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<blockquote data-quote="Captain Claymore" data-source="post: 2080755" data-attributes="member: 12634"><p>PART TWO.</p><p></p><p>3:30PM - Country Corner Motel, Outskirts of Northport.</p><p></p><p> TO: Zoryn Rakov.</p><p> FIELD ID: 00323</p><p></p><p> Assignment Location (as of 04-13-05): Northport, Washington. Permanent field position.</p><p></p><p> Cover: Editor for RUSSIAN CONNECTION, a weekly Russian-language review of Russia's telecommunications market, one of the country's fastest growing industries. You work from your home and will be paid by Russian Connection, Inc.. Review the newsletter and familiarize yourself with the requirements of the job. The actual editorial work will be done by another operative and sent to you - to in turn be sent to your employer.</p><p></p><p> MISSION GOALS:</p><p> 1. Establish residence somewhere near the cities main population center.</p><p> 2. Establish contact with Intelligence operatives. Your link is Cathleen P. Haul (listed in the phonebook). She will step you through the security procedures and grant access to the new field office - as well as introduce you to the other team members upon arrival.</p><p> 3. Active and passive surveillance of Supernatural activities within the city. Make regular reports.</p><p> 4. Establish contacts within the supernatural community without revealing the truths of the organization.</p><p> 5. On call to coordinate and execute plans of action concerning supernatural incidents. As the sole field agent, this - along with number three, will be your prime mission.</p><p> 6. Secondary objective: Determine the cause of last field operative's disappearance.</p><p></p><p> Your position is a tough one. The previous agent, Charles Cooper, stumbled into something that caused his disappearance or death. Whoever or whatever was responsible learned enough about our operations to infiltrate the previous field office, destroy specific files and systematically eliminate the two Intelligence operatives we had stationed in the city. A quick response team was sent in after Cooper failed to report, but no trace was found - either of our initial agents, or the individual or group responsible.</p><p></p><p> The agents you will be dealing with have all been placed within the last four months. You will basically be starting from scratch. Due to past events we are labeling Northport hostile, which means weekly field reports instead of the standard quarterly schedule. The first team's two initial file transfers had no useful information since operations weren't past the initial setup stage.</p><p></p><p> Maintain an extremely low profile if at all possible. The subjects responsible for the first breech may be aware of our procedures and protocol. In other words, they may be ready for you.</p><p></p><p> Good luck.</p><p>________________________________________</p><p></p><p> Rakov blinked and yawned. He had arrived at 05:00 hours this very morning, and had only taken time to review his mission brief before collapsing on top of the covers. Even the name of the motel eluded him as he lay, staring at the ceiling, inevitable afternoon light pouring in around the curtains. The whorls and ridges of plaster grew in size as he neared them, still relaxed.<img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /> Privacy. Rakov rolled over and looked down at the rumpled bed four feet below. Nothing visible supported him, but from within the realm of his mind, he could project waves of force, precisely and gently if he so chose.</p><p></p><p> The Underground agent floated down and across the room, letting new liquid force spill up under his torso, to straighten his body. He landed gently in front of the sink. Standing, he flicked on the light and splashed cold water on his face. He felt coarse bristles against his palms. His watch read 15:30 hours. Awake early. I am eager, then, he thought.</p><p></p><p> His luggage stood in a neat line by the front door of the motel room. One of the medium-size ones floated onto his bed, where it seemed to unzip itself. A leather toiletries kit pushed out from its nest of white, folded socks and sailed into the restroom. Before the compact bag flattened his face, Rakov summoned a pool of force — chi, his old master would say instead — to catch and cushion it.</p><p></p><p> The telekinetic stared into the mirror as he unpacked the kit. Rakov smiled; he had broken 28 mirrors in his lifetime, 27 of those while practicing his mental powers. He had not even had a good-size mirror these past few years. Nor a coffeemaker, as I'm sure this room has, he made a mental note. The young man looked barely out of his teens. His dark brown mane, shoulder length and wavy, covered his ears. Sinister, rising eyebrows contrasted with his large, gray eyes. Five eight and thin, Rakov's blue flannel, collar-less shirt hugged his ribs. His shirt tucked into gray corduroy slacks. These, in turn, tucked into dark gray cowboy boots.</p><p></p><p> As his razor flitted swiftly before him at the whims of his mental control, Rakov's high, pale cheeks were revealed. One tiny nick was apparent, but the agent put that down to lack of practice. He stretched his arms and walked over to the coffeemaker. Soon, the percolating sound filled the room as Rakov flipped through the while pages under 'H.' Finding only one Cathleen, he memorized the number and decided to look for some very-late breakfast and a payphone. Somewhere away from this motel.</p><p></p><p> Soon, Rakov was out the door and starting his ride, a steel-blue '51 Ford pickup. The engine belched loudly. The agent unfolded the plastic map of Northport and chose a direction more towards the center of the city.</p><p>_______________________________</p><p></p><p> Zoryn sat in the corner booth finishing up his Denny's toaster scramble special. He had driven about eight miles into the city along the highway before picking the restaurant as a likely candidate for an afternoon breakfast. As he scraped the last bit of cheese and egg from his plate, he was reaching into his pocket for change to make the call. He paid his tab and made his way to the payphone just outside the restrooms, dropping his change into the slot and dialing the number of his contact.</p><p></p><p> It rang three times before a woman answered, "Hello." Her voice was pleasant and average.</p><p></p><p> Rakov smiled as he spoke into the phone, holding the public mouthpiece a careful inch from his mouth, He supposed he was in a good mood from having eaten. "Miz Cathleen Haul?"</p><p></p><p> When Zoryn said the name, there was a moments pause, followed by a inquisitive, "yes?"</p><p></p><p> "I'm looking to form a spelunking expedition. I would like to meet and talk about what kind of underground exploring we might get underway. Do you have time now to meet? At a place of your convenience, of course. Though maybe your residence is not ideal for the moment. We might need to go buy some pots and pans anyway, since our Cooper has left us."</p><p></p><p> The agent stopped his salesman-like tirade of semi-nonsense. He detested telephones. Being raised by an ex-spy tended to color one's opinion. After his accented 'sales pitch' there was an even longer pause. "Go to Buck Rogers Coffee on Stateway and Fourth Street... Five o'clock. After the show we'll talk." The phone clicked.</p><p></p><p> Zoryn knew 'the show' was a visual ID to verify he was who he said he was. Protocol stated that was usually handled by another field agent, but since he was the sole field agent on sight, it made sense that it would have to be handled by intelligence. He wondered how she would handle it - and whether or not he'd be able to spot her. She would leave some sort of message - assuming they had the right mug-shot. The actual meet up would take place in a less public forum.</p><p></p><p> The five o'clock time schedule left him only about fifteen minutes to find the coffee house. Not enough time to arrange a proper ambush - should he be the enemy. Scheduling the show at rush hour - when there would likely be a large crowd - also made it difficult for him to ID her. For a non-field agent, she planned well, but then again Intel always planned well. In Zoryn's albeit limited experience he found it was often harder to carry out the plan.</p><p></p><p> He hung up the receiver and headed out the door to his truck. A quick view of the map and he was on his way.</p><p></p><p> ===========================================================</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Captain Claymore, post: 2080755, member: 12634"] PART TWO. 3:30PM - Country Corner Motel, Outskirts of Northport. TO: Zoryn Rakov. FIELD ID: 00323 Assignment Location (as of 04-13-05): Northport, Washington. Permanent field position. Cover: Editor for RUSSIAN CONNECTION, a weekly Russian-language review of Russia's telecommunications market, one of the country's fastest growing industries. You work from your home and will be paid by Russian Connection, Inc.. Review the newsletter and familiarize yourself with the requirements of the job. The actual editorial work will be done by another operative and sent to you - to in turn be sent to your employer. MISSION GOALS: 1. Establish residence somewhere near the cities main population center. 2. Establish contact with Intelligence operatives. Your link is Cathleen P. Haul (listed in the phonebook). She will step you through the security procedures and grant access to the new field office - as well as introduce you to the other team members upon arrival. 3. Active and passive surveillance of Supernatural activities within the city. Make regular reports. 4. Establish contacts within the supernatural community without revealing the truths of the organization. 5. On call to coordinate and execute plans of action concerning supernatural incidents. As the sole field agent, this - along with number three, will be your prime mission. 6. Secondary objective: Determine the cause of last field operative's disappearance. Your position is a tough one. The previous agent, Charles Cooper, stumbled into something that caused his disappearance or death. Whoever or whatever was responsible learned enough about our operations to infiltrate the previous field office, destroy specific files and systematically eliminate the two Intelligence operatives we had stationed in the city. A quick response team was sent in after Cooper failed to report, but no trace was found - either of our initial agents, or the individual or group responsible. The agents you will be dealing with have all been placed within the last four months. You will basically be starting from scratch. Due to past events we are labeling Northport hostile, which means weekly field reports instead of the standard quarterly schedule. The first team's two initial file transfers had no useful information since operations weren't past the initial setup stage. Maintain an extremely low profile if at all possible. The subjects responsible for the first breech may be aware of our procedures and protocol. In other words, they may be ready for you. Good luck. ________________________________________ Rakov blinked and yawned. He had arrived at 05:00 hours this very morning, and had only taken time to review his mission brief before collapsing on top of the covers. Even the name of the motel eluded him as he lay, staring at the ceiling, inevitable afternoon light pouring in around the curtains. The whorls and ridges of plaster grew in size as he neared them, still relaxed.:) Privacy. Rakov rolled over and looked down at the rumpled bed four feet below. Nothing visible supported him, but from within the realm of his mind, he could project waves of force, precisely and gently if he so chose. The Underground agent floated down and across the room, letting new liquid force spill up under his torso, to straighten his body. He landed gently in front of the sink. Standing, he flicked on the light and splashed cold water on his face. He felt coarse bristles against his palms. His watch read 15:30 hours. Awake early. I am eager, then, he thought. His luggage stood in a neat line by the front door of the motel room. One of the medium-size ones floated onto his bed, where it seemed to unzip itself. A leather toiletries kit pushed out from its nest of white, folded socks and sailed into the restroom. Before the compact bag flattened his face, Rakov summoned a pool of force — chi, his old master would say instead — to catch and cushion it. The telekinetic stared into the mirror as he unpacked the kit. Rakov smiled; he had broken 28 mirrors in his lifetime, 27 of those while practicing his mental powers. He had not even had a good-size mirror these past few years. Nor a coffeemaker, as I'm sure this room has, he made a mental note. The young man looked barely out of his teens. His dark brown mane, shoulder length and wavy, covered his ears. Sinister, rising eyebrows contrasted with his large, gray eyes. Five eight and thin, Rakov's blue flannel, collar-less shirt hugged his ribs. His shirt tucked into gray corduroy slacks. These, in turn, tucked into dark gray cowboy boots. As his razor flitted swiftly before him at the whims of his mental control, Rakov's high, pale cheeks were revealed. One tiny nick was apparent, but the agent put that down to lack of practice. He stretched his arms and walked over to the coffeemaker. Soon, the percolating sound filled the room as Rakov flipped through the while pages under 'H.' Finding only one Cathleen, he memorized the number and decided to look for some very-late breakfast and a payphone. Somewhere away from this motel. Soon, Rakov was out the door and starting his ride, a steel-blue '51 Ford pickup. The engine belched loudly. The agent unfolded the plastic map of Northport and chose a direction more towards the center of the city. _______________________________ Zoryn sat in the corner booth finishing up his Denny's toaster scramble special. He had driven about eight miles into the city along the highway before picking the restaurant as a likely candidate for an afternoon breakfast. As he scraped the last bit of cheese and egg from his plate, he was reaching into his pocket for change to make the call. He paid his tab and made his way to the payphone just outside the restrooms, dropping his change into the slot and dialing the number of his contact. It rang three times before a woman answered, "Hello." Her voice was pleasant and average. Rakov smiled as he spoke into the phone, holding the public mouthpiece a careful inch from his mouth, He supposed he was in a good mood from having eaten. "Miz Cathleen Haul?" When Zoryn said the name, there was a moments pause, followed by a inquisitive, "yes?" "I'm looking to form a spelunking expedition. I would like to meet and talk about what kind of underground exploring we might get underway. Do you have time now to meet? At a place of your convenience, of course. Though maybe your residence is not ideal for the moment. We might need to go buy some pots and pans anyway, since our Cooper has left us." The agent stopped his salesman-like tirade of semi-nonsense. He detested telephones. Being raised by an ex-spy tended to color one's opinion. After his accented 'sales pitch' there was an even longer pause. "Go to Buck Rogers Coffee on Stateway and Fourth Street... Five o'clock. After the show we'll talk." The phone clicked. Zoryn knew 'the show' was a visual ID to verify he was who he said he was. Protocol stated that was usually handled by another field agent, but since he was the sole field agent on sight, it made sense that it would have to be handled by intelligence. He wondered how she would handle it - and whether or not he'd be able to spot her. She would leave some sort of message - assuming they had the right mug-shot. The actual meet up would take place in a less public forum. The five o'clock time schedule left him only about fifteen minutes to find the coffee house. Not enough time to arrange a proper ambush - should he be the enemy. Scheduling the show at rush hour - when there would likely be a large crowd - also made it difficult for him to ID her. For a non-field agent, she planned well, but then again Intel always planned well. In Zoryn's albeit limited experience he found it was often harder to carry out the plan. He hung up the receiver and headed out the door to his truck. A quick view of the map and he was on his way. =========================================================== [/QUOTE]
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