"Yeah, that'll work," Tim replies. "Let's reset and we'll go with that."
Tim has no intention of going with that. He's pretty sure Rando here is MSS, and if he turns for one second Tim is gone.
Admiral Duck Sauce
IC 2 - Amsterdam - Day 2
Admiral Duck Sauce
Gatac
Blake notices Randall grabbing a notepad and making his own, detailed notes as Blake explains his discoveries. The rotund man seems to follow Blake's explanation with genuine interest, nodding along.
"Mr. Johnson," Randall says, "your analysis of the munition is very perceptive. I'm not entirely certain I would have even caught the serial number font - you have good eyes. I'll double-check your work, but this" - he taps the notepad - "should greatly speed up my efforts - you may have just saved me about a week of research. I will forward the final report to your employers, as agreed, and meanwhile you have my leave to use the workshop for anything you need. In fact, as a fellow professional, maybe you could do me one more favor."
Randall makes his way towards a corner of the workshop where a strongbox has been bolted to the floor. He opens the lock with a key and a six-digit code, then opens it to reveal an assortment of various "leftovers" from similar investigative projects.
"When I first got into the business," Randall says, "I was not quite as scrupulous about my paper trail as I am now. Consequently, I acquired certain items that I can not legally dispose of. I would be quite grateful to you if you could take them with you and destroy them in a way that will lay my worries to rest. I trust this will not be a problem?"
(1d6 + 1 Blake's Explosive Devices to build, well, explosive devices = (6)+1 = 7)
Oh boy.
Blake easily rigs up the "call a plumber" charge needed for the apartment plan, then gets on the fun stuff. Flashbang disguised as plumber's zinc spray, for Tim to carry into the apartment and use to stun everyone inside for the rest of the entry. An experimental Wall-(or ceiling-)breacher with a thin explosive liner, to be filled with water and then blown for any mouseholing needs that might erupt. Two stinger grenades. A metal box containing exactly five FRAG-12 high-explosive shotgun shells - Blake has no shotgun to use them with (yet), but Randall really shouldn't be burdened with that kind of thing. A little shaped charge that, ironically, would have been good at opening a more secure safe with a less vulnerable content, but oh well, maybe next time they're trying to break into somewhere? And, the piéce de résistance, an M825 155mm "smoke projectile", i.e. an artillery round containing a shitton of "Willy Pete"-soaked felt pieces convenient for setting smoke (if properly contained) or fires (if left to their own devices). Blake extracts the dangerous filler and, in lieu of lugging around the metal shell, draws a few lines on the projectile to indicate his best idea of how to cut it up with a plasma torch into inconspicuous parts for a quick across-the-country deposit at a scrapyard. Hey, nobody said Blake had to solve all of Randall's problems for free.
With the analysis in good hands and a discreet backpack full of very fun, very bad things, Blake makes his way a few streets on, then signals for a pickup from Tim.
---
"Okay, great!" the soon-to-be-failed actor says, turns around, tousles his hair, yelps a "Whoo!" as if to reset what passes for his mind. He turns around with a big grin. "Oh, hey, I was also thinking that..."
Tim is gone. Tim is no longer even in the same conceptual space as Mr. Make-Or-Break-A-Scene, having dodged into the shadows. As the actor gives up looking and hurries to rendezvous with whoever set him up with this gig, Tim weaves through the crowd, resuming his feeling of anonymity. He keeps his eyes open for further shenanigans, surveillance or attempts to trip him up, but though he makes what looks like somebody who might be an MSS agent, that dude is far too busy looking for someone else (Mason?) to notice Tim slipping past his perimeter. Soon, Tim is back at the rental car, stows the suitcase full of tools and then checks his phone to find he has a total of "Three. New Messages." on "his" voicemail.
"First. Message."
"Ah, hello!" Børge says; somehow his English is still worse than that of his elderly "uncle", and his obvious nervousness doesn't make it better. "I like to warn you, dear customer! Ex-customer of us can try to steal the tools! Do not let her trick you, she can be clever, but she is harmless otherwise! I am very sorry." He takes a breath. "I hope everything goes good! Please be careful when you return the tools, too, yes? Um...thank you! Please leave good reviews! Thank you!"
Beep!
"Next. Message."
"Piano store at Elandsgracht," Blake says, with the sharp groan of a tram rounding a tight corner almost drowning him out.
Beep!
"Next. Message."
"Well played at the station," deSilva (?) says, over what sounds like splashing water. "I took care of your little thief problem because we can't afford for you to get sidetracked. Don't worry, nothing that'll blow back on you. We expect the data drop as agreed tonight."
Beep!
"No. New Messages."
Click.
---
Shortly thereafter, Mason's at the houseboat as Tim arrives with the new rental, and he and Blake both lug their share of the heist gear into the boat and out of sight. So far so good - time to call Ms. Akkermans and get everyone to the job site - but where exactly is Luc?
"Mr. Johnson," Randall says, "your analysis of the munition is very perceptive. I'm not entirely certain I would have even caught the serial number font - you have good eyes. I'll double-check your work, but this" - he taps the notepad - "should greatly speed up my efforts - you may have just saved me about a week of research. I will forward the final report to your employers, as agreed, and meanwhile you have my leave to use the workshop for anything you need. In fact, as a fellow professional, maybe you could do me one more favor."
Randall makes his way towards a corner of the workshop where a strongbox has been bolted to the floor. He opens the lock with a key and a six-digit code, then opens it to reveal an assortment of various "leftovers" from similar investigative projects.
"When I first got into the business," Randall says, "I was not quite as scrupulous about my paper trail as I am now. Consequently, I acquired certain items that I can not legally dispose of. I would be quite grateful to you if you could take them with you and destroy them in a way that will lay my worries to rest. I trust this will not be a problem?"
(1d6 + 1 Blake's Explosive Devices to build, well, explosive devices = (6)+1 = 7)
Oh boy.
Blake easily rigs up the "call a plumber" charge needed for the apartment plan, then gets on the fun stuff. Flashbang disguised as plumber's zinc spray, for Tim to carry into the apartment and use to stun everyone inside for the rest of the entry. An experimental Wall-(or ceiling-)breacher with a thin explosive liner, to be filled with water and then blown for any mouseholing needs that might erupt. Two stinger grenades. A metal box containing exactly five FRAG-12 high-explosive shotgun shells - Blake has no shotgun to use them with (yet), but Randall really shouldn't be burdened with that kind of thing. A little shaped charge that, ironically, would have been good at opening a more secure safe with a less vulnerable content, but oh well, maybe next time they're trying to break into somewhere? And, the piéce de résistance, an M825 155mm "smoke projectile", i.e. an artillery round containing a shitton of "Willy Pete"-soaked felt pieces convenient for setting smoke (if properly contained) or fires (if left to their own devices). Blake extracts the dangerous filler and, in lieu of lugging around the metal shell, draws a few lines on the projectile to indicate his best idea of how to cut it up with a plasma torch into inconspicuous parts for a quick across-the-country deposit at a scrapyard. Hey, nobody said Blake had to solve all of Randall's problems for free.
With the analysis in good hands and a discreet backpack full of very fun, very bad things, Blake makes his way a few streets on, then signals for a pickup from Tim.
---
"Okay, great!" the soon-to-be-failed actor says, turns around, tousles his hair, yelps a "Whoo!" as if to reset what passes for his mind. He turns around with a big grin. "Oh, hey, I was also thinking that..."
Tim is gone. Tim is no longer even in the same conceptual space as Mr. Make-Or-Break-A-Scene, having dodged into the shadows. As the actor gives up looking and hurries to rendezvous with whoever set him up with this gig, Tim weaves through the crowd, resuming his feeling of anonymity. He keeps his eyes open for further shenanigans, surveillance or attempts to trip him up, but though he makes what looks like somebody who might be an MSS agent, that dude is far too busy looking for someone else (Mason?) to notice Tim slipping past his perimeter. Soon, Tim is back at the rental car, stows the suitcase full of tools and then checks his phone to find he has a total of "Three. New Messages." on "his" voicemail.
"First. Message."
"Ah, hello!" Børge says; somehow his English is still worse than that of his elderly "uncle", and his obvious nervousness doesn't make it better. "I like to warn you, dear customer! Ex-customer of us can try to steal the tools! Do not let her trick you, she can be clever, but she is harmless otherwise! I am very sorry." He takes a breath. "I hope everything goes good! Please be careful when you return the tools, too, yes? Um...thank you! Please leave good reviews! Thank you!"
Beep!
"Next. Message."
"Piano store at Elandsgracht," Blake says, with the sharp groan of a tram rounding a tight corner almost drowning him out.
Beep!
"Next. Message."
"Well played at the station," deSilva (?) says, over what sounds like splashing water. "I took care of your little thief problem because we can't afford for you to get sidetracked. Don't worry, nothing that'll blow back on you. We expect the data drop as agreed tonight."
Beep!
"No. New Messages."
Click.
---
Shortly thereafter, Mason's at the houseboat as Tim arrives with the new rental, and he and Blake both lug their share of the heist gear into the boat and out of sight. So far so good - time to call Ms. Akkermans and get everyone to the job site - but where exactly is Luc?
skullandscythe
Blake takes some time to distribute the ammo and grenades among the three present, though he keeps the shaped charges and entry gear for himself.
As the time to leave approaches and Luc is still a no-show, Blake looks up from the notes on Varajev's apartment complex(specifically, the fire detection and suppression - got the felt filler, right?) and says, "I'll call him and see what the hold-up is."
As the time to leave approaches and Luc is still a no-show, Blake looks up from the notes on Varajev's apartment complex(specifically, the fire detection and suppression - got the felt filler, right?) and says, "I'll call him and see what the hold-up is."
Gatac
Doot. Doot. Doot. Doot.
Jingle!
"The number you have dialed is currently not available. Please try again later or leave a message after the beep."
Beep!
Jingle!
"The number you have dialed is currently not available. Please try again later or leave a message after the beep."
Beep!
skullandscythe
Blake disconnects before it it asks for a message.
"So, Luc's not coming. We may need to consider the possibility that he's still working with the Chinese. But I'm assuming we're going to go ahead with the smash-and-grab anyway."
"So, Luc's not coming. We may need to consider the possibility that he's still working with the Chinese. But I'm assuming we're going to go ahead with the smash-and-grab anyway."
punkey
Mason pulls his burner out of his pocket and dials Operations. "We need your NSA buddies to run the works on Luc's phones - he hasn't checked back in."
Gatac
"We'll get on that," Operations replies, with the noise of a car engine in the background. "I'll contact you when I know more. Can you make this work without him?"
punkey
"Yes," Mason says. "I'd just prefer not to have the plan out there in the breeze if whoever's behind this grabbed him."
Gatac
"Can't help it now, our window is closing," Operations says. "Let me worry about Luc. You just grab that laptop and get it out of Varajev's apartment in one piece."
punkey
"Copy," Mason says and hangs up. "Luc's out of the picture for the moment. That cuts our entry team to two. Tim, you comfortable with that?"
Admiral Duck Sauce
"Let's say I'm easing into it slowly," Tim replies. "But yeah. Now was I dressing up as the hooker, or were you?"
punkey
"Already got that part under control," Mason replies, and hits a different number on his burner. "Ms. Akkermans, het is tijd." (Ms. Akkermans, it's time.)
Gatac
Ms. Akkermans's first reply is a very quick "Ja!" followed by some shuffling around, grabbing stuff, including the jangle of keys, then strutting and a door closing behind her and stepping down a short set of stairs onto the street, to judge from the cars in the back. As she opens her car door, she seems to remember that the call is still connected, and her next words return to her usual, more composed manner.
"Je hebt me echt wachten, 007," she says. "Waar ontmoeten we?" (You really kept me waiting, 007. Where do we meet?)
"Je hebt me echt wachten, 007," she says. "Waar ontmoeten we?" (You really kept me waiting, 007. Where do we meet?)
punkey
"We zullen niet ontmoeten," Mason replies. "Ga gewoon naar het gebouw van Varayev in een half uur. Er staat een pakket voor u bij de receptie, en zeg dat u een nieuwe afspraak in het gebouw heeft. We hebben controle over het intercom van het gebouw en zullen u bellen. Pak het pakket in het appartement en spoel de inhoud naar beneden op het toilet van de master bedroom - en vertrek dan als het appartement begint te overstromen." (We will not be meeting. Just go to Varayev's building in a half-hour. There will be a package for you at the front desk, and say you have a new appointment in the building. We will have control of the building's intercom and will ring you in. Take the package into the apartment and flush the contents down the master bedroom toilet - and then leave when the apartment starts to flood.)
Gatac
"Is dat alles?" Ms. Akkermans replies. "Meestal werk ik harder voor mijn geld. Praat snel met jou, 007." (Is that all? Usually, I work harder for my money. Talk to you soon, 007.)
Click!
And thus, the game begins.
(Cue the rapid-fire montage!)
With the preliminary hanky-panky out of the way, you pile into the new car and get moving. First ish: getting the "package" to reception for Ms. Akkermans. Might have been easier to do a brush pass instead, but with the Chinese looking for you and what might well be Varajev's paranoia in the form of one of his men following his ladyfriend, it's better to keep personal contact to a minimum. Hence, package delivery.
(1d6 +1 Mason's Disguise as a bike messenger = (5)+1 = 6)
Mason rampages through a bike shop like a man with a plan, an expense account and a very good idea of his clothing size. Second-hand "fixie" bike? Check. Loud bike clothes and a messenger backpack? Check. The precise combination of bike helmet and sunglasses to be worn only by people who firmly believe they are the most important part of street traffic? The checkest of checks. Plus, Mason has the quads and the leg scars to pull it off.
(Tim uses Forgery to fake up a delivery label.)
While Blake gets to race to a post office to acquire a suitable delivery pouch and blank adhesive labels, Tim gets down to business in an internet cafe. It would be utterly impossible to photoshop a convincing label from scratch in only a couple of minutes, but - thanks to the cloud - Tim has nigh-instant access to his disposable "portfolio" of literally thousands of hours of pre-arranged work: templates, logos, a barcode generator, the whole shebang. Today, we are pretending to be...FLASH Koeriersdienst, with a premium rush delivery to Leeuwentoren's newest resident. Blake arrives with the pouch all prepped and sealed, and a quick print and paying with cash later, the delivery can be handed off to newly-minted bike courier Jacob Mason.
(Blake uses Mechanics and Electronic Surveillance to tap into the tower's outgoing phone line.)
At the Leeuwentoren tower (which is really quite big, with one of those monumental concrete plazas to match), Blake gets to work with his tools while Tim lays out his mechanic disguise for later. The demarc box at the side of the building is behind a little fenced-off area, but no problem for fleet-footed Blake to scale and get inside, and when he cracks it open, well, network interface devices are pretty standardized these days. Blake connects a CIA-spec equivalent of a PWN PLUG to the NID's smartjack, and after a few moments of tense staring at blinky LEDs, things turn green, and his phone buzzes with a message.
We're in, good work. Ready to loop calls from Reception and Varajev's apartment. I'm on the way with the Stingray, see you in the parking lot at the Thomaskerk. -Laith
And just in time, as Mason comes shooting through the plaza and locks his "new" bike up in full sight of the front desk. He walks with purpose towards the front door, which gets him buzzed through by the woman working the reception counter. She's wearing one of those unflattering gray "security" suits and an equally unflattering bun hairstyle, and from the look on her face, this might be roughly the billionth time she's had this exact interaction with the world beyond her desk.
"Welkom bij Leeuwentoren," she says, a bit bored, but then she actually looks at Mason, and, well, it's obvious she doesn't mind that she's looking at him. "Voor wie levert u?" she asks with a smile that's still on this side of professional. (Welcome to Leeuwentoren. Who are you delivering for?)
Click!
And thus, the game begins.
(Cue the rapid-fire montage!)
With the preliminary hanky-panky out of the way, you pile into the new car and get moving. First ish: getting the "package" to reception for Ms. Akkermans. Might have been easier to do a brush pass instead, but with the Chinese looking for you and what might well be Varajev's paranoia in the form of one of his men following his ladyfriend, it's better to keep personal contact to a minimum. Hence, package delivery.
(1d6 +1 Mason's Disguise as a bike messenger = (5)+1 = 6)
Mason rampages through a bike shop like a man with a plan, an expense account and a very good idea of his clothing size. Second-hand "fixie" bike? Check. Loud bike clothes and a messenger backpack? Check. The precise combination of bike helmet and sunglasses to be worn only by people who firmly believe they are the most important part of street traffic? The checkest of checks. Plus, Mason has the quads and the leg scars to pull it off.
(Tim uses Forgery to fake up a delivery label.)
While Blake gets to race to a post office to acquire a suitable delivery pouch and blank adhesive labels, Tim gets down to business in an internet cafe. It would be utterly impossible to photoshop a convincing label from scratch in only a couple of minutes, but - thanks to the cloud - Tim has nigh-instant access to his disposable "portfolio" of literally thousands of hours of pre-arranged work: templates, logos, a barcode generator, the whole shebang. Today, we are pretending to be...FLASH Koeriersdienst, with a premium rush delivery to Leeuwentoren's newest resident. Blake arrives with the pouch all prepped and sealed, and a quick print and paying with cash later, the delivery can be handed off to newly-minted bike courier Jacob Mason.
(Blake uses Mechanics and Electronic Surveillance to tap into the tower's outgoing phone line.)
At the Leeuwentoren tower (which is really quite big, with one of those monumental concrete plazas to match), Blake gets to work with his tools while Tim lays out his mechanic disguise for later. The demarc box at the side of the building is behind a little fenced-off area, but no problem for fleet-footed Blake to scale and get inside, and when he cracks it open, well, network interface devices are pretty standardized these days. Blake connects a CIA-spec equivalent of a PWN PLUG to the NID's smartjack, and after a few moments of tense staring at blinky LEDs, things turn green, and his phone buzzes with a message.
We're in, good work. Ready to loop calls from Reception and Varajev's apartment. I'm on the way with the Stingray, see you in the parking lot at the Thomaskerk. -Laith
And just in time, as Mason comes shooting through the plaza and locks his "new" bike up in full sight of the front desk. He walks with purpose towards the front door, which gets him buzzed through by the woman working the reception counter. She's wearing one of those unflattering gray "security" suits and an equally unflattering bun hairstyle, and from the look on her face, this might be roughly the billionth time she's had this exact interaction with the world beyond her desk.
"Welkom bij Leeuwentoren," she says, a bit bored, but then she actually looks at Mason, and, well, it's obvious she doesn't mind that she's looking at him. "Voor wie levert u?" she asks with a smile that's still on this side of professional. (Welcome to Leeuwentoren. Who are you delivering for?)
punkey
"Unit 2730, geen naam op het pakket," Mason replies. "Ik vind het een van die intieme pakketten, als je weet wat ik bedoel." (Unit 2730, no name on the package. I think it's one of those intimate packages, if you know what I mean.)
Gatac
The reception lady blushes a bit at that.
"Ik sla het gewoon op," she says, accepting the package. "Wilt u mijn handtekening, of..." (I'll just keep it here. Do you want my signature, or...)
"Ik sla het gewoon op," she says, accepting the package. "Wilt u mijn handtekening, of..." (I'll just keep it here. Do you want my signature, or...)
punkey
Mason flips a clipboard out from inside his bag - pre-scribbled on and roughed up in the parking lot outside. "Je weet het." (You know it.)
Gatac
The lady accepts the clipboard and scribbles down something without quite looking at the board.
"Ben je nieuw op deze route?" she asks. "Ik heb je hier nog niet eerder gezien. En ik zou je herinneren." (Are you new on this route? I haven't seen you here before. And I would remember you.)
"Ben je nieuw op deze route?" she asks. "Ik heb je hier nog niet eerder gezien. En ik zou je herinneren." (Are you new on this route? I haven't seen you here before. And I would remember you.)
punkey
"En ik zou je herinneren," Mason replies with a wink. "Ik werk meestal in de stad, maar ik heb dit weekend de kinderen voor de herdenkingsfeesten en ik heb wat extra geld nodig om ze iets speciaals te krijgen." (And I would remember you. I usually work across town, but I've got the kids with me this weekend for the memorial celebrations, and I need a bit of extra cash to get them something special.)