BLACK CELL (IC)

[La Savant]

....

“Wakey wakey... how are you feeling, Mister Brown?” these words were spoken from empty blackness. At least this was for Chadwin Brown, for his eyes were obscured by the musty burlap sack over his head and face. The voice was from directly in front him, and was thick with a heavy Haitian accent. “Mister Brown... it is very rude to ignore your host.” Chadwin cried out as a sharp unseen blow suddenly struck him across the face, like that of a large fist or the back of a hand.

“Tell me,” the voice said in a gravely tone ,”how is it? This change of circumstance and... accommodation. Not quite the posh luxury a rich American white boy is accustomed to, eh?” Chadwin cringed as his nose still stung from the blow. He was tied to a chair that much he knew, his hands bound tightly with a heavy layer of duck tape. “W-where...” Chadwin moaned ,”where is my wife? Where’s Julia?”

His response was another hard blow across his face, resulting in another cry and his eyes stinging as they watered up. “Bite your tongue,” the voice said ,”you do not speak unless I say. You do not sing little canary lest I rattle your cage. Remember that.” another blow struck Chadwin, which resulted in a whimper rather than a cry. “But worry not,” Chadwin flinched as he suddenly felt an open hand clap down on his left knee, gripping it tightly ,”your woman is as you are, albeit with a different host. Maybe if your lucky, he won’t be too rough with her, granted I can’t promise you that he’ll pull out either.” a cold chuckle could be heard as the hand was removed from Chadwin’s knee. “I must say,” the voice said ,”I was skeptical about this plan at first. But from what I hear, your old man back in the States is about to crack. He knows that if he doesn’t cough up the money; his precious boy and his cake eating daughter-in-law are dead meat.”
“F-fuck you...” Chadwin rasped.

“Oh Chad, Chad, Chad...” the voice mused ,”what did I FUCKING SAY!?” Chadwin whimpered as another hard blow hit is temple, and then another across his chin. The unseen speaker taunting him as hit after hit pounded against his face and skull, Chadwin unable to do anything but cry out in pain and anguish.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

LANGLEY VIRGINIA, 7:45 A.M
GEORGE BUSH BUILDING, CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY....

[Bolslania]

Matthew Cooper strode into the Langley building, he IDed through security and strode to the HQ room. Along the way, he looked out the windows into the courtyard, his eyes tracing over the Enigma Code statues and the kids crawling all over them as the parents looked on. Yep, my daughter's just like that He mused. His vacation had been cut short by this assignment. His family was used to this, and he was grateful that it didn't bring to much tension to his relationship with his family. As he reached the Operations Room. He turned all serious as he awaited the arrival of the other agents. This will certainly be something to remember

[Mushroomio]

Edward leisurely took his time getting to the briefing room, he had all the time in the world. An ID swipe later, and he was in the room. "Oh great." he thought. "I'm the first person here." Then he looked around the room further, and realized that he was, in fact, not the only one there. There was some other agent, most likely one of the agents that were to be apart of the team. Of course. He sat down in a chair and lit a cigar, letting the smoke waft before dissipating into the air.

[Endem]

Albert Scott

Albert was already waiting just outside the room they were supposed to get their briefing in. Albert was doing something on his customized laptop before unplugging a pen drive and scribbling something on it. He then closed his laptop and walked into the briefing room to see two agents there already. He sat near one of the agents, the one smoking a cigar "Do you have a spare one?"

[Mushroomio]

Edward saw another agent enter the briefing room, who asked for a cigar. Smirking, Edward jokingly said, "No, get your own." while reaching into his suit and giving the agent a cigar and a lighter.

[Bolslania]

Matthew watched the two other agents, he had long since figured out how to kill the both of them quickly, but that wasn't unusual. Ugh.. and know they're stinkin' up the room with their goddamn cigars. His face didn't betray what he was thinking.


"So, your part of the team eh?" He spoke up.

[Cylarn]

0750
Arsenio Gonçalves

With a slam of the door, Arsenio could no longer hide within his sanctuary. It was time to commence the meeting.

He took rhythmic steps, his legs stretching far out and carrying him in a brisk, encompassing stride away from his black Ford Focus. His head and chest and shoulders carried themselves high amid the morning breeze, a neutral, blank look cast on his face. Arsenio analyzed his peripherals as he walked, taking into mind the myriad of employees and vehicles filtering into the parking lot and lobby of the CIA building.

Arsenio joined the throng of tired employees as they approached the front of the building, the Brazilian intentionally making himself as insignificant as possible to the ritual of the morning work bustle. Indeed, his attire did little to express any uniqueness. A birdseye grey three-piece suit, from the Alain Dupetit collection, the buttons of the blazer undone to reveal his waistcoat. No pins, no emblems; nothing but a pair of rimmed reading glasses hooked onto the breast pocket of his blazer. Under Arsenio's left arm, was a copy of the Washington Post, folded into a burrito of sorts. Among the college professionals and desktop warriors of the Central Intelligence Agency, Arsenio was as insignificant as a drop of water in the sea.

That is the goal, whenever cloaks and daggers are abound. Arsenio was no career agent; he was a pure freelance expat who lived under the constant threat of plausible deniability. To blend and join the background, meant survival. Arsenio was never one for crowds - for the loudness and the shifting eyes - but within a burgeoning mass of white-collars on their march to work, Arsenio could move anywhere he pleased. As they entered the foyer of the CIA headquarters, Arsenio glanced through the throngs, and made out the visage of a security checkpoint. No way to jump this. No reason to, neither. He chuckled, inward, at the hard death of his criminal anxieties.

A pair of police officers stood next to a metal detector. His right hand dug into his pocket while his legs sallied on towards the checkpoint, encouraged onward by the streams of CIA agents. Arsenio held his pass in his right hand, elevating it as he approached one of the white-shirted officers. A burly African-American man with a stocky build and little hair left on his head. Most of his hair went to that sick goatee, I guess. Upon examination, the card displayed a set of instructions; permission for the holder to attend a sensitive engagement on-site.

"Good morning, sir," the officer stated while snatching the card from Arsenio's hand. Giving the Brazilian a glance-down, he turned his attention to a computer monitor, and began to type on the keyboard.

"Good morning indeed, sir," Arsenio responded. "Arsenio Gonçalves. I'm here for a meeting with Agent Blake."

"Agent Blake..." the officer muttered, fingers clacking away. "Ah, Sergeant Gonçalves. Yessir, I've got your name here."

Arsenio grinned, but was a little unsure as to why his rank was being used. It had been a good part of a decade since he had gone by rank. "Yeah, I'm retired."

The officer shrugged, and gave a reassuring, friendly smile as he returned the pass. "Yo, I'm just paying another Devil Dog some cred. But you're good to go on through."

Arsenio gave a nod to the officer as he took the pass. Keeping his hand outstretched, he formed a fist. The officer chuckled, and obliged Arsenio with a fist-bump. The Brazilian crossed through the checkpoint, and made his way into the building proper.

---

At the briefing...

Arsenio entered the room slowly, shutting the door behind him as he glanced about his surroundings. He stood by the door for a moment, refraining from immediately taking a seat. There were three men who had preceded him. A big guy sucked on a cigar, and was in the process of handing off a cigar and lighter to an unremarkable-looking man. The larger man took up more room; not by body mass, but by his aura that he put off, one that Arsenio picked up on immediately. Biggun's probably a vet. Big in the chair, sprawled out. Hell, smoking a damn cigar indoors.

The Brazilian gave a frown before turning his attention to a side table, where he noticed a coffee pot and its varied condiments. Arsenio stepped over and produced a styrofoam cup from a stack on the table, setting his newspaper down. He brandished the coffee pot and took a whiff of the contents. He gave a grunt of approval, and returned the pot to the burner. Three packets of artificial sweetener, two packets of powdered creamer - that was Arsenio's style with coffee. With a grin of satisfaction, Arsenio took his coffee and paper, and made himself at home at a chair next to a table. He took a long sip of his coffee, and sat it down on the table, taking his seat as he did so. Arsenio donned his reading glasses, and began to peruse the newspaper.

[La Savant]

Alex Cristavi, head of the Directorate of Operations, entered the meeting room where the team of agents was waiting. Cristavi was what could be described as all politics and paperwork, and no field experience. Cristavi’s seat was given to him not as merit for past valor or a legitimate “office promotion” even. A PhD in criminal justice and the right friends at Meadow Shades Country Club had seen him promoted to head of Directorate of Operations after just five years with the agency after the prior head retired.

Though intelligent and level headed, Cristavi was beyond ignorant when it came to actual field operations and missions of national importance. And as a man with a minor in liberal arts and a past of activity within the world of “social justice”, Cristavi was at the top of many of the more hardened agents’ joke list. Deep down, many believed Cristavi’s position was based on money and connections, not patriotism and the desire to serve and protect.

The tall slender man now stood before the team, running his hand over his slick bald head as he stood before the large projector screen at the front of the room. He spoke ,”Alright, I trust we’re all here? It’s time for briefing. You’ve all been provided dossiers on the Deng syndicate, what little that is that we have compiled. I trust everyone has reviewed the basic situational details and covered the intel provided? If so, great, if not, we will cover it now don’t worry.”

[Greater Liverpool]

Leonardo walked down the halls of CIA building give some acknowledgements to people he passed as he headed down. He had mostly covered his upper body with his red jacket that was hiding his M9 Beretta pistol that was in its holster. Leonardo was also clutching a computer tablet along side some papers that had neatly been placed inside a brown paper folder standard of CIA protocol. As he grew closer to the briefing room he thought to himself about who exactly was going to be on his team. "Probably some absolute Gringos." Leonardo thought to himself. "Mr Big shot America. Wants to be like Captain America." he continued going over his head. Leonardo always had a hatred for goes CIA agents who believed in a gun-ho approach to most situation believing that they were just stupid and outright dangerous to themselves and the team they are part of. Not that Leonardo was scared of violence or had a disdain for using violence, for heaven's sake he had volunteered to go on undercover mission against drug cartels in South America, but he knew that there was always a time and place for it. "You have be smart, not like most of the CIA is that to begin with." This was always his plan not an all out war against someone but to pull strings and force there hand.

Leonardo approached the door to the briefing room as he slowly opened it and took a look into the room before heading in. At first glance all he could see was a collection of Caucasian men, one appears to be smoking a cigar and another begging for one. The third man appeared to be sitting there quite normally, Leonardo didn't think much of it as he did another short glance and looked over to find another man of Hispanic origin as walked over to him and simply asked "Español o portugués?" as he looked at the man placing down his tablet and folder in front of the chair next to him.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Staybridge Suites
Tysons – McLean
6845 Old Dominion Drive

GASP

Shapour Mundhir el-Fares woke up suddenly, awaking from dreaming of falling off a slight ledge. In his dream he was skateboarding, and then…

“Daa tor makh de wrak sha…” he muttered, combing his sticky, sweaty black hair out of his eyes. Disorientated, he looked around the room. It was almost totally dark, with no hints anywhere as to where he was. A thin trail of light fell between the thick curtains, and as Shapour’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness, that thin trail became enough to see around the room. A few drawers, a chair, a nightstand with a bible… Slowly, Shapour came to the realisation where he was. Still half-drunk from sleep he patted down the wall next to his bed in search for the light switch, the flicking of which caused the room to be flooded with the bright light of an uncovered bulb.

Shapour stood up and shambled towards the bathroom, where he draped himself over the sink. He took one look in the mirror, and was immediately stared down by a three-day stubble, enormous baggy eyes, and the most chaotic hairdo ever seen in the West. It was almost as if death was staring back at him. He opened the faucet, splashing the freezing water in his face scoop by scoop, while reciting his morning mantra.

“I am Jake Kirby…”

Splash

“I love baseball”

Splash

“Hey, how you doin’…”

He looked at the watch he had left on the shelf above the sink, trying his best to figure out what the upside-down numbers were trying to tell him. It was half past five in the morning. Too early to get up, but too late to go back to sleep. Just the right time to ruin his day. Shapour made up for that loss by taking a thirty minute steaming shower, hot enough to boil an egg. Just hot enough to get his thoughts in order. He began to remember now. There was a meeting to be had. A meeting, and a mission.

Of course, living in Houston, getting to DC for a meeting had been quite a task. He had had to end his tenancy almost three weeks in advance in order to save on rent. Buying enough gas for his 2004 ford fiesta, getting enough food, money for motels… Shapour was stretched to the end of his resources by the time he actually got to Langley. He had been living out of his suitcase ever since, with the last good laundry having been done a week ago. His suitcase was now a mess of clean and dirtied clothes, with Shapour only being able to identify them based on smell.

Strolling out of the shower, he got to the aforementioned suitcase, taking out shirts one by one and sniffing them carefully.

“No… No… Maybe… Definitely not… Ah, okay”

A white dress shirt and jeans were what clean clothes he had left. He put them on, used the socks he had been using for five days now, waxed his hair, put on his sunglasses, packed his suitcase and headed out the door. At the reception of the motel he checked out, handing over the keys while getting a suspicious look from the landlady.

“If we find anything, we know your name, Kirby”

Shapour smiled and nodded. “Yes, of course, madam”

There was something about being a vaguely middle-eastern looking person with a slightly unkempt beard near Washington. People always looked at you like you were going to use a giant lumber saw to cut down the Washington monument. For Shapour, it was hardly trouble. Since he had contacts with the CIA, he knew he would be bailed out if he was ever wrongfully arrested. Still, when leaving Texas in his ford, he still put some extra speed in whenever he saw a big Texan with an ever bigger gun strapped to his hip. You never knew what the good guys with guns were going to do. Of course, Shapour being an explosives expert was entirely incidental.

At 7.30 hours Shapour arrived at the parking lot. From there, he proceeded to the entrance. When Shapour introduced himself as ‘Jake Kirby’, a slight accent still audible in his English pronunciation, the CIA doorman looked at his list with suspicion.

“Can I see your idea please, sir?” he asked, to which Shapour quickly obliged. Dumbfounded, the doorman let him through with just a hand wave. Sometimes, Shapour cursed the pencil-pusher that had picked this name out for him. Sometimes, however, the hilarity almost made it worth it to have such a disjointed name. In any case, it was better than some other names he could have gotten.

Just before the meeting started, Shapour silently slipped into a corner, taking out a notepad and pencil, using the moment to get a grip on the others sitting around the table. It was going to be an interesting day, at least.

[Endem]

Albert Scott

Albert took the cigar and a lighter from his fellow squadmate and lighted it on, taking a deep breath and releasing a small puff of smoke he saw another man walking inside. It was highly probable that this man was designated as their leader. He took a very quick look at the folder, then put out the cigar and walked to that man

"Sir, I have prepared something for our mission"

He then took out a bag in which rested about 20 or 25 pendrives.

"In all of them, I have stored some viruses, ones that spam, ones that work to infect other computers, some that transmit files to us and finally, one's that just kill a PC making it more or less unusable, ones that kill any defenses a computer had, Malware, Trojans, Worms, you name it, each of these pendrives has it, I think I have enough to disrupt a government of a country comparable in size to Nepal"

He then returned to his seat, opened his laptop and started searching for any clues that could lead him to his targets email addresses.

[Bolslania]

Albert Scott

Albert took the cigar and a lighter from his fellow squadmate and lighted it on, taking a deep breath and releasing a small puff of smoke he saw another man walking inside. It was highly probable that this man was designated as their leader. He took a very quick look at the folder, then put out the cigar and walked to that man

"Sir, I have prepared something for our mission"

He then took out a bag in which rested about 20 or 25 pendrives.

"In all of them, I have stored some viruses, ones that spam, ones that work to infect other computers, some that transmit files to us and finally, one's that just kill a PC making it more or less unusable, ones that kill any defenses a computer had, Malware, Trojans, Worms, you name it, each of these pendrives has it, I think I have enough to disrupt a government of a country comparable in size to Nepal"

He then returned to his seat, opened his laptop and started searching for any clues that could lead him to his targets email addresses.

Matthew rolled his eyes at the techie. The presumed leader of the op hadn't even started the fucking briefing, and this guy was already head down over a computer. He turned his attention to the Brazilian who had just entered the room, reading a newspaper. Plausible deniability, smart He leaned back.

"I think most of us are here, sir." he spoke up, startling the men who hadn't noticed him. "So, whats the mission?" he asked, the Agency hadn't exactly told him the details.

[La Savant]

Agent Cristavi sighed with no attempt of concealment. “Okay, hey, gentlemen,” he said, rapping his hand against the wall to his right ,”all eyes front. We have plenty of work to do. Let me get things started.” From what Alex could see the entire team was in fact here. A rather queer assortment of men from his perception, though he kept silent on this observation. After adjusting his suit coat with a shrug, Agent Cristavi raised the projector remote which he held in his right hand. With a short click, two images appeared on the screen, a man and a woman.

The man was Chadwin Brown, clean shaven, dark brown hair, and a bright smile. The woman was Julia Pace-Brown, newly wed to Chadwin Brown, with pale skin, ice blue eyes, and long silky blonde hair. “Chadwin Brown and Julia Brown,” Cristavi began ,”the son and stepdaughter of Ambassador to Indonesia Terry Brown. The couple were on their honeymoon in New Zealand when they were both kidnapped from their hotel room. Housekeeping heard a loud disturbance and shouting and called hotel security, who in turn found the hotel room trashed and the Brown’s nowhere to be seen. The local police were called and an investigation carried out. Three unidentifiable sets of fingerprints were found throughout the hotel suite and Chadwin Browns’ blood was found stained across the bathroom floor.”

“Ambassador Brown and American authorities were alerted and a large investigation began with no initial leads. No one had any clue or knew anything. Allegedly. Several days later Ambassador Brown receives a video file in his email. It was a ransom video showing Chadwin Brown and Julia Brown, both were horribly beaten and were tied to chairs in a dark room.”

Cristavi clicked the remote and a still from the video appeared on the projector. The Browns’ could be seen tied to a pair of chairs that sat next to each other. Chadwins’ face was horribly bruised and his right eye was swelled shut, and his nose was evidently broken from the look. Julia had several bruises across her cheekbones and several small cuts across her forehead and upper chest. “Through an agency cell in Papua New Guinea, we have come to learn that the pair were undoubtedly captured by this man,” Cristavi clicked the remote ,”Dominic LaTrush. Second in command of the notorious Akimbe Deng. The mastermind of the largest criminal syndicate in the Pacific.”

The image showed the suspected man climbing from up onto a dock from a small speedboat, a cigar in his mouth and two other men at his side, their faces hidden by crude bandannas.

[Bolslania]

Agent Cristavi sighed with no attempt of concealment. “Okay, hey, gentlemen,” he said, rapping his hand against the wall to his right ,”all eyes front. We have plenty of work to do. Let me get things started.” From what Alex could see the entire team was in fact here. A rather queer assortment of men from his perception, though he kept silent on this observation. After adjusting his suit coat with a shrug, Agent Cristavi raised the projector remote which he held in his right hand. With a short click, two images appeared on the screen, a man and a woman.

The man was Chadwin Brown, clean shaven, dark brown hair, and a bright smile. The woman was Julia Pace-Brown, newly wed to Chadwin Brown, with pale skin, ice blue eyes, and long silky blonde hair. “Chadwin Brown and Julia Brown,” Cristavi began ,”the son and stepdaughter of Ambassador to Indonesia Terry Brown. The couple were on their honeymoon in New Zealand when they were both kidnapped from their hotel room. Housekeeping heard a loud disturbance and shouting and called hotel security, who in turn found the hotel room trashed and the Brown’s nowhere to be seen. The local police were called and an investigation carried out. Three unidentifiable sets of fingerprints were found throughout the hotel suite and Chadwin Browns’ blood was found stained across the bathroom floor.”

“Ambassador Brown and American authorities were alerted and a large investigation began with no initial leads. No one had any clue or knew anything. Allegedly. Several days later Ambassador Brown receives a video file in his email. It was a ransom video showing Chadwin Brown and Julia Brown, both were horribly beaten and were tied to chairs in a dark room.”

Cristavi clicked the remote and a still from the video appeared on the projector. The Browns’ could be seen tied to a pair of chairs that sat next to each other. Chadwins’ face was horribly bruised and his right eye was swelled shut, and his nose was evidently broken from the look. Julia had several bruises across her cheekbones and several small cuts across her forehead and upper chest. “Through an agency cell in Papua New Guinea, we have come to learn that the pair were undoubtedly captured by this man,” Cristavi clicked the remote ,”Dominic LaTrush. Second in command of the notorious Akimbe Deng. The mastermind of the largest criminal syndicate in the Pacific.”

The image showed the suspected man climbing from up onto a dock from a small speedboat, a cigar in his mouth and two other men at his side, their faces hidden by crude bandannas.

"So its a rescue op?" Matthew asked. He wasn't particularly fond of them, they were very sensitive and soft touch, he'd done a few in the SAD, but they were all very delicate.

[Cylarn]

"Español o portugués?"

Arsenio looked up from his paper, eyes focused above the rims as he took into account the gentleman and the question. Within, he was impressed that the Latin gentleman had asked such a question, let alone the inclusion of Portuguese as an option. As for the fellow, the agent appeared to be of a self-capable variety, which was hardly the exception in the CIA.

"American for now, but Portugués at home," Arsenio replied, giving Leonardo a friendly grin.

-snip-

And there it was, the explanation for the summons. Arsenio sat his paper down, resting it in his lap as Dr. Cristavi joined the audience. Bureaucrat, but we both vote Democrat, so that counts for something.

Had Arsenio read the reports? Sure. The kidnappings were the work of the Deng Syndicate, a resurgent pirate faction operating in the South Pacific. By now, the world was privy to the situation; an American political scion and his charming wife were abducted and being held for ransom in the vicinity of a very busy portion of Oceania. No rescue was guaranteed, at least not a military operation in the traditional sense. Odd. You'd think that with two big allies in that region and multiple MAGTFs at hand, the government wouldn't be so sticky about raiding a pirate outpost. Arsenio took hold of his coffee and gulped some down, keeping his focus on Dr. Cristoval.

-snip-

One of the cigar-smokers, an Englishman by the dialect carried in his voice, was the first of the team to speak up. Atop the table, he tossed down a suspicious bag. He explained - rather, boasted - of the capabilities of the flash drives within the bag. One of the other agents, another stocky white man with the look of a vet, spoke up in a heightened volume of voice, giving an announcement that was replied to by Dr. Cristavi with a figurative HALO jump into the meat and potatoes of the briefing. Arsenio frowned, and once again turned to his paper.

The images that Cristavi was showing, had at one time been held under the utmost scrutiny. By now, however, the battered son and the battered wife were already being viewed by horrified masses worldwide. Arsenio kept his ears up, but his eyes facing downward.

When it became evident that Dr. Cristavi was halting in his briefing, Arsenio stretched his right arm into the air, and without waiting for acknowledgement, spoke up. He's not giving us the full picture. There is a reason they're holding back from an air-ground assault, and that reason might not include the hostages.

"Dr. Cristavi, I have to spill my piece," Arsenio stated, removing his glasses and setting them in his lap. "This compound is in the operational range of at least three naval powers in that region. That's more than enough to cover the bases in a concerted operation against Deng. The guy is stateless, and so are half of his goons. They swore off their allegiances to their home countries, for as far as I am concerned. I would call that impetus enough to burn him, his people, and his compound to the ground. Nothing is holding us back from a conventional military operation. If anything, Deng should have been dealt with ten years ago."

Arsenio sighed, and continued on. Make them pay more, a lot more than they probably paid Deng.

"Dr. Cristavi, y'all have pussy-footed with Deng, and now it's coming to bite you in the ass. I love money; doing ops like this isn't a problem for me. Getting killed without a clear picture of why, can be a problem for me. My question is, why send a fireteam for the job of a MAGTF?"

[Bolslania]

"Español o portugués?"

Arsenio looked up from his paper, eyes focused above the rims as he took into account the gentleman and the question. Within, he was impressed that the Latin gentleman had asked such a question, let alone the inclusion of Portuguese as an option. As for the fellow, the agent appeared to be of a self-capable variety, which was hardly the exception in the CIA.

"American for now, but Portugués at home," Arsenio replied, giving Leonardo a friendly grin.

-snip-

And there it was, the explanation for the summons. Arsenio sat his paper down, resting it in his lap as Dr. Cristavi joined the audience. Bureaucrat, but we both vote Democrat, so that counts for something.

Had Arsenio read the reports? Sure. The kidnappings were the work of the Deng Syndicate, a resurgent pirate faction operating in the South Pacific. By now, the world was privy to the situation; an American political scion and his charming wife were abducted and being held for ransom in the vicinity of a very busy portion of Oceania. No rescue was guaranteed, at least not a military operation in the traditional sense. Odd. You'd think that with two big allies in that region and multiple MAGTFs at hand, the government wouldn't be so sticky about raiding a pirate outpost. Arsenio took hold of his coffee and gulped some down, keeping his focus on Dr. Cristoval.

One of the cigar-smokers, an Englishman by the dialect carried in his voice, was the first of the team to speak up. Atop the table, he tossed down a suspicious bag. He explained - rather, boasted - of the capabilities of the flash drives within the bag. One of the other agents, another stocky white man with the look of a vet, spoke up in a heightened volume of voice, giving an announcement that was replied to by Dr. Cristavi with a figurative HALO jump into the meat and potatoes of the briefing. Arsenio frowned, and once again turned to his paper.

The images that Cristavi was showing, had at one time been held under the utmost scrutiny. By now, however, the battered son and the battered wife were already being viewed by horrified masses worldwide. Arsenio kept his ears up, but his eyes facing downward.

When it became evident that Dr. Cristavi was halting in his briefing, Arsenio stretched his right arm into the air, and without waiting for acknowledgement, spoke up. He's not giving us the full picture. There is a reason they're holding back from an air-ground assault, and that reason might not include the hostages.

"Dr. Cristavi, I have to spill my piece," Arsenio stated, removing his glasses and setting them in his lap. "This compound is in the operational range of at least three naval powers in that region. That's more than enough to cover the bases in a concerted operation against Deng. The guy is stateless, and so are half of his goons. They swore off their allegiances to their home countries, for as far as I am concerned. I would call that impetus enough to burn him, his people, and his compound to the ground. Nothing is holding us back from a conventional military operation. If anything, Deng should have been dealt with ten years ago."

Arsenio sighed, and continued on. Make them pay more, a lot more than they probably paid Deng.

"Dr. Cristavi, y'all have pussy-footed with Deng, and now it's coming to bite you in the ass. I love money; doing ops like this isn't a problem for me. Getting killed without a clear picture of why, can be a problem for me. My question is, why send a fireteam for the job of a MAGTF?"

"He makes a good point Doctor, why not send in the Special Activies Division, or the FBI Hostage Rescue Team, or the fuckin' SEALS for that matter." Matthew said, eyeing Arsenio with respect Guy's got a brain in his skull, and he probably wants to keep it there he thought. He knew that he and the rest of the SAD could find Akembe Deng and his goons and put them down like the animals they were in a matter of hours, but maybe the Agency had something planned.

"With all due respect Doc, now would be a good time for you to be completely open, and for some of us to be fucking paying attention." Mat continued throwing a paper ball at Albert.

[Endem]

Arsenio looked up from his paper, eyes focused above the rims as he took into account the gentleman and the question. Within, he was impressed that the Latin gentleman had asked such a question, let alone the inclusion of Portuguese as an option. As for the fellow, the agent appeared to be of a self-capable variety, which was hardly the exception in the CIA.

"American for now, but Portugués at home," Arsenio replied, giving Leonardo a friendly grin.



And there it was, the explanation for the summons. Arsenio sat his paper down, resting it in his lap as Dr. Cristavi joined the audience. Bureaucrat, but we both vote Democrat, so that counts for something.

Had Arsenio read the reports? Sure. The kidnappings were the work of the Deng Syndicate, a resurgent pirate faction operating in the South Pacific. By now, the world was privy to the situation; an American political scion and his charming wife were abducted and being held for ransom in the vicinity of a very busy portion of Oceania. No rescue was guaranteed, at least not a military operation in the traditional sense. Odd. You'd think that with two big allies in that region and multiple MAGTFs at hand, the government wouldn't be so sticky about raiding a pirate outpost. Arsenio took hold of his coffee and gulped some down, keeping his focus on Dr. Cristoval.



One of the cigar-smokers, an Englishman by the dialect carried in his voice, was the first of the team to speak up. Atop the table, he tossed down a suspicious bag. He explained - rather, boasted - of the capabilities of the flash drives within the bag. One of the other agents, another stocky white man with the look of a vet, spoke up in a heightened volume of voice, giving an announcement that was replied to by Dr. Cristavi with a figurative HALO jump into the meat and potatoes of the briefing. Arsenio frowned, and once again turned to his paper.

The images that Cristavi was showing, had at one time been held under the utmost scrutiny. By now, however, the battered son and the battered wife were already being viewed by horrified masses worldwide. Arsenio kept his ears up, but his eyes facing downward.

When it became evident that Dr. Cristavi was halting in his briefing, Arsenio stretched his right arm into the air, and without waiting for acknowledgement, spoke up. He's not giving us the full picture. There is a reason they're holding back from an air-ground assault, and that reason might not include the hostages.

"Dr. Cristavi, I have to spill my piece," Arsenio stated, removing his glasses and setting them in his lap. "This compound is in the operational range of at least three naval powers in that region. That's more than enough to cover the bases in a concerted operation against Deng. The guy is stateless, and so are half of his goons. They swore off their allegiances to their home countries, for as far as I am concerned. I would call that impetus enough to burn him, his people, and his compound to the ground. Nothing is holding us back from a conventional military operation. If anything, Deng should have been dealt with ten years ago."

Arsenio sighed, and continued on. Make them pay more, a lot more than they probably paid Deng.

"Dr. Cristavi, y'all have pussy-footed with Deng, and now it's coming to bite you in the ass. I love money; doing ops like this isn't a problem for me. Getting killed without a clear picture of why, can be a problem for me. My question is, why send a fireteam for the job of a MAGTF?"

"He makes a good point Doctor, why not send in the Special Activies Division, or the FBI Hostage Rescue Team, or the fuckin' SEALS for that matter." Matthew said, eyeing Arsenio with respect Guy's got a brain in his skull, and he probably wants to keep it there he thought. He knew that he and the rest of the SAD could find Akembe Deng and his goons and put them down like the animals they were in a matter of hours, but maybe the Agency had something planned.

"With all due respect Doc, now would be a good time for you to be completely open, and for some of us to be fucking paying attention." Mat continued throwing a paper ball at Albert.

Albert Scott

"I'm paying attention, but why should a simple thing as looking at someone stop me from the work" Albert then closed his laptop and caught the next ball thrown at him, throwing it back, then continued speaking "And they are not sending in those people because they don't want the hostages to be just shot in the head, it was pretty clear from the start", with this few words said, he once again opened his laptop.

[Cylarn]

-snip-

-snip-

-snip-

One of the CIA guys appeared to have some emnity for the Brit, making a snide remark about paying attention whilst tossing a ball of paper at the man. With a neutral expression, Arsenio patiently observed the two, and listened to both men as they spoke up. If our team is already chucking trash at each other, then I cringe at what we might look like under fire. He made another pass for his coffee, taking another sip and setting the cup down.

Matthew vocally agreed with Arsenio, although his words served to leave Arsenio partially confused. He raised his left eyebrow. Aren't these guys with Special Activities? I wouldn't exactly call anti-piracy operations a cornerstone of the CIA playbook. He did not agree with Albert. In a very flat statement, he defended the CIA's current position, that sending a small team for a rescue operation was the actual mission. Arsenio had read his initial intelligence differently; while the position of the Brown couple was one of tenuous uncertainty, the US had not a great track record with protecting its diplomats, from Dubbs to Stevens.

He focused his attention on Albert, as the man buried his nose back into his laptop.

"Every bruise that the Browns get is another piece of evidence that a non-state actor can gain leverage over a superpower," Arsenio stated, flatly yet with earnest intent. "Every hour that the administration dances around the Browns is another testament to Deng's effectiveness at controlling the situation. This administration is getting its ass handed to it by the media, and Congress, and the families, by simply dicking about the issue. That's not even factoring the amount of disrespect we are showing towards Mrs. Brown."

Arsenio began to gesture with his hands, a combination of knife-hands and gestures of shapes. His face and voice and body would grow more animated, the further he droned on.

"I personally don't believe that the arrival of a military force outside Deng's stronghold would instantly merit the death of the Browns. Deng plausibly could be expecting such; it isn't outside of our MO. Only when we threaten his leverage on the situation, will he turn on the Browns. After that, Deng knows as well as we do, that he's on borrowed time once either Brown is killed. He'll play the Browns for as long as we can, and any planner worth their salt would already be formulating a plan to launch a combat rescue operation."

"We're not rescuers. That is not what the CIA does anymore. We're here to clean something up; my agent informed me as such."

Arsenio then stood to his feet, turning his attention back to Cristavi.

"And I'm not here to be a poster boy for a token rescue attempt. If you want a rescue, then you guys will need way more than a handful of ex-service guys and brainiacs. A thought-out, elaborate plan with clear command and control, and the logistics to back up the guys who are going in."

[Bolslania]

-snip--snip-

One of the CIA guys appeared to have some emnity for the Brit, making a snide remark about paying attention whilst tossing a ball of paper at the man. With a neutral expression, Arsenio patiently observed the two, and listened to both men as they spoke up. If our team is already chucking trash at each other, then I cringe at what we might look like under fire. He made another pass for his coffee, taking another sip and setting the cup down.

Matthew vocally agreed with Arsenio, although his words served to leave Arsenio partially confused. He raised his left eyebrow. Aren't these guys with Special Activities? I wouldn't exactly call anti-piracy operations a cornerstone of the CIA playbook. He did not agree with Albert. In a very flat statement, he defended the CIA's current position, that sending a small team for a rescue operation was the actual mission. Arsenio had read his initial intelligence differently; while the position of the Brown couple was one of tenuous uncertainty, the US had not a great track record with protecting its diplomats, from Dubbs to Stevens.

He focused his attention on Albert, as the man buried his nose back into his laptop.

"Every bruise that the Browns get is another piece of evidence that a non-state actor can gain leverage over a superpower," Arsenio stated, flatly yet with earnest intent. "Every hour that the administration dances around the Browns is another testament to Deng's effectiveness at controlling the situation. This administration is getting its ass handed to it by the media, and Congress, and the families, by simply dicking about the issue. That's not even factoring the amount of disrespect we are showing towards Mrs. Brown."

Arsenio began to gesture with his hands, a combination of knife-hands and gestures of shapes. His face and voice and body would grow more animated, the further he droned on.

"I personally don't believe that the arrival of a military force outside Deng's stronghold would instantly merit the death of the Browns. Deng plausibly could be expecting such; it isn't outside of our MO. Only when we threaten his leverage on the situation, will he turn on the Browns. After that, Deng knows as well as we do, that he's on borrowed time once either Brown is killed. He'll play the Browns for as long as we can, and any planner worth their salt would already be formulating a plan to launch a combat rescue operation."

"We're not rescuers. That is not what the CIA does anymore. We're here to clean something up; my agent informed me as such."

Arsenio then stood to his feet, turning his attention back to Cristavi.

"And I'm not here to be a poster boy for a token rescue attempt. If you want a rescue, then you guys will need way more than a handful of ex-service guys and brainiacs. A thought-out, elaborate plan with clear command and control, and the logistics to back up the guys who are going in."

Matthew was beginning to develop some respect for this man, he made some solid points, the Agency has been to mixed with this, they either needed to send in the SAD or someone else to get them, or they could just dick around, but, we should see what Doc here has to say

[La Savant]

Cristavi rand his hand across the top of his bald head in frustration, “First of all Agent’s Gonçlaves and Matthew, the rescue is only truly a secondary objective. Oddly though a secondary objective to be handled immediately. Secondly, you gentlemen aren’t going to be sent in ‘guns a-blazin’“. That’s not a risk to be taken. I’ll be frank and blunt; though the Brown’s are an objective. The Agency is more concerned with liquidating Deng’s syndicate.”

“Yes,” Cristavi said with a touch of leer ,”Deng should have been handled years ago; obviously. But he was never a major priority until... now. Our boy over there now has only been on site for roughly a year now. And his resources and assets have been limited. One agent and crude militia of natives can’t hope to bring down the entire syndicate.”

“And as for the issue of foreign power interest Agent Gonçlaves, well, let’s look at the spectrum shall we. The Philippines are chaotic, Islamic extremists and political strife. They’re barely holding together with the more exposed threats they face. Indonesia is riddled with drug trade and human trafficking, Madam Wiznu and her associates are every day adjustable life factors there. And Australia, well, you got me there. Though really they aren’t the ones feeling the real brunt of the syndicates’ operations.”

“And then there’s us, the good ol’ US-of-A. A few years ago Deng and his associates were nothing more than glorified criminals. The sort you can find anywhere in the world, even here. But now that we have intel that Akimbe Deng has begun funding revolutionaries and terrorist cells in Somalia, New Guinea, and the Philippines,” Cristavi said raising his voice ,”we you should surely see the predicament.

“And trust me men,” Cristavi said adjusting his tie again ,”according to our man ‘Mantis’, Deng and his boy LaTrush won’t hesitate to have Chadwin and his wife killed if he feels the need. We don’t need blackhawks and AR fifteens gentlemen we need covert ops, Intel, and caps.”

[Mushroomio]

"Of course." Edward said to the man briefing them. "So we need to do this quick and quiet, no guns-a-blazing? Perfect."

[Bolslania]

Cristavi rand his hand across the top of his bald head in frustration, “First of all Agent’s Gonçlaves and Matthew, the rescue is only truly a secondary objective. Oddly though a secondary objective to be handled immediately. Secondly, you gentlemen aren’t going to be sent in ‘guns a-blazin’“. That’s not a risk to be taken. I’ll be frank and blunt; though the Brown’s are an objective. The Agency is more concerned with liquidating Deng’s syndicate.”

“Yes,” Cristavi said with a touch of leer ,”Deng should have been handled years ago; obviously. But he was never a major priority until... now. Our boy over there now has only been on site for roughly a year now. And his resources and assets have been limited. One agent and crude militia of natives can’t hope to bring down the entire syndicate.”

“And as for the issue of foreign power interest Agent Gonçlaves, well, let’s look at the spectrum shall we. The Philippines are chaotic, Islamic extremists and political strife. They’re barely holding together with the more exposed threats they face. Indonesia is riddled with drug trade and human trafficking, Madam Wiznu and her associates are every day adjustable life factors there. And Australia, well, you got me there. Though really they aren’t the ones feeling the real brunt of the syndicates’ operations.”

“And then there’s us, the good ol’ US-of-A. A few years ago Deng and his associates were nothing more than glorified criminals. The sort you can find anywhere in the world, even here. But now that we have intel that Akimbe Deng has begun funding revolutionaries and terrorist cells in Somalia, New Guinea, and the Philippines,” Cristavi said raising his voice ,”we you should surely see the predicament.

“And trust me men,” Cristavi said adjusting his tie again ,”according to our man ‘Mantis’, Deng and his boy LaTrush won’t hesitate to have Chadwin and his wife killed if he feels the need. We don’t need blackhawks and AR fifteens gentlemen we need covert ops, Intel, and caps.”

Matthew nodded Makes sense he thought

"When we get our intel, what is next?"