicpark. A jogger and a couple of bicylists were running the wide concrete paths before the tourists and day trippers decended on the place in droves. Bavarians loved their parks, actually a bit too much. But the mist hung over the artifical lake, and a few cleaning crew members picked up trash from the night before. A police officer in a jacket nodded to the blond as he walked passed. (No one here would pop-up on your scanners unless by fluke. Like one of the joggers being wanted for a crime or something...)

The Olympic Pool Hall looked like a massive tent, with glass streatched between large concrete poles. The heavy cables twisted down onto anchors inbeded in the concrete plaza between the buildings. Inside the place echoed every splash. Stands stood in darkness over looking the large main pool and the diving pool. A stairwell decended down benieth the stands and to the locker rooms. The old lady at the door into the women's locker rooms demanded five euros for entry. Her shrill voice cut through the morning air like a siren.

The ladies locker room was fairly empty, it appeared as if this was the training crowd. Most of the young women looked like divers or swimmers. And they had their own set of lockers well away from locker 45A.

The locker was the standard twenty four inch cube with a metal front and a key that could be removed for a single euro. The key had a small coil of plastic so one could attach it to their wrist comfortably.

Mina discovered that glasses were forbidden outside of the locker room. One of the young women pointed to them and said "vorbotten...forbidden, we don't want the broken glass. Leave them in your locker." Although, Mina could have taken her...likely beating up on a possible German Olympic Swimmer would bring attention.

Kareem grins at this, setting the contract into the scanner/fax in a lower drawer. There is a certain wolfish quality to the man... as in "Big Bad".

“Were you planning on military quarters, or to find your own? Perhaps to slip from our notice? Truthfully, either option has a certain… danger to it. Fortunately, there has been an occurrence which solves this dilemma”. He taps a button and Ozan reappears.

“You are slow. Take Ms Lars to the palace as the Sultan's guest. You are assigned to her service while she is here”. He turns to Adrien. “Will four guards be enough for the time being, or will you require more before you hire your own? The files will meet you there. Namaste, Major Lars."

OOC Contract forwarded to Hammersmith.

Adrien just looked at that grin for a moment and shook her head. "If the Sultan doesn't mind me as his guest. I shall feel more than accomidated. Oh, and let's just let your police force find some other task than chasing Mrs. Peters about. Nothing to leave much of it in their mind. Say she currently has a government escort."

"I think one guard will be enough, unless you think I'm going to go running off and vanish before the cameras? I know, you should like to get me before a camera and get me a proper I.D." She looked down at Ozan "But I think me and my bags should go visit there new home."

Damn it. Mina wasn’t happy about her miscalculation with the glasses. Slipping them onto her face she activated the operating system and ordered it to dump and burn. The dump and burn command was fairly self explanatory, deleted all the information in memory, scrambled the communication frequencies preset and then ignited the trace amounts of aluminum sulphide lining the nano-circuitry within the P-HUDD. Now slightly warm and with the faintest curl of black smoke coming from the connection between the optical connectors running from the lenses to the arms of the glasses the P-HUDD was un-repairable by any standard. Placing the, now unremarkable, glasses in the locker she turned and looked down the row to see if anyone ad taken notice of her, which they hadn’t. Opening her back pack she looked down at her one piece swimsuit and smiled, At least I get to splash around for a bit, I haven’t been swimming in quite some time. Changing quickly she looked into her pack at some of her tools. The expect there to be a gun, and a knife, the multi-tool might give me some advantage if this goes south, but it’d be easily spotted if anyone looked down my suit and lets face it that happens more times then I’m comfortable with. Pursing her lips in thought she made a mental shrug. I guess I could always go as he intended, unarmed and accepting. With a quick measure of her options she took her towel and gave a quick look down to her left breast where a raised Nike check mark was located. That check was her safety, she knew if things went sour the company would send more agents.

Coming out into the pool area she dropped her towel off in the designated area and made her way to the diving board. After a quick dive to acclimatize herself to the water she swam over to the corner of the shallow end so that she could minimize the ways someone could sneak up on her. Not really sure what she was looking for she waited,…

The locker room
The old woman pushed the laundry cart into the locker room from a set of double doors. She was good at her job, and her extra ciricular activities. History would record the death of the KGB german operations in the late eighties. Still, some sleepers remained hidden. Now they just did the slight bit of work for a few extra euro's to line their pockets.

The old woman stopped on the other side of the lockers. Her hand went up and opened 145A without hesitation. In her hand was a small wooden handle with three 'spikes' made from wood screws. She pushed the spikes into the three airholes at the back of the locker and turned.

She grunted for a moment, then the back of the locker turned ninty degrees. She pushed the metal wall sideways with her hand. Her eyes looked at the contents of locker 45A for anything unusual. She grabbed a white towel and pulled the objects out with it.

The towel and the contents of the locker went into a cheap duffel bag. The woman replaced the wall and finished picking up wet towels and putting out clean ones. She pushed her cart back through the door. A young man looked to both sides, bent down and grabbed it. His long black hair getting in his face as he went up the stairs and out. He crossed the plaza and walked down towards a fast moving roadway. Here a yellow postal truck was waiting. He got into the passenger seat, and the van drove off.
The duffel bag went into a box behind the passenger seat. It lined with copper screening. Any transmissions from the gear vanished. Twenty minutes later the van disappeared into an underground service area beneith the post office.

The Pool
There were several female divers practicing off the high boards that morning. Some were very good, others so, so. One brunette, who had a brilliant dive earlier but had landed poorly with her last two attempts, stood in line.

Out of the weight room strode a boxum blond, over to the brunette. They had a passionate kiss and embrace. The blonde stroked the nose of the brunette and said something. Both turned and looked at Mina. It was a bit far, but everyone else here was either swimming laps or diving. Mina was alone in her part of the pool. The blond disengaged from the diver and began to walk towards Mina.

She walked with a confident air, her eyes seemed to be both locked onto Mina and looking about the entire hall. The body was well built, not muscular but she likly had more muscle than fat in her body. The blond lowered herself bending her knees near Mina.

The gray eyes seemed to be filled with the kind of lust one usually sees in predatory males. The heavy german accent didn't seem to make her intentions unknown, "Hello, you are new?..would you care to join us for some morning exercise." The eyes and the smile said that 'morning exercise' was going to likely be in the nude and in a bed.


"No? Ah, well then Mr. Hammersmith awaits you." She rose and motioned with a finger for Mina to follow. She led Mina back into the locker room and to another set of lockers. "Your gear has been forwarded to the meet, here you can wear these." She pulled out a pile of clothes and a small backpack. The clothes were roughly Mina's size, as judged from say a video camera. They included a black top with the phrase "Libe Macht Frei" on the front in bold white, a pair of grey sweat pants, and berkenstock flip-flops. The backpack contained an overly large, grey Munich University sweatshirt.

The blond said little. She took off her blue one peice suit and pulled on a pair of jeans, an overly large green shirt with a white kitty on the front and a pair of heavy black boots. She also attached small black holster around her waist, under the shirt. She pulled an odd looking handgun out of her locker and held it in her hand before Mina.

The grip had small red lights that turned green as the blond held it. "Saftey uses my finger print. It would be...unuseful to attempt to use it. Yes?"
He placed the gun in it's holster in the small of her back. She then pulled out a small backpack and said, "put jewlery and weapons in this."

When they were both dressed, the blond led Mina out of the locker room and out to the concrete area, carrying the small backpack. She looked around for anyone following them, then walked east. She almost dragged Mina by the arm down a set of stairs to a busy street. A taxi was waiting to pick them up.

"Ostbanhof, bitte" spoke the blond as she got into the yellow BMW. The driver seemed to want to protest, but she pulled out a wad of euro's and the cabby quited down.

At the Ostbanhof the blond pushed Mina out of the car and led her into the metro station. They picked up a blue line train heading west.

OOC: If you get a picture of the Blond, Interpol likely has her named "Anna" she has been seen in the company of several men around the world just before their deaths/disapperances...she hasn't been 'active' in the past three years as far as they know.

Several thousand kilometres away in the Pacific country of Nova Hope Mina’s handler watched as she was taken down into the metro. Exhaling he ordered another satellite over Germany, incase the first one proved ineffective. Which didn’t seem to be the case as the current satellite seemed to have registered enough points on Mina’s escort to bring up ‘Anna’s’ file. Bit of a black widow we have here. Bringing up the metro schedules on his computer he sat and watched where the possible routes would take her he paused to consider his options. Considering breaking radio silence to inform Mina he decided against it knowing that while the signal would never be unencrypted it could be detected. Sighing he simply feed the geographic points of Mina’s face and body into the computer and hoped she’s come up above ground some where.

As Mina was ‘placed’ on the west bound train she considered taking off. No Hammersmith is in a business, he wouldn’t be killing off customers that attracts attention and drives away customers. I haven’t done anything wrong and I’m positive that he is expecting some level of paranoia from his clients. Feeling the contacts in her eyes she reassured herself that she could still accomplish her secondary objective and if things got really bad she could always make a run for it, the company wouldn’t be pleased but she did have discretion in these matters. Looking over at her escort she sized the blond up. Mina was smaller physically than the blond and guessed that she’d been trained in some sort of fighting style for hand to hand combat. Who in this business hasn’t? Leaning against one of the vertical poles in the subway train she made a yawning motion, and slipped a hair pin from one of the other female passengers unnoticed. Knowing that if it came right down to it the 4 inch straight metal pin wouldn’t make a difference in a gun fight but it gave her some sense of security. Looking over at the blond again to make sure she wasn’t noticed she piped up with a question,
“So how long is it until we get to your friend’s house?” The smile was forced and the tone was too perky for the situation but it would belie the true nature of her predicament from anyone trying to over hear.

OOC ARGH Damn thing ate my post! Last time I freehand anything! Will redo it later today

Mina in Munich
(sounds like a bad porno title)
The Metro system map of Munich looked like a bundle of wires tied together with the ends poking out all over the place. The center of the bundle ran between the Ostbahnhoff and the Hauptbahnhoff. Which said that anyone heading into that area could reappear throughout Munich. Of course the hauptahnhoff, the main railroad station, had a massive arch style train shed. The whole system was built in a way that Mina could remain hidden from an overhead view all over Europe. She could be dragged as far off as Istanbul or the Highlands of Scotland, without her head being visible from above. (Personally I feel very sorry for her handler…)

***
Anna seemed uninterested in saying much of anything. The Metro was fairly empty this early in the morning. Germans only worked a seven hour day after all. At the hauptbahnhoff stop Anna waved Mina off the Metro train and onto the platform of the metro station. Things seemed to be a bit busier here, but still fairly empty.

Anna watched the cars empty and walked over to the other side of the platform. Her eyes registered any faces that may have followed. She pulled a small black box with a cord out of her backpack and said…"Put this on over your neck" Next to the ear the device gave off a slight hum.

The got onto an eastbound train and went back a single station and changed trains again finding themselves at Odeonsplatz. They went up to the mezzanine level and walked over to a gray metal door in the red tile walls. Anna unlocked the door and let Mina go in first. It appeared to be filled with buckets and mops, but at the back a short set of stairs went down into a steam tunnel. The tunnel was stifling. It smelled of cat urine and rats. The overbearing humid heat of the passage seemed to make one want to die. About fifty years further on was a rusted green door. No apparent handles or anything could be made out. Anna pounded on it.

The door pulled back to reveal a spiral staircase descending downwards. It was occasionally lit by a simple lightbulb in an iron cage mounted to the circular concrete walls. On the top step stood a man with a submachinge gun pointed at the two women. He grunted and waved them forwards. After Mina and Anna had started down the stairs, the sound of the door slamming shut and the someone following them could be heard.

At the bottom of the stairs was a screen door. In reality the screen door led to a wire cage inside of a concrete bunker. The walls of the bunker were stained and potmarked. In a few places signs in german stood next to empty alcoves. The 'cage' was apparently made of copper wire. At the center of the room was a long plastic table with Mina's gear spread out carfully. Every item, even those hidden were set out as though being presented. The only thing missing were the glasses. Her handgun lay disassembled, the bullets in a nice orderly group, pointing up.

Behind the table sat a man in an expensive dark blue suit. The broad shoulders covered what he was doing but it involved some form of microscope it appeared. He turned and looked at Mina. He was strong and meaty with an almost flat nose and a large scar under his right eye. He wore an expensive suit and had a large diamond ring on one finger. In his hand he held the glasses. He threw them on the table.
The elegant voice carried off the concrete walls.

"Really, you didn't have to go to all the trouble. I can see that they are not 'normal' based on their radio wave cross section, to make them completely inoperable…." He paused and shrugged. "Ah none of my concern. Now then, one last test..." He walked forward with a pen light and looked into Mina's eyes.
"No, no directional tracking installations. Good."

"Zussana please pack Edda's things for her. We will be having breakfast upstairs." He motioned her through another screen door and onto a freight elevator. He used a key to close the doors and send the elevator rising up a shaft. The elevator passed only concrete walls for a few moments before passing what looked like a basement and then stopped at a kitchen.

As the elevator rose he introduced himself. "I, as you can likely guess, am Hammersmith. Now I was to call you Edda correct? …Good. I'm sorry for the security precautions but in my profession, one must worry about the competition deciding to remove you by violent means."

He led Mina through the kitchen and into some sort of eatery. The ceilings were almost twenty feet above them. The walls were lined with marble columns and modern art. At the center of the space was a circular bar with a counter made of dark wood. The place was apparently still closed with large metal shutters covering what appeared to be the windows to the outside world.
Hammersmith pulled out a chair for Mina at a large table and then sat down himself.

"Oh, please do take that thing off…" he pointed at the black box. "Now then, may I suggest the Belgian Waffles with strawberries, they are quite good here. He handed her a menu and then began perusing one himself.

OOC: Oh, the box is just a multi-frequecy jammer...not really needed here but my Mercs don't know that.

OOC: If I jumped the gun I'm willing to edit.

Mina in Munich, chuckle the germanic equibalent of Debbie does Dallas.

As for her handler. *shrug* Each handler only has one responsibility, their agent. It can be assumed that he's attempting to check around for her through other means. (Hacked subway cameras etc.)


Slipping the box off Mina looked at the menu before her. Without really thinking about it she took his advice of Belgian waffles, she’d not had them for quite some time and she didn’t feel the need to offend her gracious host. Mina made small talk with Hammersmith until their orders arrived. Once she felt the situation warranted it she moved her chair in closer to the table and spoke carefully.
“I assume I am free to speak here?” Hammersmith gave an affirming look and Mina took it as a good ahead.
“Well then, I guess it’s down to business. However I must inform you that one of the included bonuses is the ability to work in the dark so to speak. The less information we have to give you to effectively complete the contract the better. The mission will also require a special kind of person. We want them to work as a part of a guerrilla cell for an extended period of time, lead them, care for them, train them and then never look back when the contract is terminated. On that note we’re willing to pay more than one merc the five thou US a day but we are writing cheques to cash for the bonuses, they’re for a job done and its not our concern if the operating costs on the mercs’ end was higher. However we are willing to cover,… most expenses.” Taking a refill on her coffee as the waitress passed by she took a long drink to calm her nerves. Mina knew that she needed to be as hard as balls here because while the company would negotiate the more she compromised the worse it would look on her. So she pushed on in a no nonsense kind of demeanor.
“Now about you, I understand it’s your MO to take a percentage off the top of the people you represent. That’s between you and them. However the company is somewhat on edge of your ability to track down extraneous information on operations that really, they’d prefer to keep under the table. So in the same under the table spirit we are willing to make a direct deposit to you for becoming overly apathetic to any details about this contract that, while interesting, are innocuous to your business.” Mina let that sink in hoping that’d she’d not said too much.
“Now are we still in the free and clear here Mr. Hammersmith or should I not bother going into more of the specifics.” Looking down at the waffles that had been tantalizing her nostrils for her entire spiel she dug in, looking up at Hammersmith, keen for his reply.

Hammersmith leaned back and looked at Mina through narrowed eyes. "You know, I love it when governments send their agents to to buisness."

A hump defined that as a sarcastic statement, "No don't even try to protest that, your too damn good and too damn stupid to be anything else. You can get your way through a contact statement with a strait face, but you have no clue who my clients are. Now I keep tabs on this for one reason, to keep my people alive. That is part of our buisness arangement. If they found out I screwed one of them to line my own pocket..." he raised his thumb across his throat "...I would be dead within days. Zussana would likely do with the relish she is known for."

He leaned forward, "My job is not to cover your employer's blind spots, but protect my clients. I should point out that neither me nor my client will really care too much about these pawns of yours. Nor should we have any problems if you let my client walk away when the time comes." The waiter brought out a wurst and tea for him to eat.

"Now, here is what you are going to inform me before we will negotiate a price. First, the name of this first world nation my client is supposed to be working in? Second, will the training be intra or extra national? And third, how many individuals does she have to train, and what is their current background in arms?"

He sliced into the wurst and added, "These are the primary factors that will determine both risk and annoyance to my client. Without this information I will assume the worst and alter the price accordingly." He placed the slice of wurst into his mouth and waited for her reply.

Mina felt the stab inside. The thought to lash out was instinctive but her emotions were more controlled then that. Rather than spiting bile at this man or trying to defend her honor, as would be custom back home, she swallowed her pride as she knew all to well how to do. In the service of the company you kept your true emotions in check, some did that by being over the top, Mina did it by being cool. Running a hunk of the waffle she was in the middle of consuming in circles in the puddle of syrup on her plate she raised an eyebrow and looked at Hammersmith’s more than mildly annoyed face.
“I think you misunderstand me. It would be sheer idiocy to ask you to forfeit the life of a client because despite my, lack of intelligence, I do understand that there’d be retribution taken on you, not to mention a loss of clientele.” Mina left the piece of waffle where it lay and leaned back in the chair to straighten her posture out and recapture the coffee cup.
“As for blind spots we’re not looking for anything more than blanket confidentiality. All I meant was that you might be in a position to garner more information than your client and if it’s not directly harmful to the client it doesn’t need to be said, and of course discretion for such a matter would be up to you.” Mina swept a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, she was on the verge of hostility but she knew better than to let even a crack sound in her voice. Inhaling and exhaling deeply she centred herself and continued, this time to answer her table mate’s questions.
“The name of the country is,… The Dominion of Nova Hope. It’s a nation in the Pacific Ocean within The Directorate. As to your second and third query, the contract, ideally, will not leave Noviet borders, as all the targets and resources will be there. The trainees are rag tag at best all thirty some odd, the number isn’t nailed down yet. I won’t lie to you they’ve had no formal training except for their own time at the firing range and using techniques they’ve downloaded, so her annoyance level will be high. Speaking of annoyances I think that now would be a good time to mention some of the other,… clauses. The only ordinance that can be used in this contract is that which is manufactured in Nova Hope or Allanea. Another annoyance that is sure to raise the price of this contract is your client is to be given a communications device to make status reports with and receive new objectives from. However as a perk the company is willing offer free evac and relocation at any point within the contract, before or after completion. We’re also willing to pay for some of her,… compatriots to join the contract because we understand that leading such a rough hewn group into combat isn’t something to be looked fondly on.” Mina looked down at her now empty cup, shrugging at her lack of caffeine she looked up at Hammersmith, wondering how he’d take her statement.
“Oh, and for every objective completed in a timely fashion there’d be a minimum hundred thousand dollar US bonus added to the kitty.”

OOC: Well it looks like Mina's not making the best impression, oops. Give me a heads up if I over step btw. (This is not a complaint just making sure I do not err too greatly this is a new situation for me.) As for the Allanean weapons this thread gives an idea what I'm refering to. http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=340049

OOC Now POST ye bastid! *kicks forum* Ye bin fed already!

IC
“Yes, yes, of course…” Ozan gestures towards the door, bowing slightly. Kareem has apparently completely dismissed the entire event from his memory, and proceeds with more paperwork.

In the secretaries outer office, Adrien’s luggage is just where she left it. On top of it has been placed a tan uniform, deep blue beret, boots and accoutrements, and a plastic ID showing Adrien face on before a red background.

Ozan gives a nervous laugh. “Computers. They are wonderful thing, no?”

The two original green-robed guards fall in behind, one taking up any luggage Adrien does not take, the other leading the way to an elevator, and from there (a different code put into the keypad) down to the garage and into a different PolarBear. One of the green robes takes up the drivers position, the other goes back into the defensive cupola – Adrien gets a good glimpse of a lowered SAM launcher and the butt end of a machine gun of some sort, currently lowered and unpopped.

Ozan takes the seat across from her and belts in before looking a bit shamefacedly. “Many apologies, memsaiyiid…” he hands you his business card with cell phone number written on it. “The invitation does not extend to this unworthy one”.

He shifts in his seat. “Your pardon, but perhaps you have questions to be answered on the way over? By PolarBear, it is a bit of a drive…”


The Palace is built into the rock, obviously having been worked on over centuries, designs of several sorts meld together. The rock face has a peculiar sheen to it; notable at once, it does not have any ice or snow upon it where there are carvings of any sort.

Two long wings extend from the main area, perhaps giving it an aerial appearance of a large C, with the center backed into the rock and the ocean view before it. There are several hard points evident on the top of the wings and two bunkers on the top of the rock face. The East wing has an obvious communications dish and microwave tower mounted on it.

The PolarBear approaches the front gate, and is met by two more of the green-robes. Both of these are wearing an arctic burnoose, lined against the chilling winds. Their faces are covered in green cloth, but there is obviously a facemask underneath. A few words are exchanged with the driver before the gate is opened and the PolarBear heads for the west wing. In perfect choreography, a ramped garage door opens and the descends a ramp downwards. From there, both guards remain with the vehicle and it is up to Ozan to carry anything additional to the elevator (another keypad) where he deposits Adrien, but does not enter.

“So sorry, memsaiyiid. Please to call when you are ready to depart”. The doors slide noiselessly closed.

The elevator is a featureless box with socket for a datajack; it does not even register which floor you are on.

The doors slide open to reveal a luxurious hallway, bedecked in red silk to give the illusion of the inside of a desert tent. Chandeliers are placed at intervals, suspended from the ceiling at the apex of the tent structures – their “flame” is obviously electric in origin, but it does not detract from the illusion. Two green-robed guards, these with red headbands on their green headcloths, flank the elevator, each carrying an FN-MP. Ten doors line each side of the hall, with a double door at either end. The southern double door is guarded by two of the same, while the northern is not.

In the center of the hall, a slight woman with striking green eyes and raven-dark hair stands, her robes a pale eggshell blue.

“Ab-shalom and greetings, Major Lars. Welcome to the Sultan’s home. It is his wish you be a guest here for as long as you wish. Please, choose any room you like, this wing is quite unoccupied for the time being, though I am sure it will not remain so. Ah, apologies” – she genuflects - “I am Margarethe.”


Whichever room is chosen is well kept, luxurious beyond normal standards – you could say “fit for visiting royalty”. Margarethe points out the bell-pulls in each room and mentions casually that there are two “secret doors” in this room before displaying both.

One leads to a “servants alley” behind all the rooms, eventually leading to the wings kitchen, servants quarters, and such. This can be secured from inside the room, and the door is wood-paneled steel. The lock is not accessible from the alley, only from in the room.

The second is quite literally a drop chute. “Our former occupants were somewhat afraid of sudden war, and so they had these put in. I would not enjoin you to jump in without cause, it is quite some ways down, and is one way.”

“None would fault you for doing some exploring of this area either. The southern doors lead to the Sultan’s areas, and are restricted, though there is no restriction over the northern doors. You will find a pool, game room, several entertainments, and finally a solarium at the end – we do ask you not to open the outer doors, it is still quite chilly. If you have need of communications… ah, yes, your case will do that for you, will it not? You may have some trouble in this part of the wing, simply walk until you spot a window that sees outside and you should be able to do as you will”.

“Now, may I help you settle in? Something from the kitchen, perhaps? If you are rested, the files the Vizier sent over can be fetched, or it can wait for another time, perhaps tomorrow?” She smiles and awaits Adrien’s response.

OOC: Mina shouldn't have tried to pay Hammersmith cash 'under the table'. Her only real mistake.

Mina in the Bar
IC: "So, we are discussing gurrilla's in the nation of Nova Hope with only local weapons and to maintain training of thirty individuals with a very poor background inside the nation they are attacking." He looked at Mina for a moment and then began to look at the cealing. "And a hundread thousand bonus for each completed mission...."

His eyes narrowed again but turned towards the bar. Zuzanna stood there with Mina's bag and a laptop. Zuzanna said nothing, just shook her head.

"Alright, the base price will be 7,000 USD/Day + Expenses. I think the bonus package will be excellent. As for the rest of the terms, they can be lived with. Minimum two month's wages deposited for conformation of contract.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Zuzanna walked out from around the bar with a manila folder. She placed it down on the table and opened it. She returned to the bar and began typing.

The folder contained a single sheet of paper.

Amy Landcaster
Interdiction Specialist

Primary Areas of Expertise:
Small Group Combat
Heavy Weapons/Armor Combat
Asymetrical Warfare Tactics
Facility Protection/Engineering

Secondary Areas
Espionage
Small Weapons Training
Money Laundring
Counter Intelligence
Fixed Wing Aircraft Piloting
Interogation

"I can assure you Ms. Landcaster has had experience with dealing with groups such as you described. She has shown quite a nice ability of training individuals in the use of weapons and their applications. Of course having someone who can teach these skills is very rare, so I would like to get her back in one peice. Is my client acceptable?"

The Girl in the Palace
Adrien just shook her head at the apperance of the gear. "Alright, you boys are more efficent than I thought." Was her only comment. She carried her metal case and the camera case without much worry.

In the Polarbear she just asked three quick questions. "Why are you unworthy?"
"How did you get my measurments for the Uniform?"
"And how do I schedule driving lessons for one of these things?"

***
In the Palace she didn't say much but give an attendent a bow. (Er, are there windows in the rooms?) And selected a room with little fanfare. She nodded at everything the woman had to say.

"I would like a bottle of burbon, coke, and the files please." Was all she had to say as she unpacked her things from the rolling case.

She was impressed by the résumé no question, but would it be enough? The HA is pretty shitty, and this client might be taking on too much. However she comes highly recommended.
“Well I am impressed and this all seems fine to me but I need to double check something. I can do that now and deposit the money if this building is microwave transparent.”

Adrien just shook her head at the apperance of the gear. "Alright, you boys are more efficent than I thought." Was her only comment. She carried her metal case and the camera case without much worry.

In the Polarbear she just asked three quick questions. "Why are you unworthy?"

“Apologies, but this one is a junior bey, not yet of long service. As such, my full reach is not as far as it could me. Most certainly, this service will go far to rectify that situation”.

"How did you get my measurments for the Uniform?"

“You walked through many security locations. A very long time ago, we knew of law enforcement in the United States which used several measurements of the human body as a method of identifying criminals. This method was discredited later when it was discovered two separate men had the same measurements, but the theory behind the method is most certainly still sound. Initial measurements would be taken at our customs location, while the individual is relaxed, and as they walk about the aeroport. These would be kept and continuously updated as the individual walks about. The system then can keep track even in a disguise, for though there may be several with the same measurements, only so many will be in such a location at such a time. If the system can add facial features, particularly close and with fluoroscopy, then it will not forget in any disguise. So, once you were within the Governmental Complex, it was child’s play to request an adequate uniform”.

"And how do I schedule driving lessons for one of these things?"

“Memsaiyiid, it shall be my pleasure to schedule such for whenever and wherever you desire”.

***
In the Palace she didn't say much but give an attendent a bow. (Er, are there windows in the rooms?)

(Yes, but they’re fake, like the office. See below)

And selected a room with little fanfare. She nodded at everything the woman had to say.

"I would like a bottle of bourbon, coke, and the files please." Was all she had to say as she unpacked her things from the rolling case.

Margarethe gives a headbob bow. “Your pardon, Major, but are you requesting the pharmaceutical or the beverage? Either, or both, can be supplied”.

Once clarified, she gives a short bow again, then vanishes through the servants alley, reappearing a few minutes later through the front door with a pushcart, on which is a bottle of bourbon, (whichever coke you chose ;) heh), a small plate of baklawa and a basket containing ekmeh in a cloth wrap to keep it warm. Underneath are piled files, approximately four hundred of them.

She smiles through a slight blush. “Please to understand, the offering of bread is customary to guests? The other, just because it is good. If you wish, coffee can be brought later? Or would you prefer not to be disturbed?”


OOC :
baklawa – sweet pastry of nuts, cinnamon, and candied orange peel soaked in sweet syrup
ekmeh – herbed bread

The palace proper (not the front) has been reinforced significantly, and is opaque to all waveforms known, and quite a few unknown.

Mina
She was impressed by the résumé no question, but would it be enough? The HA is pretty shitty, and this client might be taking on too much. However she comes highly recommended.
“Well I am impressed and this all seems fine to me but I need to double check something. I can do that now and deposit the money if this building is microwave transparent.”

"I am afraid not...however..." He pushed forward a cell phone. "...you may use this to call out. Do not worry, you make take the phone. To get the cell phone relay installed in the building dial *9."

The sound of a printer from near the bar could be heard.

***
(vanishing posts...hmmm)
IC: She looked puzzled for a moment at the question. As though someone were making a joke at her expense. Her mouth twisted before she replied, "the beverage..." She began to take clothes out and lay them out on the bed.

When the woman returned she looked at the pile from the Vizir's office and scruched up her nose. "Really, I hadn't realized they had that many officer canidates, ah did I miss the pull to ring the servants? I'll likely just try to start with this mass of files..." She smelled the bread, nodded and smiled. She then tasted the baklawa (or should that be baklava?) and smiled for a moment. "Quite nice...although I would reccommend to the baker to use pure cinnamon and not any cessia in this." (cessia is usually mixed with most cinnamon)

(OOC: Er, I have no idea who or what character you want to use for that part...)

Mina took the cell from Hammersmith, thanking him as she did. Smiling she exhaled softly to think for a moment. Well I’m not going to call direct, that’d be idiotic. It’ll only be analogue but totally secure nonetheless. Dialing nine she connected to the relay box who prompted her for the number in a monotone voice. Dialing a private unlisted number in Nova Hope she waited. It rang eight times and a click was heard on the line and ringing, in another tone, could be heard. A voice sounded on the other end, almost as if he was on a speaker phone but Mina knew the difference.
“Tony’s deep dish pizzas, Tony speaking.” Mina smiled, it was good to hear her handler’s voice.
“I’d like a Santa Fe Chicken Quesadilla.” It was the signal to let him know she could talk.
“Tony doesn’t do Quesadillas.” That was her Handler asking if the line was bugged.
“That’s too bad.” And that was the sign for yes. Mina paused to let that sink in.
“Her name is Amy Landcaster and we have a go for seven a day. They want 61 days up front.”
“Hold.” The line went dead silent for almost four minutes. Mina sat uncomfortably, tapping her fingers on the table and looking around the eatery, appraising it for its décor. The line snapped back on and her handler’s voice was heard.
“Where do they want it?” Mina smiled and looked over at Hammersmith,
“It would appear the terms so far have been agreed upon. Could I have an account number? Or a branch number or…” she made a small circle with her fingers to indicate the need for input.

ooc: I realize that it probably won't come up but think two phones held together. It stops direct traces. There were other measures taken should you feel the need to trace I will detail them

OOC: Yes, quite correct...although you went through another one since the whole dial *9 sent it through a local impromtu exchange to avoid you tracing him. By now you should having trouble hearing the handler. In reality having a device that allows for an impromtu exchange between two lines makes a great deal of sense. You just have to select the phones such that the accounts are 'untracable' to you.

IC: Hammersmith smiled and placed small slip of paper with a twelve digit, Alpha numeric account number on the table. "If you would please transmit the ammount to Zuhelm Bank, Zurich and this account....my assistant will confirm the transfer."

Mina relayed the information to her handler over the buggy line. She wondered how many different organizations were listening in to make it this staticy. She shook her head to clear those kinds of thoughts.
“It’s done. You need anything else babe?” Mina smiled, she knew that her hander worried about her. She thought about it for a moment and deiced no.
“No I’m fine, but thanks.” She hung up the phone and looked at Hammersmith expectantly.

OOC: $427,000 for the first 61 days has been deposited by a dummy corporation. This is the same corporation that will be doing all of your payments.

Munich
The electronic voice answered "Yes Mr. Zion, I was hoping it was you, finding new cansiters of Zexlon B would have been a pain." The door opened to reveal another door. The words "Please enter" flashed on the blue screen.

The door closed behind Zion after he stepped through, and a thump in the nearby wall could be heard. A moment later the door before him opened.

It was another elevator. This one wood paneled with a boxum blond wearing a short skirt and a Hello Kitty tank top stood inside. The tank top was fairly tight across her chest, the webbing of the sholder strap for the submachine gun she was wearing seemed to be helping things.

She waved Zion forwards into the cab. On one wall was an LCD display. It showed a profile view of a man in semi-transparent grey with small red objects. The grey was Zion, the red his weapons.

The woman made no comment until the door opened again. She pointed Zion out and then led him through an elegant, book lined office and out onto a terrace. It was enclosed by high brick walls covered in ivy with flower beds running along the edge. In one corner stood a small tree that shaded the terrace.

At a cast iron table sat a large man. He was strong and meaty with an almost flat nose and a large scar under his right eye. He wore an expensive suit and had a large dimond ring on one finger. Next to him was a rolling stand with a computer and small mike.

"Ah, Mr. Zion...so glad that you could make it...please take a seat...would you like some refreshment? I was about to enjoy my afternoon tea." The voice was cultured, with a slight austrian accent. He indicated a comfortable looking chair on the other side of the table from him.

The sniper seated himself, keeping a more than watchful eye on the hottie with the bullet-hose...

'I'd like to fire off a few into her...'

Zion thought smugly as he rotated his neck, silently popping a few kinks out as he observed his host...

'Former infantry most likely... Possibly special ops... A real gung-ho looking motherfucker...'

"Nah, thanks... I'm not thirsty. I take it you're Hammersmith..."

Zion shifted the weight of his Berretta more to the left in his waistband... The thing wasn't comfortable for sitting down, he really needed a decent holster...

Margarethe bows with the ease of long practice. “I shall ensure our baker hears of your recommendation. Be at peace.”

She then swiftly excuses herself from the room by the main door and vanishes, as good servants do.

A read of the folders gave a few instant impressions. The first was the find of how integrated the military truly was – it included police, customs, most any public service involving weaponry or observation.

The second was the depth of Soviet corruption present. So many presented were nothing more then placeholders, inept and ridiculous for consideration even of commanding an ice cream truck. That they had dozens of medals and showpieces made it even more obvious how much dead wood needed pruning.

The third was the presence of a sweep. Most of the older officers fit under the “deadwood” label. There is a two year “hole” in which there are no candidates. And then there are more suitable candidates, mostly younger but with service either new or reactivated.

A few candidates stand out, more or less, but Captain Raava Eskilii of the polar terrorist carpet-bombing fame stands out a bit more, mostly for a report which criticized the use of such large ordinance on such a small target. The girl had guts, obvious command skill, and a dislike for armchair generals. At 25, she was “career military”, twice commended. She had touched each branch of the VAS, now serving in – of all things – Customs because, as she put in her request, “one needed to keep learning new things to do necessary things better”. Another note, almost in afterthought, stated she’d taken the option for temporary “demotion” in order to learn from the ground up, rather then from officer’s country.

Best of all, she was currently stationed at Gardemeister.

Zion in Munich
OOC: this is semi-flashback before finalized details between Adrien and Vastiva

Hammersmith grinned wryly
"Yes, I am. This is Zuzana one of my clients who has graciously allowed herself to act in a protective capacity. Now, personally I would enjoy a cup of tea, if you would Zuzana?"

The blond turned and walked back into the building. "Now, the business proposition my client had for you was a protective detail. Specifically, hiring you to act as her protective detail on her current assignment. At present she was prepared to offer twenty thousand a month for your services. "

The blond reappeared with a tray. The tray had two tea cups, a tea pot, a bucket and a decanter of bourbon. She placed on the table. And then sat on a garden bench looking at both men.

Hammersmith poured the tea as he continued…"I should point out that Vastiva is known to be quite cold this time of year, and her job is for the actual government. Your work will not be a black op but quite above board…."

He took the decanter and added a splash of bourbon to his tea and continued. "In reality you'll likely be going against a black group operating a terrorist cell in Vastiva. And your previous employer seemed to have taken an interest in removing all the lose ends from your last job."

He leaned back and sipped his tea, hie eyes seemed to dance a little looking at Zion.

Mina
Hammersmith turned to look at the blond at the computer. Zuzana looked up and nodded to Hammersmith and then walked over with a sheet of paper. It was the contract in standard German boilerplate.
"Now then just sign here…and you can then inform me how you would like to make contact with my client for her briefing and escort into the country."

He pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it to Mina.

Vastiva
Adrien seemed to do the weeding quite expertly. She looked at the pile of careerists and desk jockeys. Not even the soviets got this bad. But the obvious missing men were likely the cause of too many. The fact that the military was integrated with the police force made sense. He native country's police force was primarily made up of special divisions of the Milita. So, it did make sense. Of course one needed to maintain an absolute control over the military and its respective arms to avoid being 'replaced' by a napoleon wannabe. Another good reason for the odd gap in things.

So was there a coup attempt or did the prince decide just to rid himself of his uncles lackeys. Well, if the old guard isn't quickly removed from causing too much frustration with the new crop then we will just have a repeat won't we. Yes, now then they do like their medals. Hmmm,

She sat down at her laptop on the bed, cross-legged and began to made a quick memo that she would like to interview Captain Raava Eskilii and two other officers about the position. She dug the small printer out of her gear and had two copies printed. One for Ozan to schedule her meetings with the individuals and to and the other to the Vizer for clerk of his to file in a drawer someplace.

She placed both into envelopes and sealed them.

She placed her other idea onto a back burner in her mind. Finally, she rang the servants. When one arrived she handed off the memos with instructions of who they should be delivered to post haste. "…Also I'd like a quick repast before I go to bed."

Zion didn't need to consider the offer...

"Done. When do I leave?"

OOC: just to get this subthead to merge with the rest, and I want to have Zion and Zuzana interact a bit more....

IC: Hammersmith nodded, "Yes, very good, I will deposit two months salary into any account you desire. At the moment, final negotations between Ms. Lars and the Vastiva government are still occuring. As such, I think that you might enjoy a breif rest at a fine boutique hotel. And perhaps we had better outfit you for the extreams of the weather in Vastiva."

He turned to the blond, "Zuzana will you please show Mr. Zion around and then take him to the Ludwig? I will contact you by cell phone if plans become more solid."
"Unless there is anything else, good day Mr. Zion..."

Zuzana nodded and walked back into the building leading Zion. Across from the elevator she unlocked a curio cabinet. The cabinet swung out of the way to reveal a stainless steel door with a key pad. After entering the code, the door opened to reveal a small arsenal of weapons. She put away the submachine gun and grabbed a nine millimeter in a shoulder holster. After replacing the door and the curio cabinet, she threw a light, red rain jacket on.

She waved Zion back into the elevator, returning to the street by the same path Zion used to enter the building. Of course things were a bit faster with her knowing the combinations and having a pre-programed voice code.

Back on the street she hailed a cab and ordered the diver to take them to "neun and seiben Narmar strasse, she fell back into the bemers back seat and turned to Zion. "Ah, did you have any luggage when you arrived?"

Zion shook his head as he seated himself, positioning his rifle's case to his left, directly on the door so his right hand would be free to grab his Berretta if such action was needed...

"Nope... This is all I've got."

He was a man of few needs... Ammo, women, booze... In that order...

OOC: Obviously any agent I sent to do this would be in the very least book smart. As for German, again, fore thought. So she’s obviously read the contract thoroughly.

IC:

Mina read the contract, twice. She didn’t want her name to be on it if it was going to be a FUBAR. Inking in Edda Brill in a seamless signature only the best of experts with the best of equipment could dispute. Wiping the pen on her shirt she set it onto the table when she was done. Smiling politely at Hammersmith who raised an eyebrow at her actions she continued as if this was all old hat.
“Contact and briefing is simple. I’ll have lunch with her in Munich and give her the uplink that will be her means of new information from the company. I’ll be able to answer any questions in person and as for getting into the country, well. The company is willing to do that but as she’ll see at the meeting it’ll forfeit her first opportunity to get a bonus. The company would prefer to have as little traceable contact with Miss Landcaster as possible, though we will help her the more she can do on her own the better it is for us and the better it is for her paycheck.” Mina looked up to take a cue from Hammersmith but she could guess that her dinner was coming to a close.

Zion shook his head as he seated himself, positioning his rifle's case to his left, directly on the door so his right hand would be free to grab his Berretta if such action was needed...

"Nope... This is all I've got."

He was a man of few needs... Ammo, women, booze... In that order...

She nodded, "Well, will pick you up a duffel bag with the thermal cloathing…."

Within twenty minutes they found themselves at a warehouse on the east side of the Istar river. Inside was filled with various gear, including a very good selection of thermal ware. She got Zion to purchase some thermal ware any anything else he wanted for 'A place where the Arctic sounds like a balmy paradise." Of course she paid.

Four hours into the shopping trip Zuzana got a call. She answered it and then turned to Zion. "Your flight leaves at six am tomorrow morning. That is the next flight to Gardmiester Aerodrome.

***
Hammersmith only raised his eyebrows at the whipping of the pen. He really only wanted a signature of someone else's handwriting to prove his client was working for someone. Why had more to do with keeping his other clients from killing him if Landcaster was killed.

"I am afraid that Miss Landcaster will meet you at a quite hospitable bistro known as "Der Islander" on Frauenchiemsee in the Chemsiee for lunch at noon in two days time. I will allow you both to work out the details of how she is to arrive. Enjoy the rest of your day. Zuzana please show her out…"

Zuzana handed back Mina's gear and then led her to a small back door. Mina was taken by the arm and led out the door into a small alleyway. Zuzana smiled her cold little smile and closed the door, leaving Mina to find her own way back. The alleyway opened up onto the square before the royal palace and the northern city gate. A few minutes later the restaurant opened with no apparent sign of Hammersmith or Zuzana being there.

OOC: The islands are covered in tourists in the summer, it is a huge lake in southern Bavaria. One of the more known Bavarian Kings rebuilt Versailles on the larger of the two islands. The Frauenchimsee is covered in small summer cottages, etc. Lots of little docks to park a boat at, has a ferry to a parking area. About a thirty minute ride.

Peter arrived the next morning at the airport, with all the proper fake papers to allow him to carry his weapons onto the flight. His $125,000 rifle was not made for the baggage compartment...

ooc: I queried you via ICQ A&H, please check

Margarethe nodded. “Of course. It will only be a few moments.”

As good as her word, the shortish servant returns in less then thirty minutes with a tray of several different dishes, all prepared to be a few mouthfuls, no more.

“Your pardon, I was not sure of your preferences, and these were available swiftly”.

There are two swordfish kebabs; poached sea bass in a parchment wrap; a bread bowl filled with baked shrimp and mussels; spicy pureed tomatoes in pita bread wraps; some savory pastries filled with seaweed and minced fish; there is a piece of pistachio cake, and four smaller bowls, one containing apricot compote, another hummus, a third a mixture of olive oil and herbed wine, and the last a rather potent garlic paste. There are also a few sizable chunks of bread in a basket, still warm.

“It is our hope this will provide sufficient sustenance? More can be made available in a short time; our chefs are used to working quickly.”

Before Adrien is finished with her meal, a note is brought from Ozan : two of the applicants will be at the military installations of Nassanuella, the third is at Gardemeister Aeroport. She could choose to meet with them where she was – arrangements for any situation she liked could be made – or to be taken to where they were. He awaited her response.

Well at least it isn't goat or camel
She nodded at the steward, and began to dine. After try the shrimp dish she looked up and said, "I think I'd like another plate of this. The rest is excelent but I really haven't burned that many calories today."

She enjoyed most of the food, although the pita with tomatos was only nibbled on a bit. Like most of her fellow countrymen, she was used to living off the bounty of the sea.

Halfway through finishing her meal she read the note. Her response was simple:
I need to visit these places anyway. I would prefer to do the interviews with the least amount of preperation by our subjects. Their future job is about responding to sudden developments and having a mind flexable to the situations they have to deal with.
The first test will be me interupting their 'routine' to interview them. They also should not have any knowledge of what I am interviewing them for. Also, is there a good tailor around? I'd like to get a second uniform made up...

After eating and sending the note on to Ozan. She decided to make her way to the solarium with her metal case to see if she had any calls waiting for her.

*****
M.S. Just assume there is a 6:00 am flight from Munich to Vastiva.

ooc: I queried you via ICQ A&H, please check
TGed...ICQ giving me fits again.

The days after her meeting with Hammersmith Mina had taken her time to acquaint herself with the city, more specifically the area around the Frauenchemissee. Having a couple of meals at the eatery in question and studying orbital reconnaissance of the area she felt she was ready for what ever came her way.

On the appointed date she arrived early. Coming to a stop at the meeting place she locked her pedal bike to the provided bike rack. With the over abundance of bike trails there always seemed to be one handy here. Patting her saddle bag she thought of the motor in it. A silly looking thing it, should one open the bag, it looked like some had castrated a lawnmower for a transplant. Reaching into the saddlebag that didn’t contain the motor she pulled out an attaché case and reattached the small lock on the zipper she turned towards the restaurant. Coming towards the restaurant she scanned the windows to see if she could spot her contact. Not seeing her she entered into the single door and approached the hostess. Leaning in to speak quietly she smiled and greeted her,
“Hi I have to meet someone here, could you direct me to the bathroom so I could freshen up?” Today her German held the tints of Dutch colloquialisms and slang. Mina really didn’t care too much, she was impersonating a Dutch woman after all.
“Yes right over there ma’am.” The woman smiled politely at her and Mina had to wonder if she went to school when not here. Moving quickly into the bathroom she disappeared for about eight minutes, and then reappeared in a different outfit. Now in black slacks and casual white dress shirt she had ditched the dark sunglasses styled P-HUDD for professional looking prescription styled glasses. Blinking twice to make sure her contacts were in place properly she put her game face on. The might’ve got me last time by taking off the glasses but this time even if I have to ditch the glasses I’m still getting a picture of the girl. Scanning the restaurant for Amy she noticed a middle aged woman sitting alone in the corner, beginning the scan of the room she again began to query databases for any hits on peoples faces. Approaching the woman the sun glinted a bit off her reddish brown hair, appraising her as she closed the last few feet she smiled and put her hand out to the woman,
“Hi, you must be Amy, I’m Edda Brill. Mind if I take a seat?”

OOC: Sorry about the time lapse. That pesky real life sprung up again :D

The woman's voice was a harsh contralto, she spoke softly and with authority, "Your paying so you might as well sit...."

God, she's now wearing glasses again...

***
The image of Amy Landcaster popped up an old file that had been sent to Interpol ten years ago:

Subject Name: Unknown
Alisas: Mrs. Piggy
Wanted for:
Questions concerning Robbery/Homicide

Primary Investigative Agency:
Internal Security Section,
Ministry of Interior, Dual Duchy of Alcona and Hubris

***
OOC: I likely should have warned you but you just put a pair of cross hairs on my character.

ISS
A computer screen registered the tag on Interpol. It also pulled up a 16 alpha numeric code. The operator of the console turned to his internal computer system and typed in the code:

U75-895-STN-980-Z77A
Name: Sargent Amy Landcaster
Classification: Desertion while in the Feild
Secondary Classification: Lost Merc Company
Security Code: Red-Alpha-Alpha
Notes: Inform Head of IIS of tag,
Investigate source immediately but with descression
attempt to find out Interpol user code and any fingerprints.
DO NOT CONTACT SOURCE ABOUT TAG.
Priority: GREEN

The consol operator turned and drew the attention of the watch officer. The watch officer nodded, turned and then walked out of the large dark room and into a glass walled office.

"McHenry, punch up this code and begin an investigation. I'm going to have to make a call over to Black's boys. I'm going to need your results ASAP if they care."

The small, older man turned and pulled up the code himself, and the tag. He began by seeing if the same source that had pulled up Amy was now sending any other faces into the network.

OOC: hehe oops. I honestly didn’t think of it. To be fair I’ve not done many espionage styled RPs. Willing to learn though. So what this has taught me is from now on keep a Interpol mirror on my own servers and update en masse.

However in my defense I didn’t know she was so highly wanted (IC).

If I'm presumptive in my knowledge of the ISS's actions I'm willing to edit, I think I should've created a less blunt character to do this one though,...

IC:

Mina smiled at the curt behavior. She sat and a menu was brought to her fairly quickly, placing her order she turned to Amy,
“Are you eating dear?” Amy responded and they were left alone while Mina fiddled with her case. Unbeknownst to those around her Mina had just flooded the room with sound at a higher frequency and lower frequency then could be heard by the human ear. Checking in with her handler she sub-vocalized as she fiddled.
“I’m about to turn on the dead zone, anything I should know?”
“Yea, someone is back tracking me on Interpol.”
“Anyone we know?”
“No idea they’re being discreet about it I wasn’t able to acquire a source.”
“And them?”
“They may and they may not. We’re never going to query Interpol through those means again, they don’t have me yet but the trail is there. If they’re legit all it’d take is an official inquiry and Interpol would release the Noviet tag, but it’d be traced back to state authorities and not to the company. Any further queries will be done on our database and not on Interpol, sorry babe.”
“No problem, but I’m activating the dead zone.”
“Just be careful this has added a whole new angle to this job.”
“By-e.”
And with one last fiddle of here bag the area surrounding the table, about six and a half feet in all directions from the bag, went radio/microwave dead. Smiling across the table at her new employee Mina smiled.
“Well dear I guess you need to know what I’m paying you to do.” Mina broke eye contact with Amy for a moment to thank the waitress for the coffee,
“Thanks, oh no I take it black.” Sipping from the fresh mug she inhaled deep its aroma,
“Mmm love this stuff. As I was saying,” she cleared her throat again and looked up at Amy taking measure of any biometric she could read, filing it away in the P-HUDD’s personal memory.
“We want you to be training a group of people to do the job you seem best qualified to do, urban warfare. Because the company is on a timetable we will need you to lead them into a few missions personally because we know that they’ll not be able to do it themselves without your guidance. The company would prefer that you work in the dark as much as possible, our bonus scale will reflect that but we understand the need for information in your line of work as well. So each objective will be subdivided and you will be given bonuses on your successful completion of each objective. You need a floor plan to a facility? That’s fine but it means one more instance where the company needed to extend its influence for you and your bonuses will reflect that.” Mina let that weigh on Amy a bit while the waitress delivered the order. Sampling her food she swallowed and continued.
“You may be asking why I’m going on about bonus when your daily salary is guaranteed and fairly hefty at that.” Mina paused again to take another bite of her sandwich, washing it down with another mouthful of black coffee.
“It’s pittance. You’ll do well to heed the recommendations we give you because we award successes, there is no cap on this bonus scale.” Mina looked for any obvious facial reactions to her comment, she wondered if money was even an object to this woman or whether this was her pastime.
“You can stop the contract at anytime and we’ll get you out of the theatre. You forfeit unpaid bonus, which you can collect at anytime and we will get it to you… reasonably soon, and we pay out and never speak to you again and of course you never speak of us. Should you complete the contract to the end, as we define it, we have several incentives, bonuses if you will. We are willing to take you in at anytime no questions asked and put you in a safe place where you will have a secured income of five hundred thousand American dollars a year. We will allow you first pick of future contract work, within your fields of expertise and finally we will give you a one time payment of three hundred million US dollars.” Mina watched Amy again, that statement she had hoped would provoke some reaction. The company treats its employees very well to be sure. Though I don’t know if we should’ve offered this one amnesty, she seems like more trouble than she’s worth really.

Amy ordered a torte and tea. She then steadly watched the woman, the rest of the bistro and outside to the bicycle paths.

If she was CIA I'd say she was fresh off the farm. Or at least she's never spent the time with people on my side of the fence...Girl, your initalizing urban warfare against a first world nation using their own nationals. I am a fricken liability, your going to hand me three hundread million and then put a cap in my skull.

The woman raised her hand. "Listen, you've made it clear. Minimum assistance is the name of the game. This is a black op and it smells to boot, Fine. When I want out I tell you, Fine."

She lowered her hand and sipped her cup of tea. "Now, as for your hide out wherever let's just leave that for the day it comes up. I appreciate the offer...."
She thought Oh, yeah right, 300 million bullets in my ass girl... "But I would prefer that we get on to the meat of the subject. My contact to the group and your contact to me...."

IIS
The man looked out a window down on the Parade Ground of Hull House. The window looked from a distance like an 18th century 9 pane over 9 pane. In reality, the peircing through ancient granite wall was now filled with a triple pane window. Where the builders had hidden the small wooden sutters now contained quick release blast shutters.

The man didn't seem much, infact he was often compared to the T.V. character Columbo. A disheveled suit and tie covered a body that seemed to be quite pauncy. But Mr. Black, or this Mr. Black, had what it took to run the Special Division of IIS, a quick mind and a rapier ability with red tape.

Two other men sat in the room. They sat in shadow, their faces and bodies just black masses in the book lined room. A knock and the door opened to reveal McHenry.

The man had been hauled out to give a breifing. He hadn't much cared for the rotodyene ride across the Innersee but that had to be done, Black prefered to hear anaylists rather than read their reports.

Black turned and said, "Well McHenry what have you to report on the Mrs. Piggy Matter?"

McHenry gulped when he noticed who else was in the room. He pointed at a third, uncomfortable chair and Black nodded.

"Well, Sir, we...I...got caught casing the bugger in the Interpol files. He was buisily running some blond girl through the system. He up and vanished like the wind...whatever, whoever he was didn't want to be traced. And didn't like having someone start stalking him. I would say whoever it was was good..."

"You mean hope was good...because..." Black interupted.

"No, I'm good...just well...maybe a bit cocky..."

"Alright, a professional or a very good Hacker."

"Not a Hacker, I was able to download the Interpol inquiry buffers. I found several other inquires using data with the same finger prints."

"What fingerprints..."

"Ah all using biometric data through the same image processing sequences. Same level of detail. Same odd quirks in the data...same access number tagged on the end of the inquires...not much came up but...well one chap did...or two people actually."

"Oh, who"

"A possible assassin named Anna and a beuracrat who's been I.D. for a murder."

Black just raised an eyebrow.

"The beuracrat is in..." continued McHenry

"Munich, yeah normal place of operations..." interupted Black.

"Oh, well I wanted to find out who was on without letting them know who was asking..."

"Good, what did you do..."

"Hacked an Interpol secretaries email and sent out a supposedly forwarded email from Brussles about someone inteviewing the database with a nasty worm and leaving it about the place."

"Oh, and how did that..."

"Simple, I selected three times that our subject was on and then crossed that that was the times the infected files had been last opened."

"Oh, so what..."

"A Net Admin sent back an email reply...with the list of everyone on line at the times..."

"And?"

"Four names came up continously...Vrak, Nova Hope, Germany, and Lower Puchinstien."

"Vrak is out because their system makes inquires to our databases directly at the same time. We didn't get a hit that way. Germany doesn't indiscriminatly make inquires about people like that, too Nazi for there tastes."

"So that leaves Lower Puchinstien and Nova Hope..."

"Yes..."

"Thank You...Mr. McHenry..."

McHenry stood, gave a short bow and then walked back out the door. One of the black figures said. "Alright then we know what..."

"Nova Hope, Lower Puchinstien doesn't have the money to invest in a decent biometrics processing system, let alone hire someone from Hammersmith...."

"I'd prefer to not have someone from that group pop up just before the elections...too damn embarassing for..."

"Your party that abandoned them in Franado Poo to begin with, yes I'll keep an eye on things. I'll put one of my better analysists to look into things in Nova Hope...anything else?"

"If she's in a black op...see that it dies Black...I do not want the world thinking we export terrorists..."

"How..."

"Kit gloves, hire a Marshall to deal with the problem...."

"if there is one..."

"If there is one, yes....Good day Mr. Black." The two figures rose and walked out the door.

Well Amy my girl, I hope your getting paid well. Because if you've gone black, you'll have the Marshall's on your tail.

Mina blinked, and then chuckled. Thinking that it was good she’d not become a car salesman she smiled and brought about the point of this little meeting.
“Aah yes, the contact info. Well quite frankly I don’t have it.” Mina poked at one of the complimentary cream packets, continuing as if uninterested in the crucial details she was about to put out over the table.
“The contact will be simple enough, you check into a prepaid room and all the information is there.” After sliding a standard business card across the table she almost yawned, as if wiping her hands of the matter.
“Is that all you needed?” Pausing for a moment she added, almost as an after thought,
“Nova Hope has no physical currency, it’s all electronic and I wouldn’t recommend coming in with a passport from Colombia, Allanea, Austar Union or any militaristic type nations. You wouldn’t want to raise any flags.”

Scrawled on the card

The Metropolitan Lounge, Rm#16051; Reservation for Erica Kelly
Addy; 1 Bloor ave, Nova Hope City, Nova Hope
Instructions; tip the front desk man two euros a Mexican peso and three American pennies.

Zion arrived in Vavista some several hours later... He waited in the airport for any sign of his contact...

Zion arrived in Vavista some several hours later... He waited in the airport for any sign of his contact...

OOC Not quite so fast George... Customs awaits.

IC: The inside of the aeroport wasn’t bad, if you like every colors of the rainbow – occasionally jarringly combined. Directions are set by stripes in the floor – it was almost as if the entire population had decided collectively to fight the grey bleakness outside with every weapon available.

A small group of customs agents is supported by a set of rather passive officers behind them with holstered pistols. The worrysome part is the snipers on a higher level with weapons pointed in your general direction and the SWAT groups hovering "passively" nearby.

Apparently, you stick out a bit.

The bored agent looks Zion over. "Sniper rifle. Good quality. You police? Or hunting for someone?"

***

OOC a slight projection forwards so Zion has a fighting chance…

IC:
A tailor – a busy little old woman with a tendency to stick first and worry later – arrives first thing in the morning, along with breakfast. Ozan includes an itinerary going first to Nassanuella where the first – Lendo Hyksos – works as the supervisor of one of the motor pools at the VAS base there and the second – Dobre Charna al-Sivhat – is an MP.

The interview with Lendo is a complete bust – he gets upset when his routine is broken, and though he is quick to respond to problems, the man is an absolute space cadet when it comes to details. Not that he cannot get many things done at once – four T-80UM1 tanks and several CV-90P APCs are all being tended to swiftly, and he does have the ability to go back and forth, gain quick understanding of what is going on, and make decisions – but his thoughts remain broadly on what he is doing; he lacks flexibility.

Dobre is better – she’s firmly instated improvements in base security and patrols which make things harder to crack, even though they make it that much harder on her troops; she’s concerned with results first, not being popular. If there’s a reservation, it would rest on what may be cultural – a wanting to be second banana, to follow rather then take charge. She makes a wonderful second, but may not have the chutzpah to be first.

The PolarBear grinds it’s way to a military transport bullet train where it is strapped efficiently in place. You and Ozan and one of the green robed guards – never do speak do they? – are put in the officer’s car, where today you are alone. The car will take all of four minutes to reach the aeroport. Ozan looks comfortable, the guard has on his cloth faceveil, and the car is reasonably quiet.

IC:
A tailor – a busy little old woman with a tendency to stick first and worry later – arrives first thing in the morning, along with breakfast. Ozan includes an itinerary going first to Nassanuella where the first – Lendo Hyksos – works as the supervisor of one of the motor pools at the VAS base there and the second – Dobre Charna al-Sivhat – is an MP.

Adrien dressed in her uniform and carried her nine-millimeter and the metal case. Once outside in the Polarbear a buzzing was heard. "Oh, damn I need to answer this..."

The case popped open and she typed in the code to release the phone from its cradle.

A few moments later she turned to Ozan "I need to inform someone that my personal body guard is arriving at the Aeroport on Luthhana Flight 876 from Munich, likely under an alias."


The interview with Lendo is a complete bust – he gets upset when his routine is broken, and though he is quick to respond to problems, the man is an absolute space cadet when it comes to details. Not that he cannot get many things done at once – four T-80UM1 tanks and several CV-90P APCs are all being tended to swiftly, and he does have the ability to go back and forth, gain quick understanding of what is going on, and make decisions – but his thoughts remain broadly on what he is doing; he lacks flexibility.

She just scratched is name off her notebook and wrote:
Future Desk Jocky under his name. Not that good desk jockys were not needed in the world. Just not this operation.


Dobre is better – she’s firmly instated improvements in base security and patrols which make things harder to crack, even though they make it that much harder on her troops; she’s concerned with results first, not being popular. If there’s a reservation, it would rest on what may be cultural – a wanting to be second banana, to follow rather then take charge. She makes a wonderful second, but may not have the chutzpah to be first.

A nice harda** to keep people moving. Although Adrien wondered if security would be that much increased by the extra hardship. In reality her not wanting to be popular was a good thing. And the woman really needed to learn how to take charge if she wanted to be anything more than a carrerist.


The PolarBear grinds it’s way to a military transport bullet train where it is strapped efficiently in place. You and Ozan and one of the green robed guards – never do speak do they? – are put in the officer’s car, where today you are alone. The car will take all of four minutes to reach the aeroport. Ozan looks comfortable, the guard has on his cloth faceveil, and the car is reasonably quiet.

She turns to Ozan again. "Alright, this next one is promising. But her carrer path worries me a bit. There might be a reasonable explination, or it might be a more worrysome problem. As such I'm going to be very harsh with her. Oh, and has my personal body guard shown up yet?"

Ozan shrugs. "Harsh is better then inept." He removes a passport sized palm pilot from his robe and plays with it a moment. "Are any of these your man? They are the current security alerts. If not, we can cycle through current entries".

Fifteen people are displayed, Zion is #4 with a threat level of 8 on a ten point scale. From the palm pilot view, you can also see him covered with laser spots from various weaponry. A specific note states the presence of a sniper rifle, which is a restricted possession.

OOC note - the lasers are using IR wavelengths, so Zion cannot see them unless using something to spot the beams.

Mina blinked, and then chuckled. Thinking that it was good she’d not become a car salesman she smiled and brought about the point of this little meeting.
“Aah yes, the contact info. Well quite frankly I don’t have it.” Mina poked at one of the complimentary cream packets, continuing as if uninterested in the crucial details she was about to put out over the table.
“The contact will be simple enough, you check into a prepaid room and all the information is there.” After sliding a standard business card across the table she almost yawned, as if wiping her hands of the matter.
“Is that all you needed?” Pausing for a moment she added, almost as an after thought,
“Nova Hope has no physical currency, it’s all electronic and I wouldn’t recommend coming in with a passport from Colombia, Allanea, Austar Union or any militaristic type nations. You wouldn’t want to raise any flags.”

Scrawled on the card

The Metropolitan Lounge, Rm#16051; Reservation for Erica Kelly
Addy; 1 Bloor ave, Nova Hope City, Nova Hope
Instructions; tip the front desk man two euros a Mexican peso and three American pennies.


"Does Nova Hope have cash cards or does all transactions need to be linked to a bank account?" Amy asked as she read the card for a moment.

She memorized the details of the card and then began to play with it a bit, folding it and unfolding it into small balls.

If the Nova are smart, it is account only. Let their agents just follow the nice trail of electronic breadcrumbs people leave to track them down. You must really dislike them to play games with that problem in the game. Of course girl you made anyone intrested in us really want to know what is on this card, but training works when you have a lack of experience. Amy mulled on the obvious problems with this mission.

Ozan shrugs. "Harsh is better then inept." He removes a passport sized palm pilot from his robe and plays with it a moment. "Are any of these your man? They are the current security alerts. If not, we can cycle through current entries".

Fifteen people are displayed, Zion is #4 with a threat level of 8 on a ten point scale. From the palm pilot view, you can also see him covered with laser spots from various weaponry. A specific note states the presence of a sniper rifle, which is a restricted possession.

OOC note - the lasers are using IR wavelengths, so Zion cannot see them unless using something to spot the beams.

Adrien laughs a bit.
"I am afraid that it is likely not being inept...but other possiblitis due occur to me. No, we need to rattle this girl a bit, she seems to have slid out of a career track into a dead end track...Or I don't think you usually give command postions to people who are good at inspecting baggage."

As Ozan shows the pictures she tells him to stop on number four. "Your going to find he has a fake law inforcement I.D. and that sniper rifle is his hunting rifle. Really, I wouldn't want to get close to a polar bear. A nice high grain bullet from a well targeted long scope on one of those pesky white things sounds like a very good idea to me."

She smiled again, "That's Zion, and he's on my payroll. Which means he is indirectly on the Sultan's payroll. And he is going to notice all the guns pointed his way so let's pull them off before he gets the wrong idea."

Ozan nods and begins to key in a command, but stops. “You are informed that Customs includes such activities as our coastal and border patrol? It may be that your design would work best with such people, given their areas of expertise.

“Your pardon, but as you wish to meet this one in a location and surprise her, might I suggest a scenario? I can direct that Captain Eskilii be the officer to detain your man in a separate room. She then would be completely unprepared for whatever came. As to your bodyguard, we can most simply inform him he is to be met there, and to join with security. A message can be passed to him from that counter, if that will expedite things.”

He bows his head quickly. “Of course, if you have another plan…”

Mina caught her chuckle as a mute smirk.
“Well if you wanted to make a purchase without leaving them account information you’d need to subject yourself to implantation and barcoding.” Mina motioned to her bare left hand.
“Right about here they put in a chip that is GPS capable, has an independent memory where the transfer of credits is stored and several other little gizmos. It’s sub dermal, right under your new numerical tag which can be scanned by any common store.” Mina smiled again.
“But I doubt that’s what you’re looking for. To avoid that you can use a debit card attached to a Swiss account. Nova Hope has similar accounts, they won’t release your information to a foreign agency but that’s no protection from the domestics. It’s perfectly legit and as long as you don’t run up a huge bill you’ll be fine, you might want to consider having several cards on several accounts, some traceable Noviets and others Swiss.”

Germany
"That is what I was afraid of, and not just the Swiss offer untracable bank accounts anymore." She smiled a wolfish grin, "But setting up the accounts and the I.D. to go with them is going to take me a bit of time. I don't know why your screwing around with these Noviet people but I can see why you hired me." She threw a few coins down on the table.

"Now is there anything else, I should be inside Nova in twelve days."

Had to repost this.... :mad:
Vastiva
"No, I want to try a diffrent tactic with this officer. And I think adding Zion to the mix would be 'explosive'. I think you should inform customs that his contact has been delayed and place him in a secure waiting room, polietly."

She shifted her postion in the seat. "As for our young customs offical, a working knowlege of how someone might get through and into the country would be good. However, being inside the institution both can give one insight but also install the institutional blinders that the rest of the beuracrats posses. I am wondering why this girl changed job tracks...."

Adrien looked at nothing for a moment, her mind running far ahead. "I think we should demand answers. Time for me to be a hard a** kicking her behind for questioning her superior officer's decisions, and then demand to know why she hidding from the resulting flak. Yes, let's see if we can get what we want out of her on that track..."

“No I believe we’re good.” Mina smiled as she fished out a few bills to pay for the meal she had consumed.
“Just remember that it’s fairly important that you refrain yourself to Noviet and Allanean weaponry for this contract. You can use other weapons but we will only pay a fraction of the bonus until you are congruous with our requests.” Mina stood, fiddling with her case again the high and low frequency white noise stopped, as did the communications dead zone. With a firm nod she ended the conversation,
“It was good to speak with you miss.” At that she turned and headed towards her bike.

Adrien laughs a bit.
"I am afraid that it is likely not being inept...but other possiblitis due occur to me. No, we need to rattle this girl a bit, she seems to have slid out of a career track into a dead end track...Or I don't think you usually give command postions to people who are good at inspecting baggage."

As Ozan shows the pictures she tells him to stop on number four. "Your going to find he has a fake law inforcement I.D. and that sniper rifle is his hunting rifle. Really, I wouldn't want to get close to a polar bear. A nice high grain bullet from a well targeted long scope on one of those pesky white things sounds like a very good idea to me."

She smiled again, "That's Zion, and he's on my payroll. Which means he is indirectly on the Sultan's payroll. And he is going to notice all the guns pointed his way so let's pull them off before he gets the wrong idea."

Zion took note of the feeling in his gut... As a sniper, he knew what it felt like to be eyed through a telescopic sight... He didn't know from where, but he knew...

'Sometimes I feel like... Somebody's watchin' me...'

He sang in his head as he continued towards the meeting point...

“No I believe we’re good.” Mina smiled as she fished out a few bills to pay for the meal she had consumed.
“Just remember that it’s fairly important that you refrain yourself to Noviet and Allanean weaponry for this contract. You can use other weapons but we will only pay a fraction of the bonus until you are congruous with our requests.” Mina stood, fiddling with her case again the high and low frequency white noise stopped, as did the communications dead zone. With a firm nod she ended the conversation,
“It was good to speak with you miss.” At that she turned and headed towards her bike.

Amy looked down at the ten mark note and decided that the girl still had a three mark tip. She stood up and walked towards the door.
These people are annoying, bonus bonus bonus they add a bonus for everything then put so many damn restrictions on it there is no way anyone can actually get it.

Amy walked down the path, past the 11th century church and out to the motorboat she arrived in.

ooc: I'm working on a tourist brochure for Nova Hope. I think the ball is deciededly in you court now though.

Question; At what point would you want to move this over to the other thread (or start a new one)

OOC: I'll post in the other one soon. (I've got it tagged) However I need some descriptions up to the airport.

One of the politely dressed red-uniformed customs agents makes her way up to Zion.
"Sir? A message."

Please follow the bearer to secure room, employer delayed

Not really a lot to do in the gray room, but it was tolerable. And the coffee was free.

***

Ozan nodded. "Of course. She is currently at Gardemeister, on gate roving patrol."

The train hums and does a slow bounce to full stop; double doors hiss to a vacuum seal and open to the airport proper.

Zion's gaze snapped into the man's direction...

"Who from?"

She blinks at him. Did I offend him???
"Your pardon, I was not made aware, save it came with the sigil of the Sultanate upon it. It would be assumed to be a member of the governance.
Your pardon, sir, if you wish we will post guard around you until this matter is cleared up, it would certainly not do for a member of foreign law enforcement to be unjustly given difficulty within our nation... and we are certainly willing to aid, should this be wrongly sent."

Presupposing his next question, she continues "It was sent electronically, with a view from our cameras as our description to allow us to find you. Truly, sir, if there is a difficulty we can clear up?"


OOC: as a note, there are no guns or sights pointed in your direction, but there are cameras EVERYWHERE in this airport. There are also none of the airport security SWAT around you, and though there are always snipers on the upper level, none are paying any special attention to you.

"Roving gate patrol hmm? Let us find a nice quiet confrence room someplace and have her ordered to meet us immediatly." Adrien stood with her case and looked down at Ozan. She seemed to be actually moving faster, as though the thrill of what she was about to do excited her.

Ozan nodded and found a security checkpoint. A few moments of dickering and he returned.

"Your man is near the main terminal hub for this section. And she has been moved to one of the security rooms near there. Efficiency was desired?"

Adrien waved him off for a second and then said, "Lead the way, it is time to test our officer canidate. Ozan you will remain outside, I want the fellow in green to take a postion in one of the corners."

Ozan nods and leads to the main hub, where Zion is.


Afterwards, to the security corridor, and to a simple grey door. "She is inside. I shall be in the lounge if not required, these surroundings are... discomfiting?"

OOC Lounge - end of hall, more colors. And TV. And coffee. Grey rooms? Table, chairs, not much else.

Adrein entered the grey room with the officer with a look that would freeze molten steel at twenty paces. She throws a file folder down on the metal table and glowers at her subject for a few seconds.

"So...here we find you...hidding in customs." Adrien turns back and opens the file. She pulls out the protest of the bombing action against the terrorists and pushes it across the table.

"Is this yours and did you sign it with full knowlege of what it says...yes or no..."

"Yes? Well then perhaps you can enlighten me as to why you scurried to this corner of the Sultan's service? Hmmm...? Did you think that you would just be swallowed up by a pile of red tape and have your file vanish in the hordes of pencil pushers? Why? and do not lie to me...lying will only do more harm to your situation than good."

She leaned forward, her eyes bright like a panther staring at its pray just before the kill. It was the kind of eyes one saw in Zelots just before they mass murdered an entire village in order to "save" it.

It was once said in the British Army there were two kinds of Officers, murdering officers and killing offficers. Of course they didn't have access to the phrase Psycotic Maniac then...so the third type never was properly classified.

OOC: It is an act, one Adrien has used before on 'allied' force commanders who are less ally and more yellow spined dog. Being more scared of retreating while a mad woman is watching you tends to make facing the enemy less scary somehow.

Raava’s face took on a whole new shade of fury. She looks twice at the green-robed man before answering, keeping her hand well away from her sidearm.

“Scurry? Hiding?!? I transferred, Major, because it was a new challenge.” She slides the folder back with force. “If there was a protest, it was because of overkill. A well-trained group could have done better, with less effort. Now who the hell are you and what is this about?”

Raava’s face took on a whole new shade of fury. She looks twice at the green-robed man before answering, keeping her hand well away from her sidearm.

“Scurry? Hiding?!? I transferred, Major, because it was a new challenge.” She slides the folder back with force. “If there was a protest, it was because of overkill. A well-trained group could have done better, with less effort. Now who the hell are you and what is this about?”

Adrien didn't even miss a beat. As though the fury were normal. A wave of the hand dismissed Raava's question as unimportant and pointless. She turned took up the paper and then sat down. She pulled out a small notebook and pen and began to make odd notations as she flipped through the file.

"So why do you find customs work challenging?" Adrein asked examining the file before her. She didn't even look up. Adrein just continued to flip through pages, writting in a small notebook. Allowing the pages to each be barley visable to Raava and the notes to be in an illegiable scrawl.

In truth, Adrien was doing her best Soviet Paper pusher from hell. The ones that seemed to only make life very, very hard for people (and usually had enough clout to get one sent to Siberia. Of course this was very much like Siberia, so perhaps this woman would relocate you on the fifth level of hell guarding a piss pot with a pitchfork.)

In reality Adrien was evaluating the younger woman,
She got questioned and then got angry, Fine. But showed the anger...not good kid...not good...cold anger is better...especially when the new fad shows up and you have to fight for every penny of funding you can lay your hands on...

Again she looked at the green robed guard before answering.

"Customs involves security. All facets work together. To understand how each work is necessary if you are to make proper logistical decisions, Major."
She turned her attention to Adrien, watching her - not the paper, not the notations, but the person before her.

"Ooohhh you sound like someone out of Harvard Buisness School with that phrase. First, I asked you how you found challenging about the role, not for a brick of verbal jargon. Please answer the orginal question...."

Adrien just looked up at the younger woman and noticed the girl was staring directly at her. Alright, where did this girl get counter interogation techniques? I must have missed that in the file

"Ooohhh you sound like someone out of Harvard Buisness School with that phrase. First, I asked you how you found challenging about the role, not for a brick of verbal jargon. Please answer the orginal question...."

Adrien just looked up at the younger woman and noticed the girl was staring directly at her. Alright, where did this girl get counter interogation techniques? I must have missed that in the file

How I found challenging about the role? Raava mused Very well, not so familiar with the language, or I shook you... Not Soviet, is she watching me, or the paperwork...

"At the moment, Major, the role is in understanding how an aeroport works, how inspections work, how people work. It is in learning where the holes are, and where they are not. In understanding this, you begin to think like a smuggler would, and to see problems before they appear. To understand your enemy is to defeat him. And a general only fights when the battle's already won."

Adrien looked at Raava for a moment and nodded. "But what battle are you preparing to win? For the knowlege of where those holes are, if they can think like a smuggler...can they also not smuggle? In the end your experience can help only those you sympathise with..." She held up the protest of the bombing, "...What was the phrase Napolen used, 'a baton in every napsack?' Well...the short corsican became an Emperor, at least you had ambition." She shook her head as she refiled the paper.

Adrien stood and walked behind Raava. "You see that is the problem, you file reeks of ambition. Ambition is a useful thing...but too much it becomes dangerous...especially in a military officer." She leaned on the back of Raava's chair. "Now shall you enlighten us any futher as to why you are here or is finding holes to smuggle goods in your inspring reason to join customs?"

This is going into an intresting place...I just thought this girl wanted someplace new and diffrent allowing herself the ability to shag with some other officer of her old command.... Adrien mused to herself.

OOC ARGH! I thought I'd already posted, instead garblemachine ate it...

IC:
Raava watched the green-robed guard, watching what he watched and where he watched.

"Without ambition, Major, one does nothing. With ambition, one goes as far as one can. Equally, without the experience of being in the Navy and the Air Force, perhaps in Customs one would not be so aware of the flaws that could exist, nor would one be able to plug them. You cannot fix a problem until you know it exists - or can predict where one may exist, Major."

The latter was as much a separate statement as not.

"My you are good...tell me then, What is your goal in all of this...let me clarify this, what is your overall goal. First service in one branch then another. What is the goal...your very statment implys that your intermediate goal is to predict holes in customs. But what is the long term goal you have set for yourself?" Adrien was now moving towards the person in green.

She stopped and looked at him, "Please wait outside for a moment" she said in a polite voice.

The door clicks shut before Raava answers.

"There are few positions which require knowledge of many if not all of our services. I do not wish to pursue the Admiralty or the Bureacracy."

"Ah, so what postion do you want woman? Or am I supposed to guess and just warn the Sultan that he missed one in the last purge." She sat down with a very wry grin on her face.

"Being cryptic does tend to backfire with people who are as intelligent as you are, they just read what they want in your statements and spin it to remove problems they don't want to deal with."

Raava blinked. The Sultan? Something clicked.

"General. And where are you from, Major? Most certainly, you are not Vastivan, and you are not familiar with where you are, which means you are not Antarctican. You are not Soviet - too bright, too quick, and too fast to dismiss your leverage. You are not Noviet as you have no dependance on gizmos and posturing. You are military of some sort and you have done interrogation work. I would guess from your hands you are familiar with a wide array of weapons, and probably spent time in a hot area recently. You are not a smuggler - or not at the moment. You do not have a wide range of vices.

"You are also not here to execute, and you obviously have the support of our Sultan in some way." She raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps to train or to shake down, or both. Perhaps you will enlighten?"

Adrien raised an eybrow. "Well, we are little miss observant are we not? However, I doubt if any real smugglers have that many vices besides greed. And Vastiva is not what one would call a great cash cow compared to some places.

"What I am intrested in is mute until I understand why your here." She pointed at the table. "we all have vices, mine tends to be fufilling my duty to my superiors. I do not think that includes putting vipers into sensitive postions."

She shakes her head, "You know, my first thought was that you partly took this post to get out of a dead end command, or maybe even to enjoy the personal company of one of your former COs....Not like that hasn't happened before in the world..."

She raises her hands up above her head, "Listen, I do and don't like where this is going. I can't nail you down because you use beurcrat speak like you were born spouting it. In some cases that is a good thing. At the moment it has me as much worried as anything else. If you want to know why I am here, explain all of this in a manner which doesn't lead me to question your loyalty."

Raava sucked the inside of her cheek - an old habit - before replying.

"I chose Customs because it ties the others together. My desire is to be General. To be a useful General - and not a Soviet General - one must understand all the pieces on the gameboard."

"If I have a vice, it is determination. I will have what I will have. If I have a virtue, it is loyalty. I am at first a patriot."

She sat back. "To be weak in the world is to be a target. I will not see my country a target. I am no bureaucrat, no politician. Arms, weapons, these things I understand. As such, the greatest service I can render my country is to be the best at defending it's interests."

Her head cocked slightly. "I am not sure that was as clear as you wish, Major, but it is the best I can do. I am here because this is a step to larger things. And because I will not have my country or my family raped under the heel of an aggressor again."

In the cities, cameras were everywhere.

In the wilderness...

Seven figures met in seclusion, their purpose dark, their intentions grim.

Between them, a hand drawn map. And a letter to be sent afterwards.

Ozan nods and leads to the main hub, where Zion is.


Afterwards, to the security corridor, and to a simple grey door. "She is inside. I shall be in the lounge if not required, these surroundings are... discomfiting?"

OOC Lounge - end of hall, more colors. And TV. And coffee. Grey rooms? Table, chairs, not much else.

The sniper enters the room & seats himself, setting the WA2000 on the table in front of him, protected by a soft-case. The large briefcase he typically carried it in would have been somewhat suspicious considering his current outfit...

Raava eyed the case, for a moment shocked.

"In such a small room, a rifle is not very efficient. Perhaps you would accept the loan of my pistol?"

OOC: sorry for my delay...Ivan knocked out power to the switches so no Internet...

IC: Alright this girl is very much got a chip on her shoulder, but it is going the opposite way to what I thought originally. Adrien thought.

"Well then, I am afraid I am going to give you a very unique carrer track oportunity, one which might or might not get you to being a general. You see at present there has been a great deal of worry about dealing with terrorists in Vastiva. Specifically dealing with them in a manner appropriate to the threat and hopefully with actual intelligence gathering at the same time. I have been assigned to build and train this unit. Of course I need a second in command...and you are on the short list."

Raava eyed the case, for a moment shocked.

"In such a small room, a rifle is not very efficient. Perhaps you would accept the loan of my pistol?"

Zion placed his nickel-plated Berretta M96FS on the table with a dull thud, keeping a hand on it. He remains silent, waiting for an introduction...

Raava looked at the nickel-plated Berretta M96FS on the table.

Then at Zion, considering him.

Then at Adrien.
"Might I inquire if I am on another list? This room would be horribly unpleasant to mop out."

Her hands stay well away from her pistol, though she never stops considering the implications of the well-armed and somewhat grizzled mercinary in front of her.


OOC Sorry, family emergency.

OOC: makes a swear about some people not paying attention but goes with it anyway (and nothing to do with Vastiva)

"Zion, please take back your gun. Your here to protect my six."
She returned to looking at Reeva.

"You see this is what the real problem is with modern terrorism. It has become a state sponsored institution. And those sponsors have enough, money to hire people..." she points at Zion, "...to train these terrorists into quite effective agents of destablization."

She leaned forward, "So you want to protect your country from foreign invaders. These days you need to worry about fifth column outfits. The question is are you willing to join the team?"

Two seconds of hesitation before she answers "Yes, Major."

Both seconds are spent considering the placement of Zion's hands and the direction his guns are facing - and deciding this is not a trick.

Adrien nods, "Well that is very good...."

I am going to need to keep an eye on her also...she is an opportunity and a risk.

She rose and looked at Zion, "Please get the door Zion..."

Adrien looked Raava over again and then said, "You will be informed this evening where you will report to me tommorrow morning at 9:00 am sharp. We have a good deal to do, and time is always critical. Therefore, expect not to have much personal time over the next few weeks. You might want to deal with any personal matters this afternoon, until tommorow." She took the files and put them away before turning towards Zion and the door.

She walked out into the hall and found Ozan. "If you would be so kind, get orders cut for Captain Raava Eskilii to join my taskforce. Next up, I need a list of possible locations to base my anti-terrorist group out of, something not too remote but secure...."

Adrien nods, "Well that is very good...."

I am going to need to keep an eye on her also...she is an opportunity and a risk.

She rose and looked at Zion, "Please get the door Zion..."

Adrien looked Raava over again and then said, "You will be informed this evening where you will report to me tommorrow morning at 9:00 am sharp. We have a good deal to do, and time is always critical. Therefore, expect not to have much personal time over the next few weeks. You might want to deal with any personal matters this afternoon, until tommorow." She took the files and put them away before turning towards Zion and the door.

She walked out into the hall and found Ozan. "If you would be so kind, get orders cut for Captain Raava Eskilii to join my taskforce. Next up, I need a list of possible locations to base my anti-terrorist group out of, something not too remote but secure...."

Ozan blinks.

"Your pardon, but once you get beyond the mountains, there are huge tracts of snow. Some is being converted to greenhouses, but the land itself is still rather... primative. For military bases, the best source would be the General herself, or someone on her staff. Vastiva only advertises four bases." He gives a small apologetic cough. "She will be available in one of them today, if a time is given, a direction can be chosen".

He looks over Zion. "Will he need a uniform?"

***

Distant from this discussion, a plan of action is decided on, and the seven go their separate ways, a firm purpose in mind.

"I am a little slow on the uptake Ozan, what is the name of this General?"

She pointed to Zion, "As for Zion, I think a uniform of a very senior non-com would do. Unless Zion has an opinion on the matter..."

"I am a little slow on the uptake Ozan, what is the name of this General?"

She pointed to Zion, "As for Zion, I think a uniform of a very senior non-com would do. Unless Zion has an opinion on the matter..."

"Brevet Sargent, he should be in our inde..."
Ozan automatically began tapping commands before the question hits.

*blink*

"General Riva Sola al-Din, Commander of the Vastivan Armed Services."

~pause~

"There's only one General."

Rivaa looks at her with complete and utter confusion now, then back at the green robed guard, then back at her. To her credit, she says nothing.

Adien notices Revaa standing in the hallway. "Didn't I order you dismissed a moment ago?" She looks at the woman with a very cold eyes. "I will be sending orders to your home when I have them finalized. Or should I give you a job to do?"

Raava looked at the nickel-plated Berretta M96FS on the table.

Then at Zion, considering him.

Then at Adrien.
"Might I inquire if I am on another list? This room would be horribly unpleasant to mop out."

Her hands stay well away from her pistol, though she never stops considering the implications of the well-armed and somewhat grizzled mercinary in front of her.


OOC Sorry, family emergency.

Zion's expression doesn't change...

"No... You're not a target... I was told there was someone I was supposed to meet here, who had some work for me..."

Rivaa blinks - "Sir, yes sir!" - salutes Major Adrien, and nearly makes a [pop] in the air with the speed of her departure once it is returned.

Adrien turned her head and then paused..."Wait, I am directly under her command...Riva Sola al-Din...It just didn't occur to me that you only had one person with the rank of General. Please get me a text that will cover the basic ranks of this octopus of a military here."

She pondered for a moment the various methods of getting what she needed without having to deal with a real military superior.

"Alright, I guess I, Major Adrien Lars, need to respectfully request to General Riva Sola al-Din a descrete location to begin assembling equipment and personnel for....you know I just realized that this team has no name. Of course having no name makes it harder to find, but also harder to discuss.

Hmm, inform her that I need to discuss the logistics...of...ah..."

In Adriens life the idea that a military secret being kept secret was impossible outside of the Dual Duchies. The only possible way of keeping it secret was to actually make it look like something else, well maybe Vastivans were closer to Alconians in keeping their mouths shut...but why

"....the matter pertaining to the Sutan's International Army Choir..." She shrugged. "I am sure she is going to want to see what little rat Kareem released into her den, her earliest convinence of course."

She looked at Ozan, "I guess that makes you the bus driver, but should I be writting this memo or you Ozan? Oh, and while we are cooling our heels to meet her, lets go drop in on a random army company nearby. I want to see what your average Vastivan trooper looks like, and we are just going to show up...no annoucements or anything on that..."

Adrien got a wry grin again for a moment, then remembered she needed to meet the General.

-OOC: M.S. I am completely confused by that last post of yours...

Ozan nods and consults his PDA again. “There is a SWAT team in the airport, and a sniper company on stealth training outside the airport proper.” He then gives Adrien an embarrassed smile. “Apologies, but you are in her service, as it were. I remain a… civil servant?”

***

OOC: Basic rank structure:
Enlisted Ranks
Private
Corporal
Sergeant

Officer Ranks
Lieutenant
Captain
Major
Colonel
General

Warped part: Each enlisted rank has ratings within it, 0 to 7; These show up as a pattern of triangles above the rank insignia. A brevet is a solid single diamond shape, and gives the “understood” rank of a rating 0 of the step above.

Officer ranks have ratings from 0 to 5; these are shown through pin-pips inside the rank insignia. A brevet here has a complete circle.

Effectively, this gives 24 Enlisted ranks and 30 Officer ranks. In practice, there is only one General, so there are 25 Officer ranks.

Colonels run Corps and Divisions.
Majors run Brigades and Regiments.
Battalions and Companies are run by Captains.
Platoons are run by Lieutenants.
Squads are run by Sergeants or Corporals, usually one Sergeant and two Corporals per Platoon, though other set ups are possible.

These are completely separate from "hash marks" (time in the service).

Major Lars nodded and added, "And I can't write in the local tounge now can I? I don't even know if you use a roman or cylic alphabet..."

"Every Vastivan can speak and read English by age thirteen, along with Vastivan and whatever the tongue of their ancestors is. Most of us speak at least six languages, though I am told our Sultan speaks and reads fifty-four different tongues." He gives a shy shrug. "It is our nature to accommodate others. I believe Japanese and Chinese are now being offered within our schools...."

From behind Ozan, the green robed guard rolls his eyes and gives a "why me lord" shake of his head.

Zion remains as stoic as ever, fingering his Berretta at random intervals...

Ozan considers Zion's fingering and gives a deep swallow before addressing him.

"Uh... ayid, was there something I could fetch or order for you? Your uniform should be here as soon as Quartermaster has found the appropriate sizes... did you wish a helmet or beret?"

OOC: sorry for not updating on this thread...worked 14 hour days this week and now I need to get to Atlanta...

Hopefully I will get to this thread this evening.

OOC Not a problem - have a tournament Saturday and a race next Sunday.

Ozan considers Zion's fingering and gives a deep swallow before addressing him.

"Uh... ayid, was there something I could fetch or order for you? Your uniform should be here as soon as Quartermaster has found the appropriate sizes... did you wish a helmet or beret?"

"Beret if ya got 'em... Some info might be nice, too... What's the job?"

Ozan taps the order for the beret into his palmpilot and points at Adrien.
"She apparently wants a bodyguard. I am most certain the other details will be forthcoming. But if we are to meet the General today, perhaps some haste to journey to the naval base at Nassanuella?"


OOC: ... where there will be a terrorist attack, but that's OOCly ;)

OOC: Now I am really confused...Zion knows Adrien...and that she hired him...

OOC: As am I.

OOC: Vastiva hired Adrien to train an anti-terrorist unit. Adrien hired Zion as a bodyguard. Things are about to heat up dramatically. Nuff said?

OOC: Er...the confusion is at the character level actually... ;)

Let us assume that Zion's little gun incident was with another individual rather than Reevea as that sort of makes no sense (they were supposedly in diffrent rooms...Zion is finally meeting up with Adrien at this moment...if this doesn't fly I'll delete this post...)

Adrien turned as Zion appeared around a corner.
"Ah, well one good peice of news...I see you've arrived. Sorry I didn't get to meet you earlier but I'm trying to get a handle on this operation which is already becoming a grand headache. I assume my agent informed you of the mission?" She nodded at Zion again and raised her hand, indicating that she had just realized something.

continued....
"I really don't need non-verbal comments from you back there. Every country in the world is diffrent. Did you know that if a Var nods his head at you it is saying NO? And god help you if you see one simle at you...means your lunch...and I don't have time to be wasting keeping my protective detail in check."

She just shook her head again and sat down. "Ozan, find me a regular line military unit. Nothing fancy...no real specializations...hopefully near where I am to meet the general." She opened her computer, pulled a flash disk out of a compartment and inserted it into a USB port. A few seconds later she handed Ozan the flash disk with the following, e-mail capable memo:

To: General Sola al-Din, Vastivan Armed Forces
From: Major Adrien Lars,
Subject: Request for meeting
General,
I respectfully ask for a few moments of your time today to discuss the Vastivan Military Choir that is being orginized by myself under direction of Mr. Kareem. Specifically the location of the depot for the Choirs training and equipment.

With best regards, Major Lars.

"Sorry about all of that Zion, If you'll just cover my six until this evening when I can give you a better breifing on all of this in a more secure location." It was less a question than an order, but at least a polite order.

The sniper nods...

"You want the visible or invisible kind?"

He referred to two things: Weapon visibility & distance. With his rifle, Zion was able to cover an area for a good distance away, while keeping tabs on numerous people at once. Up close, it was easier to watch his client, but harder to scan for potential threats & get his sights aligned...

"At the moment, close support...we will be moving a bit for the next few hours..."

The mag-lev line takes the small party – Adrien, Zion, Ozan, and the green robed guard – directly to Nassanuella. The embarkation area is a plexiglass “shell”, partially hardened, but intended only for short stays by people not cargo. It is also heated to a comfortable level.

Arguably the larger of the two Vastivan ports, Nassanuella contains both civilian and military shipping areas – discreetly separated - with a new “wing” dedicated to shipbuilding. Overall, the ports take over just short of fifty miles of coastline.

The civilian and city areas fit like an open hand around the port – the “thumb” reaching to the shore and civilian beach areas, and the “hand” being behind the port areas, land bound but larger overall. A ridge of hills separates the port and the inland city, also cutting off the ability of someone in the city to see into the military areas.

From the station, to the east is the civilian port. Several freighters are being loaded and unloaded on any of the ten long docks; most carry Vastiva’s flag, but one from Kanabia and another from Jamaica can be seen.

A Polar Bear sits near the station, the VAS (Vastivan Armed Services) emblem on its side, its flag that of the Quartermaster. From within, a corporal emerges and makes his way into the shell area.

“Major Lars? Ozan Zagat ben Iblis?” He gives a salute. “We have the uniform you requested, with beret and the sniper collar.”

The last turns out to be a silvery torc. Worn, it lays on each shoulder slightly to the side of the neck.

“Reversible, too. Other side is black, but our sights can still see the markings on it. Wouldn’t want you to fall to friendly fire now, would we, Sergeant? You only requested BDUs, did you want a dress uniform as well?”

“Oh, yes, and this is your replacement, Major.” He held out an M-TCOD. “Its already keyed to you, though you’ll have to redo the passwords. And there is a message on it already.” He gave an apologetic smile. “It beeped while we were waiting.”


To: Major Adrien Lars
From: General Riva Sola al-Din
Subject: Request for meeting

Major,

You get ten minutes. Oversight C. Three hours.

General Sola al-Din

Ozan waited until the nice man from QM had left. “Major, there are literally a dozen units nearby. Was there a sort of unit you were looking to examine?

She thanked the corporal as she put the uniform up to Zion's chest in that inately female way of size estimation. "Thank you, corporal tell your superiors in the Quartermaster department I thank you all for the quick response. I must congradulate you...I think you boys fall into one of the fastest and must I say best departments in the world. If you boys and girls keep me happy, well I will just have to send you all a stocking stuffer for christmas...We might decide to order a full dress uniform but the Sargent is on special duty at the moment." She red the M-TOCD and scowled a bit.

"Well, we have what three hours or less...so let's go look at some Marines if you have any here. We need to be at Oversight C, I am assuming this is a location I need to be at 30 minutes before I am supposed to meet with the General."

Ozan nods. "The closest would be our FRAM regiments. There's a unit here, just returned from Europe. Area C is on the other side of the compound."

The Fast Response Air Mobile regiment - the 21st Mechanized Inf Regiment - might have just returned from duty, but they hardly show it. Four platoons are running a 2 on 2 simulated combat on each other in one of the warehouses (size of a football stadium). The remainder of the regiment is either preparing for this simulation, watching replays on laptops in small groups, or fussing with the mechanics working on some of the units Cheetah LAVs.

Upon Adrien's arrival, she gets a unit-wide salute. Their commander - a
Major Steinmetz - is at the displays; he stands and gives a salute, then returns to his work.

The rest of the unit waits for a response from Adrien.

Adrien just waves them off with a "continue" to actually study the tactical exercise they are apparently running.

The units are apparently very used to working together, and working as a team. Their tactics are akin to SEAL or Special Forces operations - silent and quick.

OOC: If you want specifics, detail what you want.

Adrien is intrested in what force balance they are using and what type of oppostion they are playing, and what the mission parameters are.

The exercise is run as all infantry. Each platoon is a 40 man unit, divided into 4 10 man squads, who operate in 2 man fire teams.

The current is a modified game of "capture the flag", with each side having a target to "capture" or to wipe out the opfor.

They are using base weapons only, meaning modified FN-AS rifles, set to fire lasers when the blanks in the clips are fired. They are also carrying rubber knives with chalked edges.

Each group uses one platoon as "hunter" and one as "defender". The first moves into the Opfor areas, the second sets up KZs in its area.

Adrien walks up to the Major, "Major Steinmetz I don't want to interupt too much but what is the goal of this training exercise? Is it a skill retention exercise?"

Adrien hoped that it was, it seemed a well trained unit, but a she needed to get a picture of what was that training. Sometimes a good deal of spit and polish hid a worm infested, rotten core. Somtimes not... As she listened to the Major's reply, she smiled at one of the men nearby. And motioned for him to come forward.

Adrien walks up to the Major, "Major Steinmetz I don't want to interupt too much but what is the goal of this training exercise? Is it a skill retention exercise?"

Adrien hoped that it was, it seemed a well trained unit, but a she needed to get a picture of what was that training. Sometimes a good deal of spit and polish hid a worm infested, rotten core. Somtimes not... As she listened to the Major's reply, she smiled at one of the men nearby. And motioned for him to come forward.

"Ma'am, these men spen' six months sittin' in mountains, hun'in' birds and game, wai'in' for an invasion that never came. 'ain' good for them t' sit. We sat down, they get drills. When we done, winners get leaves. Losers git more trainin' an' earn leaves. Knives ain' no good, keep 'em shea'd."

Pvt-5 Korbett comes forward. She's early 20's, and a bit of black is showing under her eyes - she's taken off the camo facepaint the others wear. Slight sweat stains announce she's gone through already.

"So they have been in the feild for six months? Hmm..." Well, I don't want to throw a wrench at these guys...but attempting this maneuver after six months of living in the mountains is not going to do a whole hell of good for cross platoon morale. I guess this falls in the carrot and shot gun approach. The smart vampeir hassen (that is spelled correctly) gets the carrot, the rest get a shot gun....

Adrien looked at the Major, "I am afraid I am going to have to use your boys and girls major to answer a question the General has asked Major. I appologize for throwing your reward program off...." She tried to hide her distaste of his reward program..."...but I need to know the brittleness of your metal."

She had fully turned to the Private.
"Private, I assume you have already lost this exercise? Well please hand me your weapon, with no rounds and the laser indicator still active please."

"So they have been in the feild for six months? Hmm..." Well, I don't want to throw a wrench at these guys...but attempting this maneuver after six months of living in the mountains is not going to do a whole hell of good for cross platoon morale. I guess this falls in the carrot and shot gun approach. The smart vampeir hassen (that is spelled correctly) gets the carrot, the rest get a shot gun....

Adrien looked at the Major, "I am afraid I am going to have to use your boys and girls major to answer a question the General has asked Major. I appologize for throwing your reward program off...." She tried to hide her distaste of his reward program..."...but I need to know the brittleness of your metal."

She had fully turned to the Private.
"Private, I assume you have already lost this exercise? Well please hand me your weapon, with no rounds and the laser indicator still active please."

*unload*present*

The Major goes back to his tactical information for the moment, updating.

Peter Zion, now clad in the provided uniform & beret, stood somewhat behind Adrain, his curly ponytail hanging down from under the odd-shaped hat... Oddly, his Berretta was still in the waistband of his pants...

Adrien took the rifle from the private. She nodded and turned to look at the war gaming squads. She stood in a shadow for a moment, looked through the gun's sights and then proceeded to clear a swath at an angle across the field such that both sides suffered sudden casualties.

The swath was about 10 meters wide roughtly and went from where the ten yard line would be at one side over to the far side an the opposing 20 yard line. She had 'tagged' out several fire teams completely, a few others only one surviving man was left.

She handed the gun to Zion, "play indiscriminate death...just start wacking them off both sides as need be, NCO's first, then officers..."

She turned to see how the teams would deal with the carnage she just wrought. "Major if anyone asks what the hell just happened, they just got scragged by a low flying air-craft of unknown origin, and let's see how long before they clue in that your not telling them about a sniper who seems to be killing off both teams," she added as she watched.

Zion takes the weapon from her, nodding...

"With pleasure... ma'am..."

Assuming a kneeling position, the sniper takes a few test shots with the weapon, getting a feel for the simulated recoil & accuracy... It wasn't his .300 magnum, but it would do...

*PLINK!*

An unsuspecting officer was 'killed'...

'Let's see how they deal with that...'

To be fair, he picked off another man from the opposing team, not bothering to look at his rank. NCO's where typically a better target, as most officers would need three years of schooling to know jack shit about tactics...

The Major decides you're nuts.

The squads decide you're a threat and have weapons out and firing long before Zion starts anything - and just as quickly they stop, as the laser weapons are incapable of hurting anyone.


OOC: The only active teams are inside the warehouse, the "hot zone". All the rest of the systems are "off".

Maybe I didn't describe adequately. Major and "inactive" platoons are outside the warehouse. Active platoons are inside.

And an unloaded weapon - no rounds - doesn't shoot anything.

Yes, the private was on a losing side. However, that round isn't going on at the moment.

OOC: completely mis-understood...and Adrien asked for a wepon with the 'tag' ability still functioning...

OOC: completely mis-understood...and Adrien asked for a wepon with the 'tag' ability still functioning...

OOC: It's "ON", it just won't do anything without the shells to cause the laser to fire.

*rewinds*

IC:
"Ma'am, these men spen' six months sittin' in mountains, hun'in' birds and game, wai'in' for an invasion that never came. 'ain' good for them t' sit. We sat down, they get drills. When we done, winners get leaves. Losers git more trainin' an' earn leaves. Knives ain' no good, keep 'em shea'd."

Pvt-5 Korbett comes forward. She's early 20's, and a bit of black is showing under her eyes - she's taken off the camo facepaint the others wear. Slight sweat stains announce she's gone through already.

(addition)
From inside the warehouse come muffled sounds of occasional gunfire, but little else. From the Majors display, Adrien can follow the two "teams" working each other over. The rest of the troops look either expectant, or tired in that "just ran five miles" way.

Adrien inspects the rifle, specifically the connection between the laser and the firing mechanism..."tell me private, how is the building behind me constructed? I assume there is some sort of system to access the camera's and lights of this facility without needing to bring in a crane? and how is that substructure accessed?"

OOC: Since this is not how I orginally viewed the facility. Adrien is attempting to find out if the strucuture is built with trusses to support the cealing and/or has a catwalk above the 'playing feild' in which to access the camera and such. She is also attempting to figure out:

Wavelength of laser system:

Trigger System of laser:
(primarily lasers are either fired on a high or low signal of some voltage (typically 1.5 volts) the tigger system does whatever to develop that signal and send it to the laser)

Adrien inspects the rifle, specifically the connection between the laser and the firing mechanism..."tell me private, how is the building behind me constructed? I assume there is some sort of system to access the camera's and lights of this facility without needing to bring in a crane? and how is that substructure accessed?"

OOC: Since this is not how I orginally viewed the facility. Adrien is attempting to find out if the strucuture is built with trusses to support the cealing and/or has a catwalk above the 'playing feild' in which to access the camera and such. She is also attempting to figure out:

Wavelength of laser system:

Trigger System of laser:
(primarily lasers are either fired on a high or low signal of some voltage (typically 1.5 volts) the tigger system does whatever to develop that signal and send it to the laser)

"Weyker dome construction, Major. Sub-basements are accessed through any of three cargo elevators, one equipment drop near Entrance B, crew drops under the office and by Entrance C. There is also a fire entrance near Entrance A, and a connection to the subtunnels through that entrance.

"Cameras and lights are accessed through dronebots, with a secondary slide-crane attached to the supports when needed. The latter is currently not active. There are also handholds for highwalking, Major, sir."

OOC: Its not the trigger, its the blank that activates the laser. The trigger doesn't do anything but fire the blank. These blanks are set to secondarily give the detonation and recoil, but primarilly they give a short-range pulse which sets off the laser. You could fire a blank at a person at VERY short range, and they'd shock them.

Adrien mused about what she was being told. "I need to inspect one of these drone bots then, where are they kept when not in use?"

(OOC: I wasn't clear:
Laser Trigger System sends whatever signal to the laser to make it fire...unless it is a continous laser. This can, as in this instance, be completely independent of the Gun Trigger System. However there has to be some form of signal from the shell to the laser, that is what Adrien is after....

Adrien mused about what she was being told. "I need to inspect one of these drone bots then, where are they kept when not in use?"

(OOC: I wasn't clear:
Laser Trigger System sends whatever signal to the laser to make it fire...unless it is a continous laser. This can, as in this instance, be completely independent of the Gun Trigger System. However there has to be some form of signal from the shell to the laser, that is what Adrien is after....

OOC: Blank firing creates an electric pulse, which sets off the laser. The laser "trigger" is inside the barrel, at the end of the laser device itself.
Blank fires, pulse strikes sensor, laser fires.

IC: "In the storage sheds, Major. Did the Major wish to see the drones for this particular building, or a drone in general?"

"What is the diffrence..."

OOC: Laser wavelength?

"What is the diffrence..."

OOC: Laser wavelength?

"Major, the drones here are stored under the office, so to see them, we would need to enter the exercise area. Others are stored outside and would not require such action, Sir."

Zion notices a freighter coming in to port, the Vastivan flag flying above it. A few dockworkers are on hand to receive the vessel, which should port on a dock occupied by only one other freighter. Several PolarBears and trucks are assembling to receive cargo, and workers are being lifted into the docking cranes by small elevators.


OOC: Meh - whatever wavelength you like, pick one, I'd rather not get bogged in details if it can be managed without specifics.

Peter shifts his gaze from the freighter to the woman he was supposed to be protecting... Daydreaming wasn't going to get him anywhere, or anything. As usual, he follows silently behind her, alert & inquisitive...

Peter shifts his gaze from the freighter to the woman he was supposed to be protecting... Daydreaming wasn't going to get him anywhere, or anything. As usual, he follows silently behind her, alert & inquisitive...

A thought occurs to him.
"Since when do dockworkers carry AK-47s?"

(OOC: I'll assume infa red...that way they can be diode lasers (small))

"Well then, perhaps we should go look at those under the exercise area...after all...Er...Is it standard proceedure for ships unloading goods to have armed protection at this facility?"

She had noticed Zion taking a double take and followed where his eyes had gone.

The private speaks up "No, Major. The port is next to a naval base, why would you need arms?"

Adrien's mind switched tracks..."Then that begs the question of why those personel at the dock are armed?" She motioned her head towards the suspicious unloading proceedures.

Alright, suspicious activity...let's see what we can find.

She turned her back towards the docks and asked, "Can either of you see the name on that hull?"

Into her new gizmo she started to type in a search

Info Delieveries Armed Guards (the date)

Adrien's mind switched tracks..."Then that begs the question of why those personel at the dock are armed?" She motioned her head towards the suspicious unloading proceedures.

Alright, suspicious activity...let's see what we can find.

She turned her back towards the docks and asked, "Can either of you see the name on that hull?"

Into her new gizmo she started to type in a search

Info Delieveries Armed Guards (the date)


several dates are given, along with shipment types (Cheese being one of them) but none of them are close to today.

The freighter is Hippanoco and is listed as holding fruits, timber, and animal furs.

Zion narrowed his eyes as he raised a gloved hand to shade them from the sun...

"I don't like it... I'd say either terrorist or organized crime. Hell, maybe both."

A single shot rang out; the bullet whistled past Zion to smash the Major's monitor.

Soldiers immediately scramble for cover, stripping off the laser-inserts that block their rifles. Further out on the port, two trucks that pulled onto the dock are haphazardly abandoned by their drivers; one, brakeless, drops over the side as shots fall into the port crew. Workers all over the port dive behind freight. Polar Bears begin to pull away swiftly.

A most polite chaos erupts.

The sniper begins firing off short bursts, his partial conceilment in the crane's hardened steel cab giving him great confidence.

Sporadic fire is returned, the majority of the rounds sparking off the crane's armor. The major barks orders to a fire team - they tear open their packs and dig out their VLAWs.

Westerly of your position, the growl of rotors snarls through the air; two autogyros orient on the lone gunman.

Hippanoco continues into its slot, even as the tug crew dives for cover and the captain places the freighter between his boat and the gunman.

Onboard the freighter, the skeleton crew is already behind walls and below decks, avoiding the gunfire directed their way. A look at the wake tells you the freighter is completely under the tugs guidance at this point.

Zion, not to be outdone by a lesser sniper, races towards the freighter & makes a flying leap for the ancor chain. Barely catching it, he begins to haul himself upwards, hand over hand. Slowly, he reaches the top & vaults over the railing.

Drawing the 96FS from its waistband resting spot, he begings to slowly work his way along the deck, taking care to keep something hard & metallic between the crane, the place where he'd have been, and himself...

7.62 S shells smack hard against the many cargo containers on the freighters deck; what the sniper lacks in accuracy he makes up for in quantity. Two deckhands are already bleeding out their last.

Below, the semi-submerged truck comes up against the bow of the ship with a metalic *clink*.

Astonished, the Major signals his men not to fire. "I don't know what your man is up to, Major, but it better be good."


OOC: Wow, Zion, I want you on the olympic team. One hell of a run and climb - about a football field horizontally. The sniper is above you, in hard cover.

OOC: Zion's in exteremely good shape. Former USMC Force Recon scout/sniper. I figured the thing was the size of a normal liner, docked in a slip. With the jump from the dock its nowhere near that distance. Trust me, I strive for realisum.

IC:
Bullets struck the metallic deck, sending fragments plinking around him...

'Now, to get into that crane... The one time I leave my fuckin' rifle behind we get shot at... This is bullshit...'

He wondered where the soldiers where, they should have been right on his heels... At least providing some cover fire...

Gunfire spat and ricocheted around Zion's position, both from the sniper and from the 5.3mm FN-AS rifles the soldiers carried.

Further down the docks, two Nekku-6A autogyros fought a quick but decisive duel with a smaller Gazelle, throwing it into the sea with a flurry of autogun fire.

The explosion brought many of the dockworkers heads up - just in time to notice the second explosion.

The bow of the Hippanoco is enveloped in flame and smoke as the magnetic mines and munition load in the floating truck go up loudly; seconds later, the second truck follows suit, shearing the dock in half and scattering debris.

Crippled and sinking, Hippanoco begins to list towards the maimed dock...


OOC: Zion is too far forward to be directly affected by the explosion. However the ship is sinking quickly as its nose has been partially sheared below the waterline by a very ersatz mine.

The sniper was knocked forward by the shockwave, sending him sprawling...

OOC: I'm stalling for AAH.

OOC: *waits with patience*

(OOC: Question, does this affect our ‘relations’ thread or are they at two separate times?)

OOC: they're parallel times, so this does affect. However, I haven't written that up, and no one is in Nassanuella from that thread at this time - you jumped over what Joshua will soon hear all about ;) Time in NS is so fluidly weird....

OOC: Sorry for my absence...RL and the Klatchian Federation have been eating up my time recently

1) I am assuming that the sniper is in an elevated postion in the crane.
2) I am assuming that their are bogies still on the ground

Adrien finally picked herself up off the ground and pushed the blood out of her left eye. The remnants of her handheld unit had cut her forehead and the screen explosion had left her a bit dazed for a moment.

She looked up to see the explosions. "Damn it...bleed'n terrorist fu***, alright Major I suggest you have a team pour fire into that sniper's nest. Send one team to the right and I'll take a team to the left. And to those groups I advise shoot to wound...not kill unless needed. And someone send that aircraft after the two polar bears that were just here damn it.

Adrien pulled up her metal case and opened it. Thank god I stuck a gun in here... she pulled out the fourty five and looked at the Major, "suppression fire on that sniper nest now please..."

OOC: Sorry for my absence...RL and the Klatchian Federation have been eating up my time recently

1) I am assuming that the sniper is in an elevated postion in the crane.
2) I am assuming that their are bogies still on the ground

OOC: Very elevated. And quite possibly.



Adrien finally picked herself up off the ground and pushed the blood out of her left eye. The remnants of her handheld unit had cut her forehead and the screen explosion had left her a bit dazed for a moment.

She looked up to see the explosions. "Damn it...bleed'n terrorist fu***, alright Major I suggest you have a team pour fire into that sniper's nest. Send one team to the right and I'll take a team to the left. And to those groups I advise shoot to wound...not kill unless needed. And someone send that aircraft after the two polar bears that were just here damn it.

Adrien pulled up her metal case and opened it. Thank god I stuck a gun in here... she pulled out the fourty five and looked at the Major, "suppression fire on that sniper nest now please..."

Fifteen FN-AS rifles open up in rotation, peppering the crane with hits, keeping the sniper well down; four Nekku-6A autogyros speed out to cut off anyone from leaving the base.

Hippanoco continues her reeling drop, leaning into the remains of the pier with a loud crunch.

Six troopers angle off right under the fire cover, moving rapidly in the absence of any weight but their rifles. Six others materialize near Adrien, armed and listening.

Further out to sea, two destroyers have set themselves in picket positions, preventing long attacks into the military port; two more, plus two fast corvettes, head outwards in a fan/sweep.

Civilian traffic is at a complete standstill; troops already control the monorail entrance, and the gates are shut down. Besides the sniper, there appears to be no further hostiles.

OOC: :D

Adrien looked at the situation. "Major inform all non-essential personel to clear out a 1/4 mile from the accident site. I have a bad feeling about this...."

She led her team around to the left, cutting back towards the dock. Her eyes serching for anyone who appeared to be armed and trying to shoot at her or her group.

Damn, I am operating completely in the dark here.

She looked at the warves for some small boat or craft to get her over to the crane. "We need to nab that sniper..."

Rolling fire keeps the snipers head down; troops from other areas begin escorting people back and out of the combat area.

OOC:
A small boat or craft wouldn't do you much good - the remnants of the dock are 20' above the water level. Though if you swung out and back, there is a ladder on the other side.

OOC: Er, I didn't understand that "swung out and back" bit...although to be honest Adrien could just tie a lasso onto a line, throw it over a bollard on the dock and climb up from the boat (A cookie to anyone who can tell me what movie I just pulled that idea from...:P.)

OOC: Dock is blown in half. IF you took a boat, drove behind the freighter on the other side to the far side of the dock, there is a ladder for small craft.

And this is a freighter, not a barge.

ping

Bear
Unsettles
Many
Palates

Zion groped around him for his pistol, finally finding the contured grip somewhere to his right...

'Good... Didn't lose my little war trophy...'

The sniper pulled himself to his feet, flattening himself against a cargo container & peeping around the corner... The dock was a wreck, but the ship seemed pretty much intact... He'd wait for the regular troops to make a move, then respond in a way that would best complement their efforts...

OOC: Sorry RL became quite busy...moving our department to temporary digs for a remodeling of our current building.

Adrien looked at the situation. She could go up by the ladder, but the sniper was likley watching that also. No, she needed a small boat and a good long rope.

The shootouts elsewhere had ended swiftly - and painfully - for the attempted terrorists.

However, this sniper was still hearing none of it. Pinned by the rattle of 5.3mm shells on the crane, he had been silent for some time... too silent.

Troops flanked the dock, snipers held the crane in their sights, there was nothing more out to sea...

It was very quiet.

Zion cupped his hands around his mouth...

"Alright motherf**ker... Toss your weapon out of the crane and exit with your hands raised. Fail to comply & we frag your stupid ass. Am I crystal-f**kin'-clear?!"

Most of his body was concealed behind another shipping container, so he felt he was safe enough to make such a demand. The troops had done a fine job with their surpressive fire. In a few moments, Peter would scream at the sniper again, then follow his demand with another wave of surpressive fire. Either his side would run out of ammo, or the bastard would get hit, give up, or die. The former was highly unlikey...

*bump to see if interest in continuing*

OOC: Yeah.

OOC: Alcona has vanished?

"...bar!"

*THWA-BOOM!*

The crane top vanished into a smoke-cloud of debris; the oncoming pressure wave was enough to temporarilly deafen.

With a crash, the cranes arm bounced off the deck and fell into the water below.

*bumped for character extraction*