NationStates Jolt Archive

"Justification to more agents out in the field?" He snorted.

"Our friends, after all occupy the same world as we do. They might converse with us, be near us, and go to the same diplomatic events. How much, then, would they know what we wouldn't? Acquiantances, strangers, on the other hand, by definition occupy a very different world than us. They are much more likely to know something that we don't. To capture this paradox, newer nations in turn have a greater potential for stealing secrets; secrets we can wield to our advantage."

"However, we've much more experience in sending agents in existing nations. We know their customs a lot better, every little detail; down to how they eat, sleep and live. We've never been compromised before; this is just luck, we're taking huge risks in establishing newer networks..."

"So who said diplomacy, espionage, and war didn't have risks?"

"Alright, but still, where do you propose we establish these new networks?"

"Midlonia and the Klatch. Through Iuthia."

#-#-#

"Reconnaissance," explained Bulgak Karakadymov, "is a martial art, and I am a black belt." He demonstrated with a flourish of body language as he typed furiously on the length of the computer's keypad; relocating spysat positions to take a better view. "It's nearly as ancient and honorable as Kung Fu or Jujitsu." His friend Navishko in Iuthia Prime listened skeptically over the commlink, reviewing his progress. "Reconnaissance," she said, "is peeking into people's homes." The director of Foreign Intelligence overheard their conversation as he was walking by. "Reconnaissance," he said, "is therapy, beneficial to the government's paranoia ..." He paused for a moment to consider. "Therapy by peeking into people's homes," he corrected, going about his business. Meanwhile, the truck's radio played out loud on Navishko's commlink.

Move in, now move out
Hands up, now hands down
Back up, back up
Tell me what you're gonna do now
Breath in, now breath out
Hands up, now hands down
Back up, back up
Tell me what you're gonna do now

Keep rollin' rollin' rollin' rollin'
What?
Keep rollin' rollin' rollin' rollin'
Come on!
Keep rollin' rollin' rollin' rollin'
Yeah

Navishko was getting to be good at stealing vehicles. He was getting a lot of practice lately. As the truck bounced its way around the back side of the ore smelter, where it would be shielded from any curious eyes back in the streets, he wondered again if he should really be going along with this plan. Actually, he had no idea what the plan was, he knew only the explicit instructions that the director had given him, and he'd followed them to the letter. The director's clandestine messages had encouraged him to cooperate. He seemed to think that Iuthia had bigger secrets to hide than he knew, and that this might provide them with new leads. He spotted a suited figure that had to be the contact standing at the building's base in a shadow — a small setback, like a cave in its vast silver cliff. He noticed that all the security cameras in the area that the government used to keep an ever watchful eye on everyone was disabled.

He braked the truck to a sliding stop that threw him forward against his straps. He muttered to himself as he took off the seatbelt and locked the parking brakes. He opened the door immediately. He hadn't bothered to take the key with him, and the contact climbed up on the broad steps. He could see the figure smiling; it was a she. She noticed the figure push a button on a pen with a slight click, standard GPS jammer, Zvarinograd Technologies. "I really didn't think you'd do it. You aren't quite the bad boy you make yourself out to be. We have ten minutes to talk before they notice something on the GPS."

"Maybe I've just got you fooled about the bad boy part. I'm here, aren't I? Besides, you told me you just want to borrow this, though I'd still like to know why." He handed her a letter.

She shook her head. "I'm not ready to trust you with all our secrets yet. You keep providing things we need, and we'll talk about it, but not today. Just trust me on this one, and I'll be much more inclined to trust you in the future." She shook her head back towards the alley. "Out. There's a scooter back in the recess you can use to get back to the city."

Reluctantly he climbed out as she slid past and into the seat. Her hands ran over the gearbox and wheel like he'd never felt when driving. Where had she gotten the chance to practice that? "Looks good. I'm out of here."

He kept his perch on the steps. "Wait, when will you be back?"

She considered his question for a moment before answering. "About twenty hours for my business, plus travel time, call it thirty-five hours. Forty tops. You said nobody will notice the truck is missing."

In the trailer was laboratory equipment, it had been bound for the skunkworks when he had intercepted it. "Operations thinks it’s in the laboratory, the laboratory thinks it's part of the convoy, the truck that's actually in the convoy was rotated out of idle, and when you bring this truck back it will replace it. As long as you beat the convoy back, there won't be a problem, but I can't hide it forever. Same with that junker in the bed. Since the insurrection, there are much closer tabs kept on the agents. GPS downtime's almost up, let's move."

Meanwhile, at the otherend of the line, Derrek was awaiting the scheduled delivery of logistical supplies for the prototype laboratory. It was unusual that they were this late and given the contents of the truck... mostly being restricted materials for lab use only, meant that the trucks course would normally never deviate from the planned route.

Derrek threw the remains of his ciggerette away, little more then a cheep roll up of his favorite brand of tobacco as he wasn't allow to smoke anything else while on duty. He started to roll up another, taking care to look at his watch to see the time. They should have been here five minutes ago, he thought. It was easy to take things for granted when these deliveries were never really threatened.

As a few minutes went by, Derrek became inpatient... he knew the driver personally and he normally wouldn't take this long on a job. It was a direct route and they would have been told if it had started late. Traffic was almost nil at this time of the night, so what was keeping him?

Derrek walked back in after punching in a code and using his card to open up the maglock on the enterance. He figured someone upstairs may have a clue as to the situation.

"Hey, Jerry" He said as came up to the security window. "You guys get any calls from the others about this truck we're meant to be getting?"

Jerry shook his head. "Nah, we haven't heard anything..." the phone then rang, Jerry looked over to pick up the phone. "Just a minute Derrek, that could be them."

"Hello?... Yeah, we've not recieved the delivery yet, whats keeping you guys?... What? Nah, that isn't possible... You sure about that? I mean GPS just doesn't stop working... ok, I'll get right on it." He put the phone down and turned back to Derrek with a concerned look.

"What is it? Something wrong?" Derrek asked... unsure about the situation.

"Looks like some bugger has 'alf-inched the truck. Security at Alpha Site noticed a deviation in it's route before loosing the GPS signal completely... after that they tried to get hold of the driver and started putting resources on finding that thing."

"Damn... the GPS signal cut out?"

"Yeah... thats the most concerning thing of all. If it was here by now they could have assumed it was just not working or something... but it's all coincidental now. Well, at least it's not in my hands anymore."
------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where's she gone?"

"Drove the truck."

"I'll do that."

"In this, she would be better, now come on."

He was in the lobby of the apartment building on the ground floor, communicating with his spotter through his commlink. Far off along the road, outside the city limits, was the tourism database compound, storehouse of all information from the country's vigilant watch on tourists; The government was paranoid to foreigners. The diversion with the truck is working to get reinforcements as far away from the scene as possible, just in case they screw up and get detected. He picked up his spotter and drove in a black van, the back was loaded with electronics and tools, mainly standard issue back home. They went offroad and behind a hill just a few off from the compound. They started, first an outdoor security camera. They hacked in the CCTV, started playing a loop of last night's tape; of which as the spysats observed earlier, was clear of people aside from the two guards. Navishko was now effectively invisible to the guard watching the CCTV while the two guards who were patrolling the compound was now monitored by his spotter. With him working with Navishko, he was able to keep the field agent away from the guards, giving him a clear route towards the magnetic locks that held the information they wanted. Ten minutes. Now, the hard part, getting past the magnetic locks. His spotter was an electronics wizard, and guided him throughout. Twenty minutes. The guards were now en route back to the magnetic locks, he has to make it fast. Navishko downloaded everything he needed, and made a run for it, closing the maglock. Just as the door locked itself (which took quite a while) he heard the guards coming, and he was almost seen as he turned onto the far corner. Too close. Now to make his way out. The new route he took led him out a lot later than expected, out the entrance, past the security cameras. Fifty minutes. Just in time as his spotter lost his link to the CCTV.

Now Navishko sat back and rubbed the fatigue out of his eyes as he sat in the van, this time his spotter driving. He began to recheck the plan, trying to find holes in it. It's hard enough getting what you want, here, by covert operation; it's even harder to smuggle it back home.

#-#-#

She watched as the police and military were close behind her, and knew that was the least of her problems. The real mission can be carried out in relative safety, the holes that the bullets would tear into the laboratory equipment could be repaired, but unless she could get to the rendezvous quickly, she was going to be very permanently dead. She grabbed her standard issue SMG, modified HK MP5 SD with an aimpoint and a fully integrated silencer, and tried shooting at the wheels on the police cars. She knew she was a marksman, but everyone knows shooting and moving is dreadfully inaccurate. She'd been still far from the docks when the military police had noticed the truck, and she tried long and hard to get rid of them, using the truck's sheer size as her advantage, she made dangerous swerves and manouevers, threatening to knock her pursuers off the road. It wasn't enough.

"Black."

"Reporting, status?"

"I've reached the docks, the military police are right behind me, leave now."

"But.."

"Now."

The truck roared loudly as it drove past the helicopter. She jumped out of the truck's cab carrying her SMG and darted towards the helipad, just barely holding on to the wheels of the helicopter as it ascended into the sky. The truck flew past the pier and into a freighter, crashing into the deck. The military police started taking pot shots at her, hitting her on the shoulder as she shot back at them, but she made it inside the cockpit. She was safe now; Bleeding, but safe. They left the equipment behind, it was a loss, but it wasn't needed, she fulfilled her mission; a diversion. Getting it was just icing on the cake.

"Jammer's on. Missiles won't lock on, we're homefree. They won't chase us after we leave territorial waters."

"NAFDA?"

"I meant they can see us, but the authorities can't contact the military to shoot us."

"Good," she panted, gasping for air really hard, "Just, good."

"What the hell..." following the truck make it's way towards the pier, the pursuing Iuthian Peacekeepers failed to notice as the thief rolled out of the truck and started to make her escape towards a conviently placed helipad nearby. "She's going striaght for the waterfront! There is no where for her to go!"

Cautiously the Peacekeepers slowed down their pursuit under the assumption she would have to stop at the waterfront and face them. However, the truck didn't slow down and instead slammed into a near by frieghter, demolishing the frieghter deck and the truck itself in a violent crash...

"Fuck!" one of the peacekeepers simply shouted, looking at the mess before him. A couple of the others left their vehicles, starting to approach the mess when they heard a shout...

"She's over there! Towards the helipad!" Everyone turned and started to pursue on foot, however the whistling of bullets made the majority of them duck for cover and slowed them down. Meanwhile one of them tried to rely the information back to HQ.

"HQ, looks like the criminal is attempting to take... HQ?... Anyone?" the Peacekeeper threw his radio to the ground, he was getting no signal out of it.. the best he could hope for was to shout to HQ and hope they heard. Instead they simply fired at the helicopter to not avail and sent a runner to communicate the problem so that the military would get involved... but by then it would be too late.

The familiar click of the standard issue GPS scrambler pen caught my attention, as He was tidying my desk. Behind him was his assistant, Zergeyev, busy closing the windows and pulling down the 'shades'. The 'shades' were made of composite armor, lightweight, strong, and behind it was a layer of some new stuff the eggheads in the laboratory created to throw off sensors. They took our time, scanning each other and the room for bugs. Nothing. They started.

"We've received the report. In a weeks time, we will have monitored the subjects enough to match their lifestyle and identity; citizen's access to the country."

"Excellent. News on the agents?"

“One’s injured, but other than that, they’re proceeding according to plan. Security detail in the country has heightened, but the field agent’s fine as long as he keeps low in the upper district keeping notes on the tourists."

He made a mental note to talk to the first councilor this afternoon to make certain all went as planned for the next month. He was very pleased, not only with the amount of squeeze he was about to put on Klatch intelligence—agents for the next few months slipping in the country, the balance of information will come into his favor quickly—but also with his own foresight; come tomorrow he will strengthen relations with an old friend through a joint anti-terrorism campaign from the chaos he had inflicted with the truck and with asking the chief of foreign intelligence to provide a “King” in the final operation. Kings are elite agents that served in the insurrection, who used to be devoted to the old administration; which would mean they are professionals, men well versed in the methods of extracting the most with the least effort. These men had, of course, been inducted as a crack team in the new administration’s agency. A perfect arrangement will be coming soon, he told himself.

“Have you heard about the Council?”

“I read the proclamation, course,” He said calmly, “Why?”

“Just wondering won’t anyone suspect why our government ‘waste’ in the budget has been growing unnaturally?”

“Forget that. Keep your ears open and keep me informed, privately, about their doings, if any. Another thing, I’ve twenty agent recruits for the new team. I’m going to try and train them as analysts this coming month. You’re to work with the current situation.”

“Yes, sir.” He beamed. Twenty men. Of course, twenty new sneaks. Twenty such men, strategically placed anywhere, would be an enormously valuable addition to the power of the Council. He felt enormously pleased with himself. Recruitment had been going very well. He’s beginning to have more teams under his command—and of course, they’ve been hand-picked. Soon all will be known to the Council and all will succumb to it’s control—for the glory of the country and to the common good. Yes, he told himself excitedly, here in the country, free from the fear of the international community, we will see all, know all; with that knowledge we will spin the clockwork of the world around into our favor for the rest of eternity. Hurry the time of the rightful rulers— The Council. “When can I start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Excellent. You can be sure of my interest.” He bowed slightly. “Perhaps, at your convenience, I might be allowed to pay respects to The Council before my mission? I haven’t seen the councilmen for many months.”

“Of course.” His companion said. “Come tomorrow at noon.”

Midlonia, Klatchian Federation Coast
12:01 PM

"Kalashnikov One, inbound to target."

A drone, one that has a particularly small heat and radar signature, was launched from outside territorial waters and began gliding across the dark skies. Normally used by the country's military for urban reconnaisance and taking targeting solutions for preliminary artillery preparation, it was just recently issued to the agency as a standard reconnaissance tool. The drone is fitted with miniaturized equipment the likes of which provide a very indepth report. Infrared, magnetic resonance, radar, ladar, x-ray and of course, a basic HUD for the controller. They couldn't trust sattelites to do the reconnaissance, the subject country enjoys being paranoid with security checks at every corner; what more of prying eyes in space? Work passes, citizen passes, extensive identification network and a database that serves for all citizens. Sentries as well as guards are everywhere.

It's almost as if they're expecting us.

"Stategy or not." He said loudly, "We have to use drones. His Excellency has spoken wisely in this matter and I'm sure he feels that both the navy and the agency can commence the operation. We have no choice or opinion in the matter anyway."--he kicked the captain under the table--"it is an order."

The captain covered a wince and added quickly. "Oh yes indeed." He petunlantly flicked some nonexistent dust off his immaculate scarlet uniform. "However, this obviously comes under the province of the military. You will not go beyond my orders and you will not compromise our operation by failing to comply to my decisions." The captain glanced uneasily at the tactical overview screen where the submarine was cruising further away from the territorial waters.

The councilor, on the other hand, was still too stunned to think of a solution. He could only dwell on the possibilities of the coming 'New Age' he kept talking and thinking about. The complexity of it. The unbelievable speed of it. The new first councilor--Aleksandrov--the first popular 'monarch', the only monarch, since the beginnings of the country itself. The Council was strong now and in control, which is apparently a new development. Peace for twenty-six years and no wars imminent, as long as they don't botch this up-- unheard of since the insurrection. Communism out centuries ago, and the new administration had great regard for the gathering of intelligence, both in the classic sense (education); and in espionage. The unbelievable Capitalist Revolution and the country fantastically wealthy and it's riches beginning to spread. New ideas of government and the citizens of the country ripping through the barriers of centuries. It was all playing into the country's hands. Only one thing was missing, knowledge of what everyone else is going to do and when, it was the key to overtaking other powers.

So it begins.

OOC:
That's a one shot drone there, strapped with explosives; just enough to destroy the evidence and not enough to hurt anybody. (Unless someone's unlucky enough to get hit by flying debris in the head.) Rest of Klatch has to wait; this is strictly only in James (Midlonia)'s hands now.

Overseer Coastal Post #23, 12.03p.m

Yawning loudly the controller looked at the screen again.
A sonar object? In the water? Ah wait! What time of year is it?
He checked the listings, then the date, and then chuckled.
Wales, always the bloody Wales, we need this calibrating- Hello, what’s this?
A small, radar anomaly had appeared on the screen.
Pah, nothing, I’m not reporting another seagull.

Human Error, ah what a joyous thing it is. The drone continued to monitor, quietly, silently, many controllers simply labelling it as a “radar ghost” Overseer was far from perfect after all, “Ghosts” such as this seemed to appear all the time.
But of course, a small metallic object is hardly from the ether.
So, the drone managed to take in a lot of data that night:
The shipment of Neo Tyr slaves now being used to construct several large armoured vehicles.
The great naval base to the north of the country.
The number of civil protection wandering the streets at night.
The beatings for those out without their passes.
The way checkpoints work, a swipe card.
A small skirmish between a royalist cell and a large amount of armour, and men in the centre of the country, so many things.

And many, many more, sheer reams of data, some helpful, some no where near, who wants to see how a civil protection officer beats a person believed to be a royalist insurgent anyhow?
Yes, Overseer was far from perfect.
The great sentinel, to watch over an entire people, was a far, far from perfect.

Months of work, surveillance, years of planning; through the sleepless days of the ever vigilant watch of the agency it now all amounts to a single operation. putting the covert operations cell in transit and dormant status within the target. It was a extremely expensive and slow process, and there is hardly a chance of success. If they fail now, they can always wash their hands from the situation, and make it so that they never existed. The families of the agents killed and the evidence burned. All will fall in a silent limbo of a mystery. It was painful, but it can be done, it must be done, for the glory of the country. It was ironic, there is no honor in espionage, what drives these agents to move on in life?

#-#-#

Newton Solney International Airport, Midlonia

Yes, It's a great and glorious experiment, one fit for the splendid attributes of our country.

The earlier survey of civil protection and security detail proved invaluable. The passes acquired. Disguises; multiple surgeries and an extensive study of the country's sociology, down to how to use that special dining utensil in addition to the surveillance of the identities of some tourists. The master craftsmen of the agency, reverse-engineers, forensics experts, etc.; the hands of the agency, all worked hard to create perfect replicas of all the passes and cards required. All clothing, apparel, goods, even underwear, woven and/or created to the likeness of those sold in nearby local stores. No expense was spared. It was the same, everything was the same, all the prerequisites for sending a cell deep into the country, all the gears finally fall into place. Now to finally resolve the end through the means, all it needed was for the cell to actually pass customs without a problem. He had gone through the formality of buying the commander a flower earlier, because it was an unwritten custom to leave behind your love whenever you're in transit to a new country. If the agent was killed, the love may be given to the agent's family before they too were to be killed. Before the mission, he'd had told logistics to leave behind the equipment. He was afraid of the reports on the Overseer. They were to enter the country as a dormant cell, cautious of how paranoid the locals would be. They knew that underestimation is the bane of espionage.

As they approach customs, he and his team stopped.

This was going to be a very long day.

* Der Angst

“Implants?” I asked.

“Ocular, brainstuff, anything and everything related to surveillance and intelligence gathering. Of course, a few combat implants wouldn’t hurt, much. Contact our suppliers* via the indirect link in building seventy-two. It’s in the next village so you better take a van.” He threw me a set of keys. “Go. You know the drill.”

“Yes sir.”

As I was leaving, he turned around, back to the people on the massive conference table. "Our next target will be Pantocratoria. The government wishes to liberate information for our necrontyr friends, the agents or agent; rather, won’t be going through customs. We will have to run a go-between--

Pantocratorian Territorial Waters, Southwest

An oil tanker taking the route into Pantocratoria from the Pacific (the Atlantic was currently occupied by fifty percent of the Excalbian homefleet in force), loaded with none other than petroleum, was en route to Excalbia when it swerved into the Pantocratorian territorial waters, hoping to take a shortcut. Normally the boundaries of any territorial waters from shore stretch for about twenty-five miles. Therefore it wasn’t long before the coast guard arrived. However, an oil tanker filled to maximum displacement with petroleum failed to pose any threat or violation to Pantocratorian customs and tariffs, unless of course it caused a spill or spontaneously combusted; of which the crew was sure it would not. After the coast guard left, the tanker moved closer to shore so that a certain person could dive into the water and swim to shore. It was Navishko Miagkobrukhoi, now proclaimed master field agent of the agency, diving in his scuba gear. He received honors from his last few missions, honors that were never seen nor heard by anyone else; an unsung hero among the dark and shady recesses of the government. At the time the agency received it’s orders to infiltrate Pantocratoria, the government knew that attempting to get into the country through the customs is a fatal and abhorrently stupid mistake. However, now that the customs were more relaxed, it seemed a waste to cancel the opportunity of sending in a veteran to deal with the task at hand. Therefore, they were left with no other real option. A field agent is usually not a good sign, for a country to have one in their nation is a mixed opinion at best. The common misconception between spy and field agent was noted in the James Bond series. Spies rely on blending in the crowd to gather only intelligence. Field agents, such as himself, are more accustomed to direct infiltration and use of extreme violence. To the country he came from, a field agent usually meant that the agency will stop at nothing to be able to acquire a goal and up until now that has been vague to him. They had only mentioned ‘standby’, which usually meant they were thinking of something to actually do. In the meantime, however, he had to put his mind into swimming all the way to shore. All the way to shore.

Timon International Airport, The Resurgent Dream

Naturalization is the process whereby a person becomes a national of a nation, or a citizen of a country, other than the one of his birth. It is a common source for such words as smuggler, spy, terrorist but Tevkel Magmeteva was a businesswoman. She was a professional, no less, and she deserved it after the long hard hours of experience and study. She brushed her hair, packed up her handbag and went outside. She searched through the the airport for her friends; the local traders both stock and goods. She knew there were years of probation and piles of paperwork ahead of her before she can become a naturalized citizen, but she can wait. She was as patient and adamant as a rock, and aggressive player in the economic chessboard of corporations and CEOs. However, she was a pawn in a bigger game, one that spanned the known limits of time and space. She was an agent of influence, a civilian who doesn’t know she’s set to be a spy for her native country within a brilliantly executed operation. Once in the nearby hotel with her companions, she said sharply to her companion, who took a parcel and opened it. It was full of gold bullion. She motioned at the other parcels. “Forty lacs.” A lac was approximately fifty thousand credits. Forty lacs was two million. Her eyes slitted. “It’s borrowed. Very expensive and excruciatingly hard to acquire. I can loan it, if you want.” Her companions tried to conceal their shock. They knew there would be a hard deal attached to any loan. They knew she must have gambled her life, soul, house and future to amass so much bullion under profile of her home country’s markets. The bullion had to be secret or every single pirate and bandit nest that existed would have hijacked the ship the parcels were in. If information of a hundredth of it even leaked, she would have been obliterated.

“You’ll have to double your purchase of pharmaceuticals this year than last year, gamble for me as I gamble for you. You can do that, can you?”

“Sure.” One responded, the other traders agreed as well.

They’d had to pay over market price for the pharmaceuticals and sell at less than present the market price but they would still make a vast profit. If the other conditions are possible, they reminded each other.

“Twenty years. Market price, add ten percent.”
“Plus five percent.”
“Eight.”
“Five.”
“Seven.”
“Five.”
“Seven.”
“Can’t. No profit.”
“You boys already have too much profit, you’re all getting fat. Seven.”

One of them sighed. “Alright. Seven. Just because we owe you a favor.”

Newton Solney, Midlonia

A graffiti infested wall. To the naked eye, it is the artistic desires of a misguided teenager who had the time and money to spray paint the wall. To the trained eye, a small strategically placed chalkmark gave Vasil'ev syn Ladyzhenskoi all that he needed to activate the covert operations cell within Midlonia. A hidden signal that no man or machine could have discerned. Now it was proven to the government that the watchful eyes of a nationwide overseer network could not stop the training, experience and resources of the agency. The very next day he reported to the rest of the agents, “Command initiated activation of the cell by 0900. In six to eight weeks our equipment would be smuggled across the country in pieces so long as we keep guiding their efforts and reporting in. Dismissed.”

Years? Tevkel Magmeteva, a highly skilled professional unlikely to ever be a drain on resources and able to contribute to the economy, was a citizen within a year and a half. Of course, that didn't mean she really had access to any information. The citizen on the street had no more security access than a foreigner passing through.