Tracking
Disclaimer:
I do not own Alias; ABC, Bad Robot Productions and JJ Abrams do, and I give
full acknowledgement of that (good work guys). I do not own and am not affiliated
in any way, with the brands mentioned in this piece (such as Ford, BWM or Colt),
more than likely I've used them because they're known, or because they're very
nice bits of kit that I hope to have one day. Finally, I'm a student, don't
sue me, I've got nothing worth taking.
Authors note:
I don't really know what to put in here,
apart from thanks for the reviews!, especially Gabs
Anyway, if you've got any comments or questions, just as - I'll try to answer any sort of questions you have as soon as possible
Suggestions on how to improve the story are welcome too
Time frame:
None - Just generally set after Sydney becomes a double agent.
Armed with intelligence regarding their plan of infiltration, it wasn't hard for the Counter Intelligence teams to pick up and track the various agents sent in by SD-6. All of the agents came by commercial carrier, using their own passports, which was highly unusual given the strictness of the veil of secrecy enforced by The Alliance over SD cells, and all, par one, landed locally to London, or the surrounding counties.
There, they were identified as they went through customs, and assigned a tracking team, who would follow them wherever they went, under whatever circumstances, and, if it became necessary, eliminate their targets as quietly as possible.
Dixon walked quietly off the plane, only stopping for a moment to remove a bottle of water to quench his thirst, as he watched the various planes get ready for their next trip through the slightly tinted, reflective glass, ever conscious that he might be surveiled by potentially one or more agents, and he was right.
As he passed through the Customs check in point, Dixon didn't bother looking at the couple that had been stopped and searched by customs, glad that they didn't pick him for a random search.
Walking swiftly down the long corridor leading to the exit, Dixon had to pass a security booth where an MI0 security officer was checking everyone's passports. Over his ear piece, he could hear his commanding officer inform him where Dixon was in the queue, telling him to take a little longer than usual, as they needed him standing relatively still for the facial scan.
Waiting patiently in line, Dixon finally got to the front of the queue, and graciously handed the Customs official his passport, who immediately opened up the back page, and looked at the photo.
"Welcome to England sir" he said in a slightly bored tone. "How long will you be staying?"
Replying with the standard "Just a few days" excuse he'd used many times before, he felt a tingle of concern as the Customs officer did a double take of the photo, before handing back the passport.
"Before you go, can I suggest that you get your passport updated when you get home, this one will expire in a few months time" the Customs official said with a smile.
As he was handed his passport back, Dixon looked amazed, but then said thank you, before putting his bag on the conveyor belt for the x-ray machine, and walking through the detector himself.
Nothing happened, no alarms, no nothing, silently thanking Marshall for his little jamming device as he walked over to get a newspaper before he went to get his car.
Deep inside Stanstead Airport, in a secure room, there was a single man sitting in a chair with a laptop in front of him, surrounded by monitors showing a live feed of the security cameras placed all over the building.
As Marcus Dixon walked up to the Security booth, he watched, as a tiny camera in the light above the Customs station took a snapshot of the agents face, and ran it through a biometric facial recognition system. The system was so advanced that even when wearing fake appendages such as noses or ears, the system was able to realise the difference between them and human skin and filter them out. So far the system had had a 100% hit record, and today, that wasn't going to change.
Hitting the 'M' button on the laptops little keyboard, the monitors around the security station flicked to views of the Customs area, all showing an outline of Dixon, despite there being another person or object in the way. The system would now change the feed of the monitors to match Agent Dixon's movement within the building.
The second scan taken on Agent Dixon occurred as he walked through the Metal Detector, which contained a specially designed radar system known as a Hard Object Scanner. This system would identify things such as knifes, guns, and other items that were either weapons or of intelligence gathering purposes, and displayed them on screen.
At the moment he walked through the scanner, Mr Dixon had been carrying some form of jamming system in the shape of a pen, in his trousers, and a Beretta 92fs stuck to his lower back, just above his waistline.
Pressing another button, the man in the chair began speaking to his headset, as the monitors around him switched to various views - one of the car park, where a member of his team, disguised as a mechanic, was fitting a tracer to the car Dixon had asked for, another of the Avis Rent-A-Car stall, where the only woman there, currently dealing with another customer, was another one of the agents in his team, while the other two monitors kept a constant visual check on their target, as he bought a newspaper, and headed for the rental station.
"Ok team, stand by" he said calmly, intently watching the monitors "3, the target will be with you in a few minutes, stand by. 7, 8, wake up, you're about to go on"
"Copy that sir" '8' answered, only to be heard a second later for his partner to hurry up with that coffee.
This dance was just about to start.
Marcus Dixon approached the rental station with relative caution taking a second to look around at everyone else who was collecting their cars, trying to look bemused as possible at the commotion, but subconsciously staking out potential targets. Approaching the desk with documents in hand, he looked around seeing only one person there to help him, a ginger-haired woman who looked to be in her early 30's, but probably was a bit older.
"Can I help you sir?" she asked, nicely, and for a second, she reminded him of Sydney.
"Uh, yes" Dixon said, handing over the rental papers for her to look at "I'm here to pick up my car"
Eyeing the papers, she went over to one of the computers, and began typing in the details. After about a minute of questioning him about insurance and his drivers licence, she handed him the keys to a silver Ford Focus, directing him towards the parking lot, where one of the mechanics would get the car.
Putting the papers in his bag, Dixon began to stroll towards the garage, subconsciously fiddling with the car keys in his hand, wondering, however slightly, if there would be twenty pounds of C4 attached to the engine when he arrived. Pushing the though out of his mind, he stepped up the pace, making his way, quickly, towards where he thought his car was parked, only to find out a few minutes later that he'd gone the wrong way.
Cautiously approaching the right parking lot, he was met by a rather grubby handed mechanic, who said that he'd fetch the car for him, and walked off with the keys. For a second Dixon wondered if the man had any idea that he might not go home alive. He was proven wrong, as the mechanic drove the car up to where he was standing, getting out leaving the engine running.
"If ya can sign here, and here, she's all yours mate" he said in a gruff cocky accent. "The tanks full, but you don't need to fill it up before you bring it back. Have a good one pal" he said walking off, papers in hand. Satisfied with the car and the service so far, he drove off, making sure to drive on the right.
In the secure room, back in the main building, the man in the chair watched as Marcus Dixon, Agent of SD-6 and potential threat to the security and safety of their organisation and country, drive out of the view of the security camera's, followed out by a single black taxi, with one driver and one passenger, who both knew where he was supposed to be going.
As the screen on his laptop changed to a map of the city, with a single red flashing dot moving down the screen, he talked to his team. "Okay boys and girls" he announced into his headset "Mr Dixon has left the grounds, and we've got another two targets coming in today, so Bill and James will be taking orders for lunch once they're certain the package has reached his destination, and Hotel have confirmed take over from there". Despite the fact that they were meant to be a very hard working bunch, he still got a few laughs and moans from the rest of the team, as they shouted out their orders. Today was going to be a long day.
While day slowly gave way to night, and the team were getting ready to go home, somewhere in an office, an elderly gentleman, sat down at his oak desk, reading over the reports coming in from their Counter-Intelligence teams across the country. So far, only 6 of the 8 agents sent by SD-6 had arrived, with another landing in few hours, and the last one landing, very strangely, at Glasgow airport, the day after tomorrow.
Looking up from the reports, as he heard the door open, he saw the woman who had come to him earlier with information regarding the agents from SD-6, walk directly over to a cabinet just under a table, and pour herself a large scotch.
"You know, for a woman of your condition, you probably shouldn't be drinking that" he jested getting the desired effect; a hearty laugh, as the woman poured him the same.
Turning towards the man, she leant back on the table "Yes, but if you adhered to protocol this bottle" she said, hefting the capped glass tube filled with brown liquid "wouldn't be here"
He eyed her suspiciously, as she returned the bottle to its holder. "But don't worry, we're each got something like that hidden away" she said, walking over to the leather couch she'd been sitting in earlier.
He raised his glass in both admittance and agreeance, as she did the same.
After a few moments silence, she looked at him, as he got back into the work frame of mind. "Who do we have?" he asked concernedly.
"Off the top of my head, I can't remember, but they're on the computers under listed intrusions, subclass intelligence agents." He tapped the plasma screen on his desk, and looked down the list. He read off their names; Dixon, Ramirez, Tong, Peterson, Ingot and Wilderspin.
Before he could say anything, she interjected. "we have six confirmed that landed today, with one tomorrow in the early hours of the morning, and one in two days time, landing very strangely at Glasgow Airport"
"Glasgow?" he said, aghast. "Bit of an unusual route"
"Very much so" she said, taking a sip of her drink. "If I recall, that agent would be one Miss Sydney Bristow, who travelled to New York, from there to Glasgow. After that we don't know where she'll be heading as there doesn't seem to have been any reservations made, at least not using her, or any of her know aliases, credit cards"
The man looked down, deep in thought, "Bristow eh?" The name sparked memories dating back to the days when he was an operative, doing wet work for NATO.
"Yes" she was playing with her glass, waiting as he digested the information, before dropping something else into the conversation.
"One other bit of information came to my attention earlier" he looked up "the CIA contacted MI6 to ask that it have two agents from Los Angeles to be flown as fast as humanly possible to London on Emergency business for the American Embassy." Her tone sharpened as she got into the details "They were senior agent Michael Alexander Vaughn, one of their handlers, and his partner, agent Eric James Weiss, an operations intelligence specialist, who MI6 were informed, were being sent to deliver some eyes only information to the ambassador"
His look told her exactly what he thought of that. Utter Bollocks.
"Quite" was all she could say.
It was his time to add to the conversation. "I do seem to recall a Bristow working as a double agent for the CIA, perhaps it's her, and the CIA are worried about their asset" he said, as eloquently as he could.
Caught off guard, she could only reply with "Is that so?"
He smiled. You didn't usually catch someone like her off guard.
"Have E-section look into it - if they have to, break into Langley's classified archives to get the information, clear"
She stood up, placing her drink on the glass table in front of her. "Sir" she said before walking out.
Something felt slightly off - the information regarding the CIA operatives, the lack of knowledge regarding to Agent Bristow's whereabouts once she landed, it all felt slightly off. Considering his options for the moment, he reached for his phone.