| From: | Paul J. Adam Shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Assignment |
| Date: | Wed, 25 Aug 1999 23:06:28 +0100 |
CC: FBI Operational Archive
>>>>>[+++++begin recording
"Agent Elliott?" the secretary enquires. Of course I am, she knows that,
but the formalities are meant to calm my nerves.
They don't.
The Director of the Organised Crime Division waits for me inside his
office. "Thomas? Good to see you. Take a seat."
"Thank you, sir." He's holding my file. What did I do? Who did I offend?
Why did I get pulled out of Maine to this meeting?
"You're a talented agent, Elliott. You were seriously considered for the
Projects. Chris D'Arkan picked you out, but SAC Hakkerstone overruled
him. Said you needed more experience." The Director leafs through a few
pages. "Gambling rings in Minneapolis, Human supremacists in New York,
an armed robbery crew in New England. All good, solid work. Good
experience. You're a good agent, Elliott."
"Thank you, sir." I repeat. Am I being praised or punished here? Is this
recitation of my career the prelude to good news, or a mournful preamble
to some catastrophic error I've made? I wonder what that file says... the
gamblers were a petty numbers racket, the Humanis thugs just drunken
incompetents and the Bangor armed robbers were the only difficult case
I'd handled.
Mallins closes my file with a snap. "I have a very difficult problem, Elliott. I
have organised criminals laughing at the law. Seattle, the Barrens. The
Elven district, which is a powderkeg of racial tension. A Human Mafia
group are killing SINless Elves. Elven groups and other metahumans are
retaliating. We don't have much information. All I know for sure is, Seattle
claim to be overstretched and need support."
The Director clicks his intercom. "Betty, could we get some coffee? Thank
you." He looks directly at me. "It's a very delicate and politically charged
situation, Elliott, and you'll be short on resources. You'll be right out by
yourself."
"Meaning..."
"Meaning, as long as you get results, I can cover your butt. Screw up and
you'll be _amazed_ who comes out of the woodwork clamouring for your
blood."
I think back to the last days of the Projects. "No, sir, I wouldn't be
surprised at the feeding frenzy. 'Success has a thousand fathers, failure is
an orphan'."
His secretary brings in a tray, leaves. Mallins pours for both of us.
"Precisely. And, by succeeding, you'll massively torque off some powerful
and influential people. Assuming you aren't killed first."
The way he says it gives me pause. "It's that serious, sir?"
"It's that serious." Mallins nods. "You'll have some support from the local
police, but Seneca - the Seattle office - are fully loaded dealing with the
situation in the Renraku Arcology. You're all but on your own."
He pauses, reading my face. "Hellish hard assignment, ain't it? Which is
why I've got two more things to say. Firstly, if you don't want the job,
don't take it. It's an offer, not an order. Second, it will be dangerous and
you will be very much on your own. You understand?"
I understand. I've also heard what refusing to volunteer for jobs like this
can do to your career.
What the hell can I say? I force a smile and nod.
"I'll do it, sir."
Mallins has that happy look of someone who's just slipped a load of shit off
his shoulders. And I already wonder if this was a good idea.
+++++end diary]<<<<<
-- Tom Elliott <23:03:24/08-25-60>
