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Message no. 1
From: "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Achilles
Date: Tue, 6 Jan 1998 23:41:24 +0000
*****INTERNAL: SIGANet
>>>>>[TO: D J H Coppinger, Director

David, we sat in on Chris D'Arkan's induction speech to his new Achilles
team members.

It's rousing stuff, but more than a little scary in places. Jason and I
commented on it (we were sitting at the back) and the autoscribe picked
it out okay.

We need to check this out.

+++++Begin transcript: Achilles_Welcome

Greetings people, and welcome newcomers.

I can only apologise that you are here under these circumstances. it's
never easy knowing you are replacing someone killed in the line of duty.

It's not bad enough that we have to deal with federal crimes involving
robberies and murders, serial killers and militant activists,
supremacist and rights activists, local and upper corruption, smuggling
dealing and gunrunning, dealing in illegal substances and assorted other
mysteries, oh no that's not enough, the streets also have to get
themselves armed and mobilised, turning normal everyday people into
hardened killers, cybernetically enhanced lunatics, so far over the edge
that they can barely tell the difference between meat and machine.

Shadowrunners they call themselves. I have another name for them, one
that isn't so self-glorious...

Murderers.

[That's a little harsh, isn't it, Jason?]
<He's got a point. Look at Easy.>
[She's a killer, not a murderer. There's a difference.]
<The victims are just as dead.>
[But _why_ they're dead matters to a killer. And pros are more
precise.]

Shadowrunners, the nasty little scags are all over the place.

Oh yeah, they think they're so cool, with their cyberware, bioware,
genetically engineered tailor made toys and upgrades, heavy weapons and
attitudes. And of course they're so proud of the street culture that
hides their filthy existence.

Well, that's not the way the rest of humanity see them. They are scum,
the worst scum in the world, and they are rapidly destroying what little
is left of civilised society. I've heard all the stories, the classic
fight against the corrupt corporations, the battle for humanity, the
last knights of the last crusade.

Bullshit!

The only crusade the shadows are on - is personal profit.

<I thought _we_ were the last crusade?>
[Achilles must be the _new_ last crusade.]
<Oh. Fair enough, wish someone had told us. What's wrong with
cyberware?>
[I think Chris is peeved at people who have their common sense
removed to make space for a new Mayhem&Chaos skillsoft.}
<That, I can agree with.>

Shadowrunners are low life murdering scags whose only interest in life
is the almighty nuyen. They might try to convince themselves that they
are there for some high and mighty purpose, but ask them one question -

"Would you work for free?"

I think you know the answer to that one already,

"NOT A CHANCE, Chummer!"

[Bullshit!]
<He's generalising. Think of all the wannabees.>
[Yeah, but I worked for free or for food a lot of times when I was in
the shadows. So did you, that was how we met. Both times.]
<The one we remember and the one we don't? Let Chris exercise his
prejudices and we'll see where he goes. And he's right more than
he's wrong.>

Well, hey, there's a big fraggin surprise huh? Yeah the last knights
defending mankind against the encroaching evil of the megacorps, but
only working for the highest bidder, for the richest rewards. Goddamn
hypocrites the lot of 'em.

When I think back over all the slagging that the department has had over
the years from these low lifes, I can't help wondering where in the name
of hell they get their ideas from. I mean, who the hell are the shadows
calling names. They work for, are paid by, and are owned by the
megacorps.

<Like InterPol, or some divisions of the FBI. Too much same same
roger.>
[Shh, you'll upset him.]

I and my colleagues are paid by and governed by the Government, big
difference here. We don't work for the highest bidder and randomly kill
men and women. Leaving families without a money earner. Thrown out of
their corporate housing to make room for a family able to provide a
worker. Just because the poor schmuck was trying to do a job and got in
their way. Oh yeah, the Shadowrunners are honorable alright.

When was the last time they paid for the upkeep of a family deprived of
it's father or mother, husband or wife after they arbitrarily shot them
down in cold blood - just for wearing the uniform of a security
operative?

NEVER, that's when.

When was the last time Shadowrunners scrunched down in the homes of
orphans and homeless, down and out, unfortunate and deprived, donating
their time and money, love and care? Never, that's when.

<Hey, he missed Quinn and Harley and Stormwind last year. I mean,
quixotic and stupid, sure, but it made a lot of kids happy.>
[He missed Haven, too. Or what did Pat do before he took his vows and
settled down to tend his flock?]
<I don't know, what _did_ Pat do?>
[...Coppinger might tell you sometime. Anyway, how would anyone
connect those to the shadows?']

When was the last time a Shadowrunner had to sit in a family home
listening to the weeping of a deprived family? Never that's when.

Fragging hypocrites.

Oh yeah, they can shout at me and mine, claim we work for the "man",
that we're owned by the corps, that the Government is just a lackey
under the massive heel of the megacorps.

Really?

I don't think so.

Think about it.

If the government was paid, funded, ruled and governed by the mega's,
why is it that they pay taxes, obey laws and regulations, suffer the
indignity of extraterritoriality where they are unable to move anything
off the grounds without a permit? Why is it that they allow the
government to maintain a fully equipped, ready to rock Army, Air Force
and Navy?

<Hey, Chris! You forgot the Marines!>
[They obviously weren't worth mentioning.]
<Or too superior to sully by associating them with the Chair Farce.>
[I am _not_ having this argument with you, Jason. Be quiet and listen
to the speech.]

Why is it that the corporations answer to the government in everything
they do.

<Because we try to kick their asses when they misbehave?>
[Try to?]
<Costs a lot of money to keep FBI Corporate Affairs bought. The corps
don't spend that because they're feeling generous...>
[Yeah. I keep forgetting to look at it that way.]

How is it that when the corps break the laws we are able to take them
down, prosecute successfully in the courts and enforce their
extraterritoriality by preventing the keeping of any armed force larger
than a standard security division?

<Except for fucking Aztlan. "No, those Leopards aren't Aztechnology,
Aztechnology has no armed forces, and it would be illegal for any of
those nasty Aztlan soldiers to be in the UCAS...>
[So we kill all the Aztlan soldiers we see and nobody can stop us.]
<Still a waste of time and ammunition. And a risk we didn't need
then.>

And when the corps misbehave, are we able to enforce that
territoriality? Damn right we are. Set up check points at the corporate
facilities, force them to supply passports and visa's at the check
points, force them to pay import charges for everything they move out of
the compound. Harry their transports and shipments, enforce some of the
older laws regarding cargo trasnportation. Run inspections on their
facilities and production plants following guidelines and statutes laid
down by Government on safety and pollutants. Oh yeah, we are really
owned by the corps.

The megas really do rule the government don't they? Hah! Why would the
mega's allow elections? Allowing the people of the UCAS to vote for a
president if they owned the government? Damned dangerous game if you
ask me, allowing the public to vote in someone that might have some
dramatic views on corporate power.

Oh yeah, me an mine are owned by the corporations alright, about the
same as the moon is owned by mice and made from cream cheese.
Shadowrunners like to propagate the view that they are the only ones who
know of corporate corruption, but that's just to hide their own
corruption, their own complicity in the greed and expansion that drives
the corps.

<I like the man. He appreciates megacorps even less than I do.>
[He's got the right spirit. Let's hope the rest matches up.]

Let's face it, the corporations, large and small, employ the runners to
do something. That something is invariably to steal data, personnel,
research or product. This theft, in the last century was known as
industrial espionage. Nowadays it's called a "Shadowrun", whatever
pretty name you stick on it it's still theft, and theft is illegal. Plus
the high and mighty Shadowrunners now carry automatic weapons, frag
grenades, high tech breakage gear, powerful cyberdecks, and operate on
the edge of cyberpsychosis and drug burn out. Yeah, they're real nice
people, real honorable.

<I am _not_ cyberpsychosed. And I haven't touched non-medical drugs
since well before I left Ares. Where the hell do a lot of these
runners come from? They're guys like me! Cybered out the ass, jazzed
on combat drugs, then some exec's scam goes wrong and he pins it on
Security and you're on the street with no SIN, and a strike squad on
your tail. Sort of limits your career choices.>
[Sort of Chris's point? It's mighty convenient for the
corporations... Look at Van Holde, for another example.]
<Yeah, I guess.>

I tell you, the last case I was called out to was in Tacoma, a Shadowrun
team had hit a corp research facility down near the harbor. The total
cost of damages to the corp was probably written off against insurance,
but the cost in personnel was horrific. Five security guards gunned
down, seven research technicians and two scientists, riddled with high
velocity armour piercing. Fourteen families without their father or
mother, fourteen families without an income, fourteen families
essentially on welfare and homeless - turned out by a corporation that
wants workers not leeches. An uncaring corporation who will regain their
losses by foisting it off on the consumers and their workers, and later
regain their lost income by financing another so-called Shadowrun on
some other corporation, causing more death and heartbreak. And where
does the cost come to pay for the higher insurance premiums, the cost of
keeping the families in clothing and food?

The taxpayer.

That's right, the average Joe on the street. The insurance companies
recoup their losses during these so-called Shadowruns by making Joe
Public pay for it. The corporation recoups it's losses by charging more
for it's product, by paying it's workforce less. Do you really in your
wildest imaginings think that the cost of a Shadowrun is marked off the
profit margin for the shareholders? Jeez, get a grip on life. No, it's
taken from the pockets of the people working for the corporation.
Instead of a 4% pay rise, they get 2%, but the cost of inflation has
risen 7%. Hey, that's a deficit of 5%. The poor guy earning a wage for
his family is suddenly a hell of a lot worse off, and all thanks to the
filthy scum who pride themselves on their ability to kill and steal.

That's what it boils down to in the end, killing. Shadowrunners are
simply glorified, paid killers. People who, not so long ago would have
got the chair for their crimes. Now? A slap on the wrist and a polite
"Don't do it again" from the Star and other departments. Why? Because
the damn Star, KE and others hire the scum.

[I didn't realise I had so little to fear from the Star while I was
running.]
<Me neither.>

The FBI, DEA and CIA are still here. WE are the last bastions of sanity
against the anarchic chaos that the Shadowrunners are promoting. We are
the only hope for mankind. We are the only ones with the power and
ability to stop corruption in high places. We are the only ones who can
take on the corporations head to head - and win. We are the only ones
keeping order in a society that is crumbling around the ears of mankind.

We are the last knights of the crusades. The worlds poets and bleeding
hearts relate that there are no heroes left in the world. The only
heroes for the public are the tired and repetitive trid heroes. Well,
it's my belief that the people should be given real flesh and blood
heroes to look up to. People beyond the corruption of the corporations,
and the violent greed of the Shadows. A buffer zone to absorb the filth
and disperse it where it belongs - the sewers of the country's
penitentiary system - or the morgue - their choice.

<We were out there crusading while D'Arkan was still looking for a
speechwriter.>
[Chris at least walked the walk after he talked the talk.]
<Yeah, well, he's overgeneralising. There's good guys out here
already, it's not _just_ him and his FBI black-fatigue squad.>
[There's enough bad guys that he's got a point, Jason.]

What crusade I hear some of you ask? The same one that these departments
have been fighting for the last century, organised crime and corruption,
interstate crimes against the government and people of this nation.
Records are still kept, augmenting the datastores and file areas of the
Hoover Building, records we have full access to.

[Full access?]
<Shh, don't disillusion the man. If he had seen _all_ the Agency
files he'd probably have dropped dead of apoplexy>
[True. Or maybe not. He's a _very_ smart guy.]

Historically the services have been slow to react to situations, the
Projects are designed to bypass the bureaucracy that has hamstrung
previous investigations. The Projects are the frontline defence against
the criminal underworld and it's paymasters. It is no longer necessary
to follow the usual process of law. If a situation develops, the
projects can move on it immediately, accumulating and assimilating data,
compiling and analysing that data until we are ready to act. And then...
We've got 'em. The Projects are here to work against the Shadows and
their corporate and underworld masters

<Get rid of the employers and you get rid of the shadows. We did the
position paper - well, one of many position papers - for this back
in 2054.>
[Maybe he read that, and this is just the simplified version to pump
the agents up?]
<I really hope so. Makes sense, at least.>
[Maybe we inspired this? Well, we were part of inspiring it?]
<The way VD was preening after Thunda, and then the Red Wraith, I'm
hardly surprised.>

In every major city in the UCAS, CAS and CFS there are agencies like
this one, Projects against the Shadowrunners who are destroying society,
and the corporate power mongers who back them with state of the art
equipment, and top end financing. In Seattle, we are the Achilles
Project. The CAS utilise federal agents in the form of Aegis, the CFS
have Cerberus, co-operating with the Japanese occupation forces. The
last fight for the future of mankind is approaching, and this time we
are prepared.

This time we will not fail.

This time, law, justice and civilisation will be unequivocably restored.

This time the gloves are off. We have authorisation to operate with
extreme prejudice, we are authorised to react to situations with the
maximum force necessary to contain the problem and eliminate it. Now we
have the facility to do to them, what they've been doing to us for
decades. We can fight back. Full co-operation is offered between Europe,
the United Kingdom, and several other agencies across the world.
Military backup is available if required, access to communications and
surveillance satellites has been authorised. We've got eyes on the
streets, eyes in the sky, eyes at all international transport points,
state of the art equipment and access to the most powerful datastores on
the planet. And finally we have access to fully trained professional
personnel from all walks of life.

<Sounds like us...>
[With budget and resources, and more than you and I for North
America.]
<Well, there is that.>
[Like I said. Maybe our successes inspired Achilles?]
<Christ, I hope not.>
[Why not... actually, I know why not.]
<Why are we successful? Because we're a small, hand-picked force. So
we can't do much, but what we do, we do well. Weren't we _glad_ to
get rid of the judge-jury-executioner role? Now we've got a whole
Special Team dedicated to what sounds too like it for comfort.>
[With Chris in charge -]
<And when it's not Chris in charge? When another Bartlett takes over
Achilles?>

[If another-]
<WHEN another Bartlett takes over.>

There is no longer a situation we cannot meet head on, and win.

Arms and equipment will be issued to all officers after this induction
presentation, any other equipment necessary to complete an assignment
will be made available to the assigned agents as and when they need it.

I will be available for questions shortly. Any who feel they are not up
to this job can leave now. You will not be judged poorly for wishing to
leave the Project. Once you are part of this ladies and gentlemen, you
are permanently part of it.

I'll not kid you people. The job we have ahead of us will not be
accomplished in a week, month, maybe not even for a decade. It will be
tough, dirty - at times heartbreaking and frustrating. It will require
dedication and long hours and damned hard work - But, and it's a big
but. We _will_ succeed.

Welcome

To the Achilles Project.


[Fuck.]
<My thoughts exactly. How high do we kick this?>
[Coppinger. After that... I don't know. This is official policy, you
oppose it at your peril.]
<Why do I keep seeing the original SIGA mandate? They believed in
what they were doing too.>
[Exactly. And they got the powers to do it. And then... fuck. Oh,
fuck.]
<We need to know who's doing their oversight.>
[Assuming they _have_ oversight.]
<Did you _have_ to say that? I didn't want to hear that.>
+++++end transcript

We need to ask some careful questions, Boss. And, yeah, we're involved.
Hitting the streets, busting heads, doing our usual thing.]<<<<<
-- 1Lt L R W Lynch <23:33:54/01-06-58>
Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency
Message no. 2
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Tue, 20 Jan 1998 16:52:23 +0000
*****INTERNAL: Achilles Project; EyesOnly: SAC C. D'Arkan
>>>>>[

+++++Include: Forensics Rpt: Puyallup/Dawn Blossom.rpt
+++++Include: Autopsy: Puyallup/Dawn Blossom.rpt


Lone Star have taken control of the investigation in Puyallup regarding
the incident and are making as much progress as we anticipated;


+++++Include: LS - Precinct 412 Case No. 234A/1220-6783T-2309.


Officers in charge of the investigation are Detective Colin Sheanbaugh
and Detective Elisa Downer. Special Agents Coltrane and Morrison are
also assigned in an advisor capacity. Relations at this time are within
acceptable parameters. So far nobody saw anything, nobody knows
anything, nobody is saying anything. Big surprise. It is possible that
the Dawn Blossom may need to be reminded that they are living in UCAS
territory and therefore are required to abide by our laws. To that end,
included are the details we know about them to date.


+++++Include: Dawn Blossom.dat


Investigation into the Seneca attack has revealed nothing. Repeated
questioning of the locals and piecemeal autopsy on the trafficam videos
has revealed nothing new. The explosives have been traced to a
construction firm in Redmond, not where we initially suspected they came
from. Investigation into the weapon and ammunition has stonewalled,
there are simply too many outlets supplying that type of ammunition.
Nevertheless investigation will continue. The couple found dead at the
scene of the assassins' location has produced little useful information.
They have no surviving relatives and no criminal record above four
parking tickets. They were both killed instantly with 9mm rounds to the
head. Standard execution. The weapon was fired at close range and
silenced. Ballistics have locked the weapon down to a model 257 S&W
Automatic. An old weapon, but one popular with some of the more
organised underworld elements. The weapon has not shown up on
ballistics reports thus far, but with the age of the weapon taken into
consideration, we are having to search records older than usual.
Similarly forensics reports concerning the drones has revealed


Research into the organisation COT has revealed no links to known
terrorist elements, and shows no links to activist elements. They are
essentially what they claim to be. A charity aimed at the homeless of
Seattle, providing doss houses and soup kitchens for those unfortunates
who find themselves on the streets and homeless. Some of their
customers are of questionable history, but this unfortunately cannot be
linked to them in any way that would be constituted as a breach of law.
They claim to concern themselves with humans specifically, and dwarves
in certain areas. Holding to the namesake of the terrorist they have
adopted as their figure, they will not serve metahumans of Orkish, Elven
or Troll descent. Again they are not breaking any laws in this, and
although they employ doormen, these people are relatively easy when
ejecting meta's and have not yet broken any civil statutes. The claims
that they are concerned about humans unhoused and unemployed as a result
of metahuman terrorism and invasion of certain city areas is not
entirely without justification and they are gathering quite a loyal
following from a number of areas of society. So far they have followed
their declared intentions and have not broken any laws regarding
equality or civil statute. Until they actually break a law, there is
nothing that can be done. At this time they appear to spending a great
deal of time and energy advertising their charitable aspects and
decrying the actions of Goldmsith in popular media.


The apparent links suspected earlier with the activist wing CoT - the
coincidence in naming is, as far as can be ascertained coincidental.
CoT (lowercase "o" is deliberate) are a human supremacist organisation
believing themselves to be fighting for the rights of the children of
Thunda. Those who have been rendered parentless as a result of
metahuman activities. Unfortunately, provided the situation in the
Barrens continues they are likely to continue to gain followers and
support. Until they take an active part in terrorist activities or
other anti social activities covered by law there is little we can do
about the organisation. The Political wing of CoT decries all violent
actions taken against metahumans and has assisted Lone Star several
times in recent months with information leading to the arrest of violent
extremists. Whoever is handing out orders is crafty and intelligent.
CoT actively campaign in depressed areas housing human dissidents and
areas where metahuman encroachment has resulted in civil unrest,
unemployment and homelessness. Unsurprisingly their greatest support is
in Puyallup. The organisation preaches that Goldsmith, their founder
followed a clean honest principle, but followed it in the wrong way,
they will honour his ideals by following the principles of his teaching
through Political and Social pressure actions not terrorist activities.
So far, the few incidents of violence have been as a result of their
rallies attracting counter groups from the metahuman communities and not
direct violence aimed at the metahuman community. The incidents have
resulted in several arrests, but show the same pattern of every other
racial group and supremacist organisation. There is of course a rival
group formed by some of the survivors of Goldsmith's campaign that are
in direct opposition to CoT. Again, thus far incidents have been
controlled and involve the swapping of verbal insults and political
rights argument. The situation is volatile of course.


News from Seneca is that twelve undercover agents and thirty six active
agents are dedicated to monitoring these organisations. If there is
anything to connect them to the attack on Achilles as a retribution for
Thunda's death, we will find it and shut them down.


Further investigation into the logistical support experienced by
Goldsmith has revealed nothing, and after this time we are pulling
agents away from the investigation to deal with more pressing concerns.
It is not believed that we will be able to trace the backers beyond the
dead ends we have so far encountered. Renraku, after their initial
reticence have been extremely co-operative, the checkpoint we set up at
their entrances seemed to interfere sufficiently with trade and
personnel that they saw the light. Obviously a complaint was lodged
with the Government and Corporate Court, but we do not foresee any
problems with this, they were concealing essential information regarding
their participation in the acts of a terrorist. We have analysed all
the data that has been released to us, and aside from teh team that
routed Goldsmith's communications network we believe Renraku to be
innocent of complicity. The members of the team are being investigated
further to ascertain their reasons for involvement. The case will
remain open, but will be assigned to non-essential situational
investigation.


+++++Include: O'Connor.rpt


This is the current analysis of the data gathered after O'Connor's
arrival in the UCAS. Included in this report are details concerning the
places and people he has met, including bio's of those considered
potential risks.


Include: UK/T-5 MI6.rpt


Everything British Intelligence has so far seen fit to send us. There
are still some rather substantial sections missing, but they are
claiming these as matters of national security. Eventually they may see
fit to share these sections, until then we can only work with what they
have given us. Information received indicates that they have two agents
working under cover in NanOg to gather more current information. This
has yet to be analysed and sent to us.


+++++Include: Tairngire.rpt
+++++Include: Salish.rpt


It is not felt at this time that the border incursions thus far
monitored are of any significance, and no action is considered necessary
at this time. NSA agents are still monitoring known operatives within
Seattle territory though nothing unexpected has been yet noticed. There
is some indication of CIA activity but they are at this time denying any
involvement in covert activities within Tairngire or NAN lands. But
then, they would.


+++++Include: Anlaysis: John Doe.rpt
+++++Include: Autopsy: John Doe.rpt
+++++Include: Steve Keriman.fle


Case No. FT12/900-17A8-1273-5680978


This is all the information we have managed to obtain concerning the
corpse discovered in Puget Sound a week ago. The primary curiosity is
that Steve Keriman is registered as dead already. He died two years ago
in a boating accident in Miami. He and four others died during a
fishing trip when their vessel was attacked by an unidentified marine
mammal. How the same corpse has managed to turn up two years later the
victim of gunshot wounds in Seattle is interesting to say the least.
Miami PD are forwarding their case reports concerning the accident. We
are at this time attempting to trace living relatives of the other
victims of the accident. Whether this is in some way significant to
ongoing investigations is as yet unknown. It has been decided to leave
the investigation with Lone Star at this time, and not infringe on their
jurisdictional rights. Lone Star so far are being extrememly co-
operative and are more than happy to share information provided they
feel we are being fair with them. There is no intention or need at this
time to withold information from their detectives so the co-operation is
developing in a preferred manner.


+++++Include: LS File: 1543/0003-87462-32498


Further to the investigation regarding the explosion that killed "Easy".
Lone Star appear to think that matter resolved, though the assassin is
still at large. A young blonde has been seen in the vicinity of the
Easy Eight, which would indicate that a certain person is still at large
and rather more healthy than some would like. Suspicions are high that
there may be a repeat attack, though certain informants consider that
unlikely. Thought suspicion is high that Easy was involved in the
recent attack against a Yakuza oyabun, it seems that the Yaks are
letting that one ride, and we have no solid evidence to point against
her anyway. Again Lone Star for reasons known only to themselves have
closed the case. Aside from the fact that Heihachi was suspected of
Federal crimes, we have no involvement in the case. He is dead, and we
have no direct proof to follow up on investigations. Seneca have taken
it under their wing, and the case is open regarding the clan. It won't
be long before a new Oyabun is appointed and then things start from
scratch again. The murder of several Koreans in the barrens again has
not produced the expected reprisal attacks yet, the weapon used to kill
the gang lord Kim Chun Pak, is the same weapons as used in several other
hits in recent months. The butchering of several of the thugs has not
turned up a great deal of information though some of the cybernetics and
two of the bodies have been recovered from local body banks. Obviously
a second, maybe third person was involved, but the depressed nature of
the area has not yet produced any eye witnesses willing to talk.
General speculation considers a power struggle between three crime
families and the Easy Eight. It is hardly surprising that the Eight
came out of the shit smelling of roses considering some of the equipment
employed in the region and some of the people hanging in the vicinity.
It appears that the owner has some powerful friends. Several new faces
have been noted, but they are not as of yet, identified. The situation
remains volatile, but it is not our concern at this time. Seneca
continues monitoring. The slightest excuse and Marion will flood the
area with agents and shut the whole section down, she's getting a little
fed up with the continual gun battles occuring and more than a little
peeved at the Governors demands for results. If the Mayor of Puyallup
once more complains about escalating violence in the area, I get the
feeling that the Seattel Metroguard will be deployed in the region and
martial law instigated, not a desired reaction it must be said. I can't
see the locals sitting back and accepting the presence of Martial Law
without some major incidents. It must be said though that I tend to
sympathise with Seneca, it is somewhat sickening how these people
continually flaunt the law by taking matters into their own hands time
after time, and spitting on law enforcement when they do become
involved, at the same time complaining about the lack of enforcement in
their region. So Puyallup isn't as dangerous as Redmond, that doesn't
mean Patrolment _like_ having things of questionable nature hurled at
them.


End Sit. Report: January 20 2059.


Chris. Further to your desire to meet with our undercover operatives in
Tairngire, I feel it is my duty to register an official objection. I
believe that your involvement would be counterproductive to our
investigation and would result in you being placed in an unacceptable
situation where our response times are crippled beyond any usefulness
should you be caught in a situation beyond your ability to manage. This
should not be taken as a reflection on your professionalism, but rather
the high risk factor associated with operations against Tourniquet. We
have lost more than sufficient agents already without putting the SAC at
risk. If Seneca or DC Committee got hold of this and realised that
Achilles had wittingly allowed you to place yourself in this situation
they would have a field day. It would be virtually impossible for us to
get any kind of support to you in time should a situation develop. This
is an unacceptable situation considering your importance to the Project.


Already there is objection from certain quarters regarding our
operational procedures, and more than enough sarcasm from certain
quarters regarding the equipment issued to agents. From a purely
selfish and political view you are too important to Achilles, ironing
out the politicians and arseholes who complain about the new Project to
risk in a boundary crossing.


That's about all I've got to say on the matter.


Further to communications with the Governor, she will be arriving in
Fort Lewis next week to inspect the Project and discuss our operation in
Seattle. I have arranged a demonstration of the equipment, and compiled
sufficient case reports and incident files to justify the inclusion of
our equipment. The main problem as I see it at this time, is the
unwarranted "Gestapo" tag that some dissidents are beginning to apply to
Achilles. We could do with a couple of major successes to justify the
projects equipment and expenditure to the bleeding heart wimp fraternity
who are unable to face up to current social issues and still see
everything through rose coloured glasses. Also, the gestapo comments
are beginning to upset a couple of our operatives and it would not do us
any favours for an incident to arise as a result of such ill-thought
remarks. It won't take long before the attitude will be "if that's what
they want, that's what they'll get." Judging by the condition of the
New York Project in recent months, we could do with some good publicity.
It seems that DC had to take a step in re-educating the SAC in NY to
realise he was not JJE for the region.


It would be useful for you to attend the Governor's ball at the end of
the month. Partly to rub shoulders with the influential, but also to
iron out a few fears. Reassure them that we are not the new SS, and
that the weapons and equipment is justified when compared to that of the
opposition. A couple of speeches from you, a bit of fire breathing and
some stats and figures might just get us those new cars as well as ease
some of the pressure. The ADP Interceptor sounds especially useful,
there have been too many times recently where our agents have been left
in the cold by some runner with a souped up tank. We should be taking
delivery of the new sidearms by the end of the week, which at least
gives us an edge in limited incidents now. Also, there will be
discussions concerning the annexing of Seattle from the UCAS, as you
know that succession theory is gathering steam again, and it might be
useful to get in with the people who are pushing for this. If Seattle
does gain it's own rights as a city state, then Seneca is likely to lose
a lot of it's power and presence in this 'plex. Which would leave us as
the primary Federal active Task Force. If we can curry political favour
along with some supporters it will go well for us over the next few
years of political debate. To that end it would be useful for you to
indulge in that thing you do so well.


If I may offer my personal opinion on one subject. That of Lt. Jason
Lynch. The man has not had a chance to rest yet. He was involved in a
long campaign in the middle east, flew back here after the attempted
assassination and Seneca attack, and has been actively involved in
several of our cases since. It might be worthwhile either suggesting
directly to the man, or to his superiors that a short time of R&R would
be agreeable. He is showing some dissatisfaction with current methods,
and this is starting to transfer across to assisting agents. They
occassionally feel, uncomfortable with him, it is almost as though he is
contemptuous of our equipment, methods and investigative procedures, not
a particularly useful attitude to portray to people who will have to
rely on these very things to survive. He has been wandering around
growling at people wearing a face like thunder, and it is generally
accepted that only you can approach him on such a delicate matter. The
last thing we need is an agent or team suffering because Lynch burned
out. Further to the involvement of outside agency concerns, there is a
small and mostly insignificant objection from those who rule the masses
- because of SIGA's previous jury and executioner roles in incidents and
the extremely violent methods that Lynch and other operatives of SIGA
have and do employ. The objections to their involvement with Achilles
is negligible, and if you attend the Governor's get together it is
fairly certain that their objections will be generally ignored as the
sour grapes they are. However, it is something we need to consider,
there are a great many corpses attached to the man, and not a few
skeletons in his closet. It would appear from analysis of some of the
incidents he has been involved in that he has some elaborate, rich and
incredibly inept enemies. Thus far he has involved himself cheerfully
in our operations, merrily criticising our methods and equipment while
offering little except outdated concepts himself. I for one am getting
a little fed up with his sniping. If he doesn't like the way the new
FBI Task Forces operate, why doesn't he just frag off and do what he
does best - kill people? Well, that's not really the issue is it? You
might want to suggest that he keeps his opinions and attitudes to
himself a little more, "black fatigue squad" might be amusing once or
twice, but it starts to grate on the nerves after a while, as do the
grupenfuhrer, gestapo, nazi jackboot remarks that have been overheard on
occassion. If his sniping was to be adopted by those who object to the
Projects, there could be some unpleasant reactions from the media and
populace. Nobody wants a situation in this country similar to that
occuring in certain portions of Europe, and Achilles cannot afford a war
with the streets because our purpose has been misinterpreted by someone
still locked up in the previous century.


There are three representatives coming from the Salish Council to
negotiate should situations occur where our operatives might need to
cross national boundries, the indications from DC are that we should
offer similar "escorted" facilities to the Council, if they will allow
our agents to cross into their lands with either a 'Cat or Ranger escort
then we can offer them the same facility when a situation occurs that
requires their pursuing a quarry into Seattle. Tairngire are also
sending representatives to the conference,but they are being
particularly obstinate regarding certain requests. It appears that they
feel they should have unlimited access, while demanding we only go
through them to acquire suspects. The situation is unacceptable to DC
if the system behind the Projects is going to work. However, it is
suspected that NAN discussion and the ease with which agreements have
been reached is a calculated political action by them, to show Tairngire
up as some sort of secret militia state. The conference should be
entertaining even if it turns out to be unproductive. Until Tairngire
is more co-operative, DC requests that any insurgencies we authorise
into their territory are kept to a minimum and with an eyes only tag.
Nothing is to be done overtly without first discussing it with Tairngire
representatives, but current operations should not cease provided their
covert nature is not in danger of becoming compromised. Again, falling
trade agreements between Seattle and Tairngire are not helping the
situation a great deal and much of the leverage Seattle previously had
with Tairngire has been lost.


The beginning of next month has three scheduled meetings with the Trade
and Commerce Board of representatives. This will be to discuss the
future of Seattle, and the continued and increased involvement of
corporate concerns in the metro's infrastructure. Law Enforcement is
likely to figure quite high in the discussion in light of the Shultz's
successful negotiation in '57 with Lone Star over renewal of their
contract. To that end, the Governor has invited The Director from
Seneca, who would like you to attend as representative of Achilles. The
T&C board are going to have a few questions to ascertain how much our
operations are likely to interfere with their trade agreements and how
our presence will affect certain facilities they currently enjoy. Some
reassurance and a restatement of our mission purpose might go a long way
to increase corporate support in our favour, again something we need to
consider if Seattle does sucessfully seperate itself from the UCAS, and
especially considering the current situation regarding trade and UCAS
aid. If projections from DC are correct, Achilles has less than 9
months to become a self sufficient entity within Seattle, so it looks
like your political career is going to be somewhat hectic for a while.


I have selected four new agents who will be arriving on Wednesday, they
will be used to cover for office staff who are otherwise occupied, and
we also have a new secretary starting next week. That should take some
of the load off existing office personnel.


+++++Include: Progress.rpt - Staff Sergeant Malcolm Mallory


Agent progress during training with the new equipment is undergoing
satisfactory progress. We should be fully active within the month.
After that occassional refresher courses should keep everyone's hand in.


End General Report


]<<<<<
-- SASIC T. Johnson <16:45:19/01-20-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 3
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Thu, 5 Feb 1998 02:12:25 +0000
*****INTERNAL: Achilles Project; Eyes Only; SASIC T. Johnson, Director
Mallins [DC]
>>>>>[Crossing into Salish lands was no problem, there was no
questioning of my identity or purpose at the border, so things went
pretty smoothly. That changed later, as you'll see.


Rather than write a report on official head, I believe the video
information from the camera will reveal and explain far more than words.
I've asked for a couple of modifications to the standard mount micro-
cam, if these work out it will improve effective concealment by a fair
margin. The buttonhole is just too overdone for conventional clothing.


+++++Include: TCam.mov Seattle/NAN border: 04:25:13/01-26-59


The six lane blacktop leads towards the national boundary between
Seattle and the NAN, 12 booths, covered by armed guards, wire, automated
weapon mounts and officious looking people in strict uniform dress leave
no mistake that this is a border, and one that remembers hostility.
Strangely, for all the trid movies and general opinion, the Native
Americans guarding the border aren't wearing loincloths, feathers and
buckskin clothes while waving tomahawks and yew bows.


About thirty vehicles, mostly large interstate trucks occupy the lanes,
waiting for permission to brave the badlands of the NAN and run whatever
gauntlet the Indians and Nomads choose to play. Garbage from Seattle
blows up against the fencing, and tumbles around aimlessly in the cold
wind. Getting out of Seattle and into the countryside looks pleasant,
although the garbage follows, at least the stench doesn't. It's almost
possible to imagine that the air is getting cleaner.


An hour travels past while the trucks slowly travel through the booths
to the weighgate where customs and excise check the manifest and weigh
the vehicles. Sniffer dogs, and men with chemical wands wander around
the trucks, apparently checking randomly at locations along the
trailers. The face in the car mirror smiles wryly. It's wearing tinted
glasses, moustache and an unpleasant scar above the right eye, the eyes
are a striking blue and the skin well tanned.


Slowly the car moves forward, to the checkpoint. When only a single
vehicle remains in front, a well armed and immaculately dressed soldier
walks up to the car. A beautifully embroidered snarling cat decorates
the shoulder flash. The soldier taps on the window of the Ford and
holds his hand out. The window slides down on it's electrics smoothly,
and a thick sheaf of papers is handed to the Wildcat. "John Crawling"
his name tag proclaims proudly. Without a word, Crawling walks back to
the booth, handing the papers over to the customs official.


Ten minutes later and the Ford moves up to the crossing.


"Destination and reason for visiting." A rote that is used so many
times a day, the official doesn't even consciously realise he's saying
it anymore.


"Kelso then Portland. Pleasure and business. I've got a few days leave
and figured I'd spend them getting some fresh air before hitting
Portland and securing a contract for my boss, thought a nice drive ...."


"You have business in Kelso?"


"No, Portland, I'm taking a few days holiday in Kelso. I figured a few
days by the river... You know, fresh air, fishing that sort of thing,
and maybe..."


"You work for Shetland Shoes?"


"Yessir, sure do. Make the best damned shoes this side of Europe.
Italian leather, french silks, English brogues, whatever you..."


"I've heard of them. You're not transporting anything not on the
decleration?"


"Nosirree, nothing. A few samples, and some munchies that I'm partial
to, and of course my gun. Nothing else."


"Your permit."


"Huh? Oh, you mean for the pistol? Yeah sure, erm, hang on it's here
somewhere." D'Arkan rummages around in the glovebox displacing a
plastic holstered PB120, a few parking tickets and a variety of fast
food wrappers and cigarette packets. "Got it. Here you go sir." He
flourishes the permit towards the customs guard who takes it, looks at
it and hands it back without a word.


"Everything seems to be in order. We are having some trouble with
animals coming out of the highlands as a result of the cold weather and
heavy snowfall on the upper slopes, so please follow US99 south to
Kelso, and do not deviate from your route. We cannot be held
responsible for your safety if you leave the patrolled highway. If your
vehicle breaks down, do not leave it, stay inside your vehicle and await
the arrival of the Highway Patrol. If you have a cellphone, you may
call one of the emergency numbers on the MARS, and assistance will
arrive shortly." While the Customs Officer talks, the WildCat escorts
another official around the car, sniffer beeping quietly. The eyes in
the mirror follow them on their journey around the car. At a signal
from the "sniffer" the talking official seems to relax slightly. "You
may continue sir. have a nice journey, and I hope you enjoy your stay
in our lands." The emphasis on /our/ lands brings another small smile
to to the driver's mouth - one that fails to reach his eyes.


He lights a cigarette, "I'm sure I will, I'm definately looking forward
to getting out of Seattle for a while and getting some decent air into
my lungs, I can tell you. I mean..."


"Move along please, sir. Obey the speed limits and drive carefully."
The official looks towards the next vehicle, a big BMW with a fat sweaty
driver chewing a fat sweaty cigar, fending off the attentions of a
pretty girl only just out of high school. A fat successful businessman
heading off for a few days with his teenage mistress. Judging by the
giant stetson on his head, probably heading for Westworld, where he'll
be a fat sweaty gambler and no doubt she'll be a dance hall girl he'll
save from the nasty gunfighter or somesuch crud. The driver snears at
the mirror, fires up the engine and drives off.


The NAN, in the interests of getting people from point A to B with as
much expedience as possible maintain the highway in excellent condition,
removing the previous 55mph speed limit and increasing it to a more
comfortable 75mph. The powerful engine purrs quietly as D'Arkan shifts
up through the gears hitting cruise control at 75 and leaving the
driving to the MARS system. "Oh yessireebob, I'll drive real careful,
an' I promise to be a good little Seattlite and not deviate from my
course, yessiree."


The darkened countryside slips by, the white lines dividing the lanes of
the highway, hypnotically humming past under the headlights.


Sitting back in his seat the driver gazes thoughtfully out of the
windscreen at the onrushing road, before lifting a hand and switching
the camera off.


+++++Salish Lands/US99: 11:35:22/01-26-59


A patrol vehicle, lights flashing makes unmistakable demands in the rear
view mirror. A deep sigh, and the driver swings the car over to the
side of the road. Winding down the window as a trooper climbs out of
the Interceptor and swaggers forward. >>translated Sioux<< "Get out of
the vehicle please, sir." Is his only command. The driver clambers
out, breath condensing in the cold air.


"What seems to be the problem, officer?"


"No problem sir, just a random check. We do this a lot to make sure
people are going where they should be, with exactly what they claim to
have on board. Your licence, passport and travel permits please, and a
weapon permit if your carrying." A thick sheaf of papers is handed
across to the Ranger. The Patrolman proceeds to rummage through the
paperwork, inspecting stamps and details, carefully comparing the
photograph in the passport with the person in front of him. "You would
do well to renew the photograph if you intend keeping the moustache sir.
Some people might not accept this as valid ID, the 'tache changes your
face somewhat. Mr... Sheridan?"


"Yep, that's me, and I'll be sure to do that officer, as soon as I can
get to an embassy in Kelso."


"You'll have to apply through normal channels to your embassy in
Seattle, Kelso can't authorise that sort of change. May I see the
weapon and where you keep it, please." The passenger door is opened and
the stud on the glovebox depressed revealing the mess of tickets, paper
and the holstered PB. The officer extracts the weapon, and checks it
over carefully. "I suggest you clean this weapon carefully, sir. There
is some residue in the chamber that may cause it to misfire, and that
might result in injury to yourself. I suggest you take better care of
this weapon sir. We wouldn't want an accident, would we?"


"No sir. I'll clean it just as soon as I reach a motel and stop for a
rest. I didn't realise it got dirty like that, I was told at the store
that the bullets were clean firing, so I figured that meant it wouldn't
get dirty. Hell, I'm going to have a word with the salesm..."


"Clean firing means less residue, less smoke. It does not mean that the
weapon doesn't need cleaning. May I also suggest that you consider
attending some weapons training classes, I'm sure the club you belong to
runs one?"


"Yessir, it sure does. Some ex-sergeant from the army does it, but he's
a bit of a monster so I'm told. A friend of mine went to one of those
classes, and the..."



"I'm sure the club know what they are doing sir. Pop the trunk please
sir."



"Huh? What for? Erm, I mean, yeah sure officer. But, what for?"


The Ranger simply raises an eyebrow, managing to transfer considerable
meaning in that simple gesture. The trunk is dutifully opened. "What's
in the boxes, sir?"


"Samples. I sell shoes, English, Italian, and a few others. Both
natural and artificial materials. We make them all under licence in
Seattle, the natural ones like the English brogues, and the Italian
range are hand made by skilled craftsmen under the strict..."


"And the case?"


"Huh? Oh, a few clothes, razor, you know, the usual sort of stuff."


The Ranger rummages around in the trunk, lifting box lids, and checking
the spare tyre snuggled under the carpeting.


"If you're interested officer, I can measure you for a nice pair of
shoes, no charge, and we can get the order to you within about 36 hours.
We do an excellent range of outdoor tough boots, designed for use in
rough terrain, offering a superb range of styles and choice of
materials. They're all cushioned of course, and can be adjusted to fit
the individual for a small extra charge..."


"No thank you, sir. That won't be necessary. Everything seems to be in
order. You may continue. Sorry to have bothered you, have a nice
journey."


"Oh no bother officer, I understand. You have to be careful these
days."


"Drive carefully. Good day." The Ranger struts back to his car,
confident he's done his duty and harrassed another tourist. Reminding
the invader that he is in a foreign land and has to obey the laws or
else. Sitting momentarily in the drivers seat, presumably checking the
information on his computer system before starting his engine. The
large interceptor pulls past the Ford, the supercharged engine burbling
menacingly through the wide exhaust ports. The officer, in a display
presumably designed to impress the tourists, punches the accelerator and
leaves sufficient rubber and smoke to mould new tyres. The car rips
down the highway in an unbridled display of raw power.


"You're going to do that one day pal and blow a tyre, then you'll look a
complete asshole. Assuming you get out of the wreck."


He gets back into the car, starts the engine, and pulls more sedately
onto the highway, gradually shifting up through the gears until reaching
the speed limit, and hits cruise control again, handing control of the
car to the autopilot and MARS and reaches into the door pouch extracting
a map of the area and several hand written notes while the car powers
along the blacktop, the steering wheel held in the electronic grip of
the autopilot and MARS guidance system. He reaches over to the central
column and presses a stud releasing a small hatch. This flips open
revealing the broad black grip of a powerful SIG and several spare
magazines, not quite the PB120 contained in a plastic holster that was
laying in the glovebox. Pulling the weapon out of it's housing, D'Arkan
gives it a once over and slides a magazine into the grip, the necked
down 10mm bullets looking particularly mean in the backwash of the
dashboard lights. It clicks back into the compartment and D'Arkan seals
the panel again. Even knowing where it is, the compartment is invisible
in the carpeting covering the floor of the car.


+++++Salish Lands/Castle Rock: 17:47:19/01-26-59


A motel stands lonely in the darkening landscape, a small fuel station
the only company visible. A gross neon display proclaims this to be the
Star.ig.t Mo.el, grubby glass hiding the entrace foyer, a line of
ramshackle buildings decorating the edge of a small car park. An
unattractive cafe, bolted onto the side of the motel claims to serve hot
freshly cooked food. "Yeah, fresh last month maybe." A distinct rumble
indicates that someone's stomach doesn't necessarily care how old the
food is. Pulling up in front of the motel, D'Arkan climbs out of the
Ford, stretching tired limbs before strolling in through the doors of
the motel.


"I want a single room, towards the back of the lot, away from the
highway, traffic bothers me."


The bored clerk/owner looks up, aimlessly chewing gum like a ruminating
cow. He blinks. Yawns, farts and reaches behind him grabbing a key.
"20 a night, up front. Sign the book, and gimme your passport." The
offensive behaviour would be more so, if it wasn't obviously standard
behaviour for this slovenly creature. "No 9, end of row A. Clean
sheets are an extra 10, no room service, no women, no parties, no pets
and no sneaking around in the woods. There's bears and wolves up here,
and they'll most likely think you're lunch. OK."


A credstick is passed over the counter. "Sheets, and one night."


The clerk looks at the credstick. "Where'd'you think you are bud. Does
it look like I got me a matrix link here to check your damn credit.
Cash, or no room." A moment of rustling and a twenty is passed over the
counter. The keys are unceremoniously dumped onto the counter top.
"Rules and regulations are printed in each room, read 'em. They're there
for your own good."


"Yessir, I'll be sure to do that. Is the cafe open?"


"Are the lights on? If the lights are on, they're open." The clerk
returns to mining the crack in his backside and reading some dogeared
porn magazine, the cover claims the centrefold to be in "True 3D" the
glasses still attached to the front cover indicating that either the
reader doesn't care, or the effect isn't worth the trouble.


The lights are on, so obviously the cafe is open. Two truckers
engrossed in consuming some brown and unidentifiable substance sloshing
in a bowl does not improve the appearance of the place. A bored and
listless middle aged female, like the clerk, does a passable impression
of a ruminating bovine, enthusiastically chewing a lump of gum as though
her life depended on masticating the rubbery substance. The overall
image is quite repulsive, and spoils what might have been a pretty face.
A hand scrawled notice over the counter announces to an uncaring world
that the special today is stew. If the brown sludge the truckers are
consuming is the stew, it's certainly special - science might find
difficulty in identifying it.


Some turned up drying sandwiches and a couple of questionable slices of
apple pie inhabit a grubby cool cabinet, attempting to look attractive
in much the same way as a half eaten week old corpse. A large cockroach
disappears under the counter, determined itself to find something edible
in this room. The woman looks up, momentarily interested, then boredom
slams down over her eyes again like a death knell.


"Coffee, black. Real if you've got it."


She looks up again, looks behind her at the soycaf machine and looks
back, grabbing a suspicious looking mug - suspicious in that it is
slightly cleaner than the rest - and fills it with hot steaming syrup.
The murky gelatinous substance is about the right colour for week old
tarmac, but only slightly reminiscent of coffee, or anything resembling
coffee. Four sweeteners get dumped into the thick gloop, and another
small object that bubbles briefly.


The woman's eyebrows raise in temporary interest, "Purifier. Makes this
shit drinkable." She frowns, unimpressed at the thoughtless accusation
that her cannister of tarmac would not be drinkable. One of the
truckers guffaws loudly, and is ceremoniously glared at by the woman.


Beth, by her name tag, holds her hand out. "2 bucks. No credit." A
small pile of coins is tossed onto the counter. Turning back into the
room the incoming night results in the filthy windows reflecting the
interior, making the place appear larger and even more depressing. A
yellowish sheen from the lights and the dirt on the glass giving the
place a jaundiced glow. Two huge interstate trucks parked in the stop
over bay obviously belong to the thick armed beefy truckers wrestling
with the brown substance. The Ford sits disconsolately at the motel
entrance, road dust prematurely ageing the vehicle. Shirt grubby from a
day's travel, mug held gingerly in one hand, in case of attack from the
gradually thinning substance contained within, the figure sits at a
table. The mug joins several years of ingrained unidentifiable stains,
clunking down on the plastic table with a hollow unsatisfactory sound.
A small datapad appears and the user unclips the pen, selecting the
menu, and making entries in what appears to be a schedule, gradually
sipping at the coffee as he works. Distant rumbles indicate some
protest from an empty stomach when the greasy soycaf hits it.


Mug empty, the cafe is vacated, the sheets collected from the clerk, who
doesn't appear to have moved beyond the page he was inspecting twenty
minutes ago. Now mining his nose, apparently not having found the
objects he was so dilligently searching for, resorting to alternative
exploration. So engrossed in the exploratory mining and whatever image
occupies the page that he fails totally to to acknowledge collection of
the discoloured sheets and thin blanket.


The room is about as inviting as the exterior of the shack indicated.
Poorly decorated and filthyfrom years of use. Greasy stains above the
bed, testament to hundreds of travellers who have sat in bed watching
the cheap trid in the corner of the room. The bathroom is no better.
The lavatory an interesting challenge to even the most potent cleansing
chemicals, and the wash basin containgin several years of accumulated
grime. Cold water flows happily, but the hot tap merely produces an
unpleasant looking fluid similar in colour to fresh bile. Removing the
glasses, scar tissue, and gently popping out contact lenses to reveal
grey eyes. The moustache stays, though the tan slowly comes off after
the ministrations of a soft cloth and some cream. D'Arkan inspects
himself in the mirror before reaching over for a towel to clean the gunk
left by the cleansing cream. A faint scar above the right eye is
revealed after the cream is wiped off, a pink tint showing that it is
recent. Two more scars are revealed when his shirt is removed, one
below his left shoulder, in the fleshy muscle between armpit and chest,
the other a few inches lower on the same side of his chest. This one,
more angry, and showing te fading signs of surgery. A long and fading
scar in the centre of his chest testifies to the severity of the
operation that saved his life after the assassination attempt.


Apparently satisfied with the image in the mirror, D'Arkan washes and
picks up his clothes while towelling himself dry. A newspaper lies
neatly folded on the bed, todays date with headlines proclaiming that
the talks between UCAS and NAN nations are in danger of collapse after
racist comments in a New York newspaper. The paper joins other articles
in the waste basket. He pops the clips on the suitcase, removing the
clothes within. A small electronic device is slowly guided around the
bottom of the case, and the bottom removed. Grinning as he extracts a
black jacket and trousers. "Black fatigues, damned good job Jason's not
around, he'd have a blue fit." The clothes are placed in a neat pile on
the end of the bed, joined by several small devices and the SIG from the
hidden compartment in the car. He picks up the datapad, pulling a small
microphone from it's housing on top of the unit, and selecting something
from the menu again.


Lighting another cigarette, D'Arkan begins to speak self-consciously
into the microphone. "19:15, 26th February, Special Agent Christopher
James D'Arkan, Achilles Project, Seattle. Salish Lands, five miles from
Castle Rock.


Several contacts from bored patrol vehicles on the highway have resulted
in an extended journey. I'm not likely to make the location to meet
Romulus and Remus for two days. So far, nothing has indicated that the
operation has been compromised. I passed three stopped trucks as well,
which indicates the Hightway Patrol habit of pulling vehicles over was
not a method of monitoring my travel. It seems however, that they have
increased the frequency of these spot checks. Whether that is because
of Shadowrunner activity abusing the borders or something they are
looking for in their own lands I don't know. I shall assume that the
checks are simply an increased presence as a result of smuggling and
shadow activity rather than something more sinister.


Inspecting maps of the area is not really a particularly useful method
of planning operations like this. They rarely give a decent impression
of the area being travelled through. From what I can gather, the area
is thickly forested between Castle Rock and Kelso, with much of the
countryside returning to woodland at all points beyond. How much of the
old farmland is being maintained by the Indians is impossible to judge
from the maps I have, and no one is talking about it willingly - almost
as if they are embarrassed or, hiding something. Hiding something, ha!
Yeah like the fact that they nations are under populated and running
wild from neglect maybe. But then that's not for me to speculate."


He hits the pause button as headlights swing into the car park. Pulling
back the curtains on the grubby window to watch a four wheel drive pull
up in front of a shack further up the row, laden with snowboards, skis
and other winter toys. Either going to or returning from Mount St.
Helens and the lava slopes. The new shape of the mountain after it blew
it's stack creating some interesting, challenging and fast slopes for
the enthusiastic potential suicides who indulge in high speed winter
sports. A pretty woman climbs out of the truck inspecting the residence
in front of her with some obvious distaste. D'Arkan lets the curtain
fall back.


"I'll be heading off US99 towards Cougar tomorrow morning, stopping over
at a motel near Yale Lake and then on to Carson the next day. I don't
expect to be stopped again anytime over the next few days, they'll have
notification on the central datastore of the registration of my vehicle,
so, unless someone thinks to check the destination I should be able to
sneak on through without further hassle." He lights another cigarette.
"Expected arrival at the rendezvous is 1500, 28th January."


The datapad is tossed into the suitcase, a Twinky and dehydrated pot
snack removed, along with a couple of sachets of freeze dried coffee. A
small kettle on the ageing dresser boils reluctantly. While the pot
snack absorbs the hot water, D'Arkan sips at the coffee. "There should
be a law against serving bad coffee. Food I don't care about, but there
are some things in life that should be sacrosanct, and coffee is
definately one of them. Well, I guess that's what comes of being
spoiled by the FBI. Decent coffee on tap. End memo."


+++++Salish Lands/Yale Lake: 17:20:19/01-27-59


The highway has gone, and D'Arkan is driving down a rough road, ill-kept
cracked concrete making the journey rougher than the suspension can
compensate for, shuddering over some sections fit to shake the car
apart. The road finally gives way, and becomes no more than a dirt
track, surrounded by trees. Daylight makes driving safer in this
terrain, but D'Arkan's face in the mirror shows some concern, and not
necessarily for the condition of the road. Before long, he appears to
find what he's looking for, and turns the wheel hard, leaving the dirt
road and entering the forest. The trees are replaced by wood. A barn
of some sort judging by the hay and rusted farming implements. The make
up is back on, altering D'Arkan's face sufficiently that it is virtually
unrecognisable. He pulls up, turning the engine off and dousing the
lights.


Picking up the datapad,


"17:27, 27th February. Yale Lake is a little too active for my tastes,
too much risk of being discovered, and this disguise is beginning to
irritate me. I'm haven't been stopped today, though having said that
the road is bad enough that the Patrol's interceptors would have their
belly torn out in this terrain. I've had to cut my speed back
considerably but I'm still on schedule. MARS system is off line, the
area not registered in it's databanks, the autopilot incapable of
control over the roads I've had to use, it's surprising how much is
taken for granted, and how refreshing it is to be in control of a
vehicle, to actually drive for a while. I'll give the Patrols here
their due, they are drivers. They might show off a lot for the tourists
but I've seen some of the most impressive driving here for a long time.
I figure that us /civilised/ types are starting to suffer.


Memo to self: Make sure all personnel are trained in off-road and
highway handling - manual.


A great many people appear to be making their way to this region, either
to the resorts around the monument of St Helens or to other locations in
this area. Looks like throwing oneself down a slippery hill is a
favourite pass time around here. Either that or visiting the mountain
that gained them their lands is a pilgrimage for them. Whatever,
there's a lot of four wheelers around with snowboards, skis, toboggans
and a bunch of other kit that I wouldn't know how to describe, let alone
use.


The weather is abysmal, making the journey nightmarish. It would have
been better to have brought a more capable vehicle, but I suppose it
wouldn't have fitted with the image. I'm resting for the night off-road
in what appears to be a deserted farm. I will scout the area later to
make sure there are no people living in the vicinity. End memo"


"19:48, 27th February. The area is clear. Nobody's lived here for
years. The area has recovered remarkably well considering the damage
still present in Puyallup from St. Helens blowing her stack, but then I
guess there aren't as many people here trying to scratch a living.
Scars are still visible on the lower slopes, couple of nice viewpoints
give a good view over the area, and there appears to be a considerable
settlement on the slopes of the mountain. At least, there was a hell of
a lot of lights over there anyway. Food, and then rest. I'm going to
set off early tomorrow, I need to be in Carson before evening if I'm
going to make the rendezvous. End memo."


+++++Salish Lands/Stabler: 14:31:30/01-28-59


The car is off road, parked behind an outcrop of rock and bushes.
D'Arkan is sitting on top of a rise overlooking what is only slightly
more than a dirt track. "I seem to have picked up some company, whoever
it is should be coming over the rise shortly. I'm hoping that it's a
local trapper or farmer, and not who I suspect it might be." The
unmistakable sound of a weapon cocking punctuates the words. "I'm in
trouble. It's been nearly ten minutes and the vehicle hasn't shown.
That means whoever is following, is not a citizen about his life."


D'Arkan climbs down the rocks and sets off around the small hill,
heading it appears, in a parallel course to the road, back up the trail.
The forest is farily well spaced and doesn't offer any difficulty to
traverse, but still he seems to be taking inordinate care over his
travel. Ten maybe fifteen minutes tick by before he reaches a new point
overlooking the road. A four wheel truck, the one from the motel, minus
the snow gear is parked under a crop of trees, partially concealed from
the road and onlookers. D'Arkan buries himself in the ground and looks
around the area carefully. Nobody appears to be in the vicinity.


Twenty minutes go past. The driver's door opens, a leg appears, a leg
that seems to go on forever, encased in what should be illegaly tight
tanned (leather?) trousers. The leg is followed by a young woman,
straight black hair almost at the belt of her trousers, a pretty round
face partially hidden by dark glasses. She moves around to the hood and
climbs up onto it, resting against the windshield. She lights a
cigarette and settles back.


D'Arkan glances at his watch, 16:10, and she still sits on the hood, a
cup of coffee in her hand, and a cigarette in the other, she seems to be
reading a newspaper. His fingers tap the soil impatiently. Finally,
with a sigh of resignation he stands up and walks out towards the trail.
The woman on the truck swings those impossible legs over the side of her
impromptu settee and digs a wallet out of her rear pocket. Offering it
towards D'Arkan as he approaches. His reflection in the side screen
shows a slightly grubby visage, dusty suit and a sheepish self effacing
grin. He takes the offered wallet and flips it open. Barking a laugh,
he hands it back to her. "I suppose it would be pointless offering you
mine?"


"Not necessarily, Agent D'Arkan, I might want to make sure you are who
we think you are." A cheeky grin cracks her face, showing almost
perfect white teeth, her green eyes flashing with amusement. "But then,
why put you to all that effort?"


"OK, Agent Chukatis, Running Dear? How long have you known?"


"I prefer Anne. Since the border. Did you really think that silly
disguise was going to hide the famous man at the head of the Achilles
Project? After all the meetings with our senior members and the
publicity over the last few months? Tut tut, Agent D'Arkan, really. We
aren't that lax you know."


"It served a purpose, and logically prevented what might otherwise have
been a more public crossing. It was more convenient to play the game."


"And an interesting game it was. You made a very convincing shoe
salesman, in fact, if you hadn't pulled off the highway and confirmed
our suspicions - we were beginning to suspect you had sent a double
through to mislead us, and you had snuck over the border at another
location. Headquarters were definately getting rather twitchy. So much
so that they called off Highway Patrol and told them to leave you alone.
Putting temptation in the way so to speak."



"I had planned to leave the highway where I did anyway, so that made no
difference. I'm curious though. Why take the chance you did? Arriving
at the motel I mean. If I hadn't seen you there, I might not have
twigged."


"It was a calculated decision. We decided to do that so that, if you
noticed me trailing you, you would not suspect that you were under
threat and take more - dramatic - efforts to remove me. It was
desirable to speak with you under your own choice, not provoke an
incident. I have a question also. When did you realies you were being
followed and why didn't you try to lose me?"


"Because I was curious, and about a mile outside Yale Lake."


"Hmm. Sooner than I thought. I figured you'd got me a few miles up the
trail."


"You gave it away when you didn't follow the rest of the traffic, and
lost the winter gear. If you'd kept the snowboard and skis, I might have
ignored you. But it was kinda suspicious the way your truck suddenly
became "clean", yet continued on the journey. As if you'd arrived home,
but chose to drive tot he Tir border. Not convincing I'm afraid."


"I was in two minds about that, but the wind was getting underneath the
gear, and this road doesn't allow too many errors. It seemed prudent to
make the truck a bit more stable. Now, enough chit chat. What are you
doing here, sneaking though our lands?"


D'Arkan pauses for a moment, looking at her, scanning her eyes, looking
for any hint that there was more than was revealed here. "The name's
Chris... Anne. I'm going to take what might be considered a risk, I
don't want to have to regret this decision." There is a threat beneath
the statement, one that makes the friendly Sioux woman stop smiling, and
lower her eyes towards Chris. The serious expression on her face says
she understands, but doesn't appreciate being threatened, no matter how
politely. "I'm here to meet one of my agents. A man who has been
undercover in Tairngire for nearly a year now, someone who believes he
has been compromised, and possesses vital information concerning one of
our cases. The last communication I had from him demanded that someone
collect the information and arrange extraction. Rather than lose more
agents I chose to come myself. He's waiting for me outside Carson."


"Fair enough. Can I ask what your investigation has to do with your
presence in Council Lands, and why it is so vital that a senior agent of
the FBI is prepared to risk their lives coming through?"


"You can ask."


"Special Agent D'Arkan, that was not a request. We have our own
concerns regarding Tairngire, and certain activities we have been
monitoring, your involvement increases our concern, and the Council
would like an explanation."


Again, D'Arkan is silent for a while. "A Tir agent, an assassin we
think, we known his operational name, but nothing else - Sha'i'talis
/Claw of the Spirit Cat/, has been trailing my agent. He has also been
recently within the boundries of Seattle, we caught an image of him
crossing the border between Seattle and Council Lands a few weeks ago.
Shortly before a rather powerful member of the Criminal Underground was
assassinated. We suspect that he may have instigated other events that
have yet to manifest themselves. The last time he was in Seattle that
are aware of was followed by a rather brutal series of terrorist events.
Something we would rather not have occur again. We suspect he is
associated with a group in Tairngire known as 'Tourniquet', the prupose
of this group is something I hope to discover when I encounter my agent.
Now, I've been straight with you. What's your interest in this."


"Events Chris? You haven't heard? Seattle has been hit with another
spate of bombings. The Children of Thunda have struck a blow in
retirbution for the death of their namesake. They demand that 1st
Lieutenant Jason "Running Wolf" Lynch is turned over for judicial
process. The bombings and retributive attacks against COT chapter
houses appears to be escalating...."


"Oh my God. Not again." D'Arkan fumbles in his pocket, extracting a
battered pack of cigarettes, and lights one, drawing deeply on the
relaxing acrid smoke. "It had to happen while I was absent."


"Lynch is on Seattle, he is as far as we are aware, involving himself in
the investigation of the bombings..."


"Then it will get worse. if they want his hide on a platter, and he's
seen to be involved, there's going to be a bloodbath. Damn this. I
should be in Seattle."


"Sha'i'talis crossed the border more than the two occassions you
mentioned. He spends quite a bit of his time bouncing between Seattle
and Portland. We have insufficient evidence to arrest him for any
infractions of law. Also there is a suspicion that he may be a Tir
Ghost, arresting him might provoke a few border incidents that we really
don't want to have to deal with. Tairngire can be somewhat obstinate and
vindictive as an opponent, even during undeclared conflicts. Our
Wildcats and Rangers have banged heads with Tir patrols before, and it's
never a satisfactory situation."


"Yeah, we know. Don't forget UCAS forces bump heads with them from time
to time. So, Sha'i'talis is a Ghost huh? That explains a few things.
Which means it is even more imperative that I make it to the
rendezvous..."


"Look, we can work together on this. I mean, the Council would be just
as interested in what you know as you are. We are the buffer zone
between Seattle and Tairngire, if there's going to be conflict of any
kind, it's likely to take place on our land, and that means we're
involved. Besides, my truck is better suited to this terrain than the
Ford you're driving." D'Arkan begins to shake his head. "Think about
it Chris, please. I don't want to have to delay you, but if we have to
sit here for the next 24 hours, then we will, because you're not going
anywhere unless you cut is in on this."


A defeated chuckle from D'Arkan. "Well, you're not wrong about the
Ford, it's not built for these roads, if you can call them that. OK,
we'll talk en-route, but understand something. We've been after
Tourniquet for over a year, British Intelligence has been chasing them
for six years, and neither of us are particularly close. The group is
an enigma, they make no political demands, they take no direct action
against political parties, yet we suspect that they are responsible for
some unpleasant attrocities in the UK and possible Europe. If they have
been active in Europe, then Interpol gets involved a bit more than they
are at present. So, understand, this is not just between you and me,
other nations and agencies are involved. We've got jurisidiction at the
moment because things seem to be happening on UCAS soil, but the UK are
sending a British Agent over as liaison even so. If it becomes apparent
that Tourniquet are operating in the Council Lands, then you are welcome
to join the ranks of the confused, but until then, all decision are
mine. I'll need to clear it through MI6 before I can give you anything
anyway, and you know how the British are about their secrets."


"Yes I know. But Chris, we are involved. If tourniquet are committing
acts of terrorism in Seattle, they must cross our territory to do so.
If that is the case, then it becomes important to us. We do not wish to
be seen as complacent when it comes to the lives of innocents. That
would not be in the Council's favour. Climb in, we'll gather what gear
you need, I'm sure you are impatient to be getting on, time is passing
after all."


D'Arkan nods briefly and climbs into the passenger seat of the big GMC.
"Ok, do I need to waste my time with warnings, Anne?"


The dynamic smile breaks her face again, making her appear younger and
more beautiful. "Of course not, I'd have to threaten you then, and that
would definately not be a good way for us to start our new co-
operation."


+++++End Report. Part One.
]<<<<<
-- SAC C. D'Arkan <02:09:33/02-05-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 4
From: "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Thu, 5 Feb 1998 19:43:02 +0000
******PRIVATE: SAC C D'Arkan, SASIC T. Johnson
>>>>>[Not shot, Chris, sliced up by some razors. Even the raid armour
has gaps, Van Holde found one, and his razors are coupled to venom
glands. Ouch. (Didn't save him, though... lucky it was gamma-scop
instead of anything lethal)

Ronin will be out for a few days yet, according to the medics. They took
his left arm off at the elbow last night, the infection was just too
advanced and it was spreading. Throwing a grown man around by a broken
wrist will do that...

(And you _do_ have a use for ex-sec guards who hit the shadows after
leaving what their corporations considered lawful employment - or did
you forget I was freelance for a few years? I only ended up in the
Agency because I helped take Bartlett's empire apart from the outside,
and then Coppinger recruited me for SIGA Mark 2.)

But, yeah, there's no question of letting Van Holde go, or even off
easy, there are just a few avenues to explore that combine retribution,
rehabilitation, and a use for the man more productive than stamping
licence plates. I don't particularly like the guy, personally, we've
knocked heads a couple of times is all, but he's talented. I've bounced
it up to the Director and he'll take it from there. You won't see him on
the streets, we daren't use pressed men for field work, but there may be
things he could do... we'll see.


Maybe I know the reason for Auburn being so convenient, but if so I
don't know I know. Three massacres and a fourth intended to fall apart
so Lilith and I can save the day... is that it? Set us up to _succeed_?
Why?

Okay, there is one reason that has to hide behind it. Power. The Doctor
wants it, he recruits people who want it, everything he does is towards
that end (even if it's just raising money to finance his schemes). He's
got people high inside the UCAS military and intelligence structure, he
owned Bartlett body and soul, he knows how to manipulate the media to
get the spin he wants put on a story... damn,it's so obvious now. You're
right, Chris, it was staring me in the face.

This wasn't about raising money, or they'd have claimed the ransom.
After what the Doctor cleared last year from a Filipino merchant bank,
the amounts involved are... not exactly trivial, but it's dangerous
money and it has to physically reach his operation, it gives us too many
chances to trace and break. So it was somehow about power.

What happened as a result? I get my name in the papers some more, maybe
urging CoT to try harder to kill me. Suits the Doc fine. Also means I'm
even less useful than usual for low-profile undercover work. Again,
suits his purpose. Pretty penny-ante stuff to kill a hundred civs over,
though.

Achilles get let off the leash with orders to "do something". The
Oversight Committee tell Coppinger that results are demanded, and even
Von Drexler goes into writing saying that a successful outcome takes
precedence over "other considerations".

As if we were laying the groundwork to go back to the Bartlett days.


Bear with me here. What's been part of our problem? Political
interference and a lack of co-operation between agencies. The Governor
is unhappy about the crime and about Achilles, because everyone's
forgotten how nice it felt to save money in '56 and now they're asking
"who starved the cops of cash?" Lone Star, okay, street level most of
them are glad of the help, but high up they see us as a threat. If we do
the high-threat part, they think they will lose more budget, and they
could be right, so they don't want us to succeed. Assorted civil
libertarians are accusing us of being closet fascists, and while I might
sometimes gripe about the tactics and methods we use, if I was more than
slightly concerned I wouldn't be here.

With all these problems, we can't stop the terror and we can't prevent
slaughter after slaughter.

Now, we take off the gloves. SIGA agents, assisting the elite Achilles
counter-terror team, storm in and save the situation while Lone Star
fumble and scores die. We took down Thunda, we took down Van Holde...

What's the clear lesson? Let your law enforces do their jobs. No
restraints, no constraints, whining about "rights" and "due process"
and
"jurisdiction" just gets you civilian body count.

Only a strong force, unfettered, free to act as necessary, with the
authority to take charge in every situation and access to all
information sources, can properly protect the people.

Build that structure. See it grow and prosper.

Then bide your time, until you can put your carefully groomed candidate
in at its head.


Yeah, that fits the Doctor. He's playing you, he's playing us.

+++++eyes only: SAC D'Arkan
Chris, I was taking risks, but not wild ones. Notice I wore the raid
gear _and_ carried the BFG (both of which I'm more enamoured of now, the
L7 is more effective than I anticipated in action), notice I was tac-
linked back to your HQ. I can't save the world if I'm dead, even we
Marines know that.

Will it make you happier if I sign out one of the new SIGs too? The
Python's light enough to go in an underarm holster as backup, the SIG-
Sauer can go in the assault rig where it belongs. Can't believe the
ballistics on that thing, it's downright obscene. And it at least uses
cased ammo <g> What the hell, SIG have been making excellent guns for
ever, you should see the SG550 rifle in my collection in DC.


You know my comms gear is headware, you know you can get a location from
me any time I forgot to say where I was going or had a change of plan en
route. I'd offer continuous update if our opponents weren't so
alarmingly competent, I don't want to give them more of a look at our
encrypyt key than necessary.

I'm keeping your people informed as far as possible, if only so I can
get backup faster if the shit hits the fan, it's just taking time to
break the habit of working without support.

The old Agency file? One copy's on its way out, by courier. That's a
very high clearance document, Chris, so be careful - and I don't just
mean in how you handle and secure it. Knowledge may be power, but it
brings dangers.

You're right, there are patterns hidden in the past, in some parts of it
I don't like to look at often. I've done far worse things than Van
Holde, and sometimes I wonder if the reasons were as good as I thought
they were.
+++++end encrypt]<<<<<
-- 1Lt J R W Lynch <19:42:34/02-05-59>
Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency
Message no. 5
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Fri, 6 Feb 1998 00:37:26 +0000
******PRIVATE: 1Lt J R W Lynch, SIGA
>>>>>[How does it go? "Never play with sharp objects" (?) Oh
well, I'll
mention to the techies that their superduper spanking new kick ass
armour has a fundamental flaw. That should stir the egg heads up for a
while.

Slight correction. We don't have a use for people who have gone bad,
against company policy and all that. You know how the Company is about
that sort of thing. Once a man's gone bad, he's not going to think too
hard about doing it again. At least, that's what the /experts/ believe.
I can't help, if Coppinger can fix things and find a slot for your
friend, fine, I can run interference until he's been lost, but that's
it. And I've not forgotten you were once freelance. Why do you think I
keep such a close eye on you? <g> If Ronin can be used for something
purposeful it would indeed be better than wasting tax payers money
stamping number plates, but it will need to be something useful in order
to pay back the debt he owes society.


Publicity, the enemy of any undercover agent. You can't work when your
face is plastered all over the media. The more public you become, the
less able you'll be to work in any fashion other than publicly. Look at
some of the hotshot detectives on Lone Star's payroll. They're public
faces, they can't work the streets anymore. You think this penny ante
stuff is senseless. What is your worst enemy Lynch?


Publicity? aka Notoriety. Everyone knows your face, everyone knows
your operating style and every young wannabee gunslinger wants a piece
of your hide. Why? Because you are the government's paid gun, you kill
those whom society cannot defend against. You are familiar with weapons
and combat. The more you get known, the more likely you are to be
useless to your Agency. There's an old flatscreen movie a friend of
mine watches regularly - Demolition Man - book it out of the mall
sometime, you'll see how publicity can destroy a career, it's a crap
movie, even for it's time, but has an interesting premise.


Or being discredited? The almighty powerful Lynch, suddenly is dropped
into the proverbial creek with no paddle and a leaky boat. You saved
the day so many times, but when you fail, it is going to be the worst
faliure of your life. The most public event of your life, and the most
dramatic fuck up the media will ever have reported.


Take your pick Jason, one of those two are going to be the way Farmer
and The Doctor are going to come at you. You've fragged about with
their operation so much for so long, that these people are going to know
you like a brother - and that's the worst thing an enemy can have.
Knowledge. They know your strengths, your weaknesses, what pulls you
chain, and what buttons to push. Because of that your weaknesses are
going to be the target, you're going to go down Jason, and it's going to
be loud, public and very messy. Don't go kicking in doors and breaking
heads for a while, at least not until this has blown over. Or I'm going
to be coming to pick up the pieces.


I don't think COT are likely to be a problem. If they were going to
make a move on you, they would've done it by now. A bullet in the back,
more taunts, a public demonstration - something. We also were not a
target, not for this. Our activation is a simple by product of the
situation. Predictable, and not necessarily a concern of your
adversaries. We have no power in DC, and we're a long way from the
Hill. Which means intrinsically we're no threat to Farmer, or his
organisation. You on the other hand, think nothing of flitting around
the world at a moments whim. You are a threat. That's the difference.


The chances of the Projects going back to the megalomaniacal days of
Bartlett, are of course a concern. The kind of power and field strength
we can put out is definately an invitation to abuse. I predict within
18 months we'll have our first incident somewhere. Inside 2 years one
of the Projects will be over the edge, within 5 years. We will _be_ the
law. Judge, Jury and Executioner. It's going to happen jason, and
there's nothing anyone can do about it. Unless the escalation in
violent crime somehow stops, or declines it will be 10 years before
Judges hit the streets. You've seen the movies and the Trid series.
You know how popular the concept is with some senators, and with the
public. We already have arcologies, we already have uncontrollable
situations on the streets. We already have powerful weapons of mass
destruction lurking in the shadows. Either bomb wielding loons or rogue
mages. Shamans who only understand destruction. Toxic shamans, Bug
shamans, rogue paranaturals. Power crazed scientists in unrestricted
laboratories funded by megacorporations who have no idea, or care not,
about the things they are doing. Cyborgs, "dead" men, taken from body
banks and security teams who failed to stop a runner, and the last
abomination. Have you seen the news from Japan? The creatures
occassionally encountered on the streets there? Creatures that require
the formation of specialist squads to deal with them? I don't know how
true it is, but it scares the crap out of me.


How long do you think it's going to be before people like Bartlett are
normal fare for this world, in charge of law and order? Heads of
heavily equipped, well funded and well armed _legal_ vigilante squads.


/quote/
Only a strong force, unfettered, free to act as necessary, with the
authority to take charge in every situation and access to all
information sources, can properly protect the people.
/unquote/


Read the speeches from senators in the House from Miami, Houston,
Detroit, New York. They're public record and easily accessible. These
very statements are being used in Congress. Achilles and the other
projects are the spearhead. We will be forging the way. If we are
successful, then there is no need for an escalation. If we fail...


The Doctor and Farmer become Gods, in their own lifetime.


And you are their target of the moment. Later it will be me, or someone
like me. Honest men, trying to do a favour for an ungrateful populace.
But there will be others, others who do not hold such high ideals. The
shadows are not the answer, they're too weak willed, too greedy. And
/I/ cannot stem the flow either. It sounds paranoid, but I despair of
the future of this planet. However, if I can make my corner of the
world a cleaner place to live in, then at least I'll have achieved
something, and if Seattle manages to declare it's independance, maybe we
can keep the filth out for a while longer.


I know you hate the gear Jason. I don't like it much myself, but it
works for the purpose at the moment. As for the weapons. I had a shock
myself just recently when I was informed the SIG was a peashooter.
Imagine, a peashooter? I can see no need for you to change from the
Python except maybe for larger capacity. The SIG only offers a small
degree increase in ballistics above the 357 you lug around, when it
comes to stopping power, who cares about a few feet per second and
joules of energy. In the end it's where you hit the sucker anyway. I
carry one, but then, I've always carried SIG, I prefer them. Personal
thing. :)


As regards your occassional absence. The headware is not necessarily
the answer. As you say, if you keep a line open, there's a chance that
they'll eventually crack your encryption, and that would be wholly
unsatisfactory. I want to put a high frequency beacon either on you, or
in your armour, or your car. One that's activated by pulse. We push
the button, you light up for a micro-second. You also have the chance
to do the same, so if you get yourself into something you can't deal
with, you can shout for the Men in Black <tm> and we'll come running,
armed for bear. We can even tie it into your bio signs. You get below a
particular threshhold and it screaches like the hells have opened
beneath your feet. You have the right of refusal, but I have a feeling
you'll regret it if you do.


Thanks for the file. It will make my sleepless nights catching up with
this warzone you and Johnson created more, sleepless.


I have something that I want you to check out. There's rumoured to be a
CoT cell in Redmond, up along Novelty Hill Road. I think they could do
with someone paying them a visit and breaking up their little wargames.
An informant whispers in one of my many ears that they're going to hit
the Water Sports constructions in Meydenbauer Bay, and we all know the
kind of people who live up around that area of town. I'd like them
stopped before the rich and powerful get themselves all shook up.]<<<<<
-- SAC C D'Arkan <00:27:12/02-06-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 6
From: "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Fri, 6 Feb 1998 19:07:08 +0000
*****PRIVATE: SAC C. D'Arkan
>>>>>[Not a fundamental flaw, it's the usual problem that any armour you
can move in has joints and weak spots. Put on that suit of plate of
yours,and I'll find half-a-dozen ways to skewer you in a grapple
anyway...


Thinking work... too much publicity to be effective, or placed on a high
pedestal and then given a push, so I've got further to fall. Both get me
out of the picture, as far as the Farmer's concerned. What's the easy
answer? Get out of the picture, so neither gambit works. Lose-lose
scenario...

We're already working to cut our exposure, at least to the media. One
thing that really helps is that Achilles are now uncaged: so now we're
just two faceless black-clad figures among many. Down in the Barrens we
can still cut loose as necessary, it's not prime press turf, but still
consider your suggestion noted.


I wouldn't say I hate the gear, it's useful, it's even necessary. But
you know I'm somewhat reactionary... this stuff is fine as far as it
goes. But what happens when the issue widens, and more people are
wearing it, carrying the weapons, expecting firepower and protection to
solve their problems?

A survey often done, and always with the same results, was reconnaisance
effectiveness. Most recently it was Banshee LAVs against Coyote scout
helos, simulated engagements, similar threats, usual fair comparison.
Guess what? The Coyotes were much more effective at locating and
reporting the enemy, and no less survivable. Why? Their crews knew they
were vulnerable, knew they were outgunned, and worked accordingly. They
made sure they saw without seeing, and when they used weapons it was to
cover a retreat or take out an enemy on their best escape route. The
thunderbucket crews knew they were riding flying tanks with mongo
firepower, and when they saw a threat they engaged rather than evading.
Problem is, their recon reports suffered, and they tended to get killed
a lot.

When you're out there in personal armour, with only a MP-5PDW or a brace
of Predators or something that's equally outgunned by the bad guys, you
can still kill the Gomers, but you _know_ you can't make a mistake, you
can't screw up, you can't afford to be sloppy: you haven't got anything
to insulate you from your errors so you damn well take care to make as
few as necessary. Maybe I'm just an adrenaline junkie, but hey, it
usually works for me <g>

Ever see the 1960s study that concluded that you were nearly 25% _more_
likely to be wounded in body armour and helmet than out of it? (due to
fatigue, heat stress, weight, et cetera). Something to ponder, the raid
gear's great for February but I wouldn't want to wear it in August. And,
before you wonder, the sting in the figures is that you were half as
likely to die in body armour, you traded more relatively minor wounds
for fewer serious ones.


I'm burbling, aren't I? I think we should definitely get together for a
couple of beers in the O-club. You said you wanted a word in private,
that would be a good time for it.

Tracker, no problem, let me know the parameters and I can program my
headware to do what you describe; don't often need all ten channels.
It's got the advantage that I can monitor when it's being pinged, helps
let us know if it's been compromised, and it can interface with my
biomonitor automatically.

See you in a few hours, hopefully.]<<<<<
-- 1Lt J R W Lynch <19:06:43/02-06-59>
Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency
Message no. 7
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Fri, 6 Feb 1998 21:28:06 +0000
*****PRIVATE: 1lt J R W Lynch
>>>>>[No you misunderstand. If razors and other sharp objects can get
through, regardless of whether it's a joint or flexible section it's a
fundamental flaw. They need to fix that. During my recent excursion to
other - less than sunny climes. I encountered some body armour that I
found impressive. A ballistic weave that offered some seriously
interesting protection from edged weapons, well, let's just say it
turned a knife I tried to use on someone. Once the tech boys have
finished poring over my debrief I'll pass the details over to you. If
they can replicate it, or get the specs on it's construction it will be
a damned sight more comfortable than the KKK we've got now. I don't
expect instant response to it, but it's light, allows a full range of
movement and optimal protection, and prevents the overheat that is a
bane of special ops units in the summer.


Let's just hope the "black clad faceless" works. Thinking about it,
just for the time being hang up the Python. Book out either the Glock
or the SIG, the ILS handcannon might be more than you want right now.
If we can camouflage you to blend with the general crowd, it might just
confuse the bad boys enough that they get drawn out trying to find you.
So far, it's been too simple to follow you around - just watch the news,
and there /he/ is.


+++++Include: Trakdat parameters
+++++Include: Frequency.inf
+++++Include: Pulse.dat


Set a channel to the above, and there you go. I guarantee we won't be a
pest. And yeah, you're beginning to burble. See ya later. Get one in
for me. I'll be a little late.]<<<<<
-- SAC C. D'Arkan <21:24:34/02-06-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 8
From: "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Sun, 8 Feb 1998 17:38:24 +0000
*****PRIVATE: Lynch, Lilith
>>>>>[Nice of them to give me a copy of this.

+++++begin trideo
The indefinable feel of a military base; breezeblock buildings
surrounding, "spider" barracks in the background, and the centrepiece a
parade ground cluttered only by a couple of Land Rovers. Somewhere
British, perhaps, on a cold and windy day.

"Is that infernal device of yours working, Harcourt?" the handsome,
aristocratic Elf asks in a voice conditioned by some of the most
expensive British education.

"It certainly is." Harcourt replies, in altogether less cultured tones,
sounding amused.

"I shall take your word for it. And I believe I'll make a backup tape."
The Elf sighs.

"You really need to get into the twenty-first century, Pendleton." The
cameraman retorts, as both men turn to watch four coaches pulling up to
a halt on the parade square.

Troops begin disembarking: a force of tired-but-happy CAS infantry in
combat gear spilling out, collecting their rucksacks and web gear from
the luggage compartment. Even from here, you here the comments like
"Anyone seen my ruck? It's the big camo one..." as they sort out whose
near-identical gear is whose with a surprising efficiency. Their AUG-
CSLs are fitted with blank firing attachments and engagement simulator
gear, obviously for a training exercise.

As the CAS Rangers shake themselves out, two trucks also arrive, British
troops leaping down from the backs almost before the five-tonners have
stopped. Like the CAS troops, they show the signs of at least a week or
two in the field, but they seem somewhat more lively: one among them
chivvying the thirty or so DPM-clad, red-bereted soldiers into a rough
chorus line, rather than falling them into three ranks. The CAS soldiers
are already beginning to offer a few catcalls, before the British force
breaks into song.

"Oh, why were they born so beautiful!
Oh, why were they born at all?
They're no fucking use to anyone!
They're no fucking use at all!"

The Brits will win no prizes for tuneful melody, but the enthusiasm of
their delivery is hard to beat: the CAS Rangers seem to take it in good
humour, and the exchange of insults tapers off without obvious
hostility, the two groups merging amiably as they head for the shelter
of a covered walkway. The ringleader of the British force notices the
pair of gentlemen, and breaks off to join them: up close you recognise
Quinn, her face still streaked with the remains of camouflage paint, her
combat fatigues having a definitely lived-in look, but her eyes are
bright and the silver Pegasus on her dark-red beret sparkles.

"A successful exercise, milady?" Pendleton asks.

"Always fun to shake up the Yanks." The blonde girl replies with her
usual manic grin. "They didn't have a magician, we had me, and did we
ever kick their butts this morning in the final use-up-all-the-blank-
ammo battle..."

"Might I enquire who was fighting whom?"

Quinn jerks her thumb at the group of men, who are breaking their
weapons down and cleaning them carefully prior to returning them to the
armoury. "That's Charlie Company, Second Battalion, Ranger Division.
Over here for a joint readiness exercise. Good lads, they've been out
there for three weeks fending off everyone who felt like having a go.
Our lot are from 3 Para, I just tagged onto a platoon of assorted
volunteers who were available for a week of OPFOR: before that, I got to
be platoon commander for a mob of UOTC cadets for a weekend ex, and
before that I was Aunt Sallying a section of cabbageheads who were
practicing patrolling around the Rebs. I ought to ask for a pay rise, I
ended up liaison between the Confederates and our assorted lads."

"Satisfactory?" Harcourt asks.

"Yeah, big giggles, lots of aggro, high training value. The Confeds did
bloody well, too, knocked some overconfidence out of our lads and scared
the hell out of the baby Ruperts. Good soldiers. You're here for me?"

"We surely are." Pendleton nods.

"Then I suggest you retire to the Mess and I'll join you there in about
an hour. Just need to get my rifle stashed away, and myself through a
shower. Lucky for you I'm just platoon magician for these guys, not
commanding..." The Coyote shaman returns to the crowd of soldiers, and
the two intelligence agents turn away.

+++++sequence deleted

Pendleton looks up from his Daily Telegraph, as Quinn - now in working
dress, rather than combats, cleaner, and still grinning - walks into the
Officer's Mess. This is evidently a general-use camp, rather than a
regimental base, given the lack of decoration and the rather austere
furniture; but the bar is well-stocked and the chairs are at least
comfortable.

"Lady Rodriguez. Your usual?" At her nod, the waiter brings a crystal
tumbler of Scotch to the table as she sits.

"So, what does His Majesty demand of me today?" Quinn grins.

"The Achilles Project. You're aware of it?" Pendleton replies.

"Of its existence, and I know some of the participants."

"That will suffice for now. The UCAS is doing as well as could be
expected, but HMG would like to show their support by sending aid."
Pendleton sips his gin and tonic. "However, given the, shall we say,
delicacy, of the situation, we do not wish to offend the Americans by
any implication that they _require_ our help, or that we wish to overtly
spy upon them. We believe our previous offer of assistance and our
requests for more information may already have given offence to the
Achilles leadership."

The blonde shaman shrugs. "So, why me? I'm not exactly a diplomat."

"Exactly. Nor are you what they would term a 'spook'. You are a capable
military operative, with some skill in intelligence work. Your
involvement is not easily refused, given your previous associaton, the
closeness of your friendship with the SIGA agents involved, and your
acceptable level of clearance in both nations. Having dual citizenship,
you can be expected to be loyal to both the UCAS and to Great Britain,
rather than holding a partisan view. Finally, your friends will find
your thaumaturgical assistance to be very useful."

"And we thought you'd enjoy it." Harcourt adds, before finishing his
pint of HSB.

The Coyote shaman chuckles. "Too true. Though it seems to have gone
quiet for now..."

"The eye of the storm, perhaps?" Pendleton sighs. "The Children of
Thunda attacks seem motiveless. There was no serious attempt to target
your friend Lieutenant Lynch, merely loud publicity. Our conclusion is
that it was mere distraction, and successful. Since it succeeded, the
dastardly enemy are likely to use mayhem and murder again to conceal
their aims. HMG finds these attacks on our allies... dismaying."

"And since we would wish their full co-operation if we had similar
problems, we want to help them without giving offence now?"

"Precisely." The aristocratic Elf nods. "Lady Rodriguez, you might
fairly wish to know a little about Achilles and their mission. I would
prefer you found out what the UCAS agents are willing to share, rather
than acquire second-hand and possibly incomplete data from me.
Acceptable?"

"Do I have a choice?" Quinn chuckles. "And I assume you want full
reports?"

"Actually, no. As I said, the UCAS are a little sensitive in this
matter, and would not appreciate being spied upon. We would merely
appreciate... occasional updates." There is obviously a fine distinction
to the Elven aristocrat.
+++++end trideo]<<<<<
-- The Mighty Quinn <17:29:43/02-08-59>
Message no. 9
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Tue, 17 Feb 1998 03:26:20 +0000
*****INTERNAL: Achilles Project; EyesOnly: SAC C. D'Arkan
>>>>>[Chronos. Seems that it means something after all. A snitch in
Everett mentioned the name in passing to an agent investigating the
recent killings in the area. After they came back to us with the name I
sent the agent out again to see what else the snitch knew. The snitch
is dead. Somebody acted rather quickly. I'm going through transmission
logs from here to make sure that it wasn't inside information that was
leaked, but I suspect that the snitch was a little too cocky, and
mentioned something in the wrong place. We're looking into it with a
little more enthusiasm. Two dead bodies in conjunction with a name,
seems to be an indication that we're onto something.


Further to the investigation into the new drugs hitting Redmond, they're
a re-worked and refined version of something that was available last
year. There are six or seven possible outlets dealing in this. I've
handed the information over to the DEA, as it doesn't really have any
bearing on us. I've asked DEA to keep us informed as to their progress,
and promised to feed them any further information we turn up.


Two successful Hostage negotiations have gone into Lone Star books,
resulting in some better press, so I think we may have beaten the
"combatative" stance they took last month. Co-operation has been
satisfactory. The liaison provided by Lynch working with two officers
has done us some favours, though he is rather brash at times, and seems
to find the short hairs rather quickly. I can only guess that he
dislikes Lone Star almost as much as he dislikes Achilles. Whether it
is because of their procedures or the fact that they're corporate I
can't really guess at.


The border situation is well in hand. The governor has made
considerable headway with the Council, though Tairngire is definately
peeved. They have demanded the heads of the team that invaded their
territory. It appears that something else happened recently on their
lands, though they're being particularly cagey about it. From the
little I can gather one of their facilities somewhere inland was
obliterated. I've left a line at NIS to pass over anything relevant
they have on it, but don't hold your breath. It appears that somebody
has taken an interest in annoying Tairngire, whether this is something
from another agency, or a private matter I don't yet know. The CIA are
being very closed mouth about the whole thing, but then they always are.



Border crossings into Tairngire territory are under closer observation
than previously, which is slowing down traffic considerably. Many
shippers are considering moving through Council territory in order to
speed things up. This seems to be encouraging to the NAN, in as much as
they are interested in the possible trade this will attract, but it does
add somewhat to the journey. There is also increased activity from
patrols on both sides of the border, and an increased presence of
Metroplex guard units around Seattle's borders. It's calming down, but
still volatile.


The agent from the Council was met at SeaTac this morning and has been
busy introducing herself to the equipment and senior staff here at Fort
Lewis. She'll be going through a weapons familiarity sequence tomorrow.
You may or may not be surprised to learn who it is. She said to tell
you that "The bitch is back." Whatever that means.


Your request for more freedom in the field has been granted. Provided
you have sufficient back up and are not deliberately putting yourself in
the line of fire when other methods are available, DC has no problem
with you taking a more active role in operations. Your comments about
filing clerk and glorified pen pusher seem to have had the desired
result. In the immortal words of my old Precint sergeant - "Be careful
out there."


The situation regarding Ronin seems to be working out. He has accepted
the offer from SIGA, and has been incarcerated in maximum security in
the Urban Training area. He'll be an opponent for the guard and other
security forces in Seattle that use the facility. I wonder though if
Ronin has thought this through properly. He's going to get himself
smacked about pretty hard up there, it may well be that several years as
a "ladies" hood ornament in a UCAS penitentiary would have been less
painful and less restrictive. At least his abilities are going to be
put to good use. I have scheduled two training sessions for Achilles
staff at the simulator for April. It will do them good to go up against
someone like him, it will be good experience for the occassions they
meet someone like that on the streets. I may, if the sessions work out,
schedule a regular bi-monthly training exersize.


I would suggest that we deal with this Quinn in fairly short order.
She's going to get pretty uppity if we leave her looking through the
books much longer. Already there are a few comments coming from her
area. There is an opinion apparently that we are not co-operating
correctly. Having said that, I've done a little back ground checking,
and I believe that she has been sent here to get her out of the UK.
Quinn is as arrogant, loud mouthed and self centred as Lynch himself.


+++++Include: Quinn.dat
+++++Include: The_Mighty_Quinn.dat
+++++Include File: FAS234/A112/D


This is not someone I personally would have recommended as liaison with
a foreign agency. She's not only dangerous, but has many of the same
attitudes and opinions of her friend, I have a feeling that we're being
set up. It's too convenient that we not only get another loose cannon,
but one that is openly associated with and a long term friend of Lynch.


Aside from attending the funeral of Rusanov's lost, Lynch has been
keeping a nicely low profile, however, what is it with Lynch? He works
for a Federal Agency, yet openly associates with mercenaries and other
distasteful types, and then gets real wierd on someones ass when they
call his integrity into question. I find it incredible that SIGA allow
him to operate in this fashion. If the press manage to get hold of his
friendship with Easy, his association with several other "shadowy
persons" and this latest behaviour with a mercenary army, he's going to
suffer from one of the worst "Government villain of the decade" biopsies
ever seen. Plus there seems to be an increase in literature regarding
the "Fascist Federal Assassin - Lynch". This could be damaging to us as
well as others, he is after all on loan to us. It would be nice if he
would sit back, take stock of his outlandish behaviour and decide what
it is he's doing with his life. Either fighting wars, pissing around in
the shadows, or fighting crime as a legal member of a Government Agency.
I must confess that his whole flippant attitude towards Law Enforcement
and protocol in general is incredibly irritating. As is his apparently
naive attitude to the way he can sport around in public doing pretty
much what he damn well pleases. I mean, what the fuck is he? An agent
for SIGA, or a badge holding Shadowrunner? Or simply a mercenary who
goes where the fun is? I would respectfully suggest that continued
association with Lynch would be damaging to Achilles, not to say
dangerous. I'm sorry if I'm stepping out of line here, but his complete
freedom to act as he sees fit, while merrily slagging us off, is
beginning to grate on my nerves as well as endangering his own safety.
If he upsets the whole team, there is a possibility that someone might
not be where he needs them. That's not a threat, just a simple fact of
life, people don't like having their beliefs and dedication called out
in the manner he has been using, especially not when you take into
account that friends and colleagues have been lost in the line of duty,
working for something he seems to find contemptible. I for one do not
see Achilles as the Gestapo of the previous century, and object strongly
to that comparison. Others are beginning to get upset over the
belittling of the deaths of agents we have lost in recent months.
Especially when any discussion of those people, or the events
surrounding it will come down to another of his interminable war
stories.


It may be worthwhile considering having Lynch replaced and using another
agency as liaison and support, there are several to choose from. He's a
loose cannon with an attitude problem, and there is some objection to
his presence. Now we have yet another of his seemingly endless friends
looking over our shoulders in the shape of Quinn, aka "The Mighty Quinn"
and a few other handles, someone who recently, according to informants,
challenged somebody to a duel - a British agent challenging
shadowrunners to honourable duels? Who sports a heavy rock t-shirt in
Parliament? Oh Christ Chris, for the sake of Achilles, have her shipped
back to the UK. Is she going to be the same arrogant "we're better than
you" rule breaking gun nut? I wonder sometimes about the claims made on
the bulletin boards and wilder press about the Lynch clan and the bodies
buried wherever they go. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff we've
turned up about his daughter.


The talk you had with Lynch the other day seems to have achieved one
thing at least. Security around Fort Lewis has increased considerably.
It appears that whatever you said to him resulted in his stalking the
base like some avenging angel, scaring the living crap out of base
security. Three squads were on the receiving end of his temper, and one
reports several bruises where he "ambushed" them. The Base Commander is
singularly unsympathetic to the claims of unfair treatment, and in this
case I agree with him. Lynch shouldn't have been able to do what he did
if they'd been paying attention. Needless to say, there are several on
patrol that night who are pulling double duty and extra training now.
Aside from that I hope you managed to achieve something. There is a
rumour that he did to the base guards what he /wanted/ to do to you.
Don't forget Chris, Lynch does not follow many laws. He kills what he
wants when he wants, and that means you, me and any other member of
Achilles - if he feels like it. At least, the records I've seen so far
of his actions indicate that. However, there is a good chance, that if
he wanders the night again like that, he's going to earn some bruises of
his own. There are several guards out there who would very much enjoy a
piece of him. I don't know whether it would be a good idea to warn him
or not, it might be a good idea for Lynch to get a good kicking from the
"lesser types", if only to bring him down off his high horse. I for one
would like to see some of that infuriating arrogance knocked out of him.
One more story of his amazing escape from Kazakhstan, or the million and
one other wars he's single handedly won, or another rendition of his "I
sank a battleship on my own" story and I might be tempted to kick his
butt myself. The "I kill bugs for breakfast" tales have got the other
agents yawning, nobody's interested anymore, we've heard the tales, we
know he's his own greatest fan, we know he's god's gift to the world,
infallible, indestructible and capable of downing a dragon on one smite
of his mighty hand - please, mention to him that the endless "Wonder
stories" are getting a bit thin. It is becoming difficult for the rest
of Achilles to be diplomatic to the "ubermensche", his endless tales do
not help. Do you realise that to have achieved half of what he claims
in his tales, not only would he be 250 years old, but so full of holes
the British could strain tea through him. I do not doubt that he has
achieved some incredible things in his life as a super agent, but
really, there is a limit to the amount of Lynch stories we can all take.
This is not a request Chris, it's a morale thing. The people here who
end up listening to his endless tales are getting depressed over it,
they've heard them all, over and over again. No matter what is said by
whom, Lynch has already done it, but better and more efficiently, and
more dramatically. Also, his hurling himself around the cafeteria with
total abandon in demonstration of his deeds accompanied by "braaap" at
regular intervals is scaring the kitchen staff.


Don't get me wrong Chris, I know this looks like a bash Lynch, but it
isn't. I respect his abilities, and I can associate with the fact that
he's been up against some interesting opposition, but the simple fact is
the man is beginning to make me sick. It is a foregone conclusion that
any discussion concerning actions undertaken by or between agents will
rapidly degenerate into a Lynch event, where he goes on tirelessly about
what he did when that happened to him, invariably with graphical
demonstrations of his prowess with an assault rifle, and not even a
decent American weapon at that. Our people have stopped talking to each
other when he's around, they don't discuss their work, or share
information. It is almost a morgue when he's about because no one wants
to provoke another "war story". He's like a 90 year old veteran on a
"your free because I fought the big one" kick. He is seriously damaging
the co-operative nature and morale of agents in this team, and I feel,
as your second in command that I must point this out to you officially.
How the hell did the President ever get assassinated with Lynch in DC?
Listening to him, I'm amazed he isn't senior advisory to the UCAS
military and Pentagon security. He's certainly earned the position.


I'll talk to you and hand over this months reports at 10:00 tomorrow. I
also have this month's psychological profile for the agency staff.
You'll see what I mean when you read it, it's depressing stuff Chris,
especially when you see the Doctor's conclusions at the end of the
document. A particular name figures quite highly in it.


I can't help wondering if Lynch has ever heard of the word
"Humility".]<<<<<
-- SASIC T. Johnson <03:14:41/02-17-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 10
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Wed, 18 Feb 1998 00:49:56 +0000
*****INTERNAL: Achilles Project.
>>>>>[
+++++Cmd. Store = Datastore: 10AD4M976HB/23M-9.837
+++++CLEARANCE: EYES ONLY; Command Personnel
+++++Include: SAC C. D'Arkan; Office recmon2.


D'Arkan is sitting behind what might once have been a desk, but is at
this time a pile of paperwork. Sheafs scattered across the desk in
apparant confusion, yet his hands move through the piles with surity,
somehow knowing which pile contains what. A knock on the door, and an
average looking person walks through the door. Mousy hair defies
gravity on a square face. Pale blue eyes peer from the light skin, a
spatter of freckles cross the bridge of his nose. An ID tag on his
right breast identifies SASIC T. Johnson.


"The reports and monthly profile assessment." He hands over a thick
file. D'Arkan flips it open and a number of official headed pages are
revealed. Small print makes it impossible to pick out the details, but
a large section of the file contains a number of easily recognised
medical forms.


"Sit down Trevor. We need to talk." D'Arkan puts the thick wedge on
top of a relatively stable pile of papers near a half full mug. Opening
a draw he extracts a pack of cigarettes and after lighting his own,
tosses the pack to the other agent. "You've got a problem with Lynch
haven't you?"


Agent Johnson sits in a worn chair opposite D'Arkan. "Not a problem
with him, just his attitude."


D'Arkan looks towards the ceiling, blowing smoke casually at the light.
"I read your little tirade. I can't say I'm impressed, I expect better
of you than judgemental crap of that particular nature."


"Chris..."


"No Johnson, you listen, and you listen up good because I'm only going
to say this once." There is ice in D'Arkan's voice. The sound and his
sudden aggressive stance across the desk shows how and why he commands
Achilles. Raw strength flows from the man, a presence that few can
control in such an impressive manner. "You've been whining since Jason
and Lillith arrived. Personally I'm sick of the sound of it. If you
can't handle being part of this team, then you put your transfer papers
on my desk by lunch. But first you are going to hear a few things.


You will back off. What in the name of blue hell do you mean "war
stories". The only, and I mean the ONLY times I have heard Lynch
referring to his involvement in situations has been in an instructory
manner. He has never to my knowledge "entertained the troops" as you
so eloquently describe. Any and all occassions when he has mentioned
anything he does or has done, are in an effort to make sure that my
agents will survive a similar situation, or it has been in response to a
direct question. On a few occassions I have personally requested that
he instruct my agents. Lynch has the advantage of having survived on
the streets for a good many years, in situations we can only imagine.
You begrudge that a person calls on personal experience when instructing
others? Then you'd better write a reform for the armed forces, police
and security services the world over. The only way we can teach others
is through our own knowledge, knowledge earned in the field, and
experienced by ourselves. Any damned fool can preach tactics and read
chapters from the Great Book of Operations, but you can't replace text
for raw experience. You want to check back on the man's history. He
and his family have spilled more of their blood in defence of this
fucking nation than you have flowing through your veins. If it means I
have to work with a team of mercenaries over some bigoted, twisted
jealous fuckwit like you then I'll take the mercenaries. Shit, I'll
work with criminals and child murderers if it gets the damn job done,
but I absolutely WILL NOT tolerate the bigotry you are displaying. You
have a problem with Lynch, you take it out on the exersize field. You
sick of the sound of his voice, fine, then when you're out there in the
simulator opposing him, shut it for him. If you're lucky he won't bite
your arm off at the neck!


In '57, when we were still getting this Project on it's legs, we
encountered something we were ill-equipped to deal with at that time.
I'm sure you're familiar with the Thunda incident. Who came to help us?
SIGA in the form of Lynch and Lillith. Through their involvement we
were given sufficient breathing space to get on top of that situation.
He has not at any time, called that a favour, he was simply doing a job
and protecting the innocent, the citizens of Seattle.


I appreciate that he has a forcefull personality. How the hell do you
think he got that? By pissing around in some school room somewhere
reading manuals of operational protocol and procedure? Or from the
school of hard knocks? Before you even consider the possibility of
knocking someone like Lynch, you make damned sure that you are working
from a point of knowledge and superiority, not simple exageration and
speculation. You transmitted across the system in Achilles information
that is classified. You were not given access to that information so
that you could use it in your personal vendetta against Lynch or his
family or anyone else. That is strictly between myself and you, and
Lynch if we come up with anything.


Do you have even the slightest incling of the things you have said. How
utterly ludicrous they are? Has it not occurred to you that for the
last 18 months I have worked with Lynch, on occassion side by side. I
know how he things, how he acts, how he does things, I know only too
well how he spends his down time recovering from some of the tasteless
things he has been forced to do. I have experienced first hand the
ferocity of the man. He is quite fearsome when he is aroused, and if
any of this and your attitude was to leak to him, I feel certain that
you would experience some of that anger. Not only would it be fully
justified, but I would hold you still while he beat the shit out of you!


From today, effective at the end of this coversation you are no longer
my second. I will move somebody else into the position later once I
have assessed the profiles. You will henceforth work exclusively in the
field. I expect results from you especially Johnson. I want you to
prove to me that Lynch's operating methods are incorrect, and that the
Bible as written by Hoover is the way we should act. That spying and
sneaking, listening and taping is the way Achilles should behave. A
sneak force best used for peering thorugh keyholes and watching the
dirty antics of politicians, rather than a pro-active agency dedicated
to the eradication of crime. Select your partner, you have the Redmond
beat. If I once, just once hear you utter one more slanderous
defamatory word against Lynch I will personally hand you to him on a
silver plate. If your lucky, it'll just be Lynch you deal with and not
Lillith, believe me, it is she you should be more scared of.


Your comments regarding their behaviour in the presence of known and
suspected felons is interesting to say the least. Are you suggesting
that they follow the Bible of Law Enforcement that stipulates an officer
must be shot at and/or hit before he can return fire? Are you
suggesting that they should risk their lives time and time again in the
face of overwhelming odds, and set themselves up as targets? Do you
have any idea at all how many people would die as a result of such
stupidity?


Lillith worked for SIGA, back in the bad old days. A time that is of
extremely unpleasant and painful memories for both of them. Lynch
risked everything he had and more to save her from a fate neither you
nor I could imagine in our wildest dreams. She was used by the company
in ways that would sicken you to the core if you knew them. It is this
that forced Lynch to stalk the base. He knows who the Farmer is, he
knows who is the organisation behind Farmer, and the driving force. I
suspect that unwittingly Lynch has met them, and possibly even worked
for them. My questioning has nothing to do with you, but take it as
written that if Lynch had decided to kill me as a result of pushing his
buttons he would have done precisely that. He didn't. He stormed out
of my quarters on a rampage through the base that ended up with a couple
of bruised guards and a much awakened security contingent. He didn't
wander the streets capping off rounds into passers by as you would have
me believe. He didn't kill or maim anyone. He released his anger in
the only way he can - through physical exersion. Is that so wrong? He
returned later and subjected himself to more questioning, more of my
drilling and a lot more pain. Lynch is as human as you or I. And I
share a bond with him that no one can understand. Another side of Lynch
was revealed that night. One that lives beneath the surface of the
confidence and bravado. One that is more human than you in your bigoted
perfection could understand. You want to know what Lynch is like
underneath the armour he wears to keep life out of his skin? You DAMN
WELL EARN THE RIGHT!"


A fist strikes the table hard. The coffee jumps, paper scatters on the
floor, and something in D'Arkan's face, hidden from the camera makes
Johnson sit back hard in his seat, almost losing balance.


"You are nothing in comparison to the man you seek to judge. He carries
more pain inside his heart than is reasonable to expect of anyone. Did
it not occur to your enfeebled little mind that there was a reason he
was so brutal, that there is a reson he cracks jokes regarding Jaques
Booted Thugue? That perhaps there is a DAMN good reason that he reminds
the agents of Achilles about the Gestapo of 20th century Germany, that
occassional comparisons are drawn about the Russian KGB and South
African Police? HE HAS SEEN IT ALL BEFORE YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!
What the hell do you think SIGA was before Bartlett took it over? What
the hell do you think Lynch dragged Lillith out of? Why the hell do you
think he's trying to make everyone aware of what we could be? ARE YOU
REALLY SO FUCKING BLIND!? Or is it that you just hate people of his
blood? Sand niggers, isn't that what they call them?"


"I..." Johnson stutters. Something, not quite fear, but close in his
eyes. Beads of sweat on his forehead glisten in the harsh light of the
overhead lamp.


"Get out Johnson. Don't dirty my office with your presence until you
understand what is happening out there, and understand why Lynch is
working so bloody hard to make sure we don't make the same mistakes that
SIGA made in the early days. I want Achilles to be the most organised
and effective anti crime task forces on the continent of the UCAS, and
if that means Lynch is on permanent station here with us, to make sure
we don't follow the path of Bartlett then so be it, and he has my
blessing while he considers that necessary.


One more infraction. One more racist remark. One more example of your
bigotry, and I will erase you from the force. You will cease to exist
in the eyes of mankind, and you will never find work outside of a refuse
crew ever. Do something useful with your life Johnson, go find me the
leader of COT. Bring his head to me in a silver bucket. Do that, and I
may reconsider my judgement of you. And if I even get wind that you are
planning anything - anything at all against Lynch, whether it be
misinformation or a subtle word to his enemies I will personally crucify
you to the gates of SeaTac Airport."


"Sir, I."


"I don't want to hear it. You have broken the trust placed in you. You
have sought to defame a person in the employ of another agency,
defamation that is wholly undeserved. You have used privileged
information to fuel your accusations and you have attempted to undermine
my trust in someone who is beyond trust. I don't want to hear anything
you might have to say on the matter. Get out. PRove to me that you are
worthy of the rank of Special Agent, and I may reconsider my decision
this morning. Do anything that makes me think otherwise and I'll have
your badge faster than you can blink." D'Arkan, normally a relatively
short man, appears to tower over his desk, his stance menacing yet
obviously heavily restrained, the tendons on his forearms evidence of
the strain he is experiencing holding back his anger. The ice in his
voice producing an almost visible screen of frost between himself and
the sweating agent opposite. With a finality like the gates of doom
slamming shut, he sits down, picking up the thick file brought in by
Johnson.


Agent Johnson slowly rises to his feet. The severity of the decision
made by D'Arkan only just registering. There is no hate in Johnson's
face, as might be expected, only defeat. A man who has come to realise
that something is not right with the world, and has just realised that
he may be the cause of it.


As the door closes, a deep sigh breaks from D'Arkan's chest. He closes
the file, and looks at the door thoughtfully. From profile, his face is
almost sad. A strange regret etched into his forehead. Shaking his
head, he returns to work.


+++++End Include:


Personal Note.


I am not sure whether demoting Johnson was the correct action, but I
feel that while he is here as part of the senior staff he will not begin
to understand the pressures faced by the others on the streets, or the
pressures that face Lynch and Lillith at this time. Until I can get a
bead on COT and this series of events with the bus hijacks, I don't
think it safe to bring them back into the fold, and if I leve Johnson as
my second, a situation might arise within the ranks that I don't want to
have to deal with. There can be no dissent within Achilles. If that
occurs then we have taken our first step towards defeat and corruption.
I am still doubtful whether my actions were correct. It may have been
better to dismiss Johnson from Achilles all together. He has been a
good second, and it would be a shame to waste his talents. I can only
hope that he learns from this, and is able to resume his duties shortly.
Whether I should inform Lynch of what has happened I have yet to decide.
I shall for the moment at least not say anything, it is better that he
continues to treat Johnson as he has so far, rather than alter his
behaviour as a result of knowledge that may be unecessary.]<<<<<
-- Achilles Project Autostore <00:26:12/02-18-59>
SAC C D'Arkan
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle


*****Internal: Achilles Project, Memo.
>>>>>[Effective 10:27 this morning. Special Agent Trevor Johnson, has
requested that he be returned to active duty in the field. He believes
that his talents are wasted in the administrative role he has served so
well over the last months, and would prefer to join his colleagues on
the streets.


Special Agent Patrick Anderson, you will be promoted temporarily to the
position of Second in Command of the Achilles Project, effective
immediate.


Your first assignment in this position will be as liaison to the British
Agent that is residing at our leisure in the guest quarters. I want a
formal apology made to her that she has been left there for this length
of time unattended, and I would like to see her in my office at 1300
today.]<<<<<
-- SAC C. D'Arkan <00:41:23/02-18-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle.


*****PRIVATE: Lynch
>>>>>[There have been a couple of changes up here, that you will need to
be aware of. Special Agent Johnson has requested that he be returned to
active duty. I have granted this wish. Special Agent Patrick Anderson
will be acting second for the time being.


A friend of yours is here at the base, though I'm aware that you might
already know this. If you wish to return to the base tomorrow, I will
make arrangements for the southern gate to sneak you in inside a regular
troop shipment. I cannot at this time ascertain whether it is safe for
you to surface, I'm still awaiting the outcome of certain avenues of
research. Needless to say, our conversation of the other day was
enlightening. It is only a matter of time before we find your
adversary. I think it might be an idea sometime this week if you show
your face around the investigation in Everett that surrounds some
information we received from an informant.


+++++Include Chronos.dat


I doubt that anything will turn itself up, but a glimpse of your face on
the streets may invite the Farmer or COT to show their hand. Do not
prolong your exposure any more than necessary please.]<<<<<
-- SAC C. D'Arkan <00:47:22/02-18-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 11
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Thu, 19 Feb 1998 04:38:24 +0000
*****INTERNAL: Achilles Project, A&D Department
>>>>>[

+++++Include: Footage. Cam2 Special Agent Bernard Kreutz


It's late, sleeting rain cuts visibility considerably. Four heavily
armed Federal Agents sit in the back of a van, swaying to the vans'
frenzied cornering - feet braced on the benches opposite them. Name
tags on their right breasts identify Barnes, Barney and Hammond. All
of them wearing the black armour provided by the Project. Kreutz hefts
a fierce looking assault rifle, grenade launcher and other toys bolted
on altering it's shape to something more suited to science fiction that
science fact. An led indicator above the magazine flickers into life as
he slaps a magazine home in the wide port.


"You really think we'll need these Bernie?" Barnes looks uncomfortable
holding the weapon, though his hands check the mechanism with
familiarity.


"I don't know Andrew, I really don't. If this really is the location of
Chronos we can already link six violent deaths to them. Two floating
belly up in the Sound, two Lone Star officers, a security guard and the
owner manager of Prices Jewellery. They're not your average scags."
Kreutz continues to check his equipment. A truly amazing array of
pockets and pouches litter the fatigues and armour.


"What I want to know is who the hell designed this blasted clothing."
The camera shudders as the wearer shifts the armour to a more
comfortable position, tightening straps.


"A psycho gunnery sergeant who decided that Bergens were not likely to
be standard fare for law enforcement officers and transferred the
carrying capacity of an Army pack to the pockets of a cop. The logic
being I guess, that it's easier to move with the weight distributed
sensibly over the body, rather than weighted down by a large pack on
your back. Besides, it's a handy place to keep a thermos and doughnuts,
plus it's nice and cosy on these godawful winter nights. And the
contents of the pockets supplement the armour. What can I say, the man
was a visionary - probably a descendant of the Maquis de Sade." Rough
laughter follows Hammonds' sour expression.


"You're beginning to sound like Lynch." A low chuckle. "Remember what
he said when Johnson handed him his kit? I never thought the guy was
gonna come down off the ceiling." Open laughter follows as the agents
attempt to recall the exact colourful phrasing that was employed. As
some of it was Sioux, they fail somewhat, but it is apparent that
pleased would not describe the reaction they laugh about.


"Yeah, and the range when he cut loose with this fucker. I still
remember the range sergeant taking cover once Jason finished. I don't
know what he thought was going to happen, but I sure don't think he
thought it would be good. What was it he said? Oh yeah. 'Fuck me.'
The sight of him standing there with this baby in his hands, and the
target in smoking ruins 50 meters away was a sight I'll never forget,
his face sank a thousand hopes that day." Barney clicks the fire
selector to burst and checks the safety.


"Maybe. But it's saved his life twice now, and the armour saved his ass
when he took Ronin down. Anyone can question equipment until they've
used it, you might have missed it, but Lynch came in and booked a
session on the range with this puppy, and a few of our other toys. I'd
say he's a convert. Lookit what happened to Hakkerstone when he went
against Thunda. The bullets bounced off, and Hak was wasted. With this
puppy, I'd like to see Thunda shrug anything off. You guys seriously
think he was one of a kind? Why the hell do you think D'Arkan was
shitting bricks for months afterwards. There's half a dozen just like
Goldsmith out there somewhere, and ten to one they're gonna be comin'
for us sometime." Kreatz looks out the front of the van remembering
other times.


"That's a depressing thought Bernie, thanks." Hammond continues to
tighten the straps on his armour. "Thinking about it, what's the story
on Johnson? he seemed pretty happy to me as SIC, how come he's
requested a transfer?"


Kreutz sighs deeply. "Don't ask Hammond. I don't know what's going on,
but rumour is, D'Arkan chewed his ass off. Why do you think Johnson's
been limping - he's got no butt left. Buzz is that he's got a railing
for shagging that new secretary, and for something else. I figure he's
said a few things he shouldn't have. He's still part of the team, so
whatever it was, wasn't too serious. I figure it was bad enough though.
I've worked with D'Arkan for about five years now and I haven't seen him
bust anyone in that time. Hell, maybe Johnson did make the request.
He's been itching to get his hands on the fuckers that blew our offices
in Seneca. Let's just leave it at that huh?"


A voice emits from the front of the van, the drivers shoulder just
visible as he hauls the heavy truck round a steep corner ignoring the
red light glaring angrily in the rain. "ETA One minute. Better get
ready guys."


Kreutz looks at the other three agents, who all return nods. Clipping
smoke grenades to clamps on the armour, the four ready themselves to
exit the van.


A screaching of tyres and a shuddering halt indicates their arrival.
Barney kicks the rapid release catch on the doors, and the agents rush
into the pouring rain. The street offers a variety of entertainments
from tattooing to naked live girls and all night shopping. They slide
on the damp concrete and head towards a small building. The
disconnected and damaged sign above the store entrance offering the
talents of Madame Shulidar - Mistress of Occult Transcriptions.


"Light's on." The warning comes shortly before the agents slide to
positions covering the door. A faint crack of light just visible to the
back of the store. "Switch to IR people." Kreutz's voice suddenly
calm, without emotion. Several clicks are audible above the pounding
rain. "Hammond, Barney, cover the back. Barnes, on me."


Two agents run for the rear of the store, deftly running past garbage
cans and discarded boxes in the small alley between the old fortune
tellers shop and the clothing store next door. A minute later
confirmation that they are in position.


Kreutz hefts the heavy rifle, and moves towards the entrance, covered by
Barnes to his left. "We're going in." He gingerly pushes the door
open. As the front door to the store swings silently on it's hinges,
several figures exit from the rear of the store.


"FBI! LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!" The rifle slams
into Kreutz's shoulder audibly, the click of the safety a death knell in
the momentary silence.


"FEDS! FRAG THE CUNTS!"


A blaze of automatic fire erupts from the rear of the store, the window
front shattering, and the door frame splintering under the poorly
directed fire. The thunderous eruption of the rifles held by Barnes and
Kreutz momentarily overrides the microphone's capacity to record the
event. Muzzle flare is almost blinding in the dark shop. Small flashes
from explosive ammunition register on the walls behind the victims.
Within seconds all is silence. A faint layer of smoke picks up the
light from the back room, and turns the slaughter into a dream state.


"Fuck me." Barnes moves slowly forward into the store, checking left
and right, followed by Kreutz. A crashing sound from the rear of the
building indicating that Hammond and Barney have entered. A short fire
fight from the back.


"Kreutz, we got two at the back, you guys OK?" Hammond sounds awed.


"Yeah, yeah we're fine. We've got six here."


"Fuck me." Barnes seems to have a temporary speech problem.


Kreutz chuckles. "Now who sounds like Lynch?"


"Huh? Oh, yeah." Barnes moves to the bodies, kicking weapons out of
the reach of outstretched hands. The bodies are torn apart. Armour
destroyed, flesh and bone torn and shattered. The effect of the rifle
fire utterly devestating. Bullet holes in the wall and door indications
of the power of the rounds fired by the two agents, confirming the
carnage dealt by their weapons. "Fuck me."


"Will you shut up. Now maybe you understand why Lynch reacted the way
he did. Killing a target with one of these isn't quite the same as the
real thing, is it Andrew?"


"Fuck me." A sheepish grin follows the statement, his teeth white in
the dark of the store. Barnes crouches next to one of the bodies
carefully turning it over. A nondescript caucasian is revealed, long
hair obscuring part of his face, blood soaking into a shredded heavy
metal t-shirt, the body armour beneath the shirt powerless to save his
life.


"This is the place Bernie." We've got ourselves a fully equipped lab
here. Cleaning gear everywhere. Looks like the creeps were polishing
the brass when we disturbed them. Table and wall markings match the
video." Hammnond walks through into the front of the store, accompanied
by Barney.


"OK, let's call it in...."


"Shit... I've been hit!" Barnes stands finger digging at two rounds
embedded in his chest armour, interrupting Kreutz.


"Barnes. Why do you have to test everything in one go?" Kreutz waves
at Hammond and Barney to leave the store and call in Forensics and the
Crime Scene boys. "You OK Andy?"


"Huh? Oh yeah, I didn't even notice, I thought the impacts were recoil
from the rifle. Shit Bernie, I could be dead."


"Yeah well, you aren't. Be happy. Get the medics to check your ribs
when they arrive, you might have busted something." Kreutz takes
Barnes' rifle as the agent continues to explore the embedded rounds. "I
didn't feel it, I thought..."


"Barnes! It happens. You're alive, that's what matters. Sit down,
have a doughnut, have a cigarette, shit, smoke a cigar." Kreutz escorts
the agent out of the store. A small crowd of onlookers gathering across
the street, peering at the black clad men, trying to figure out what was
going on.


"Hammond. Call in Lone Star, we're going to have to set up a perimeter.
They'll need to run interference for our CSI team and keep the rubber
necks off. Tell 'em to bring a meat wagon with them."


"It's alright ladies and gentleman. We're Federal Agents. Move along
and go about your business, there's nothing to see anymore." Kreutz
moves towards the crowd, keeping people away from the store front.


+++++End Include

]<<<<<
-- SA Bernard Kreutz <04:30:11/02-19-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 12
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Sun, 22 Feb 1998 22:25:28 +0000
*****PRIVATE: Santana
>>>>>[
+++++Begin Encryption: Dkd_dodo


The peace talks are failing. Mistrust between the NAN And Tairngire is
at an all time high. The mediators from Seattle and DC are not trusted
by Tairngire because of the recent attacks in Tairngire and the attack
on the laboratory. Tairngire are not trusted by the Council because of
recent murders within their borders by what appears to be Tairngire
special forces. All we need now is an attack in Seattle from either
nation and the talks will never succeed. One terrorist incident or one
murder occassionally should do wonders to prolong the discussions
indefinately.


Your initial choice in placing Cat in Seattle to contract for work has
proved highly successful. He is enjoying himself thoroughly and
establishing his network nicely. It won't be long and he'll have the
operation running like the New York and Denver branches. He is gaining
trust here as a fair and equal dealer, so a supply of willing candidates
for work should not be a problem. To these white eyes money is all that
matters. Offer them a sufficiently large bone, and they'd kill their
own mothers, those that have mothers. He is beginning to receive
contracts from elsewhere, so no connection to you should be detected,
the network will be self sufficient within two weeks.


Achilles are floundering, their case against you is falling apart, they
have no confirmation that you are involved, they only have dead bodies,
nothing links to you.


At this time they pursue another organisation, one that has caused them
more than one headache over the last two years, beginning with the
Thunda incident, and most recently with something called Chronos. A
group of agents are being sent to Miami to continue the investigation
into Chronos, though D'Arkan is keeping it close to his chest. He has
not released a staff roster yet, so I am unable to send you the names of
the agents. As soon as I have that information I'll send it to you.


The loss of their agents Romulus and Remus has struck home. D'Arkan has
been contained within his office since his return from Tairngire, he has
only recently left, and is taking some leave at the moment, though again
I do not know his location.


There is much that is beyond me. I am a junior in the office and
therefore do not have the higher level authorisation to access the
deeper datastores. From the information I received from the other
people here, it is unlikely that I ever will. Since the attack on his
offices, and his own close call the SAC of Achilles has become even more
paranoid than before. Much of what happens here and why, is kept in his
head. He rarely makes notes on the system, and confides in no-one. I
believe that this pressure may assist us. As he gets more tired and
overburdened with keeping investigations organised he will begin to make
mistakes.


One event of some note was the co-incidental arrival of a British Agent,
though I do not know her name or rank, and another from the NAN, again I
do not yet know her name or rank. I believe though, that the SAC and
the NAN agent have met before - it is even possible that it is she who
caused so much damage when you tried to capture D'Arkan.


I will begin to transmit reports more regularly now that I am in the
department, and that our captive is starting to talk more readily. It
is surprising how maleable these men are when they find their fantasies
answered. I have found some amusement in tormenting him, promising
things, and making him wait. He talks freely thinking that it impresses
me, and he believes that impressing me is a way to gain sexual favours.
So be it, though I bore of it already.

+++++End Encryption
]<<<<<
-- Doppleganger <22:17:32/02-22-59>
Message no. 13
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Mon, 23 Feb 1998 02:52:17 +0000
*****INTERNAL: Eyes Only; SAC C. D'Arkan
>>>>>[Chris. I'm sorry. We just pulled this out of Tairngire's Trid
system. A contact in the Porland Police Division sent us the details.


+++++Include: Portland.trid
+++++Include: Autopsy.dat


We've identified the body. It's Shenandoah. He was cut to pieces. Two
ingrams, full clips at point blank.


We're trying to make arrangements to have the body shipped home.


I'm informed that he got a few shots off. Blood was found on the scene
that belongs to no body present, which means he hit his mark. if that's
the case, then whoever it was is hurting, and hurting bad. I'm running
a check on the radar logs and I've applied to General McKintock for the
listening post logs. if a chopper went in to extract we'll find it. If
one didn't, then the fucker's still in there, and Tir security will get
him. I've also put in a call to Seneca to have the street docs that we
are aware of checked out. If that fucker is in Seattle we'll find out
who and when and where the scag is hiding.]<<<<<
-- SA Mike Pierson <02:38:29/02-23-59>
Matrix Division
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle



INTERNAL: SA Mike Pierson
>>>>>[Do what you can. I'll talk to his girlfriend.]<<<<<
-- SAC C. D'Arkan <02:39:38/02-23-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle



*****PRIVATE: Ami Tanaka
>>>>>[I'm sorry to approach you in this way, but you weren't at home.
Please contact my office as soon as possible.]<<<<<
-- SAC C. D'Arkan <02:48:04/02-23-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle



*****INTERNAL: Log, SAC C. D'Arkan; personal
>>>>>[

+++++Begin recording.


D'Arkan is sitting in his office, elbows resting on his desk, face in
his hands. A partially disassembled SIG 257 laying on an absorbent mat.
Body armour hangs in one corner with a vicious looking assault rifle on
a wall mount next to it. An overflowing ashtray tries to hide
underneath a pile of files. The monitor of D'Arkan's computer flickers
faintly, skewed to the side as if struck. A half empty mug grows a
thick skin next to the ashtray. The desk lamp casts dark shadows across
the floor, the pool of light on the desk base lighting his face, ageing
it.


" When is it going to end? I can't see my enemies, though I can hear
them. They seem to be coming out of the woodwork everywhere. I only
have a finite number of agents, and they are falling like flies. It
seems impossible to get a handle on COT, Chronos, Eblis dead ends,
Abbadon doesn't exist, and Belial is attached to a corp in Africa.
Miami, Seattle, Tairngire, NAN, DC. So many places and still no damn
answers. Two years, and I have nothing!


Now this. Our last plant in Tairngire, gunned down like a dog in a
nightclub. How much of this is attributable to O'Connor? Every attempt
I've made to infiltrate his organisation has failed, every attempt to
gather information concerning his activities comes up empty handed. If
we're chasing the wrong man, then not only British Intelligence is
wrong, but somebody out there is making a supreme effort to make sure
our attention remains on him.


Lynch is being hounded by lunatics again, same thing, every year, same
time, same worn out old arguments and stupid half assed accusations.
Should I tell him we monitor more of the matrix than he suspects, or
leave it. I think for now, leave it, at least he feels useful relaying
information to me. It must be a living hell hiding like this when so
many people are out to burn you down. There is much he could achieve if
it were safe to let him loose, and I feel certain that this must be
harming SIGA as well. I need him on the streets where he benefits both
companies, not laying up in some motel picking his nails for want of
something to do with hands. Maybe he'll turn up something in Miami. If
not he can burn the place to the ground, right now I could care less.


And Farmer rears his ugly head again. Intriguing. Trouble arrives in
large doses, and that shadow casts itself across the backdrop. I can't
help wondering how much he influences. Is it as Lynch suggests, that he
is linked somehow to COT and Chronos, or is it simple convenience that
he uses their belligerence to cover himself. While eyes are looking
elsewhere..."


He wipes his hands across his face and takes a deep breath. Picking up
the half finished job of cleaning his sidearm, he continues to dismantle
the weapon, picking up ramrod and oil cloth.


Peace talks, mediations, bad guys, bombs, bullets, mass murders,
assassinations, foreign agents and lunatics. And no leads on any of
them."


Silent for a few moments, he finishes cleaning the pistol. Putting the
cleaning kit back into it's box, he begins to reassemble the sidearm.


"Somewhere out there is an answer. Maybe it's time we went and got it,
instead of sitting here waiting for it." Putting the dismembered
firearm back on his desk again, D'Arkan reaches over to the monitor
straightening it. "Dictate. To, Special Agent Patrick Anderson. I
want a full run down of available resources. Everything that we can put
into the field, and how much is available in reserve at Seneca. It's
time to get nasty out there, and to hell with the press. Too many
people are dying. We are going to stop it."


"End Log. Store. Eyes Only."


+++++End Recording
]<<<<<
-- SAC C. D'Arkan <02:57:21/02-23-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 14
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Tue, 24 Feb 1998 23:42:56 +0000
*****INTERNAL: Achilles; SAC Chris D'Arkan
*****cc: 1lt J R W Lynch
>>>>>[Chris, we've got a situation developing.


A female was recovered from a destroyed vehicle on Elliot Way at 5:35
am. Lone Star are interested in the current location of Jason Lynch,
I've informed them that he's en-route to Miami. Seems they found some
material at the scene that matches our fatigues. Wasn't jason plain
clothed for the last few days? They're running a make on her now. The
flesh on the front of her skull was peeled back, and "Belial" carved
into the bone. Not exactly Jason's style. I've explained this to Lone
Star, and though they agree it's highly unlikely to be Jason they're
pretty insistent that they want to eliminate him from their
investigations. They feel that even if not guilty, he might have some
valuable information on the case.


Information supplied by eye witnesses claim that a man and woman
ambushed the car after identifying themselves as Federal Agents. The
vehicle pulled over, and the two perpetrators opened fire. One witness
dialled 911. Lone Star arrived on the scene within a couple of minutes,
but it was enough time for the two suspects to leave the scene and
commit the above mentioned attrocity. The scrap of clothing was caught
on a jagged part of the vehicle where bullets had struck the metal.
Seneca have got some of their boys going over the material verifying
it's authenticity. LSS claim they've got a blood trace from it, but
they're having difficulty analysing it - whatever that's supposed to
mean.


I've passed them what information we have on Belial and the assumed
associations we've aligned to that name. I've also sent them the details
we have on Jason's movements for the last week, with luck that will at
least convince them that he's innocent. As far as I'm aware, SIGA are
defending him for all they're worth, ballistics information, ammunition
samples, records of his operational methods, and their policies are
burning the airwaves at the moment. Rather conveniently, or not,
depending on how you look at it, the trafficam monitoring system chose
the moment of the attack to develop a fault. LSS, and Seneca are
checking the matrix to see if they can get a handle on why and how.


It's damned inconvenient timing considering the accusations that have
been thrown around recently. LSS also want to speak with you. They
weren't too clear on what exactly they wanted, but I figure it's going
to be more than a friendly chat. We're going to need some results if
we're going to convince certain opponents that this wasn't a sanctioned
killing.]<<<<<
-- SASIC Patrick Anderson <23:37:32/02-24-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle


*****INTERNAL: Achilles Project
>>>>>[We've received confirmation on the murder in Portland.
Shendandoah's cover as a Bounty Hunter held up. They're shipping the
body home, after an explanation from the Bail Bond Company regarding his
presence in Portland, and a request to return the corpse. Tairngire are
labelling it as murder, but occupational hazard. A hunt for the killer
is in progress. The blood type information they've pulled from the
nightclub, matches one on Federal databases. It was Haze. SIGA confirm
the blood type and DNA.


Seems like he's a little more able than some people would give him
credit for. Not only did he evade Lynch in Seattle after the killings,
but he managed to get over the border into Tairngire somehow and kill
one of our agents. I'm checking news reports and other information at
the moment to see if we can tie him into anything else over there.
Unless his main target /was/ Shenandoah.


The man just added an international crime to his resume, and he's a
confirmed cop killer. It's just a matter of time now before either LSS
or we get him.]<<<<<
-- SA Ralph Tweet <23:34:22/02-24-59>
Matrix Division
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 15
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Wed, 25 Feb 1998 03:07:20 +0000
*****INTERNAL: Achilles; SAC Chris D'Arkan
*****cc: 1lt J R W Lynch
>>>>>[OK, seems like SIGA have some convincing arguments. LSS have
backed off on Lynch, but they still want to talk to him. I've informed
his boss that he's in Miami with four of our boys, Lillith and Quinn.
He OK'ed that, but said something about pitying Miami. Can't imagine
why.


Anyway, LSS ballistics have sufficient evidence on file from previous
shootings involving Lynch, they finally pulled the data, ran the
comparisons, and got a weapon that was stolen 8 months ago from a gun
nut in Tacoma. They're following up on that lead now. He's pretty much
in the clear now, but, it hasn't done his image too much good.


I'm curious though. I mean, there's people like Detective Grissom, the
LSS 'Runner hunter. Other big names on the force. Why do people centre
so much on Lynch. Unless they're deliberately aiming at him for a
different purpose. Sorry if you've been over this before, but I'm
playing catch up at the moment.


The girl. She's French. Ellaine Chantis. Previously associated with
CDEU, she was headhunted by a UCAS corp in 2048, disappearing from her
home in Atlanta in 2055.


+++++Include Surete Chantis.fle
+++++Include Immigration.fle
+++++Include Personal.dat


That's it. The whole shebang. The weapon used to carve the name Belial
into her skull was a laser scalpel. Dammed neat job. The text forms
are intricate, and match data we have on file on similar murders in
Miami, these murders also involved the names of demons carved into a
bare skull. I've sent the information on to Jason, he should have it by
the time he arrives at the hotel. It might give him something to start
with, while he's hunting down information on Heinrich and co.


The lettering used is an old English style script fancied by many
artists as representing demonic writing - probably more as a result of
it's gothic appearance than from anything based in fact. At this time,
I've not passed on the information we have on the Miami killings to LSS,
I figure they'll find it themselves pretty soon. The reason is I
thought we might be able to get a jump on this. The press are already
printing on Satanist killings and Witchcraft and shit, so they're well
off on the wrong track. Now, with that, and the two Pentagram killings
we've had, we have sufficient reason to get publicly involved in the
investigation - serial murders, suspected devil worshippers - cults etc.


I've assigned two agents to work with LSS on this, and they'll be taking
what we have on this to them and comparing notes so to speak. If
Belial's masters think we're chasing down some Black Magic cult, they
might just do something that's going to trap them. To that end, two
agents are assigned to Matrix overwatch, and four are on the streets
hitting snitches and suppliers.


Shenandoah's body will arrive back in Seattle on a 11:35 flight from
Portland. The Tir have been pretty decent about this considering the
recent events, so I've had some information concerning Haze passed over
to them. He won't find himself so safe down there anymore either.


+++++Include: Inventory.rpt


As requested. Full inventory, and details of ongoing investigations.
Progress reports from assigned agents, and everything we have so far on
COT. There's a lot of reading there Sir, I hope you've got plenty of
free time.


Last thing. A young lady, announcing herself as "The Bitch". would like
you to meet her at "Highrise", it's a nightclub on Holgate. Erm, Good
luck sir.]<<<<<
-- SASIC Patrick Anderson <03:07:21/02-25-59>
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle


*****INTERNAL: Achilles Project
>>>>>[We've received confirmation on the murder in Portland.
Shendandoah's cover as a Bounty Hunter held up. They're shipping the
body home, after an explanation from the Bail Bond Company regarding his
presence in Portland, and a request to return the corpse. Tairngire are
labelling it as murder, but occupational hazard. A hunt for the killer
is in progress. The blood type information they've pulled from the
nightclub, matches one on Federal databases. It was Haze. SIGA confirm
the blood type and DNA.


Seems like he's a little more able than some people would give him
credit for. Not only did he evade Lynch in Seattle after the killings,
but he managed to get over the border into Tairngire somehow and kill
one of our agents. I'm checking news reports and other information at
the moment to see if we can tie him into anything else over there.
Unless his main target /was/ Shenandoah.


The man just added an international crime to his resume, and he's a
confirmed cop killer. It's just a matter of time now before either LSS
or we get him.]<<<<<
-- SA Ralph Tweet <23:34:22/02-24-59>
Matrix Division
FBI, Achilles Project
Fort Lewis, Seattle
Message no. 16
From: "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: Achilles
Date: Wed, 25 Feb 1998 23:10:23 +0000
*****INTERNAL: Achilles; SAC Chris D'Arkan
>>>>>[Wasn't me. I just had to send full documentation of that fact to
an emergency meeting of the Oversight Committee, though I gather they
believe me too.

Don't have much to contribute, either. Belial was trying to bait us,
didn't succeed too well. Lilith _has_ just risen to someone who
criticised her flying, but that should be resolved when they guy either
backs down or meets her in a simfight. Jake's easily able to bounce any
traces on the link for that: you might want to direct it to one of our
recent safehouses, and keep it under surveillance for a day or three,
just so see if anyone tries to use it for nefarious ends? We just got
sick of riding out _every_ insult.


I was plainclothes all the time I was out on the street: the gear and
the L7 are kind of bulky and made it hard to sneak around, so we went
back to our usual routine.

We've all got raid gear and heavy ord with us at the moment, but for now
it's low profile, since we sneaked in as an internal Carib League flight
to dodge scrutiny. Even so, we got a customs check, albeit a cursory
one... guess they're kind of jumpy, too.



As for why people centre on me... that's a deliberate policy decision.
Reconnaisance by fire. Lilith and I don't have the means or the skills
to do serious investigative work, and SIGA can support us but doesn't
have the resources to dig really deeply. So how do we find the bad guys?
We're bait. Keep a high profile, be known, be seen.

It seems to work: whoever Belial and company are, they figure it's
important to discredit me. Flattering, but unrealistic, but it suffices
to draw the threat out into the open on occasion.


We're also misdirection and cover. Okay, everyone's ranting and raving
about Lynch the murdering Fed and his animal wife. Hardly a word about
Achilles or other forces in there, other than the catch-all Gummint plot
stuff.

And in extremis, we're scapegoats. If something goes horribly wrong,
we're the most public figures, we get to carry the can.


Interesting how Drake's dropped almost totally out of sight, for
instance. Yet IP-SB are more active than ever before... which itself
gives me an idea.]<<<<<
-- 1Lt J R W Lynch <22:43:32/02-25-59>
Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency

Further Reading

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