"They would rather remain anonymous...no sense in getting more parties involved than needed. They pay well and I get to see the world while doing it. Hell, they even have a wonderful health plan. You should have seen what Boris here (glancing to one of her henchmen) looked like before the surgery..."
"That's what I like to hear. You see, that wasn't so hard...was it? The hit is for tomorrow morning. Vercetti likes to have breakfast in one of the palazzos and you'll be there to make sure he won't be having any room for lunch."
The Agency plane lands with a USAF welcome humvee waiting for them on the tarmac.
"Greetings, agents. I'm Lt. Colonel Borrack, head of base security. I know you'll be wanting to get out of here ASAP, so I though we'd meet you. An unscheduled C-130 airlift landed here about 20 minutes ago. I'm assuming the large blast-steel cargo crate marked Do not open under penalty of international law! is yours?"
"No illnesses, but he does smoke. Vercetti is a bit twitchy about who he eats with. He prefers to eat alone unless the person happens to have a short skirt and long legs. Despite that, he's a lousy conversation. Vercetti prefers woman to be seen and not heard while he drinks his coffee and reads the morning newspaper. As for bodyguards, they tend to sit at ajoining tables to Vercetti's. Two are usually cramming their faces full of pastries while the other two make the waitstaff nervous wrecks and generally keep everyone else at a distance. One of his goons broke a waiter's hand when he tried to pour Vercetti a fresh cup of coffee without asking. You have to remember, no one is supposed to know he's here."
Artis and Co. are driven across the airfield to a small hangar that would probably be used for reconnaisance aircraft and the like. As described by Colonel Borrack, a jet-black steel cargo container sits by itself.
On the front latch is a recognizable Agency mag-lock which Artis dispenses with directly. The mechanism unlatches the two heavy steel doors revealing (as per request) a 2005 Mustang with the usual refinements. Neatly stacked in the rear of the container are duffle bags, ammo crates, and the various weapons from the team's laundry list.
"You know, you're not supposed to be able to buy these yet," Artis says lovingly, to everyone, to noone, just to the car, it's hard to tell. He finds the keys and tries out some donuts on the tarmac, seeing how she carries the extra weight, then rumbles the car back to the group and pops the trunk.
Artis puts the Mustang through some manuevers, giving its 300HP engine and fresh tires a workout. Other than a few problems inherant with RWD cars (cornering), this mutha seems to be tip-top.
It even has enough room for gear and the hapless teammates who insist on driving with the wreckless wheelman.
About 45km north of Venice, Italy: 01:15 hours
Goose drives the Mustang at a fevered pace through the windy switchbacks of the Italian Alps. The raw horsepower and torque pull the muscle car around the turns with ease. The carphone rings with Nightengale's voice coming over the line.
Agents, we have reason to believe that whatever the Russians want with Hummingbird and Ibis has something to do with Miami Crime Boss Tommy Vercetti. Our intelligence network has intercepted up a sat-scrambled message from Venice to a source in the Little Odessa quarter of Brighton Beach, NY. It is with some certainty that he is to be the target of an "unscheduled liquidation". And being that their last known location was in Venice and given the nature of their assumed identies...well, it doesn't take a criminalist to figure out what is going to happen. Time and place is to be determined as of yet, but the smart money puts the hit sometime in the next 24 hours...
Quote: from admiralducksauce on 3:04 pm on Jan. 27, 2004
"What's our policy regarding Vercetti? Is this like a blessing in disguise or would it bad if he got whacked?"
"Officially, it would be detrimental for the Agency to have our line of business publicized. Unofficially, if it has to be done then the Agency is ready to clean up the mess. Our risk management department is working out that particular scenario as we speak. But let's try and keep this hypothetical, shall we? We're in the business of producing dead bodies, not the disposal of them..."[/i]
The plan announced and with its preperations in the works, the limousine stops.
"Get out", says Liz.
Ayumi and Jess step out and find themselves at a small boat dock with the lagoon city of Venice off in the near distance. A short boat ride across the murky waters finds the two agents in one of the many canals criss-crossing the medieval city. Eventually they arrive at a converted palazzo and are escorted upstairs by Liz and Co. to their quarters for the remainder of the night.
"You'll be staying here tonight. Better get a good nights rest, because tomorrow will no doubt be a long day. Ivan (one of her two bodyguards) will be babysitting. If you need anything, he might just bring it. I will see you in the morning..."
The heavy mahogany door closes on their room followed by a series of outer mechanisms being locked. The room itself is spartan; two beds, a table with two wash-stands, one overhead lamp, the stucco walls apparently in some state of reparation. Searching for some fresh air (and a possible escape route), Ayumi opens a set of shudders only to find the window behind bricked up and barred over.
Jess looks at the window - or lack thereof -, her good mood appearing to make a slow recovery. She utters a single word in Japanese, doing her best to shout it out like an curse.
Deception!
She then continues in English.
"That's one fine mess you got us into, Ayumi. Just what kind of rush job did they do on securing the identity of your brother? Call yourself lucky Mr. Mason hasn't heard about it yet. Which reminds me - you'd better give me a damn good reason not to tell him when we're back. It's bad enough that we're getting our hands dirty without getting paid, but that *your* stupidity as cause puts this over the edge. Your incompetence is appalling, Ayumi! Sometimes I don't know why I bother with you. When we go out tomorrow, you'd better remind me."
"You want to come in here and beat me up, fine, knock yourself out, I can hardly stop you. But consider that what goes on tomorrow depends on me looking good. You know, there must be someone in your organisation with some common sense; I wasn't holding my breath that it'd be you, but a girl can dream, or? Now shut up, I'm getting a headache, and that's not conductive to my operational planning."
Dieter
Gatac
