Losing your way...

[krazykyotee]

OOC: This is a try at a counter-terror/espionage story thread. I'll be writing as the bad guys in this, so any and all posters will be the good guys. Set in modern day, realisitic world we live in. Characters can be from any of the NATO or NATO friendly countries (Israel, Russia, etc). Can be special operation soldiers or espionage/goverment agents. Anyone interested feel free to post a character bio first. Then ill PM you on how your character enters the story.


IC: He checked his watch again, impatient to get on board. Soon he would be in America, and activate the sleeper cells that have been preparing for years. So much planning had gone into this, and that foolish plan of Osama almost had ruined it. True, the infidels had reeled from the blows to their heartland, but it was not enough. This was war, and the fight must continue.

Taking his assigned seat, he allowed himself to let his mind wander during the long overseas flight. So much had happened to his life. Once, he was the opposite of what he was now, a believer of the false dream of helping the capitalists bring peace to his homeland. Taught in England in computer design, he had a lovely young wife and a home. A job with a American corporation in Saudi Arabia.

That was until America decided to protect thier precious oil sources, attack that madman Hussein. One of their supposedly "smart" guided cruise missles had missed its mark. Instead of a Republican Guard barracks, the warhead found its mark in his backyard, killing a group of local children at play..and his wife watching over them. His life was never the same.

Now, after all the planning, the positioning, the training, his plan would go into effect. America, no, the world would pay for their meddling in the affairs of the Middle East. They would pay for Mariah.

 

[Vero]

Leah Steward, 24 years old, black hair to the middle of her back, bright blue eyes. Sweet round breasts, an ample C cup, a dangerous hourglass figure and swirling hips make her undeniably feminine in anything she wears. Degree in Chemical Engineering from Cooper Union, black belt in apkido, master marskman due to her father's insistance and recruited by the NSA before she picked up her diploma.

She's a total professional at work, cool and collected, her ice blue eyes never seeming to have any exprssion at all. After work she blows off steam with her pet crotch rocket and dance clubs. She never takes anyone home, just teases men into a frenzy. She's still a virgin, having always been pedal to the metal focused on accomplishment, and refusing to trust any of the uptight geeks from her college days, the even more tightly wound coworkers, or the crazy guys she met at the clubs.

She doesn't agree with everything she does at her work, but she's an extremely loyal patriot with a combination of near total trust in the American system, and a healthy dash of "better them then us".

 

[Drinking Cap]

Grigori Ivan Abramovich was raised in an orphanage in St. Petersburg. Being educated as a ward of the state meant he was inundated with Communist propaganda on a daily basis. He grew up hating the decadent United States and believing strongly in the wisdom of the Politburo. At the age of twelve he was recognized as being especially dedicated to the USSR and was removed from the orhpanage and placed in a school for future agents of the KGB. He was one of the best in his class, his dedication to the ideaology of the communist party was unparalled and he showed great aptitude for the dirtier aspects of his job. Grigori dreamed of joining the KGB and being a great hero of the people

Then came the decade of chaos following the collapse of the Soviet Union. The school was shut down and Grigori, as an Orphan, was thrown into the streets of Moscow. He used his skills from the school as a thief, stealing enough to eat, until his talents were recognized by a local Mafia boss. His teenage years were spent performing hits in the chaotic world of Russian capitalism. Then came news of a new Intelligence Agency being formed in the new Democratic Russia. Grigori was eager to escape his life of crime and to finally put his training to the good of his homeland. He's spent the last ten years of his life in the Agency as a foreign operative. He is uncomfortable with the lack of idealogy and funding that plagues the Agency but loves the life.

Grigori Ivan Abramovich
Age:32
Height 5'10
Weight 170
Black Hair
Brown eyes

Grigori has messy black hair and heavily slavic features. He is fairly nondescript and can blend into most situations. He is unsure of his place in the world as the ideals he used to believe in no longer exists but he is passionately committed to defending Russia. Still distrusts the USA but recognizes that his country is now an "ally" of the West and though he doesn't like it, he can accept it for now.

 

[krazykyotee]

Thanks for the responses. PMs have been sent reganding your introductions. Free free to begin posting. Would definatly like to see another player or two, a mix of male and female would be great.

 

[Vero]

Smothly effiecient she headed for the conference room after locking her computer. She snagged her sleek PDA with the virtual keyboard to take notes on. Not provided by the government, but she had to have the latest techno toys. She dressed professionally, dark slacks, low shoes that she could run in, thin cotton blouse carefully tailored to match her curves. Her hair was in a French braid, that would have been severe if it weren't for the little tendrils that fell out and framed her face.

She arrived at the conference room, entered and took her accustomed seat facing the door.

 

[krazykyotee]

The conference room is one of the better in the bureau, with nicely polished wooden walls and ceiling. A long table dominates the room, one end twoards the doors, the other pointing to a hugh plasma flat screen television. A bit off to the side of that screen in a plain clear glass podium. The only other person in the room is standing at there. Shuffling thru a few mainila folders, you recognize the man standing there as DDI William Peterson, unoffical "6" of the teams. He simply nods when you arrive. There are sealed FBI folders in front of each chair, the ink on them fresh.

 

[Vero]

Leah touches the wet ink and lets her brows raise. She puts on a smile and looks to Mr. Peterson. "Will, the wait will kill me - you have to give me a rundown on what this is about!"

 

[krazykyotee]

OOC Last post until a little later tonight, hope a few more folks jump in..

DDI Paterson chuckles a bit as he stands there. "Agent Steward, always a bit too eager to get into your assignments. The situation is quite critical though, so we'll start the breifing soon. Hopefully the rest of Bravo team will arrive momentarily. Is your tactical assault training up to speed, Steward?"

 

[Vero]

Will was a tease. She set her lips cooly and replied sarcastically "No, Paterson, I gave up on that ages ago, I thought I was here as a paper pusher."

 

[krazykyotee]

He simply made a notation on sheet of paper and responded, "There will be a lot of fieldwork on this assignment, I suggest you refresh yourself on those."
Patterson checked his watch, and eyed the door a bit anciously.

 

[Vero]

She pulled out her PDA and went back to answering e-mails, her stylus tapping impatiently on the table.

 

[Drinking Cap]

Grigori Abramovich sat at his desk typing silently. Compared to the other four desks that occupied the small room, Grigori's was notable only in it's utter lack of personal touch. There was no decorative calender, no picture of family members, just a standard issue desk with a standard issue desktop computer. He was currently working on a report on his progress within the new cooperative counter-terrorist forces when an announcement came over the loudspeakers.

"All members of Go Team Bravo report to Conference Room 212" the female voice announced. Grigori stopped writing and looked at his watch, this was not a scheduled meeting.

Grigori quickly made his way to the conference room, stopping to get a coffee from the vending machine.He looked over the selection of snacks as he waited for his coffee to fill up.

Americans, he spat, need 150 different kinds of candy bars. Grigori was uncomfortable with the new cooperative intelligence community. It was so counter to everything he had been raised to believe. Yet here he was, living in Washington, DC, with Baseball on TV and Coca Cola in everyone's hands.

He entered the well appointed conference room and saw Agents Peterson and Steward.

Grigori was undecided on his new team members. Sure they were intelligent, dedicated and hard working but had they ever strangled a man to death with their bare hands? Planted a Car bomb that they knew would not only kill the target but also the target's wife and children?

No, they hadn't. They might fold or crack under pressure, thought Grigori. He took the seat directly opposite Agent Steward.

"Sorry I am late, Agent Peterson" Grigori said, his voice slightly accented "I was writing a report for SDS"

If Grigori had been working undercover he could have spoken natural, unaccented American in a number of accents. As it was he went with his natural voice.

"As you Americans would say, what's up?"

 

[krazykyotee]

Director Peterson nodded to a chair for Abramovich, then activated the viewscreen. A steady beeping eminated from his data assistant, and he mulled over the contents, a look of concern on his face, glancing up at the agents in the room.

"This is disasterous. This could jepardize the whole mission before it even gets off the ground.."

Throwing the insturment on the desk, Peterson leaned on the edge. "Your other team members are either dead....or missing. The Go Teams have been compromised. From this point on, be wary of any other team members you might encounter."

Walking back to the plasma screen, he touched a corner, bringing up a sattelite image. "Ninety minutes ago, a Coast Guard SeaHawk helicopter was on routine patrol off New Jersey. It came across the Light Propane Tanker Agamemdon, out of the shipping lanes. Radioing its status, the tankers crew was delayed in responding. Landing on the tanker for a safety inspection, the Coast Guardsmen were not heard from again."

Another satellite shot flashed on screen, showing a bulky shipping vessel with three large round hemi spheres in the deck. On the tail of the ship, there appeared to be something falling off the deck. "You can see here the tanker crew pushing the helicopter into the sea. We can only assume the crew is dead."

Another computer image showed the course of the ship. "Given the ships maximum speed fully loaded, on the heading its on, the Agamemdon will plant itself right off Manhattan in less than 5 hours. In the papers in front of you is the estimated damage potential of that ship. A disaster rivaling the World trade centers."

A final shot on the plasma screen showed co ordinates, tactics, and data. "Your mission is simple. Stop the ship by any means necessary before it passes the Brooklyn Bridge. After that point, if it detonates, the damage will be immense. A Tarawa class helicopter assault ship is positioning itself within strike distance. Delta has a full team of shooters on their way from Bragg; they will meet you on board the Tarawa. You two have tactical command, use the Deltas as your arms and legs. We NEED intelligence on who did this though, so bring one back alive if need be. Senior analysts are thinking this is the opening play of a bigger terrorist threat."

Turning off the presentation, Peterson sat on the table with one leg. "Draw whatever gear you need from here immediatly. Guns and armor they'll supply you onboard ship. An Osprey tilt rotor plane will be on the roof in... 5 minutes. Any immediate questions before you go? I know your intel sucks on this, but we were really caught flat footed on this."

 

[Vero]

She thought, 'We don't know anything, but you're supposed to go fix it without your team.' I love my job.

And what happened to her team? How could she do this with just the Russian?

She scaned the documents quickly, her face reading nothing.

"I'll see you on the roof." She had a few preperations to make, if she was going to do this essentially alone.

 

[Drinking Cap]

Abramovich sat silently as the mission was detailed. He didn't like the sound of it at all. Why not just sink the tanker? Why go through all the trouble just for the possibility that they could find a crew member willing to talk?

Americans, they held a club and tried to use it like a scalpel.

"Right then, if it is just Steward and I we'll need some heavy armaments, probably silenced."

Just then Steward stood up

"I'll see you on the roof." She said, coldly

"Come on Steward, let's go see the quartermaster, get us some of your cool spy gear" He motioned to the door. If the two of them were going to do this they needed to discuss how it would be done.

 

[Vero]

God damnit. Fine.

She walked through the door ahead of him, bowing her head to his 'ladies first' guesture.

"Sure, lets go pick up some toys." She'd just get duplicates of what was in her kit back at her desk. And probably have to change in the air. Wouldn't be the first time.

 

[krazykyotee]

The Deputy Director of Intelligence simply stood there as they walked out, watching as two of his
best agents went about their mission. After the door closed, Peterson picked up his PDA and tapped a key. hearing the encryption chirp, he simply spoke, "Sir, Go Team Bravo is on its way. I will give you my progress from the Oval Office.."

Here, in the Atlantic, the seas were calm this evening. Only a quarter moon was visible in the sky, and the view off the railings was of almsot pitch blackness. Akmed leaned over the railing, putting the contents of his breakfast this morning into the ocean. his moans of protest were heard by his associate. Stepping up next to him, Akmed's friend lit a Turkish cigarette, and breathed deeply.

"Ah, my friend, you have no stomache for this. Why did you chose this mission, if that is so?"

Akmed wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You know as well as I do. I wanted to do my part to hurt the Bush war machine."

Taking another long drag, he passed the cigarette to Akmed and turned back into the bridge station. "In a few hours, Allah guide us, you will get your wish. With the Coast Guard out of the way, nothing can stop our plan."