ACCESSING CURRENT FEEDS...
DATE: AUGUST 23rd 2014
LOCATION: Saddle River, NEW JERSEY, USA
PRECISE LOCATION: 105 CHESTNUT RIDGE RD
SEC G7 CAM 025 - 10:27:09
"Today, the long-awaited trial of Deonna LeRoux, the FBI Case Officer will be brought before a Court tribunal today to answer for the crimes of murdering known rogue CIA Agent Tobias Dearborn and two Russian nationals, confirmed to be former FSB operatives. The motives that LeRoux must have had are unknown, as she has refused to respond to questioning. We spoke to one of the Senators linked to her trial today, Senator Ross Garrison who said-"
The news report was cut off when Rasmussen grabbed the remote and pressed a button. Lounging in his New Jersey mansion home, he sat on a couch in the wide and opulent living room of his house. Sipping the final amount of high-brand whiskey, he licked his wet lips.
His Manor was built on a vast and endless ground of landscape, trees, hills and grassy gardens blocked any view of another house or building for miles. A helipad had been erected not too far from the mansion, down the road from the impressive driveway. Rasmussen's home had seven bedrooms and five bathrooms, a pool, an extensive library, study and stargazing platform.
The underground levels went deep below the structure of the manor, hidden server rooms, CCTV monitoring stations and Rasmussen's private screening room. The first floor of the manor held secret staircases and twisting panels.
Shrouded in mystery, the dark underbelly of his mansion was revealed when he would descend below the staircase in his grand study.
Because behind the two wooden doors was a single thin hallway leading to a grimy and stained, metal-yellow bolted gateway. A glowing red keypad was in the only way into the Samaritan Terminal. The public asset had lived a lavish life, surrounded by wealth and influence.
He had provided Samaritan's forces with a media empire, control over television, radio, with consumerism, populism and capitalism all at his fingertips. An empire built on blackmail, bribery and theft. His most recent theft being of seven billion dollars from a bank chain in Goa, India.
Using connections from his time as Finance Officer, Rasmussen lifted the money to put funds in a particular personal project, a stake of his. He knew that with Samaritan watching over him and Greer as his puppet, he could do almost anything.
Blackmailing the Danish Prime Minister afterwards was easy. Olander was caught in multiple affairs while happily married, after manipulating this, Rasmussen was granted corporate neutrality. That meant he and no official stake, and was exempt from politics or political matters.
Thanks to Samaritan's efforts, he had avoided persecution from the IRS and the CIA. Leaning back on his couch, he put his glass down with a smirk.
Rasmussen was a lean man, with a small beard, grey moustache and thinning hair, he wore a tight suit jacket and black turtleneck, with his rounded glasses. Standing from his seat, he flattened his lapels and began to walk out into the hallway.
His path took him from the second floor down to the ground floor, then to the smaller rooms, studies and libraries. He traveled through the halls with precise footsteps. Moving like a shark, slowly and yet with malice, he traveled down the steps to the reach the open-plan kitchen.
Awash with silverware and pale brown tiling, mirror-like surfaces made up the room, with stainless steel islands that Rasmussen effortlessly floated past. From one of the many doors, a guard flanked the businessman on his left.
The guard was of Chinese descent, with a silver ponytail and a sharp black suit. He had a hawkish nose and maroon-brown eyes. "Sir, your guest has arrived at the helipad. Her motorcade is coming up the central driveway." The guard bowed.
SEC F2 CAM 006 - 10:28:55
"Double security by the gates and bring the bottle of 1966 Dalmore to the library, the executive library." Rasmussen specified. His guard turned and went towards the staircases on the left side of the house. Moving from the kitchen to a pair of glass doors, Rasmussen pulled them open.
Outside the house, was a perimeter of six-foot tall electric fences. Going around the area of the manor, a cobblestone driveway led to a pair of bolted security gates.
Buttoning up his blazer, Rasmussen walked onto the open patio, with sets of stone steps leading down a platform above the garden. From his view, the iron security gates had opened and a motorcade of silver vehicles were driving onto his property.
The cars took a turn at the corner of the driveway, going around the expansive garage to park in front of the stone patio. The line of cars were comprised of German Audis, the larger, people-carrier version. At the head of the motorcade was a 2013 BMW, a 3-series, painted in a chrome blue.
Doors opening, a group of uniformed officers stepped out, German KSA Agents. Known as the Strategic Surveillance Command, the officers were accompanied by men from the German Military.
The BMW's doors opened and a pair of figures got out. The first was a man, wearing rectangular sunglasses. He was dressed in a dark trench-coat, suit jacket, shirt and hat. The man had shined shoes, his face angular, with deep cheekbones.
Stepping out next was a woman, the woman that Rasmussen had invited here. A striking blonde, with tanned, bronze skin. Lena Seehoffer was the German parliament's Minister of the Interior. Her fluffy hair was straightened and put up into pompadour-style, the straight locks of golden-blonde flowing down her back.
Lena wore a white two-piece outfit, a lace top that hugged around her chest. Her legs were tightly wrapped in a white denim, with black boots that went just above the knee.
"Minister Seehoffer, welcome to New Jersey. I trust the climate agrees with you?" Rasmussen introduced, holding out his naturally clammy hand. Seehoffer managed to dodge it, as her Representative took her place.
The enigmatic envoy of Samaritan grasped Rasmussen's deltoid, gripping his forearm with his other hand. "Just fine, Mr. Rasmussen, it's been a long flight. Perhaps you could show us to our rooms?" The Representative suggested. Shaking his head, the Danish mogul's face twisted, almost to a scowl.
"Come, you've been all this way, the least you can do is discuss business." Rasmussen implored, moving with them from the patio into the kitchen, then into a wide corridor. Statues and paintings adorned the walls, as the officers from the KSA brought heavy suitcases and bags.
Minister Seehoffer licked her lips "You have a wonderful home, it must be hard to sneak out of this place." She observed, noticing the security cameras.
SEC B9 CAM 033 - 10:34:46
Smirking, Rasmussen raised his eyebrows "Oh, I have my ways, Minister. So many ways..." His voice trailed off as they walked, his eyes looking the German woman up and down. From Samaritan's view in the camera, the image flickered as it activated it's asset.
For Rasmussen, he was tied to the AI as it's key power-player. Samaritan would used it's infinite knowledge to give him an ability, a wordless advantage. Running through profiles like education, financial activity, public statements, psychological abnormalities, hospital records. Even for a foreign politician like Seehoffer, she had skeletons.
Until Samaritan produced a readout in grey and white text in the lenses of Rasmussen's glasses. It was done through a mysterious implant and a strong connection.
[SUSPECT IDENTIFIED]
DESIGNATION: PROXY
NAME: SEEHOFFER, LENA K.
DOB: 27/12/1990
SSN: XXX-XX-3940
POSITION: MINISTER, BUNDESTAG
DIAGNOSIS: - BISEXUAL
-CONSUMPTION OF ILLICIT SUBSTANCES
-KNOWN NON-US CONTACTS
-KNOWN NON-US RESIDENCE
TRANSGRESSIONS: ANALYSING...
A second later and Rasmussen tilted his head, Lena wet her lips. "So, I take it you won't be showing us to our rooms yet? What could we possibly be discussing?" Lena asked, clearly half jet-lagged and tired. Her Representative was hauntingly stoic, with his sunglasses and straight mouth.
In the displays of Rasmussen's glasses, a list of Lena's official transgressions and misdeeds appeared in front of his eyes.
TRANSGRESSIONS:
OFFICIAL MISCONDUCT: 3 COUNTS
GENERAL MISDEMEANOUR: 4 COUNTS
ABUSE OF ALCOHOL: 65 COUNTS
CONCLUSION: NON-THREAT
RECOMMENDATION: DISREGARD
The Representative seemed to grow agitated, noticing Rasmussen and the Minister locking eyes. Lena paused, her Representative stepping in front of her "As long as your talk is brief." He snapped briskly. Nodding, the mogul gestured down the hallway, leading them to the corridors further in the building. On either side where tables and chairs, television screens and bookshelves.
Above them, balconies with marble handrails stretched across the wide hallway. They walked past an opulent lounge and stone-grey staircase, into an open-plan seating area, with a rectangular pool opposite large glass windows. The floor-to-ceiling windows were across from the covered pool, with armchairs and blue tiles on the floor.
The ornate sculptures on the wall stood out, as Rasmussen led them to a pair of solid oak-wood doors. "My ground floor library, Minister Seehoffer, if you will..." He grasped the doorknobs at once and pushed the doors open. Her Representative adjusted his dark coat, his voice hoarse and rough.
"She's not going anywhere without me, Sir." The enigmatic man stressed. Partially stopping, Rasmussen's eyes flicked to Lena. Smiling at the corners of her mouth, Lena touched her bodyguard's arm.
SEC B2 CAM 015 - 10:36:22
She assured him of her safety "I'll be fine, please. I'll just be a moment." Lena promised him. The Samaritan Rep huffed, nodding. Lena went into the library as Rasmussen followed, leaving the Representative outside.
When the doors closed, Lena took a look around the library. Wall-to-wall bookshelves, some containing binders and sculptures. White marble models of birds and naked men. A stuffed, elegantly straight Ostrich, paved in gold, stood near the window.
At the other side of the window was a model of a Sandhill Crane, formed out of marble. Near the door was a globe on stilts, which Rasmussen opened. Inside was a bucket of ice and a long bottle of rare, 1966 Dalmore - an expensive whiskey, a drink for the worldly elite.
Pulling out two glasses from below the globe's dome, Rasmussen opened the bottle and sniffed the top as Lena was admiring a painting on the wall. It was Blake's 'Great Red Dragon and the Woman clothed with Sun' on large canvas, mounted on the farthest wall. Rasmussen poured a little of the whiskey onto each glass.
"It's kept on the farthest wall because light will fade it," Rasmussen commented, noticing her gazing at the painting. "You trust your Representative, was he assigned to you?" He inquired. Bringing the glasses, he offered one to Lena, which she took.
She sipped the whiskey with a light slurping sound. "Of course, he was my aide. He's resourceful, but he sometimes overthinks my safety. That's the FBI Agent in him." Lena smirked. Rasmussen nodded and hummed at that, lifting his glass to his dry lips. "Hmm, one may learn a great deal of people by the stories they tell of others," He replied.
"Have you seen this painting before, Minister?" He asked, standing beside her. They both took a drink of his whiskey. Lena gave a short shrug "No, I haven't. Have you had it for long?" She countered. Rasmussen swirled the bronze liquid around in his glass.
"A year or so, I bought it from the Brooklyn Museum. The cosmic battle between good and evil. The terrifying form of the aggressor, the dragon. Against the golden, pure form of religious piousness as the demon attempts to steal a pureblooded baby, from the arms of her caring, goddess mother." Rasmussen analysed. Lena took another drink of her whiskey. Lena shudders "Why?"
"Because the baby in her arms would grow to be a devout follower, a religious boy, growing into a good and brave man. The devil needs brave men, Minister." Rasmussen finished his drink. He went back to the globe, putting his glass away. "You called us here for a reason, not to share your fancy whiskey or make me look at your very expensive painting." She snarked.
"I assure you both were expensive, but their fanciness can be debated. Are you aware of the attack on Samaritan's assets at the Coronet Hotel in New York City?" Rasmussen said, pulling a photo from his jacket.
Lena reluctantly shook her head. "No." She answered simply. Going back over to her, Rasmussen stood behind her, unsettlingly close. He passed her the photo, looming over her. The image was of a bloody body, dressed in overalls with at least ten bullet-holes in the man's chest. He was laid out on a steel slab in a morgue.
"This unidentified man attacked a safe-room where three of Samaritan's assets were operating. No one knew of this location and since the attack, we've found that this man was connected to a dissolved worldwide terrorist cell, a cell that we thought had been destroyed." Rasmussen explained as Lena held the photograph.
Seehoffer looked over the picture. The dead man was in a UPS man's uniform. Covered in blood and bullet-holes, the image was dated, August 20th. "Am I supposed to know who this is?" Lena retorted. Standing behind her, inches away, Rasmussen stepped closer, his breath hot and wet on the back of her neck.
"His alias was Igor Sokolova, a former CIA Liaison acting out of the Kremlin. But that doesn't matter, what matters is...how he knew which hotel room to attack. His organisation no longer exists, so it's logical that one of our operatives gave up the location." Rasmussen's hand took the image back, stuffing it into his pocket.
He rounded on Lena, holding her free hand in a snaking grip. "One of Greer's agents? But that's impossible, I just spoke with Lambert a couple of days ago." Lena explained.
Rasmussen sniffed the air "Oh, I don't doubt it. But like the red dragon, we must swoop down upon our enemy, clutching it's newborn, and eradicate it." His hand grasped tighter on Lena's digits. "Sir, you're sweating." She commented, blinking.
"Always, I'm afraid - it's a condition. What I'm asking is that you put your time and considerable effort in probing Greer's past organisations, his deals with the U.N., the MI6 and the British Army. The secret to our traitor lies in his past." Rasmussen let go of her hand and wiped his palm against his chest.
"What about you? You're the CEO of a news and media empire, can't you do the digging yourself?" Lena frowned. Rasmussen was under heat from the Police, the government and nearly every established intelligence community, he couldn't move around as freely as he once did. "Well, now that I'm seven billion dollars richer, doing my own work becomes increasingly difficult." He replied.
Lena finished her glass of whiskey. "But what about your deals, Mr. Rasmussen? With Goa Bank, Triton-American and Rylatech? And the funds you've invested in-" She was soon cut off by the businessman "We all have personal matters, Minister. Don't we?" Lars Rasmussen retorted.
She shuddered, as the flat-eyed man looked her up and down. "What I do in my own time shouldn't be any of your concern." She stressed. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, even as the man rounded on her, Lena backed up.
"Oh but it is my concern. You're wearing a ring. You're engaged to Brandi Campbell, a twenty-six year old Psychologist from Lexington, South Carolina. She's working for the EU in Berlin, that's how you met. Her father, Phillip, used to work for the Stock Market, where he oversold property to wealthy big-pharma Yeardly Pharmaceuticals." Rasmussen divulged, getting ever closer to her.
"What are you talking about?" Lena questioned in protest.
"I'm in contact with Yeardly's CEO, who's very eager to know who's been up-selling him for the past five years. I know him, I know Brandi's father. I know Brandi's father, I know Brandi. You're a smart woman, you can understand the rest." He alluded, though they both knew the truth. If he could get to the enemy of her girlfriend and fiancé, then how soon before he gets to her. Or the people she loved.
"I already work for Mr. Lambert, you're making me your stooge too?" Lena attempted to stand up to him. Lambert himself was a tool of Greer, she thought.
But ultimately, Greer stood before Samaritan and asked it for commands. "Make no mistake, you will still report to Jeremy Lambert. But now you work for me." He stated. Lena bowed her head for a moment as she thought. Coming to a realisation, a flicker of light glinted in her eyes. Rasmussen stood opposite to her, she didn't take one more step back.
Standing her ground, Lena smirked "You wouldn't do any of this without Samaritan. Is he here now? That boy?" Lena shifted her gaze to the door with a curt smile. She was about to reach for her phone when Rasmussen's clammy hand clamped down on her wrist.
"We're quite safe from Samaritan here. This entire library is soundproofed, the walls are embedded with a faraday cage, no signals in or out - and no cameras. I take great pains for my privacy, Minister." Rasmussen made clear. He wiped his palm down on the back of her hand.
"You want me to use government funds to investigate Greer? Germany isn't a surveillance-state like America, we don't have access to nearly enough," She reasoned. Her curved eyebrows raising, Lena knew that her country didn't have the powers that America did. "The KSA Agents I brought with me aren't CIA, we simply don't have the power that American services have. That's a fact." Lena continued.
Bemused, Rasmussen shrugged "Facts are for history books, Minister. I work in news. By this time tomorrow I could have you arrested for attempting to sell classified information to me, or for delivering your entire state apparatus into my hands," He tutted.
"Perhaps you require further evidence, which I can provide." Rasmussen dropped her hand like an afterthought, passing her by as she shuddered. He sauntered back over to the bookshelf, running his fingers across the binders and documents labelled on the lower shelves. Pulling out a binder, he flicked to a particular page.
Lena turned her head, seeing the upside-down writing and blurred images. He sniffed, like a predator after the drawing of blood. "Records, military?" Lena questioned. The images were from CCTV cameras and the files were drawn from SAS, MI5, and MI6 bases across England.
"These are from RAF Fairford, Mr. Lambert's stomping grounds. Operation Herrick, Jacana, Condor and Waterfowl, he's killed a lot of people." Rasmussen wet his lips while nodding his head. Squinting, he turned to the next page.
Scoffing under her breath, Lena always thought that Jeremy was some kind of politician or corporate coward. Someone acting far above their station. "I always thought that men like that would be above fighting...men like you." Lena glanced up. Rasmussen raised a finger, snickering.
Turning the next page, he had an image of a fresh-faced, young and handsome Jeremy Lambert. "Oh, I assure you there are no men like me. But as for Jeremy here, you can start with him." Rasmussen plucked the image from the binder.
He stared into it, in the young man's eyes. "I'll tell my investigators. If there is a mole, we'll find them." Lena promised.
Her eyes went back up to the painting on the wall. In pride of place, in the middle of the bookshelves. Rasmussen closed the binder shut, the image of a young Jeremy trapped in his fingers.
When placing the folder back in it's slot, Rasmussen raised the photograph of Jeremy to his bottom lip, his tongue touching the flat top of the polaroid with a reptilian smile.
ACCESSING ARCHIVED FEEDS...
DATE: JANUARY 29th 2003
LOCATION: Fairford, GLOUCESTERSHIRE, ENGLAND
PRECISE LOCATION: RAF FAIRFORD
PERIM POST 04 - 08:19:57
[MINISTRY OF DEFENCE]
RAF FAIRFORD, G
OCCUPANTS: 1,236
DEVIANTS: 141
ASSETS: 0
A sky of grey, shadeless clouds had descended over the English town of Fairford. An idyllic town, with thatched roofs, rivers and hills. Hidden in the quaint background of the Cotswolds, the town had greenery with well-kept gardens and quiet neighbourhoods.
A small population in the district made it an ideal place for the Ministry of Defence to establish a foothold. The Royal Air Force Base was made in the midst of World War Two, 1944, to serve as a hangar and base for American and British troop carriers and bombers. A launching point for the D-Day invasion of Normandy, the Allies used it for Operation Market Garden and their West European campaign.
Since then, it had been in service in the Cold War, Operation El Dorado Canyon, and most recently Operation Herrick. US forces had been stationed at the base to assist in military operations, but the English Ministry of Defence had command.
Herrick was the operation to move British troops into Afghanistan. All levels of command were involved and the base had been receiving a steady level of reinforcements. Highly-trained soldiers from America and Europe had been arriving in the base. Herrick was composed of several smaller plans, which took place in the aftermath of the terrorist attack on the Twin Towers.
Doing their part to aid in the War on Terror, the Prime Minister had signed off on Veritas, a plan to support the conflict in Afghanistan from October 2001. Ending in mid-2002, the clean-up operation known as Jacana was underway. A joint strike conducted by Royal Marine Commandoes and the Australian SAS.
The new surge of military activity overseas had drawn many into service. The burning desire to serve their country was alight in those who chose to enlist.
One of those people was Yvonne Mills, a young, dark-haired girl, with dimples in her cheeks and a flat nose. She had thin, pink lips and crystal-blue eyes. Her hair was a crimson auburn, her skin was fair, with straight eyebrows.
Dressed in camouflage slacks, laced boots and a loose-fitting top, Yvonne had enlisted since she left University. Her step-brother Jeremy was a couple of years ahead of her, but she was eager to catch up. Getting stationed at the same Airfield as him was a great start.
At the rank of Private, Yvonne had been transferred to the base by an American, a Military Liaison sent by the yankees at US Armed Forces command. They'd dispatched a man named James Mason, a friend of the CIA. Mason taken a shine to her in training, helping her to reach RAF Fairford in record time.
Yvonne and her step-brother were both fathered by the same man, a proud follower of the Military. But as he got older, he wanted both of his children to go into the army. She had been close to Jeremy, as they were only a few years apart. Jeremy had been born from her father's first wife, Yvonne from the second.
By the time their father had passed away, he had two more children by two different women. Arriving at the Base, Yvonne was dropped off a truck, walking towards the wide buildings and hangars.
Troops and soldiers passed her, carrying heavy bags and assault rifles. In the hangars across the airfield, soldiers and mechanics were gathered around planes, jeeps and trucks. A brown Panavia Tornado fighter-jet was being worked on by engineers wearing overalls and standing on top of the jet's wings. Some mechanics were hauling missile tubes for a Harrier VTOL Jump-jet.
WEST FIELD CAM C - 08:22:34
With a rucksack over her back, Yvonne caught the eye of a nearby man on patrol. Another private, with tanned skin. "What're you doing here, Private?" The soldier called to her. Jogging over to her, he wiped sweat from his brow.
"I'm supposed to be meeting Colonel Mason, I've been transferred from RAF Northolt." Yvonne said with a hopeful smile, taking out her ID Card. The guard checked it with a short glance. The Private opposite her huffed "Northolt, eh? On who's orders?" He handed the card back to her.
Yvonne ran a hand through her hair, falling gently just above her shoulders. "Colonel Mason's orders, I was transferred to serve directly under his command." Yvonne smiled. Squinting, the soldier stood back, gesturing to the array of buildings behind the hangars. There was a tower, barracks and cafeteria.
"Good luck, Private Mills." The guard let her pass, with a spank on her asscheek. He smirked as Yvonne felt the hard contact, she snapped around, scowling as he chuckled.
The Officer's building was behind the tower, near closed hangars and the barracks. Above the buildings, the towering structure controlled the navigation and tracked the planes as they came in for landing.
With a satellite dish on top of the control tower, a couple of Apache Helicopters swept by, like hovering birds, they came in for landing down the other side of the airfield. Yvonne scowled back at the promiscuous Private, eyeing him as he walked away.
Her journey to the officer's building was short, quickening her pace when she was passed by a group of marching soldiers.
Led by a steely drill instructor, they marched with a strong step, up and down the perimeter of the hangars. Slipping past two more men on guard, Yvonne jogged up some stairs and through an open door.
The lounge she entered was almost homely, with a potted plant and all the signs of a domestic environment. Paintings adorned the walls, small statues and medals hung in frames. A desk wasn't far from the entrance with a small chair and stacks of papers upon it. Sat on the chair was a woman, in her early thirties.
Mason's secretary wore an open Army jacket, with the rank of Sergeant on her lapel. She had a grey tank-top underneath and a thin golden necklace. Idle in the waiting area, Yvonne straightened the laces on her boots, flopping down onto one of the couches in the lounge, in full view of the secretary's desk. The secretary didn't look up at her for the first minute.
Or the second minute either. She had a lean, almost rectangular face, with sharp lines and a high forehead. Straight eyebrows and a mess of short bleach-blonde hair. The Sergeant tapped a few keys on her laptop.
"Yvonne Mills?" She asked like there was more than one person in front of her.
Hopping off the couch, Yvonne skipped over and stood facing the door. She gave her ID to the Sergeant before the blonde woman gave it right back. "I don't need to see that, Colonel Mason is expecting you." Mason's Secretary remarked. Resisting the urge to smile, Yvonne bowed her head and walked around the desk.
Opening the door, she could already hear a glimpse of a conversation in motion. Two people were inside, maybe three.
WEST OFC CAM 1 - 08:28:54
Yvonne took off her backpack and laid it down by the foot of the doorstep. Three men were inside, one was undoubtedly Colonel Jim Mason. From the pictures of himself on his wall, to the framed medals and a cabinet of trophies, Mason was a proud man.
Seated behind his oakwood desk, Colonel Mason was balding with dark skin and warm eyes and a small soul patch of hair under his chin. The officer was wearing a thick blue blazer, with his military rank and a few medals pinned to it. His checkered tie held to his shirt, the Colonel was leaning back in his chair.
Beside him was a leaner man, with pale, pink skin and blackish brunette hair. He had a slicked-back haircut, conventionally handsome with a sly charismatic grin and a swaggering stance. Yvonne recognised his face and features immediately, her step brother, Jeremy.
A Lieutenant in the British Army, Jeremy held responsibility over a crack unit of troops. Thirty men, commandoes and skilled soldiers.
The third man in the room was well past his sixties, white-haired and wrinkled, with lined features and trimmed facial hair. He wore a navy uniform, with a black coat that reached his knees. "Ah, Yvonne! This is Commander Bingham, from the HMS Trenchant. Commander, this is my sister, Private Yvonne Mills." Jeremy introduced.
Commander Bingham raised his hand, smiling. "I was just bringing the Colonel the latest information on classified matters. But it's good to meet you." Bingham shook Yvonne's hand briefly. Warmly, Bingham patted her hand and stepped away as Colonel Mason stood from his executive chair. Like a noble lion, Mason's lip curled upon seeing her. "You look good, Yvonne, what's it been, weeks?" He chuckled.
"Two weeks, Sir, since Cranwell. I took the first transfer out here, thanks to you." Yvonne smirked back at the gracious Colonel. Getting up from his seat, he took a glance at the papers Bingham left behind, then put a hand on Jeremy's shoulder.
"Your sister was the brightest mind in that classroom and in the field. Her Drill instructor couldn't see it, but that's where my talents come in." Mason expressed with a grin. The man had an expert eye for potential. After ceasing his operations in America, Colonel Mason began to oversee logistics and security at RAF Fairford.
Some say that he was a disgraced officer, after one of his Agents went rogue, but Yvonne didn't believe that. In New York, Mason led a special Ops team of CIA and off-the-books agents, called 'The Activity' they would take out any potential threats to national security at home or overseas. But after the failure of a mission in Cuba, Mason was sent back to the US.
Her majesty's military picked him up, placing him in a high position at one of their prestigious bases. "You're gifted in many ways, Colonel. I'm glad Yvonne could join us." Jeremy smiled. The fresh-faced Lieutenant walked up to his shorter sister and put an arm around her, embracing her in a hug. She slapped him a few times on the back gently.
"It's good to see you too, Jeremy." She said with a warm, loving tone. Colonel Mason hummed, turning to his desk and opening a folder. "It's that bright mind that I need, Private Mills. I didn't just summon you for a social call." All trace of Jim's smile was now gone. The Colonel took a slip of paper from the file, with a glance. Yawning, Jeremy pulled up a chair from beside Mason's desk.
The Colonel lifted a glass of water, taking a sip. "We need fresh eyes on this. You're the only one bright enough to see through the smog. We've been under attack." Colonel Mason said sternly.
Yvonne's eyebrow raised, she repeated the last word that Jim said. She couldn't believe it, even as Jeremy nodded.
"An attack? Here? The base looks fine...unless it was an invisible attack." She soon understood. With a knowing eye, Mason nodded. A cyber-attack. He showed the Private the slip of paper, it had sections from a frequency transmitter. Wobbly lines and radar images.
"Men like me don't understand all this technical stuff, Yvonne. But we have to keep this under wraps. Last week, our radars went out for precisely twenty five minutes, a technical blip, our engineers called it." Mason pointed to the images of the radar, a red dot had appeared, disappeared, then never came back. In fact, on the next page the screen was gone all together.
Jeremy flanked her at her shoulder "But it wasn't just a blip. The next day after, it happened again, an hour later. The next day, the same, an hour later." He pointed at the timestamp. It began at noon, and progressed through seven hours, in seven days. The intervals were briefs, only a twenty-five minute window of opportunity once the scopes went down.
"Let me guess, the cameras went down too?" Yvonne folded her arms with a smirk. Unfortunately, Jim confirmed, nodding his head and giving out a breathy sigh. Yvonne's best assumption was that they wanted to infiltrate the base, or their computer systems "Were the databases damaged?" She continued.
"Not a trace, but they picked a good time to do it. Right in the middle of Operation Herrick - whoever they are, they know when to pick their bloody moments." Jeremy cursed.
WEST OFC CAM 5 - 08:40:38
Yvonne handed the paper back to the Colonel. "Who else knows about this?" She inquired. Mason's face creased, like he smelt a foul odour. His brow furrowed, grunting before speaking "Ugh, there's the initial four operators who spotted it, the Captain that called it in. Commander Bingham, who just delivered additional submarine intelligence-" He spouted as Yvonne rolled her eyes.
Some classified information that turned out to be. "A few low-ranking Officers and an Air Marshal, by the name of Frederick Rembrandt." Mason finished. If these cyber-attacks came from the same source, then she'd need to speak to people who had contact with the event, with the shutdown itself.
The attacks don't involve any bullets or trenches, no bombs were detonated. These types of wars would be fought soon enough. "Twenty five minutes a day...whatever they want, they're being far more careful than they need to be. This isn't a common hack." Yvonne pondered. Running a hand through his hair, Jeremy's lip twisted into a uncomfortable frown.
"We contacted the GCHQ, but Air Marshal Rembrandt considers it a waste of time. His men from MI5 are combing the area, as if they could ever find a psychical trace of anyone other than our own staff." Mason told her. Military command was distracted with the war in Afghanistan and Iraq, they wouldn't bother with a minor security issue.
Yvonne pondered with a finger on her chin, hearing the soldiers marching outside. "Are we sure this isn't the enemy?" Jeremy supposed. An attack on a base was unprecedented at this time, though. "They were able to down our systems. If they attacked us with our own code, I don't see how an enemy fighter would be able to get that." Yvonne replied.
Even with increased security, the attack must have come from inside the base. The records that Colonel Mason provided didn't detail the location of the hack. "I'll need a place to start, or maybe I should just wait..." She whispered. Jeremy's eyes widened, as he scoffed in a questioning manner "Wait?" He repeated.
She smiled, knowing a little more than he did at this moment. "It happened yesterday, it'll happen today." Yvonne blinked as Jeremy and he conceded, leaning down towards her.
"You're suggesting that we monitor the next radar session? And should the interference occur..." Jeremy assumed as he turned to Colonel Mason. "You can track it. Oh, that's brilliant, Yvonne." The Colonel congratulated.
Putting his fist to the desk, Jim pulled out a small flip-phone, handing it to Yvonne. "So we can stay in contact. I'll head to the radio-tower, you two, go to the West communication house. I'll message you when I get there," Mason gestured to the phone that Yvonne held, she nodded and her lip twisted up slightly.
Yvonne took the files from Mason's binder and the flip-phone, stuffing it into her pocket, Jeremy going with her. The Lieutenant opened the door for his half-sister, saluting to Colonel Mason before closing the door.
WEST OFC CAM 1 - 08:51:23
Suddenly, the phone on Mason's desk began to ring as the door shut. Shocked briefly, he jumped, gasping. The Colonel grabbed the handset and answered the call promptly.
"Colonel Mason," He waited a beat, as the voice on the other end of the line spoke. Mason's face contorted into a serious expression. "Sir, I didn't expect you to call so soon. Yes I've just met her now...yes, he's with her. I'm aware of the value she has, his connection to her is vital." Mason looked down at his feet.
"Do not fail us, Mr. Mason. Or Greer will have your head." The voice said. Then the call cut off, and Jim leant back, sinking, he placed his hands on his desk. Sighing from his nose, he rubbed the palm of his hand against his forehead. In his empty office, Jim tapped the phone on the desk.
In a rhythm, he put the phone down and went to a draw of his desk, pulling out a Walther handgun. He sheathed the weapon in his jacket's pocket, looking up to the door.
ACCESSING CURRENT FEEDS...
DATE: AUGUST 23rd 2014
LOCATION: Maple, NEW YORK STATE, USA
PRECISE LOCATION: MAPLE GENERAL HOSPITAL
WARD 4A OFFICE CAM 1 - 10:28:40
Sitting on the table in the surgeon's office, Martine was clad in a long dress, with high stilettos and a thin biker's jacket. With a television screen in front of her, it had been set up on a clumsy, chunky monitor just balanced on the edge of the table. Martine's blonde hair was let loose over her shoulders.
On the screen, she had been connected to the Steiner. Samaritan's base, both Murrow and Thorndyke were present on the monitor.
Murrow was dressed in a white shirt and black tie, his sleeves rolled up, exposing his well-built, dark-skinned arms. The fashionable Thorndyke was wearing a three-piece, checkered, in a dark blue and black. It reminded Martine of Greer's choice in suits.
The former SAS Data Analyst and operator, Thorndyke adjusted his jacket "So, you're confident that the Holst woman has made a recovery?" He questioned. Martine put a thumb to her lips, her eyebrows raising.
"Yes, I am. She had the pacemaker fitted, Schmidt provided her with all the info she needed once she work up." Martine recapped. Her nails painted in a dark red, Martine brushed her hands across each other. "The most Schmidt could do was talk her back into a coma, I'm glad his visit was short." Murrow added.
Thorndyke squinted, just a fraction shorter than Murrow. He was one of Samaritan's Lead Operators, a strong hand of enforcement in the new world that the ASI had created. Educated in the British military, much like Lambert, Thorndyke had graduated from the Police academy and then into the SAS. Though Lambert was trained in the army, he had a background with Special Forces.
"Short enough. I'm supposed to speak to her again, as if she hasn't already seen a roundabout of vaguely threatening faces." Martine rolled her eyes.
Murrow chuckled at that, almost sounding like Greer. Perhaps spending a lot of time around the Admin, his candour had rubbed off on Murrow. "Then don't be a threatening face. Stay with her. Because when you're trapped in a world of lies, the least you can do is trust someone who's honest." Murrow advised.
Thinking about his words in silence, Martine had a long blink. Pausing, Thorndyke cleared his throat "You'll be returning to New York later than expected, then?" He asked, concern in his tone.
"I should be, though as always, Jeremy's got there before I have." She said offhandedly, not even looking at the screen. Lambert had come from South Africa with a stop in Germany, arriving in New York City a week later. "Maybe you should race him next time." Murrow quipped.
Martine smirked and interlocked her fingers together. "Who knows, maybe he can help with your missing man case? The address didn't turn up much, did it?" She raised a suspicious eyebrow. His head dropping, Thorndyke bowed in shame. Barrett and his team hadn't turned up anything from the New Haven address that Samaritan had uncovered.
"That was unforeseen, but my men are handling it. You said that the attacker at the Hotel tried to kill you too?" Thorndyke questioned.
She nodded. At the time, the man had tried to kill her. "I recognised him first, from my files at The Hague. He worked for Mossad as an interrogator. But the leaders of the Shadow Army ensured that their agents couldn't be traced by digital means." Martine recapped. Looking uninterested, Thorndyke inspected an overgrown nail. "We're aware, all apart of Tarasovich's vision, I imagine." He scoffed.
"But we did explore that avenue. Neither Tarasovich or his partner have any connection to Mr. Finch or his companions. But...Sameen Shaw was listed in the ISA database as being present at the arrest of Vladislav Chekhov and the destruction of his base, in Oregon." Murrow knew. Still picking at his finger-nails, the three-piece wearing Thorndyke accepted a glass of whiskey with ice.
Delivered by a redheaded woman with a thick bodice, Thorndyke smiled at her. "Hey, if Greer can smoke, then I can drink." Thorndyke told Murrow. "I assume you'll be going after her? If she's on the run, she'll be reckless. It won't end well for you. Murrow advised.
Scornfully, Martine's gaze turned to the screen. "It doesn't matter. If she gets in my line of sight, she's going down." Martine said. Sipping his glass, a bead of sweat touched Thorndyke's forehead. He wiped it off with a finger "Let me remind you that Samaritan is currently searching for this...Team, the Machine has. That takes priority."
He spoke as if he had a personal vendetta against Shaw himself. In the way that Lambert nearly resembled the one known as John Reese. "With that being said, I'm sure that Greer is confident in you. Try not to focus on such things as former ISA agents with axes to grind." Murrow assured with a half-smirk.
Martine didn't have much a choice, as she was currently working in Maple, which was the last place that Sameen Shaw would be hiding. However, what Samaritan took as priority was it's own matter. Far be it from Martine to question the AI's choices.
ACCESSING ARCHIVED FEEDS...
DATE: AUGUST 16th 2009
LOCATION: Atlantic City, NEW JERSEY, USA
PRECISE LOCATION: 1925 Pacific Ave - [ACCESS RESTRICTED]
ICU WARD CAM 4 - 01:28:59
In the classified, off-the-books wing of the hospital, Decima had locked down the ward to everyone but their agents. With access closed, a single nurse walked into the corridor. A single door opened and the Nurse crossed the foyer of the Ward.
The nurse, an Asian woman, was dressed in surgery whites. Wearing a pair of glasses, with dark rims, she had deep brown eyes and tanned skin. Black hair, tied into a bun, a suede jacket covered her nurse's uniform. Pattering across the hospital floor, Kimberley opened a set of doors, greeted by two shadowed figures.
One drew a silenced handgun. "You're late...by three minutes." Kim remarked, her eyes drifting away from the barrel of the shadowy man's weapon. "Not by the second, Kimberley. Give us some credit." Rick Dillinger clicked the weapon away, storing it in his coat.
The mercenary was followed by another, gaunter man with yellow teeth. Dillinger was lean in the weight of his steps, having a flash of ginger-blonde hair, he sheathed the Browning Hi-Power pistol and walked into the hospital foyer.
The gaunt man carried a briefcase in one hand, sneering. "I'll give you no credit, Rick. Whatever you're doing, be quick about it." Kim hurried down the corridor.
She had given up her early shift for them, as Rick offered to pay her handsomely for this short visit.
All the Decima agents were absent, busy chasing Holloway's lead. "We won't be here long. If you're worried about your job, I understand. The money will cover whatever you need." Rick gestured to a group of men behind him, who entered through the doors.
Other mercenaries, of all shapes and sizes. The gaunt man leading them, he parted as another figure stepped forward. "You're lucky I've got a kid to support. If Virgil finds out then he'll burn me alive." Kimberley complained. Watching the group of armed men pass her, she observed their leader.
With a black goatee, the man had tanned skin and grey-streaked brown hair. Wearing a navy suit and grey overcoat, Leighton Holloway had arrived in person for this mission. With his sister Elyse still in Decima custody, Holloway had a plan in place since he was caught off guard at Belle Haven.
Barely escaping thanks to Dillinger, Leighton had rallied what was left of his former-Decima contacts. While Leighton worked as Greer's recruiter, he had secretly been building his forces inside of their company.
ICU WARD CAM 6 - 01:30:24
"Oh and another thing, you think Virgil is bad, he's got this brute...Callahan. One of Drake's friends, I'm sure he has even worse things in mind for me." Kim shuddered. Leighton turned sharply, a finger raised in her direction. The nurse's face was wiped of all contempt at that moment.
"The reward will outweigh the risk. But I imagine whatever Dillinger has promised you, it wouldn't be enough to make you feel secure," Holloway supposed, to which Kim nodded. "I too was once a tool of Mr. Greer, which I'm sure is a name you've never heard before. Such a man is shrouded in secrets, you don't survive that long without having a few." He said.
Kimberley rolled her eyes as Leighton walked on. The lights on the ward's ceiling had been turned off, at so late an hour on the classified corridor. "Decima really pulled out so quickly? All because of you, I'm guessing." Dillinger stared at Holloway as his guards pushed a set of double-doors open.
They walked onto the Intensive Care Unit. "Greer's puppet, Christopher Virgil. He's been obsessed with me ever since the trap at Belle Haven failed. One false report of a sighting near Abescon, and the agents from here to Philadelphia will come running." Holloway said, though he knew they'd be back.
He had to be more cautious than normal. "You're sure all the security left?" Dillinger turned back to Kimberley, who nodded with a look of annoyance. It wasn't the first time she had told him. But she swallowed her sarcastic remark "Mhmm, all gone." She confirmed. If she was going to betray them, Decima would have had to offer her much more money in opposition.
"Your employer, Mr. Gray, is it?" Holloway paused as he reached another set of doors. "Mr. Crassus. A member of the Executive Board. One of Greer's lizard-people, a G-man." Kim swiped the card from her lanyard onto a scanner. The doors opened and Holloway pushed through them.
"We aren't here for Greer. We're here to see the person he's been protecting." Leighton said with a calm smile. Walking onto the ward, several beds were out, but all were empty. Dillinger spread out with his team of security. The gaunt man withdrew his phone "She's in there, Sir. The room on the right."
Holloway adjusted his coat and walked into the room on the right, sniffing, he smelt the bleach and hospital cleaner and saw his quarry. Outside the room, Dillinger stood near the nurse's station, which wasn't too far from the beds. With white panels and closed windows, the ward was ghostly.
ICU WARD CAM 5 - 01:33:09
Inside the room, she was in a large, private space in the Intensive Care ward. Martine's unconscious body was like a visage. Her clean and pale skin, her blonde hair and oxygen mask tied to her face. Eyes closed, her body was limp and almost lifeless if her chest didn't rise and fall.
"Our attack succeeded, Sir, Karl and Price did their jobs to the letter." The gaunt man entered the room behind Holloway. Referencing the bombing at the Exchange Place, Leighton approached the bedside. "Enough, Mr. Roche. Leave us." Holloway commanded.
Roche bowed his head and turned, walking back out the room. "Hello, my dear. It's been a long time. You look healthy, that's good. I would've hated if anything happened to you. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself...but you took my sister. The bombing was a last resort, I assure you," He leant closer, down until his face was inches from hers.
He smelt her hair, gently taking her hand in his. "Oh, you have such sweet hair. I wish I could see your eyes, you have wonderful eyes. Soon, it will be done. After Belle Haven I almost lost hope. But then I thought of you, you'd be nothing without me. Neither would Decima. I hope you live long enough to see what I'm going to do to them. Lambert, Virgil, they're all puppets, like I was," Holloway said.
"Virgil had my sister, he used her and now Greer is playing the puppet-master when really he's the biggest pawn of all. I've learnt a lot from him. You don't take what you want with gaudy displays of violence. Real control is surgical, invisible, and interferes only when necessary. The bombing wasn't my work...but I poisoned Tommy. Your Tommy, Thomas Rousseau," Holloway revealed, sitting by her bedside.
"I sent Mr. Dillinger to threaten you because I knew you needed a push. You had to be shown what Tarasovich would have done. But I had to do it. After you joined Decima's ranks, I sent Virgil to integrate you, but that wasn't enough. Greer knew about you and Greer wanted you, but you're mine. So, when Elyse was taken I thought they'd won, I hadn't even finished my plan...then Roche suggested bombing Greer's little base and I...I couldn't resist,"
"After I cut my ties, I knew what they'd do to her. So I had Mr. Rousseau poisoned. He passed quickly and quietly, an injection into his blood. You see, when you control someone's life, you can act on impulse, you can see how futile everything is. So, I've come to realise that I can do whatever the fuck I want," Leighton said.
"They can kill Elyse, they can torture her, it doesn't matter. But I'm gonna be here when Decima burns to the ground, and you're gonna be by my side when it happens. Sleep well, Princess." Holloway gripped her hand and raised it to his lips. Placing a delicate kiss on the back of the unconscious Martine's palm.
ICU WARD CAM 11 - 01:40:51
Pacing, Roche tapped on his phone as Dillinger was sitting on the nurse's station. Kimberley perked up as she saw Holloway leave the private room. "Martine Rousseau, thirty-five, former United Nations Investigator and-" Kim was cut off by Holloway striding by.
"I'm aware, send me her file immediately." He snorted. Kim frowned, as Dillinger shrugged and started to follow Leighton from the room.
Two more members of his mercenary group followed. "What's the deal with her, anyway? Why are you so interested? You paid me a lot, I know, and you didn't pay me to ask questions. But you're collecting some serious dirt on her, what's your interest?" Kimberly took a few steps, as Holloway stopped, his hand on the door as he was going to open it.
Roche glanced up. "You know better than to say things you don't mean, Kimberley." Holloway cautioned.
"I've worked with Decima before and you don't seem much different. You're no better than Greer, a secretive, manipulating b-" Kim gasped as her head was slammed into the wall by Holloway, the thudding impact creating nothing but silence. With brute force, she smacked against the wall, her temple taking the brunt of it as she groaned in a choking pain.
She grunted, bleeding from the nose, her uniform soiled by the crimson. "Doubt will only lead us to failure," Leighton stood over her, with one hand, he pulled up his suit jacket. Dillinger reached for his pistol, until Roche touched the man's arm.
"With our combined unity, we'll be rewarded, Decima will be destroyed and Greer, his shadowy employers, Crassus and all our enemies...will fall." Leighton turned, with Roche flanking him. Leaving Kim bleeding in the hall, a toothy smile on her face...
