Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED) - Page 44




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  1. #431
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    See No Evil: Part 1 – Day One

    “With the rise in hate-based violence in America and the growing sophistication of anti-Semititic groups, CIFA has become increasingly interested in the connections between extremist political groups and those groups who carry out hate crimes,” explained Hammer on the drive over. “We’re conducting a small surveillance operation on four members of a group known as The Review, an organization mainly devoted to Holocaust denial. These four men have been selected to speak at a special presentation in New York City, to be held at the Merriweather Center on the corner of 8th and 41st just off Times Square. Majestic-12 believes that The Review, and possibly one or more of the four men under surveillance, may have links to other, more sinister organizations that plan and carry out unlawful activities.”

    “Why do you need me?” asked Archive.

    “Have you ever heard of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion?”

    Archive nodded. “That supposed global Jewish conspiracy? Sure, it’s a forgery. The twenty four Protocols are posited as instructions to a new Elder, outlining how the group will control the world. But it’s long since been discredited—“

    “The Review doesn’t think so,” said Hammer. “Your experience with the occult will be critical. Besides, we needed a fourth man for the op. We’ve got Jim-Bean and Caprice …”

    “Guppy?”

    Hammer shook his head. “Guppy’s … taking some mental health leave.”

    Archive nodded. It sounded serious.

    They drove on in silence until Archive burst out into laughter.

    “What’s so funny?” asked Hammer.

    “I just realized … I think this is my first official mission for CIFA, and now I’m not an official agent!” Archive shook his head in disbelief.

    “Speaking of that …” Hammer’s expression turned serious. “No more cistron. Look in the glove box.”

    Archive rifled through the glove box and came up with a cell phone.

    “That cell phone’s untraceable. I’ve got one as well. That’s what we use to communicate. You can’t call me on the cistron, obviously. Got a weapon?”

    Archive pulled a Glock out of his pocket.

    Hammer’s brow furrowed. “How did you slip that past the police?”

    “It wasn’t a gun when they had it,” said Archive with a smirk.
    Mike "Talien" Tresca

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  • #432
    ahh rereading that post now i remember being curious if that last sentence or two ment the end of archive...apparently it did. Sprague's dislike of all the mysticy stuff and archive getting the axe has me feeling that Jim Bean could plausibly be not be too far behind.

  • #433
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    Yeah, but Archive's not down for the count as we demonstrated just now. In fact, as you'll see, one of Hammer's goals is to get Archive SOME level of access back, if only because it's a pain in the butt to not have Archive on the same comm link. Trying to pretend they're not working with Archive is difficult.

    On a reality side, I still need the team to work together so the players have an excuse to play together. You'll notice that I tend to use excuses for when certain players aren't playing for awhile. So for example, Guppy's been out on "mental health leave" when my brother wasn't playing for a few months. Similarly, although Jim-Bean might be an easy target to get rid of, Jeremy plays pretty consistently, so he's not just going to get the boot. Not yet, anyway.

    That said, as you saw from the last story hour, Jim-Bean is something of a dog on a leash. He's part of PROJECT RECOIL and thanks to use of THE COCKTAIL (prescription drugs optimized for memory loss) he only occasionally remembers his interrogation sessions wherein Jim-Bean could be incinerated at any moment. The only thing keeping him alive is that the bad guys use protomatter too, and Jim-Bean is a part of the war of alien escalation.
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  • #434
    crazyness! well regardless of what happens i am definitely enjoying the run.

  • #435
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    See No Evil: Part 2 – Day Two

    Michael Drinkwater was born in Deepdeene, Massachusetts on January 15, 1949. He married his wife Dorothea on May 5, 1970. He earned his Bachelor’s degree in Boston University in 1971, and received his Masters and PhD by 1975 from Reading University in England. Drinkwater published his first book in 1978, Hitler and the Nazis. He was arrested for a DWI in 1982. He published his second book in 1986, The Jewish Problem in Germany 1935-45. He also authored numerous historical articles published in History Today, Times of Conflict, Military Historical Quarterly, among others.

    Archive flipped through Drinkwater’s file. When Majestic-12 did their research, they could be very, very thorough.

    Drinkwater arrived on schedule. He caught a taxi to the Marriott and checked into room 09034, ninth floor, Room 34.

    Hammer had planted bugs in their rooms, so Archive was able to monitor everything the man did. He hung out in the hotel bar and listened to the bug.

    Drinkwater made a phone call to Dorothea to assure her that the flight was fine, and another call to Colm, the organizer of the event. He had a drink in the hotel’s bar, not more than a few feet from where Archive sat nursing his own drink, and passed through to the dining room. After dinner, Drinkwater went back to his room, assembled his laptop computer, and worked there for two hours before shutting down. He ordered a movie from the hotel selection, watched it, and went to bed.

    “Anything?” asked Hammer.

    “Not much,” said Archive. “Drinkwater’s pretty boring.”

    “Things will get more interesting,” said Hammer. “Just wait until the others get here.”
    Mike "Talien" Tresca

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    See No Evil: Part 3 – Day Three

    “What’s Drinkwater up to today?” asked Hammer over the cell.

    “Books,” muttered Archive.

    Archive was whispering. Hammer knew what that meant; Drinkwater was on the move, and so was Archive. Out of reach of the bugs in the hotel, Archive had to follow Drinkwater to keep him under surveillance.

    “He’s bought enough books to fill a library. He visited three stores before lunch.”

    “Makes sense, he was a professor of history before he got fired. Anything good?” asked Hammer.

    “Mostly historical works about Europe in World War II, and murder mysteries, particularly Mickey Spillane.”

    “Of course.”

    “You?”

    “Bhrunt just made a reservation at Il Palio for two.” Hammer flipped through Bhrunt’s file. “He makes Drinkwater look like a saint.”

    Allen Bhrunt. Born in Fort Lauderdale, Florida on May 8, 1959. Got his BS at Florida State. He had been arrested for forgery in 1982 but was acquitted. He was arrested for assault in 1983 and was convinced for one month. He was arrested for possession of narcotics in 1985 and convicted for two months. He had over thirty parking citations and was currently under investigation for mail fraud. Bhrunt was the main publisher and editor of The Review’s newsletter as well as publisher of many of the group’s texts.

    Bhrunt flicked open his cell phone and made a call.

    “Your guy just called my guy,” said Archive over his cell.

    “Yeah, I saw that,” said Hammer. “Looks like they’ve got dinner plans”

    “You sound worried. They’re having dinner, so what?”

    “Bhrunt’s been carrying a briefcase all day and he’s never put it down once.”
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    See No Evil: Part 4 – Day Four

    Hammer called in on his cistron. “Jim-Bean, Hot Pants, Bhrunt’s on the move. I’m following.” He swore as he realized Archive wasn’t on the comm. He’d have to call him later to bring him up to date.

    Bhrunt was taking steps not to be followed. He hopped from subway to taxi, and then to another taxi, to an address in Queens. And he never let go of his briefcase.

    Hammer followed him to a condemned school building, the P. MacGregor Hayes School. Bhrunt paid the taxi driver, looked around to confirm he wasn’t followed, and made his way into the school’s former chemistry lab. The room, unlike the rest of the school, was sealed: all of the windows had bars and boards covering them, and the one door was steel-reinforced.

    Hammer parked his car further down the street, out of sight, and snuck up to the entryway. He ducked behind a nearby dumpster as four young men, one carrying a shotgun, sauntered in.

    Hammer had run enough missions to know that he was witnessing a drug deal. He let the men pass by through the steel door.

    They had chosen a well-guarded location. Hammer thought about calling in backup, but he didn’t want to remove the other agents, all whom had been carefully placed in surveillance positions. It was too risky.

    Hammer tested one of the planks over the window. It was loose. Good, just enough to …

    Glass tinkled all around him. Hammer swore and ducked back to his position by the dumpster.

    Footsteps. He covered himself with debris and smeared some dirt on his face.

    The drug dealer with the shotgun, accompanied by another dealer with a semi-automatic pistol, began kicking over cans, searching for the source of the disturbance. Shotgun shoved garbage out of the way and Pistol covered him.

    His dual Glocks carefully concealed, Hammer stumbled out into the open. “Will you shtop makin’ all that racket?” he bellowed, staggering out from behind the dumpster. “Ahm tryin’ tah SHLEEP here!”

    The drug dealer rolled his eyes, pistol aimed squarely at Hammer’s chest. “It’s just a bum!” he shouted, presumably to the leader inside the high school.

    Shotgun squinted at Hammer. “I know all the bums ‘round here. And you ain’t one of ‘em …”

    Before he could react, Hammer spun back behind the dumpster, Glocks out.

    “Pigs!” shouted pistol.

    A shotgun blast rocked the dumpster, slamming into Hammer. He whirled out from behind covered and fired two carefully placed shots.

    Shotgun and Pistol both dropped. They were perfect shoulder shots. Bad enough to drop them, but not enough to kill them.

    Hammer rolled both men over and zip-tied their wrists. If the drug dealers thought he was a cop, so much the better. It might just save his cover.

    Once Hammer was inside, it was clear he needn’t have worried. The remaining two drug dealers and Bhrunt had fled through an escape tunnel—formerly a maintenance corridor—that led to a small concrete shed on the school’s playground.

    “I had an … incident following Bhrunt,” said Hammer over the comm. “Anyone see him?” After another second he repeated the same query to Archive.

    “He’s at the hotel,” reported Archive. “What happened?”

    “A drug deal,” said Hammer. “Did he say anything to Drinkwater?”

    “Not a peep.”

    “Of course not,” said Hammer. “Bhrunt doesn’t want to embarrass his companions. Drinkwater may be a racist moron, but even racist morons have standards.”
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    See No Evil: Part 5 – Day Five

    “How’s our boy doing today?” asked Hammer, sounding bored. “Jim-Bean just reported that Hames got in.”

    Archive couldn’t hear the other responses. “Not much,” he reported. “Drinkwater didn’t hit the bookstores today, just reading the paper and … hold up, he’s on the move.”

    Archive followed Drinkwater to a public phone. He couldn’t hear the conversation.

    Then Drinkwater headed for Greenwich Village. He met a personable young man at an apartment building there, and the two of them went out to a pub for a drink. They talked for several hours.

    Archived reported back in. “I think …” Archive struggled with the words. “I think Drinkwater’s out on a date.”

    “A date?” The amusement was evident in Hammer’s voice. “Take a picture of this so-called date. I’ll look him up in the database.”

    Archive used the camera in the phone. It didn’t have nearly as high a resolution as cistron, but it did the job. He sent the picture to Hammer.

    “Theo Prentice,” said Hammer a few minutes later. “A student of Drinkwater’s at Boston University.”

    Drinkwater and the young man got up to leave.

    “Should I follow them?” asked Archive.

    “Don’t bother,” said Hammer. “Didn’t you read why Drinkwater lost his job at Boston University?”

    “Uh, no,” said Archive. He must have missed that detail when scanning the report.

    “Drinkwater was fired for sleeping with his students.”
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    See No Evil: Part 6 – The Dead Speak

    Hammer sat across from Colm’s office, Harwick, Chadderton & Merlo. Hot Pants was right to call him in. The map of the area showed no blinking dot: The tracking bug Hammer had planted on Colm’s car wasn’t working.

    Before he could plant another one, Colm walked out of his office. He was average height with a lean build. His hair had thinned out a great deal, but he took care to brush it over, concealing the spot as much as possible. Colm was thin-faced and clean shaven, with a morose, bloodhound expression.

    Colm was born in Barlow, Missouri on December 29, 1945. He got his MBA at Missouri State in 1967. He was married to Wilhemina on April 8, 1972 and divorced ten years later. He was also The Review’s secretary and longest-serving member as one of its founders. Unlike the others, Colm lived locally, so he should have been easier to track. But here he was breaking his routine by leaving work early.

    “Target is on the move, I’m following,” reported Hammer.

    Colm drove towards JFK airport and stopped at a small strip mall. Several storefronts were vacant, and their windows covered by paper on the inside and with “For Rent” signs on the doors. There was also a locksmith, an ice-cream shop, and a convenience store in operation. Very few people walked the streets. It was deserted except for a cab driver in front of the convenience store, reading the paper.

    Colm parked his car and went to one of the vacant storefronts. He knocked on the door.

    The door opened, though the person inside stayed out of sight. Colm was ushered in.

    Hammer pulled his car over on the opposite side of the street and furtively pointed his parabolic microphone at the window.

    There was a brief exchange of pleasantries that did not include any names.

    “Let’s see it,” said Colm.

    “Behold the power of the Reich!” A sing song chant began that took several minutes.

    At the end of the chant, a chill settled in. People outside noticed that the sky became overcast, with a sudden, strong breeze. Silence.

    Then a third voice spoke in German. “Wer ruft mich an?

    Colm screamed something. There was a short struggle. A moment later Colm dashed out into the street, clutching a book under his arm.

    Colm sprinted to his car. Diving into the front seat, he took off.

    Hammer dropped the parabolic microphone. “Hot Pants!” he shouted into his headset. “Meet at my location, I want a full sweep of the area, there’s been an incident—“

    Colm’s car flashed by. Then the taxi driver gunned his taxi into action in hot pursuit.

    Hammer tore after them. Colm had a head start, so Hammer had to settle for tailing the taxi driver instead.

    A tall, thick-bodied German with an outdoorsman’s ruddy complexion stepped out of the cab. This was no ordinary taxi driver.

    The German kicked Colm’s door in. Colm had already arrived and left.

    Hammer slid out of his car and up to the entryway. He drew one of his Glocks. Somewhere, a dog was incessantly yapping.

    He caught sight of an elderly woman peering at him through the blinds.

    Hammer put a finger to his lips. Frightened, she closed the blinds.

    The German was tearing through Colm’s place. Hammer snuck into the hallway only to see the German in Colm’s office. Several letters stuck out of his coat pocket. He had a pistol in one hand, a degausser in the other, and was running it over some discs.

    Hammer put the cold metal of the Glock to the back of the German’s head. “Stop right there.”

    The German spun and knocked Hammer’s Glock out of his hand, stunning him with the force. Hammer fired with the other Glock but missed.

    The German dove and rolled with the speed of an athlete, coming up behind a recliner with an FN Browning high-powered pistol. The bookshelf near Hammer’s head exploded.

    Hammer drew his other Glock and fired a hailstorm of bullets at the German. The recliner was thoroughly perforated. Stuffing floated through the air.

    The German made a run for it. He sprinted out the doorway towards his taxi.

    Hammer slid into the entry way and raked the taxi ahead of the German before he could reach it. Wheels squealed and popped as bullets tore through them.

    The German didn’t skip a beat. He ran into the middle of the street, waving a gun and shouting in German. A terrified woman stopped her car.

    Hammer tried to get a bead on the German but he positioned the terrified woman’s car between them. He broke the window, unlocked the door, and threw the woman into the passenger’s seat.

    Hammer ran over to the passenger’s side but the German pointed his pistol at his hostage.

    The car peeled out, leaving Hammer in the street. Swearing, Hammer ran back into Colm’s apartment, yanked the computer out of the wall along with some discs, and took off before the cops arrived.
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    See No Evil: Part 7a – Climax

    “What have we got?” asked Hammer, standing next to Archive in the crowd in front of the Merriweather Center.

    “There was some blue dust in the vacant store,” said Archive. “I think it was …”

    “What?”

    “From a corpse,” said Archive.

    “What does ‘Wer ruft mich an’ mean?”

    Archive looked at Hammer curiously. “It means: Who calls me? The German said that?”

    “No, the German was in the taxi. I heard it from within the room. I think it’s what set Colm off.”

    “Someone speaking German?” asked Archive.

    “A dead man speaking German,” added Hammer. He put one finger to his ear to turn on his comm. “Hot Pants? What you got?”

    “There was a file labeled Sundries,” said Caprice. “It was encrypted using a fairly simple code that used a book, the Jeeves Omnibus. “

    “And?”

    “Oh you know, paranoid ranting. Talks a lot about Them and Others. Mentions he’s talking to somebody who supports his screwball theories. Then at some point he has suspicions that They are reading his file. From there it’s all flowers and light. The guy’s a nutjob.”

    “But no hint as to where he might show up?”

    “Nothing. Maybe if we had those letters …”

    Hammer swore. “Then we go with the backup plan. Colm’s going to show up here.”

    “What makes you say that?” asked Jim-Bean over the comm. He was dressed as one of the security guards holding the crowd back.

    “It’s a public place,” said Hammer. “If Colm’s going to show up with evidence of his crazy theories, this is the place to do it.”

    A roar went up from the crowd. Opposition activists and a band of protesters were gathering outside the conference building. Many of them were young, all of them rowdy, and what security was available was having some difficulty keeping them in line.

    “They’re here,” reported Jim-Bean, somewhere in the crowd.

    Hames, Drinkwater, and Bhrunt arrived in one car and were hustled along the slim corridor of people up the steps of the Center.

    That’s when Hammer spotted the German. He was wearing a dark overcoat, with an odd bulge under his vest, seemingly oblivious to the raucous crowd around him. The German was intensely focused on someone on the other side of the crowd. Hammer spared a glance over his shoulder …

    “It’s Colm!” shouted Archive. Colm had jumped the barrier, a book in one hand, waving incoherently at his other three companions.

    Archive’s shout triggered something in the crowd. They burst through the security barrier, running towards the four Denial experts.

    Colm reached into his pocket.

    “Bomb!” shouted Archive, pointing at Colm.

    “Gun!” shouted Hammer, pointing at the German.

    Three cracks from Colm’s revolver caused the crowd to scatter.

    Everyone ducked, falling to the ground. Except the German, who kept coming.

    A woman was killed. Two men were injured. The mob’s charge was instantly broken.

    Before Archive or Hammer could react, Colm grabbed a young woman by the hair and dragged her kicking and screaming into the conference center.

    Chaos reigned outside. People were screaming and running. The police were desperately trying to break up the crowd and deal with the situation.

    The German kept coming.

    “Jim-Bean!” shouted Hammer. “Where the hell are you?”

    There was no response. Jim-Bean was somewhere in the midst of the mob.

    Hammer drew his Glocks. “Archive, take care of the German!” Then he ran into the meeting center in pursuit of Colm.

    Archive drew his pistol. For once, he knew what to do.
    Mike "Talien" Tresca

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