Logs for ShadowRN and Associated Mailing Lists

From:	Jaimie Nicholson <jaimie.nicholson@********.OTAGO.AC.NZ>
Subject:	Re: Planning meet
Date:	Thu, 4 Jun 1998 09:32:37 +1200

Message no. 1 *****PRIVATE Static
>>>>>[Apologies, I misread the t/d stamp on your message as the 2nd, thus
thinking that the meet "tomorrow" was on the 3rd. Since it was in fact on
the 2nd, I've missed it (as you no doubt noticed), making myself look like
an amateur, idiot, or indeed both. Maybe next job.]<<<<<
-- Segen <15:31:48/06-03-59>

From:	"Paul J. Adam" <Shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Planning Meet
Date:	Tue, 5 Jan 1999 23:40:28 +0000

Message no. 2 *****PRIVATE: Vincenzo
>>>>>[This is... sensitive material. I'm trusting to your discretion
here.

If things go bad, you and the whole area may be targets, so you need to
know. If I _expected_ things to go bad, I wouldn't have accepted, of
course.

When we go... if Mani and I don't come back from this job, then you're
the Man. You'll have power of attorney, access to the funds, the whole
nine yards.

You'll also be in the middle of the biggest fucking war Tarislar's seen
since CoT packed up their toys and went home.

++++++begin video
Easy's metallic blue Westwind draws to a halt under the awning of the
Tacoma Sheraton. She and Mani are already climbing out, as the valet
bustles up and the doorman greets them with a wide, almost-sincere
smile.

"We're expected, in the Rooseveldt Room?"

"Of course, ma'am." The doorman's smile becomes more genuine.

In the reflections off the glass, you see the pair clearly for a moment:
both immaculately suited, Mani in charcoal wool with a gaberdine
overcoat and a blood-red silk tie, Easy in black jacket and trousers
with a white silk blouse and a champagne-coloured scarf that perfectly
matches her pale-blonde hair. From a distance, just two more salarymen
attending some evening meeting, at an expensive hotel, on someone else's
tab.

The doors open for them, and the lobby security almost completely
ignores them as the pair make their way through the hotel's comfortable
luxury, past a board that announces the use of various conference rooms:
the Wilson suite will be occupied by 'Microtronics Associates Inc.', the
Truman room by 'Rotary Club of Tacoma', and the Rooseveldt Room by
'Executive Protection Services Inc.'

Unusually, hotel security have a guard outside the Rooseveldt Room. Out
of sight of the main throughfares, 'security' is a Wolverine Security
trooper in body armour with an HK227 on an assault sling across her
chest. The Sheraton takes care of its paying customers, and doesn't mind
people knowing that fact.

The guard is politely unobtrusive as first Mani, then Easy, tap
credsticks to the door's panel: the door swings softly for them. Inside,
eight others are seated around the room's table. Though all are dressed
smartly, they're still a varied bunch.

Least comfortable in their suits, and sitting well separated, are a
blonde woman with scarred and callused hands, and a huge man the size of
an Ork. Four others, all male humans, manage to avoid any identifiable
cliche: a dark-haired Elven girl is walking one of the hotel's
complimentary pens around her fingers.

The last, at the head of the table, is notable only for his unblinking
eyes. Otherwise, his Armante suit, forgettable features and dark-blonde
ponytail are straight from the current issue of 'Corporate Wage Slave
Monthly'.

The huge man straightens in his seat. "Hey, things are looking up!"

"Why's that?" Easy asks, taking one of the empty chairs.

"Well, we got you on the team, and you just met me. And your life will
never be the same again."

"I'm sure." the Elf replies, picking one of the empty aluminium ashtrays
off the table. She clenches her fist and the thick metal crumples in her
grasp with a despairing squeal, leaving her holding a distorted silver
flower. "But then, neither will yours."

"You wanna come over and try that on me, sweetmeat?" the big man asks
mockingly.

"Head shot, Mani." Easy replies without looking around.

"Mani, sit down. Haze, shut up." The man at the head of the table says
with firmness. "If I wanted you to kill each other, I'd have hired an
arena, not a meeting room."

"Interesting team." one of the other humans says, regarding the group.
"Heavy on the firepower. So, Serpent, are you going to make the
introductions?"

"In a moment." the unblinking man replies. "First, a ground rule we all
know. Anyone wants to drop out of this party, fine. But you stay quiet
and you stay out of our way. There'd be a lot of temptation to sell us
out. It would be healthier to resist it. Is that understood?"

A general murmur of agreement: Serpent looks around to be sure this has
registered with everyone before he continues.

"Sorry to insult you like that, but it's necessary. Because we're going
to hit the mainframe of the Mistral Hotel, in Las Vegas, about an hour
before one of their weekly data transfers. A whole week of transactions,
for one of the biggest hotel-casinos in the world."

Some of the room's occupants show surprise: others either hide it or
don't feel it.

"And of course the Mob would pay a _lot_ to be warned about that." One
of the suited men suggests. "Though they'd probably kill me too, for
daring to even think about it..."

"Cheaper than paying you, too." Easy says sardonically. "Those guys
aren't particularly friendly."

"Why Vegas?" Haze asks. "That town's zipped tight. Atlantic City's got
as much money, but there's a lot more elbow room, a lot more shadows."

"And it's UCAS, which means more heat. Main thing is, though, Atlantic
City has fourteen SWAT teams, Vegas only has six. The town's zipped up
so tight, the cops are a lot more relaxed." Serpent replies. "Atlantic
City was the first place I thought of, but they're used to punks pulling
stuff, they're tooled up and ready and could hit us a lot harder. Vegas?
It's harder to work any kind of shit there, which means they get less
action, and they sure as hell won't expect _us_. Now, is anyone leaving?
No? Good. Introductions. Some of you know each other, others don't. We
have here Harley, Ronin, Ice, Forged, Blade, Innocenta, Easy, Mani and
Haze." He points out each in turn. "And of course you know I'm Serpent."

"So, what's the plan?" asks Ronin.

"Nice and simple." Serpent replies. "A few minutes before the hit,
there'll be a nasty case of gang violence. That draws off the duty SWAT
team. On H-Hour, we hit the Mistral in SWAT uniforms. It's a raid, we're
cops, we take no shit, and we get into the vault. Access their system
directly, suck it dry, bug out. We're out in minutes, or we leave in
bodybags."

"Oh, frag. Someone's going to say 'easy in, easy out'" any minute. I
just know it." Blade groans.

"We're kind of light on deckers, for that sort of work." Ronin ignores
Blade's complaint.

Serpent shakes his head. "Haze and Mani can both cut IC, so we're
covered there."

"Do we have the resources?" Innocenta - the dark-eyed Elven girl - asks.
"This isn't exactly a penny-ante hit. It's going to take a _lot_ of prep
time."

"Yes. I've been setting this up for a while. One of the reasons the pay
for this is good, is because you're coming in on _my_ plan. We have some
room for change, but not much." Serpent responds. "The casino's zipped
tight, any conventional attack will bounce. On the other hand, even the
Mob don't shoot cops publicly. It's bad for business. We'll have a
couple of minutes while they work out what's going on: we have to be in
and out before they get through to the cops and realise we're _not_ the
SWAT team."

"We could do with some help on that." Forged suggests. "Did you think
about those subcontractors I mentioned?"

"Yes, I did, and I'm planning to use them. The deckers can screw up the
LTG, make it harder for the Mistral to call the cops and find out
they're being scammed. I also figured on using them for drone cover."

"Spotter or combat?" Forged asks.

"Definitely spotter, maybe combat too, depends on them and what they're
willing and able to do."

"So, if it all goes right, we storm in shouting 'Police, nobody move',
suck the mainframe dry, bug out, and presumably disappear?" Ronin
enquires.

"Sure. If it goes that well. If it doesn't... then we'll have a lot of
cops and maybe some Mob enforcers to fight through." Serpent replies
calmly. He doesn't seem afraid of the prospect.

"In Vegas, the only difference is the uniform." Easy says. "Except the
Mob have bigger guns."

"Another reason I'd rather hit Vegas than Atlantic City." Serpent
replies. "Atlantic City stinks, but Vegas is rotten to the core."

"Whatever." Haze shrugs, obviously unconcerned about the virtue of his
targets. "What about equipment?"

"Provided." The reply is immediate. "Everything we use has to be clean,
no connections, and anything we use, we destroy afterwards. We're going
to sting the Mob like they've never been stung before: so we need to
bury every trace we were ever there.

"On the hit, we look exactly like a Vegas SWAT team, that means use
their weapons. I've already arranged the uniforms. Sidearms we can
finagle, shoulder weapons we can't: that means Hocklers for most of us,
one Alpha, one or two shotguns." Serpent pauses, regards the room.

"Anyone who isn't in, better leave now. Otherwise, we're committed."

There is a pause.

Nobody leaves.
+++++end video

If this works... our money worries are over for a long time.

If not, I'm dead, so's Mani, and if the Vegas Mob decide to get
vengeful, they'll try to do the same to you and everyone even remotely
connected with either the Easy Eight or the Infinity Brewing Company.

Anyone tell you life was easy, Vinny?

They lied.]<<<<<
-- Easy <23:40:16/01-05-60>

Mailing List Logs for

Further Reading

Disclaimer