Tim gets eyes on the situation after a few camera jumps. The view from the sole available camera in the room is morbid at best: one KMar operative is on the ground, smack in the middle of the camera's perspective and bleeding out from what one might assume two 9mm slugs to to a human head. Presumably Major van Roemburg is just out of view, with only the sleeve of his KMar uniform and the hand holding a suppressed pistol is visible just at the lower right corner of the picture. He's probably well aware of the camera Tim's using, but hasn't yet reached the levels of "Fuck it" necessary to just shoot it out - or maybe it's that he's using his gun to keep the king in check. He, in turn, is standing tall and spreading his arms, as if that could catch all bullets from the queen and her daughters huddled behind him. Tim's jaw torques at the sight. The girls have their eyes closed and their hands over their ears while their mother hugs them tightly, a mask of pure resolve on her face.
"How does it feel?" the terrorist coughs. "Men with guns, coming to destroy what you love?" His weak body emits a sound almost entirely unlike laughter. "The war is in your homes now. You will dig graves for your sons and daughters now. You will know" - he coughs - "you will know the pain now."
Mason and Hesselink continue to hustle down the stairs until they reach the basement, and then are guided by Laith to a utility room door.
"He's in there," Laith says. "The rest of the team at the other door."
"Got it," Mason whispers. He looks at the wall for any sort of less-obvious access point - say, small enough to stick a tear gas grenade in - and he spots a vent towards the top of the wall.
(Mason 1d6+2 Mechanics to open vent = (4)+2 = 6)
Carefully, Mason unscrews the vent cover and sticks his hand in - AC going into the room, so whatever else is in that air flow, like tear gas, will go right in. He hands Hesselink a grenade and motions for her to be ready to quietly pull the pin and pop the spoon to place it in the vent when he has a different idea and pulls his phone out of his pocket, silences it and sets it in video mode before sliding it into the vent.
(Mason 1d6+1 Surveillance = (5)+1 = 6)
Man, those phone cameras - even the cheap ones - just keep getting better every year. Mason gets the room from almost exactly the opposite angle as Tim's view from the security camera inside, and he sees van Roemburg literally backed into a corner. His chest is covered in a fine mist of blood - backspatter from a point-blank kill - and while he has the pistol he's pointing at the royal family, his other hand is holding a phone. He's talking to someone, and while Mason can't make out distinct words, he can tell it's neither Dutch nor English - he's 90% sure it's Arabic. But that's not the most pertinent detail Mason notices: he gets a view of the king's back, and under that nice suit jacket, he appears to have a holdout pistol tucked in at about 5 o'clock. His hand hesitates, clearly unsure if he can and if he should reach, but if van Roemburg notices that, this could somehow get even worse.
"Laith, you seeing his lips?" Mason whispers.
"Sorry, no streaming video, can't see what you're seeing," Laith replies. "I can do a lot, but not with civilian tech."
"So don't wreck this one, then," Mason says. "Okay, everyone, van Roemburg is in the..." He thinks for a moment. His door is north wall toward the east, the rest of the team from the east, the royal family is up against north wall towards the west, van Roemburg is in the Southeast corner. That puts van Roemburg in the blind spot of anyone who uses the other entrance and in full view of his door - and vise versa. "Southeast corner of the room. I have a clear shot, but he's facing my door. I need you to get his eyes towards your side, start a dialog and do some quick hostage negotiation, because the King has a weapon, and if he goes for that, it's going to end badly for everyone."
"Everyone, this is AiC Griffin," 'Greg' says over the comms. "Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage. You have Dutch security forces two minutes away from your position. Proceed to nearest exfil route." There's an audible sigh. "And just so it's official - this is an order."
Mason pulls out his clean burner - the one he used for the Heimans ID - and texts Laith's burner. Eyes on Ops? Don't worry about her. Putting out a different fire.
Mason shrugs and stores the phone. "They're gonna be dead in two minutes," he replies. "Stack up, we breach in ten seconds. I'm gonna need a distraction from your end. Constable, forget the tear gas, back me up."
"Copy," Blake responds, and clears up any ambiguity about who he's answering by sidling up on one side of the door and looking over to Tim. "You or me to negotiate?"
Tim makes sure their side of the door's unlocked and ready to go on Mason's signal. His face is grim as he weighs his meager options. "Take down van Roemburg. Someone's gotta go for the royals, and that's me."
(Luc spend a point of Negotiate to set up the breach and distract van Roemburg.)
Luc takes note of Blake and Tim's steeling themselves for combat and sighs. Americans, always so quick to seize the glory and catch the bullets...why not try talking first?
"Major," Luc says, leaning both on the wall and his accent. "A moment of your attention, s'il vous plait."
Both Tim and Mason can make out the shift of the gun towards the eastern door. "Whoever you are," van Roemburg says, "you should get out now. This is not your fight."
"Fight?" Luc replies. "Mon ami, I have no intention of creating fight wiv you. Ve circumstances are bad for bov of us, non? I have ve proposal."
van Roemburg doesn't reply, but he doesn't stop listening, either.
"Come wif me," Luc says, as he watches Tim and Blake stack up. "I know ve way out."
"How?" van Roemburg asks.
"I got inside, non?" Luc says nonchalantly. "Ve security in vis palace, maybe not so good today? No matter. We go out my way, ven we find un petit bistro and have nice chat."
"What the hell kinda deal is that?" van Roemburg replies. "What's in it for you?"
"You, Major," Luc says. "You seem ve useful man to know."
van Roemburg considers it. Really, honestly, seems to consider it. "You need to get me out of the country, too," he says. "Off the grid."
"Naturellement," Luc says.
"And I'm going to need money to -"
---
Mason hears van Roemburg and Luc negotiating some bullshit deal to let him walk out of here to a nice sunny non-extradition country. He almost can't believe that van Roemburg is buying it, but it gives him the opening he needs. He spaces himself off the door with the muzzle of the beanbag shotgun, locks eyes with the doorknob, and counts to three.
"One, two, three."
Once the countdown finishes, Mason's on autopilot. Half-step back, raise off-hand foot, kick in door at handle. Door swings open - BAM - kick finishes into step forward, eyes go up to find target - van Roemburg's head, in this case. Barrel rises to target as step finishes, plant, barrel and ghost ring sights go right on target - pull trigger.
(Mason's Shooting = (2)+5 = 7
Mason's Damage (Shotgun at close range, called shot to the head) = (1)+2+1 = 4 )
Mason's shot is on target, maybe a little too much, even. The baton round flattens against van Roemburg's forehead and he stumbles back. The royal family has barely had time to start screaming before the eastern door busts open and the rest of the team streams in.
(Blake's HtH = (3)+5 = 8
Blake's Damage (Called Shot to the throat) = (3)-2+2 = 3)
As van Roemburg tries to swing his pistol into whatever direction means he can do the most damage, it falls to Blake to swat the gunman's gun arm off target. Brief exchange of blows - looks like van Roemburg does some Jiu Jitsu in his spare time - but having received the blow to the head, he's doing this while as good as blind, and it's not difficult for Blake to snap a lightning-quick knife-hand strike into the good major's throat. Van Roemburg keeps his wits about him, though, even without seeing and without breathing, and tries to shove his now severely unwieldy pistol against Blake's ribs for a deadly counter!
It's not the best shot Luc's ever taken, but being that he's barely in the room when he brings up the carbine and lets fly from inside the doorframe, it's admirably in the nick of time, blowing a hole in van Roemburg's left leg and spinning him around, even as Blake realizes that he needs to duck and clear Luc's lane of fire, pronto.
(Tim uses Athletics to redshirt himself for the royal family = (2)+5 = 7)
Tim's original idea - do the slow-mo "Noooooooooooooooooooo" dive and catch a couple bullets addressed to His Majesty - has been superceded by the high-velocity chaos in the room, but he's still on his vector to the royal family - if only because the King has now drawn his hold-out, and the last thing this room needs is more shooters. Stranger though Tim may be, his intent to protect seems clear enough, and the King gets the idea fast, ducking instead and waiting for this thing to shake out.
And shake out it does, when Constable Hesselink finally draws a bead on van Roemburg and pulls the trigger on her pilfered SMG. She'd been working up to this, knowing that going into this situation with a gun would probably mean firing it, too, but - should she have waited? Did these strangers have things in hand? What if van Roemburg - what if he even got the whiff of a chance to do damage to the royal family?
This is not a risk Constable Hesselink can take. One shot, center mass. On its own, maybe not a killshot. Added on top of all the other punishment van Roemburg's taken in the last few seconds? Yeah, he goes down. After a few seconds of pandemonium, the eerie quiet and the high-pitched pre-tinnitus after-gunfire hum take over the scene. General look-around. Anybody hurt, other than the Major? Any other threats?
Doesn't look like it. Breach concluded. Stand down.
"O mijn God!" the King says, while the Queen cradles her crying daughters.
"Alles is in orde, majesteit," Hesselink says. "I'm...I'm Senior Constable Hesselink, Amsterdam police, and these are my...new friends." She puts the SMG on safe. "I'll explain everything later."
"Ik weet niet wat ik moet zeggen," the King replies. "...maar bedankt."
Hesselink nods to him, then surveils the scene and looks at the team.
"The Major is still breathing," she says. "Please tell me one of you can help him. Terrorist or not, I'm not going to watch him bleed out."
Mason lets the shotgun hang and slides down next to van Roemburg and starts some emergency first aid on the more life-threatening of his new holes - after sliding his piece across the floor.
(Mason 1d6+2 Medic on van Roemburg = (5)+2 = 7)
Strips of van Roemburg's clothing are quickly donated to the cause of stuffing his wounds. The asshole doesn't get to die yet, not without answering a few questions first.
Mason quickly goes to work on van Roemburg, staunching the worst of the bleeding. Make no mistake, he's still fucked up, but with -
"What the hell just happened?" 'Greg' calls on the comms. "Somebody give me a status report!"
"Let's save the bookkeeping for later," Operations chimes in, obviously back on the channel now. "Security going down to the basement now. Say your goodbyes, boys."
Several pairs of eyes turn to Blake. This is the room where the secret exit was supposed to be. Unhelpfully, however, there doesn't seem to be a clearly labelled button for it among the sparse walls and a few racks of wine barrels.
Plus, you know, the royal family. Crying little girls, a mother trying to hold it together herself, and a king with a gun who's looking more uncertain about what to do by the second.
"Constable, now would be a good time to get the King and his family to safety," Mason tells Hesseslink in Dutch. "I need to stay with Major van Roemburg and keep him stable until he can be secured."
"You're right," Hesselink replies, craning her head for the sounds of a security team clearing the stairwell they just came through. She turns to the royal family. "Your Majesty, if you would please follow me. We'll get you and your family away from...this." The King nods, and she gives one last glance to Mason. "Thank you for your help with all this, Agent Heimans."
Hesselink and the royals exeunt, leaving the team to do what they do best: improvise a way to deal with the latest mess dumped into their laps.
(No spend necessary.)
Blake's exasperation re: the expectations of his colleagues would be slightly more justified if he didn't immediately spot that the tile seams around a part of the southern wall are wider than elsewhere. He quickly feels the wall - with his knuckles, not leaving fingerprints exactly where the locals will be looking for them, thank you very much - and finds that one group of tiles yields to his probing. Pressing in on it, a panel cover swings open from its magnetic latch, much like one of those modern, handle-less cabinet doors. One green button inside later, part of the wall pops open with a slight hermetic hiss and slides open, revealing the escape tunnel.
"Let me help you wiv the major," Luc says as Mason finishes up stabilizing the man's leaks. Together, they heft van Roemburg off the ground and into the tunnel. Unencumbered and very much not shot Tim goes ahead to take point and watch out for surprises, while Blake takes up the rear and hits the red button in the panel, closing the magnetic latch back up just as the door slides closed again.
The tunnel is - man, it's just so Dutch, you know? It's nice and level, but not like one of those concrete monstrosities you'd expect at NORAD or in Metro-2. Instead, it's brightly lit, with tiled walls, nice level non-skid flooring, color-coded stripes along the wall and a gentle breeze of air conditioning. A little alcove to the right just after the entrance even includes a stash of emergency supplies like rebreathers, flashlights and a wheeled stretcher with underslung "crash cart" supplies; a plastic sleeve containing an inventory list with a signature as recent as two weeks ago is dangling from a lanyard attached to it. Van Roemburg is quickly offloaded onto the stretcher, while Blake and Tim study a nearby map of the tunnel system. Seems it's all on one sublevel, but stretching out underneath a good deal of the southern city core. You'd never get this funded in DC. Anyway, you're apparently at the "NORTH EXIT - PALACE CELLAR" bit. It's all one tunnel from here for about 200 meters south before it turns east and splits. The blue line goes to what the map lays out as "BUNKER - HOSPITAL", a green line goes to "COMMAND CENTER - ARMORY" and a yellow line goes to "GARAGE - STORAGE". There is also a red line, which splits up across the map and seems to run just off the main paths as it does so. That one's labelled "EVACUATION ROUTE" and seems to indicate just that - it guides you to wherever the closest exit to street level is.
No time to waste. You speed along the corridor, following the yellow striping along the wall. Not far into the underground facility, first your phones lose their connection, then your commlinks fall silent - signal doesn't seem to penetrate this far. As continuity of government facilities go, this one's pretty nice, if obviously more civil disturbance than nuclear war. The corridor finally winds through a security checkpoint - unmanned, but Tim quickly jimmies open the lockbox for the car keys and grabs a handful - and then through another bend and an "airlock" of sorts, ending in a set of double doors. And that in turn dumps you into a sublevel of a mundane-looking underground parking garage, in a secluded little pocket of black sedans and SUVs separated from the common areas by a wire mesh wall with an automatic gate. Looking back at the doors you came through, the connection to the bunker is labelled as "Service Access - Air Conditioning".
Well, enough about covert architecture, let's talk escape vehicle. You're looking at a row of black Audi A6 sedans, a Volvo S80 in a subdued blue-metallic color, a Mercedes Viano minivan and - a cherry-red Volvo XC90?
Commlink is back. "Boys, I'm clocking you at the Kalverstraat garage," Operations says. "Bad news, you're still inside their security perimeter. Good news, you're almost out. There's a roadblock at the Muntplein bridges - get past that and you're home free. We'll link up with you at the the airport. I want to be wheels up within the hour, if that's not too much to ask."
Mason nods towards the minivan. "We might miss that deadline," he says over comms. "We've got to pull the trackers out of whatever vehicle we grab, lose our tails, scrub our presence here."
Gatac
