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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 5, 2017 23:54:10 GMT -5
Not for the first time since he received the dossier with credible information from his associate, Alphonse found himself contemplating the contents inside and his next course of actions. He had spent twenty two years of his life pursuing this and yet now that it was right before him, he was not certain what to make of it nor what to do with it for that matter. Gently thumbing through the documents, he looked at the picture of the young man, features unreadable as his eyes once again flitted over the words.
Rubbing his hand over his forehead in a half hearted attempt to combat the headache that was already building up, he found that he could only frown as he mulled over his options. If he were a good man, he would walk away. But he wasn't, and he didn't plan to. Closing the dossier, he pulled out his zippo lighter. Leaning over the balcony of his house, he watched as the flames slowly ate away at the files. The ashes blew away in the wind and all at once, those documents never existed. And they never would.
With the documents gone, there was relief. Exhaling gently, he methodically pulled out his cigarette case, plucking out a cigarette to place between his lips. Lighting it, he found his gaze lost to wander, taking in the city. The title La Ville-Lumière certainly wasn't an exaggeration of Paris. Even during the night, it never lost its charm, if anything, it certainly gained a fair amount of charm looking far more dashing in the night than it could in the morning.
Blowing the smoke out gently, he couldn't help but feel like he'd gotten too comfortable. He had forgotten his original goal, had all but given up on it. Now that he had accomplished it, there were things he knew he shouldn't do. Things that many of his associates would disagree with. Chuckling softly to himself, he lowered his head and rested it again his arm. If everything he'd done wasn't for this, than what was it for? He wasn't going to allow them to sway his decisions.
All things aside, his business proposition with Fuyu Isao of the Fuyu-kai would have to be pushed back until later. The oyabun wasn't exactly the most forgiving of men when it came to being stood up by a business partner, but the trip to Italy was more important. As much as he was inclined to say it was for the gelato - that was partially true - it was for much bigger matters. Something that blended business and personal matters to an almost uncomfortable extent, unfortunately.
The trip to Italy itself was something of a short and charming affair. Though he had the ability to drive there or even better - take a private jet - he had decided to go on a commercial flight. The flight attendant had been charming and the woman sitting to his right was quite a chatty companion. She was American, undoubtedly so from her accent to her demeanor. She had been absolutely lovely though, talking endlessly about her granddaughter who was in Italy for college. She had been in France for sometime because it had been a life long dream of hers to visit Paris.
She was a one man army, carrying the conversation nearly by herself. He didn't really even have to respond other than an acknowledgment here and a question there. When the plane landed, she left as quick as she came - vanishing in the blink of an eye. A unique woman, to say the least. Softly huffing a laugh, he grabbed his suitcase from the top compartment and made his way through the common airport rabble without much difficulty.
Though he had spent a fair time looking through the dossier reading the words over and over again until he memorized it by heart, it was truly the matters about the Agenzia Informazioni e Sicurezza Interna that interested him. They were certainly nothing special. Hell, he would bet over a million euro on the fact that the AISI had nothing on him. Sure, he was a wanted criminal internationally, but flying below the radar was something he accomplished easily.
They called him a spook in the criminal world, it was befitting of his former occupation as a French spy, but nowadays he was one of the big players in criminal underworld. He brokered contracts, he worked jobs that were befitting of a mobster. If only he had wanted to settle down, he supposed it would have been difficult to knock a few Bosses or Dons from their position of power. But he was a man with a bigger vision, a wider scope in sight. To be tied down to one place was unappealing.
So what he was doing, tying himself to the AISI, an Italian agency was unheard of. There were many who could swear he'd finally lost it. It was over. But he'd been contemplating something like this. There was a certain number of resources agencies like the AISI held that criminals like him just couldn't get their hands on. And he had drive and quite a number of enemies, rivals, and opponents that were better off dead. Or, in his case, permanently erased, preferably locked in some hole in the ground somewhere no one would ever find them again.
Entering the AISI building, he found himself frowning thoughtfully at the decor. Certainly not what he would vie for, but then again government agencies weren't known for class, grace, or diplomacy. The AISI might have been an intelligence agency, but it was the same difference comparing the AISI to the AISE as it was with comparing the FBI with the CIA. They were an internal intelligence agency, first and foremost. Second, they were sticklers to their own laws. They followed the book almost exclusively that he felt exhausted for them. And lastly, their operatives were severely outclassed in terms of training. They were prepared for handling criminals, but criminal masterminds? That was a stretch.
Walking up to the information desk, he gently tapped the table garnering a sharp glance from the man working. "May I help you?" He asked, sharp Italian almost biting and annoyed.
God, what an attitude. Frowning slightly, he decided to brush off the crudeness with a soft chuckle as he shifted to lean against the table. Removing his sunglasses, he squinted meaningfully at the younger man. "Yes, actually, I would like to report a crime. Or... well, a few. Mine included." There seemed to be a brief lapse in time in which he finally digested what had been to to him or perhaps it was the fact that the security computers were flashing with images of how Alphonse Fournier was a wanted criminal. Whatever it was, he saw the man all but jump to his feet, pressing a button that placed the building into lockdown.
Tilting his head, he glanced up seeing a array of armed guards pointing their guns at him. Glancing back to the young man, he raised an eyebrow at the young man's own hand gun. "That's quite excessive, don't you think?"
"Get down on your knees!" The man shouted at him in response. Sighing softly, he slowly lowered himself to his knees raising his hands in surrender. They made quick work of handcuffing him, manhandling roughly if he were to be quite honest. It wasn't that he minded it, but god, his suit certainly did.
They were quick to transport him afterwards. Instead of the classic bag over the head maneuver, they opted for a prisoner transportation vehicle or something akin to one. Shoving him into the back with a few armed guards and handcuffing him to the side of the vehicle, they drove in circles for what felt like hours while he leaned back against the cool metal a little unimpressed at their displays of control. Oh, little did they know. Chuckling softly to himself, he heard a loud thump against the metal body of the car. Glancing up, he met the cold glare of one of the AISI agents. Shrugging, he offered the man a smile.
They certainly didn't like his kind. When they finally secured him in an unknown and [he was guessing here] safe, black site, they locked him in another secure cell after strapping him down to make sure he couldn't utilize his hands. It was... well it was smart to say the least. It was only an hour or so before they finally decided to make contact with him. They referred to him as Hades. It was a charming sentiment that he was the king of the underworld or some sort of similar proposition given his hand in crime internationally, but... It was something else entirely. He'd give them that.
Seeing the door swing open, he lifted his head slowly smiling as the AISI director, Stefano Beneventi stared back at him. "The crime you wanted to report..." He said sharply, words heavy and full of authority that he didn't possess nor command. "Talk."
"No," he responded slowly. "These are by my terms and conditions. Now, as charming as you are Stefano, I won't talk to anyone but Camille Rossi." There was a brief moment in which confusion was apparent in Stefano's eyes before the man grimaced. He appeared angry after the confusion flitted by, squaring his shoulders as he lowered his voice.
"You are in no place to be making deals right now so talk." The unspoken threat wasn't lost to him, but he only smiled in response shrugging helplessly as he leaned back into the chair.
"Well then, if these criminals get away it'll be on you, Stefano," he hummed in response, maintaining eye contact with the man before Stefano finally looked away. Watching as the man leave, he chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. It wasn't important to him whether Vitale Costa died or not. He had many cases. Many individuals who would pique the AISI's interest, but oh the burden of guilt would rest heavy on a man like Stefano.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 6, 2017 0:57:17 GMT -5
Blood and closed eyes and pain in his arm and then nothing, blackness brought by a needle and a - a wet nose? His eyes flicked open to the sight of the little kitten poking at him curiously, his paw nose resting against Camille's and his paws on his chest. For a moment, it took him a moment to realise that his alarm was beeping softly, and it took him another moment to realise that this little thing needed feeding. Right. Right.
"Alright, Clemente," he groaned softly, pushing himself into a sitting position and gently brushing his thumb over the kitten's nose. He smiled as the little terror pounced down from the bed and ran towards the kitchenette, tail sticking upright. It took Camille a few moments to pinch the bridge of his nose and shake the rest of his nightmare from his mind, and then he stood up and began the day. He had a new job, after all, and he wanted to be able to be on time. That would look decent, at the very least.
He was doing alright, for a Mario Rossi. Not too shabby. Beat that, world. Either abandoned by his parents or orphaned, he didn't know which - had considered looking into it but didn't really want to know the truth, he'd been lost in the foster system quickly. Quicker than most, he supposed. Moved up and down Italy in search of a home to look after him - he'd never found the right sort of folks, growing up. He'd been running out on days in the system when the Belmonte family had taken him in; the sweetest old couple he'd ever met, shrouded in mystery but caring enough. Allegra Belmonte had been a piano teacher and had died barely a year after he'd moved in, she'd taught him to cook and had taught him to dress wounds. She'd been his mother, even for a short time. Donatello Belmonte, on the other hand, was something less desirable. Or...had been? Cam didn't know what, didn't care. All he knew was that the man was the best (possibly only) father that he knew, and he made damn sure to keep in contact with him.
Camille supposed he was a pretty great dad, himself. Clemente had been here for an entire week, was supposed to have gotten upset or distressed at the change but instead managed to shove himself into Cam's life, make everything better. The little silver Savannah kitten was, technically, not entirely legal - but hey, he could deny knowing the thing was more wildcat than anything else. No big deal. The law was flexible when it came to goddamn cats.
"Mrr."
"I agree entirely," he poked the little thing with a toe, smiled as he whipped around and attacked with bared fangs and outstretched claws, entertained the kitten for only a few moments before he glanced to the clock and realised, with dawning horror, that even leaving now meant that he was going to get caught in rush hour traffic. He finished dressing - the joys of living alone meant moving while dressing - and focused on gathering everything he needed; AISI ID? Check. Wallet? Check. Keys? What? Oh, kitten's mouth. Check. He patted his pockets a few times before he nodded to himself, satisfied that he was ready to go. "Take care of yourself, now, hm?" he crouched down to scratch Clemente behind the ear, smiled at the little purrs that emanated from such a little thing. "You have food and water and your scratching post, please don't destroy the blinds or my bed - again - and you know where the snacks are if you get hungry, you know how to turn on the television, yes?" a little meep. "That's what I thought. Good kitty. Papa will be home tonight, and he is going to bring you fish."
As if the cat understood, he reached up with a paw too large for his body, batted lightly at Cam's leg. He laughed and kissed the little thing on the head, before standing up and leaving his apartment, heading down the stairs rather than taking his chances with the elevator. The thing often managed to break down.
Walking out of the building was a normal thing - what wasn't normal were the black SUVs, three of them, parked in a sort of semi-circle around the building. He slowed his pace a little and frowned, glancing behind him. The sirens were on - he'd heard them as he'd been coming down the stairs. He didn't miss the helicopter above his head, either. He raised a slow eyebrow.
"Agent Rossi," one of the men greeted, "I'm Agent Bianchi, I'm a Special Agent. I'm going to need you to come with me."
He didn't think he'd broken any laws, didn't think his background checks had come back with anything - hence why he'd got the job - but he raised an eyebrow and shrugged lazily, followed without much of a thought.
The ride to the local HQ wasn't too bad - silent, but not bad. The sirens were still on but he hadn't been handcuffed, so it was easy to assume that he probably hadn't done anything wrong. This, of course, was not how he expected his first day to go - but he accepted it, and went along with it. There wasn't much he could do, after all.
It wasn't long until he was sitting across from Stefano Beneventi, director. The man was frowning rather notably, but Camille decided not to focus too much on that.
"What can you tell me, Agent Rossi?" the man asked in a calm tone - though he didn't know if it was forced or not.
"Nothing, really, sir," he flicked a gaze to Bianchi, who'd come along for the ride, it seemed. "I'm a Behavioral Analyst, I was recently hired. My background checks are clean, sir."
He could tell that the other man was searching for something, but Camille wasn't sure what. He frowned a little and maintained eye contact. Stefano sighed slowly. "Then why does Fournier want you?"
"I wish I could tell you, sir. Perhaps he's trying to prey on someone low in the chain, to manipulate me? A lot of criminals think they can do that."
"I see." for a moment, Camille wondered if he was going to be thrown out of AISI. Then, Stefano smiled slowly. "I supposed we had best arrange transport, then. You're sure you can handle him?"
"Yes, sir."
For the second time that day, he was bundled into the back of one of the sleek black SUVs, though this time, he was given a file. It was what little they had composed on Hades; the man was wanted, which wasn't surprising. Dangerous for many reasons, managed to fly low on the radar. It felt like a standard report.
"Where are we going?" he asked - Bianchi, sitting to his left, shifted his weight.
"Black site."
Camille waited for more, but none came. He sighed slowly and accepted this as they went towards their destination, waited as the cars slowed and came to a halt. It wasn't long before he was walking with the Director and Bianchi, glancing at monitors that showed the criminal in question. Well. He looked like his wanted poster, alright. Though there were doubts in his mind, he pushed them aside and walked in the direction he was instructed to, watched them open the door and frowned a little as he stood in front of Alphonse Fournier. He took a moment before sighing and taking the seat one of the guards had thrown over, sat back idly and briefly glanced down at his hands - Clemente had given him a nasty scratch that itched a little - before looking up again and raising a slow eyebrow.
"Talk," he said. "You wanted me, I'm here. You've got what you wanted, so talk."
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 6, 2017 7:40:26 GMT -5
He was bored. That did not come as a surprise and though it was starting to become a bit exhausting, he didn't voice his complaints. There were elementary techniques to get someone to talk and then there was this. They weren't even isolating him to get him to speak quicker. It was clear they were trying to scramble about, trying to make ends meet to hand up Camille Rossi on a silver platter like he had requested. As amusing as easy as it was to get them to do what he wanted, he certainly didn't like waiting without cause.
He was a patient man, that wasn't the problem. But then again, he usually didn't have his hands shackled nor was he forced to remain in a very uncomfortable seated position. Settling as comfortably as he could in the chair, he decided to use the time they had allotted him to contemplate his next course of action. He couldn't give what they wanted to them simply. Well, he could but where was the fun in that? Using the time to think about the events he knew were about to occur, he also glanced about his holding cell to take note of the cameras.
They had no semblance of privacy. It was amusing to him before the door opened and Camille Rossi came into view. Keeping his reaction muted, he smiled at the younger man sitting across from him. He was so much more tangible in person than he was on the dossiers. He had recognized him at first sight when he had seen the photos. He hadn't wanted to believe it. Twenty two years with no results and suddenly this? It was impossible. But it was possible.
He took Camille's features. He had many telling features that revealed he was his mother's child. The confidence in which he held himself was both amusing and endearing as he flicked his eyes down to look at what Camille glanced at. The slight red inflammation of an injury made him want to furrow his brows in concern but instead he maintained a smirk. "Oh please, no pleasantries?" Raising an eyebrow, he chuckled softly as he maintained his eyecontact with the younger man.
If only Seraphin saw him now, she would be proud of the man Camille was today. Allowing the words to linger for a bit, he shifted slightly, briefly peeved by the lack of mobility the restraints allowed him. Usually, the handcuffs he was used to were binding, but not to the point where he was tied to the chair completely unable to shift at all. Resolving himself to not move again he relaxed into the bonds, accepting that he wasn't going to be able to cross his legs and settle comfortably.
Biting back a snarky remark that was equal parts bitterness at his own inability and natural snarkiness, he tilted his head at an angle to look at Camille closer. God, how he missed those eyes. "I'll tell you what you want to know, but tell me, Agent Rossi, have you ever worked a case as big as mines?" He already knew the answer, but this moment was so fleeting.
He wanted to be able to converse with the young AISI agent for longer. But he could see it in those eyes, a despise for him, a stranger who believed he could he easily manipulate him. If Camille was anything like Seraphin, easy would be a gross understatement. There was so much he did not know about the young man. So much that could not be told simply by the basic details in the dossier. Giving Camille time to answer, he couldn't help but wondered if Camille even recognized him.
It was with a slight pang in his chest that he stared at the young man. Remaining silent for a beat too long, he finally continued. "But, since this is a rather time sensitive matter I'll get straight to the matter at hand.
As long as they didn't know he had hooked up Vitale Costa's political opponent with the Czajka gang or unit or whatever they had taken to calling themselves nowadays, then what did it matter after all? Vitale, from what he knew was better than the current politician, but not by much. He was a fair share of rather sexual scandals, but there were some policies he had that made him a lot better than the forerunner for the position he was running for. Honestly, Alphonse didn't really care if the man died.
He was more concerned about flaunting his worth successfully and also taking back from the Czajka gang that camera chip they had. Their tendencies to record, humiliate, torture, and kill their victims wasn't something that surprised him and he supposed he shouldn't have been bothered by it, and it didn't bother him, but he didn't like it.
"The Meseret abduction in Ethiopia in 2001, or in more recent light, the hostage situation in 2015 meant to single out Jürgen Ehrlinger the CEO of a large technology manufacturing company are both premeditated by a very professional, ruthless, and well trained unit of experts specializing in the kidnapping of high profile targets. They're led by an individual by the name Mikolaj Czajka."
They had far too many civilian causalities for his own liking. Though, on occasions it was simply impossible not to have any, Mikolaj and his unit had far too many for anyone who considered themselves a professional in this line of business. "In," he paused to mentally go over the time. They had been as case efficient as they possibly could. He supposed they still had a good deal of time. An hour or two. Revising his statement, he clicked his tongue softly. "At the Costa political address at 7pm today, Mikolaj will hit and he and his men will do so without warning. They have a complete and utter lack of regards for the worth of civilian casualty. They will kill anyone in their way. You should act quickly. Otherwise, they'll be gone with Vitale Costa and he'll die."
Tilting his head, he regarded Camille with curiosity. "You wouldn't want that," he drawled slowly, "Now would you, Camille? So I suggest working fast, Millie. They don't wait for anyone." He knew there would be questions. Or perhaps, there would be none and Camille would surprise him, but he knew one thing. He didn't care if the AISI succeeded or not, but he did care if Millie - no, Camille - succeeded. He wanted nothing more than that. Smiling, he leaned back content with the situation he had placed into motion. From here on out, things would get messy, but he had no doubts he would reap the benefits in the end. Or at the very least, Camille would.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 6, 2017 13:42:02 GMT -5
The stature of Alphonse Fournier was not intimidating; files said he was just over six feet, he didn't look muscular under those clothes (weight, of course, said otherwise) - none of that was intimidating. It was, rather, the air that the man held himself even after being detained, the fact that he could still act like he had control of the situation. Maybe he did. Camille flicked his gaze to one of the armed guards briefly before returning it to Fournier.
He knew little about the man, only what he'd been briefed about on the way here. The man was wanted, and yet managed to be subtle, to work underneath everyone's noses. It wasn't just a national matter - Fournier was wanted internationally, with various nations seeking him. He was also a Frenchman, which...well, it begged the question why. Why had he turned himself in to AISI, an Italian agency, and why did he want to speak with Camille Rossi - a Mario Rossi, a John Doe, whatever people wanted to call him. Maybe it wasn't anything, maybe it was just unlucky on Camille's behalf; but he was nervous, kept it hidden underneath his skin and instead watched for the other man's movements, any telltales he could pick up.
"No," he said sharply. "It's my first day, but you already know that if you know my name."
Was he supposed to analyse something here? He'd been told, naturally, that Fournier would only talk with him - but he didn't know if they wanted him to do his main job, too. Maybe this was a one-off, a thing where they brought him in on demand and then shoved him out once his job was done. That was simple. Hell, man, it was his first f**king day, and he was at a blacksite. Had been given a confidential file on a high risk criminal. It was strange, and Camille didn't know how he was supposed to feel about it.
Though he felt like he wasn't supposed to hear these things, he listened anyway. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Director and other agents moving about behind their glass window protection from a chained man, could see them talking and conversing. He exhaled slowly through his nose, and continued to listen to the case. He wasn't too in-depth in politics, himself; knew enough to vote, but cared very little beyond human rights.
Mikolaj Czajka. Sounded Polish, and if he was in charge of a well-trained unit - well. He had to be powerful. Had to have influence.
It occurred to him that he had no means of verifying if this was true, had no reason to believe that Fournier was telling the truth. It could be an elaborate ruse; turning himself in and turning in criminals, he didn't understand it, didn't want to. It wasn't like some kid explaining that he'd stolen from a shopkeeper because he had no money; this was a high-rated criminal turning in other high-rated criminals. It was suicidal.
"Why should I believe you?" he asked, shaking his head. "And if what you say is true, then enhanced security won't matter because he'll just kill them too," he narrowed his eyes, considered for a moment what was happening before sighing, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are you even here, in Italy? Why not turn yourself in to France?"
He didn't like it. Not one bit. It was a high risk job, could be high reward - if it were true. If they could pull it off. And hell, this was a Frenchman talking to a bunch of Italians. Perhaps he'd made a deal with his country to plant falsified paranoia, to create fear where it wasn't necessary.
But another part of him felt like it was the truth. Like they could trust Fournier's word - but that just made him feel suspicious. He didn't know this man, didn't know sh*t about him until today. The files were minimal, he was a ghost, not real. He was strange and Camille didn't quite understand, but he wanted to. Wanted to find out why he was the one being spoken to, why Fournier had come to AISI and hadn't gone to the DGSI in France, instead. It made more sense to serve one's home country, like he, himself, wanted to serve Italy. Wanted to do his country proud - but he supposed a criminal couldn't do that. He studied the man again - he was intimidating, even when restrained.
In another time, maybe Camille could've respected him. Hell, it was hard not to respect him now - only made easier by the knowledge of the crimes committed, and even then, it was a record hard to verify because no-one knew. It wasn't as if eyewitnesses would stay alive, or anyone threatening to betray would, either. He'd learned enough in university to know that it was a dog eat dog world, and these people would take each-other down. He'd heard of cases of mobsters tearing each-other apart, of civilised corrupt politicians accusing each-other of this and that. There was no guaranteed safety, but that didn't excuse the crimes themselves. The criminal life was, he had decided, something that you chose to do.
He didn't know why a man like Fournier would decide to become a criminal, and he knew even less about why he would turn himself in.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 7, 2017 7:41:25 GMT -5
There was something about Camille that amused Alphonse. It was, perhaps, the air of naivety and ignorance that still lingered about the young man. He was grossly unprepared for the job Alphonse wanted him to do and yet there was no one in the world he would trust with the task more than Camille. Certainly not the clown show that called itself the AISI at the very least. People like Stefano Benventi thought too highly of themselves. It stemmed from the moral tree of self righteousness, he supposed.
Tilting his head in interest at the sharpness in Camille's voice, he supposed he'd hit a sore spot. Camille knew full well he was inexperienced and completely inadequate for the task placed in his hands, he felt manipulated. That wasn't true. He didn't seek to manipulate the young man, to expose his talents. Or maybe he was. His gaze softened as he smiled in response, maybe he was only good for using people. He knew one thing for certain though, he admired Camille's ability to keep cool under pressure. He wouldn't lie, wouldn't say he didn't notice the filthy looks. He was a criminal. The AISI had no reason to not despise him and given his track record... well, it was a surprise they were willing to listen to him at all before putting him into a hole in the ground. Then again, curiosity always killed the cat.
"Well," he spoke with a mildly amused tone of voice as he tipped his head to a side, a small smile on his face, "How do you like it so far? Is it everything you hoped it would be? Expected it to be?" Perhaps Camille would read it wrong. He'd assume Alphonse wanted to establish a more human side to him, something more tangible so that he could manipulate the young Agent easier. It wouldn't be a stretch, he was no stranger to manipulating people and he was curious to some extent of how accurate the entire profiling business was.
Slowly, his smile became a grin at Camille's response. There was a fair amount of suspicion from the younger man, it proved he had a good head on his shoulders and that was a relief. He was young, he was still susceptible to mistakes and naivety and believing far too quickly, but he hadn't. Not just yet. "Trust me?" He repeated the words clearly, raising a brow at the insinuation. Chuckling softly, he shook his head in disbelief. "God no."
"I'm not a first date kind of man," once the words were said, he paused, contemplating them once again before shrugging. "Well, I am," he admitted, fixing his first statement for its inaccuracy, "But that's not truly what's important. You have probable cause to believe me, but trust? That's a bit of a reach, don't you think? Unless, of course, you want to then I can't stop you."
He flicked his gaze past Camille, locking eyes briefly with Stefano who was attempting to mask his expression. There was something in the furrow of his brows that almost looked to be disdain. Well, that wasn't unusual. He was involved in all sorts of crimes. There were many done in Italy as well. He brokered crimes, was considered a dangerous felon and an instigator of violence by many.. There were some truths to the claims but his jobs were a lot more clean than the ordinary criminal. His methods were more precise and surgical, a lot different from the individuals he was offering to the AISI. Though he couldn't be considered a man who truly put much value on the worth of a the life a stranger, there still was something inherently wrong about killing everyone in a vicious and bloody manner in order to achieve ones' goals. And considering Mikolaj had an entire team aiding his efforts, he was just messy. Like the dog allowed to eat at the table that just wasn't well trained enough to keep its muzzle out of everyone else's meals.
Hearing Camille question their own ability to stop Mikolaj only heightened his amusement as he made no attempts to hide his wide grin as he lowered his head. "I am playing the part of an informant, Agent Rossi," he couldn't deny there was a fair deal of warmth in his voice, "I won't coach the AISI how to handle Mikolaj. I've given you credible intel. How you handle him is none of my concern, but to be honest, it would hardly interest me."
"And France?" He grinned, squinting as he looked Camille dead in the eye. He had seen files gathered by other criminals about him. There were holes here and there, but a story still formed if they read between the lies. When it came to government documents, there was a lot the DGSE had crossed on his files. "If you should know anything about me, Millie, it's that the DGSE would want me dead the moment I was in captivity. I highly doubt the DGSI would get any value from a dead man, besides, they don't have anyone quite as charming as you there. Now," he drawled slowly, tilting his head back once again to look out the glass behind Camille. Stefano was still watching with a grimace across his features, "As much as I enjoyed this, time is ticking and you still are here."
He knew by tossing information out about the DGSE, it would give not only Camille a bone to pick at but also the AISI. They would scramble to find out his records, to figure out he was not only originally a soldier, but a spy, and then later try to piece together his motive without much success. He watched the young man, wondering if he would settle on trusting Alphonse. He wouldn't screw the young man over. At least, not too badly if the job got in the way of him achieving his means.
He wanted to protect Camille because he was every bit like her but that was going to be impossible without him taking the proper precautions and making the right choices. In due time, he supposed, Camille would find out eventually. But if he had things his way, it would be never. How would he tell the young man all that had happened? Would Camille even want to speak to him after all was said and done? He didn't want to test the young man's patience nor virtue.
Glancing up once again, he could see agents were starting to move out there. Stefano's hands were shoved inside his pockets as he spoke to an agent Alphonse had been watching for some time. Unlike Agent Bianchi who was one of the leading AISI agents on his case, this man, Renato Notariano, was something else. He was unassuming, but the manner in which he held himself... That wasn't AISI which was strange unless Stefano was already poking into trying to access his files discreetly from the DGSE.. Well, it was looking to be such an interesting day. A good change of pace for his usually more eventful and sometimes bloody days. Well, there wasn't much difference. It was just... there was something inside of him that was finally laid at rest. He finally felt as if he had the right to relax, if only slightly.
Strange, how his peace of mind came at the price of his notorious freedom of movement and control. His eyes lingered over Camille for the briefest of moments. Oh, if you only knew, mon cher garçon.
A man like Alphonse Fournier demanded a heavy handed response. He was a threat and it made absolutely no sense why the Director of the AISI, Stefano Beneventi behaved as if they had anything to gain from this man. If there was anything to know about him, it was that he was a traitorous dog to his own nation and a man definitely not worth respect much less time of day. Still, when the request came from the AISI to send over Renato Notariano, he had no choice but to accept. It was in his nature. He had been trained to say yes to direct commands from a superior officer no matter how much he despised the request.
From where he was, he knew one thing for certain. Camille Rossi was young. He was inexperienced and if Stefano was willing to let him be in a room with a man known to manipulate people and use them for his own benefits, then the man was also ready for Camille to be a lost cause eventually somewhere down the road. Alphonse was certainly a charming man and he had many doubts that the young behavioral analyst knew the extents of the man's crimes and exactly how untrusthworthy their - no, his - kind was.
Alphonse was a different kind of spy. He had no loyalties, no one he cared about other than himself. He was selfish, a gross representation of spies who actually cared about their homelands and their families. He found himself frowning even as he watched the man, trying to see a strange action, something that was telling, but there was frustratingly enough nothing. His emotions to Camille seemed genuine to the point where his responses and his words seemed warm and inviting. But there was no trusting a man like him.
Turning to the Director of the AISI, he frowned, eyes flicking down briefly to catch notice of the man's stark white knuckles. Stefano seemed angry Alphonse was here so why was he giving him the time of day? There was no way any of the claims held any truth and the man was better off six feet under. He agreed with the DGSE on that if that was what Alphonse said they wanted. "You can't honestly believe him," he said the words flatly even as Stefano spared him a glance.
"You're not a specialist in the matter and neither am I. I want to hear Agent Rossi's opinion before we decide what to do," Stefano responded dismissively with a shrug. "It would be a shame to cause public fear for something that isn't going to happen, but imagine how you would sleep at night if something did happen and we decided to ignore it Agent Notariano." The curt response was all he would receive before Stefano left, giving clear orders to one of the guards to send Camille to him once he and Fournier were done.
Glaring through the glass at Fournier, he caught the man's gaze briefly and there was something about them that was chilling. There was something knowing in those eyes and the smile Alphonse offered him only worsened that unease. Holding his gaze until the man lost interest in him and once again looked back at Camille, he released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. There was no way a man could possess such a presence. Backing up and away from the glass, he shot one final glare towards the imprisoned man before heading up to watch him from the cameras.
He wasn't sulking about his as-hole boyfriend, no, he was honestly damn concerned about this Fournier incident that Italy now had to handled because the Frenchman had decided to make Italy the home to his own playground instead of France. At the very least, he hoped Stefano - despite his clear distaste at the AISE - would send him with Agents Rossi and Bianchi. If anything, they needed things from a different perspective and a helping pair of hands while in cahoots with a new agent wasn't a terrible thing. That and he certainly didn't want to be bored all f*cking day because the Director of the AISE had decided he was going to be the one to come deal with this sh*tshow.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2017 14:16:24 GMT -5
It felt like he was being mocked. Ridiculed. But he didn't think that was entirely the case, so he studied Fournier further. Camille was supposed to be an analyst, so he supposed he'd try to analyse the situation. Or, well. If this thing was the truth. He bit his lip, exhaled slowly through his nose.
"I didn't expect or want bullsh*t on my plate," his tone was eerily soft, a calm tone in his anger - though he wasn't quite sure what he was angry at. Fournier? Probably. He was a felon, had violent crimes on his plate. But on top of everything, Fournier knew about Cam and yet he knew nothing about the other man; hell, he hadn't known that he'd existed until this morning.
The childhood nickname, that confused him. God, he hadn't heard anyone aside from Donatello call him Millie for years. Allegra had started it because she'd thought it was cute, and it had become something of a thing between him and his adoptive father over the years. He'd disliked it at first, had thought it was girly and silly. He'd later learned that it was affectionate, and so he'd accepted it. Being called Millie by a criminal that somehow knew him, it felt too personal, too much. He swallowed thickly and weighed his options.
"You don't care if he's taken down," he said softly, getting to his feet. One of the armed guards shifted his weight, seeming to sense that Camille was prepared to leave. "I don't know your angle, Fournier."
He decided not to give the man any information on if he was going to act on the information. Hell, it wasn't his call - at least, he didn't think so. After a couple of moments, he moved away and nodded to the guard. "The Director wants you to talk to him," the guard murmured softly, and it was with another nod that Camille followed the man, glancing over his shoulder at Fournier briefly. He was a strange man. It made no sense why he would want to turn himself in. Made even less sense as to why he wanted to speak with Camille. Had he known that he was going to work there? Known what day he was going to start? What if Cam hadn't worked there? There had to be many Rossi men and women, though he supposed less were known as Camille. He didn't know what to think, felt conflicted. At least he was certain on one aspect, however.
"Well?" the Director raised an eyebrow as Camille approached, didn't look too amused. "What are your thoughts? Do you trust him?"
"No," Camille's brows furrowed and he glanced at the live video footage they had of various angles of Fournier, "but I do think he's telling the truth. Mikolaj Czajka's unit is going to hit Vitale Costa at 7pm. I'm certain of it."
For a moment, he felt scrutinised. Felt both Agent Bianchi's and Director Beneventi's gazes on him, didn't like it one bit. He wished he was back with Clemente, making sure the kitten hadn't torn up anything or hadn't been yowling in the middle of the day, angering his elderly neighbor who hated cats and loved her midday naps.
"So, what, you're expecting us to go out there? On a possible goose chase?" there was a dry sort of amusement to Bianchi's words. "This isn't your call to make, Agent Rossi. I'm one of the leading agents on the Fournier case, and trust me when I say that his words--" he pointed to the cameras, "they're not worth even considering. We've got him, so we might as well hand him over to the DGSE. I'm sure they'll be thrilled."
"He's a possible asset," he flicked his gaze away from the two men, instead focusing on the newcomer - he hadn't seen him before. He blinked owlishly before looking away, back to the glass. "Didn't he just walk in?"
The silence was tense and if looks could kill, he was sure that Bianchi's would've killed him thrice over by now. Beneventi, on the other hand, looked contemplating. Like he wasn't sure what to believe, at the moment. He was a difficult man to read, but Camille was trained in that sh*t - analysing the behaviour of criminals came with analysing the behaviour of humans. Now, he was not as good as someone working in profiling, but hell, he had a PhD in Psychology and there was no way that didn't come in handy. He could tell emotions, even though it was supposed to be hard for him. He could tell that Beneventi was actually considering it.
"I think we'll try," Beneventi turned around to Bianchi. "Agent Rossi, whether you like it or not, is a member of your task force. If Fournier is only willing to talk to him, then you have little say in the matter."
"With all due respec--"
"This is not up for discussion. A man's life is likely at stake. Get on it."
Camille wondered if Bianchi was aware of how red his face was. He doubted it; the shade of red-purple was worrying, almost, and mildly amusing. Like a kid who hadn't been allowed the sweets he'd wanted. It took a long moment (every moment, for Costa, was leading towards danger, probably) - but Bianchi finally nodded and jerked his head for Camille to follow him, which he did.
"How do you know him?" Bianchi asked once they were out of earshot of the Director. He asked one of the techs to get on locating Costa's current whereabouts, as well as grabbing the location he would be in at seven. "Seriously. You have to know him for him to want to talk to you."
"I don't know him," he frowned uneasily, "seriously. When I was told about him I thought maybe I'd met him once or twice when I was younger, but that's not the case. I've never seen that man in my life."
The gaze settled on him was cold and unwelcoming, certainly not trusting. Camille didn't blame him. Not really. "Well," the other man sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "You're part of this team now. We're going to keep eyes on Costa," he frowned, didn't seem to like the idea and Camille couldn't blame him, not really. "If we increase security then it'll probably scare them away," the sharp glare directed at him meant that yes, his words earlier had been heard. "We want to see if this threat is real. You should prepare, Agent Rossi. You're going into the action. You are field-trained, yes?"
"Of course."
"Then you'll have no problems in doing fieldwork."
He said nothing as Bianchi walked away, felt a little lost. It wasn't long before he was helped by someone else who didn't seem to hate him (though there was no trust).
It was half an hour before they left, which felt like time wasting. He glanced at his watch and frowned, shifted his weight a little and leaned against the window. They were probably going to end up in a gunfight which sounded...bad. Very bad. He bit his lip and tilted his head back, listened to the idle radio chatter keeping tabs on Costa. The closer they got to the time that Mikolaj's gang was supposed to attack, the more anxious he got - and yet he noticed that despite everything, his hands were still. He supposed he'd always been like that. Donatello had once joked that his biological father had to be someone cold, calculating, that Cam had inherited a tactical nature and a way with words and a presence. God, it was funny. Donatello was not a good man, and yet here Cam was, trying to be a good man. Maybe it would've been easier to help with the Belmonte's business rather than try to be part of the AISI, but hey. He was here, now.
"Nothing's happening so far," Bianchi said from the front seat. "There's gotta be some sort of prep, something to catch them before they go in. I call bull."
"He said they'd hit without warning," Camille sighed softly as he looked out the window. He wasn't dignified with a response, just heard a low huff from the front that told him that the words of Fournier weren't being paid too much caution to. In his mind, logically, it made more sense to try to scare Mikolaj's group away, to take Costa into custody and try to keep him safe - but that wasn't happening.
They parked around the corner, and they waited. This was it; the waiting game, to see if it was true or not. They didn't care about Camille's decision - not enough to take action. Just enough to watch, to see and dive in if Costa got attacked. What if it didn't happen? Would Camille get fired? He didn't know, he hoped not. Some part of him hoped that Fournier had been telling the truth. Was that all he was working with, hm? The hope that he wasn't being toyed with? He ran a hand through his hair and slid down in his seat a little, crossed his arms and waited quietly, staring blankly at the seat in front of him.
Time passed. He glanced at his watch; seven o'clock passed, and yet nothing seemed to happen. Finally, the radio - somewhat static-y - flickered on.
"Shots fired inside, we need to extract Costa."
Without hesitation, the driver started the engine and sped around the corner and towards their location, stopped in the middle of the road - essentially making a block. He heard instructions on the radio but noted that Bianchi was more focused on getting ready. Hell, they even had their bulletproof vests at the ready. They knew there was a threat, they just hadn't wanted to believe Fournier, he supposed.
"We go in, get Costa," the briefing was short, "be careful, don't split up too much. Teams of two, at least. Agent Rossi, you're with me."
Probably to keep tabs on him. Camille shrugged and nodded, followed his elder into the building. There was panic, understandably; politicians who'd come to hear the speech, cowered into corners. There were dead people, too, the scent of blood was strong. He shook this off, however, and followed with his gun drawn. They moved carefully, following the sound of screams and gunfire, against their better judgement. Camille hadn't expected this, hadn't wanted this to be his first day, but he supposed it was what it was. It was too late to back out now, too late to just...go and wait in the car.
The main room was a bloodbath, and that was an understatement. These people hadn't just been shot once or twice, they'd been shredded. He supposed they were the wives of lower politicians as well as the politicians themselves. Civilian fatalities all because they hadn't moved fast enough, hadn't paid serious attention to the warning given.
Despite all odds, Costa was there. Trembling and curled up behind the podium, hands over his head. Maybe he'd played dead, or maybe he'd given the gang the runaround. The gunfire was just ahead.
"Vitale Costa? I'm Agent Luciano Bianchi and this is Agent Camille Rossi, we're here to secure you and take you to a safe location. We have to move quickly."
After a glance to Bianchi, Camille moved forward and offered his arm to the man. For a moment, he feared that Costa wouldn't accept his assistance; but finally, the politician took his arm and accepted being pushed along, away from the gunfire and the yells. God, how far had people run to escape? He felt an oncoming dread but pushed it away, decided that, no, he couldn't focus on what ifs. They had secured the victim, now they needed to get him out and get him safe. It felt like years before they reached the car, Costa in the back with Camille, Bianchi driving. God, it was scary driving.
It was even scarier, he supposed, for sudden gunfire to erupt at the SUV. He pushed Costa down and ducked himself, watched the windows break once, then shatter as bullets hit. He frowned and glanced to Bianchi.
"I think they're onto us," he said, voice surprisingly light despite the pressure. "We can't just take him to where we need to go, we're going to need to give them the runaround."
"I know," Bianchi glanced into the rearview mirror, seemed to wince. Against his better judgement, Camille peeked over the back seat. They were being chased by a motorcyclist, it looked like - with a van not far behind. "I know how to do my job, Rossi."
Camille hummed, but didn't respond. He could hear the bike's loud revving, the sirens that Bianchi had had to flick on to make sure people got out of their way instead of getting harm. There was a moment of silence before a loud bang, and he flicked his gaze up to see what was happening. The SUV swerved, and Bianchi cursed.
"Think they shot one of our wheels," he explained, upon realising that Cam was watching. "We're going to need to stop somewhere, try and keep Costa safe."
How? Cam wondered, but didn't voice it. There was another bang before the car screeched, didn't just float to the side but slammed onto its side. It skidded a few feet before stopping, but god his neck hurt, and he felt blood. No matter, it was his own. Costa seemed to be fine. He heard a few gunshots, glanced to the front seat.
"I'm trapped," Bianchi grimaced, unbuckled his seatbelt and kicked at the door. He was bleeding, too. "Can you move?"
"Yeah," Camille moved towards the door, reached up - but the door was already open, and there was a gun at his temple. Whatever was said to him was in Polish and, goddamnit, Cam didn't speak that language. He yelped as he was grabbed by the scruff of his shirt and thrown out onto the street, struggled before something was placed under his nose. He heard Bianchi yelling something - and then that stopped, too.
He woke up to sirens - which hurt his head. He pushed himself into a sitting position and groaned, pushed whoever was fussing over him away. There were firefights and an ambulance, police and - yep, some of the agents they'd come on this mission with. He glanced to the side and saw that Bianchi was waking up, too. Whatever they'd been knocked out with, it hadn't been harmful, he supposed.
"Where's Costa?" he asked as one of the other agents from Bianchi's team approached him. The woman shook her head and smiled faintly.
"Probably taken from the wreckage."
He frowned at this, and the rest of the time passed in a blur. It wasn't long after he was seen to - he had some mild grazes and had been knocked around, but he'd live - and after that, they headed back to the blacksite. Bianchi didn't stop in the main room, instead all but charging through the armed guards, heading through the room they had on surveillance for Fournier.
"I need to speak with him," Bianchi said roughly as the Director turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. After a glance to Camille (who shrugged), he nodded to the guards. They stepped aside and let both Bianchi and Camille through. It seemed, however, that Bianchi's rage could not be stopped.
He stopped in front of Fournier, breathing heavily with his fists curled. Then, Bianchi took a deep breath. Probably to relax himself.
"Where did they take Costa?" he all but snarled, leaning forward a little. "We will hand you over to the DGSE, I swear, if you don't tell us where they took him."
He wasn't sure why he, himself, was here. It had been instinct to follow Bianchi into this room, but for what? To protect him from Fournier? That wasn't necessary. Hell, Camille was more preoccupied with the civilian casualties; they were still getting reports, but it seemed that people on the street had died, too. There was a pileup on one of the roads. It was, frankly, a mess. He bit his lip and scratched at one of the bandages on his cheek, an absent motion as he tried to pay as little attention to Bianchi's conversation with Fournier (or, well. Bianchi's accusations) as possible.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 8, 2017 2:15:00 GMT -5
Watching the AISI agents move about from the corner of his eyes, Renato caught the young behavioral analyst - Camille Rossi - staring at him briefly. He couldn't quite fathom what was so interesting about Rossi that Alphonse Fournier of all people had requested for him. There were hundreds of new agents being accepted into the AISI if that was the case and Fournier had merely wanted someone new and capable of being manipulated. Though he had to give it to Rossi, the man held his composure well.
Fournier had this certain look in his eyes that seemed to align perfectly with the files the AISE had managed to gather about the man's time in the DGSE. It was no surprise a man like him could be an interrogation specialist. There was a certain lightness to the man's tone that was unsettling, the gentleness in which he spoke to anybody and everybody was off when it came to his profile, but his gaze was enough to make a lesser man break eye contact. Renato had contemplated it earlier, but it was Fournier who had looked away first.
The thing that had frustrated him was that it wasn't submission, it was Fournier simply deciding he didn't want to waste his time holding Renato's gaze. Despite his distaste for the Frenchman, he agree with Camille's words even as the screen reflected Alphonse's every movement. The man seemed to shift only to make himself comfortable in the metal chair. His expression was nearly unreadable from the angle in which he had ducked his head, but there was a smile toying on his lips as if he knew. Glancing back towards the AISI agents, he could hear Beneventi making his final decision. They were going and it would seem without him.
Perking up as Bianchi and Rossi left, he fixed Director Beneventi with an inquisitive glance. "So I'm not going with them?" He asked, voice low in order to filter out the annoyance he felt. Beneventi didn't give away much else than the slight twitching of the corner of his lips, a sign of displeasure that his orders were being questioned.
"No," Beneventi agree, turning away from him. "I want you to get those files asap from the AISE. Your director promised me them, that's the only reason your division is involved at all because this is my operations. Your director has no jurisdiction here."
Holding his tongue, he stared at Benventi's back for a brief moment before breaking his gaze. "Understood, sir," he finally spat out, holding back the edge in his words only for politeness sake. First Ivo and then he was now the AISI errand boy, that was unbecoming of a distinguished agent like himself. But if Director Siciliano thought he was best suited for the job, then he wouldn't argue. At least he wasn't going to cause a scene like one of the more brasher agents.
Slipping one of the AISI radios out with him, he headed back to AISE to his office space to dig through the files on Fournier. Placing the radio on his desk. Pulling out the file marked Alphonse Fournier, it interested him that the dossier was not a criminal record but one that was more commonplace with the files on other agencies' operatives. That meant one of two things. They either never updated the records - which was strange - or they couldn't garner any true details on his operations which was terrifying all things considered.
The AISE was an intelligence agency and if they didn't have the most recent knowledge on external threats than they weren't doing their job properly. Placing the aged dossier on his desk he bent down to open one of his drawers, pulling out a container of biscottis before leaning back in his seat to flip through the files.
He'd actually never heard much of the man. Fournier, for all his fame, was something of a taboo. Spies didn't mention him. They said he was prime example of a man who turned, and the worst part about it was there was no good reason. One day, he had been a loyal compatriot of France, and then the next he disappeared. There was probable reason for the French government to believe he had died. There had been enough blood on the scene to assume the worse. Apparently his death wasn't the worst that could have happened.
Sometime after the incident, years down the road, he resurfaced outside of France. The man was involved with crimes, he faked his own death, and he disappeared. That was it. Throughout the years, there was bits and pieces of knowledge on his operations. An arms dealing here, a contract brokered between criminals and a large company there, and some evidence that he was possibly working with a highly successful businesswoman in Canada who possessed a large number of docks which meant it was possible Fournier had a fair deal of sea control in addition to his probable associate in the United Kingdoms who owned a sizable number of private air grounds internationally.
He was impossible to track down. The brief intel they did possess of him was not close to nearly enough for them to catch him so... "What are you doing here?" He muttered to himself, staring at the image of the younger Fournier. Biting down on another biscotti, he furrowed his brows as he flipped back and forth between the sparse information they had on him. Hearing a crackle from the radio, he glanced up. There was radio silence before he heard a voice over the radio.
"Shots fired inside, we need to extract Costa." Good god, they couldn't have f*cked up already. Glancing down at his watch, it was a little ways past seven. Those idiots had best not let their guard down, he thought bitterly as he closed the file and shoved it into his coat haphazardly before finishing up his biscotti and tucking the radio away. Over the radio, he could hear calls becoming more frantic. There was word of an officer down, the sounds of a civilian's scream, and gunfire. He found himself settling in his car for awhile, listening to the noise before starting up the engine.
Tapping the steering wheel, he ran his hands over the familiar grip for a brief moment to calm himself. He hated being on the outside, only to listen, but unable to help. "Italy's best," he muttered, words verging on scornful. At least with him not present, the blame fell completely on the AISI so there was always that. Pulling up to the blacksite, he headed back in, flashing his badge briefly to the guards present. Slipping the radio back where it was, he nodded to Director Beneventi before dropping Fournier's files off. Settling into a chair, he found himself staring at the camera screens again.
There had been word of the car Costa had been in being shot at by Czajka's men, but he had stopped paying attention once he entered the blacksite. He wondered, as he scrutinized Fournier, if the man had set this up. Had sent someone as inexperienced as Rossi in there to f*ck them up with the inclusion of a rookie. Perhaps it was all a ploy like Bianchi was pushing for, he wasn't quite sure. But there was nothing telling from the man. He didn't even seem bored or restless. Instead, he seemed relaxed, comfortably settled inside the chair with his eyes closed in a manner that almost looked like he was dozing off. But Renato knew better.
There was no way Fournier would let his guard down. Hearing Beneventi's radio crackle to life, he glanced up briefly watching as the director listened to the news about his team losing Costa and that Agents Rossi and Bianchi were injured, but otherwise alive. Huh, how lucky. Keeping his eyes on Beneventi, he watched as the AISI director left the room slowly heading down to where Fournier was only to watch him. Fournier didn't open his eyes to stare back.
Seeing the doors swing open and Bianchi storm through with Rossi in tow, Renato pulled himself to his feet, whistling softly to himself. Looks like trouble, he thought, following the duo down. When Bianchi made his accusations, he watched as Fournier tilt his head up, opening his eyes slowly to pin Bianchi with a look that could make a man's blood run cold. Almost tauntingly, Fournier offered Bianchi a small smile in response.
"I didn't expect or want bullsh*t on my plate." Well, that certainly didn't sound good coming from Camille. It seemed to him the young man didn't appreciate being dragged into any of this. Staring at Camille, he wondered briefly if he would have been more content with a quieter life working the smaller jobs. The easier ones. Perhaps he was different from his parents after all. Perhaps he didn't like a good challenge, didn't want to prove himself. Maybe he was content with a simple life.
But if Alphonse had uncovered Camille's identity, then anyone could. That was a fact and there was no way he could protect the younger man unless he was close enough to. If he turned his back on Camille and pretended he was dead after all the efforts he had put into finding the young man, he would have to accept that if anything happened to the young man, it was out of his control. And he wasn't willing to accept that simply. If he could control the lives of those around him and shift the currents of the criminal world with his influence, then he didn't believe he couldn't protect Camille Rossi.
Despite himself, he smiled at the words, but stayed his tongue. His eyes softened as he looked at Camille, listening to the gentle tone which the young man used to speak to him. "I don't know your angle." Instead of offering Camille a response that would garner nothing but spite, he watched the young man leave. He could see him stopping briefly to talk to the guard, no doubt Stefano's doing. Glancing up at the camera knowingly in turn, he stared at it briefly before lowering his gaze.
He knew his words had gotten through to Camille. He knew the young man didn't like him, but he hadn't expected him to. They were from two very different worlds and though Camille didn't like him, he believed him. His words had been enough evidence. He wasn't trying to figure out if Alphonse had been telling the truth or not, but what he had wanted from this. What he would gain. A smart boy, indeed.
At least he took after them. He had his mother's stature, their eyes, a good head between his shoulders, and a cool, cold composure that was respectable for a man of his age. He was so young. Closing his eyes, he tried to close out that trail of thought. Maybe later, maybe in private. But not now. Now was when the show was taking place, all eyes were on him. They couldn't find out about the connection. That would only cause an investigation into Rossi, a question about a conflict of interests and loyalties. No, that wouldn't do.
Slowly getting used to the slight shift of fabric and the rustling of movement from the guards outside, he settled on thinking about things he hadn't thought about for years. Perhaps it was time to find her. She would want to see Camille as much as he had. She would want to see him despite everything. The thought left a lump in his throat and he found himself swallowing thickly, eyelashes fluttering as he cracked his eyes open briefly to stare at the floor. Maybe.
Recounting the time that had ticked by, he supposed, it would be any moment now that they came back with their news of success. Or rather, failure. Czajka had known they were coming, Alphonse had told him as much in return for the man keeping Agent Rossi alive because the young man had been his informant. Or so he had said. Hearing a different sound than the stock still silence of his guards, he tilted his head slightly towards the glass, the heavy footsteps telling of Stefano Beneventi.
Soon after, he heard loud footsteps, heavy with purpose and not control. There was a difference, they sounded aggressive. Hearing Bianchi's words, he slowly lifted his head in response, opening his eyes to stare at the agent before smiling. So everything was going according to plan after all. Taking note of the duo's injuries, he spoke softly knowingly attacking the agent's bruised ego. "Back so soon?" The slight lift in his tone of voice was telling of what he thought of Bianchi. "And so angry too?" His gentleness was working in opposition to Bianchi's rage.
He could see that AISE agent shifting in the background, clearly content with watching and not helping. He was smarter, more calculated. Certainly more dangerous, if he wished to be. He would keep an eye on that man. "You didn't listen, did you? Or is Italy's finest just inadequate?" The clear accusation in his words didn't go unnoticed as he leveled with the other man, spreading his chained hands in a gesture of honesty and openness. "This isn't on me, it's on you. I don't know where Costa is. I told you, if Czajka took Costa with him, it's over."
"But," he drawled meaningfully, dragging out the words for apprehension, "Maybe I can be of some assistance. But only if this is by my terms and conditions." Tugging lightly at his bonds, he hinted at exactly what he wanted. "Though I must say, you should decide quickly. Though Czajka keeps his hostages alive as long as his demands are met, I'm not certain if Costa will remain the Vitale Costa you all know and love if he's there for too long."
Beneventi seemed to consider his words for a moment, eyes sharp and untrusting as he rounded into the room as well, not longer a spectator from the outside. "Fine," the director said sharply, watching him carefully, "But if you so much as take a step out of line, I won't blame any of my men for putting a bullet in your head." Beneventi left after his fine speech though, heading back out leaving him with Rossi, Bianchi, and the mystery man. He had no doubt it was to figure out how to handle him with his free range of motion. Perhaps they would even be as jovial as to waste a good thousand or so to outfit him with a cheap tracking device. As if the guard dog that Bianchi was wasn't enough.
He focused on the three of them once again, gaze curious as he looked them over. They didn't make for much of a team and that was him being kind about it. Bianchi was talented for his age, that was all over his files. But, considering his response, he was righteous and so easy to provoke. The other was a bystander, an outsider. He didn't seem comfortable at the AISI blacksite and he didn't seem to like it either. Rossi was young. He was inexperienced and he seemed shaken by the turn of events. At the very least, he was alive. And that was what was important.
Alphonse was no fool though. Perhaps they caught on to his complete disregard of Bianchi's threat. But he'd see how they interpret that. They were paranoid. They were confused. And they didn't understand him. He would use that to his own benefit.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 8, 2017 2:54:46 GMT -5
Playing by the incident in his head, it had been so easy to avoid. Go in earlier, extract Costa earlier, put him into protective custody earlier. Everything counted on the being early, but they had been later. Fournier had said seven. It had been half past seven when they'd heard shots, but he had heard reports on the way that some of the (very few) surviving civilians had mentioned that the shooting had starting at seven. It hadn't been a lie, but it had been set up to hide the first few deaths, to, perhaps, scramble with the agents before pushing forward. He wasn't sure how they'd caught on to Costa's whereabouts so quickly, but that didn't matter, now. What mattered was that they didn't have Costa, that he wasn't sitting in a safe box somewhere, waiting for his money to get him out of trouble.
"What? Hey," Bianchi whipped around to watch the Director with narrowed eyes, but caught him too late. He grimaced and instead turned to both Agent Notariano and Camille, flicked his angered gaze between them both before he seemed to settle for rounding on Camille. That was, he supposed, how life went. "You got us into this mess. Fournier's f*cking conditions are that he speaks to you, and now that he goes free?"
There was a rise in pitch, like he was hitting his limit.
"You'll get a stomach ulcer if you continue like this," he said, against his better judgement. He heard one of the armed guards from across the room snort. Felt mildly better about himself.
He heard the sharp intake of breath, Bianchi's oh my god (in English, he noted), rolled his eyes and turned his head to glance briefly at the glass. All he had to do was undo the restraints; Bianchi wasn't moving to do it, and he didn't want to go too close to Fournier. What if he ended up a hostage? He'd heard of some situations like that, in America, mostly. He swallowed. For now, they had Bianchi's dog-like determination to keep Fournier in line, Agent Notariano who would probably be useful, and...uh. That was it? Maybe later they'd have a chip, but there wasn't enough time. Costa was in danger. He steeled himself before moving forward to undo Fournier's restraints. It was while doing this that he realised how much he ached. He had blooming bruises from where he'd been thrown, a harsh migraine from whatever had been used to knock him out, the sting from disinfected grazes that had been bleeding until recently, bandages thrown over each one just for now, because god did Cam bleed a lot, even for tiny wounds. The paramedics had been panicked and then had been annoyed. It wasn't his fault. Blood just liked to leave his body, he supposed.
I'm doing it again, he thought with mild amusement as he flicked the last buckle of a leather restraint from Fournier, backed away quickly. The armed guards had become more on-guard, decided to be ready for action. He knew how the AISI worked; hostages didn't matter, as long as the threat was neutralised. It wasn't their job unless it was a hostage case. That was how things went.
"How long do you think we have?" he asked, seeing as Bianchi was too busy being worked-up and useless to ask any questions. "For Costa to live, I mean."
It was getting late. He wasn't sure how long he'd been passed out for, hadn't been comfortable enough to ask for the time, and his watch was broken. Donatello would laugh it off but right now, Camille felt guilty. God. Clemente was probably scratching up more furniture, yowling in a demand for attention that he'd been deprived of all day. Maybe he was even out of food - that was worrying. The sooner this case was wrapped up, the better.
"I won't hesitate to kill you if you decide to try to escape," Bianchi said, seemingly over his little hissy fit. He decided to rail over whatever Camille had been going to say. "You can't demand terms and then not have any information, either," he scowled, lines forming above his brow. "If you don't know anything about the Czajka gang's whereabouts with Costa, then you're not exactly useful."
Camille bit his tongue, knowing when it was time to stop. Bianchi was rightfully angered, and he'd probably explode worse, at some point. Cam didn't want it to be at him, though he was sure it would be. It was so easy to direct anger at someone who wasn't going to fight back, so easy to just hurt but never get hurt. That was how life was. He crossed his arms tightly to hide the mild shakes he'd developed, rocked back on his heels and looked down. Every time he blinked, the bloodbath - it was there. That? That was on his head. He had known that Fournier had been telling the truth (though he wasn't sure why), had known that it was an issue - but he hadn't really thought to push the matter. Hell, he probably would've have been taken seriously.
He glanced up to see Bianchi looking at him, and glanced away to instead watch Fournier. Someone needed to keep an eye on him, and hey! Who was better at babysitting duty than the baby? He doubted he'd be allowed back into the action, now. Not after that mess. It had been too easy to find Costa and he knew it, had been too easy to bundle him into the car. It had been the chase the gang seemed to want, perhaps to harm some agents. Camille thought back to the gun at his head and felt himself frown. Why hadn't he been shot? It made more sense. Meant less resistance. Sure, he'd been dragged out of the car...but it would've been easier had he been dead. They could've (should've) killed both him and Bianchi, should've caused more damage after extracting Costa, but they hadn't. There was barely a mark on Bianchi, and Camille, himself, was mostly just...aches and pains, easily warded off with a mild painkiller if he really felt like it.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 8, 2017 8:25:11 GMT -5
Quirking his lip up in a smile at Camille's response to Bianchi's outburst, he relaxed to allow the young man to undo his restraints before flexing his fingers and stretching them out after being tied down for hours. Lifting his hands up, he rubbed at his wrists, frowning thoughtfully at the creases on his shirt. That wouldn't do. He could see from the corner of his eye Bianchi all but fuming in silence. There was something amusing about the man's response to him that, in stark contrast to Camille, was almost disappointing. And here Bianchi was supposed to be the senior agent, the shining role model for Camille to work with.
It seemed Camille was handling the situation better than his senior partner was. Brushing off Bianchi completely, he smiled to Camille as he stretched his limbs out, hearing a crack in one of his shoulders from the sore joints. Inhaling sharply he finally decided to level him with his gaze, finally paying Camille some of his attention. "I wouldn't give him more than an hour. Most people break in minutes, but Czajka toys with his prey so I'm being generous with my estimations," he answered, clearly unconcerned as to whether or not his response bothered Camille.
He wasn't here to pad egos or reassure the young man an ugly situation was going to be better. He had gave them the information and they had sat on their thumbs instead of responding properly to it. "So," he drawled, sparing Bianchi a glance at his nonsensical threat - it was hardly a threat, more like a strongly worded statement - rolling his shoulders back and standing up to his full height, "What do you have so far?" He hadn't expected Camille to be so small.
Squinting meaningfully at the young man, he tilted his head. The files had said 5'4", but without Seraphin in his life he had all but forgotten exactly how short that was. The AISE agent didn't fair any better, only about 5'9" himself. Though he was certainly unimpressed with their handiwork, he didn't look down on them. Well except literally, but they could hardly count. Seeing the AISE leave, he glanced between the remaining two agents before heading out himself. He supposed if he was free now, that meant he was allowed to roam and look at their progress... or, well, lack of progress.
Their area of operations wasn't exactly impressive but it got the job done. The technology was state of the art and up to date, but they had sparsely gathered anything. Gingerly reaching out to pick up the picture of Czajka they had on display - charming - he looked at the grainy image. Hardly up to date, but it got the job done. The man's harsh jawline, broken nose, and deep amber eyes were on display. He had a very distinctive appearance and an even more distinctive voice.
Picking through the scraps of what they had laid out despite a soft protest from AISE that he couldn't touch the images laid out in some poorly executed evidence board that would put most detectives to shame. There were images of obscured figures, all wearing balaclavas - even one in a motorcycle helmet - caught leaving the scene. The only individual they had an image of was Czajka and didn't suppose they stopped to ask him for his number. The only image that wasn't grainy was that of Costa. The politician had a bright and beaming smile, one that, in his opinion, was too bright to be honest.
"This is it?" He asked, glancing behind him to check if Camille was still with him. He would assume so. The law enforcement sort always was diligent and duty driven. He could hardly keep the incredibility out of his voice as he laughed softly to himself shaking his head. "I could call Czajka out for dinner before you even figure out the plates to the vehicle they were using," he said, words dry and unimpressed as AISE shoved surveillance images of a van and motorcycle into his hands.
Taking them without much complaints, he expected some sort of explanation and AISE didn't exactly disappoint. "After the attack, they parked inside a building and never left. Surveillance shows they should still be inside. Street cameras show no signs of any individual leaving either. No cars. No people. Officers on sight have searched through the apartments and... nothing. There's no sign of Costa."
At least one of them was on top of their game. Clicking his tongue softly, he glanced at Camille more intent on interacting with the young man than with working to figure out what happened to poor Costa. "What do you think?" There was a certain kind of patience he referred to Camille with, interested in his opinions and his thoughts on the matter. It was obvious to him. Czajka's team must have scrambled up the vehicles somehow. Costa wasn't in the van. Neither were the rest of his men.
It was a diversion. They were further and outside of the AISI's area of interest or they were cheeky and close by the area they had attacked Costa. That seemed becoming of Czajka. He was a man who loved the thrill of danger and the rush of violence. It was why he kept attacking high priority targets, uninterested in small game. There was never enough response and public media for him, certainly not enough for him to get his fix.
Toscano had been highly impressed with Czajka's track record. Had even demanded that he broke Costa, which, all things considered, wasn't difficult. Making a man terrified for his life was simple, but Toscano wanted more than that. He wanted Costa to admit to a number of scandals he was involved in and even some incidents of corruption and money laundering he hadn't done. Alphonse himself had hardly cared about the details of Toscano's deal with Czajka. He had merely been there to introduce the two and tie up any loose ends.
For his part, Toscano had kept his word and had given him exactly what he had wanted. Well, if the job went north it was on Czajka. It amused him to some point to know that this incident would put a blemish on the man's perfect crime spree. His first failure. That would knock him down a few pegs. At least, if he didn't die in the altercation. Placing the files down, he settled onto a table sitting and watching Camille with interest. Now, it wasn't hard to imagine where Czajka was. What was hard was locating the exact location.
Though, if he sent them on a wild goose chase, he could perhaps give himself the opportunity to speak to Czajka and get what the man had promised him in turn. Camille's safety had been a sign that Czajka had valued their partnership. A shame, truly.
He had a brief idea on how to slip out of the agents' sight. "I think I know exactly where he is," he offered after his silence to allow Camille to answer. The young man's opinion and thoughts interested him greatly. Smiling to Stefano in a knowing manner, he couldn't help but feel just a bit smug. "Though I think a change in scenery is necessary." He watched as Stefano clenched his jaw in rage, a brief ripple of motion in his pockets that signified he was curling his hands into fists. The man glared at him with furious eyes though he knew Stefano would relent. "Hotel Danieli is quite charming," he added, pushing a little too hard. He knew better, but for the second time he could see the slight defeat in the slump of Stefano's shoulders.
"Fine," Stefano grounded out, "But if your intel doesn't pane out, that'll be the last you see of daylight." Had he known it would be this easy perhaps he would have done something like this sooner.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 8, 2017 9:46:02 GMT -5
I wouldn't give him more than an hour. The words chilled Camille to the bone and he exchanged a glance with Bianchi, but kept his arms crossed and instead tried to focus at the task at hand. They had limited time to extract Costa - or the shell of the man, at least. As long as he was breathing and alive, he supposed, he'd take it. When Fournier asked what they had, he paused momentarily before quickly following.
"From - from eyewitness accounts, the attack started at seven," he swallowed, "they dropped the silent act altogether at half seven. There are casualties on the streets from tonight, one of our agents is in with one of them who's actually awake."
But if they had only an hour, there was no time to try to make sense of more civilian eyewitnesses. It had been chaos, many people had died, and Costa was gone. All they had to show for it were bruises and scrapes and Bianchi's anger, which only seemed to rise when Fournier began rifling through their evidence. He was tempted to try to get it to stop - but there was no point. So far, Fournier had done what he had wanted to do, and now he was even loose in a blacksite. It was irritating, to say the least. Cam pinched the bridge of his nose to push on another migraine (it didn't work, just got worse), tried to focus on something else as he looked at the images.
He felt more than a little put on the spot when he was asked his thoughts, and he looked over the images thoughtfully, brows pulled down. The evidence was - well, it wasn't too helpful. They'd come up blank on the searches, as Notariano was mentioning. He frowned and dipped his head a little as he watched the images. It wasn't - it wasn't like anything he'd worked with in college or in training, wasn't like Donatello's stories. This wasn't exactly organised crime. Scrambled crime, maybe. Messy. There had to be loose ends somewhere but that wasn't what Fournier was asking. Camille ran a hand through his hair and glanced up again.
"I don't think Costa was ever there," he said softly, absently pointing to the motorcycle and van. "We recognised those vehicles because they were the one used to chase, but there was enough time between the crash and getting help to, I don't know," he shrugged slowly. "Move Costa to another vehicle, use the van and transport him temporarily, get in another transport?" he frowned, "where Bianchi and I crashed, there's no surveillance. That was probably on purpose."
Predicting a crash was one thing. Predicting where it would land and when was another thing. They would've had limited time to move before the AISI moved in - but they couldn't have had time estimates.
"There was another SUV," he tilted his head, tried to look through the surveillance footage until he pulled a picture of part of the chase. The other SUV wasn't too far behind them - but not in the way of the ones chasing them. It looked like a government vehicle. "It wasn't one of ours even though I originally thought it was. I don't think Costa was moved to that vehicle - I don't know where he was moved to - but I think we might be closer to figuring out where Czajka and his men went if we figure out where that SUV went?"
The end pulled up as more of a question. He was good at analysing things, good at theorising - but he felt like he was reaching in a case where, despite all of the mess, there was little evidence. The SUV bugged him because it was government-standard, but maybe it had just been people from another case, maybe it had just been that. The plates didn't look it. Hell, the plates didn't even look legal. He didn't know. He brushed his hand through his hair again and kept it at the back of his neck.
"That's a far reach," Bianchi leaned against the table and looked at the evidence, "we can't just test theories," his gaze flicked to Fournier, albeit with complete annoyance. At the news that Fournier knew where Czajka was...well. It wasn't a surprise. He frowned a little as keys were thrown to him. "Take Agent Notariano with you and set Fournier up in the Hotel. I'll come to you after we finish checking the traffic cameras."
Camille frowned a little and didn't entirely enjoy this, glanced to Fournier again. He didn't like the idea of it just being him and Notariano with Fournier, but he supposed he had little say in the matter.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 8, 2017 20:43:34 GMT -5
Camille's input on the subject was equally as helpful as AISE. It would seem that one of the three agents working in tandem with him wasn't pulling their weight, but he wasn't going to provoke the man anymore than he already had. As satisfying as it was to watch Bianchi go red in the face with rage as he realized exactly how little control he had over the situation, he let it lay to rest. Noting the younger man's words, he took interest in the way the manner in which Camille relayed the information.
According to eyewitness the attack started at seven. That meant they hadn't believed his claims to be true. So he had hit a sore spot with Bianchi after all. How humorous yet unsurprising. He hadn't expected the AISI to jump on his claims, it was what allowed the situation to get from bad to worse and up the stakes. It put them on edge and that was exactly what he needed to get things done his way. It was working for the most part, too. Stefano was slowly losing his infallibility. That cool, calm collected exterior seen in meetings and on the media was slowly wilting away. Beneventi was frustrated with him and he could see it as plain as day, but slowly Beneventi was also coming to a conclusion.
They couldn't do this without him. They were grossly unprepared.
When Camille spoke up, he found himself looking up and smiling at the young man's suggestion. Clever, very clever. Even at Bianchi's words of protest that Camille's analysis was all speculation he nodded along, pleased at Camille's suggestions. He was young and certainly ill prepared for a first day that put all of his abilities to the test and pushed him to wits end, but he was jumping through every hoop and passing with flying colors. Lowering his gaze to look at the other SUV the young man was pointing to, he nodded meaningfully.
"I agree," he said slowly, impressed at how quickly Camille was following along. He allowed himself to spare Bianchi a glance. The man was no doubt a credible field agent but he was a little behind on the game to say the least. Well, at least he agree with most of what Camille had said. The SUV was more than likely the vehicle used to transport Costa he had no doubts about it, but also he knew fully well that the plates would have been changed and the cars would have been swapped somewhere down the road. Czajka knew better than to commit such an amateur mistake.
There was a line of quality assurance in their handiwork. Carelessness was not a trait that was desirable. Ruthlessness? Certainly. It would take them a good amount of time to try to track the car down and that was saying the vehicles hadn't been swapped out en route into one or more cars that went separate ways. But little did that matter to him. It was the perfect opportunity to send them on the wild goose hunt. If they pursued this method, by the time they got to Costa the man would be lucky to be in one piece. Mentally and physically.
"Czajka is violent, but very cautious. He would never use the same vehicle to transport his mark that he used to acquire them," he said. To his right, he could feel AISE tense up slightly. Oh? Was he going to lash out after maintaining his composure for so long? Whatever AISE wanted to say was cut off by Binachi's orders. Giving the senior agent a wide smile, he followed Camille and Notariano - he would remember that. Hotel Danieli was exactly his kind of scene.
He had been there many times here and there during jobs in Italy when things were smooth sailing underneath another alias of Basile Dupont. The staff were kind and had become used to seeing him with the occasional business partner or partners. Being marched it with a full police escort was certainly a worrying sight, but offering one of the employees a helpless shrug they maintained the ever so familiar concierge, Immacolata Adesso.
She was a beautiful woman with golden hair and friendly brown eyes. "Signor Dupont, your usual room," she offered opening the room and allowing him to look around. Pleased with the service as per usual he smiled to Immacolata. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Everything looks to be as lovely as ever, Imma," he answered, words genuine as he smiled at the hotel attendant. "Though could you get me a pack of cigarettes? I've forgotten mine, it would seem. I don't mind the brand," he hummed, not being far too picky. There was no way the Imma would be able to get his choice brand anyhow. Those were imported. Nearly raising his hands to pat his vest for his wallet, he remembered almost immediately his possessions had been confiscated. Oh well. "Tip the kind lady would you? Now we wouldn't want to be seen as impolite, now would we, Agent Notariano?"
Watching Notariano's jaw twitch, the man moved almost instinctively to pull out his own wallet and give Imma a fine tip. Seeing the attendant leave, Notariano's sharp eyes watched him. "You're not getting those cigarettes," the sheer annoyance dripping from the man's words was worth it. He grinned even as Notariano followed him closely, seemingly hovering just inches away form him at any given moment. "You knew more about Czajka's behavioral patterns. You know how he operates intimately, yet you withheld that information." There was an accusation in those words somewhere. "Why?"
Offering the AISE agent a half hearted shrug, he headed to the restroom followed by the man who was quite literally hardly a meter away from him. Sighing deeply, he stood at the bathroom door before glancing meaningfully at Notariano who only narrowed his eyes and settled directly next to the door. Closing and locking it behind him, he pulled out the water bottle he had palmed upon entering the room. What was a few extra euros anyhow? Waiting for a good few seconds he unscrewed the bottle and carefully dumped the contents out while regarding the ever so familiar window.
This was a fourth floor room next to the fire escape. It was as per usual, a normalcy for him to request rooms next to immediate exits. Flushing the toilet, he turned on the sink and placed down the water bottle. Working fast, he opened the window and climbed out, easily making it to the fire escape without difficult. Making his way down the steps, he glanced back up. He'd give Notariano six minutes to think there was anything wrong. By the time they busted the door down - and that would be a hefty fee for the AISI to pay - he would be long gone.
Heading down the back alleyway, he found himself back onto the streets blending in easily to the crowd. After bumping into a stranger and walking a fair distance away, he lifted his hand to look at the phone in his hand. Inputting Czajka's number, he placed the phone to his ear hearing the ringing before a click told him that Czajka had picked up. In the background, he heard heavy and ragged breathing. So they had already gotten started.
"Took you long enough, Al," Mikolaj grumbled, clearly unimpressed. "Where are you?"
Pausing, he looked at the streets around him. It was a busy area. Telling Mikolaj his location without any real concern of a threat from the man, he paused, contemplating his request. "Bring a pack of cigarettes with you, Mikolaj," he added. "It seems I've left mines behind."
"Really? You contact me late and now cigarettes? I swear to god, Fournier," he muttered. That ended the call simply enough. Mikolaj had arrived within ten minutes of the call. So he was close. Getting out of his car, the man tossed him the pack of cigarettes he had requested for. Opening it up, he removed one before glancing up at Mikolaj.
"So, you have Costa. Now, for what you owe me."
"Yeah, yeah," Mikolaj said, words barely hiding his poorly concealed desire to leave as quickly as possible. The stockier man reached into his coat pulling out a small SD card in a plastic bag before exchanging it with him. "'S good doing business with you, Fournier."
"The pleasure is mines," he said softly, watching as Mikolaj turned on his heel to leave. "Though there's something I must tell you." That stopped him in his tracks. Mikolaj did not turn back to face him, but paused. "My informant has told me the AISI knows where you're keeping Costa. He's trying to stall them. He says he'd give you and your crew half an hour at most. Mikolaj, be careful, I think one of your men has turned."
The lines of Mikolaj's shoulders tensed as the man grimaced, finally whipping around to look him dead in the eye. "I know Eryk and I have our differences, but the bast*rd's not a f*cking snake. But we'll clear out before half an hour. Thanks for the tip. Oh, and here's a lighter. I can't imagine you have one if you forgot your damn cigarettes." Raising his free hand to catch the lighter he smiled at Mikolaj and waved to the man's retreating figure.
Lighting his cigarette, he headed back down the path he had left. It had been a good fifteen or so minutes and he highly doubted that Camille, Notariano, and Bianchi would be happy with him. On his way, he passed by a gelato caffe and after some conversation with the kind old couple, had traded off his watch for gianduja gelato after getting the couple to hold onto the SD card for him. Their daughter would know what to do with it. He couldn't let the AISI find him with it.
Taking his time with his gelato, he raised the burner after calling Camille's number. It would have been easier to call Stefano or Bianchi, but there was no fun in that. "There's a phone I want you to track. It'll lead you to Mikolaj," he said, keeping a careful eye on the gelato. There was no way in hell any of it was going to get on his suit.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 8, 2017 21:20:58 GMT -5
Everything that could've gone wrong had gone wrong, and Camille wasn't sure if they could fix this. If they could Czajka then that was all fine and all - but what about Costa? He worried at his lip but had more pressing matters to lean on, such as...well, transporting Fournier. He wasn't too confident in the whole escorting problem, but hey, he knew how to drive, at least.
He remained silent on the ride, instead chewing over the case in his head, gaze fixed firmly on the road. His fingers drummed lightly over the wheel as he followed the GPS - and his eyebrows raised a little upon realising how fancy the hotel Fournier had demanded was. Jesus. Donatello had sharp tastes, but this was a bit much. He doubted he could tell Don about this, but hey, he could dream. Instead, he parked the car neatly and cut off the engine, exiting and following along. There were a couple of other guards - these ones armed - and they made for more looks.
It was no surprise that Fournier had an alias. Of course he did. Any decent criminal did. He shook his head a little and watched the interaction happen, found himself fighting back an amused smile at the antics occurring. Admittedly, he felt a little sorry for Notariano, but this entire thing - it didn't feel real. Maybe he was still asleep and this was some kind of f*cked up dream, some kind of message that he wasn't cut out for the AISI...but either way, now was not the time for an existential crisis. Instead, he followed along to the room and leaned against the wall once inside, glancing around only briefly before watching the (now closed) door of the restroom.
"He's just trying to f*ck with you," Camille told Notariano softly, though he doubted his words would be welcomed. "He's getting into people's heads. Well-trained people's head. It's kind of impressive, actually."
As a behavioural analyst, he was trained not to believe half the bullsh*t that came out of criminals' mouths - but it was hard not to believe Fournier. He was charismatic, and it made sense as to why he had managed to evade capture for so long. Then again, maybe it was just because the man was being nice to him. It reminded him more of Allegra than it did than Don; Allegra had been smart and kind, but she had also been wicked smart and had known how to mess with people. Camille had a feeling that she'd been part of Don's business, but he didn't mention it to her. She probably would've laughed it off, but he'd never dared. By the time he'd gotten up the courage, it was too late. He bit his lip and crossed his arms, pushed the thoughts of the Belmontes away. It was only now, in stressful circumstances, that he repeatedly fell back on remembering everything they'd done for him. Maybe he'd call Don later, send pictures of Clemente. That sounded nice.
Time passed, and Fournier did not leave the bathroom. If it were Don, he probably would've found a way out, he thought idly, but didn't think on it too hard. It wasn't his problem to deal with.
Bianchi entered after a few moments, glanced around the room before settling his gaze on Notariano. "He in there?" he asked, sounding doubtful. Camille smiled faintly and looked away. Watched from the corner of his eye as Bianchi chose to storm towards him instead, as if there was fire on his a**. "You know something, Rossi. What does Fournier want with you?"
"I told you, I don't know," he shook his head.
"And I don't believe you," the taller man scowled down at him, stared for a moment before gesturing to the door. "He's taking too long. Open the door."
Unsurprisingly, Fournier was not behind the door. It was all Camille could do to not burst into a fit of giggles, so he turned away from the others and bit his lip, stared at the wall and waited for the urge to pass. It did, of course, when Bianchi approached him again, all fire and glares and disbelief.
"Did you help him?"
"Helped him with Agent Notariano right here and a closed door between me and him? Unlikely." he was amused at the accusation, really. It was cute. "I'm watching you, Rossi."
In response, Camille raised his shoulders into an elegant shrug and watched as Bianchi stormed away to alert the guards around the perimeter that their prisoner (if they could call him that) was missing. He was only mildly surprised when his phone began to ring, and his brows furrowed before he answered.
"Okay," he said, flicking his gaze to Bianchi - who had whipped around to look at him again. The distrust was real. "Where are you, though? We didn't go through this just for you to escape from a bathroom and ditch us. You said you had crimes to give in. Not just one crime. This Czajka business, it's not your get-out-of-jail-free card," he glanced at Bianchi, who held his hand out expectantly. With a deep sigh, he handed over the phone. "He has a phone for us to track."
"Fournier," the other Agent all but ignored Camille's words, "you get back here now, or you'll be facing more than time in a box."
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 10, 2017 3:41:16 GMT -5
Glancing up at Camille's voice, Renato frowned thoughtfully at the words. "I know," he answered, words equally quiet. "He's not giving up control so he'll do everything in his power to gain it. And we're letting him walk over us for it." He was angry at the day and he knew the words were a little sharper, edging on what he was actually feeling at the moment. And it wasn't nice of him to have such a harsh edge in his voice, but honestly from the AISI sh*t to Alphonse Fournier's god damn problems, the day was looking really bad. And hell if it didn't get worse.
There was a certain kind of shame that burnt through him at being played. There was no way he could have known, but given Fournier's track record and everything the AISE had about him he should have known better. The man was a spy himself. If he fancied himself a sharp mind, he would have contemplated that Fournier would escape just as he would at the first opportunity. The noises sounded about right and the room was on the fourth floor so he highly doubted Fournier would make the jump. It was a hotel bathroom. There was no way he would be able to extract himself from the situation.
At least, that was what he had thought for the first five minutes after the sink water had started. And then he thought twice about how damn long the man had been behind the doors for. Hearing Bianchi echo his own thoughts, he acted upon his concerns. Clenching his jaw, he knocked on the door loudly. Getting no response, he called out. "Hey, Fournier! Open up or I'm knocking this door down!" Getting no answer, he furrowed his brows in doubt before shoulder bashing the door. The art and subtlety of the lockpick was lost on him. He liked the duplication of keys over the popping of locks.
Stumbling into the now open door, he found himself more or less gawking at the water going down the sink and how much water there was despite it going into the drain. And the worst part was that the room was completely empty. The window was open and a cool breeze filled the room. Swallowing thickly, he headed past the sink to poke his head out the window. A fire escape. A god damn fire escape. They should have looked down the place before even letting Fournier inside. This was an amateur mistake on his part and he couldn't find anyway to excuse himself of his own failures.
Where could Fournier have even went? He had obviously asserted that he knew Czajka which, despite everything hadn't been a surprise. The entire day was completely unbelievable in far too many ways, it was hard to feel too shocked about anything. But this? What he was feeling? It wasn't shock, it wasn't anger, it was shame. He had been completely outdone and made to look like a fool. Stepping back, he left the door open but turned off the sink still staring blankly at the room before speaking.
"He's gone," the words were quiet, hollow even, as he turned around to Bianchi's rage. However, the words the man said weren't directed at him, but rather Agent Rossi. Snappin back into reality and trying to make due of the situation, he straightened up walking back over to where the other two were. "Hey," his tone bordered on warning as he tilted his head to look up at the much taller man. "Agent Rossi didn't do sh*t so shove off him, would you Bianchi?"
"I'd say out of the three of us, Fournier doesn't care for you and if Stefano goes through with all of his requests we might not be seeing you around anymore," he huffed, knowing he was being a little too harsh still. He'd never liked the AISI what with the given relations between his agency and theirs. But more so, he hated senior agents who relentlessly picked on new agents who were still learning the tips of trade. He'd be under the supervision of someone like Bianchi as she had been a total hardas- on him.
The things he did for the AISE became much more tolerable after he proved his own worth. Honestly? He was hoping Fournier got rid of Bianchi. His temper was worse than Renato's carelessness and though he could hardly say he was proving himself to be capable of working on this case, Bianchi was just a d*ck. "Besides, it was my fault."
Having meant to suggest informing the agents on the perimeter of Fournier's absence, he was beaten to it by Bianchi marching off on his own accord. Watching after the other man, he sighed and settled onto the couch absentmindedly raising a hand to run it through his hair in a gesture of stress. Glancing up to Rossi, he frowned slightly. "Sorry about Agent Bianchi, that guy's a complete douche. He's being hard on you because some high priority criminal chooses you over him," he muttered, the words sincere before turning away to focus on the nice floral display in the hotel room.
He wasn't a man of expensive tastes. He didn't make the buck to live such a life anyhow, he wasn't the best at what he did but his tenacity, determination, and fair deal of experience made up for it. He knew there were many agents in the AISE who were better than he was, but he didn't feel like he should be here. Sure, Fournier's case was the kind of cases that made names. It was the kind of cases that gave agents a reputation in their agency and promotions in their field if they played their cards right.
It wasn't like it wasn't worth his time, it was just he felt outcasted here. Forced to work with people he'd never worked with before and play by their rules. He liked the AISE better, though he didn't perform much international fieldwork, there was a certain kind of simplicity to the things they did there and less of an adherence to preestablished principles and more focus on doing what worked. At the sound of a phone ringing, he glanced up immediately and realized by the questions Rossi was posing and what he was saying he was talking to Fournier. How the hell?
Raising a brow, he mouthed his question to Rossi after the phone was passed on over to Bianchi. "Fournier has you on speed dial?"
"Oh? Is that so?" He chuckled quietly at Camille's response, not pressing on the subject even though he knew it would make for an interesting point of conversation. The fact was he didn't need a get out of free card. He could vanish right now as he had done earlier. He could disappear and the AISI would never see him again. But he didn't and instead he left it at the question. Hearing movement on the other side, he was not surprised but heavily disappointed when Bianchi spoke up.
This was not how the deal worked and he certainly didn't want to talk to the other man. Clicking his tongue at Bianchi's petty threat that was hardly worrisome to him, he found himself glad for having grabbing a handful of napkins as wrapped it around the cone to avoid any gelato on his gloves. "You're not Millie," was all he said in response. Frowning slightly, he decided that since he was close the conversation was best continued in person. That and he had already spoken to Bianchi once earlier. He had broken his own rule to push the agent on edge due to the sharp accusations.
Snapping the phone closed, he frowned thoughtfully before placing it down on an empty restaurant table as he walked by. It would probably find its way back into its owner's hands. Or at the very least, the device used to contact Czajka would not longer be in his possession which would be hard for the AISI to link him to anything. They only had his word for his meeting and the intel he provided. They relied on him because of that, because they were far behind.
Waving as he entered back into the hotel, Imma perked up upon seeing him. Her expression was one of muted confusion but also earnest. Getting to her feet, she approached him, pulling out another pack of cigarettes, this one a different brand than the low quality kind Czajka had given him. "They would not take it," Imma explained as he pocketed the cigarettes. "I hope they are to your tastes, Signor Dupont."
"Thank you," he said in turn, allowing her to get back to her own duties after the short exchange. Heading up to his room door, he smiled at the two guards outside who seemed not at all pleased to see him. Both of them exchanged a look before opening the door for him to enter. Having finished his gelato, he threw away the gelato stained napkins. Glancing up meaningfully as he entered the room, he could see Notariano get to his feet.
The man, for his credit, didn't look ashamed or abashed about what happened but instead cautious and curious. Interesting. "You could have gotten away, but you came back." The words were not a question. Biting back a snarky remark, he smiled in turn and looked to Camille.
"So," he said, words gentle, "The phone." He did not spare them the details as to how he obtained it or how he had known it. It had been a burner he had given Czajka so he could communicate with the other man. He had had his men tamper with it beforehand. It wasn't exactly a burner. There had been a tracking device implanted into it that he had handed off to the team. It would lead them to Czajka and Costa. He had no doubts about it.
Czajka didn't have enough time to react. He wouldn't think he need to.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 10, 2017 22:47:10 GMT -5
When he thought about it logically, he knew that this didn't look good. Not only did Fournier know his name, he knew where he worked, seemed to know his phone number, knew his childhood nickname. All in all, it looked terrible, as if he had connections. As far as he knew, he didn't. Donatello hadn't worked with the French, and besides, Camille had rejected that life. Had refused the contacts, had refused the money.
He didn't like it. He wanted to know why Fournier knew so much, wanted to know what the connection was. Maybe there was nothing - maybe it was just in his head and the man had done his research by...hacking, or something. It was weird, though. Just...all of it. It had been a hard, long first day, and there was more to come. He swallowed and crossed his arms, glanced to Notariano tried to defend him and smiled faintly. Bianchi, on the other hand, didn't even spare the AISE agent a glance.
The mention that Bianchi was a douche made him smile, but he shook his head a little. It made sense as to why he was being blamed, really. He took it in stride, it was no big deal.
Some high priority criminal chooses you over him. It sounded even worse, like that. Camille looked away and exhaled slowly through his nose. He wondered what his original first day would've been like, had Fournier not wandered in. Learning the ropes through talks rather than experience - he preferred the experience, but every time he closed his eyes he saw the massacre. They hadn't acted quickly enough, and so...lives had been lost. People were in hospital. Costa had been captured. The AISI was not as glamorous as people had made it out to be and he had understood that, but to see the actual death...it was a little surprising. Hell, he knew that that sort of sh*t wasn't normal. That was the worst part. He probably wouldn't have seen this had Fournier not come along. Yeah, maybe Costa would've been captured anyway, but that wouldn't have been on his head.
After he passed on the phone, he blinked at Notariano and smiled almost nervously.
"I don't know how he has it," he murmured softly. "My number, I mean. Honestly, I don't know how he knows any of the things he knows. It's a little unnerving. I expect he knows my home address or something, too," if that was the case, maybe it was time to move - but, eh. He liked the bar next door, liked the bartender even more. He could deal, he supposed.
Bianchi's face wasn't a delightful shade of red anymore. In fact, he looked resigned as he handed Camille's phone back to him, and the tall man pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled sharply.
"Millie," he repeated, with some distaste. "Why the hell did he call you that?"
Camille considered it for a moment, weighed it and then shrugged lightly. "I don't know, really. My mother used to call me by that, and then my father did. It's just a family nickname."
"So you're admitting that he's family?" a raised eyebrow.
"Nope," Camille glanced down at his phone before locking it and shoving it in his pocket without much of a thought. "I don't know what he is or who he is or what he wants."
Though he doubted that the older agent accepted this at face value, it did, at least, get the man off his back. The atmosphere was tense again but that was expected, so he simply waited to see what they were going to do.
It was a surprise when Fournier came back - but at the same time, it wasn't. Somehow, he had expected it, and hadn't realised that until the man had just wandered in. He gave an amused little smile and tilted his head, didn't miss the annoyed expression on Bianchi's face, but didn't pay much attention to it. "The phone," he repeated, "you're certain it'll lead us to Czajka?"
Then, he paused, considered it for a moment. It would be easy to go and apprehend Czajka, but...well. There were other matters to take into consideration - the hostage situation. He swallowed and crossed his arms, glanced between Notariano and Bianchi (and the armed guards who seemed to want to keep an eye on Fournier), before he looked back at the criminal and gave a small, rather tired smile. He wasn't amused at this situation as his previous giggles had suggested. He was just anxious.
"What's the chances that he'll be alive?" he asked.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 18, 2017 3:00:14 GMT -5
Having his information questioned was not something he took as a surprise. It was a tad bit aggravating, but until he proved its value, until they had no choice but to trust him, everything he said was taken at face value. After all, though his line of work was information brokering to criminals as well as a number of other crimes and his information was reliable, the AISI could never be too careful with whether or not he was being genuine or sending them to run around in circles. It just came as a surprise the question came from Camille rather than Bianchi who had been doubting him this entire time. "Of course," he answered smoothly. The phone was also the only thing that would get Czajka his payment. Without Alphonse there to Toscano had displayed unease at Czajka's presence which only set the man on edge. An unwise action, all things considered.
"My intelligence is rarely wrong, though the same could not be said about your agency's," he said, chucklng as he did so. Sparing Notariano a glance at the hard gaze the man had fixed on him, he wondered what the man was thinking. He seemed clever, like Camille was. It was a matter of some concern as long as there was a threat of exposure to his goals. Seeing the man leave from the corner of his eye, he decided Notariano was devoting himself to the mission and would be tracking down the phone.
That, or he was already frustrated and exasperated.
He could see a smile on Camille's face that was curious, until he realized that it didn't quite reach his eyes. Interesting. It wasn't exactly a concerning thing, but unlike the tale telling signs from the agents, this one didn't make sense. Still, he returned it with a smile of his own, one more warm and reaching his eyes as he removed his gloves to inspect if there was any gelato on them. He had been careful, but he could never be too careful.
The scars on his hands had already been observed by the agents upon his capture. It would come as no surprise to them now if they had been paying attention. Content with the cleanliness of his gloves, he slipped them back on, unperturbed by the question. "Czajka rarely kills his prey unless something goes terribly wrong or the price point is not met. He doesn't like being sold out," he said slowly, lifting his gaze to fix his eyes on Camille. "Though the psychological and physical damage they can wrought on a man in the-" Glancing down at his watch, he continued, "In the last thirty or so minutes they've had him might be irreversible if you take too much time locating the phone."
As if on cue, Notariano returned entering through the door with brisk steps, casting him a dirty look. Frowning thoughtfully in response, he watched as Notariano spoke silently to the guards on watch before heading over to them. The man was ignoring him completely. Classy. Tilting his head to watch, the AISE agent straightened up before speaking to Camille and Bianchi. "We got a hit on the phone. The location is hardly two minutes away from where Costa's speech was. If we leave now, we could get there in seven minutes if we're fast."
There seemed to be something unspoken in Notariano's demeanor like he was holding something back before he continued. "Director Beneventi said I'd be coming along to provide assistance since field training doesn't equate to experience," there was a meaningful glance towards Camille at those words followed by an apologetic smile on Notariano's features. Huh. The smaller man rounded on him, now looking up at him with a harder glare. Oh, it would seem he had pissed somebody off with his antics after all.
"You're going to stay here. In plain sight. Sit on the couch or something, you don't get to move an inch away from one of the guards," Notariano spoke, words a little harsher than necessary.
Offering Camille a smile, he shrugged. "Have fun, Agent Rossi. Though a word to the wise. Don't make too much noise upon entry or you might find Costa dead."
Backing away from the trio, he settled down onto the couch. Picking up the hotel room, he ordered room service for a meal even as he watched Notariano speak to the other two agents. They were leaving, from the looks of it.
Though he had his doubts about Camille Rossi, he was certainly not going to show it the way Bianchi was. That and the young agent held himself well, and if what he said panned out, he would be a valuable asset to the AISI. So as Rossi attempted to explain the rather curious string of events, he decided to take Rossi's words at face value and nodded. "Well, I'm sorry you have a personal stalker," he said the words honestly, voice lifting a bit as he tried to jest about it. "It's quite terrible." He added, giving up his attempts at humor after realizing how tasteless the joke felt.
Things happened quickly after that. After being told the number, he decided to act on it so he wouldn't have to deal with Fournier or Bianchi. After being made a fool by the criminal and enduring just being in Bianchi's presence, he knew he had had enough. The phone itself was a burner, but according to the AISE when he had taken back the information it was a modified device with a fitted tracking chip. It didn't take long to pull up Czajka's travels and when looking at it he saw something curious. He had left from a starting point and returned back there. That was, without a doubt, where Costa was being held.
But the place he had went to... It was close to Hotel Danieli. And the tracking chip... Swallowing thickly, he thanked his colleague and made haste back to the hotel. The thought bothered him. Fournier couldn't have gotten his information from credible sources... He was the credible source. But why did he go through so much to hide his relations with Czajka? Everything the man did made no sense. They were like pieces to a puzzle that just didn't connect.
And it brought his mind back to the subject of Camille. Entering the room, as he laid eyes on the younger man and relayed the information, he began having second doubts for the first time. Was Fournier using Camille to split the agents up? To make them not trust one another and therefore allowing him to utilize them however he wanted to while they were concerning themselves with all the wrong things? Glancing briefly to Fournier, he narrowed his eyes. For the first time since Fournier's arrival, he believed he was onto something.
As the man left them to their own devices, he continued speaking. "There's an entry team on sight. I've spoken to Director Beneventi. Once we arrive, we'll enter, neutralize all threats, and get Costa out. Since Czajka is considered a dangerous criminal, if it is impossible to capture him we are given permission to use lethal force." Glancing between the two men for signs of acknowledgement, he found himself a little thrilled at the notion of field action.
It had been awhile since his emotional breakdown following his breakup. The tension and adrenaline actually alleviated the heartbreak to some degree and as much as he despised himself for his excitement, he was ready to go in and get things done.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 18, 2017 20:28:02 GMT -5
At the little quip about the AISI, Camille's nose wrinkled and he narrowed his eyes, no longer smiling. From the corner of his eye, he watched Notariano leave, and then he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. Instead of thinking too hard about Fournier's actions - they were strange and made no sense - he thought about Costa, instead.
There was a faint sense of dread, however, at the knowledge that thirty minutes alone was enough to break a man. Then again - politicians, they weren't...hard. They weren't the sort of people who could often stand up to torture - psychological or physical - and they were not the sort who could prevent their own kidnapping, either. Unless they were crooked politicians (and god, he knew how many there were), it was unlikely that they would survive the experience that Czajka gave, if he really was that bad. It made getting Costa back so much more important.
He hated that he understood the urgency, hated that he was so concerned about this man he'd never met (had only seen on television a few times). He supposed it was because he understood how much pain there was, because he knew how much it f*cked with someone's mind. In an absent-minded motion, he rested on arm across his body and dug his fingers into the skin at his hip, frowned as he half-paid attention to the world around him. When Notariano came back, he didn't even flick his gaze to the other agent. In fact, he only seemed to snap out of his own thoughts when he was referred to - since field training doesn't equate to experience. Camille gave a distant smile and nodded, standing up straight again and flicking his gaze to Fournier again.
In every sense of the word, the man was an enigma. There was a strange atmosphere around him, something that calmed Camille - but at the same time, it confused him.
Bianchi ran a hand through his hair - dark now, but would surely grey if Fournier was going to be around for now - and he frowned thoughtfully at Notariano. He seemed to weigh his options for a moment, as if thinking about the words that the criminal in their midst had said towards Camille. After a second, he shook his head a little.
"Enter quietly, don't make an announcement," he told them, beginning to walk. Bianchi gave quick instructions - to set up more guards outside, near the fire escape - and then glanced back to the two agents with him. "We've doubted Fournier's word before, I suppose it would be a good idea to take it for now. Agent Notariano, call the entry team and tell them to stand by until my word. Agent Rossi, stick close to Agent Notariano and don't cause any trouble."
Then, the man walked ahead of them to brief some more men as they entered the cars. Camille frowned a little as he sat in the back of one of the SUVs, quietly putting on the AISI vest he'd been given. The man who'd given it to him had smiled apologetically - "we didn't expect a rookie, so we don't have extra sizes," he'd said. That was fine. It was fine. He was more concerned with what they'd find. What would be left of Costa, if they weren't careful? He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't help it. Trying to relax wasn't going to work, and he knew that being too wound up wouldn't help, either. Nothing was going to help. With anxiety raising and nervousness about this being successful sitting in his head, he wondered if they'd actually manage to bring back Costa - preferably in one piece. He wasn't sure.
The cars pulled over and he glanced up, heard Bianchi talk through the radio. It seemed that he was briefing them all; stay quiet, keep down, remain undetected while they located Costa. Once Costa was secure, they'd apprehend Czajka - if shots needed to be fired, it would be to stop Czajka's gang from running. It seemed like a good idea, in theory. Camille hoped that it would work in practice.
He knew what it was like. To be saved just a little too late. To be saved once the mind was broken and the body was getting close, to wonder why nobody cared enough to help. It wasn't just that - but the thoughts, they were intrusive and they didn't let up even years after. He didn't want Costa to have to feel like that, didn't want him to have to go through the harsh recovery period, but if Fournier's words were true (and he had stopped doubting them for now), then it meant that it had already been too long, that the recovery wasn't going to be pleasant for Costa, but, damn it, at least he'd be alive, right?
This mission hit far too close to home, he was realising.
When Camille Rossi had been seventeen, he'd been saved by Allegra and Donatello Belmonte, and he was grateful for that. What he wasn't grateful for, however, was that it had taken such an extreme set of circumstances for them to even be able to meet - for the fostering home to think that perhaps, perhaps, their most disliked child needed a home that would sit well with his needs. Of course, it had been a little more complex than that.
He'd gone missing, briefly, a month before he'd turned seventeen. He'd fallen in with a bad crew, had decided to cause trouble to try to get some attention. The issue, of course, had been that he was good at not getting caught, and he was good at framing the other people in the gang. They'd all been kids and he'd ended up as their ringleader, always selling out those who weren't loyal. If he'd been caught, he doubted he'd be here today. Camille had gone missing because some adults had taken an interest in the kids, the criminal prodigies who were causing more than some annoyance with the police. They'd never been rounded up, not really.
They had caught Camille. They had wanted information about the rest of the gang, and he wasn't a snitch when it was a life-or-death situation, and not when he'd finally gathered up a decently loyal following. Refusing information, of course, had been his last mistake.
When he'd returned to the foster home, he had needed a long hospital visit. It was here that they'd finally decided that he needed parents who would keep an eye on him and teach him to be more cautious, but also people who would pay attention to what he liked and didn't like. After years of bouncing up and down the country, they'd settle with the Belmonte couple.
Allegra had known immediately what hardships Camille had gone through, and had made every effort to ensure that he felt safe in their home. By the time she passed, he'd settle into deciding that they were his mother and his father, and that they were the best he'd ever had and would ever have. But he hadn't been fixed, he had still been in that process. It had been two steps forward and three back when Allegra had passed, but Donatello had done a better job. After all - Don had been through experiences that were similar. They were far more similar than they'd realised.
That, he supposed, was why it was so personal. He knew what it was like to have to resettle after a traumatic experience. Nobody deserved that, least of all a politician who was doing his best.
Perhaps it was a little closer than personal. It just hit too close to home, really.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 19, 2017 19:58:08 GMT -5
It was almost amusing to him how Bianchi seemed to only be able to take control on the field when Fournier wasn't there. He seemed to lack a certain restraint and collected rationalism when the man was around. If Renato was to be honest, whenever Fournier was around it seemed like he was in control of the situation like it or not. There was just an innate sense of the man knowing more, knowing better, and knowing exactly what to do. And it was frustrating to some degree. Fournier knew how to push buttons effortlessly, upsetting people without even batting an eye. Listening to Bianchi's orders, he nodded along. Despite not liking the other man much, he knew how to respect his authority in this situation.
Besides, he had no authority here, it was outside of his realm of jurisdiction so the best he could do was shut up and listen and it wasn't like anything Bianchi was saying was nonsensical. "Understood," he said simply, nodding back at Rossi to make sure he would follow behind him. It was sound judgment this time, to actually listen to Fournier. Earlier, that had been mistrust, doubt, and a whole cocktail of sh*t from the AISI. That and that hadn't even let him come along. Now? Now it seemed they'd learn their lesson about doubting the criminal mastermind in the first place
And he got to come along just for the ride, so he wasn't complaining.
Heading over to the entry team, he spoke to the sergeant of the unit explaining to them the instructions from Agent Bianchi about how they were on standby until told otherwise. The man seemed a tad bit inquisitive and looked to want to argue his orders, but he merely shrugged off any conversation by heading over to the SUV to grab himself a bullet proof vest. Glancing up, he saw Rossi who looked for his part distant. Settling next to the other man, leaning heavily against the truck, he glanced over to Rossi but didn't say a single word as the mission briefing crackled over the radio.
Once it fell silent, he cleared his throat gently, tilting his head to watch the younger agent with curiosity. "You alright there, Rossi?" The question was a genuine one. "Don't think too hard about the job, it usually helps," he added as a second thought. It sounded callous, and Renato Notariano was many things but callous he was not. He was hopeful, he was naive at times, he was full of trust and faith. But when it came to the job, he found that the lower his standards the less likely he would be devastated.
People died. It was the natural order of things and as much as he wanted to believe that it was possible to save everyone, it simply wasn't. He had learned that the hard way, and he knew better. He could tell from Rossi's questions to Fournier - How long do you think we have? For Costa to live I mean. and What's the chances he'll be alive? - was that the young man wanted to save Costa. That, if the man was dead, a part of him would be crushed. At that point, he didn't think Rossi would care about capturing Czajka - a case of a lifetime. All he'd be thinking about was how they were too late.
Frowning slightly, he lowered his head. For Rossi's sake, he hoped Costa was alive and better off than Fournier had been implying. There was barely enough time for an answer before the comms flickered back to life and he could hear the go ahead for the entry team. Straightening up, he made eye contact with the sergeant, nodded, and pushed open the back door. They were routing in from the back, Bianchi's team would be entering through the front and another entry team would be sent from the roof.
It seemed to him, if someone had political affiliations their lives immediately became more important more often than not. Sighing, he allowed the shield bearer of the Raggruppamento Operativo Speciale team to go in front. It only made sense that the ROS was on sight because an attack on Costa like this was terrorist activity. The entry was silent, the entire building - a hotel from the looks of it on the outside and inside - seemed empty. There were few people, those that they say en route were silently sent out the exits.
They were a fair distance behind Bianchi's team, who seemed to be following the phone signal to a door. Once they reached the location, they fanned out around the door with a point team in front of the door ready to enter and engage once the door was opened. They could hear sounds - muffled screams and angry shouts and loud clatters behind it. With a nod to the entry specialist, he watched as the man positioned himself at the door, ready to move out of his team's way the moment the door was open for the shield bearer to go in front.
A loud crack as the door busted open seemed to signify the beginning of when all hell broke loose. As the door opened, the shield bearer entered first followed by the rest of the team. The criminals moved to draw out their weapons only to be shot down before even letting out a shot. The quick and methodical nature of the entry was something he was not used to simply because his work was hardly ever in a team, but he could appreciate the skill involved.
There was sharp shouts from the agents, even as he headed forward to look at Costa. There was nothing about this man that looked like the politician he'd seen on tv from time to time. The man looked terribly small, dirty and shaggy hair covering his face. There was blood running down the side of his head. He had been stripped naked, body beaten black and blue. The terrible part was that his leg had been mangled beyond repair. Just looking at it, he knew Costa would never walk the same.
Swallowing thickly, he slowly backed away, lifting two fingers to activate his headset. "We're going to need an EMS team, asap," he said as he helped the agents shuffling through the bodies to try and distinguish when there was a loud noise from the adjacent room that sounded like glass breaking. Immediately, one of the ROS agents slammed their body into the door. Once, and then twice, and the door splintered open. Entering the room, he saw the open window and looked out to see Czajka's fleeing form. God damn it...
"We have a runner on the west of the building!" He shouted, watching as the ground teams took off after Czajka. With baited breath, he waited and watched as the man was tackled to the ground. His gun was wrestled from his hands and he was handcuffed. He had came into this mission thinking Czajka was as good as dead, but now they had caught him.
Blankly, he backed away from the window. At least they succeed, Costa was alive, Czajka was in custody.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 20, 2017 20:37:04 GMT -5
There was too much about this mission that had a stinging sense of familiarity - but it wasn't going to do him any good, thinking about it like this. Instead, he chose to pick at his nails idly. Notariano's voice caused him to flick his gaze sideways, and his brows furrowed.
"That's not what I'm thinking about," he said, and it was a partial truth. However, Camille didn't follow up on what he meant. Hell, there wasn't enough time; he left the SUV and frowned a little at the tightening nausea. Costa wasn't going to be okay and he already knew that - if it was anything like what had happened to him, it would be...years of therapy - psychological and physical. He didn't wish that on anyone, and he hated how sympathetic he could be to the situation.
Everything felt too still, but he knew that it wouldn't be like that in the room that the politician was being held. He shifted his weight and glanced behind them to ensure that they hadn't made a mistake and left anyone standing. It made sense, he supposed, that he and another operative were taking the back. He was a rookie, and the operative was used to this. That was all there was to it. He listened to the quiet - near silent - radio chatter that indicated that each room was clear until they hit their target room.
He didn't know what he expected - not this, that was for sure. Bodies dropped quicker than he could take in their face - but that made sense. He frowned a little and looked at Costa, assessing the damage. It was...it was bad, but...at least he was alive, he supposed. Definitely in pain - there were tears tracking the dirt in the man's face, and he had no doubt that they were fresh and kept on coming, even if he was trying to look strong in front of the AISI and ROS. After a couple of seconds, Camille approached him and murmured reassuring words to the man as they waited for the EMS team - which took a little longer than he'd expected. When they did arrive, they set to securing Costa's leg, as well as covering him up a little and tending to minor wounds.
"Agent Rossi," Bianchi walked over, frowned down at him. "Make yourself useful; go with Costa and see what they did to him and why. See if Czajka's gang mentioned anything - we're going to question Czajka himself, but it would be good to see what Costa knows. Go to the hotel that Fournier is in afterwards, and see what he wants."
Feeling small himself, Camille nodded and went with the EMS team. They would be getting ready to set up agents in front of Costa's room anyway, but he supposed he was...what, extra security for the EMS team? He doubted it - it was probably just something so that Bianchi could be rid of him for now. That made much more sense.
They reached the hospital in record time - but Costa was almost immediately taken to surgery for his leg, which left Camille with one of the other agents who'd been on the extraction mission.
"Being given little errands because you're a rookie?" the man asked, absently shuffling cards. He didn't seem very on-guard, but he was also way older than Camille had expected. Looked like a dead man walking, like someone who should've taken his retirement card a long time ago. He frowned a little.
"I guess," he said, and didn't explain past that.
Costa was in surgery for what felt like hours - but a glance to the clock told him it had only been just over an hour. It was another half an hour before a nurse came out and smiled faintly at him, as if baffled at the heavier gear for a hospital protection mission. If only she knew, he thought, but stood up when she approached.
"He's in stable condition, but he's on morphine due to the pain he's feeling. You can see him now, and his wife is in there with him, just so you know."
Camille nodded and moved past her into the room - true to word, Mrs. Costa was sitting in the chair, holding her husband's hand firmly and whispering to him gently. When she saw the AISI agent, it was as if her hackles raised - her eyes narrowed and she stood up rather quickly, pointing at him with one small hand.
"He knows nothing," she stated firmly, "he's not in the condition to be questioned. Go away."
For a moment, he assessed the situation; Costa's eyes were half-closed but he was tense and waiting, his wife, ready to protect him. There wasn't anything he could get out of this, so he rummaged through his pockets and found a piece of paper and picked up the pen that was sitting on the side, likely from when the nurse has been filling out notes and forms. He wrote the AISI's number and offered it to the wife.
"When he's in the condition to be questioned, call this number and ask for Agent Bianchi," he waited for her to nod - albeit reluctantly - and watched as she set the number next to Costa, watched for a moment as he glanced to it, and then closed his eyes. He was going to be sleeping for a while; he wasn't going to question someone who'd just been tortured. It was cruel. Unfair. He nodded to the two and left the room, glanced to the lazy agent playing cards with himself, and then left.
It took him a moment to realise oh f*ck, I don't have a car before he called a taxi, and waited uncomfortably outside the hospital as he dialled Bianchi's number and waited for him to answer. Bianchi answered at the same time the taxi arrived, so he gave the driver the address of the hotel before speaking to his superior.
"He's dosed up on morphine and in no condition to be questioned," he said lightly, studying his nails idly. "It would be better to go back at a later date when he's more stable; he's not long out of surgery, too."
"Alright," for once, it seemed Bianchi was too tired to argue, "see what you can get out of Fournier, then come back to the blacksite. Preferably with Fournier in tow, Rossi. I'll send Notariano to the hotel as well to help."
Camille hummed confirmation and hung up, glad that the taxi ride itself wasn't too long. He paid and exited, and entered the building with a flash of his ID at the agents standing wait. It amused him at how diligently some of them were sitting at the fire escape, looking up as if they would be able to see Fournier flying away. He shook his head a little and headed to the room. When he entered, he nodded to the agents who were in the room and then to the door.
"We're under orders--"
"He's not going to escape," he wasn't quite sure of this, but it would be his fault and not theirs if the man did, "have you seen the guards stationed outside?"
The agents considered this carefully before nodding and exiting the room - one of them childishly making I'm watching you gestures at Camille himself. Once they were gone, he walked over to the couch and sat down heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. It hadn't been a hard mission - had been easier than he'd expected - but it had been...difficult in other ways, he supposed.
"Czajka's in custody, his men are dead, and Costa is alive, I suppose," it was the loosest sense of the term. "Now that your words have proven truth, the AISI is going to wonder what to do with you. I'm going to wonder what to do with you," he found himself staring forward at the wall, not quite checking to see if Fournier was even listening to him. "That mission should've been easier, but I don't think you understand how hard it actually was."
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 23, 2017 0:48:52 GMT -5
He heard rather than saw Camille enter. He had finished his meal sometime ago and to spare himself any troubles, he had left the tv off. It was better to not see the news and worry too much about the young man. Camille was smart and he was also young and new to the AISI which meant even if he was with the entry team, he would not be leading the raid. It did come as a relief to hear his voice and know he was fine though. Setting down the newspaper he was attempting to read before the young man had came, he tilted his head to glance at Camille as he settled heavily beside him causing the couch to dip slightly.
Smiling, he didn't say a word as he allowed Camille to speak first. What he said did come as a surprise. Czajka was in custody rather than dead? That had not been his intention because knowing Czajka he would cuss out all the AISI agents before lashing out at them violently. The man would be put down for misdemeanor and if they shoved him into a blacksite, he would try to ignite trouble. He was better off dead, but Alphonse didn't voice that opinion. Czajka was a sadist. He enjoyed hurting people and when he couldn't do it physically, he'd come to learn of how to do it mentally.
The mission should've been easier was a gross understatement of how much the AISI had f*cked up, but he had decided not to say anything about that instead watching the way Camille was staring at the wall before turning to look at it himself to see what was so interesting about it.
"It sounds to me like you've been successful, Camille," he said gently, words soft and soothing despite the careful care he took not to use the endearing nickname that Seraphin had taken to calling their little boy when he had been so young. "Czajka is alive. I'm certain he has a fair amount of information your organization will be able to make use of and you brought Costa home to his family I don't think there's anything you should be ashamed of."
He had fallen silent after that, not even mentioning the AISI. Camille was only here because it was his job to be here, because Alphonse had said he would only speak to the younger man. He didn't want to be here and he certainly didn't want his opinion. His smile flattened slightly, though the change was hardly recognizable.
"How hard was it?" He asked after a pregnant pause. The way Camille spoke of it made it sound like it was something that had impacted him harder than it should have. There had been a high body count and Costa was probably worse for wear. Alphonse didn't have any doubt about it, but he had thought given Camille's occupation of choice he would have been better at stomaching it. Then again, he was a young agent. And the extents of the damage Czajka could cause...
He knew the permanent damage that men like Czajka could inflict. Costa was young and full of hope and ambition, but something of this caliber could take that all away from him. Perhaps he would withdraw completely from the political race. That would probably end up falling on his shoulders. The blame more often than not usually fell upon him. It was becoming something of an exasperating subject, but he took it all in a stride. After holding his silence to allow Camille to answer his question or ignore it completely, he finally acknowledged Camille's statement regarding the AISI.
"The AISI knows a valuable asset when they see it. I suppose I will have to talk to Director Beneventi regarding my terms and conditions for the information I hold," he said slowly, knowing it was giving Camille the chance to take him back to the blacksite. He had no doubts that was why they sent Camille in the first place. They couldn't leave him at large for long and there was no doubt Beneventi and Bianchi and even Notariano preferred him in the box underground rather than a place he could slip out easily. Though, now that he had used his silent escape and exposed it, it would be a much more violent escape. They were grossly unprepared for a close quarter fight if they thought two guards at the door was enough to contain him. With the element of surprise, the two would be unconscious in seconds.
If Beneventi expressed disinterest and decided to lock him up after all, then he would figure something out, but something told him the Director of the AISI was a little smarter than that. Setting one criminal free to capture many others... well, that was a steal if he had ever seen one. There was the second part of that statement though that had caught his interest. I'm going to wonder what to do with you.
Camille had not spoke about himself. His wants, or his needs, and definitely not his own doubts. He had spoke exclusively of what Alphonse had wanted or whether or not Costa would be alive. The few times he did speak of himself was to express that he would not linger if Alphonse were to f*ck with him and to express that he was only considering Alphonse's words. This was the first time he expressed his own doubts regarding their still working relationship.
"Do you think Bianchi would be happy to see me in a box, locked up, with the key tossed away?" He asked the question with an almost careless tone of inquiry before he turned back to look at Camille, no longer staring at the wall. "Would you be happy?" It scared him how much power Camille had with his answer. It could be a simple 'yes' and he would feel lost. Uncertain. But then again, he just wanted to be close to the young man. To make sure he was safe from the enemies out there hunting him down. Because one day, and he wasn't sure when, they would find Camille Fournier. And then all hell would break loose.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 23, 2017 13:50:36 GMT -5
He didn't know why, but he wanted to trust Fournier. He didn't know why, didn't know why he felt so comfortable - it felt wrong, but right. It was the sort of feeling he had when he sat with Donatello and cried about his worries, or when he'd spent brief pockets of time at the piano with Allegra and had listened to her sing. It was a domestic sort of natural fondness that he hated. Fournier was a criminal and, in technicality, Camille was supposed to be his handler. He couldn't let his guard down, even when he felt so compelled to.
"Costa's broken," his tone was so soft, so fragile. He wondered if it would break. "He's not the same man, he will never be the same man. It doesn't feel successful; we were too late. He'd be much happier if he were dead, and I don't know if he's going to hold up for very long. I don't know a single man with that look in his eye that has tried to stay alive for long. Czajka's in custody but you and I both know that it's likely he's going to disappear when he doesn't cooperate."
Camille took a deep breath and leaned forward a little, rested his elbows on his knees and tilted his head forward a little. How hard was it? he considered it quietly. It felt like history was repeating itself, but it was against someone else. It felt like I was dying, I don't know how I could breathe there, I don't know how I'm okay - that's wrong. I'm not okay. Nothing's okay, and I'm back there, I'm in hell and everything is burning. He could feel his chest tightening, and he took another deep breath, put his hands to his face and counted to ten. He considered his options quietly, but kept his face hidden as he leaned forward a little more. It kept him calm, kept his head even. He was here and in the now, he was not seventeen again and he was alive, he was okay, he'd found a home - and he was alive and okay.
"Body counts don't affect me. Costa dying - that wouldn't have done anything to me in the long run," he paused and squinted, before shaking his head. "The idea of him...surviving, that scared me - and lo and behold, he's alive and he probably doesn't want to be," he leaned back again and pushed his hands through his hair a little rougher than intended, flicked his gaze up to the ceiling. "I sure as hell didn't - wouldn't - want to be."
He glanced to the other man from the corner of his eye before standing up and shrugging his shoulders lightly.
"Yeah," he said, "I suppose you will."
He had no doubts that this - being a handler of sorts - would be long-term, probably permanent. They needed someone to keep an eye on Fournier, and Fournier only wanted to talk to him; for Beneventi, at least, it was a win-win. Keep a rookie out of trouble, keep a criminal out of trouble. It did, of course, make Camille wonder if Fournier was going to continue committing crimes. He hoped not.
"Bianchi's biggest sexual fantasy is having you locked up in a box for life, unable to commit crimes," the words were entirely impulsive and he winced as they came out - but they were out there, now, and he shrugged lightly and went with it. "He would be ecstatic."
But he didn't know if he'd be happy. Fournier was...something. He was interesting and charismatic, and there was something so oddly familiar about him and he wanted to find out what it was - and something told him that it was more beneficial to keep this man out of the box than to let him be locked up forever. He was dangerous, yes - deadly - but many people could be, if put in the wrong direction.
"No," he said after a few moments to think. "I don't think I would be happy - although, I doubt you'd stay locked up for long. They could throw away the passcode and key and any fingerprint locks and still, you could probably escape," an elegant shrug passed over his shoulders as he began to walk towards the door. "And, between you and me? I'd rather die than have to settle into the job I was supposed to do. The criminals I'm supposed to work with are bland and exhibit obvious and recurring traits. You? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a lawyer," he paused, squinted thoughtfully, and then shook his head. "But that's beside the point. Come on - I'm going to take you back to the blacksite."
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 24, 2017 19:08:36 GMT -5
The files about Camille had told him the life the young man had led after being adopted. The events prior to that had been a jumble of things even his best couldn't quite make sense of. The system that took in orphans didn't generally care about them, or at least not the one Camille had been with. The files, the households he had entered, they blended. And the issue was there were many Rossis and more than a handful Camille Rossis whose documentations blended to that of Camille.
The fragile tone Camille adopted was telling of how much he didn't know. Twenty three years spent apart. Twenty three years where anything could have happened and he never knew. He could never know. He wished that when Camille spoke of Costa, it was only about Costa but there were matters underlying the job that had bothered him. And then it made all the sense in the world. He's alive and he probably doesn't want to be. I sure as hell didn't - wouldn't - want to be. There was a story in those words, something he had not been here for.
He watched Camille's body language when the young man hid his facial features. There was something tight and coiled about them. Speaking about trauma generally did that. Breaking eye contact, he glanced away knowing that his eyes would be telling whereas his neutral expression would not be. He didn't want Camille to mistaken the sadness in his eyes for pity. It felt wrong for Camille to be able to draw comparisons between what happened to Costa to what had happened to him at some point in his life. It made his heart ache, heavy with understanding.
Had he known - and he should have - he wouldn't have brought this case to the AISI. Czajka would be free, but what would that matter? It was better than the old scars that had been sliced right open and the obvious pain radiating from Camille. To a stranger nonetheless. He didn't want to imagine how things would be when the young man was finally alone. "You did everything you could to stop Czajka. It wasn't your fault things got so out of hand," he said softly, gently resting a hand on Camille's thigh and squeezing lightly in a reassuring action. He hoped it hadn't been too out of line. Camille hadn't seem to be touch averse, but... The fragility he was met with scared him to some extent. He wasn't out of practice, but he knew how quickly something like this could go wrong and he didn't want it to.
"You still did your best. And perhaps, Costa might despise you for saving him. Maybe today and maybe for his whole life, but from my experience, man is made for survival. Dying has always been easy, living is hard. He will find his way to stand once again, and maybe one day instead of despising you, he will be grateful," he knew Camille wasn't afraid of being despised by Costa. He was afraid of the consequences that would come as a result. He knew very well that some families grew closer - became stronger - after instances of trauma like what Costa had went through. But some fell apart. And the survivors... well. Not all of them survived.
As Camille stood up, he almost felt compelled to do the same, not missing the glance that was casted towards him. It was almost impressive how quickly Camille had placed back on the mask of professionalism, but he wasn't fooled. Still, he smiled at the mention of Bianchi knowing it would be uncharacteristic of him if he hadn't. "Well it's a shame he's going to be deprived of that fantasy," he offered cheerily, though his heart wasn't in it. It still surprised him to this day how good he was at acting like something he wasn't.
The happiness was a dire lie, but... it was what it was. Inspecting his gloves instead of staring at Camille in anticipation for his answer, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest when Camille finally answered. No, I don't think I would be happy. All in all, that was a win and his smile brightened slightly, becoming more genuine. "You're clever. The only way the AISI could keep me in one place is to put me six feet underground," the words weren't far from the truth, but he said it with a teasing implication. If he wasn't dead, then he was gone. "And I'm glad to be of some interest." He chuckled at the mention of his profession, and he couldn't help but give Camille an amused look.
"Though I must suggest you look over my files," he added. He wondered what Camille's response would be to finding out he was right? That was an amusing thought in and of itself. At the younger man's insistence, he finally stood up. Stretching lazily, he glanced at Camille from the corner of his eye. "Please, do lead the way."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 1, 2017 14:38:18 GMT -5
You talk too much, you give away too much - you open up your heart to those who don't deserve it. That's why you end up in these situations - you need to be more cautious, less trusting. Everyone is against you until proven otherwise.
Donatello's words echoed through his mind like a solid reminder - a gruff voice with words a tad too harsh for a child, but Camille had taken them to heart and had lived by them. He slipped up every now and then - he did speak too much - but for the most part, he was okay at keeping secrets, okay at not trusting people, at being paranoid. It was ingrained into him at some point; Fournier even knowing he existed was some sort of dread within him.
Maybe the man knew his adopted father. Maybe that was it, and this was all just some....way to get through to Donatello. That sounded logical, but if that were the case, he held no doubts that Fournier would've just gone to Don - which begged the question of why he was still here. Why had he come back after escaping, why had he turned himself in, why would he only talk to Cam? Too many questions sat unanswered - and more of them just kept adding to the pile. At the other man's attempt at reassurance (it seemed like that), he was more confused than anything else. He angled his head to study the other for a few moments, before shaking his head slowly and instead focusing on one of the other agents.
"I'm a behavioural analyst," he said softly, "I'm not going to be surprised if I'm right."
When hearing his own words he supposed he sounded arrogant - but that wasn't quite it. If anything, he was just telling the truth. Camille quietened, however, as they were escorted from the hotel room to one of the SUVs - there were a few, and he supposed it was just protocol. He settled into the back and listened to the idle radio chatter and the talk between the agents.
Returning to the Blacksite was uneventful, and as expected, proper protocols in place; Fournier's handcuffs, armed guard on alert, and agents at the ready. Camille barely paid any of this attention as he searched for Beneventi; a task which was easier said than done, considering he wasn't yet familiar with the place. It didn't take too long for him to pick up Bianchi, and it wasn't much of a surprise that the senior agent was talking to a Director - so, from there, it was just a simple matter of leading Fournier to his superiors, and letting them handle it from there.
Bianchi looked less than amused, glancing at his watch pointedly.
"That took longer than it should've." he said, but didn't continue on the train of thought. Instead, he shook his head and glanced to Fournier with something like disgust, before returning his gaze to Camille. "Since he speaks to you, I can't dismiss you - but know that you have little say in what happens next."
"I think he has more say than you think, Agent Bianchi," Beneventi looked up from his papers and studied them for a moment, before sighing slowly. "So, Fournier. Your information was correct, and I have no doubt you have terms and conditions for the others aside from speaking to Agent Rossi."
Camille remained silent, crossing his arms and idly wishing he could've been dismissed; there were fewer agent than there had been this morning, though, he had to admit, it was still more than he'd expected.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Nov 15, 2017 0:18:55 GMT -5
The sudden silence that befell Camille took him by surprise, but he understood exactly why. Smiling slightly, he was glad that Millie had told him anything in the first place. He hoped that meant there was something between them at the very least. But it was too early to tell, at least Millie didn't despise him. That was some progress in his opinion.
Chuckling at Millie's response, he glanced at the younger man. "Well, it's nice to see some confidence," he said in amusement, willingly following Camille into the SUV and back to the blacksite. Though he looked at the handcuffs with slight distaste, he didn't argue with the protocols and the mandatory necessities that the AISI had. Smiling at the agent that locked the handcuffs, he saw her eyes hardened and she tightened it causing him to wince slightly.
"Charming," he muttered, noticing that Millie was paying neither of them attention. Rolling his eyes, he pulled away from the agent once Camille started heading towards Bianchi and Beneventi. At the moment they arrived, Bianchi tapped his watch. Offering the man a thin smile, he raised a brow. Impatient one, aren't you? Holding his tongue as Bianchi snapped at Millie, he tipped his head as the man tried to put the younger agent into his place. Humming softly, he stared Bianchi in the eyes, listening idly to what Beneventi had to say before lashing out at the agent with an amused quip.
"I do believe his say is more important than yours, Bianchi," he knew the words were cutting despite the cordial tone he used. It was probably a bad idea to make Bianchi despise Millie, but since Bianchi already did, he supposed he wasn't doing anything too bad. It wasn't like he could worsen the situation with Bianchi's dogged determination to prosecute Millie as a dirty agent working for him.
He didn't mind bending his own rules as long as Camille was allowed to be present at the conversation. Eventually, he knew, they would see the young man's worth. "Well, I'm glad you and I are on the same page, Stefano." The Director looked a bit peeved at the familiarity, but said nothing. Beneventi nodded, allowing him to go on, which he did. Taking a seat on one of the desks, he held up his hands once again. "Though these put a strain in our relationship."
Beneventi smiled, narrowing his eyes as he seemed to consider the request. "You're a dangerous man." The Director finally said, but he was already moving to get out handcuff keys.
"Yes, well, I'd be less dangerous if these were cuffed behind my back rather than in the front," he said even as Beneventi leaned forward to let him go. Loose hands meant loose lips, or something like that. "My terms are quite simple..." That demanded Beneventi's attention. Things went smoothly from there. The Director was surprisingly lenient to his conditions. He was working as an informant for the AISI from today and was given immunity in Italy. He was allowed two close associates to work in Italy, but he was on a very short leash or so Beneventi had said.
The Director, without a doubt, took it up with the individuals responsible for drafting such contracts. It was a very quick response and he was a free man once again. Though a celebration was due, he found himself contemplative rather than pleased with the turn of events. He found himself at a different hotel, Hotel Danieli now compromised with the number of agents that had been located there. He was out on the balcony, nursing a drink and watching the dying embers of his fading cigarette.
His mind was still on what Millie had said.
He's alive and he probably doesn't want to be. I sure as hell didn't - wouldn't - want to be.
Swallowing thickly, he knew he had to find out more about it. It would bother him until he knew, but knowing was a dangerous game. He knew that the information could hurt. Hell, he was certain it would hurt, but not knowing hurt more.
The next few days passed with relative ease as his associates of choice, Artem Vasylyk and Takahashi Masanori, arrived in Italy. The individual of interest he had been keeping his eye on since before his contract with the AISI was strangely quiet. And then two days ago, they struck again. It was a unique case and with the Undertaker close by, he knew it was best to strike now then not at all.
There was something about the this individual that intrigued Alphonse. They were as anonymous as he was in the criminal world which was to say they were well known, but for other reasons than he was. The Undertaker ran a unique kind of assassin organization. And though the methods intrigued him and he was interested in taking over the business, the one who ran it was a little more underhand than even he was. She was called Yuan Aiting. She was violent to those who opposed her. She didn't care about the victim's profile. She didn't care if they people they killed had families, if they were good, or why they had to die. He'd been there before, but killing children for money was where he drew the line. Especially children who could have lived to have long lives.
He found himself calling Millie as a result, knowing that the young man was probably not going to show up alone. It was a bit of an annoyance that Bianchi or Notariano would be coming along, but it was what it was until he proven himself to be a reliable informant and for Millie to build a positive rapport among his peers. The meeting site was a busy cafe frequented by those seeking a quiet coffee, a serene view, and a clean workplace. There was soft music playing and he found himself watching for the arrival of Millie while Masanori took the time to scout out the cafe. They were seated far from the others in the cafe and he suspected that if Millie had never frequented the cafe before, he would find it as charming as Alphonse did.
Smiling upon seeing Millie's arrival, he raised a hand in greeting while his companion gave Millie a curt nod. "So, tell me," he said, brightening up as he eyed the younger man, "how have you been? And what do you know about the relationships between mortuaries and hospitals?"
Next to him, Masanori snorted quietly. "Real subtle, Al," he muttered, clearly unimpressed. And here Alphonse thought he was doing so well. Rude.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 18, 2017 2:10:39 GMT -5
Silence seemed to be the wisest option as the proceedings went on - even when Bianchi sent him hate-filled glares, even as he watched the deal unfold.
As he watched, he decided to run through the day's events in his head. It was weird; he'd woken up expecting a normal day, but had received the opposite of that. He wanted to know what was behind Fournier's demand of him, what the criminal wanted with him. Was he being put to a test of some kind? It was entirely possible, and he didn't like that possibility. It scared him. He didn't want to be seen as a dirty cop, either - but so far, that was all he seemed to be, to Bianchi. Even if he denied knowing Fournier, the familiarity the man referred to him in felt too familiar - he felt too familiar. It didn't make sense.
"Alright, Agent Rossi," the words were firm as Fournier finally left - a free man in Italy, on cooperation grounds. "As expected, you'll be assigned to the Fournier Task Force; you'll work closely with him and get the information he offers us. You will take either Bianchi or Notariano to oversee your talks with Fournier. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," he flicked his gaze up to watch Beneventi, who studied him firmly. After a moment, the man nodded, and he, himself, left.
Bianchi watched Camille with something akin to hatred - or distrust, perhaps. The man approached and used his height to his advantage to loom, which was not as intimidating as he expected Bianchi thought it was.
"I'm keeping my eye on you, Rossi."
"You sure are. Can I go home now?"
For a moment, it was as if Bianchi was going to say no - but he glanced to the time and, reluctantly, he nodded. Camille moved past him to the elevator and left that way, realising a little too late that he hadn't brought his bike because, goddamnit, he'd been driven here. He pinched the bridge of his nose and resigned himself to using a taxi, walking a fair distance away from the blacksite until he called. The drive home was uneventful, and, instead of going to his apartment, he went to the nearby bar.
The bouncer raised an eyebrow at him. "Late," she mused, eyes twinkling.
"New job," he explained miserably, "you're not usually in front. Influx of kids using fake ID?"
"Nail on the head," she exhaled slowly, "I want to go and sit at the bar, but if I don't stop the brats from coming in, Amari's gonna wring my neck. I didn't know someone so small could be so vicious."
"Don't be silly," Camille grinned and tilted his head, "he's a sweetheart."
She huffed idly and waved him in. It was amusing - it wasn't a club, it was a bar. People socialised here, so the fact that she had to stand out front proved how much of an issue underage kids were proving to be. It wasn't their asses on the line, though. They weren't the ones faced with prison or fines. Camille shook his head slowly and sat at the bar, watching as the bartender served a couple of the other regulars. Eventually, the man seemed to realise he was there.
"Hallo," he greeted, watching as the bartender fixed a drink without asking him what he wanted. It was a normal thing, by now. "Nothing too strong, I have work."
"You? Work?" as always, the Italian was fluid. He could barely believe that the man had only been studying it for a year. "That'll be the day. But okay, I'll be gentle."
"Gale," he frowned, watching the mischievous expression on the other's face. "Seriously. Work. Hangovers are bad. Just because you recover within seconds doesn't mean that everyone does."
"Don't worry." the drink was pushed to him, and, after a moment of hesitation, he took a sip. Mostly lemonade. He could deal with that. "See? I'm a kind man."
Camille opened his mouth, then shook his head and looked down. Gale smiled at him innocently, an expression only ruined by the mischievous look in his eyes. Those who didn't know the man were usually more likely to fall victim to his antics, and not many people seemed to know him. It was interesting, but nothing strange considering Gale had moved from...Greece? No. Egypt. That was it. He forgot, with the lack of accent.
"One drink, then I'm going home and passing out."
"That bad?" he watched as Gale cleaned the surface idly, making sure it wasn't sticky from spilled drinks.
"One of my coworkers already hates me, and I can't tell you more," Camille grumbled, resting his elbow on the counter. He didn't miss the glare he got for that, but he didn't move. "If I quit, do I get to work here? I could be a bouncer. Or your personal bodyguard. Or your heavy lifter. Or punchbag. Loads of options."
"Mill," Gale gave him a tired look, "don't quit your job. Last I heard, you were excited as hell."
He smiled, but didn't reply to the implied question, focusing instead on his drink. It took him a full hour to work up the energy to leave - he gave Gale a peck on the cheek and got a bearhug from the bouncer as he left, and then he crossed the street to go to his apartment building. Checked the mail (nothing), wished the elevator wasn't broken, and so on. The days events (and bruises and scrapes) were wearing down on him; it was hard to believe that it had all happened within the span of a few hours.
It wasn't a surprised that he received a call from Fournier not long after - if anything, it was expected. Once he'd taken the meeting place, he looked up to see Bianchi already approaching, as if his crime sensors had gone off. The man took one look at the scribbled writing, and scowled. It was a very deep scowl. His face would stick like that, Cam was sure of it.
"I'm coming."
Cam had wanted to take Notariano. At least he didn't try to make him out to be a criminal at every turn. "Sure, whatever you want to do," he glanced down. "Can I drive, at least? I know where this cafe is."
With great reluctance, Bianchi agreed and they set off on their way. Once they reached the destination, he could feel the jitters from Bianchi, as if the man wanted nothing more than to kill Fournier. Maybe he did, but that wasn't Cam's issue - he approached and, after a moment of thought, sat down.
"I have brilliant bruises," he leaned back in his seat and flicked his gaze to the man who spoke, before looking back to Fournier. "As a rule, the hospital carts dead people off to the mortuary. Can't keep dead people in the hospital for too long. Why?"
Bianchi snorted and crossed his arms, standing next to Cam. It felt like he had a bodyguard, but that wasn't what the older agent was here for. He was here to loom, as he had taken to doing.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Nov 20, 2017 20:51:52 GMT -5
It didn't come as a surprise when Millie had brought with him company, but the choice was a little questionable. It was Bianchi, ever so imposing with a permanent scowl stitched on his face, rather than Notariano who seemed to have a bit more schooling on the arts of concealing his emotions. Pausing briefly, he allowed his gaze to linger on Bianchi for a brief moment, a quiet tease to set the agent on guard more than he already was. If his posture and expression was anything to go by, it would seem that he was only here to watch and not to contribute. How pleasant.
"Bruises, eh? From what?" There was a suggestive raising of brows from Masanori following that question immediately shut down by a sharp jab to the man's side. The implications lingered in the air, however, and he couldn't help but sigh heavily at his companion's antics.
Giving the man a disapproving glance, he was only met with a wild smile from Masanori who didn't care about the way others' perceived him. It was like bringing along and obnoxious and unpredictable chihuahua, but the man also made for one of the most handy in a fire fight. Turning back to Camille, he could only shake his head while grimacing. "I apologize for my companion," he said, earning him a sharp 'hey!' from the sharpshooter. That only compelled him onward with a grin, amused by the response he received. "This is Masanori, and Masanori this here is"
"Yeah, yeah, Camille Rossi and Liberto Bianchi, I know," Masanori said, cutting him off mid-sentence. It didn't help that his Italian was accented. Fixing the man with a withering glare, he could see that Masanori was sizing up the two with an expression of mild disinterest. Neither seemed like a particular threat to either one of them even when Bianchi was sitting there, attempting to make himself imposing. He agreed with the expression, but could only huff as he took a sip of the espresso he had ordered.
"Was that really necessary?" The question was met with a sheepish grin, though he highly doubted that Masanori felt especially sorry about it, he left it there. Instead, he turned his attention once again to Millie. "Now, that's usually how it works out if the system is clean and pristine, but there's an individual who has been on my radar for some time."
"They operate a business inside of hospitals, killing ill, injured, and comatose victims through medical overdoses, unfortunate failures in machinery, asphyxiation and the like. These victims are then sent to their own mortuaries where the cause of death is covered up and the bodies are cleaned and buried six feet under, therefore stirring no investigations. We refer to the individual in power as The Undertaker, she has roots in most of Asia and parts of Europe, including Italy. Her files might be of some interest to you."
Pausing thoughtfully, he waited as Masanori pulled out her dossier, enclosed inside a file folder. The man grinned, leaning in closer, edging dangerously close to his own cup of coffee as he pushed it over the table towards Millie. "What he means to say is that they're murderous killer doctors, downright evil bastards who give people a reason to not go to hospitals in the first place."
"I have it on good accounts that she is here in Italy for the time being, but for how long is an entirely different question. Her location is also unknown to me, but I have faith you'll figure it out." He finished, leaning back and picking up his espresso once again. If it weren't for the contents of their conversation, it would have almost seemed like a nice day out. Almost.
At the very least, Millie was okay or as okay as he could be.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 21, 2017 5:05:57 GMT -5
"From being flipped over multiple times in a car," his tone, albeit fake-cheery, was a little sharper than he intended. He couldn't help it, really; he was stuck with Bianchi, he was in pain, and he had an oncoming migraine. Today wasn't his day. Nonetheless, Camille quickly shifted his attention away from Fournier's companion and onto the man himself.
He had to admit, it was amusing that Fournier had gotten exactly what he'd wanted. It was as if Beneventi couldn't say no to him - although, he knew that that was likely the case. This criminal seemed to get what he wanted, and that was one hell of a life to live, he supposed. Bianchi didn't seem to happy about it - why would he? He looked like he'd be chewing a wasp all day, and at the mention of his first name (something that Camille himself had not known) seemed to just make him angrier. It was like a little dog; a Chihuahua, or something. Despite the situation, a faint smile flicked over his features and he rested his elbow on the table before he used his hand to cover the lower half of his face, just to hide it.
Bianchi glared at him, but couldn't do anything to prove that Camille was doing anything wrong, so he had no choice but to ignore it and move on.
They operate a business inside of hospitals. Already, it sounded bad - and he was right. It was worse than he'd thought, and the smile quickly faded from the young man's face as he listened, eyes narrowing as he sat up straight again. The Undertaker. Edgy and fairly scary - like a real life horror story. But, of course, this wasn't some Stephen King novel they were in; it was real life, and this killer doctor, this Undertaker was an issue. He glanced at Bianchi from the corner of his eye, and noted that the other man was no longer scowling, but instead he looked a little...worried? He wasn't quite sure what that expression was, but he didn't have time to think about it too much as he looked down at the file. He hesitated as Masanori spoke, before gently taking the file and flicking it open only briefly, before Bianchi took it away and raised an eyebrow as if to say curious, aren't we?
Camille gave a little shake of his head before he looked back to Fournier.
"There are more than a thousand hospitals in Italy," it was Bianchi who spoke up, a set of reading glasses perched at the edge of his nose as he looked at the file. "We - the AISI - haven't even heard of her before, which means we have no basis to go on aside from this," he nodded down at the file. "Deaths happen in hospitals all the time, even suspicious deaths aren't flagged too often. We have no grounds to go searching through hospitals."
He flicked his gaze to the senior agent, frowning thoughtfully. "He's right," he said softly. "It could take us a while to pin down her location, and if she leaves Italy before then, we won't be able to do anything about her."
It seemed that Bianchi was actually surprised at being agreed with, since he stared blankly at Camille from the top of his glasses. Cam, himself, just rested both elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. This was an interesting case! He wanted it! But it was an intimidating one; to track down a killer doctor that even Fournier didn't know the location of. Looking at suspicious hospital records would take a long time - and it wasn't as if a killer doctor would be the only predator in a hospital. Hospitals were where there were vulnerable people.
"Does she go for high profile targets?" he asked quietly, ignoring Bianchi's mildly betrayed look. "Those who can't be caught by conventional means?"
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Nov 22, 2017 22:19:19 GMT -5
Masanori took it upon himself to answer Camille's sharp statement with a low whistle that he had to frown at. It seemed that he had brought the wrong companion along. Artem could at least hold his tongue despite his roaming hands, but Masanori seemed to be on a war path towards peeving both Millie and Bianchi in one goal. "Sounds like quite a trip," the man laughed, brown eyes glistening in amusement. "But if you want a wild ride, next time ask me. I could get you hooked up on something that's a lot less painful."
Frowning, Alphonse fixed Masanori with a glare. He did not. The sharpshooter merely offered a cheeky smile and casual shrug in response before Alphonse sighed. It felt as if he was aging in the company of his companion. Masanori was always pulling some stupid sh*t anyhow, something about how humor and sarcasm was his defensive mechanisms or something like that. Sometimes, despite the man being a handful of years younger than him, he felt like he was responsible for his actions and words.
At the very least, Bianchi's expression made up for the situation. Whereas Masanori was all but too pleased with himself and Millie was poorly attempting to hide his amusement, Bianchi looked as if he wanted to die or kill Masanori and him. Maybe it was both. That was highly possible as well. As he watched the man take the files from Millie, he felt his lips twitch slightly nearly frowning but not quite. That was a tad bit frustrating, but he would let the two of them deal with it themselves. They were, after all, adults. Though sometimes that was a questionable statement.
When his eyes flicked back up, he found it was with some amusement. Bianchi was wearing reading glasses - so they shared some similarities after all - and scanning the documents. Watching the man and taking note of the slight twitches in his features as he read the documents, he couldn't help but huff in amusement. As soon as Bianchi spoke, he returned with his own reply, tone amused. "Of course the AISI has never heard of her," he said and beside him Masanori laughed.
It seemed exaggerated by how much the man's body shook and how mirthful he sounded, but knowing Masanori he highly doubted the man needed to exaggerate any of it. "You can't just say things like that Al and not carry with you aloe."
Furrowing his brows, he chose to ignore the comment, instead having his interest piqued by the way Millie thought. At least he wasn't a quitter. Chuckling and shaking his head, pointed at Millie shaking his finger. "You are on the right path, Millie. I don't have a location for Aiting, but a target name."
"Forgive my acquaintance, he likes the suspense," Masanori said, tone snide and dripping with amusement as he gave the AISI agents a toothy smile. As if Alphonse didn't already regret his decision...
Clearing his throat, he reached into his pocket and slid out the address of Avis Ospedale dell'Angelo, a rather highly recommended hospital. It was a pristine location, large and with a staff that could easily be infiltrated considering the number of doctors on call. It always had a room number and ward of the patient, an individual diagnosed with pancreas cancer. "Edgardo Mallozzi. A highly influential businessman. I'm assuming if he does die, the stocks for his company will plummet and someone paid a handsome fee to make a fortune. If you can catch the assailant, perhaps you'll be able to track down Aiting."
"What he means to say is he bought that the stocks will rise, so don't make him lose money!"
"Don't listen to him," he said softly. Just because it was true didn't mean it had to be said aloud. "Well, that is all I have for you, gentlemen. If you do find that you're in need of my assistance, just call back the number I've been using to contact you, Millie. I'll answer if I'm available."
"Tata Millie. See you later, Liberto," Masanori called after them, adding a wink just for good measure. The people he kept around...
Shaking his head, he finished the rest of his espresso and threw it away, standing up to leave. Masanori was quick to follow behind, grinning widely as he followed behind him.
"That boy... he has your eyes. I think Liberto is blind."
"Masanori..."
"I'm just saying."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 23, 2017 6:54:10 GMT -5
Though Camille's eyebrow twitched minutely, he didn't bother responding to Masanori. He wasn't one to lose his temper, but he was a little low on patience considering who he had to spend the morning with. From what he knew already, no-one wanted to deal with Bianchi. It was like he was a giant pissbaby who didn't know how to lighten up. Really, it just put a downer on everybody's moods.
Beside him, he felt the other agent stiffen before the file was dropped back into Camille's lap. He didn't look at it - he could check later. Instead, he gave Fournier's companion a sharp glare, and ignored him.
"Alright, thank you," he glanced to Bianchi who wasn't even looking at their table anymore. Cam shook his head a little and glanced back to Fournier. "You don't need to tell me twice to not listen to him." the tone he used was fairly dry. He watched the two leave with a frown, didn't respond to the farewells given by Masanori. Irritating was something that came to mind.
"You believe him?" asked Bianchi, once the two were gone.
"We didn't believe him with Costa and look where that got us." Camille stood up and left, with - and this amused him greatly - his senior on his heels. "Even if Fournier is doing this for his own gain - I have no doubt he is, with what his...acquaintance said - we need to look into it. I don't know about you, but I don't particularly want a man dying if we can prevent it. Besides, if he's broke, I don't think Fournier would be of much use."
Bianchi stared at him for a moment, before getting into the car and sighing heavily. "I'll inform the team about what we've learned, and then Notariano, you, and I can head on over to talk to Mallozzi."
Camille nodded and passed over the address that he'd been given, and the two headed back to pick up Notariano.
Once that was done, they drove to the hospital in question and Camille checked over the file idly. It didn't help as much as he'd hoped, but there were things he could file away just in case. He glanced up when Bianchi cleared his throat, and exited the car; he followed the other man into the hospital and barely paid attention as Bianchi did his thing. It took some time, but eventually, they were led to the room that Mallozzi was staying in. Bianchi entered first, approaching the man cautiously as he flashed his badge.
"Agents Bianchi, Notariano, and Rossi. AISI. We have reason to believe that you are in some danger, and we'd like to talk to you about it," he started, seeming to have decided that he was entirely in-charge. What an Alpha Male mindset. Camille crossed his arms and watched the floor quietly. He'd never really liked hospitals.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Dec 3, 2017 7:25:19 GMT -5
It had come as a surprise when he was informed later rather than immediately that there had been a job involving the Fournier Task Force. It sounded a little bad when he mulled over it in his head that they were the Fournier Task Force as if they worked for him, but given how the man had all but walked over Beneventi, he supposed they kind of were. It left a bad taste in his mouth, but the things they got done were actually helping. With the Czajka case, without Fournier they would have never even known that the attack was going to happen. They wouldn't have found Costa before things got ugly. Those were the facts and the man had value.
And apparently with Fournier, things could never be simple. There was a new job or so he'd been informed by Bianchi and Rossi. It kind of sucked to be told last, but there had been a call and he hadn't been in the immediate vicinity and the guard on duty told him Bianchi demanded to come along. That guy was such a tool, but Renato could only shrug it off and check all of the things he would need on hand - and maybe need in case things get out of hand - off the mental list in his mind while waiting for the other two to pick him up because they couldn't be f*cked to give him the address. Maybe they thought he couldn't drive because he hadn't drove since they had first met, that wouldn't be a first.
Getting on the car once they stopped to pick him up, he muttered a quiet greeting before settling in the back seat, frowning slightly. He doubted this was by Rossi's design, but it was still a little frustrating being the odd man out in the group. They were partners, he was an accessory to help clean up their messes. That was what it was starting to feel like. Blessedly, the drive was short and there wasn't much conversation other than his bitter greetings. He'd like to think of himself as a friendly man, albeit a little too emotional for his occupation of choice, but he wasn't a hard a*s like Bianchi so he hoped that meant at least Rossi wanted to befriend him slightly.
He didn't have man occupational friends. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed the other guys didn't take him for the skilled at his job kind and he was a little daft as far as sports and other things went so the AISE agents weren't as quick to receive him as one of them. He was a respected member, but he didn't have many trustworthy confidants among them. Maybe with the young agent he had a chance. Though the rivalry between the AISE and AISI might make things hard but he had no idea.
He sighed as the car came to a stop. Exiting the car, he followed behind Bianchi as the man took lead. He only had the bare minimum details that were important. The individual they were trying to catch went by the name The Undertaker in the criminal network. That reminded him more of the wrestler if he were to be honest, but he didn't voice his opinion. Her actual name was Yuan Aiting and all they had on her was a potential target at a wealthy hospital. That wasn't a whole lot to work with, but he supposed things couldn't be easy if they were going to be weird.
The guy they were talking to was Edgardo Mallozzi, a businessman, though the room he was shared between Bianchi and Rossi. Sighing, he shoved his hands into his pockets, trailing behind until they arrived at the right room. Slipping in behind the other two agents, he watched Bianchi assert himself almost immediately. Rolling his eyes, he watched from the back as Bianchi jumped straight to business. Not much in the subtlety department with the AISI, was there?
To his credit, despite the pained and slightly vacant expression in Mallozzi's eyes, the man managed to look fearful at the appearance of government agents. His eyes widened slightly and he straightened up, making himself smaller despite his wince of pain as he put space between them and him. Hmmm there was something questionable about his fear of the police, but Renato knew better than to dig too deep into it before the shaky questions of morality and where to draw the line came up. Mallozzi didn't seem the part of an honest businessman that was worth protecting, but protecting him was their job so he had no other choice anyways.
"I haven't...! Wait..." The man's voice drawled off slightly as his eyes shifted between them. "I'm in danger?" The slight lift at the end of his voice betrayed his confusion at the situation. Frowning slightly, he nodded as he stepped beside Bianchi.
"Probable danger, Signor Mallozzi," he answered patiently. "So we'll need to ask you a few questions and just check the perimeter. I'm certain it's just a mistake and everything will be fine, but please bare with us. We don't take threats of violence lightly."
The softening of the situation seemed to help calm down Mallozzi somewhat as the man slumped back into a comfortable position. Knowing that he was interrupting Bianchi fully well, he pressed on. Leaning against the wall next to Mallozzi's bed, he ticked off the normal questions police usually asked their suspects or their victims just to get a handle on the situation. Opening his mouth to speak, he in turn was interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. Glancing up, he saw a doctor slowly peek in before pulling back rapidly.
Tilting his head in curiosity, he moved away from where he was originally standing and headed to open the door at the same time he called out, "Feel free to enter, doc."
Opening the door, he found himself face to face with a rather older senile looking woman. Somehow that came as a surprise to him. The flicks generally showed younger doctors and the ones who worked on him were usually around his age. "It's alright, we can talk while you're helping him," he added gently, but there was a subtle shift of her body that set off warning bells in his head. She looked ready to bolt it out of there.
"I-it's fine. I'll come back later," she said and it sickened him how kind her voice was. This was why the AISE said to trust nobody, not even the maternal sort.
"No," he said firmly, "I insist."
She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He heard rather than saw the tray of medical supplies clatter to the ground as the woman dropped it, bolting. Sighing, he broke out into a sprint, hoping that one of the other two followed behind to get his back just in case she wasn't working alone. She was faster than he first thought, but eventually, she ran herself into a corner and broke down sobbing as he finally pinned her and handcuffed her. He wasn't rough, but he wasn't gentle either. Too much free ground for her to work and he could come out hurt.
Glancing up, he sighed as he looked at her. "You have a lot of explaining to do."
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Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2017 12:33:10 GMT -5
Bianchi's mindset was something that Camille did not enjoy, nor did he admire. He supposed that in a lot of circles it would be admired; by men like Bianchi, who were dominant and thought they ruled over everything. There was some sort of overbearing feeling about the man; he was tall and he was clearly strong, and he had this sort of look, like he was constantly frustrated. Well. So far? That was all Bianchi had been. It was like the man was endlessly angry, like he had no outlet and as such, Camille had become his outlet. He didn't like that. It was too familiar. He wasn't sure what he was expecting from Notariano, but he doubted that he was another Alpha Male-type. He hadn't come across as it, at least.
It was best, he'd already found, to stay quiet. Passive. He was a watcher as it was, someone who paid attention (even when others didn't think he was), someone who held information in his mind from interactions. Nobody suspected him to remember something they did or said, nobody expected him to hold onto information they'd slipped by accident. He was one of those, as one of his old teachers had said. Someone better heard than seen, because if he was only seen rather than heard, then he was probably thinking - and that was never good, but that had been because he was a troublemaker. Maybe he still was. He didn't know. There were definitely some terrible influences in his life, and Bianchi seemed to be holding onto that.
Especially since Fournier was around.
The usage of Millie still unnerved him. Donatello had used it before (though it was not his preferred nickname for Camillle; usually, the old man used 'Cam'), and Allegra had used it time and time again. Family used it. That was what it was for - or the younger foster kids with their nervousness had called him Millie because he was their big brother, and that was a soft name - it was easier for them to comfort themselves if Millie was coming to help them out.
So some strange man coming along and calling him that? It confused him, but more importantly - it made him curious. This man knows me somehow, he thought. Whoever he is, this man knows me and knows that name; he knows more about me than I know about him.
It was strange and he was very concerned; but he needed to do his job. Listening to Notariano talk to the man was better than hearing Bianchi yap at this man. Though, while his gaze flicked over Mallozzi. Crooked. It was the first thing to come to mind. This man was a criminal; a fraud, most likely, and he had likely thought that nobody would notice. Well, he thought, luckily, we're not here to arrest you. Someone else can try that at a later date, perhaps they were not kind towards a terminally ill man, but he didn't care.
Bianchi's expression was thunder.
He glanced to Camille and glared, as if it were his fault that Notariano had stepped in. He frowned in response and narrowed his eyes, but looked away as he was not going to engage in a stare-off with the man. Absolutely not. He listened, instead, and took information in his head and sifted through it idly. There was no logical reason for him to step in, and so he didn't. Instead, he let the others lead; though it just seemed to be one rather than both, as Bianchi seemed to have settled for seething quietly. All bark and no bite was a phrase that came to mind.
Camille did not get to see the doctor before something was dropped and, when Notariano moved, he did, too. Bianchi's protests were lost to him as he automatically followed; but it seemed he was not needed, as the other man seemed to handle himself well. He tilted his head as he glanced over the old woman, ignored the thought of this could've been Allegra, she could've been like this, and then he glanced up to Notariano.
"No, no, I'm innocent." the woman's breathy hiccups pulled at his chest. She wasn't entirely malicious; but there was something off. While her crying and expression were genuine, her body language was scarily calm.
"Yes," he said softly. "Innocent people don't run. You would've done better to continue doing whatever you were doing, even with us there."
It was suspicious and her behaviour all but confirmed she had been intending to harm (or kill) Mallozzi. C'est la vie, he thought and, despite the situation, was amused with himself. Maybe he was in a particularly French mood due to Fournier.
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