06/06/2033 - Destro
Cruising Altitude - Approaching Shetland, ScotlandOn this summers morning the coastal town of Grutness was quiet. Situated at the southern tip of the Shetland mainland, the most northerly landmass in the British Isles. Shetland's population hovered around 22,000, and had for many years. The islands had a long history with the Vikings, German traders and more recently the Scots. At the southern tip of the island lay Jarlshof. A remarkable prehistoric archaeological site, dating from bronze and iron age settlers.
Farther north lay another historical site, one that interested the Baroness far more than the tripe pulled from a traveler's pamphlet that made up most of the intelligence report on the island. Just half a kilometer south of the hamlet of Hellister lay Castle McCullen. The target of this visit. Anastasia Decobray leaned back in her seat. The Sumburgh Airport's 4,678 foot runway was the only one on the island large enough to accommodate her jet, and barely at that. She then had to sit through an hours drive to reach the her destination. This trip was nothing but an inconvenience. The Commander knew full well that these McCullens weren't interested in working with Cobra. The elder McCullen had actively opposed Cobra, and was the main reason they still lacked major operations in Central Canada, England, Australia or Southern South America. This turf war had almost brought their organization to the attention of the local governments prematurely. Something McCullen knew Cobra couldn't afford. And yet, somehow the Commander insisted that McCullen, a complete unknown, would be amenable to an alliance. Once again, Anastasia had reason to doubt the commander's sanity.
The pilot leaned back through the door, "Approaching the airstrip m'lady. One of our agents has a car waiting."
-
Castle Destro - 23 miles North-Northwest
Destro McCullen the twenty-seventh strolled down the long stairs from the suite of rooms at the top of the castle. A suite still in the process of being redecorated for its new master after the departure of its old. James McCullen the twenty-sixhad died, ostensibly of a heart attack, less than a month prior, and the staff were still adjusting to their new management. One thing they did realize though was that proper deference must be paid to their new lord. Outside the castle walls the clanging of rapiers could be heard as the Iron Grenadiers perfected their dueling skills. Sometimes the old ways truly were best.
At the bottom of the stairs, two servants scuttled out of the way and down a side passage so as to not disrupt their master's morning stroll. Destro smiled. The working class needed to learn its place. A few beheadings of the less cooperative had seen to that. A pause on the balcony off the stairs allowed an unobstructed view of the Grenadiers training in the courtyard below. Fog was still clinging stubbornly to the fields, combining with full battle armor to slow the movements and accuracy of the men. Once they learned to fight in these conditions, they could fight anywhere. As well they would be called to eventually if Destro's plans succeeded.
Not that that was a concern this morning. This day had two focuses: the 'surprise' visit of Cobra's emissary, and dealing with events at the factory in Kazakhstan. Oh yes, Cobra was certain that the Decobray's visit was a surprise, but Destro's agent within Cobra had learned about it over a week ago. General Mayhem was on station at the Sumburgh Airport to keep an eye on their new visitor, and the Cobra Viper who was to drive her had been paid handsomely to turn his allegiance. A payment that would never go through due to his untimely death tomorrow.
It amused Destro to play the Commander's games. If he thought the Iron Grenediers would serve as an adjunct to his terrorist force, he was sadly mistaken. Though the world may not know who was responsible for Black Thursday, Destro did, and fully intended to use that as a major bargaining chip. While some sort of agreement may be beneficial for the expansion of MARS industries, the full weight of the Iron Grenediers would eventually be needed elsewhere and could not be wasted on the frivolities the Commander was interested in. But let his lackeys come. Perhaps they would bring an offer of interest.
-
Sumburgh Airport
Decobray strode down the stairs from the cabin of the jet onto the asphalt runway. Even at just over five feet, she managed a regal bearing casting a disapproving eye over what passed for a terminal. Two other planes sat on the runway, both marked with the insignia of MARS industries. Well, hopefully that meant he was home, otherwise this would be a wasted trip. Shaking her head, she strode over to the waiting Bentley that would ferry her to the castle.
"Blackout," she acknowledged her counterpart.
"Baroness."
They both climbed into the car and headed north. Wild Weasel watched them go from the cockpit of the jet, waiting until they were out of sight to activate his radio. A click on the other end of the line was the only acknowledgement, "They're on their way. Destro's jets are still here. I will rendezvous with Munitia in forty-seven minutes."
Another two clicks confirmed receipt and Wild Weasel signed off.
-
Jarlshof Historical Sight
A tourist in a yellow raincoat snapped another picture. Had anyone else been at the ruins that morning, they would have realized he was using a telephoto lens to photograph a wall less than 30 feet ahead of him. They might also have noticed the parabolic antenna protruding over his shoulder pointed back towards the Sumburgh Airport. But as it was, he was the only one braving the cold and fog of the early morning. The camera clicked another half dozen times before it lowered revealing an entirely forgettable face, devoid of any remarkable features. Owen King removed a blackberry from beneath his jacket, and transferred the memory card from the camera to the handheld device. The touch of a few buttons completed this part of the mission.
The camera and radio dish quickly folded into a backpack, protected from the outside moisture. King returned to his Landrover and propped the tourist brochure for Lerwick on the dash. His only concern was whether Michelion could carry out his part of the mission.
-
Scalloway
King need not have worried. Michelion Paolino strolled around the circumference of Scalloway Castle, his eyes casting down main street, watching the woman loitering along the wharf across the street from the Barber's shop two hundred meters away. The locals took little interest in her, her demeanor suggesting she was waiting for someone. Michelion wasn't sure what she was up to but it was a guarantee that it wasn't good, otherwise he'd have never been assigned to watch her.
For his part, he looked like any other of the few hundred tourists who passed through the Shetland islands every year. He'd already spent over an hour walking around the castle, and he figured much longer might look suspicious, so he sidled across the road and pretended to be taking an interest in the fishing boats that lined the docks. His path temporarily took the woman out of his sight as a building interposed itself between them. He didn't allow himself to worry though, if he hurried to keep her in sight, his cover might be blown. Instead he snapped a few pictures of the boats.
These weren't for any intel purposes, but because they reminded him of his own childhood in Sao Paulo. His family had lived in a corrugated tin shack on the edge of town with many others in the slums. Their family was better off than most however as they'd been able to cobble together a home with several rooms over the seven generations they'd lived there. What even Michelion himself had not known was that his forefathers had been saving money from their jobs, and from what they could barter from the city dump and had amassed a respectable sum of money. Most of it had gone for his and his sister's education, a debt that they could never repay, even now that they'd moved their family into the center of the city.
Michelion shook himself free of the reminiscences. They had no bearing on his current situation, and he must not allow himself to be distracted. He rounded the corner, watching a single car putter through the traffic circle and continued down the main street. His target still leaned up outside the barber shop. On a whim, he decided he might as well get his hair trimmed while he waited. Wild Weasel wouldn't arrive for another half hour, and he couldn't very well keep walking up and down the main street without drawing attention to himself.
-
Sumburgh Airport
General Mayhem watched Wild Weasel depart the jet and climb into a recently arrived taxi. Very interesting, he thought to himself, the laird will be interested to hear this. Off in the distance, a Landrover could be seen departing Jarlshof and heading north. Something about it seemed out of place to Mayhem. Landrovers weren't uncommon on the island, but this one seemed unusually new in comparison to most of them, but he decided to dismiss the worry. It was probably just a tourist who had come across on one of the ferries in the last couple days. He shook his head, and removed his cell phone. Voltar would have to inform the laird about the other Cobra's activities while Mayhem followed him to ensure that he didn't compromise the master's plans on the island.
-
Bently passing NorthpundsThe Bently flew north along the country road, Blackout elaborating on the previous weeks events, "and then one of Destro's lackeys, Undertow I'm fairly certain, bought me off for information about your visit."
"I assume you gave it to him?"
"As per the commander's orders. I still don't understand what this mission hopes to gain. I doubt this McCullen will be any different than the last one."
Decobray pursed her lips, but relied honestly, "neither do I. Its simply a waste of our time. McCullen may think we're being played with these little games, but Cobra is far smarter than that. He'll learn in time." She shook her head.
-
Castle Destro
Voltar exited the communications center and made his way towards the garage to report the latest developments. An extra Cobra at the airport made little difference, but one poking around the island unguarded could potentially become a problem. Especially if he came across some things that should remain buried for the time being. He strode on, oblivious of the tiny fly skittering along the roof above him, but the fly, or rather the fly's controller saw Voltar. Some ingenious work by scientist Seymour Fine had developed the intricate surveillance drones, and a small army of them now buzzed unnoticed through the castle's halls, transmitting their data to a receptor high overhead. None of this intruded on Voltar's sense of urgency as he approached Destro to bring the news.
-
40,000 Feet Overhead
[WRITER'S NOTE: Yes, this section is deliberately blank. Curious?]
-
Bently passing Tingwall Airport
The Decobray and Blackout sat in silence as the country flew past. Both were impatient to reach the castle, neither being the tourist type.
Blackout glances in the rear view mirror, "that Landrover finally turned off at Lerwick; another three miles and I'd have had to ditch a body."
"Destro wouldn't have been happy about deaths on his turf. At least ones that he didn't order."
Blackout grunted in agreement, and slid the car onto the right side of the road to avoid a stray sheep, "damn I'll be glad to get out of this stinking country."
-
Castle Destro
The servants stood at attention as their Laird gave orders in preparations for Decobray's visit to the castle. Dissent rankled among several standing at attention, but this was mixed with a fear for their lives. Many of their number had been executed very publicly for opposing their new master. Even Voltar, vaunted general of the Iron Grenadiers had lost an eye to the sword. MARS own prosthetic technology had compensated for the loss, but the glaring red orb reminded everyone in the castle that their master lacked neither the will, nor the strength to rule.
The meeting was soon dismissed, the attendants given their orders in no uncertain terms. A small squad of Iron Grenadier trainees was stationed on the front lawn going through an advanced drill, their fumbling giving the impression of incompetence. The cook was made to prepare a meal far above normal standards, and the cleaning staff to put out the trappings usually reserved for Corporate parties. A simple message was to be conveyed: the castle's new owner was decadent and incompetent. A message designed strictly to drive the emissary away.
The appearance of the castle was altered in a matter of minutes, finished only instants before a Bently was sighted making the turn from the A971.
-
40,000 Feet Overhead
"Showtime."
-
Castle Destro
Decobray watched Blackout pull the car around to the back of the castle. His information from the servant's quarters would be invaluable to future assualts on this castle. A precaution in the Commander's mind, a certainty in Decobray's. Sooner or later MARS, or more specifically the owner's private army, would become a threat to the Commander's plans. So long as the world's governments continued to be complacent about the threat, Destro remained the soul individual outside of the organization that knew of its existance. An individual who would have to be terminated when the time came, should he not decide to side with the right side.
Five stories overhead, Destro watched the visitors with interest. Decobray was significantly more attractive than intelligence briefings had indicated. Attractive, an athletic figure, supple legs.
"I must have her Voltar."
"My lord, is that wise?" Voltar quieried? He was well aware of his master's indulgence in the pleasures of the flesh, but seducing an agent of Cobra could bring danger on the house. Danger he had to admit, he was not sure even the Grenadiers coud prevent.
"Do not question me Voltar, or you'll lose the other eye."
"Yes Laird."
Below, Decobray reached for the knocker on the door. Her gloved hand never reached it. Instead the double doors swung open silently to reveal a butler waiting for her. His appearance was a bit odd, a red prosthetic where his left eye should have been and a scruffy black beard framing his lower face.
"Welcome Baroness Decobray, we have been expecting you."
Although she refused to let it show on her face, Decobray was disturbed. Her mission had been a secret from all but the upper echelons of Cobra, which meant that the Iron Grenadiers were much more well equiped than they were aware, or the organization had a leak that would have to be removed. Permanently.
She paused before entering the castle, observing a squad or more of Iron Grenadiers going through a sword drill on the side lawn. Memories of her fencing days overlaid themselves with the drill. They weren't very good. Granted, Decobray had made the silver medal in two consecutive fencing Olympic events, but these guys weren't even as good as anyone on the recreational circuit. If this was the best mercenaries Destro had to offer, the Commander was wasting his time. Satisfied, she followed the servant into the castle.
Around back Blackout pulled the Bently into what looked to have once been a stable. He climbed out and surveyed the surroundings, noting the same squad of Iron Grenadiers he's glimpsed from the front of the property. Otherwise, the outside grounds seemed clear. The castle backed onto the inlet, or whatever it was, but had a defensive wall ringing the courtyard. Glancing over his shoulder, he moved towards the open rear gate towards the beach. Whereas most ancient castles used wood and iron gates, this wall was sealed with a pair of sliding stone doors, a rather impressive piece of ancient engineering. But impressive or not, it was immaterial if an assault was ever required; two minutes' work by Firefly would finish it off.
Outside the wall lay a small private dock and two modern boathouses. A luxury racing boat was moored to one side of the exposed pier, while an armored patrol boat was docked at the other. An interesting juxtaposition reflected Blackout as the door to one of the boathouses opened. A man in grease stained overalls stepped out and made directly for Blackout.
" 'cuse ma gov'na, 'an ah 'elp ya?"
"No thank you, just came out here to look at the water."
" 'lenta o' 'ater . 'out much ta see."
Blackout nodded as if he understood the man, and turned as if to look across the water at the far shore. Thankfully the man made no further conversation, instead picking up a barrel from by the gate and dragging it back into the boat house before closing the door. Once inside he lifted the receiver to a black phone, "Viper's being snoopy. Best warn Voltar that he'll need to be taken out."
-
Lerwick
Owen King made his way into the cafe. At this hour in the morning it was almost empty save for the wait staff and two salty old sailors who could have passed for embalmed corpses had they not been regularly lifting mugs of the local ale to their lips. He waited, and a moment later the waitress appeared. Without taking his order she set down a tray of breakfast and pot of coffee. Owen smiled acknowledgement and she nodded in reply before once again disappearing into the back. Beneath his plate lay a sealed envelope containing his continuing orders. Unfolding the paper from the side of the table, he used the noise of the paper to cover the tearing noise made by opening the envelope. He scanned it twice before dropping it into the coffee pot which emitted a slight hiss as the acid therein dissolved the paper. So much for heading off to Hawaii he thought.
Twenty minutes later, he brushed the remnants of the meal from his lips with a folded napkin and returned his plate, coffee pot, and a generous tip to the waitress.
-
Castle Destro
Decobray waited impatiently in the castle's main hall as instructed by the butler, or whatever he was. She'd watched him walk down through the far doors. His bearing indicated he'd clearly had significant military training, and the slight hitch in his gait indicated his right leg had once been broken somewhere between the knee and the hip. The prosthetic eye was also a clue to battlefield injuries. Perhaps a castoff from the Grenadiers that Destro felt pity for.
But while the butler made an interesting character study, this main hall was far more informative. Half the length of either side was covered with massive portraits of the Castle's Lairds. The portraits on the north wall showed the McCullen's in formal attire, befitting their rank, while those on the south showed the men in the family mask. A plaque on the south wall preceded the first portrait, and Decobray paused to read it before continuing down the hall:
On March 6, 1426 the Battle of St. James was fought near Avranches between the English army of the Duke of Bedford and the French army under Arthur de Richemont. The English victory forced the Duke of Brittany to recognize English Suzerainty. On July 23, Laird James McCullen the First was tried in London and found guilty of selling arms and information to the French. He was imprisoned and tortured for 30 years, his head encompased by an iron mask, and his identity striped away from him in place of the name "Destro". The mask and the name have been adopted as the symbols of Clam McCullen, which will one day re-take its proper place.
Decobray raised an eyebrow after reading the last line. It seemed almost a threat, and yet no company more than MARS had promoted English interests over the last two hundred years. Though the age of the plaque was unclear, the modern English suggested it was no more than a hundred years old. Perhaps left over from a less agreeable McCullen of a previous generation, clearly it's original intent had been abandoned. A shrug and she continued on her way, passing time by analyzing the portraits.
McCullen I looked like the stereotyped mountain man, which his hair all over his head, a scruffy beard. But the bulging muscles underneath his clothing showed a man who knew how to handle himself. By contrast, his masked self seemed like a broken man, even robed in finery once more. The mask didn't help the image as it was crudly formed and appeared to have been pressed to his face while the metal was still molten.
The next half dozen McCullens retained the wild black hair and beard, but looked equally healthy in their masked and unmasked portraits. Their mask or masks, it was unclear whether it was remade for each individual or passed down through the generations, was still made of Iron, but well sculpted and polished. With McCullen VII it changed to a silver mask, or was at least painted as such, the reflection being brighter. The McCullen beard shrunk in size and disappeared altogether with McCullen XIII. The masked portrait of McCullen XIV, an ugly man with a shaved head, was the first to have the mask and sword broach which now adorned the shoulders of all the Iron Grenadiers. Beards made a resurgence for McCullen XVII, the first to wear the black uniform with red cape now made famous by the exploits of the Iron Grenadiers, and McCullen XVIII. It was only with McCullen the XX that the gold helmet was introduced, and from then the uniform remained unchanged.
Over the generations, the McCullen line's appearance approved, the recently deceased McCullen XXVI being in fact rather attractive. Strangely there was as yet no portrait of the castle's newest ruler, something which struck Decobray as odd. The castle's overtly lavish trappings clearly suggested an arrogance of the new owner, and the lack of portrait seemed out of character. She smirked as a thought crossed her mind, probably reserves that portrait for the conquests of his bedroom.
Through the door at the end of the hall she could hear voices. The buttler was speaking with a someone, no doubt a servent of some sort. Decobra resumed pacing the length of the hall, becoming increasingly impatient for the meeting to begin, hoping that Blackout was at least making use of his time.
On the other side of the door, Voltar spoke rapidly with his master, "my laird, I beg you to reconsider, this is a bad idea. What if she..."
"She is in my house Voltar, there is nothing she could do to me, and nothing we need fear. I must take her to my bed. If there is a problem, I know how to deal with her. And should she resist, she, and her compatriot, will never leave alive."
Voltar chafed to reply as he wished, but he knew that this Destro was not as amenable to input as the last, and there was nothing he could do about it. But perhaps he wouldn't have to put up with it much longer. The thought pleased him.
"Send her to my chambers in ten minutes. I shall be prepared."
"Yes Laird," Voltar replied, his teeth set in a grimace.
-
40,000 Feet overhead
"Best record this I think."
-
Castle Destro (Ten minutes later)
Decobray was striding up the hallway with every intention of bursting through the hand-carved double doors when the butler opened them and waved her through. She passed by without breaking stride.
"Up the stairs m'lady. Oh, and by the way..."
"Yes."
"I assume you were looking at the portraits, the new Laird is not what you would expect."
"How so?"
It seemed as if the butler was leering at her, "you'll see soon enough m'lady. Enjoy yourself."
With that cryptic warning, he departed, leaving a confused Decobray with her foot resting on the first stair. Determination overcame confusion in short order and she continued up the stairs, pausing on the landing to see the view. Below she could see the incompetent cadre of Iron Grenadiers still at their training. Towards the wall, she could also see a man skulking about, most likely Blackout. Well, at least he was getting somewhere, she shook her head. At the top of the stairs was a plush waiting room with deeply cushioned and upholstered chairs. She didn't bother wasting any further time, fully intending to be long gone from Shetland before lunchtime, instead striding straight to the large wooden door and knocking loudly with the heal of her hand.
The door swung open almost instantly, and Decobray had to back away as a very large pair of breasts, veiled only by a thin komono, practically hit her in the face. The dodge backwards afforded a full view of the woman who had answered the door, she was tall with skin the color of obsidian and the figure of a model. Her frustration peaked, this was what had been delaying her meeting with McCullen?
"I am here to speak to Laird McCullen," the title rankled in her throat, but Decobray assumed that this, this amazon, would yield to the title.
Much to her shock, the woman smiled, "I am Laird Jillian McCullen." The voice rang with the authority of someone who was used to attention and obeisance in their presence. Decobray was taken aback, this could not possibly have been what the butler meant by the new McCullen not being what she expected - could it?
The woman calling herself McCullen let loose a low-throated laugh, clearly Decobray's confusion showed on her face, "you don't believe me do you? Of course you don't. No one does."
She turned and walked a few paces into the room, clearly her personal quarters if the furniature was any indication. A curiosity filled Decobray and she followed, allowing the door to close silently behind her.
The woman turned and continued, "as you probably know, my father James Destro McCullen the twenty-sixth, God rest his soul, never married. He had numerous affairs with women all across Europe, leaving many partial heirs. But if you check their birth records, he is not recorded as their father, and in fact disowned every one of them. During one of his business trips to Ethopia, I tried to pick his pocket. I was an urchin on the street, only six years old, at least as close as I can figure, at the time. My parents were both dead, I have no idea how." She smiled at the memory, "My father's wallet was attached to his belt with a chain that I'd failed to notice, and so he caught me. Do you know what he did? He laughed, and gave me the best advice I ever got, 'if you want to hurt someone, go for their bank account, not their petty cash.' I stowed away on his plane when he left. He found me during the flight, and addopted me when we returned. Few outside the core of the organization ever knew that I was his heir."
Decobray was absolutely flustered, but had no choice but to accept the stories. It did explain why the heir to the McCullen empire had never been seen in public, it would have caused an incredible stir.
"I see," she responded. "Interesting though your personal history is, I'm here to talk to you about some business my organization had with yours."
"Oh yes, your 'Cobra' organization. Well, we'll get to that in due time."
"The business cannot-"
"You forget," interrupted McCullen, "You are in my house now, and things here are done by my rules. And there's something else you should know about me, I always get what I want."
"And what is is exactly that you want?"
"You."
At first the word did not make sense to Decobray, but as McCullen allowed the komono to fall to the floor, suddenly she understood. She backed quickly towards the door, but her back met the handle of the closed door. McCullen was closing the distance too quickly to allow her to open the door.
"McCullen," Decobray stammered trying to buy a few seconds, "I can assure you that I do not-"
Her protests were cut short as McCullen's lips pressed over hers. A brief moan escaped Decobray's throat as McCullen's right hand gripped her thigh...
CONTINUED IN: Who's Conning Who?
Code Name: Destro
File Name: Jillian "Destro" McCullen XXVII
Birthplace: Adama, Ethiopia
Position: MARS CEO/ Director of Iron Grenadiers
Primary Military Specialty: Weapons Manufacturer
Secondary Military Specialty: Experimental Weaponry