E
Elvenoff1
Guest
Two agencies with multiple agents on the same side but different side of law enforcement. One large crime syndicate called Syn taking over the underground. Can these agents get past their differences and their chain of command and survive the hellish torment of the underworld. Join and let’s find out.
Name: Scott Nightland
Age: 32
Agency: CIA
Rank: Operation commander
I winced as I miscalculated the temperature of the freshly made coffee that was placed before me by the waitress of the Durvue street Café. A place that I normally use when a day of relaxation is passed to me, however, that small voice whispering into my ear told me that this was about to change. My dark blue eyes automatically responded to this inner voice by surveying the small outside patio for anything or anyone that seemed out of place, it didn’t take long to spot the carrier. They always sent the new recruits to pass information to the field agents and they always seemed to have that huge ego of nothing can hurt me because I am gov’t agent written upon their faces and then there is that way they walk. I just shook my head as the familiar blank vanilla envelope was handed to me hidden inside the fold of the New York Times.
I read the information that was provided to me and all seemed good until the orders specified that I would be working with other law enforcement agencies and their agents. A chuckle escaped my lips at the thought of this cluster fuck operation that was about to be launched.
The orders stated that the meeting place of these agents would take place in a strange location aboard a plane some thirty five thousand miles up. The plane would be leaving Dulles International in about four hours. So without further due I returned home and packed my bags and head out the door.
The plane was a personal jet without any markings except the FFA approval number posted in small print on the dorsal fin of the plane. Inside was a luxury interior of fine leather seats, a personal bar, several viewing screens, and to top it off, one large conference table. I took an empty seat and waited for the others to arrive.
Name: Scott Nightland
Age: 32
Agency: CIA
Rank: Operation commander
I winced as I miscalculated the temperature of the freshly made coffee that was placed before me by the waitress of the Durvue street Café. A place that I normally use when a day of relaxation is passed to me, however, that small voice whispering into my ear told me that this was about to change. My dark blue eyes automatically responded to this inner voice by surveying the small outside patio for anything or anyone that seemed out of place, it didn’t take long to spot the carrier. They always sent the new recruits to pass information to the field agents and they always seemed to have that huge ego of nothing can hurt me because I am gov’t agent written upon their faces and then there is that way they walk. I just shook my head as the familiar blank vanilla envelope was handed to me hidden inside the fold of the New York Times.
I read the information that was provided to me and all seemed good until the orders specified that I would be working with other law enforcement agencies and their agents. A chuckle escaped my lips at the thought of this cluster fuck operation that was about to be launched.
The orders stated that the meeting place of these agents would take place in a strange location aboard a plane some thirty five thousand miles up. The plane would be leaving Dulles International in about four hours. So without further due I returned home and packed my bags and head out the door.
The plane was a personal jet without any markings except the FFA approval number posted in small print on the dorsal fin of the plane. Inside was a luxury interior of fine leather seats, a personal bar, several viewing screens, and to top it off, one large conference table. I took an empty seat and waited for the others to arrive.
