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OMICRON REPORT
Team 203 Warehouse. Seattle, WA. 010602 1000.
Masque just sat at the Super-Genius Table and shook his head. How could Kid do this? He seemed like a normal agent, if there were such a thing. Again he re-read the Black-mail from Dodger.
Masque,
I should like to inform thee, that the research facility we were so
recently humble guests of, has been closed down by Lockheed Intl. It
would seem that they have chosen to "re-alocate corporate vertical
integration." To you that means they have moved. Claiming a loss
for their investors they closed the facility.
Two things: what I found, and what I heard.
What I clairaudently heard:
The tall blond man of impressive stature was beningnly fingering
through Company after action reports. When the most intelligent and
daring data-fiend came upon something interesting. Kid, the strange
woodsy mountain-manish type we met filed a report from the same area.
Contained therin was an .mpg file of two Soviet Heavy lift helos
(they make the Orca like size of our Knightly helocopters seem impish.)
Palletized cargo was then onloaded and the Helos took off. Seeing
nothing better to do, Kid then eliminated all 200 researchers at the
base. He did manage to interrogate the last one, who with .44 Magnum
in mouth, swore on all good and holy that the Soviets had taken the
planes back to Siberia.
What I so pirately found:
While still downloading data from yon sight, before the gatekeepers
closed my back door, I was able to garner a vast wealth of knowledge.
One could say a King's ransom.
As we know, the poor unfortunate and now quite dead serfs at
the base were assembling parts for these 'Planes' in a manner quite
antlike. Mystifo was able to assemble a CAD program (from scratch)
that could read the encrypted data points that make up the files.
The great one learned that the 'Plane' once in orbit will have
incredible characteristics. Using technology that I cannot understand
it will move great masses of material to and from a destination,
beyond earths orbit with great speed. The moon will be reached
in several hours and Mars in but a a week. Not one to be
overreactionary, your humble assistant also noted that in an
atmosphere it will be unequaled, and it is possible the assemblers
did not understand its capabilities outside the atmosphere.
Fear not, the Dodger shall return. For I must go on a most pressing
engagement. Until we next meet I shall bid you adeiu.
D
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Meanwhile, Ian was reading the company's electronic mail, called black-mail, with his name on it. The bastardly Drake, bastardly because he was a controller - not because he'd done anything to Ian, had told him to be ready for pickup at 1200 today. The Cadre was coming here to pick him up for a mission overseas. Agh! What kud they need with me? Ian pondered, Target practice I bet, those bastards!! But just in case he wasn't going to be target parctice, he began packing all the necessities he would be needing.
Masque was still shaking his head as Ian walked in the room. "Agh!! I've got a new mission. I'll be meeting members of the Kadre at noon. Hopefully this'll be my chance to score with that Foksy babe, Morgan! Agh!!"
Masque looked at him in amazement, there weren't many people that wanted to "score" with cold, soulless, psychotic women. "Well, I won't ask where you're going, but good luck. It's been a pleasure to work with you."
"Dun't go gettn' mushy on me! Agh!! I'll be beck, so don't get you kilt in a not!!" Ian said with a look of scorn, then he walked up and game Masque a great big Irish hug, "But it's been guud wurkin' with you too! Agh!" Then Ian tromped out as fast as he could.
Masque was more than a little startled, then he checked himself for bombs that Ian might have slipped on him as a joke.. Nope, none. Clear. Whew. Masque was more than a little relieved. Well back to work.
Masque was the only one at the SG-table. After their tough time up in British Columbia, everyone took today off. Petyr was meeting with a contact of his named "General Chaos" and Doctor Payne was off meeting one of his guys named John Albertson with a team of his mercenaries. Ten minutes before he'd gotten off the phone with a contact that reported the SPD, (Seattle PD) was looking into some homeless. Specifically that some near a warehouse down by Highway 169 were really scared and wanted police protection. They were claiming body snatchers or psycho killers, but whatever they claimed, some were disappearing. Looks like we'll have to get down there and see what is going on. Opening up a radio channel he started calling the team members back to the warehouse for the next step in their mission.
Bellevue, Washington. 1100.
Beggay reved the engine. Mistake. Not an engine, The engine. Seated behind a dash board that was moved back nearly eighteen inches to make room for The Engine, he reved it again. Just to hear the 460 cubic inch motor purr. The crank shaft (the part that takes all the power of the burning gasoline in the cylinders, transmitted through the pistons and delivers it to the transmission) on this engine weighed more than many whole motors. Massing nearly 150# it was so perfectly balanced that it could attain rpm's up to nearly 10000. Thats more than 150 rotations PER SECOND. Faster than a gatling gun. He reved the motor again.
From the outside his car looked like a mercedes benz sports utility vehicle, but it was more than that. It was a weapon. A highly modified weapon. The 460 under the hood had twin turbo-chargers with a NO2 system. At peak RPMs it would deliver over 1200 horse power. Besides the engine it had brakes. Sixteen inch carbon fiber air cooled brakes. Normal cars has eight inch brakes, and when you consider that they are circles, it had roughly four times as much braking area. It also had beefed up suspension, struts, control arms, and shocks. All to absorb the power of the engine and the abuse of the road. But the engine was so highly tuned that it only lasted for about three hours. Then he had to rebuild it. Most dragsters have engines that only last minutes, and this delivered as much, if not more power. It was an uneaqualed machine.
Last, it carried eight hundred pounds of solid steel. A plate mounted on hydraulic actuated slides was suspended between the vehicle and its ground cover. (The solid metal plate the protected the under carriage from mines, brush, rocks, and stumps.) It slid from side to side to offset the car's high center of gravity. In turns he could corner like an Indy car. Plus, if he deployed the air rams from under the front fender and raised it over the rear hatch, he could generate additional downforce as long as he kept his speed over 60 mph. Even in corners this car could develop that speed. In 90 degree street corners. This was why Beggay was a rigger.
Now he sat and waited.
Eureka, CA. 010602. 2400.
Dodger walked. Something he did little of, mostly he sat somewhere, usually a chair, and jacked in. But now he walked; around his warehouse. In northern california this warehouse was his home. The small city of Eureka had a cool name; and coolness was what counted with Dodger. If it wasn't the newest, fastest, or the coolest; he didn't want it. Eureka was a particularly cool name, often he would just shout it at the top of his lungs on a cold lonely night in the warehouse. Now he headed for the stairs to the upper office. Ascending them he looked down at what once was a factory floor. Instead of the machines that fed material to the opposite end where it would go out the loading docks, a whole new process had been installed here. The machines handled electrons, little packets of electrons. These packets clumpted togther to form 1's and 0's of data that were passed back and forth between the machines. Seven foot tall, nineteen inch wide network base-racks. Each was a housing for fans, power-supplies, and a keyboard. Each also held eight antique AMD K7-II's running at 750 Mhz. Without cryogenic cooling, these were fast. Running Linux, the eight rows, or eight computer racks, each holding eight computers, all running in parallel were faster than 95% of the super-computers on earth (that he knew about.)
Soon his dream would come true. They would once and for all prove that given an infinite amount of monkies, typing on an infinite amount of typewriters, you'll eventually get War and Peace. These computers generated random blocks of data. Each block was compared to War and Peace. They would keep doing that until one matched. It had been three years.
Dodger wasn't worried, he had time.
1145.
Beggay loved this car. He loved it alot. So much that he put two bumper stickers on it.
I'm not tailgating... I'm drafting.
There is no replacement for displacement!!
But he didn't love it as much as the woman beside him. For reasons that still mystified him, Vigdis seemed to have a serious intrest in him. Perhaps its best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Upstairs Ready Room, Team 203 Warehouse. 1200.
When Ian noticed the approaching helicopters on the warehouses roof radar he got very excited. Running through the SG-table room, he was yelling, "Cadre is here!! Arrr!" Then he remembered to deactivate the gatling gun defences and stood on the opposite side of the room as the door from the roof. His two duffle bags and a hard plastic tool case were packed at his feet with the specialty items he needed and couldn't readily steal in the field.
When the door opened he was greeted by a sight that stopped hearts. Morgan stood just over five and a half feet tall with the deep dark blue hair common to some asians. Her ample features were sheathed in a form fitting black leather body suit that zipped up the middle like a flight suit. Around her waist she wore a thick black utility belt, and at her side a Katana hung. As if to accentuate her hips a pair of pearl handled .45 Colts Semi-Autos poked out from their leather houlsters. Her hair was pulled back to the nape of her neck and her eyes blazed a blue flame like cobalt. Tall black boots climbed up her slender calf to join the suit, a pair of stilletos rested on them in sheathes to complete her black outfit. Ian had heard she was beautiful, but this surpassed words. He'd also heard that she used her looks to her advantage. Well she can take advantage of me! ARRR!! His simple Irish brain had nothing to compare this too. He stammered for words, until what might have been fear filled his mind.
A gargantuan man stepped into the room. His buld filled the entire door from the roof and he deftly dipped his head to avoid the doorframe as he stepped through. He too was dressed head to toe in a form-fitting black jumpsuit. But his was neither sexy nor leather. It was cut off at the shoulders and looked to be made of a nylon/gortex/kevlar mix. Reguardless it showed off every muscle on his body, and most of them were larger than Ian. Not Ian's, but Ian. Ian stood in amazement at the size of him. No doubt this was Atlas. For equipment he carried only an equipment belt and two large pistols, Company Morning Stars.
Atlas' biceps were almost as large as Ian's waist, and Atlas' thighs were 50% bigger than Ian's waist. Atlas' lats were bigger than Ian's pecs and gluets. It was almost beyond words how big he was. His shoulders were probably four times bigger than Ian's. And this was comparing him to Ian, overall he was still nearly twice as big as Solo. Ian felt very small.
"Hello Ian, ready to go," Morgan asked. Ian just mumbled. "Well, let me introduce you to Atlas," she said pointing to the big man. "He'll be our main firepower on this mission. Don't let him scare you," she said with a smile. "He's as cuddly as a teddy bear." Ian smiled.
"Just kidding," Morgan said with an expressionless countenance. "Don't piss him off or he'll tear your arms out." Ian then knew her the cold bitch he'd heard.
"Agh! Let's get this jig rolling." Ian reached down to grab his bags and stood up with them.
Morgan looked Ian in the eye, "Take one member of your team. You'll want a companion to keep you psychologically involved with our team."
Ian though for a second, the dropped his bags. Then he grinned the biggest, shit-eattingest grin. "AGH!! I choose Kham," he said as he stood up and started to do a goofy, bow legged jig all around the room. Kham just sat there thuroughly unamused. Kham had an amazing ability to just fade into the background and disappear. She'd been in the SG-table room the whole afternoon but said nothing, simply observing Masque and Ian. Now she sat up at attention.
"Agh! I'm grate! Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh!!! So grate! So grate!" he sang as he did the bow-legged happy dance of joy around the room. His spirits soared because he knew he and Kham would spend the next five hours in a sweaty cramped airplane together.... He kept dancing until Kham walked up to him and doubled him over with a punch to the gut. "OOOFFF!" Ian huffed as she knocked the wind out of him. Then she pulled Ian's flask out the back pocket of his fisherman's vest.
"Act like a professional you little geek!" Kham said as she handed him his flask.
"Ahhh. Just like mum used to do it... you wupped me just like she used to do." Then Ian made a mock tear and sniff noise. Kham didn't find either ammusing.
"Are you two ready to go yet?" Morgan asked.
Kham spun around, "I just need two minutes to pack some weapons and gear."
"I wuz burn ready! Agh!!"
"Good, then be up on the roof in two," Morgan said. She then turned and walked out of the room, her leather clad hips swaying side to side.
Ian looked at Kham then both walked in opposite directions to gather their respective gear. Atlas was left alone in the room.
Madrid, Spain. 010603 0300.
The interior of the Cargo helo was not very cramped. The six other Cadre members besides Morgan and Atlas spread were spread out around the cabin each tending to their respective weapons. Nuhr was a large husky dark-skinned man that seemed to love axes, Ian had already counted eight. Razor was a tight little package of a blond, but she seemed to have a definite affinity for knives; Ian wanted to stab her, not visa versa. In the back of the helo was Estios. Ian was sitting beside Atlas, who said that Estios was good with a bow. Hopefully that long piece of yew he's stringing will get the job done, Ian thought to himself as he wondered about the Englishman. Last was Xexor, a guy dressed all in black, leather most of it. Including a huge trench coat to conceal his pair of longswords. Agh! This Cadre group is a strange bunch. Even Kham seems normal.
Ian cursed his luck, another game of footsie had gone bad and now he was tilting his head back to stop another nose bleed. They'd crossed the Atlantic, transfered to the Cargo Helo in Madrid, and were now preparing to land and transfer to a pair of Scout Helos. Next stop, Tangiers, Algeria in the Atlas Mountains.
Tangiers, Algeria. 0500.
Stepping out of the helicopter into the blackness of the arabian night, Ian thought back to his first trip to the dark continent. He had been nineteen and a young member in the IRA. Coming here to learn trade secrets related to blowing things up. Returning to Algeria was almost where he'd first learned advanced methods of his trade; it was actually in Egypt. But what the hells the difference, Agh..
They'd been flying for nearly a day and were now at their destination. Ian's brief moment of revire was shattered as the helo lifted off again. Morgan waved him on and he quickly caught up with Kham. Xexor was up front on point and heading off at a real tup. Agh, more damn marching. Everyone spread out with a few score feet between them and headed into the heart of the city. The long narrow roads were layed out haphazardly. Some buildings could have been a hundred years old. The white or tan stone was as dark as the sky, as the group of shadows threaded their way through the city's streets. They were headed for the French Embassy which intelligence suspected held several containers of nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons from countries and armies ranging from former East Germany to China. Their job was to get them back, keep them from falling into the wrong hands and because the Grays were one of the primary reasons that international terrorism flourished.
As Ian stalked through the street as a small relatively clumsy shadow infront of the huge gracefull shadow of Atlas he wondered if he'd get to blow anything up. Agh. Odds are they just brought me along cuz I know how to disarmn the bluddy thingz. Ian tripped over a body in the street, lord knows they were common in this part of the world. Atlas caught him and caught his eye from behind the black sneak-mask he wore. "You give away our position again, and I'll crush you little man," he said in a deadpan smooth monotone.
"Well fuck you too," Ian wispered back. He didn't take intimidation well. But after that he did pay a bit more attention to where he was walking.
0530.
Estios had taken a position of the roof and was presumably going to do his shooting lying on his back, while the rest of the team gathered in an alleyway around Morgan. She looked at everyone slowly as she swapped the flashlight (which was off) from one had to the other. "Ok, dickheads. Listen up," she said in a whisper. "Thats the embassy. Xexor, Razor and Nuhr will take up overwatch positions and keep us informed of personel moving on the inside. Kham, Ian and Atlas will go inside and check the basement out. I'll remain somewhere between you guys and the exit to make sure you have an out. Ian, you have tactical command as much as it chaffes me, so don't screw up."
"Agh! You can trust me. I'll screw, but I won't screw up." WACK! Kham hit him hard on the back of the head. Ian just smiled, then looked at Atlas. "You lead the way big guy." Atlas turned and headed out the alley. The three watchers were already gone and would be in position soon. Ian followed, then Kham, and Morgan last.
The embassy was a large white Colonial building with long pillars supporting the overhanging roof. It stretched around behind the main building to form a large 'U'. The wings would be housing for the security, house servants, and guests. The Embassy was situated atop a small rise in the city topography that gave it a fine view of the port. Low brown and white brick houses spread out for the two miles to the waters edge. Surrounding the building were fabulous and extensive gardens in the French style, as well as two fountains in the center of the main drive in. The front gate was black iron as was the fence that surrounded the entire grounds. The main drive was almost two hundred feet long and was split, to seperate ingoing and outgoing traffic. Around both sides of the building were grassy lawns that were big enough to each land a pair of Puma Helicopters and three deep pine trees kept them from the fence. In back was another garden, this one including trees and a small pool, again more trees seperate all of this from the back fence. The team perched just outside the fence in miniscule shadows preparing to go in. Everyone wore black-out suits and ski-masks, faces and exposed skin were painted black and suppressed weapons were carried if you weren't using blades. Ian had a suppressed shotgun, a suppressed 7.62mm caseless carbine and two fighting stilletos.
Atlas waited patiently like a good grunt Ian thought. Busy tampering away with the embassies security over blacknet was nothing simple, but Kham stared at him without a trace of the lust he hoped for. It was more akin to a butcher sizing up a cow. Agh!! Then he had it, he deactivated their cheesy wanker system. He looked at his commrades and smiled the self-gratifying smile of a man who knew he was good, "She open. Popper' Atlas."
Atlas did just that, he lept the fence, was across the grass, and was beside the house before Ian had pulled himself all the way up and over the fence. Kham caught him as he climbed over. Morgan was alread over and squatted by the fence to cover them as they ran across the grass. Ian huffed a little as he came to a stop behind Atlas along the embassies outside wall. "Agh, just like cake."
Ian scooted around the huge form of Atlas to reach the basement maintenance door. Pulling out a RF detector and a IR fiber optic probe he searched the door for security. None. Agh! Grate!! Ian then reached for his key to the city, a pair of lock picks and a crowbar; the later for if the former failed. Fifteen seconds later the door popped open and Ian waved the terrible threesome inside.
As Atlas hulked around the corners, the team made their way to the far Northwest corner. There was where Company satellites had detected radiation. Ian monitored them real-time as they moved in. Atlas stopped at a dead end, the rest of the team in the hallway he had come from, and turned around. "There is no way in. I've taken us past all the walls that would lead us through to the Northwest corner."
"You wanker!" Ian whispered, "That just means there is a hidden passage or I get to blow something up!" Ian motioned for them to spread out and cover him as he began searching the wall. Using a heart-beat sensor and a seismic density probe he was looking for wall that didn't have more earth or wall behind it. In ten minutes he had found the concealed door he was looking for and even decided to tell Morgan about it instead of just blowing a hole in the wall anyways. He wasn't sure what her response to his little prank would be; and he didn't want it to be Atlas.
He backed off and whispered for them to form up. Atlas looked at Ian as he came in, "Morgan told me that she's staying by the stairs over by the elevators to guarantee a way out and to choke point any guards that may come down."
"Roger," Ian confirmed. Pointing at the section of wall he looked at Atlas and said, "You first."
Atlas took three big steps back than lunged at the wall. Ian didn't even have time to detonate the breaching charges. Atlas just smashed through. Crumbling cinder block is more quiet than one would suspect but still in the range of 8-10 Db. As the dust cleared Kham rushed in after Atlas as Ian stood there amazed. Agh! Gawdammit!!
Five or six seconds later Ian came too and decided to go in after them, primarily because he heard some suppressed gunfire and didn't want to be left out. In the second and a half it took him to get to the new door it was all over. Kham stood over a trio of bodies near a sewer pipe on the west wall and Atlas was covered in gore. Ten other bodies were strewn in various states of disemberment around the room. He signaled to check the room and a second later got the OK from Kham. Atlas had hopped into the open sewer ditch which ran east-west and cut the room in half. The stench of the cities foul sewage flow filled the room and Ian's nostirls. A little clicking on his chest brought him back to reality. Agh!! Radiation!! "We've got some rads in here, clear out." Ian said as he waved them both out of the room whilst popping a little orange pill. Deftly pulling a geiger counter out of one of his many pockets he had. Quickly trotting around the room he located the source of the radiation. A trio of wooden crates. Waving his arm at Atlas to get him over here he then followed some residual radiation down to the sewers edge. When Atlas arrived, Ian said, "Open those three krates, agh. Gently, got it!?!"
Atlas nodded and grabbed a piece of wood, splintering it. Inside it revealed a hard plastic case. Ian waved him on and he splintered more wood to soon reveal a whole Czech tactical nuclear warhead; actually six 520mm artillery shells. dismantling the next two cases showed a Chechan shell and a East German shell; both nuclear. Atlas looked at Ian for dierction.
0900.
Sneaking the nuclear weapons out of the Embassy was not terribly difficult. Atlas just carried them all and ran fast. The one guard that saw them got a dart from Kham's gauss needler. The needle had a slight dosage of The Cocktail that would erase any memory of their being there.
The only other clues in the sewer were a Bill of Loading to a freighter. It was bound to leave the port at 0900 sharp. Esitos was at the dock to stop it.
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