Quote: from admiralducksauce on 12:08 pm on Jan. 12, 2005
"Right. No clue. So of course you use the opportunity to go Rambo on them with one of those XM8-lookin' things."
"Woah! I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Sasha's the one with the hard-on for guns. I can barely fire a pistol."
Ayumi sees what (presumably) is the second gunman. Presently his is laying on floor of the corridor, face-first and arms spread-eagle as if assuming an arrest posture. A few meters down the hall stands a rather slim, attractive fellow pointing some sort of handcannon at the gunman.
Siberian Commuter Train, enroute to Novosibirsk
Designed for economy not comfort, the small cabin redefines the concept of "intimate accomedations". Moten and Brian sit across from eachother, their knees almost touching. The monotony of a forested tundra countryside flying by at 100kmh is broken up by a knock on their door.
Quote: from Gatac on 12:16 pm on Jan. 12, 2005
Waiting for the other end of the phone number to pick up, Peter finally hears something approaching a click in the line and starts to speak at once while walking over to Art.
"Hello, folks. Your number was on a few metal cases that are currently in my possession. Since I'm a nice, law-abiding guy, I'm ready to discuss pickup with you. I'm on the highway from Novosibirsk to Krasnoyarsk, Marker 223. There's a barracks of the Siberian Mounted Police a few miles down the road, which is where I'll be heading to shortly. I don't want cash or favors, and I'll forget all about this the second those cases are out of my sight. I just don't want to get fucked over by this. Do we have a deal?"
Sir. SIR!
A female voice on the line from the British Embassy attempts to break into Peter's explaination.
Sir. Please hold while I direct your call to the officer on duty.
A minute passes with Vivaldi playing in the backgroud.
Sir, this is Lt. Colonel Paul Moore, Royal Marines. Please tell me again what you told the woman---
*BLAM!* *BLAM!*
Bullets whiz dangerously closeby but miss Peter. He turns around to see Igor taking cover behind the Mercedes and drawing a bead on him with one hand, calling on his radio with the other.
"Unit Two-Eight to Control. Shots fired! Shots fired! Suspects are attempting to flee the scene in a (insert description of Rig). Over?"
Brian repositions himself, service pistol hidden in between his body and the window, out of sight of the door. It will be an ugly, offhand shot, but it it needs it...
And besides, paranoia is apparently a good thing in this field.
Quote: from Gatac on 4:23 pm on Jan. 12, 2005
Peter tries to find nearby cover...something to catch bullets and brace his revolver on.
"I'm here, Colonel. Don't worry, you'll get your prototypes back."
Peter moves over beside the policecar, setting up his revolver for a clean shot.
Igor shouts over to him,
"Friend. I wish you wouldn't have called them. This was going to be a simple plan. Those crates would've let me and my partner retire in style on the Crimea. Do you even realize how much we make? We haven't been paid in two months. I have kids to feed and a mistress to support."
Igor lets off two more shots. One dances off the Lada's hood, the second taking a piece out of Peter's shoulder.
"Please, just leave now and I promise there won't be any further trouble!"
Siberian Commuter Train
The gentle knock on the door become a rap. An authoritative male voice begins speaking in Russian.
Both agents know from training, that if someone desperately wants in, they usual don't announce it before ahead of time.
"Trust me, I understand that. However, these guns are very dangerous. I can't let you have them."
He sighs for a bit, fighting his conscience, then shouts back.
"Don't you understand? If you take those cases, there will be no money for you. Everybody will be after you! If you do manage to sell them, I guarantee you will not be around to enjoy the cash. Listen, I'm not trying to ruin your life here. I just saved it, after all."
Glancing up for a moment, Jacque sees the head of an apparently Asian woman peek out of the neighboring cabin. "Uhm... Hi. Are you okay in there? You have any idea why these guys attacked you?"
Quote: from Gatac on 10:00 am on Jan. 13, 2005
Peter shouts back.
"Trust me, I understand that. However, these guns are very dangerous. I can't let you have them."
He sighs for a bit, fighting his conscience, then shouts back.
"Don't you understand? If you take those cases, there will be no money for you. Everybody will be after you! If you do manage to sell them, I guarantee you will not be around to enjoy the cash. Listen, I'm not trying to ruin your life here. I just saved it, after all."
*BLAM* *BLAM*
Igor continues his attempt to kill Peter, but both of his shots go wide of their marks.
"For that, I am sorry. I stopped listening to you after the part about you not being able to let me have those weapons."
Meanwhile, Artis watches the Wooesque* dialogue unfold and sees his opportunity sneak up on Igor. The policeman seems to be preoccupied in dealing with Peter, so his stealthy approach goes seemingly unnoticed by the maniacal policeman.
*As in the classics of John Woo (Face/Off, Broken Arrow, etc.)
Brian slips the pistol deeper into it's hiding place, hoping this is just a ticket inspector, shouting back some non-commital mumbling as he does so. He nods to the FBI agent.
"You're the public relations guy...do your thing."
Moten sighs and leans foreward to Brian. "I'm going to open the door in a second," he whispers into Brian's ear. "If I pull him in, be ready to stick a gun in his face."
He then stands up and reaches into his pocket for one of the dead FSB agent's badges. Opening the door with a angry snap, he shoves the shield of the closed badge in the man's face, accompanied with a serious "get the fuck away if you ever want to see your family again" glare.
The train conductor first looks mildly irritated, turning apologetic upon seeing the FSB badge shoved in his face. Without saying another word, the conductor nods and closes the door.
Back on the highway...
Fresh-packed snow underfoot, Artis deftly sneaks up on Igor with ninja-like stealth, bringing the business end of his rifle up to Igor's head.
"Peter, tell him to drop his gun and call in Code 4."
Peter gets up from behind cover and shouts; his voice is getting a bit hoarse from all the high-volume conversation, but he soldiers on.
"Goddammit, you idiot! Put your fucking gun down and listen! I'm really running out of patience here, and I'm trying to do the right thing, but simply giving you a double-tap to the head is beginning to look appealing. However, since I'm such a nice guy, I'm giving you one last chance to cooperate: Call off your reinforcements. Do it NOW."
"Sonuva...you people are -not- truckers, are you?"
(throws pistol aside)
"Alright. Let's go with a new plan. I call off the cavalry, you take what you want, and we go our seperate ways. We never speak of this incident again."
Lt. Colonel Moore still is on the phone.
Um. Hello? If this is a crank call, I would have you know there are serious repercussions for such nonsense!
"You think truckers have Taurus revolvers on them and can shoot people at a hundred meters with them? No wonder you thought gunrunning was a good idea..."
That said, he returns to his cell phone.
"I'm right here, Colonel, and this is not a crank call. I just finished securing the cases, and if you want to, I can describe them."
Colonel Moore sounds a bit ill-prepared for this type of phonecall.
"Er...um. Right. This a bit out of my field of expertise, I usually handle matters dealing with our servicemen getting arrested by the local authorities. Drunken ribaldry, prostitution...that sort of thing. Let me put you on hold for just a moment. Please, please hold."
More classical musak...Beethoven this time.
"Sir. Still there? Colonel Moore here again. I'll be transferring you over to a Captain Winslow from MoD. Please hold."
*bloop* *bloop*
"Sir, this is Captain Winslow, special adjunct to the Ministry of Defence. Could you please give me your name, location, and a brief description of the articles you found?"
As the phone exchange continues, Igor stands motionless. He glances back at Artis.
"Certainly, Captain. I have here three cases made of strong metal secured with an elaborate lock system. They plainly state that they belong to Her Majesty's Ministry of Defence, list a phone number and warn against opening them. I haven't had a close look yet, but if there's serials on them and you tell me where they are, I could read them to you. As for my current location, I'm on the highway from Novosibirsk to Krasnoyarsk, Marker 223."
He briefly covers the microphone on his cell and looks down to Igor.
"Look, how many times? If we wanted to kill you, we would have done that already. We're the good guys."
He turns back to the cell.
"By the way, Captain, I've also got the two people who had the cases. I'm guessing they're low-level henchmen in some sort of syndicate, but it's not like I particularly care. I figured you might want to talk to them before the proper authorities get their hands on them."
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