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01-15-2013, 08:08 AM | #101 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
07 January 1985 – Florida Keys
Fred and Rachel pulled their golf bags from the back of the car, laughing at a shared memory. They walked into the resort, where they were met by a Crimson Guardsman holding a clipboard. “Well done. You both passed all of your annual recertification, and are both well under par. You received packages while you were out.” He handed them each an envelope. They opened them, finding printouts of Nassau account information and a short note. “FSLIC has covered all First Dallas Bankcorp accounts. The deposits in the five blind accounts for each of you have been honoured, and those proceeds have subsequently been deposited in the enclosed offshore accounts. You have each earned a further bonus of the proceeds of an additional blind account.” The note continued with reassignment instructions, sending Fred to New York City, and Rachel to a forensic accounting course in Atlanta. Fred and Rachel smiled at each other. “The Commander wishes he could be here in person, but he claims he had unfinished business in Dallas,” said the Guardsman. 07 January 1985 – Dallas Keating unlocked his front door and stepped inside. He dropped a briefcase on the floor and made his way to the fridge, pulling out a beer. He sat down with a sigh, and took a long swallow. His contented sigh turned to a splutter as Tomax stepped in front of him. “I see you’re doing well with a new company and another project,” he said, dropping a file on the coffee table, and positioned a mirror in front of Keating. “What the hell are you doing in here?!” shouted Keating, pushing himself out of the chair. Tomax kicked him hard in the shoulder, pinning him back against the chair. “You threatened me once before. That’s why I’m here.” There was a flash, and Keating tried to respond, but felt suddenly weak. He felt warmth spreading across his chest, and then sudden agony in his mouth. He slumped in the chair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. As his vision faded he saw that Tomax had sliced his throat open and pulled his tongue through the hole, like a macabre necktie. Tomax wiped the straight razor clean and exited the house. Banking was such a risky business. *************** LT Note - While we’re still feeling the effects of the latest fiscal crisis, brought on in large part by poor regulation of the subprime mortgage industry, it is worth remembering that such crises strike disturbingly frequently. The US in the early ‘80’s saw unintended consequences in deregulating the Savings & Loan, or ‘Thrift’ sector in an effort to save it. Unfortunately, it was done in a manner easily exploited by the unscrupulous, and in a manner that I’m sure inspired Hama when he wrote the Crimson Guard file cards, and which I’ve tried to capture in this tale of the early days of Cobra (and more specifically Extensive Enterprises) exploiting opportunities faster than the government can close the loopholes. In the event that financial stories interest you, here’s a backgrounder: FAST MONEY AND FRAUD - New York Times |
08-31-2014, 11:09 AM | #102 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
A slender man walked along the docks, admiring the yachts and enjoying the sun reflecting off the water. The bright blue contrasted with the white walls and terracotta roofs abutting the harbour. He flicked a cigarette butt into the water and checked his watch. He bent quickly to re-tie his shoelace, erasing a small chalk mark on a post in the process. He adjusted the newspaper tucked under his arm and headed towards the city entrance. He made his way quickly through the winding cobblestoned streets and slowed slightly as he passed a low wall. He ran his fingers along the bricks, pulled a loose one, and scooped a plastic film container out of the recess. Without breaking stride he slid the brick back in, dropped the container in his pocket, and made his way to his office.
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09-07-2014, 01:52 PM | #103 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
The tall, slender man turned in surprise, a sculpted eyebrow rising a fraction of an inch. He held out long-fingered hands, the nails carefully trimmed and burnished, and held her elbows. He leaned in and air kissed each cheek.
“My goodness.” He touched a hand to his heart and stepped back. “Let me get a good look at you.” The man frowned slightly, cupped his chin in one hand and tilted his head to one side as he examined her, quickly touching her shoulder and her waist. “You’ve got all muscly. What happened to you?!” Courtney smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. “Tai bo. And it’s good to see you too, Michel.” Michel waved to someone in the distance and blew a kiss. He turned back to Courtney and stared at her in some puzzlement. “I haven’t seen you in years, and then I run into you on the Dalmatian Coast. What on earth brings you here?” Courtney smiled and reached a hand into the leather bag slung from her shoulder. “I’m on the other end now. I’m photo editor for a start up magazine that’s combining active lifestyles with haute couture.” She pulled out a portfolio, and Michel started flipping through it. “I didn’t think Americans had either active lifestyles or any taste in clothing,” said Michel with a slight sneer. Courtney flipped her hair and smiled. “In a country of 300 million you only need a fraction of a percent of the population to have a profitable market segment. You’ll see we’ve made a good start on the active lifestyle.” She pointed to pictures of skiers, surfboarders, hang gliders and rock climbers. “We also have segments on up and coming music,” she added, pointing out some photos of bands in smoky clubs. Michel flipped back a couple of photos. “Isn’t the guitarist also the surfer?” Courtney nodded. “Bass, not guitar, but yes. And he happens to be here with us for some location shoots. As I said, we’re a start up, so we’re not lining up all the biggest names just yet.” “No, I should say not. He looks a bit of a brute. There’s a common style here. Who’s your photographer?” Courtney pointed to a fit-looking black man with an access card around his neck, a telephoto-lens camera slung from his shoulder, and a smaller SLR through which he was looking. “Oh he’s a handsome devil isn’t he,” said Michel, running the tip of his tongue over his lips. Courtney flashed her teeth in a short laugh. “He has a great butt, but he isn’t my type.” “No,” said Michel, he eyes lingering on the man. “Photographers never were.” “I don’t think you’re his type either, I’m afraid.” “Hmm.” He flipped a few more pages, past gourmet meals, arriving at some fashion shoots. “Who’s funding you?” Michel asked, changing tack. “Wall Street is booming and all sorts of interests are seeking to diversify. At the same time, manufacturing is tanking, and several cities are interested in the benefits of moving into printing.” “Hmm. I see. So,” said Michel, handing back the portfolio. “Well, I wish you luck.” “Thank you. And what brings you to Yugoslavia?” “I’m recruiting a model.” Courtney smiled, opened her mouth, and hesitated. Michel raised an eyebrow at the awkward pause, and glanced at his watch. “Can I tempt you with a drink? I have a few minutes, and I’d love to catch up.” Courtney blushed and nodded. “I’d like that.” They walked into a small cafe and sat down. A waiter brought small cups of thick, black coffee, and smudged glasses of slivovitz. “So. Photo editor. How ambitious.” Courtney put her head in her hands. “We’re getting some fantastic diving shots in Brac, but we also went inland. Oh God it was depressing. Old, toothless men smoking cigarettes rolled in old newspaper, sitting in front of urine-stained concrete blocks. I just want to shoot runways.” Michel lit a cigarette and breathed in deeply. “I take it there’s a request in that statement.” “Oh Michel, I’ve been shut out of the New York scene. I can’t even break back into Chicago.” “Well, you did rather disappear. People remember that, and the world moves on.” “I know. And it was a mistake. Michel . . .” she took his hands in her own. “Do you have anything coming up? I don’t have much of a budget, but if you gave me access it would really help me to break back in.” Michel knocked back the fiery brandy and sucked his teeth. He cupped his hand and glanced at his nails. “I’m not sure what I can do for you.” “Michel,” said Courtney, pouting slightly. “I was hoping you could give us a little more access than a start-up might otherwise get. I know we’re not Vogue . . .” “That’s certainly true,” said Michel, cutting her off. “Frankly, you look like a knock off of the L.L. Bean catalogue.” “Michel! Please – you’ve known me a long time. What we’ve got is good. A bit raw in places, but good. And we recognise where we fall short, which is why we’ve invested in this trip. And I can give you free publicity.” Michel frowned. “Some publicity is not worth having,” he sniffed. He took a deep breath, then took Courtney by the elbows and smiled. “What am I saying. Courtney, of course I can help you. I’ll arrange for the passes for the New York show, if,” he paused and held up a finger. “If you come to my party tonight. Bring your photographer. And your brute.” Courtney squealed and flung her arms around Michel’s neck. “Thank you. Of course we’ll be there. We wouldn’t dream of missing it!” |
09-21-2014, 03:08 PM | #104 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Coloured strobe lights pulsed in time with the music.
“You’re dancing already,” grunted Rock n Roll, touching Cover Girl’s hip. She flashed a smile and continued to sway with the music, glancing around the room. Models mingled with adventurous millionaires whose yachts lay in the nearby harbour, and local elites, who combined self-interested criminal enterprises with the state-run industries. Bartenders mixed an array of concoctions at a bottom-lit translucent bar. “What is that sound?” complained Rock n Roll, holding his hands over his ears. “Kraftwerk,” replied Cover Girl, nudging him with her hip. “Get used to it. You’re going to need to move to its beat.” Rock n Roll glowered, and Stalker smirked. Cover Girl caught Michel’s eye and headed towards him. “You made it!” he exclaimed glancing around the room. “And so did your brute. Now I’m honour bound to uphold my end of the bargain.” Cover Girl took two shooters from the tray of a passing waitress and handed one to Michel. “Let’s drink to that,” she said, knocking it back. “So – who is everyone?” “Well,” said Michel, waving his hand around the room. “Some are my models. Some are my associates. And some simply love a wild party in a slightly naughty part of the world.” “I’ll say,” laughed Cover Girl. She tilted her head towards a long-haired blond man talking with several models. “Isn’t he on the Formula One circuit?” “I really couldn’t say,” said Michel, glancing over at an approaching slick-haired man in a shimmering silk suit. They exchanged a few words in Serbo-Croat, their gazes lingering on Rock n Roll. “Tell me Courtney,” said Michel. “What’s your brute’s name again?” Cover Girl’s eyebrow raised a fraction. Michel and the man spoke a few more words again. Cover Girl smiled slightly and waved to Rock n Roll, who leaned in to her ear. “They don’t serve beer here,” he whispered. Cover Girl smacked him lightly on the arm. “Michel,” she said, “this is Craig, one of my models. Craig – Michel, my former manager. And this is,” she turned to the slick haired man. “Vukasin Despotovic,” answered Michel. “So pleased to meet you,” said Cover Girl, leaning forward, placing her hands on his chest and standing on tip toes to kiss his cheek. Vukasin leaned back, and then reached out and shook Craig’s hand. “I was just telling Michel that you have a splendid physique,” he said in lightly accented English. “I have been trying to get some of my,” he hesitated, “my staff in better shape. Perhaps you could provide me some . . . advice.” Without letting go of Rock n Roll’s hand he stepped sideways and steered him towards a corner of the room. Cover Girl smiled and turned back to Michel, touching him lightly under the chin and tilting his head up and back towards her. “You have all night to admire his ass. Now don’t move. I have to go to the little girls room, but when I come back you must tell me about New York.” She blew an air kiss and walked towards to the restrooms, passing Stalker. “Child’s play,” she murmured, handing off Vakuskin’s wallet. Stalker left the crowded room, opened a door and walked down a service corridor and knocked on a door. Flash opened it and took the wallet, flipping through the contents. “Should be easy enough to clone these ID cards,” he said, holding them by the corners in rubber-gloved hands. He slid over to a table with a camera on a frame. He dialed a knob to adjust the height of the camera and started taking photos. Then he dusted the laminated ones, photographing and lifting each fingerprint. Finally he held a magnetic key card, and swiped it through a machine. Green numbers scrolled across a small black console. “Done,” said Flash, handing the wallet back to Stalker. “And Clutch has planted a tracker on that big car of theirs. They’ve got one of those fancy new phones, too. Who knows how they swung that in this country, but anyway, that’s tapped too.” |
10-05-2014, 09:45 AM | #105 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
“So, uh, you want a physical conditioning program?” asked Rock n Roll.
Vukasin laughed. “So you’re here on a photo shoot. How do you like my country?” “Oh. Well, it looks very nice. You have nice buildings. The plumbing is a little backwards, though. And the people are a bit . . .” Rock n Roll paused. “They’re not as open as westerners. No. Decades of living under the secret police will do that to a people,” said Vukasin. “What kind of work do your staff do?” asked Rock n Roll. “So very direct. Are you enjoying the party?” “Well, this isn’t my kind of music, and there’s no beer.” Vukasin laughed. “Let me guess. You like Ted Nugent. I prefer Turbo-Folk myself.” Vukasin took off his jacket and handed it to a squat man with no neck, wearing an ill fitting suit with a conspicuous bulge at the armpit. “Come – dance with me,” said Vukasin, pulling Rock n Roll to his feet. Rock n Roll looked at the dance floor, and caught the eye of a girl in tiny jean shorts, a bikini top and a cowboy hat dancing on a speaker. She smirked, and disappeared back into her dance trance. Rock n Roll closed his eyes, took a deep breath and followed Vukasin to the dance floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stalker angling towards him, a drink in hand. “Here you go buddy – some liquid courage,” laughed Stalker, winking at Vukasin and slapping Rock n Roll on the butt. Rock n Roll felt the pressure of the wallet slipped into his back pocket, and he aimed a playful punch at Stalker’s shoulder. “Good game,” answered Stalker, disappearing into the mass of dancing bodies. “How’s he doing,” muttered Cover Girl as Stalker slid next to her at the bar. “ How do you think?” Cover Girl rolled her eyes. “I put up with this crap daily from you guys. He can live with it for another few hours. If I can do my job while being harassed then so can he.” |
10-06-2014, 06:37 PM | #106 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Rock n Roll wiped the sweat from his brow and took a long drink from a bottle of sparkling water. He glanced at the ornate label and shook his head.
“What’s with bubbles in the all the water?” he asked. Vukasin laughed and opened a bottle of his own. “How did you get into modelling, Craig?” “I was living hand to mouth at the time and one day I picked the pocket of a talent agent. I decided to give him a call, and in exchange for his wallet he hired me.” “You picked pockets for a living?” laughed Vukasin. Rock n Roll reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. He handed it to Vukasin, whose face went white. Lips and eyes narrowed, and a bolt of agony shot through Rock n Roll as he was punched in the kidneys. Hands like vices grabbed both arms and Rock n Roll felt the room jerk away from him as he has dragged towards the door. Before he could protest he felt a sharp blow to the head, and the room went black. Across the room Stalker saw the commotion and sprang for the door. One of Vukasin’s men pulled a pistol and aimed it at Stalker, who froze. Cover Girl ran to Michel. “Michel – it’s Vukasin. His thugs just abducted Craig. Please, you have to do something.” Michel glanced over at Vukasin, who had slipped on his jacket and was heading for the door. “I’m sorry Courtney.” “But he’s my model. And he’s my friend.” “And Vukasin is the reason I can work in this country. There’s nothing I can do.” Cover Girl and Stalker ran out of the room, and ran into Flash. “Clutch just radioed in. He saw them throw Rock into the limo. Some goons have stayed behind in the Yugo.” “Give me the KL43,” hissed Stalker, heading towards an office. He knocked on the door, not expecting an answer at that time of night, then picked the lock and walked in. He sat down, typed a message into the pad, picked up the phone and dialled a number. When he got a connection he hit a button, sending a stream of encrypted data over the line. They waited a few minutes, and heard a squawk. Stalker read the machine and swore. “Continue with primary mission.” Cover Girl shook her head and took a deep breath. “Alright. The van’s downstairs. Flash, rustle up your gear and meet us at the service elevator entrance.” She glanced at Stalker. “How about we do this right now?” Stalker turned to Flash, who licked his lips. “I can print off the magnetic card and reproduce the prints in the van, though I’ll need you to be stationary for a few minutes. But I can’t do anything about the ID papers or photos without a dark room.” “Forget the papers. The swipe card is what we need. Let’s go.” In the garage, Clutch sat in the van, his knuckles white from the grip on the wheel. “They took Rock in the Chaika. They had him hog tied and put a bag over his head. Damn they were fast. And well armed. Remind me again why we can’t carry weapons here?” “Don’t worry,” said Stalker in a quiet voice. “We’ll get him back. But after we complete the primary mission.” Clutch spat out a toothpick chewed beyond recognition, reached into a pocket and pulled out another. He pointed out a Yugo sitting idle a couple of rows over, with three men in it. “They’ve been waiting there ever since.” “There’s Flash,” said Stalker, pointing to the elevator. They opened the van doors and helped him load the footlockers of electronics and cameras. Clutch pulled forward and headed towards the exit, noting headlights in his mirrors. “And now we’ve got our own goon squad.” He pulled into the street, which was deserted. “We’re never going to lose them in the middle of the night on empty streets.” “Pull over at the next block,” said Cover Girl. She waited for the van to roll to a halt, and watched in the mirror as the Yugo pulled up behind them. She opened the door and walked to the Yugo, stopping beside the hood, just ahead of the passenger door. She stared at three men inside, and gave them the finger. They laughed. She pulled a can of mace from a pocket and emptied into the cabin air intake, turned on her heel and walked back to the van. The Yugo’s doors flew open and the men rolled out, coughing violently. “Think you can lose them now?” Clutch grinned at Cover Girl and hit the gas. Last edited by LowTech; 10-12-2014 at 08:52 AM.. |
10-07-2014, 09:06 AM | #107 |
W.O.R.M.S. Commander
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
Posts: 10,649
|
Now it's getting good. I thought RnR was going to have to sleep with someone soon.
__________________
Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome. |
10-07-2014, 08:57 PM | #108 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
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10-07-2014, 08:59 PM | #109 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
The warehouse district was a far cry from the elegant architecture of the historic town, with squat, dirty cinder block buildings laid out geometrically. Clutch parked a street away and they grabbed bags of gear. Stalker and Flash studied the building through infra red binoculars, and Stalker nodded. Flash set up a tripod and attached a laser. He connected it to a heavy duty truck battery and aimed at a point on the target building. He tapped a button and stared through the scope, studying the red dot. He adjusted a dial on the sight to confirm alignment and switched off the laser. He glanced up at Clutch.
“You remember how this works?” Clutch rolled his eyes. “The green button turns it on and the red one turns it off.” Flash smiled, bent back down and adjusted the point of aim, straight into the lens of a security camera. He tapped a button and stood up, pulling on a back pack. Stalker, Cover Girl and Flash sprinted across the deserted street, Stalker spinning a small grapple hook on the end of a light rope. Clutch waited until they were on the roof, turned off the laser that was blinding the camera, and set the timer on his watch. “See you guys in an hour.” Traffic was almost non-existent. Upon arrival at the safe house, Clutch scanned the street and checked his timer. He swallowed, grabbed a pair of duffel bags, and made his way quickly to the apartment. It took a matter of minutes to pack away the photographic development gear and the computer and modem. It took almost as long to gather Cover Girl’s wardrobe. He propped the fridge door open and pulled a propane tank from a corner of the room, sliding it into the open space. He unplugged the fridge, removed the light bulb, wrapped it in a towel and carefully shattered the bulb. Close inspection confirmed the filament was intact, and he screwed the bulb back into place. He lined several bottles of slivovitz in front of the tank, opened the tank’s valve, and shut the fridge door. After inspecting the apartment one last time he plugged the fridge back, hefted the bags over his shoulder and ran back to the van. A quick glance at a map confirmed a different route back to the warehouse via a dead letter box site. Their local agent needed to be warned to adopt a low profile. |
10-09-2014, 07:31 PM | #110 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Flash opened a door a fraction and angled a dentist’s mirror through the crack. He picked out the security camera and indicated its location to Stalker. He held up a finger, pulled out a slim black box with wires dangling from each end, pulled the door, and in three long strides was under the camera. He snapped alligator clips onto the camera’s cables, pushed a button and waited five seconds. He pushed another button and glanced up at a loudspeaker on the ceiling and motioned to the door.
“Come. It’s looping five seconds of empty space.” Stalker boosted Flash onto his shoulders and Flash started unscrewing the speaker’s cover plate. He pulled the diaphragm loose, and connected a different box. He pushed everything back in place, screwed the cover back on, and dropped to the floor. They ran down the corridor and crouched at a corner. Flash pulled out the mirror again while Stalker referred to the small set of blueprints in the clear plastic sleeve taped to his wrist. “Clear.” “Good. It’s straight, and then left.” At the next corner Flash noted another camera and repeated the process with another box. He indicated the locked door with the magnetic lock. He pulled out the cloned swipe card and ran it through the reader. A red light flashed. Cover Girl rolled her eyes and glanced back down the hall. Flash swiped again, and again the red light flashed. Stalker examined the hinges and the jam. “There’s no way we can force this.” Flash rubbed the card on the edge of his shirt and swiped it again. A green light blinked and the sound of heavy bolts retracting echoed in the corridor. The door swung open and Flash scanned the ceiling, making out four cameras. “I only have three more boxes.” “Overload ‘em. Move,” snapped Stalker, waving Cover Girl towards a bank of filing cabinets. Flash pulled out another electronic box, extended an antenna, and flipped a switch. Lights blinked on the boxes planted along their route, and the building’s intercom system started screaming at a high pitch. The cameras bloomed, and screens in the security booth started flashing at a frequency to induce nausea in the guards. Stalker hit a fire alarm and bells and flashing lights added to the chaos visual and auditory chaos in the building. Cover Girl pried locks off the cabinets with a small bar and started stuffing files into a backpack, and Stalker dumped boxes of 5 ¼ inch and 8 inch disks into another bag. Flash stared at the mainframe system, yanked several boxes out and swung a 5 pound sledge hammer at the rest. He grabbed the boxes and turned for the door. “Run.” The pounded through the halls towards a rear fire exit. Stalker collided with a security guard, and the two crashed to the ground, skidding in a tangled of limbs. A second guard swung a weapon to his shoulder. “Stoi!” Flash pointed a plastic box at the man and pressed a button, shooting electrodes into the man, the electric charge send the guard into spasms. Cover Girl used less style, aiming a vicious kick at the guard's crotch. She turned to see Stalker release a choke hold and climb off his unconscious guard “Move.” They pushed the door open as a van pulled up. Clutch slid the doors open. “In. Now. Before we get company.” |
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