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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 3, 2018 3:14:58 GMT -5
Alphonse Fournier
Code Name: Ghost. Status: Alive, uninjured. Location: Unknown.
The restlessness that followed the gathering of The Agency was something he had expected but disliked all the same. It was the same chaotic energy that lingered between jobs that went poorly reminding him of the grim nature of the business. No matter how he played his cards, the unpredictability of the world would override any perfectly calculated plan of action and things would be beyond his own ability and the only thing he could rely on for survival was his instinct. This was the same kind of quiet before a gunshot. At the very least, Seraphin loved the change in scenery and took to it gracefully and happily. She loved the crisp ocean air and the city life more than she ever did the quiet lifestyle that they had before. It would never be Paris, but it was close enough. The people were kind and he had found himself at home with crowds of strangers, some eager to teach him how to master Norwegian. They found reasons to laugh in his failures and were insistent that he needed to try this and that.
He found that he belonged best with the worst of men and women, the criminals that fell in line with Asbjørn Munsen. They were gambling folk, casting their die boldly in casinos and betting blindly in bloody bare-knuckle fights in bars. They were bold and loud people who knew the inner workings of Norway like the back of their hands. They knew about all the most recent changes in the criminal and political environment and vice versa. They kept him informed while he sat among them, playing poker and swindling them out of their hard earned dirty money. It was an interesting change in his life to say the least. Before, back in Switzerland where S.A.F.E. had been located, the company he had shared was much less. They were good, honest folk who baked in their free time.
This crowd was more bravado and sharp wit and it bode well with him. It kept him on top of his game. Folding his hand, he frowned thoughtfully as he glanced towards his watch. Ah, it was nearly dinner time and Seraphin had insisted that they eat out tonight. Placing his cards on the table, he stood up in one fluid motion and grabbed his hat as he did so. "It's been a pleasure playing with you, gentlemen, but I've got to be going now," he said, gaining the attention of the other three players who looked to him with a series of mixed expressions. He could swear he saw relief in one of their faces much to his amusement.
"Will you be back next time?" One of them asked while the other two offered their goodbyes.
Alphonse simply shrugged in response, it was hard to tell when The Agency would send him on a job. If anything, they of all people should understand odd hours when they were gone for weeks on end avoiding arrest. "We'll see," he said, huffing a laugh as he placed his hat on his head and slipped on his suit jacket before heading out of the bar.
It was darker outside then it was in the dimly lit bar, but in a few months of time when summer rolled by he knew that it would be brighter in no time. Removing his cigarette case from the inside of his jacket, he took out one of his preferred Nat Shermans and headed to his car parked in the parking lot. It didn't seem like it had been touched, though it was always hard to be sure with the unsavory folk around this part of the city. However, his connections with Munsen's family did come with some benefits. Nobody, unless they were stupid or suicidal, went out of their way to bother those protected by the mafia.
Slipping into his car, he took his time to get to the new house. It was still strange to drive to the large lake side house and come to the conclusion that this was home because as much as he was used to moving from place to place never to call anywhere home like a vagabond, Seraphin was here.And wherever Seraphin was, that was home. Twisting the door knob, he entered the house and looked towards the sofa to see if he would find her there but she wasn't. Curiosity piqued, he entered completely and closed and locked the door behind him before looking around for her familiar figure.
Nothing looked out of place and there was no signs of any struggle. "Seraphin?" He called, more confused than worried. She would have told him if they were going to be changing their plans. Unless... There was no way she was still asleep this late into the day, but it was a possibility sometimes. Sighing, he ascended the stairs after receiving no response to be assaulted by Yseult who attempted to trip him by wrapping around his feet. She seemed pleased with herself, purring when he picked her up against his better judgment.
"Ma Reine?" He tried once again as he pushed the closed bedroom door open and he could hear movement inside the bathroom before she responded to him.
"Just another minute, Al," she answered from the other side of the door before pushing it open. She looked stunning in her red dress and matching makeup and he couldn't help but smile fondly. She smiled at him in response before prying Yseult from his hands and placing her down onto the bed. She looked up at him as she dusted the white fur off his suit jacket in amusement before tutting. "I don't think you can use this jacket without getting it dry cleaned," she said, clearly not impressed with him as she removed it for him. "I'll meet you in the car." With those parting words, she offered him a chaste kiss against his cheek and left.
The night passed by in a comfortable manner. Dinner was charming and Seraphin was as lovely as ever. However, when he settled into the study to read for a few hours before going to bed and preparing for yet another quiet day, the black telephone on his desk rang. Rolling his eyes, he leaned over and picked it up. It wasn't any voice he recognized, but the timing was damn near impeccable.
"The Director would like to speak with you tomorrow in the evening at 1 pm sharp."
Well, that beat sifting through paperwork and reading files. "I understand," he said curtly, ending the call soon after. Whatever it was, he knew it was, he knew it was something that would be challenging. Otherwise, they wouldn't have gathered such a skilled group of individuals from all around the globe. It was going to keep him on his toes, but then again he wouldn't have it any other way. The quiet that followed the office workdays here were the worst.
Until he had a base for the difficulty of the jobs The Agency would send him on, he was more likely to think himself to death than anything else. After all, what was the baseline for missions meant for the best of the best? He wasn't quite sure, but it was a start for building his repertoire in The Agency. If anything, this was just the proving grounds for not only him, but The Agency itself.
The United Nations had made a hefty gamble on The Agency being worth it's cost and these first few jobs would either prove it or disprove it. This was very much a sink or swim situation for them as a whole. If anything, it was supposed to be an honor that he was chosen first but a nagging voice at the back of his head couldn't quite forget the way the Director had looked at him with distaste and distrust during their first meeting.
He woke up early first thing the next morning, heading into the headquarters earlier than usual to finish up the paperwork he was doing before at 1 pm he found his way to the Director's office. It was an isolated room away from the desks and rows of agency spies, some he recognized and others he didn't. The ones he did he hoped didn't recognize him in turn. There was frustratingly[but unsurprisingly] more of them that wished him dead then not.
Knocking lightly on the Director's door, he could hear the older gentleman move about before saying "Come in" gruffly as if he had been in a shouting match with someone only minutes before. Entering the room, he nodded to the Director and settled into one of the offered chairs. The Director fixed him with a look that he couldn't quite decipher. Smiling in response, he was not surprised when someone else entered the room. They wouldn't have taken the time to put together a variety of skillful agents if they didn't want to get big jobs done. "Nice to see you're all on time," the Director said, voice warm, "Close the door behind you, please."
He recognized one of the two. Gabriela Rudnik, the Polish spy, representative of MSW, formerly PKWN. Gabriela was a tall woman with sculpted features, blonde hair, and warm green eyes. From his limited experience with her, he knew her to be delightfully quick witted with a no-nonsense personality that made for clever company. She was very attuned with her surrounding and had a skill list a mile long. He nodded subtly at her as she entered and she seemed to recognized him in turn and inclined her head in his direction even as she closed the door as per request.
"Thank you," the Director continued once they were all seated. "As you all must know, the United States has developed the MIRV system." That was common knowledge. It was all over the news and there were whispers underground regarding how KGB wanted to get their hands on it to even the arms race. "As of now, KGB operatives have still failed to retrieve the blueprints. However, one of our own has. I've selected all of you due to your lack of allegiance to both the United Stated and Russia. The mission is simple enough in theory. Drop off the blueprints and disappear."
He didn't ask questions regarding what kind of insider in the CIA must have stolen the blueprints. It was the only sensible option. Clearly The Agency had moles inside intelligence agencies that they didn't recruit as live agents. It was an intriguing thought, a subject matter that he wanted to revisit on his own time. As for now, he perked up in interest at the mission details.
"This mission requires utmost discretion. Your roles have already been predetermined due to your track record. It's a four man job, but we can't risk sending such a large unit behind the Berlin Wall without gaining Russian Interest. As a result, there are now only three of you. The first and calmest of you will be the courier. This is a level headed job, you will enter the drop area and you will be frisked for weapons. Do not bring any lest you be regarded a political assassin. This is your job, Agent Hammer." So far it was straightforward. Though he had never worked with 'Agent Hammer', he glanced to the other man and took in his profile, he seemed capable, though how capable would only come to be seen. The name August Jude Decker from the man's limited file came to mind. As of now, he would have to trust the Director's judgment which didn't put him at ease.
"The second of you will serve as the lookout and the transporter. You will secure a vehicle before the engagement. Be reliable, if things sound like they are going wrong, lend the courier a hand and get out of there quickly. Be ready to leave at the first signs of engagement. Keep everyone alive. This is your job, Agent Fable," which left him. He stayed put in the seat, features passive, blinking lazily. "And the last of you will serve as tactical support. Your role is to serve as the eyes and ears of the team and lay cover fire for the ground operatives as necessary. For this, a skilled sniper is necessary. Agent Ghost. That's your duty."
He offered a small smile and a nod at that, accepting the job graciously. He trusted Gabriela or Fable but his eyes lingered on Hammer briefly. This was close to a suicide mission. The only way they were going to get out was if they had enough cunning and wit between the three of them to outsmart not only the entirety of Russia but the best the KGB and military had to offer once the live drop was secured.
"Be smart, Agents. The UN will not assist extraction or be responsible for any casualties. Keep each other alive."
After that, the Director slipped each of them a dossier filled with information regarding the blueprints, the engagement plan, and paths of escape that many people who had escaped Communist Russia and passed the wild corruption that plagued the Russia's side of the Berlin Wall into Ally territory. It was difficult to say the least, but it was possible. Closing the folder, he glanced up to the Director waiting for something. Anything. "You will all fly out tonight under the cover of night. Be safe and pack light."
The Director didn't spare them anymore words after that, sending them on their seperate ways until nightfall where they would meet up with one another once again to head out to Russia. In the time before his departure, he had spent his time with Seraphin once he had been certain he had packed the proper weapons, currency,and two sets of clothes for the trip. They would have to blend in with the locals upon arrival, both in the USSR and in Germany.
He was half an hour early to the pick up point, taking in the empty flight strip with vague disinterest when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. It was light and careful and he tipped his head to a side. "It's been awhile, Gabriela," he said, voice warm. She didn't answered but hummed in agreement.
After a long time, she finally spoke her mind. "How are you alive, Alphonse?" Straight for the jugular as per usual, how unsurprising.
He chuckled in response, shrugging in a noncommited answer. "I don't kiss and tell." He stayed aware, waiting for Decker. He wanted a chance to speak with the other in order to gauge him. It was hard to tell the character of a man without witnessing him in conversation.
Gabriela realizing her prodding would not get anything from him decided to fall back into casual conversation, the two of them speaking quietly about recent events and not once touching the mission details without their third member. Then, he noticed they weren't alone anymore and glanced up looking for Decker's silhouette in the darkness. "Kind of you to join us, Decker," he said, clearly amused even as Gabriela next to him voiced her own greeting. They would have plenty of time to speak amongst themselves before they actually committed to a plan of action once they were in Russia. Talk about strange company.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 4, 2018 3:37:46 GMT -5
August Decker alive and uninjured, in an undisclosed location.
Getting to see the world without her was, in a word, bizarre. In a few other words, it was cruel and depressing, and every second he spent away from the States deepened the sense of betrayal that clung to his chest so tightly, so unyieldingly, even after all this time had passed.
All the young man could think about as he ambled his way through the picturesque waterfront streets, without much purpose or drive to his wanderings at all, was that she would have loved to take in all the sights he had the privilege to see. She would have called the opportunity to travel here for work business, shady and clandestine and potentially life-threatening as it was, something to be thankful for. Juliet had that way at looking at things. Ever the optimist, always wearing an effortlessly fantastic million-dollar smile, August hadn't realized how much responsibility for his own outlook on the life they shared that she bore bravely, gladly, on her slight, narrow frame. He never understood how she could manage to always drink life to the lees with the profession that they both shared, but she embraced it wholeheartedly.
Some part of him always knew that pursuing a relationship with a woman with whom he shared his livelihood would become a devastating, and completely avoidable, mistake at some point. But, the naive pair convinced themselves that, somehow, they were special, and the alarmingly short life expectancy of so many agents just like them would miraculously pass them by. It was an easy dream to believe in, with her constant gentle reminder and gentle touch. The awful, unreasonably expensive, cramped apartment they shared with each other in Virginia transformed overnight into the most welcoming and homey place he'd ever had the blessing of being able to call his own. She always livened it up, in her naturally matronly way: an organic freshly cut bouquet of flowers from the farmer's market, a baking tray dotted with cooling homemade blueberry scones, a brand-new groovy record from the shop across the street with warm eyes that beckoned for him to twirl and dip her to the beat in their living room.
He never knew how a person like her landed alongside him in the Special Activities Division. Standing at just over five feet and four inches tall and the willowy, graceful and sure-footed build of a gymnast (she had competed in the Ivy League, on the University of Pennsylvania's team, which is how they first started on their journey together), and with an absolutely adorable splash of freckles across her cheeks, she had absolutely no natural means of intimidating people. So it turned out, her image combined with the miracle switch she could flip with her demeanor and personality proved to be just the kind of jarring juxtaposition the Central Intelligence Agency loved. Juliet aced the physical tests, with her natural dexterity and agility on the courses (they found themselves competing against each other constantly for the better times and evaluations) and was near impossible to land a punch on; he liked to joke that she was so thin that if she turned sideways, she'd disappear into thin air, like a piece of paper.
She was incredibly talented at her job. Surprisingly unshakable and unrelenting, she could make men twice her height and three times her weight cry in interrogations. With everything the CIA taught her. from combat and pressure points to the languages she mastered quickly, Juliet blossomed into the perfect covert operation agent: demure, unsuspecting, and absolutely lethal. August had tried at first to not fret for her when she was sent away for weeks, sometimes months at a time on missions, and then later that turned to a healthy jealousy when she got selected for more sensitive tasks than he did. Nevertheless, they worked hundreds or thousands of miles apart at a time, but always found ways to correspond in secret, whether it be through a telephone call that the other let ring for exactly four rings, or an indecipherable string of Morse code that appeared to mean nothing to the hotel concierge that received it, but with a simple language they'd designed themselves, translated to some silly phrase.
Luck had its way of running out at just the worst time, though. It always did. August was a fool for not seeing it sooner than it had happened. The couple had just discovered they had gotten pregnant when they were both sent to Vietnam for a top secret mission to offer emergency support to the crumbling democratic government in the South. Sh-t had hit the fan almost the second their boots touched the ground, that cursed, bloody soil, and she and half of their group had been killed in action when the Viet Cong ambushed them offering aid to a local ransacked village. When news of the incident reached the United States, which it did rather quickly, the leashes on the remaining agents were yanked back home quicker than they could even make sense of all the carnage they'd seen in Asia.
The Central Intelligence Agency left the love of his life's body to float down a filthy river in a country filled with the coldest, hardest people he ever encountered, where it would be devoured by whatever the hell lived in the dark, unfathomable corners of the jungle, as far as could be from home or love of any kind.
That incident marked the beginning of the end of his relationship with the Special Activities Division. His supervisors failed to understand his anguish over the event, and instead of answering his questions of why exactly they were fighting in a civil dispute among the Vietnamese people when they ought to just let history sort itself out as it wants to, and of why they couldn't at least make an attempt to find her body and bring it home, like they did for every stupid soldier they gave a helmet and machine gun, they referred August out to countless therapists and psychologists that tried to convince him that everything that happened over there (he had to call himself a veteran, for secrecy's sake, and only gave vague generalities about the mission) wasn't his fault, which, of course, he couldn't accept. Accept it or not, he was the man, the more physically capable of the two, and as her fiancee, he could have done something to change the outcome.
August Decker handed in his letter of resignation three weeks after returning from Vietnam without any prior notice. It was then, that very same day, to be exact, when he was contacted by some organization he'd only heard rumors about: The Agency. Because he had absolutely nothing to lose at this point besides his life, which he would have gladly, desperately traded for just one more second of hers, and a dingy, one bedroom apartment, he left for Norway once he collected his last paycheck from the United States government, which he was absolutely disgusted with. He realized on the seemingly endless plane trip over the Atlantic that the two of them were, despite everything they'd been lead to believe about their lives and roles from their years of training he could now recognize was just lightly gilded brainwashing, just cheap, meaningless pawns in a game they were too small to even begin to understand. And he was done with it.
He sat at a quaint, boutique-style cafe right on the edge of the water in a table meant for two, on a beautifully breezy and pleasant spring evening, picking at the local cuisine with disinterest, staring miserably at a sunset no painter could have even hoped to replicate. This was a place the two had some interest in honeymooning to, he recalled sadly. When his almost annoyingly too attentive waiter approached his table again to check on him, he flashed a freshly opened bottle of wine from where it was tucked just under the crook of his arm.
"No, thanks," August told him flatly, dismissively. The last thing he needed was a dramatic and potentially life-threatening relapse in a country he barely knew, on-call with an organization he knew next to nothing about, with no resources who he could look up in a phone book to help him out in case his unfortunate condition landed him in a hospital. When the waiter opened his mouth to protest--he couldn't blame him for trying to sell him a glass or two in good conscience, since he knew it was just his job to do so--he rudely beat him to the chase. "I said, no thank you." He watched the man, absurd-looking in his tuxedo, slink away guiltily like a dog that had been kicked, and once he disappeared back into the restaurant, he left his plate half-finished and paid, leaving a generous tip behind.
The American couldn't find it in himself to be nice anymore. It just demanded too much out of him.
When he returned to his hotel a short time later, after perusing the streets of Oslo with some disinterest, he was greeted, then flagged down perhaps a little too excitedly for his liking. "Good evening, sir," the young individual began, "Someone tried to contact your room on the telephone. You weren't here at the moment to take the message, so the caller insisted that I make a note of it myself."
August furrowed his brow at the clerk. "A message?" He paused, considering who would even think to call him: the list he came up with seemed strange in his head. "Who was this caller, if I may ask?"
"They didn't offer a name or a phone number to call them back with, oddly enough," he replied. "It seemed rather odd, if I may offer my opinion, sir. Were you expecting to hear from someone?"
He opened his mouth quickly to reply, but then hesitated, thinking. "... Would you mind just telling me what this message said?" He finally asked after a moment's careful deliberation.
"It said that you have a meeting with--erm, some kind of director, perhaps a boss? at one o'clock in the afternoon, tomorrow." He swallowed. "That's all, sir."
The imminent nature of his situation quickly dawned on the young man. He didn't reply to the clerk at first, instead staring unfocused at some point fixed in space just through the younger man, as he took all the implications in. This wasn't just a missed phone call, no: this was a first strike against his reputation with The Agency, for having not been in the premises he stated he would be at more often than not when he was called on, and this was certainly going to be one hell of a mission or a reprimand. He couldn't tell from the purposeful vagueness of the call which it was going to be just yet, but a cold stone of imminent dread settled uneasily in the pit of his stomach.
He then realized he might be frightening this poor desk clerk. August cleared his throat heartily, then managed a half-second smile at him. "Right, then," he murmured back. He reached in the pocket of his trousers, where he had a couple wrinkled bills and coins jangling about, and slid them across the polished stone counter to the much younger man. "Thank you for passing that along. A good evening to you."
- - After only managing a light breakfast of two cups of black coffee and some fruit, his stomach too tied up in knots to want to eat anything else, August made his way slowly and deliberately to the meeting location, which was the same headquarters he'd previously visited for that black tie introductory gala. He was dressed nicely for today's meeting, sporting a matching jacket and pants with a crisp, spring colored shirt tucked in underneath, certainly not making the painstaking efforts to dress like he had last time, and even though the young man was apprehensive to actually get to the bottom of what this meeting was all about, it didn't show on the surface: he was stone-faced and neutral-looking, as always, as the CIA had instilled in him to appear as, with broad shoulders thrown back in a subtle sign of seeming confident and at ease.
The meeting room, or, better put, office, was much more crowded than he would have expected. Although he certainly recognized and counted on the Director himself on being present at this meeting, he had no idea that he would be joined by two other hardened individuals he'd never seen before. They regarded him calmly, causally, and briefly, then turned their attention boredly back to the ornate decorations in the office. August had been the last one of the group to show up, he realized soberly, and it was still several minutes before the time this meeting was set for, which spoke to both the professionalism and the ferocity of the competition he'd unexpectedly walked into. He nodded at the three individuals politely before taking the only seat left for him, and then the Director began to speak.
He could not have expected in his wildest dreams to be met with the mission tasked to him. Not only did it involve directly betraying the country he swore (and more recently, renounced) his allegiance to, to an enemy he'd been taught to fear and hate vehemently from the moment he could begin to comprehend life outside his crib, but August himself was the main component in it all. The crucial piece, the essential man in having this all go off without a hitch. It all begged the question of why exactly he'd been chosen to carry this out, with this vital a position in the group. Did the Director know about his work with the CIA? God, he had to. There was no way he had their pasts detailed out in bullet points in some file, somewhere in this sprawling mansion.
It wasn't like he had a problem with being the one to hand off top secret missile technology to the Russians, though, he convinced himself. No. It's only making the world a fairer place, he reasoned to himself as the Director continued to assign roles and explain precautions. Why have the battlefield favor one side over the other, especially with technology like that? Now not having it was an absolute game changer. Sure. He could do that. August couldn't think of a better way to show his previous employers, and country, for that matter, that he meant every personally offended word on his letter of resignation than by doing this. The more he began considering his job and the symbolic importance it would carry, the more he was filled with an excited desire he knew was sick and spiteful to get this mission done with.
Once the Director dismissed him, August had to make a calculated effort to curb the skip in his step as he approached his waiting cab driver once more.
- - The young agent arrived to their assigned pickup point with exactly twenty five minutes to spare before their departure, most definitely over-packed. Perhaps he wasn't, though: he took painstaking efforts to purchase the right styles of clothing and English to Russian pocket dictionary (his Russian was rusty, at best, and though he could understand much more than he himself could speak, he had no doubt that with some reading immersion on the flight over, he would be back to the proficiency he used to have in no time at all) to maintain the most accurate profile as possible. And, of course, he concealed his handguns and ammunition and discreet pocketknives in secret, hidden compartments in the containers in his suitcases. Better to be thorough than lacking. He doubted he'd have the time to emergency shop in the USSR.
Again, his new teammates, which he didn't try to dwell on the fact that he wouldn't be carrying out this mission unaided since, in this rare situation, being accompanied made more sense than going alone, like it or not, had beaten him to the location. He frowned at their dimly illuminated silhouettes on the flight strip, thinking them somehow shady or conspiring to have made him look unprofessional and tardy on two separate occasions now. Nevertheless, he offered them neutral, if not pleasant expressions of silent greeting, then folded his hands together neatly and sighed to himself, expecting to wait for their plane in silence.
He hadn't expected to be drawn into the conversation. August shot a curious gaze at the much older male in the group, who, despite the obvious scars that marred the rugged visage of his face with untold and no doubt extensive experience and history in this profession, exuded a fatherly aura. "Fournier," he murmured quietly, nodding at the man, then glanced over at the woman to his side. "Rudnik." He paused, then turned his gaze to the dark scenery just beyond the lit concrete.
He didn't appreciate what he interpreted as sarcasm for showing up late, as if there was some ludicrous unspoken decorum for these agents that made him look foolish. "Not like I had anywhere else to be this evening other than here," he answered back flatly. "It's a Tuesday night. Not much going on around town."
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 4, 2018 6:40:53 GMT -5
Alphonse Fournier
Code Name: Ghost. Status: Alive, uninjured. Location: Unknown.
Decker was young, that was apparent at first glance without any of the files telling him that. He held himself like he had something to prove and maybe, deep down, he did. He regarded them with an air of caution, not at their abilities, but at their motives. It was a familiar look, one he had grown comfortable with. Then there was the flatness in which he regarded them. It was something telling to Alphonse that he would take offense easily, though the root of it was something he wasn't quite sure of.
He didn't fold, pushing Decker out of the conversation in a show of pettiness. Instead he straightened up, basking in the cool crisp comfort of the nighttime air. It was Gabriela who answered first, a hint of teasing in her voice that Alphonse recognized as fondness. She reserved that tone for familiar friends or younger agents and something told him if Decker knew the latter, he wouldn't take it as an honor. "My oh my, what a tongue on you," she smiled at that, turning to him to pull him deeper into the pit she had dug. "He's handsome but not very friendly, don't you think?" She added, now using his native language. If she had read Decker's file - and Alphonse knew she had - then she would know Decker was fluent in French.
Well, it would seem the game was afoot and he had no choice but to play.
Huffing, he shrugged, "There's always something happening if you know where to go. Though not all of us are privy to an extensive network of connections." It seemed like some ill fated attempt at hazing Decker from Gabriela, but considering they had a history together in a rather brief but high risk, high reward job back in Italy he supposed it only made sense. She enjoyed playing games around others' heads, even more so than he did. She was very bold in her ways, eager to test the fortitude of not only her competition but also her allies.
His methods were much more subtle, but he would let her take the reigns this time around. He glanced meaningfully at her before smiling slightly, answering her earlier statement in French, "It's not like you're playing nicely either."
Something told him the odd twenty minutes they would be spending in each others' company before the plane landed would be telling. If anything, he was beginning to believe that he might have to place himself between Gabriela and Decker to avoid them tearing each other apart. It would have been amusing to some degree if he didn't need both of them on speaking terms, but as it were it was dealing with two angry cats screeching and spitting at one another in a supposedly dignified and collected manner.
Gabriela poked and prodded, trying to get under Decker's skin. It would be telling of Decker's character to see how he responded to the challenge at hand. It was imperative that he first realized that Gabriela was not mocking him, but testing him. She had played the same tricks back in Italy when they had been younger still, him in his early thirties and her in her mid twenties. Had he not been well attuned to Clement's friendly jibing and Seraphin's fiery nature, he supposed he might have allowed her to get the best of him.
She took great interest in individuals who could keep their calm, always pushing to see if she could find their limit. It was clearly her method of attack. riling others up in order to make them lose their head. That was when she would utilize their rage against them. She specialized in making others' actions backfire, she twisted dire situations where there was no light at the end of the tunnel into something that best suited her. Her tongue was as sharp as her poisoned blades were.
He could always tell when it was her. She had a flair for dramatics and she took great pride in her handiwork and though she went by Fable in The Agency, any of the older European spies recalled her better by the alias of Akhlys.
She never pulled his punches and he was interested to see how this would turn out even as he casually placed down his suit case, content with not weighing himself down while waiting around for their ride. That was the exact moment she rounded on him, clearly wanting him to partake in whatever this was. It was almost as if she wasn't capable of picking up from where they had stopped, allowing small talk to dictate the tone of their conversation.
"What? Now you're acting as the mediator?" Her tone was sharp, but her eyes were telling. She was amused at how quickly he had fallen into the role of the sensible one for their sake. He could hear the unsung taunt on the tip of her tongue 'You're no fun, Alphonse. Grown too old for that?' He offered her a small smile in turn and it was genuine all things considered.
He lifted his gaze to pointedly ignore her, watching Decker for some sort of tell that would tell him more about the younger man than his words would. "When you put it that way, we sound like old friends rather than acquaintances."
Her mock gasp caused him to chuckle, ducking his head as he did so. "You're trying to offend me on purpose," she declared and he grinned at her.
"And you're not?" He responded easily. It was strange how he could fall back into the easy companionship he had shared with Gabriela. The sharper their tongue, the more at ease he found he was around them. First and foremost, they were quick witted. They looked before they leaped to make sure their was steady ground beneath their feet and they knew how to rile people up. Those were excellent qualities in manipulators and actors. He turned to Decker, ignoring her despite how close she had gotten into his space, leaning against him in a way many wouldn't find proper. "She's usually less exasperating," he said, as if offering an explanation.
The press of Gabriela's body against his reminded him that if they hadn't ended their job on speaking terms, there was a chance he would be dead if she truly wanted him to be. She worked fast and if she had the opportunity to enter close quarters then she thrived. Her poisons worked fast.
But nothing happened and eventually the unwanted heat became familiar, not that he had protested to begin with.
Instead, she laughed at that and peeled herself away from him, venturing forth into Decker's personal space. Alphonse watched with a cool air of amused indifference, though a small smile threatened to to escape. Professionals was the only word he could think of, the utter sarcasm dripping from it was hilarious given the circumstances. Leave it to Gabriela to try to find a way for them to lose the tension before they even headed out to the USSR.
Still, as quiet and amused as he was he kept his eyes trained on Decker not hiding the fact that he was watching the other man. In other cases, he would have been more discreet but as of now he was still interested to what card the Director was playing. Decker was American, it was in his accent, in the way he held himself, it was in the little nuances that nobody noticed. And it was also in his files. What the Director was asking him was to betray the sanctity of his own nation. To put it shortly, what the Director asked of Decker was treason. And Decker accepted the proposition easily.
He knew one of two things. This was a test for all of them. The other was a question he wanted an answer to, but that would come in due time. The other man was a spy, they lived their entire lives trading secrets and lies like a form of currency. But treason wasn't a light crime. He had no love for the SDECE either, but there was a story behind that. What was Decker's? And more importantly... Could he trust Decker?
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Post by Deleted on Aug 4, 2018 15:25:17 GMT -5
August Decker alive and uninjured, in an undisclosed location.
In all honesty, the young man hadn't expected that his thoughtless, careless slip in the typically stiffly polite decorum between agents to draw this much attention from either of his new partners: back in the United States, when he was primarily working with people he knew, if he'd been tasked to work in a group, they would take August's demeanor for what it was and move on past it, knowing it better to just leave him be than to instigate it further. He had a reputation within the CIA that automatically excused less than acceptable behavior, if he even slipped up around other people, which back in those days, was a less common occurrence, given that Juliet constantly brought the best out of him. But they all took him for what he was, which was a born and bred New Yorker, who preferred not to dance around subjects or preoccupy himself much with niceties.
But things were very different now, obviously. He wasn't on his home turf, being ordered around by people that had his eye on him ever since his junior year at university, working alongside people he'd known for years and actively sought to see the best in him. The agent was about as alone as he could be. Norway was cool and indifferent towards him, and he couldn't even guarantee that the people in The Agency were really even that concerned with his overall well-being. He found himself holding back a frown when Rudnik's tone changed to a cooing, somewhat bemused one that was entirely condescending with every sweetly said word. In hindsight, August immediately regretted starting off their relationship on this note, but now that he'd done it, he had no choice to see it through to the very end. And he could do that much well enough, he supposed.
He was immediately able to realize there was much more to this seemingly simple dialogue between two elders than what appeared on the surface. Every single word he said in reply, the way in which he said it, and probably even the way he stood or any lapse in demeanor at all would speak more volumes about his character than August could probably ever articulate aloud: the young man had no problem in recognizing that these two agents, seasoned and elite as they were to have gotten this far in their careers, knew quite a lot more about the subtlest cues in body language than he'd gotten a chance to recognize in people. He was going to have to proceed with caution and consideration, with a degree of withholding too, and as he came to terms with exactly how he was going to go about doing this, it reminded him of all the lectures he'd received in Vietnam to avoid landmines, so carefully hidden, so easy to set off with too heavy a step or too careless a sweep of material could set off.
If there was one thing he was good at, besides nearly every aspect of espionage and covert missions that had gotten him to this point, standing in the presence of people like this (August took a moment of reassurance to affirm that his selection to join The Agency hadn't been a mistake, and that he absolutely deserved it and belonged seamlessly with his promising, albeit short, list of difficult missions), it was keeping face. The young man had been praised for his poker face for as long as he could remember, and when needed, he could pull a more fearsome, stone-faced stare. So he kept still in his stance for the most part, steely blue gaze fixed on a distant lamp keeping the flight strip lit up, only moving to switch his weight from one bent leg to the other, feigning a bored, uninterested cover, when he was listening intently.
"Pardon me, then, for not having some pre-established crowd of drinking buddies in every city in Europe," August answered Alphonse tersely, but still maintaining his unbothered demeanor. It was essential. Might as well maintain the front he'd put off earlier, for consistency's sake: no doubt the two of them were prodding him, eyeing him for lapses in confidence or character that would reveal a weakness or inconsistency that he certainly did not want them to know about. The more shut-out he could keep them from his true self, the better, he decided, so he privately resolved to be as unrevealing and unyielding as he could manage without causing too much of a stir. If all went well with this mission, after all, they may never have to interact again, so why bother with getting in each other's heads?
That was the first of many questions to arise in this strangely tense situation. Why had they switched the conversation to French? He couldn't help but wonder. Hadn't they all received each other's files, and knew exactly the skills and assets that each member of the party had to offer? Clearly, Rudnik didn't really care that he could easily understand every word of their seemingly secret conversation, and that was a conscious choice on her end, just to--what? To purposefully feign the act of talking about him behind his back? The choice seemed very strange to him; the other two, especially Fournier, had a good, working knowledge of a handful of other languages that August himself had little to no exposure to, so why not make it an actual secret and have him fret over what they were saying? If he was in a position to do that with someone, he certainly would have employed the fear of the unknown into whatever pseudo-hazing process this was.
The longer that the strange, sort-of private conversation between Fournier and Rudnik went on, the more privately perplexed August became. Their diction and tone revealed to him quite obviously that they knew each other, without a shadow of a doubt, but he couldn't tell if their connection was from business or pleasure; from the circumstances and their similar enough professional backgrounds, the young man had to assume that they had perhaps worked together at some point. But why was Fournier trying to steer his companion away from her little game of messing with him? He wouldn't have expected anything less from a group of total strangers, of which he was one of the youngest, than some kind of ill treatment. So why did he care? August himself barely batted an eye at it, in all honesty. Why not just let her get this over with, instead of risking the fact that he may put a wedge between himself and her by trying to interfere?
August only answered Fournier's attempt to keep him engaged with a brief, "Mm," still keeping his disinterested gaze fixed on some faraway details that he tried to seem like he was discerning out from the shadows. He finally allowed himself to waver in his expression and stance when he became suddenly aware that their weirdly sadistic attention had turned to him, and him alone. The young man didn't know what to think. He dropped his gaze from the landscape to casually observe Rudnik steadily approaching him, and Fournier keeping a comfortable distance. This was a stand off, of sorts--he could feel it. Had he been comfortable enough with these two, or perfect strangers whose lives were never going to cross paths again, like those poor fools on the subway, he would have warned her to stay out of his space, but doing so now would no doubt show them something he wasn't sure he wanted to give up just yet.
So he settled for, again, the less friendly but not quite aggressive approach. The young man locked gazes with Rudnik, quite literally staring her down, even with how unusually tall she was for a woman, and raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?" August asked, no inflection in his voice, in well-accented French, for the sake of demonstrating that he'd one hundred percent conscious of every word spoken earlier--for what purpose? Pettiness, he supposed. She was doing the same thing, after all, and he had to make it clear that he was aware and that he was up to bat for this game of hers.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 6, 2018 1:07:04 GMT -5
Alphonse Fournier
Code Name: Ghost. Status: Alive, uninjured. Location: Unknown.
It amused him to some degree, the extents to which Decker went to feign disinterest in his and Gabriela's conversation. He didn't even turn to watch them though something told Alphonse it was more than likely that Decker was cautious enough to watch them even if it was from the corner of his eye. After all, even though they were technically all working for The Agency, there was a degree of uncontrollable energy that lingered underneath the surface. It was like being thrust into the wilderness, surrounded by predators waiting for the slightest tell of weakness.
He knew better than most. There were personal vendettas, untold motives, and questionable partnerships. He had his fair share of enemies among the other agents, but it would only make sense. They had once served different agencies, all working towards a similar goal but different enough that they were never playing for the same side. It led to many bitter confrontations, some that he had seen played out in quiet corners of the headquarters in less than the span of five seconds. It was telling in the slight stiffening of their body, the sudden coldness in their eyes that didn't match with their smiles. Maybe, he decided, Decker thought of him and Gabriela in that same manner. That they were enemies until proven otherwise.
Whatever game Decker played at, he maintained a persona of someone cold and aloof. It was professional, but it was also distant with an air of annoyance. Alphonse could only smile in response, knowing fully well that Gabriela would only find delightful glee in the way he withdrew himself to avoid getting entangled into something more than a simple partnership.
Shrugging at Decker's terse words, it almost seemed to him that the other man took offense at the little jab. It was normal considering it had been just that, a poke at Decker's lack of connections in Europe. "I think he dislikes you," Gabriela announced with an air of finality in French, almost as if she wasn't the instigator of all the conflict to begin with. He huffed in response, turning away from her as he moved to grab a cigarette more out of habit than anything.
He took a long drag, allowing Decker to wait for his response before finally giving the younger man an answer. "Consider it friendly advice, from one professional to another. You might not know anybody now, but prolonging that will only give the others' a competitive edge."
Then, in a blink of an eye, Decker's feigned disinterest vanished to something more unsure even as Gabriela came face to face with Decker. She wasn't going to back down, he knew immediately, but neither was Decker. That was what made a battle of wills so interesting in the first place. And then Decker played a card in his hand, one that finally had a speck of personality. Gabriela brightened considerably even as she hooked her arm in his as if they were old friends, one that Alphonse could only wince at and hope it didn't end badly.
She didn't only press buttons, but she liked to see how far she could go with all things - mental and physical. She had a habit of crowding others, testing what would cause them to tick and pull away. She had learned with him early on that any contact she issued had to be within his line of sight or else the results would be dastardly. Call it occupational paranoia or whatnot, but he had learned early on that any interaction he didn't accept was one he didn't like. Now, she would only lean into his space if he didn't pull away upon her approach. It was one of her little compromises.
"Well look at that, he talks," she declared as if every other word Decker had said previously amounted to nothing. Even as she said the words it became clear that she was waiting for more from their companion. It was like a quiet question that lingered in the air. 'Why do you deserve to be here?' Though her actions bordered on teasing, it was also a question he shared.
Decker had a spectacular success rate, one that warranted attention from The Agency. But there was more to this. And then it struck him exactly what Gabriela wanted to know. Her questions weren't the same ones he had. Hers was a matter of professional integrity, a blatant demand as to why the Director was playing favorites because she coveted the role that Decker had been given. An opportunity to prove herself in what was more or less a downright suicidal part to play.
All Alphonse could wonder in turn was if the Director wanted Decker out of the picture for good riddance. He would do The Agency a favor, but he would also no longer be an uncontrollable variable in the grand scheme of things. And if that was the case, did the same stand for him and Gabriela? He knew there was no love lost between him and the Director who didn't trust him, but what had Gabriela done in the twenty years since their last meeting. His eyes flitted to her for the first time wondering what secrets she was harboring.
He knew, of the three of them, he was the most indifferent about the USSR having spent some time working there. He had never been one to harbor patriotic grudges, but Gabriela despised the USSR. They had, for some time, been utilizing Poland as a puppet. The Stalinist era in Poland had been an ugly one and America was caught in the throes of the effects of the Red Scare. So perhaps that was it. A test of loyalty.
Decker's and Gabriela's patriotism and his unwarranted reputation as a warmonger.
For the first time since his meeting with the Director, things fitted into place. If they survived this job, then perhaps the Director would contemplate utilizing them to their full potential. What use, after all, were powerful pawns if he couldn't trust them to do their job when he played them?
"So he does," Alphonse answered dryly after some time, responding to Gabriela's pout with a pointed look of exasperation.
There was a curious light in her eyes even as she changed things up. "Keep this up and I'll start to think you're fond of him," Gabriela announced in Arabic. To his credit, he didn't answer the light hearted jab. But she pressed on. "You don't, do you? Trust him, I mean. It's far too soon for that."
"No," he said at last. It was far too soon for that.
She smiled at him, clearly accepting the finality of his answer. She turned back to Decker almost immediately, swapping back to French like she wanted to show off her versatility. It was possible, all things considered if her earlier statement didn't linger in the back of his mind. She and Decker got on like water and oil, they were two opposites coming into contact. It just didn't bode well with him and the possibility of catastrophe that it spelled. "Come on, I was hoping for some pleasant company," she said, smiling at Decker. "The least you could do is talk about the mission with us. It is, after all, not a mission you can do all by yourself."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 6, 2018 16:42:41 GMT -5
August Decker alive and uninjured, in an undisclosed location.
He didn't know what to think of the situation he'd found himself thrown into with these other agents. As an attempt to find a shred of rationality in what was going on, the young man's thoughts briefly wondered back to his days at the CIA (as if that much time had passed since he'd been working for them in the first place, but that was besides the point) and how interactions with his coworkers used to go. If he could generalize the cast of characters that the Special Activities Division had representing them and working for them, August would describe them as demure, polite, and even boring. Perhaps that was due to the fact that he carried so much weight and responsibility there. Could he have scared them into submission somehow? Into not wanting to press too many of his buttons, out of fear that he had been the best of them? In hindsight, he thought that may be the case.
If there was one thing in this world that the young agent didn't tolerate very much of, it was being misrepresented: that being said, when Rudnik whispered her instigating little comment to Fournier, snide and ultimately unremarkable as it was, August fought the urge to break the facade and correct her. That's not true yet. In all honesty, it wasn't. I don't even know the guy. The older gentleman hadn't done anything particularly notable yet, and, if anything, his initial assessment of him was more positive than hers due to the fact that he wasn't trying to scour him for weak points. If he was, and he was most likely analyzing bits and pieces of body language, which he couldn't quite blame him for, Fournier was being discreet enough about it to not bother him. He couldn't say the same for Rudnik, but he wasn't particularly cross with her just yet. There had to be a reason behind her methods, so he sought to at least appreciate them, just perhaps not necessarily participate.
August took in Fournier's piece of advice with a grain of salt, as he did with most things he heard from others in this line of work. Of course he could appreciate the sentiment behind his words: there was no use in adding gasoline to the smoldering tension here, of course, but he didn't particularly want to get to know anyone he may be working with outside of their professional personas just yet, if ever. What was the point of it, anyway? Why go out of his way to establish relationships with people just as qualified, if not more, than he was at sneaking around, gathering information, and killing people? Why risk trusting people with missions and loyalties and biases that he had absolutely no way of knowing much about? So not only did he see that idea as somewhat foolish, even if it did hold a degree of viability, but the fact that Fournier felt the need to tell him that felt condescending.
I'm just as qualified as you are, sir. He met Fournier's eyes for just a brief moment after he spoke. We're both here for the same reason. We're damn good at what we do. You don't see me telling you what to do, do you? Again, he felt himself resisting to comment on it. It was almost like he could feel Juliet's rare incriminating stare boring holes in his back that told him to stop before he even began, say, when he was starting to get snappish with a barista at their favorite cafe. She used to do that when something in him visibly changed, he ended up finding out from her, and as August thought about it, he realized he had his jaw slightly clenched. He sighed slowly, deciding to let it go. Maybe Fournier was justified in thinking he may be inexperienced or inferior--that much he could sympathize with. But he would show him, and Rudnik, too, soon enough what he was made of. He was absolutely going to crush this mission, no doubt about it. He'd been doing just that until Vietnam, and, well--
Speak of the devil. Before his reflexes could draw back or flinch, and part of him was thankful to God that he hadn't shown a rare jumpy trait for fear of the two of them reading into something that wasn't there to begin with, Rudnik had linked her arm in his, and was cooing to him and about him once more. Again, a painfully obvious slant of condescension was in her voice, and it finally started to bother him. The young man privately considered addressing this issue up to them at some point in the future if this kind of borderline rudeness, if they even saw it as such, persisted, but he thought it better to avoid direct and concrete confrontation and instead let his skills speak for him. Despite having resolved that, though, August's perplexed expression deepened a bit, shifting towards one that more closely resembled a frown more than anything else. How could this kind of behavior be professional? And why was she targeting him for simply not wanting to engage more than was necessary?
Then, when the conversation shifted to a language he couldn't concretely identify, the agent realized that Rudnik had been speaking in French to feign the idea of doing something just out of his reach. It didn't ease the ill feeling in his gut about her in the slightest, yet he didn't move or shift in his stance much, letting her rest her arm comfortably in the crook of his own. He couldn't decipher a hint of meaning from what they were speaking about, and August began to question his qualifications as he stood there feeling lost. What could he do? Absolutely nothing. Perhaps these people, like a handful of people back in the States, prided themselves on being linguists. That was perfectly fine and good; some worked extensively on their marksmanship, some on their tracking skills. Nothing to worry about, he reassured himself. Just a bit of personal preference. Or experience, too.
".. Alright," August agreed, albeit begrudgingly, to Rudnik's swooning request. He didn't offer a smile back, since he was internally repulsed to a degree by hers and the extent of which she was in his personal space, but he did considerably lighten the tone of his voice to accommodate hers more. "That's fair." He couldn't refuse to speak with his own team members about this, even with how much he may privately have against them as individuals. That could potentially endanger his own life, let alone the fate of the mission itself.
He blinked down at her, cocking his head just slightly to the side as he thought of where to go with the conversation next. He couldn't quite give it a name or verbalize it aloud, but something in the female agent's voice was haunting; the way she put emphasis on the 'after all' disturbed him beyond just the fact that she was asking him to open up to the two of them in this particular way. It made him want to think that she already held some private vendetta against him, for reasons August couldn't even begin to think of. It was far beyond the realm of being maybe a little snappish--and his harshness hadn't even really been directed at her, nor was it something that even the most sensitive of people couldn't get over. He tucked those thoughts away, for now, but the agent had no intention of letting him forget it anytime soon. This could potentially become a problem later on. The thought of her being his getaway driver unnerved him.
August sighed softly. "So, as far as the mission is concerned," he began, voice inflectionless, keeping it objective and professional, "I'm the courier with the blueprints, you're our driver, and--" he glanced up at Fournier, "You're our sniper, God forbid we need it. The plan is--well, complicated." He paused. "The security at the Berlin Wall ought to be passable, given we can forge some documents of permission and identification, but the at the Kremlin? We don't have much intelligence on it at all, do we? I'm thinking that may require some detailed observation on our part."
He offered a half-second smile at Rudnik, then flashed it briefly to Fournier. "What are your thoughts?"
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 13, 2018 2:58:24 GMT -5
Alphonse Fournier
Code Name: Ghost. Status: Alive, uninjured. Location: Unknown.
There seemed to be a disconnect between the cold, aloof professionalism that Decker possessed to the frustrating persona that Gabriela utilized. And then there was that look that Decker sent him that told him that his own jibes weren't appreciated either. He could only respond by raising an eyebrow in turn, daring Decker to challenge his advice. They would always be getting intel from somewhere, Alphonse found it easiest to trust the validity and security of information when he knew exactly where it was coming from. Not to mention, sometimes in the right crowds he found out more than he originally intended to learn.
Well, if Decker found that as an insult, it meant that this was more of a delicate situation than he first thought. That or he truly just was less of a talker and more of a man of action. He'd met his fair share of those men. It fit the bill for the name that Decker had earned for himself. He had a reputation as a hammer, a full blown force of nature that believed the end justified the means.
If he had the ability to reign in Gabriela, now would be the moment to stop her from trying to see into the man Decker was. He wasn't a simple read by any means and Alphonse wasn't sure if he would ever know the full story, then that would be something they as a collective whole would have to work slowly into the equation rather posthaste. After all, they all had their trade secrets and if Decker was here he probably wanted an equal share of respect from his fellow agents, though to be fair Decker's professionalism took on an air of defensiveness that didn't translate into respect either.
So it was going to be a hard ride for all of them. Neither side was willing to concede first and Gabriela was letting her own distrust show, her facade already taking hold.
He decided to finally offer them some semblance of personal space, as much as one could in an open lot when standing a few feet apart. Flipping open his pocket watch, he took care to have his gloved thumb cover up the image of Seraphin on the inside of it checking the time briefly before snapping it close with a resounding click. He could feel Gabriela's eyes on him even as she stayed intertwined with Decker who didn't seem to be trying to work himself free of her. Interesting choice as far as Alphonse was concerned. He lifted his gaze up taking in the starry night sky and allowed him a brief moment to just look rather than search for the plane coming to pick them up. It was supposed to be here in five or so minutes, give or take.
It was breathtaking. Out here in the open lot without trees and buildings, he could see constellations that he and his sister used to point out in their childhood. He wondered if she still gazed up to the stars every now and then and remembered him. When Decker gave into Gabriela's request to speak of the mission details, he finally looked away after confirming that he couldn't make out the plane in the distance. In the cover of the night, it was more likely they would hear it first. Now, focusing on the duo he listened to what Decker's opinion on the matter. It was succinct and to the point.
"I agree, we'll have to scout out the Kremlin without bringing attention to ourselves. If anyone so much as suspects foul play we'll be right in the middle of a suicide mission with one way in and no way out," he finally said. "We should definitely consider our options before we engage. That includes figuring a way to stay low in Russia and out of East Berlin. I have a good friend there who might be able to help us, but the security is tight. If they so much as don't like the way you look at them we could be in a tight situation."
He paused as he looked between Gabriela and Decker, "How's your German?"
It was almost painful considering the history of Poland's invasion that the strained smile that Gabriela offered him came as no surprise. "It'll raise no suspicions as the crossing," she said with an air of finality before looking at him carefully, trying to read him. "The death strip," she said at last. It was a genuine concern considering that the border patrol were free to open fire as they wished.
He smiled slightly in response, "But that's the least of our concerns. Decker is right though, first we need a way to accomplish our mission."
Gabriela's eyes hardened as she fixed him with a look that called foul play but she said nothing. It was all for the better seeing as if she had said something, her words would have been cut off by the sound of the plane's engine. As it landed, he moved to pick up his suitcase before rising just to find that Gabriela had moved from Decker's side and had grabbed her own suitcase. She was holding it out to him and he rolled his eyes before taking it.
Nodding to the other two, he allowed them to enter first before following suit. Once he found himself situated, he felt Gabriela shift next to him before she said her next words with little concern for the can of worms it would open. "You think the Director sent us on a one way trip." His reply was nearly lost to the roar of the engine as the plane took off.
"Yes."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 16, 2018 0:02:30 GMT -5
August Decker alive and uninjured, in an undisclosed location.
There was no doubt in the young agent's mind that the tone of the conversation somehow shifted to a more tense atmosphere than before. The reason why? Well, that was beyond him. As August stood with Rudnik hanging onto his arm tightly, he tried to make sense of just why now, of all times to be upset with him, his two mission partners chose to grow more cross with him. But if anything, though, it was definitely more one-sided: Fournier appeared perplexed at the least, and only mildly irritated at the very most. If either one of them had gotten confrontational or snappish when he could have admitted to being rude, he wouldn't have even blinked twice at it, deserved as it would have been, but why could he feel the woman's body snug up against his own go tense when the subject changed to what exactly they'd all been put together for in the first place?
Rudnik's change in demeanor told him something, and said it very clearly: he couldn't trust her as far as he could throw her. This woman's arm in his was beginning to feel stranger than it ought to. Perhaps it was due to the situation at hand, but the nagging part of his mind cruelly reminded him that it'd been quite some time since he'd felt the caring touch of any woman, feigned or genuine. It was just another one of those million little painful reminders of what once was and what would no longer ever be, one of those that he had no idea would make him feel a certain way until a sucker punch hit him out of nowhere. This wasn't the place where August could even hint that he was so profoundly affected by some outside event. Of course, everyone has their baggage, but he wouldn't put a bleeding heart on display for self-preservation's sake. Who knows what someone like Rudnik would do with that?
Before he could even begin to attempt those stupid little mental exercises that the dozens of grief counselors from the CIA taught him to do in times like these to get her out of his mind quickly, the conversation picked up after a silent moment spent deliberating. He was attentive, expression neutral, softer, and his drawn up shoulders and set jaw relaxed, visibly showing that he was somewhat more at ease with it all. Planning and discussing strategy required all of his focus, and that, August could give, and easily. He immediately noticed that Fournier took after his no-nonsense approach to speaking about the mission, and for that, he was privately grateful. The agent didn't think it apt to assess his character this soon, but he felt as if he could rely on, or perhaps, put some degree of confidence in the older man.
Again, though, Rudnik flashed another layer to her ever-growing and complex personality. He raised an eyebrow at her, standing below him and speaking with Fournier, thank God. He had to question her pained expression for a moment before remembering with the drama of a lightbulb turning on that she was Polish. No wonder she loathed the idea of speaking German or setting foot in the country. That could've explained her apprehension, but her behavior otherwise? August wasn't comfortable dismissing that, at least, not yet. She had to be hiding something. If it was anything like what he was keeping from the group, though, he was confident that he'd handle a sudden personal revelation with more sincerity and grace than he anticipated she would. But who knew? It wasn't like he knew either of his new partners well enough to reach any conclusions in the first place. That was first and foremost.
They were forced to pause their conversation (and he got more time to privately revel in the fact that Fournier admitted that he was right about something) as the plane landed and opened up for them. It was the perfect opportunity to let the two move ahead of him so he could trail just slightly behind, just to assuage his wariness about the group, and especially for Rudnik to slide her arm out of his. An immense weight fell off his shoulders when he moved away from him, and he couldn't help but furrow her brow upon seeing her hand off her things to Fournier. What a character. Once he was comfortable and strapped into his seat, his luggage tucked carefully underneath him where it wouldn't move in case of a turbulent flight, he turned his attention back to the others.
August was quick to dismiss the others' pessimism, as he wasn't one to tolerate much sorry for oneself type of speech; he thought it pathetic. "I don't think so," he told them matter-of-factly, expression still neutral, still at ease, but secretly smoldering under the facade. Now I've really seen a mission that truly was a one way trip. I'm sure neither of you have set foot in Vietnam. Shut the hell up. "It's not like any of us are, well, for lack of a better word, disposable. I don't think anyone in The Agency is. That kind of thinking? Well, that could turn this into a one way trip." He paused, swallowing. "And I don't know about either of you, but I have things to do. I'm coming back from Russia."
"Now." He cracked his knuckles down the line with that same hand's index finger--an idle habit of sorts--as he gathered his thoughts. "We need a reason to get admitted into East Berlin, no? It's not like we can just ask to be let in, and at the same time, we can't necessarily adopt titles or jobs that will keep Russian eyes on us, either. Say--we're diplomats, or arms salesmen. They'll want to know where we're going, no?" August paused. "It's delicate, indeed. I don't quite know what angle to take."
He hesitated a moment before continuing on. "But, then again, if we do pose as officials of some kind, it would give us a bona fide reason to go straight to the Kremlin and to spend a considerable amount of time there, perhaps. I'm not sure. What are your thoughts?"
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 30, 2018 3:12:51 GMT -5
Alphonse Fournier
Code Name: Ghost. Status: Alive, uninjured. Location: Unknown.
Something changed in Gabriela's eyes over the course of their conversation. She fell quiet, allowing him to take charge of a situation in which she usually would have had under her control. It seemed to him that she was putting deeper thought into his words than Decker was. The other man was quick to dismiss his grim conclusions and Alphonse wasn't quite sure where the root of that trust in organizations and establishments like The Agency came from but he didn't say anything as he waited to see if Gabriela would shoot back at him.
A few seconds ticked by and still. Nothing.
Decker's response was, to say the least, a bit of a surprise to Alphonse. There were individuals who despised conspiracies, who blindly followed and believed completely and utterly in the institutions they served, but considering Decker's standing with the United States and his involvement in this mission, it was unexpected for him to not have an ounce of wariness regarding the Director. That or he was very good at keeping his cards close to his chest. And though Alphonse was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, they were either all going to be on the same page here or they weren't.
And already it seemed like they weren't. Gabriela was now watching him to see what he would do, careful and thoughtful in a way that reminded him of how she dissected their assignment. So it seemed like neither of them wanted to delve deeper into the topic unless Gabriela was waiting for a moment of privacy.
Whatever it was, he decided to fold his hand. He would allow them to feel the faux confidence of working for a cause much greater then them all. He knew whether or not they died, the job would be successful. If they failed, they would be carrying the schematics either way and the Russians would test it out to find a pleasant surprise. He bit his tongue on the matter, instead choosing to chuckle softly at Decker's flippant response. He didn't take any insult to heart. He was starting to believe that Decker was a man who divided his life in twos. Professional and personal. And he was not a telling man nor did he have any desires of mixing the two up.
Things got messy when the lines between business and daily life started blurring together, Alphonse would know. But he lived in that world completely now and violence was second nature to him. He wasn't sure he'd recognize himself without it.
"I have no intentions of dying either," he said at last, raising an eyebrow at Decker. "I didn't survive this long just to die now." He didn't push the subject, though. Instead, he settled back into his seat and watched Gabriela as he listened to Decker's thoughts and questions on the subject matter. From the corner of his eye he glanced at Decker, observing the other man crack his knuckles. It could be a nervous tic or it could just be habit. He wasn't sure.
Gabriela glanced at him meaningfully but she said nothing mocking or insinuating of Decker which was a relief. If anything, she seemed to mellow as if there was something on her mind, a question on the tip of her tongue that she didn't dare utter. It was an apprehension the two of them never shared before. When she entered the conversation, it was with an air of professionalism that she rarely utilized except for when things got ugly. It was almost as if this was in direct response to him and not Decker's dismissal. Interesting to say the least. "Well, I suppose we're all dead set on coming home then." He didn't miss the pun but he didn't comment on it either.
She didn't look at him once now that she had started to speak, though she crossed her arms and moved ever so slightly away from him. It was subtle, hardly noticeable, but he knew that she was trying to distance herself from him. The question was why. "Well, I can tell you that in Germany I will be able to figure out a way for us to leave. I have friends there and friends outside the wall who will be able to help us get through. It'll be hard, but that shouldn't be a problem with a few days or a week to work out the kinks."
She straightened up considerably and he wondered if the new found professionalism was to earn Decker's trust. In case anything happened.
"I think we'll be able to get by just fine as individuals visiting ill family, but the Kremlin," she paused as she glanced at him. It was all the warning he would get, "Entrance into places you shouldn't be seems to be your specialty, is it not?"
"Yes, I can pull a few favors but it'd be toeing dangerous lines. Which means I'll need you to follow my lead otherwise my contacts won't think twice about putting a bullet in the back of our heads," he conceded with a small smile. He was certain now. Gabriela's own conclusions had made her realized that he must have done something to put himself in this position as well. It meant she didn't trust him to have her back out there without some catch, she had her own deadly secret that she didn't want to come to light, or both. "Since we're dropping in the dead of night, if we can reach St. Petersburg I'll be able to gain us safe passage to Moscow with the Alkaevs."
"The Alkaevs," Gabriela repeated. It was a question without being phrased like one.
"Bratva," he clarified without elaborating how he came to know them. "They have a lot of influence there and enough pull to be able to smuggle us in without the authorities questioning too much."
"And what's the price?" She raised an eyebrow as she looked at him expectantly. He shrugged. It was hard to tell with the Alkaevs but one of their Brigadiers owed him. What more, he was an Alkaev. One of the brothers that made up the main frame of the Bratva, family of family. He had once declared Alphonse a vor. He was a thief, which, despite the common opinions on the title was a good thing as far as Bratvas went. He became family for what he had did. And though he would be given trust and aid, it would come at a price. It would be something that was in his alley though. Something simple like a professional opinion, an anonymous execution, or some pocket change.
Whatever it was, he was more than willing to pay it if it meant things would go smoothly. And if all went poorly then there was another thing that he could rely on the Bratva for. The Vor v Zakone was as golden as the Mafia's omerta. If all went wrong, but they were promised protection and suspicions fell on someone else in the Alkaev's family, they would take the fall for them. And he was betting on that if things did take a turn for worse.
"So," she said after a beat, "You don't know."
"Bratvas might be organized, but the nature of crime is unpredictable," he responded easily. If there was anything he had learned over his years it was how similar organized crime and intelligence agencies were. They were structured but unpredictable. They were subject to change at any given moment but organized crime had one selling point agencies like the SDECE and S.A.F.E didn't. Loyalty to the point of stupidity. "What they might want one day might not be possible the next. I'll work it out with them. Just don't cause any conflict with the Alkaevs and we'll be fine."
Gabriela pursed her lips in consideration before finally nodding curtly, "Alright. I'll tell the pilot to drop us off near St. Petersburg then. You boys try not to have too much fun without me."
Turning his attention to Decker now that they were alone, he raised an eyebrow at the other man. "So? Your opinion on the matter?" He clasped his hands together before spreading his hands out, palm up in a gesture that was easily read and comprehended by most as honesty and openness. In time, he had learned how to manipulate body language for intended reactions. He wasn't sure if it'd work on someone like Decker, but there wasn't much he was hiding on the current subject so there wasn't much room for mixed signals. "If you have better options I'd like to hear. And if you're fine with what we have planned then once we arrive in St. Petersburg I'll arrange for our travels to Moscow and once we're there we can scout out the Kremlin before making our move."
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Post by Deleted on Oct 1, 2018 21:50:07 GMT -5
August Decker alive and uninjured, in an undisclosed location.
The relative silence in that plane cabin that followed his brief and uncharacteristic--at least, as far as these two stranger agents knew of August's character, which was a purposefully stripped-down version of his normal self--lapse in speech was close to unbearable. An immense weight suddenly settled on the young man's broad shoulders as he sat in his plane seat, fighting the urge to go out of his way to check Rudnik and Fournier's body language and expressions to see exactly what kind of impression he left and how they were taking it. His first thought was that it was too much, too soon, and the two of them were smart enough to see through the walls he was trying to put up.
That tense, oppressive bubble that maybe only Decker could feel enveloping all of them swelled and swelled as the lack of dialogue between them persisted, so dangerously that the young agent thought it may burst, but instead it popped and slowly leaked out as Fournier answered him. August's secretly restless, nervous gaze flicked up to meet the older man's eyes, and he flashed him the warmest look he could manage without so much as twitching his lips. Something in his gesture signified unease, and he could sympathize, since people like themselves were distrustful by nature, and Rudnik didn't quite allow for a normal introduction by any means. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the support, regardless of the place it came from.
From this point, it was his turn to listen to the two more experienced agents speak, so he did so attentively. He followed along without missing a beat for the beginning half of the dialogue between Rudnik and Fournier, since it consisted strictly of materials, methods, and precautions--that much he expected in such a setting, with nothing more and nothing less. But he was soon very well reminded that these two had a history, and one that seemed extensive, to say the least, so his knowledge on the subjects they began to discuss soon fell on deaf ears. August found himself listening with a furrowed brow as he tried to make sense of the Alkaevs and Bratva and the like. But he wouldn't dare interrupt them and find out--God, no. Either the answers would come to him in a moment from now or sometime later.
It didn't take him long to come to some conclusions about it all though, and suddenly, a deeper well of dread aside from the mild, and perfectly rational and reasonable dread in his stomach surrounding this ordeal (the first actual mission after the disaster trip to Saigon, no less) when the word crime surfaced from the conversation. Oh, good Lord. August didn't think to hide his light wary grimace--a tight-lipped look of serious concern. These people can't seriously think they can depend on a mafia for such a sensitive matter--are they insane? He was thankful that he held his criticisms back and kept his snappishness in check, though; his faith in his coworkers was restored when they began reasoning out their options, but as far as he was concerned, that was the best shot they had at making it to Moscow uninterrupted.
That being said, Decker initially hesitated at Fournier's invitation to chime in, for fear of creating an echo chamber in that plane cabin, but in truth, there was nothing he could add to their risky case. "I don't think I have any better option in mind," August admitted honestly, tone genuine-sounding yet remaining neutral and objective. "Though I can't say I particularly like the idea of pairing with the Russian mob. But if our only alternative is relying on just ourselves to get from the Berlin Wall to Moscow, then--" He paused, shrugging. "It doesn't seem like we have much of a choice. Working with the Bratva, unfortunately, seems like the most logical path to take."
"I do have to ask, though," he continued, eyeing Fournier, "You don't happen to have any idea what the price we'd pay for their support would be? It seems to me as if you have some personal connections with this group. I'm sure you could offer an educated guess of sorts, at least." He cocked his head to the side, just slightly, awaiting his reply.
But as soon as he finished speaking, August became acutely aware that he could have put himself in somewhat of an offensive position, and with the shaky trust foundation he had with this group, he'd much rather sacrifice his tough, unflinching facade for his life later on in the next couple days--who knows what kind of situation they could end up in? This was Soviet Russia, after all--literally anything could happen, August didn't know a single person in the country besides his two unfortunate companions, his Russian was questionably fluent, and they were about to do business with the mob: he would need as much backup from his team as he could manage.
I have every right to want to be cautious, he told himself. Certainly there was nothing wrong with questioning such a plan, right? If so, then why did he feel a twinge of guilt for not blindly accepting Fournier's proposal? He glanced at the older man, briefly taking him in. This man, weathered and battle-tested, and battle successful, for that matter, carried a degree of authority in his words and who he decided to put his trust in, and, at this moment, August didn't even have his trust, he assumed. What gave him, a, relatively speaking, less experienced agent, the right to question him? And what was Fournier thinking of him--and Rudnik, for that matter?
August cleared his throat lightly. "I don't mean to be presumptuous--I hope you know. I just want to go into this situation having considered every risk and benefit we can think of, that's all." He briefly took on a slightly gentler, softer tone--a touch explanatory, perhaps apologetic, if that was what one went into his dialogue looking for. He didn't dwell on the lapse in hardness, though, instead continuing right back on to the subject at hand after a moment's pause.
"What if, perhaps, we leaked our mission, if they harbored anti-American beliefs? They may want to help us simply out of their dedication to the cause of Russian superiority." The young agent frowned. "I don't like the idea of letting the cat out of the bag though, especially since we don't know where every single individual's loyalty lies. This could be one massive shot in the dark, potentially. I don't like all this--uncertainty."
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Oct 14, 2018 3:33:11 GMT -5
Alphonse Fournier
Code Name: Ghost. Status: Alive, uninjured. Location: Unknown.
As the details of the mission was discussed between him and Gabriela, Decker had fallen rather silent and it was a matter of much interest to Alphonse. Given his outburst, he seemed like the kind of man who would have wanted a say in a job that he was participating in. Perhaps it was as uncharacteristic for him as it was for him and Gabriela's established relationship. Gabriela was a very difficult woman to place, but there was one way of knowing whether or not she was on his side or not. They kept their cards on the table and were transparent about matters where the mission was involved. Everything else was fair game.
Whatever Decker had introduced into play brought a new dimension to a rather complicated unspoken prior agreement that was now left in tatters. There were questions begging to be answered and she was rushing into an unknown variable. She was no longer in control and he knew how much that set her on edge. Even as she stood up to head into the cockpit, he wondered what she was going to do next.
In a span of seconds, she had became as much of an unknown variable as Decker if not more so. She was now volatile and that did not bode well with him. He said nothing of it though, now determined to play the same game she was. If she wanted Decker on her side, then she had already played the wrong hand for the start of the match. He didn't miss the sincerity in Decker's grateful look when he had spoken up in the oppressive silence. It had been fleeting - something that Gabriela might have failed to notice if she glanced away for even a second - but it had been more than enough.
She was thinking of her next move, no doubt. Well, this was his turn. As Decker contemplated his offer, he shifted in his seat so that his body language was more open and interested as compared to earlier when only he and Gabriela were involved. He could hear how purposefully neutral Decker's voice was even as he picked out the words that were more telling of his opinion on the matter. The sentiment seemed to match whatever Gabriela had shared moments before she took her leave. Unfortunately.
He wasn't surprised. There were hesitations when matters like these involved the less savory folk. Criminals weren't the common kind that most wanted to fall in with. But he was good at traversing the grey divide. That was, after all, what espionage was at its very core. They all upheld a certain principle for the betterment of their own version of good, but at the very end of the day the ends was justified by the means. Those were the principles he had been introduced to when he had first took his exploratory step into a world that he never knew existed. Those were the principles that kept him alive to this very day.
But what was asked of him... well, it could either go by with ease or cause tension.
Usually, the details about what he was going to do were less important in comparison to what it would gain them. But then again, Gabriela had offered the bait earlier and Decker was not so gullible as to trust him completely. It was only fair to consider Decker his own player in this game due to his own skills and expertise. He was as unpredictable as the weather - bending to a single whim whenever he so wished. He had no loyalties to either side, so whichever won him over would have to do so through convincing means.
This side of Decker though, the side that was eager to rectify any misunderstandings he might have caused as compared to earlier was different. It was genuine and earnest and gentle, a sharp contrast from whatever he had been earlier. It was either a more genuine look at the man or it was just a warmer front. So Alphonse decided to make a gamble.
"I have a very specific skill set," he said after a moment, his words were soft in a way that undermined the weight of them. It was at this moment, Gabriela decided to return, as untimely as it was. He knew he had already started to answer Decker, however, and stopping now would only seem tactless. "The Alkaevs might be a very powerful bratva, but sometimes a little more finesse is required to handle their problems. So whatever the price may be will involve my handiwork. You and Gabriela will not have to get involved, of that, I can assure you."
"Finesse?" Gabriela echoed, her gaze was hard. "So you kill for them? Or is it something else on that repertoire of yours?"
It was something he should have expected from Gabriela considering how much she liked underhand tactics. This was something that was more common knowledge among older agents. Agents who had served during his time, not the younger generation who saw a different war than the tragedy that was dubbed World War II. His handiwork had been known then - before things had went to hell between him and SDECE. He was a specialist in interrogations or at least that had been the euphemism for it.
He turned slightly towards her, tilting his head as he regarded her closed off posture and reserved expression. Something about the implication of him ever returning to that field of expertise sickened him, but he smiled despite the rising nausea. "It's a quid pro quo arrangement. You would know." He offered in turn, tone warm and friendly. She seemed to be at a loss for words after that even as he returned his attention back to Decker.
"Trust me," he said and the genuinity in the words extended to past just the situation they found themselves in. "I have a very direct connection with the Alkaevs. My contact, Maxim Alkaev, is a very close friend."
And that was putting it lightly. The youngest of the Alkaevs brothers' owned him his life. Even after Alphonse had declared the debt cleared - Maxim was insistent that he was family. Though he had not spoken to the Alkaevs for the better part of a decade, even now when he returned he would be seen as part of the bratva. And as long as Maxim knew Decker and Gabriela was with him and not against him, that would be all the explanation he would need. "He would never let harm come to either of you and none of the vors would dare do anything if it meant going against his wishes." Even as he said those words, he could feel Gabriela's eyes boring holes in the back of his head.
The plane jolted suddenly and he glanced towards Gabriela who shrugged rather carelessly. "I forgot to mention we were landing soon." Now that he was looking more closely at her, he could she was bracing herself for the landing the entire time. He laughed despite himself.
"Well, no time better than the present," he said, as he moved to stand up and grab his suitcase and hers. She, however, plucked it from his hands and he made no mention of it. So she was going to be very very forward about the divide that she had drawn rather than play at subtlety. Well, he supposed he could work with that. He turned to Decker, nodding at the other man, "Be my guest." Well, what could possibly be a better welcome to Russia than to trek through the wilderness into the city and then find refuge with the bratva?
As he hopped out the plane into the biting cold, he found himself at home despite the familiar ache in his left shoulder. It never did let up.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 18, 2018 23:24:26 GMT -5
August Decker alive and uninjured, in an undisclosed location.
The young man watched Fournier carefully as he stitched together an answer to his little onslaught of questions--he could see the older man's mind working, gears turning just underneath his skin, and he could only wonder what kind of past experience someone like him had with the Russian mob. The air in the plane cabin had lightened considerably, at least, in August's opinion, more so between him and Fournier than anything else: the thought that this man may be on his side, no matter how fleeting or on a whim it may be, for a moment, was comforting. Of course, Decker still couldn't say the same about Rudnik, who he was still eyeing warily out of the corner of his eye as she suddenly stood up and headed to the cabin of the plane--as of to why, he had no idea. It wasn't his business, and he couldn't even grasp at any straws to make a guess.
But nevermind all that. August furrowed his brow, taking in each artfully crafted phrase into his most careful consideration as Fournier spoke, not trying to hide his thoughtful expression. Rudnik reentered the room--he hardly noticed. He always hated when other agents he used to work in spoke in the vaguest of terms about their missions and trips abroad, or wherever the hell they went, but of course, it was something he was very guilty of, too. It was a sort of understanding between them--a secret language only they knew how to see through the cracks of when the speaker carelessly left cracks to see, and the speaker sought to divulge the least information possible to keep the secret and the most to keep the peace. It was an art, really. Fournier must have not really cared what obvious conclusion he was leaving the two of them to come to with his phrasing.
He hadn't expected Rudnik to burst in so vehemently and accusatorially, though in absolute fairness, she was a tough one to predict. August's gaze lifted from the older man to hers, watching her expression that radiated so much more quiet anger than her tight voice let on. For the first time in their collective brief and intense encounter, he could finally say he edged on more of her side of the opinion spectrum: the agent didn't quite know how comfortable he was working with a man who had an assassin-esque relationship with a bratva. Of course, they all had their connections (Decker probably had the fewest of them all, simply due to his age, and, well, the fact that he'd recently haphazardly cut off all ties to the Central Intelligence Agency, though he definitely didn't regret the stand he took against them), but that one in particular raised a red flag in his mind. His calm gaze rested back on Fournier, expectant.
Then the air got heavy again. August couldn't even try to rationalize, in his mind, any tactic Rudnik was attempting to employ here: was she seeking to burn all her bridges in advance with everyone in this party? Why try to pick a fight with the one person at this point that may have her back out of the two of them? His lips twitched as he processed the second implication Fournier tossed his way--quid pro quo was low hanging fruit in terms of understanding: they'd all done bad things, but he could only wonder what it was specifically that the older man was referring to. Something about Rudnik's unpredictable demeanor suggested to him that some of the things that had gotten her in such a position of expertise that she was sharing a plane cabin with the rest of them had taken a toll on her persona. Decker wondered briefly if he would ever do something on his own, with his hands, consciously making a decision that would change him forever.
Decker blinked out of his thoughts and back to attention as Fournier addressed him again, expression hardening with a touch of seriousness once more. "That's all... Reassuring," he answered after a moment's pause, but his voice was still dripping with hesitation and uncertainty. "I just certainly hope that's all still relevant to today." He was no longer too timid to speak his mind: his strong opinion regarding his immediate safety in a foreign country was perfectly valid, in his own eyes, and he decided he could live comfortably with someone questioning him for asking about such things and not trusting someone he knew had to lie, cheat, and steal to get int this position, because he knew well that he'd done the same to get there.
They dropped from the sky for just a moment. The young man's eyes widened and he glanced warily out the dark window, looking for some semblance of his place in space, of something to grasp onto and understand and make sense of--and then it was over. August's heart was racing. Ever since Vietnam, he could barely tolerate plane rides; every little jolt reminded him of those damned helicopters and emergency landings and rushed takeoffs, and the achingly empty seat next to him that would have been hers, that screamed at him to go back and find her in that atrocious, horrible sick of green and dense and savagery--hell, he needed a sedative pill to not twist and squirm and worry during even a couple hour flights back home...
He breathed in and out out slowly, just becoming aware of the fact that he'd been holding his breath ever since the jolt. Whatever exchange had been passed between Fournier and Rudnik had fallen on deaf ears, and he couldn't have cared less about what it was that he'd missed. Probably wasn't anything that important, anyway. It then came to his mind that they were landing, and as soon as the small plane rolled to a comfortable stopping speed, he followed suit after Rudnik with his own suitcase, barely noticing that the other man had spoken to him: all he wanted was off the plane and onto the solid ground that would never hoist him into something he couldn't hope to gain control over.
The man's peace of mind and collected nature started to take back over once he had both feet firmly planted on the pavement. He sighed, peering into the darkness around them cautiously as he shrugged his coat a little more comfortably onto his broad shoulders. Where are we, exactly? Decker silently wondered, though he wouldn't dare voice such a silly, pointless, unhelpful question out loud. Surely the other two would know. As he checked his watch idly, something rather important dawned on him: he'd forgotten to flip through his handy little English to Russian handbook on the flight. He didn't anticipate having such an exchange between his two work partners, but his Russian certainly wasn't top notch.
Considering they were about to establish some working relations with a bratva, that was very problematic. He sighed. Good Lord.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Dec 23, 2018 6:14:41 GMT -5
Alphonse Fournier
Code Name: Ghost. Status: Alive, uninjured. Location: Unknown.
Gabriela had seemed miffed to say the least that the jolt didn't cause him to tense in surprise. They had their secrets and he had never disclosed his military experience to her. It was almost reminiscent of the way that tanks would roll over especially steep inclines. Instead, his gaze wandered over to Decker. There was something in the man's expression and the tension in his body that made Alphonse feel a pang of familiarity. Something that he didn't allow to visibly show as he quickly looked away before garnering Gabriela's attention. It seemed it had worked because she hadn't said another word even as she headed out quickly followed by Decker. Alphonse glanced at the two of them and grabbed his suitcase before hopping down next to him.
It took a moment too long for Gabriela to extend a hand towards him, holding a rolled up map. Taking it, he opened it without much hassle and glanced over the coordinates the pilot had marked as their drop off point, squinting in the light of the moon. It seemed to be northeast of St. Petersburg. It wasn't that far away. After an two hours or so, if they hiked southwest they would be there in no time.
Lowering the map, he looked up at the dark sky. The flight itself hadn't taken very long. He would have estimated near about 3 hours had passed since they had boarded the plane. Norway wasn't that far from Russia, after all. The stars were still shining brightly in the sky and he spotted the North Star with practiced ease. Turning towards the southwest using the star as a guiding point, he gestured out into the open expanse of woodland. "Looks like we're in for a hike."
Gabriela, to her credit, only huffed at him. "How far is it?"
"St. Petersburg seems to be about-" He narrowed his eyes again as he tried to approximate the distance according to the map, "Six miles from here. If we make haste, it shouldn't be that long."
Gabriela didn't say anything, she only shrugged as she waited for him to start heading out. They were in for a steep incline nearing St. Petersburg, but he supposed it would be best to tackle that problem when it showed up. They would probably be able to respond best to it on the ground and figure out if trying to go directly down was a safe option or if they would have to go around. Still, he wanted Decker to weigh in on the situation as he offered the map to him. "I could use a second opinion," he said, hoping that giving Decker something to do would help get his mind off of whatever had caused what looked to him like a combat stress reaction. "Or you could guard the rear. I'll take point."
Gabriela seemed content with slotting herself behind him. She was an odd case as far as he was concerned. He knew she was combat adept, but she was a trained honey trap above all else. She had saw the war ravage her lands and had done unsavory things to survive. Things that had caught her in the deep end and forced into government service or life in prison. She took well to it. But she didn't have experience with long marches through the open wilderness and though he had no doubt about her physical prowess, he was concerned. He didn't voice his concerns though knowing fully well Gabriela would not take well to it. She was the kind of woman who would endure rather than complain and this was a time sensitive job.
And given the tension between them, he supposed she had something to be guilty about. Something she didn't want him digging into so she instead chose to isolate herself from him. So much had changed in the last eighteen years.
At the front of the pack, he picked his way through the dead leaves and budding plants with caution and speed in mind. A scornful smile crossed his features when he knew for certain neither Gabriela nor Decker would see it in the dark. Especially not with his back turned to them. Gabriela was quiet as she followed directly in his tracks, the sound of her footsteps echoing his except even lighter than his.
Spring had touched St. Petersburg but there was still hints of melting snow and ice and patches of mud that he tried to steer clear of in the black of night. It seemed like so much time had passed before he stumbled upon the steep incline, mere feet in front of him before he came to an abrupt stop, lifting his hand to signal Gabriela and Decker to do the same. It meant they were only a mile or so off from St. Petersburg now but still.
Slowly, he picked his way over to the edge of the incline and looked down. It didn't seem like that steep a drop, but navigating in the dark could prove dangerous. He glanced towards Decker even as he raked the sole of his shoe over the edge of the mountain, rock falling down to the drop below. It wasn't a far jump. If they did get hurt - and that was an if he wasn't certain he was willing to risk - it would be nothing more than a broken ankle at worse. But that would cut into their time. "It's not worth the risk..." He murmured to himself in French, before he raised an eyebrow at Decker. "What do you think?"
If they were in agreement, then they would have to reroute or find a less risky drop. That or they could take into account who was most suited to go down last. They were packed to the teeth for this and he had no doubt if he or Decker went down first, Gabriela would go next so that whoever was above keeping the rope steady would be able to make her climb easier. And whoever was at the bottom would be bale to help in case anything did happen.
Gabriela had followed him to the edge, looking down as well before frowning thoughtfully. Perhaps she was skilled at climbing. It was too soon to strike that out either. But then again... was Decker?
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Post by Deleted on Jan 15, 2019 23:33:47 GMT -5
August Decker alive and uninjured, in an undisclosed location.
He watched with a keen, attentive eye as Rudnik handed Fournier something he couldn't distinguish for a brief moment. For a second, he thought about asking what exactly it was she was giving him, but as the young man opened his mouth, he saw the other man unroll the map. He closed it and blinked at the paper in spite of himself, feeling silly. Maybe his distrust of his teammates--no matter how warranted his suspicions may be with Rudnik, who really did seem to have it out for him in her cryptic ways--was going to get destructive at some point. This proved it. The American wanted to hope that the only secrets they'd exchange between each other, leaving one out, were those little stupid things in casual conversation. That he could live with.
Looks like we're in for a hike. Though August had never been one to shy away from hard work and manual labor (the CIA beat all resistance to having your ass kicked out of you once you stepped foot on Camp Peary), he couldn't help but furrow his brow at that statement. He shifted his jacket a touch more comfortably on his broad shoulders, holding his tongue and reserving all uninformed thoughts before Fournier spoke again. August's gaze drifted down his fine jacket to his trousers and polished shoes, holding back a light grimace. I'd really hate to ruin these clothes. But that's why he packed more, right? The terrain around them looked rough and wooded, to say the least, and rocky hills and mountains loomed in the distance. In this foreign country, this country he'd grown to hate without ever setting foot on, it all seemed strangely menacing to him. He'd shake it off in time. He'd have to.
August raised his eyebrows in muted surprise. Six miles. Not impossible, no, in two hours, but certainly nothing to shrug at, either--that was the length of a moderately challenging hike, one of the kinds Juliet would drag him out to do during their months off from missions for--what'd she call it? A change of scenery, or was it something different than the office and the gym? God, he was forgetting. It hurt. It was the little things that were beginning to escape him, slowly but surely, and in moments like this, he could feel it happening acutely.
The conversation around him picked up slightly in volume again and he blinked out of his brief daze, hoping nobody had noticed and he looked as if he was considering the circumstances: he'd been told he had a resting brooding, thoughtful kind of expression. But what he'd just done was dangerous, and August knew it. He was going to have to focus, most likely more intently than he ever had before, for this mission, entirely distinct and with higher stakes than his previous one, and he couldn't afford to be lost in reveries like the slippery slope he was about to fall into. Because he knew that when he fell into anything, he fell deeply.
"Six miles is doable. And yeah, that's fine," August answered, sounding nothing short of mildly agreeable. "I'll take the rear." He didn't consider all the implications of trust from Fournier's end right away, since he'd assigned quite an important position to someone he barely knew instead of Rudnik, with some unknown but obviously extensive history between them the young man quietly resolved to stay grounded and in the moment. In all honesty, he was grateful to have a task to pour all of his focus and uncertain energy into. He'd be combing the silence with his ears for anything that sounded out of the ordinary, head on a swivel and peering through the darkness, alert, attentive--a great way to chase his ugly thoughts far, far away.
He stopped when Fournier, leading the pack quietly, stopped, and gazed down the sheer drop off with the same scrutiny he would a difficult passage in a book. The young man folded his arms across his chest, letting out a huffed sigh as he considered every pro and con he could: even if they were all trained in one way or another to scale various peaks and crags and buildings, not only was it past midnight and dark as pitch, but there were slicks of black ice on the ground every now and then, nearly indistinguishable from the ground it covered. August grimaced downwards. This didn't seem like the best possible solution, but was it their only one?
August caught the mumbled bit of French from Fournier, silently thankful that they seemed to be on the same page--it made him more comfortable to voice his true, unfiltered opinion when prompted to. "I don't really like what we're up against," he admitted to the older man, shifting lightly in his stance. He nodded to the folded-up map in Fournier's pocket. "Does that map show any terrain? Because if so, we should see if there's a less hilly--more gradual, I suppose--route to St. Petersburg. That doesn't take us too far off course."
"... But if not, I can climb," he went on. He took a moment to regard his stature alone among his group members, then pursed his lips. "It'd make more sense for me to scale down it las, wouldn't it? I'd do it, if that's the only option we have." The American did his best to mask the veiled unwillingness in his voice.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Mar 30, 2019 22:16:58 GMT -5
Alphonse Fournier
Code Name: Ghost. Status: Alive, uninjured. Location: Northeast of St. Petersburg.
The journey had been silent. Save for their footfall, there was nothing that signaled that they were in for company. The animals and the silent hum of the wilderness was their only companion throughout the entirety of the trip and he took it all in a stride. It was difficult trek in the attire. Packing light had not account for wearing military greens or better shoes for the occasion so as he took into consideration Decker's clear distaste of the descent he didn't feel critical at the younger man's opinion considering it echoed his. The dark was only the first of the problems.
If they accounted for footwear, he wasn't sure how well they would be able to recover from a bad footrest. Gabriela was beside them in a moment's notice looking down at the drop curiously and he wondered if her opinion would seal the deal for them as she huffed, crouching for a moment before standing up to her full height. "It's not that bad." She said after a beat and was looking at him expectantly even as he stared back at her.
Gabriela was always full of surprises and as she turned back to him, he cocked his head and raised a brow. The moonlight must have illuminated his expression well enough that her features - smooth and at ease - changed as she furrowed her brows in turn. "Don't know everything about me, now do you, Al?" She said and he merely shrugged as he glanced towards Decker to see if he had anything to say. His reluctant offer didn't fool either of them. "Well, Monsieur 'I don't kiss and tell', let me tell you I'll be fine climbing."
Right. Because he had chosen this path to avoid tacking an extra mile or two onto the journey. The longer they took, the more likely daybreak would announce their approach as the people started to rise from their beds and birds flutter overhead. He was growing tired of Gabriela's explosiveness. It had been easier when Florentyn was around. She was always the fire to his water, but she was also bright and excitable. Not vicious and ready to lash out at any given opportunity. He once again approached the edge, squinting as he did so. The dark made it hard to see where the handholds were and he looked at her, "You seem confident."
"If you two handsome strapping men are hesitant, I'd love to handle the hard part," she said in term, not acknowledging his comment directly though her words addressed it well enough. "I'll even guide you on descending, where to rest your feet, which handholds to grab, and when to match."
Seemingly considering the conversation done, Gabriela pulled her heels off. He cringed at the thought that she had been hiking in those the entire time without a single word of complaint and placed it by her case. "Before either of you follow me down, lower the baggage first so nothing get's jostled around too much." He just sighed as she decided to take charge even as he waved her along, pulling the map out again. She had stepped aside to speak to Decker about setting up the ropes to lower down their supplies. While the duo were preoccupied, he wore on his reading glasses to take a better look.
Though he had wanted to ride off the risk, Gabriela seemed more willing to shorten their journey than add extra time in return for a safe journey. Well, he supposed she was making the snap judgement she had determined neither of were capable of - or will of, for that matter. It wasn't going to be the end of everything though so he pocketed his glasses and put away the map as he neared them again. Well, if all went well perhaps they would be settled in a bed somewhere before the birds start to sing.
As he walked over, Gabriela was already over the edge completely out of view and he looked at Decker with a neutral expression. "Well I suppose it's no longer a democracy," he muttered mostly to himself but also partly to Decker. He had hoped privately to avoid this just in case, but Gabriela was already scaling down the cliff and her heels were here. What else were they to do?
At the very least, they would be in St. Petersburg soon. That was the only light at the end of the tunnel he could focus on as he ran a hand through his hair. He cautiously neared the drop and glanced down, surprised to find Gabriela was near the bottom before her shadow was looking up at them, waving her arms and he turned back to Decker. "I suppose we lower the luggage now," he suggested. He'd leave his case for later. The rifle inside it was heavy and starting with the lighter things would make it just slightly better for the three of them.
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