| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Back Room Dealings |
| Date: | Tue, 28 Apr 1998 23:37:07 +0100 |
>>>>>[Well, this is for the record. Anyone want to back out, now's the
time. Until then, team ID is Archangel.
"And the Archangel Michael and his angels fought against the dragon and
his demons, and there was war in Heaven. And the dragon prevailed not,
nor was his place found there any more."
+++++begin video
A bar with the fortunate or unfortunate name of 'Shaggers': the private
room therein.
Quinn sits at the head of the table. The smoke from her cigarette forms
strange, curling shapes in the air: sometimes recognisable, sometimes
not.
A knot of men and women in civilian clothes form a Federal cluster:
unsure of the company, and not bothering to put on the false faces that
would have them blending in perfectly. Bates, Kreutz, Barney, others:
until recently some of the FBI's best talent, assessing their potential
teammates.
Imp - Lieutenant-Commander Zachary Turner, UCAS Navy - leans back in his
chair. He seems thoughtful, almost placid, but that's a shallow mask.
Easy enters the room, and many heads turn: slim even by Elven standards,
wearing an indecently short skirt (all the better to kick you in the
head, my dear, a voice whispers) that shows off her indecently long
legs, Mani following protectively close, and they find seats: both she
and Mani are drinking mineral water, where others have assorted
beverages of more potent nature.
"Who else are we waiting for?" Easy asks after a moment.
"Lilith's picking Stephanie up from the airport." Quinn replies, "and we
may get a few others. A new friend of mine may show, Blade's en route,
and Harley said she'd gladly pitch in. We've got a decent-sized force to
play with."
Almost on cue, Blade enters, carrying a pitcher of beer. "Whose idea was
the football club?" he asks.
"Mine." Quinn chuckles. "Good cover for a pack of fit, athletic young
people with short hair and bulky sports bags in the front bar. Some
Rebels who were happy to be sure we aren't disturbed."
"When do we start?" Kreutz asks.
"Call it ten minutes." Quinn replies, sipping her Scotch.
After a few minutes, a biker slips through the door. "Sorry, dudes, got
held up on the road." Harley apologises, finding herself a spare chair.
Close on her heels come Lilith and Stephanie, both quiet and unnaturally
subdued, who silently take places.
Quinn checks her watch, shrugs. "Okay. I guess we can start, I'm taping
this for anyone who misses it or turns up late. Damn, I haven't lectured
since Sandhurst." She stands, feet apart, hands behind her back,
surveying the room.
"We're all here for similar reasons. Someone we liked, respected, and/or
loved was just killed, and a hell of a lot more people in this city have
died. Now, I'm sitting on five-minute-alert waiting for the word on
where the first of a couple of dozen chemical weapons have been hidden,
hoping I don't find out because ten thousand people are dying of VX
poisoning. I don't know about you, but I have fucking had it with the
Children of Thunda and the demons that run it, and I think you feel the
same way.
"Right now, we have nothing." There is a restive murmur at that, but
Quinn presses on. "Abbadon has fled: he's confident that he can avoid
pursuit, or he wouldn't have been so public about it. We're tearing down
their Matrix network, but by the time we get to the end it'll be an
empty, and there will be nothing useful on the way except - maybe -
locations on those gas bombs. The CoT cells know less than nothing."
The Coyote shaman runs her fingers through her short blonde hair,
"Very well, that's the situation. What can we do about it? We can try to
hunt Abbadon down. He's overconfident, he might make some sort of
mistake, he might have overlooked something. And that's what we're going
to be seen to do... those of us who aren't defusing bombs, that is. The
demons aren't the only people who can play misdirection."
"Misdirection from what?" asks Imp.
"We're going for their leadership."
"Pardon my incredulity, but how?" Kreutz politely enquires. "I mean, Obi
Wan, we're good, but we have our limits." _Unlike the opposition_, he
doesn't add.
"What happened in the last few days?" Quinn asks the room. "Right, yeah,
a massive outpouring of violence. Damn near every cop in town working
double shifts trying to stop a race war. What _else_ happened?
"Something went on that we were meant to miss. At the time, we did.
Well, we've got full access to the records, I suggest the Miami
Marauders -" she gestures to the FBI agents - "start going through. You
know the generalities, these guys have started to show a pattern. Find
it. Break it. Get us a lead into it."
Kreutz nods, still doubtful.
"Find what they wanted to hide. That's our key to the Cabal. I don't
think we can find Abbadon. But, we need to make it look like we're
trying, that we took the bait. They may be less careful if they think
we're hunting one of the junior staff-"
"Junior staff?" Lilith asks with delicate disbelief.
"You don't risk a senior member doing Abbadon's job. Not unless you're
stupid, and if these guys were stupid we'd have rolled them up long ago.
They've trolled Abbadon in front of us and they expect a pursuit. My
guess? Abbadon's an up-and-comer and this is how he's making his bones.
If he's good enough to live, they'll promote him. If we catch him, he
wasn't inner circle material."
Lilith nods, coldly. "So, what do you propose for us to do right now,
other than sit waiting for chemical destruction to envelop the city?"
"One job for you, is the sub that took down Jason." Quinn responds. "You
know the game plan. Find it and let me know and we'll politely talk to
the skipper." Lilith nods.
"Here's a suggestion. Track recruitment." Blade offers. "Someone hired
those guys. Who?"
"Good idea, but it pans out." Barney shakes his head. "Standard
forgettable suit with a description that fits fifty thousand Seattle
residents, or variations thereof. Delicate approaches, careful offers.
Nothing that points anywhere."
"Weapons?" Blade persists.
"Stolen shipments. Various makes and models. No pattern visible yet, we
keep looking anyway." The FBI agent sighs and drains his glass. "They
won't give us anything easy, but they may give us something. Enough
data, we'll pick up something..."
"In any case?" Quinn steers the group back on track. "Maybe we won't get
Abbadon. Or we will. Either way, that's not our main target, and I want
all of us to remember that. We go for him so they think we've taken that
bait, but we focus elsewhere. Abbadon's just a piece in the jigsaw. One
of the cabal. There's Eblis still out there. There's Belial. There's
Samhain, aka Dr Paraguina, the files are here -" she gestures - "and
maybe we can turn up something on him that's been missed. Can we get
into their structure? Can we track their sponsor? They've got to be
spending money like water right now, can we link via that?"
"How much manoeuvre room do we have?" asks Kreutz.
"Right now, Bernie, we have absolute, total carte blanche. The first
time we fuck up, that'll change. But as long as we bring in the results,
and we don't kill too many noncombatants, damn near anything we do is
just fine. After the carnage these guys have caused, now they're playing
with weapons of mass destruction, that's it: gloves off, extreme
prejudice, extermination time. They've threatened to use the gas bombs
this time. Next time, or the time after, they will. Unacceptable. We
have authority, and for once support, to do whatever it takes to stop
them."
"Up to what...?"
"Up to airstrikes, artillery, atomic arms, armoured infantry... Our one
problem, though I admit it's a doozy, is finding these guys. When we do,
we will wipe them from the face of the planet. This I swear before
Grandfather Coyote." Quinn says formally, and knocks back the last of
her Scotch. "Now, I suggest we get royally pissed and get one last
night's sleep. We're going to be busy."
"Then I've got an idea for anyone who wants to kill people and break
stuff, and doesn't have a job yet." Kreutz suggests. "We've traced
middlemen on some of the weapons. There's only so many places you can
buy APILAS munitions. Clamp down hard on them. Make it plain that
dealing with CoT is a painful and expensive transaction. Anyone puts up
a fight, level them. Shouldn't deal illegal weapons, right?"
"I like the way you think, Bernie, that should rattle some bars." Quinn
grins, and blows a smoke ring that turns into a Valentine's heart before
breaking up. "Okay, hit the bar, tab's covered, we're protected, and
we've got transport for when we pass out."
+++++end video
The scary thing is, I've never seen Stephanie so quiet or so still for
so long. The Cabal are in deep shit...]<<<<<
-- The Mighty Quinn <23:34:43/04-28-59>
