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lovelyirony · 4 years ago

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@theavengays requested rhodey being a bamf and tony being proud, both of them snarky along the way. so i’ve decided rhodey’s going to be a secret agent because i love it

Agent Rhodes is a very successful secret agent. Honest to god, he is. Looks debonair in a suit and everything.

He’s taken down crime syndicates, looked men in the eye who were coined “the most dangerous in the world” and never broken a sweat while fighting them. He executed lies flawlessly, could adjust at the drop of a hat, and disappear just as quickly.

Rhodey cannot speak to the barista at the coffee shop he goes to. He literally can’t. He’s known this barista for a year. His name is Tony. He wears an AC/DC button on his apron, always makes Rhodey a very fancy latte that he never orders, and has the best smile in the world.

Pepper makes fun of him whenever he comes into the office smiling like a dope.

“How was Tony? You say anything to him yet besides ‘hi’?”

“I hate you.”

“You said that to him? Wow, how unfortunate. You’ll die alone.”

“Don’t remind me, I just hope it’s somewhere fun. Like maybe Ireland on the side of the road or perhaps Spain.”

“You want to die in Spain? Spain?”

“Yeah, there’s a possibility of my ghost haunting La Sagrada Familia. I’m about that shit.”

“Jim, I hate you.”

Tony has a customer who is a regular and his favorite, and the only things he knows about him are as follows:

1.) The name he puts on the cup is Rhodey. He’s not sure if that’s an actual name or maybe he misheard it once, but Rhodey hasn’t corrected him.

2.) Aforementioned Rhodey looks like a total dreamboat in suits.

3.) One time on a Sunday he came in after a run and Tony thinks to this day that he has never been redder in his life.

“You should put your number on the cup,” Maria tells him, swiftly sliding a carrier of eight drinks to a businesswoman who flashes a smile as she juggles them out the door.

“What’s the worst that happens, he doesn’t text you?”

“The worst that happens is he never comes in again and I am doomed to die of loneliness and heartbreak,” Tony decides. “Or he finds another coffee shop and I find him there and repeat the same process of dying.”

“Are you completely sure you didn’t major in theater?” Bruce calls out from his spot at the drive-thru. “I think you majored in theater because that was dramatic as fuck.”

“Language!” comes the chorus of other employees.

“We have one coworker who doesn’t even work two months and somehow he’s still influencing this shit,” Bruce mutters.

(Said coworker was Steve Rogers. Great latte-foam artist, also a member of the secret spy organization that Rhodey belongs to. He’s actually the one who got Rhodey to come in. Steve is also really bad at staying undercover because someone took a video of him making the art and then the villains found him. To this day, Pepper has never laughed harder.)

Tony has another job on the side, because being a coffee shop employee does not exactly get you obscene amounts of wealth. He works for “Hap’s Repair Shop” on Wednesdays, Fridays, and the weekend. He’s really good at car repairs, and usually gets cars in and out quicker than anyone else in the city. Because of this, the shop is much sought after and now Happy can afford to pay for the boxed set of Downton Abbey. He’s very pleased.

A problem: one of Rhodey’s enemies gets his car serviced at Hap’s. It’s a whole workup on this fine Monday afternoon. Tires are being rotates, breaks are being changed, and an oil change. This means the villain is in a borrowed car until five-thirty, when Tony will return the car.

Rhodey has no idea that Tony works here.

Because the villain is running into the shop, intent on picking up his car really quick and potentially maybe hiding out.

Except Rhodey is a badass and absolutely is gaining speed as he’s chasing him down.

Tony yelps as Rhodey effortlessly grabs a wrench, putting it through the glass of the car and at least getting the other guy (who’s name on paperwork was Mark) to jump and move.

Tony is just watching his coffee customer be a total badass. He should not be as hot and bothered as he is by this, and he is also pretty sure that he can still see Happy in his office taking his before-going-home nap. The man never fails to amaze him.

Rhodey jumps as the guy tries to throw various hammers and tools his way, successfully dodging each one. He’s light on his feet, throwing projectiles, and not breaking his gaze from his target.

Tony helps at the end, tripping the guy Rhodey’s after with a rolling cart. The guy completely wipes out, head knocking on a cabinet as he goes down.

“Oh no,” Tony says. “Please don’t be dead.”

Rhodey faces who the man is, gaping.

“Tony?”

“Rhodey?”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry you had to see that,” Rhodey babbles. “I usually don’t let people see my work and now I ruined that car.”

“It’s fine, that was his car,” Tony says. “You...you’re not exactly a businessman, are you?”

“Not in the usual sense, no.”

(Not in any sense, as Tony will come to find out.)

“Well, you’re very good at all this,” Tony says.

“You’re really good at making coffee,” Rhodey says. “Best in all of town.”

“Have you been to any other coffee shop?”

“Um, no? Why would I do that?”

Tony blushes, rolling his eyes. “I suppose you owe me a dinner for chasing a bad guy around the shop.”

“I suppose I do.”

Rhodey and Tony start dating, and Tony actually gets most if not all of the coffee shop employees to double as secret agents by the end of the year.

Bruce particularly enjoys it, as he gets to make latte art and also teach the new, incoming agents which poisons will blend seamlessly with what flavor for said lattes.

“Also if you know how to make good art with foam, it can help transfer some poisons way quicker,” Bruce says.

“You don’t actually like killing people, right? Like, this isn’t actual poison?” New Recruit Peter Parker asks. He’s really nervous.

Thor pokes his head in.

Bruce grins at him.

“Hey babe.”

“Bruce, please tell me that you’re not telling the recruits that we use poison on the lattes.”

“Technically they would find out that I was lying later?”

The class lets out a collective breath.

They move in together after about five months, and Tony fully admits that his favorite thing is that Rhodey never expects him to press his cold hands under his stomach, and Rhodey has the best shriek.

It’s also fun to make breakfast together, dance in the kitchen, and discover each other in a new, fun way.

“Who knew I’d get so lucky with coffee?” Rhodey says softly one night, smiling as Tony nudges him away to get the serving platter.

“No one,” Tony says. “Who knew I’d get such a loyal customer?”

“Me,” Rhodey says. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, and then I’d follow you when we surpassed that.”

“That’s a loyal promise,” Tony says. “Are you sure?”

“More than anything,” Rhodey says. “Where you go, I go.”

Tony smiles, pressing his forehead against Rhodey’s shoulder.

“Rhodey, I think I’ve decided to love you forever and a day.”

“Only a day after forever? Hm...”

Tony smacks his shoulder after that.

“Geek. Pass me the tongs.”

“Okay.”

Rhodey smiles after him, watching Tony hum and dance a bit to the song playing over the speakers.

Yeah. He was definitely gonna marry him.

#anyways both are Stupid and Dumb #but Cute :)#rhodeytony #tony stark #rhodey #james rhodey rhodes #war machine #rhfe #ironhusbands #iron man #lovelyirony writes #coffee shop au #secret agent au

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sablelab · 5 years ago

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Covert Operations - Chapter 60

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS: Claire starts work at the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau and meets her work colleagues plus the head of the Bureau, Inspector Jiang Ng.

My THANKS to all for supporting my story. It is really appreciated. Previous chapters can be found at ... https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

CHAPTER 60

Claire Beauchamp had been at the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau for a couple of days but she had kept a relatively low profile. Since arriving at her new position most of her time had been spent covertly weighing up the personnel and surroundings of her new building. Her office was on the first floor and her designated desk had a great view of the entrance enabling her to unobtrusively keep tabs on who entered and left the building. Claire knew that her mission here might be much more difficult than first thought and finding the mole may be a result of good luck rather than good investigation given the composition of the OCTB personnel, so she would need to keeps her wits about her for any unusual behaviour. On her first day she’d been introduced to two of the undercover detectives who were sharing the same office space. Claire had taken an immediate liking to the two members of the OCTB she had been assigned to and they’d promised to show her the ropes. Ian Murray was a brash young detective, wet behind the ears but with a mischievous temperament and manner not unlike Fergus’ that Claire found quite endearing. He was a natural flirt and had taken every opportunity to try his skills out on her but to no avail. Claire had laughed off his attention as friendly banter between the two and Ian had taken it all in his stride. Although he was gregarious and affable, he was too inquisitive for her liking. Ian Murray asked far too many questions about her undercover work for the Water Police. Whether this was a result of youthful enthusiasm or some other reason was hard to gauge and caused Claire to be more reticent in her replies but not overly cautious. The other detective was John So who had been Superintendent Xiao Zheng’s contact. Claire decided that befriending him could provide her with valuable information about Jonathon Randall that would be beneficial to Section, after all it was, he who had mentioned that Randall’s investigation had gone nowhere to Superintendent Zheng. Claire just might have an ally that had suspicions about him and who had already done some ground work that would lead to finding the perpetrator. John So had promised to make some discreet enquiries for Superintendent Zheng and see what he could come up with. The savvy detective’s analysis was obviously in line with the Superintendent’s view that Jonathon Randall was somehow connected to the Rising Dragons even if they didn’t know to what extent. John So had said as much to him on the recording Section One had of their taped conversation. Had Section found out that he was indeed a member of the Rising Dragons when they had investigated him? Fergus said that Jamie would debrief her with the Intel Section had on him when he arrived and she hoped it would be sooner rather than later. In the meantime, she would continue to gauge what Intel she could before he arrived by keeping alert and as inconspicuous as possible. The fact that there was perhaps a mole at the Bureau caused other problems. Would she be able to discover who was feeding information to the Rising Dragons? The personnel numbers in the Bureau alone were huge. Finding a covert agent among the OCTB would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. It would be near impossible to predict who may be the culprit and there were few agents who had been acting suspiciously since she had been observing. There was nothing to go on yet as all their comings and goings had been on OCTB business. Finding the mole would be difficult under these circumstances and with little information to go on she didn’t know where to start. Claire thought that keeping her ear to the ground and tailing Detective So may lead to some sort of breakthrough to finding out who had suppressed the Intel about Jonathon Randall and why. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Claire had been drawn to John So when she had first met him and if Superintendent Zheng was his friend and trusted colleague, then that was a good indication that the detective was above board. He had maturity and was a seasoned detective of the old school and reminded her of her buddy Murtagh.

So here she was partnered with the young and the not so young. It actually felt like an alternative universe where Ian Murray and Detective So were the embodiment of her pals at Section One. The similarities between Fergus and Murtagh and the OCTB men was uncanny. It was little wonder that she felt that her assignment here would prove productive given the professionalism of her work colleagues. Except for the fact that Ian Murray was curious it didn’t raise her hackles to a person who may indeed be working for the Rising Dragons triad. It was evident that John So would be displaying some overt body language around his partner if he was indeed suspicious of him in any way and that was not the case. John was certainly his mentor and the relationship between the two men was strong. Working with them so far had been enlightening. They were thorough and methodical despite the friendly banter between the two men and Claire knew they were both dedicated to the job they performed at the OCTB.

Hopefully she would be able to utilise their expertise and knowledge of secret information and files about the Rising Dragons and would find the lead Section One wanted to catch Jonathon Randall, the mole at the OCTB and by association Sun Yee Lok. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The office she shared with her colleagues was cramped and with three desks taking up most of the room, space was scarce. Paperwork was piled up on the desks of both detectives concerning their recent enquiries on triad activities in Hong Kong. The detectives had been working on the death of the Black Panther’s leader Chow Li who had recently been killed in a motor vehicle accident. The OCTB didn’t know if he’d really died accidentally or as payback because of Tony Wong’s death for there had always been unrest between the two triad groups. Hence Ian Murray and John were looking at a possible link between the Black Panthers and the Rising Dragons.

Apparently, his son, Samuel Li was responsible for one of Hong Kong's most notorious kidnapping rings. The OCTB had been trying to track him down in connection with the spate of kidnappings that had been occurring lately but he’d mysteriously left Hong Kong to run the Black Panthers’ interests in America before they could pin anything on him. However, Samuel had since returned with his wife and son for the funeral of his father. As the heir apparent, he was being pressed to become the new triad leader even though he was not exactly admired by his father’s colleagues. If this happened a turf war could break out at any moment if the new leader of the Black Panthers’ flexed his muscle. This was worrisome for the OCTB as a turf war between rival Chinese crime syndicates was the last thing they needed and more importantly something that Section One didn’t need. Perhaps there were some clues she could check here to discover who was supplying the Rising Dragons with information that kept them one step ahead. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Claire had found out some superficial information on the leader of the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau by asking a few questions of her new colleagues, and had been given the orientation around the office, but her days at the OCTB had been uneventful thus far. Each day was a new challenge but unfortunately nothing had presented itself as yet. However, when her colleagues had checked their daily messages there was a memo on their computers that they’d been summoned to a meeting that afternoon. The Bureau’s chief, Inspector Jiang Ng had called all detectives and operatives in for a briefing of some importance, but whatever it was, was unknown.

She did not receive the memorandum on her computer so Claire decided to ask her colleagues if she could attend but if not, she would place a listening devise and camera in the room so that she and Fergus could follow the briefing. However, if she could be in attendance as well then it could prove to be invaluable. Perhaps this was the breakthrough that Section One needed to find Jonathon Randall and more importantly the mole within the OCTB. This meeting would be interesting as many of the OCTB staff would be present and it would allow her to secretly study those gathered to see if there was anyone who raised her suspicions. Perhaps this meeting would be the start of discovering who indeed may be the plant working for the Rising Dragons and was the first real opportunity Claire would have to observe people at close hand. If indeed she was suspicious of someone, she would be able to alert Fergus to do a background check on any names of suspects.

Claire needed to find a way of being present at the meeting never realising that an opportunity would come her way that afternoon from an unforeseen meeting.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When she had a quiet moment, she alerted Fergus to the situation thus far. “Fergus are you there?”

“I'm here. What ya got? Any clues yet?” “I've got nothing so far ... I’m coming up empty handed.” “It’s early days Claire ... you’ll find something.” “But I may have a couple of names soon that you could check.” “OK. Let me know when you have the intel and I’ll investigate.” “I will.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That afternoon the OCTB became a hive of activity. From her office desk, Claire watched as the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau Inspector Ng walked into the building. He was approached by a scruffily dressed man who began talking to him in the foyer. Claire had never seen this man before and she immediately took notice of their interaction. The two were in deep conversation and their body language was far from friendly. Gathering a police file, she came downstairs in order to eavesdrop on their discussion. Claire studied the dynamics between the two men and it was antagonistic at best. By the appearance of the second man it was hard to tell if he was an undercover cop, an informant or indeed a criminal, for the police lived in an uneasy state of co-existence with the gangsters on this small island of Hong Kong. It was hard to know if he was a good guy or a bad guy. Obviously, the line was blurred between the police and triad members; neither was as black and white as it would seem.

This was also the first time she had seen the Inspector since arriving at the Bureau. Surreptitiously studying Jiang Ng, he reminded her of the movie star, Chow Yun-Fat. He was debonair and very handsome with an arresting body. The Inspector was sartorially dressed in a designer suit that was tailor made to fit his tall, lean frame. He had slick black hair, piercing black eyes and a no-nonsense disposition of one who had power and knew it. Inspector Jiang Ng looked dangerous and a man not to be crossed. Although he appeared to have his finger on the pulse there was something about him that raised her hackles though. Call it intuition but there was definitely something that didn’t sit right. Interestingly when she had inquired about different personnel at the OCTB and his name was mentioned, both of her colleagues’ demeanour had changed when she cited him. John So and Ian Murray had warned her to be careful when she’d asked questions about the Bureau chief. “Jiang Ng is a driven cop Claire ... He has a dark side with a smile that somehow does not reach his eyes despite his handsome looks.” John had said. “He’s obsessed with upholding the law, but is more than willing to step outside its boundaries in order to do so. In many ways, he’s no better than the criminals he deals with ... except for the fact that he carries a badge.” With their words ringing in her ears, Claire made her way along the hallway toward where the briefing was to take place and closer to where the men were discussing something in a heated manner. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “No, I can’t make that promise,” the Inspector reiterated in no uncertain manner. “But Eric already made a contribution to the investigation.” “That’s regrettable ... but duplicity won’t be tolerated ... he’s out. The reason I'm running this bureau in the first place is to stop corruption, not encourage it.” However, the man protested appealing to his superior to rethink his decision. “But sir, he was onto something.” “His investigation was skewed ... I personally checked his information and he was way out of line ... not only that but I discovered his deception.” “He’ll be hard to replace.” “No one is indispensable ... Eric can be replaced.” Claire’s interpretation was that the man sounded frustrated that a colleague had been dismissed from some uncover work, that had obviously been ongoing for a while. “By whom?” “Never you mind ... that is my decision,” and with that Inspector Ng turned to leave. As he did so he caught a glimpse of Claire standing to the side at the enquiries desk. He walked by, stopped in front of her and looked her square in the eye.

“You’re new here,” he stated.

“Yes sir.” “What's your name?” “Claire ... Claire Beauchamp.” “Hmm. ... Claire ... Your face looks familiar. Haven’t I met you before?” “No, I don’t think so.” "Yes, I’d certainly remember you.” He smiled with the arrogance of a man who had women fall at his feet. “Inspector, they're waiting,” came a voice from Jiang’s office where the briefing was to take place. Ignoring his announcement, he asked. “How long have you been at the OCTB?” “A couple of days.” “A couple of days, hmm? So, you’re a rookie?” “Yes sir.” “Where did you transfer from?” “The Water Police sir.” “Ahhh! ... Superintendent Xiao Zheng recommended you. I remember now. I read your file.” “Inspector ... everyone’s waiting.” Came the persistent voice for a second time. “Very well ... I’m coming.” Jiang Ng turned to walk away but returned to the enquiries desk where Claire was standing. “Perhaps you would care to join us Miss Beauchamp? We seem to be a man down on this investigation.” “Thank you sir ... I’d like that,” Claire replied as she watched the Bureau chief enter into his office. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As soon as the Inspector moved away to attend the briefing, Claire contacted Fergus before following him. “You got something Claire?” He replied “Maybe ...” She activated her vision glasses. “I’m switching to visual mode so I can canvas those gathered.” Upon entering the room, she adjusted her glasses and surveyed those gathered so that Fergus could download their images. “Is that okay?” “Yes.” “How’s the feed? Is it clear?” She asked taking a seat at the table. Looking around once more Claire waited for Inspector Ng to debrief his team. “It’s fine.” “Good.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Inspector’s office at the OCTB was full as the members of the Bureau waited for their leader to begin his briefing. They had been called in from assignments at the last minute so something must be pending about the triads.

Leaning on the desk next to a pile of reports and looking around at those gathered, Jiang clapped his hands. “All right guys!” he stated, “Before we start, I have decided that Claire Beauchamp will replace Eric Yong who has been stood down pending an internal investigation. Stand up Claire if you wouldn’t mind so that the others can see who you are.” Mutters arose in the office while all heads turned to look at her. John So rolled his chair closer to Claire’s and sat in front of Jiang, while others including Ian Murray stood to the back of the group. A woof whistle was heard as an officer called out.

“Hey! She’s much better looking than Eric.”

“That will be enough ... Raymond, Claire comes with better credentials that some of you here.” Jiang remarked to diffuse the banter that had erupted in the room.

Having been suitably chastised the operative shut up and looked down at the floor with a wicked grin on his face. “As you all know there has been some trouble with the triads of late. Each is jostling for supremacy and the situation could become quite volatile unless we can put a lid on it. At the present moment there are far too many rumblings among the triad groups for my liking.” “You could say that again,” said a voice from the back of the room.” Jiang Ng’s eyes set upon the detective who had made the comment. “Yes Gary ...There have been some suspicious disappearances of the Rising Dragons’ hierarchy too which we feel is connected with the other triads. We suspect that the Black Panthers and Red Lanterns groups are geeing up for some triad war given that they sense some vulnerability within the Rising Dragons ranks at the moment.” “Is this in any way connected with our current investigation on the Rising Dragons and the return of Samuel Li?” John So asked. The same Bureau member who had made an earlier comment about her interjected stating, “Tony Wong is dead, and now it seems that Madame Cheung had been conspicuous by her absence. Do we know anything about his death and her mysterious disappearance Chief Inspector?” “There could be a connection with Samuel Li’s return to Hong Kong given his modus operandi and Madame Cheung ... but it is pure speculation at the moment Raymond. We seem to have hit a brick wall as far as what happened to them.” “Do we have any leads Inspector?” “There are many irons in the fire ... but nothing concrete.” Turning towards where Claire sat, Jiang continued. “Perhaps Claire Beauchamp can help with our investigations. We are after all one man down.” “About time we had some females on the team.” “I agree Murray ... that’s why I assigned her to you and John ... We all know your proficiency with the ladies. She should prove invaluable in our undercover work.” “What about the Intel Eric was working on about Jonathon Randall?” John So asked in all seriousness. “Nothing has been substantiated Johnny. There has been no basis whatsoever that leads to him being a member of the Rising Dragons. Although we had our suspicions, he’s come up clean.” Jiang replied concisely. “So, what about Randall’s connection to the kidnapping of the actress Laoghaire MacKimmie?” Ian Murray added. “Once again ... nothing. It’s definitely cause for frustration on our behalf ... but what can we do when the evidence is stacked in his favour? He did have an alibi.” “Should we keep him under surveillance?” John asked decisively. “I don’t see the need to. If something else occurs then by all means, but at the moment it’s a waste of resources when there are other pressing matters.” Claire’s interest was immediately raised at his answers and noted the look that passed between Jiang Ng and his senior detective. “So why are we here then sir?” Looking around the room at those gathered he issued his orders. “I need each and every one of you to search out all of your contacts to see if indeed the Black Panthers or Red Lanterns are responsible for the death and disappearance of these members of the Rising Dragons’ triad.” He proceeded to display a picture of Tony Wong, Oliver Chan and Madame Cheung. Claire sat stony faced as he continued. “We need to know categorically who is responsible and bring them to justice.” “Yes sir,” was the resounding declaration by all. “This is top priority... We’re looking at a possible connection between the Rising Dragons and other rival triads that may have been responsible in any way for these mysteries. The repercussions of a triad war would be catastrophic. I expect some answers ASAP ... That will be all. Dismissed.” Each of those gathered, grabbed their files on the cases and exited the office. However, Inspector Ng motioned for Claire to stay behind with her detective mentors. “John, I expect you and Murray to show Claire the ropes. She’s on your team after all.” “Yes sir.” “I’m sure the three of you will be able to come up with something conclusive for the Bureau given all the expertise." “Certainly sir ... we’ll get on it straight away.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As they left their office the two detectives walked on either side of Claire. “Come on ... we’re got a few informants that we need to chase up. They may have a couple of leads and some Intel that could focus on the triads and in particular the Rising Dragons and their rivalry with the Black Panthers.” “Yeah ... and it will get Inspector Ng off our backs for a while too.” Ian Murray replied. Looking somewhat surprised Claire queried, “Why would you say that?” “He’s been like a bear with a sore head of late. Jumpy and irritable too, as if someone is breathing down his neck while he breathes down ours.” This intel was just what Claire was looking for and corresponded with her initial suspicions about Inspector Ng’s demeanour. However, it was also shocking at the same time to think that the head of the OCTB may be the mole for the Rising Dragons. “What’s caused that?” “Who knows? ... Inspector Ng plays his cards close to his chest. Despite his good looks, he’s a loner. He doesn’t seem to have many friends. He does like the night life though and is known to frequent the new nightclub The Triangle that has recently opened. “That’s interesting.” “Yeah ... Davie Beaton saw him there last week ... but he didn’t see him. Davie thought he better beat a speedy retreat before he was seen. He probably leads a double life,” Ian laughed. “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch you know.” “I’ve heard about that nightclub; my neighbour goes there. I said I’d go with her tomorrow night.” Claire replied looking at the two men. “Jonathon Randall is the owner of the club.” “Really?” “Hey! You could do some undercover reconnaissance while you’re there Claire.” Ian added enthusiastically. “Perhaps that’s just what Inspector Ng has been doing,” she replied throwing a curve ball their way to gauge their opinion. “What? ... He was on a stakeout? ... Checking out leads that Jonathon Randall is working for the Rising Dragons?” He asked incredulously. “Yeah ... right!” “But that’s what Eric was working on and you know what he said at the briefing,” John added, thinking himself that the Inspector was not as clean as he would like them all to believe. Claire remembered only too well his exact words ... “Nothing has been substantiated. There has been no basis whatsoever that leads to Jonathon Randall being a member of the Rising Dragons. Although we had our suspicions, he’s come up clean.” And not only had he stated that, but she also recalled the conversation he’d had with the OCTB undercover cop in the corridor. “But sir he was onto something about the Rising Dragons’ triad.” “His investigation was skewed ... I personally checked his information and he was way out of line ... not only that but I discovered his deception.” The fact that Jonathon Randall’s investigation had gone nowhere rang alarm bells in Claire’s head. She suspected that considering his report a while ago at the meeting, it was entirely possible that Inspector Jiang Ng really was the mole. “I don’t think so ... I reckon he was checking out the ladies,” laughed Ian Murray.

“Nah! ... that’s something you would do Ian.” John replied as in all innocence Ian Murray tried to hide the smile that reached his eyes. “Humph!” He replied clearing his throat. “Claire be careful tomorrow night,” John warned a little concerned that she might fall foul of Jonathan Randall if she met him at the nightclub. “I will,” she replied confidently to array his trepidation, then changing the subject asked, “So where are we going first?” “I think we’ll check on our informant and see what news he has for us ... Come on let’s go.” *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

#Jamieandclairefanfic #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #outlander fanfiction #covert operations #JamieandClaire #jamieandclaireau

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waveridden · 5 years ago

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FIC: pieces of you stuck on me

Jon and Basira have both had… well, frankly awful experiences with missions that Elias has specifically assigned. But they can handle these things - or at least, he’d like to think they can. They’re literal secret agents, after all. It’s their job to handle these things.

(A spy AU; specifically, a M:I Fallout AU. JonMartin, 2k. Content warnings apply for canon-typical violence and one death via gunshot.)

AUcember || read on Ao3

“You look tired, Jon,” says Basira.

Jon is tired - tired enough that he can’t tell if that’s Basira’s way of showing that she’s worried or if she’s making fun of him for something. He settles for running a hand through his hair and saying “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been tasked to get you to your next mission in one piece.” She arches an eyebrow at him. “Heard the last one nearly ended with you in lots of pieces.”

“One piece, just with bullet holes.”

“Great work as always, Agent Sims.”

Jon rolls his eyes. He doesn’t enjoy the field work the same way that Basira does, or that Tim and Melanie tend to. He’s just… unlucky, in that he needs to go out on missions often. “What exactly am I doing today?”

Basira pushes a door open, and Jon follows her onto the tarmac. “New mission,” she says. “Straight from Bouchard himself.”

“Oh, straight from Bouchard,” Jon mutters. “Makes me feel so much better.”

She huffs a breath out through her nose. “You and me both.”

Jon and Basira have both had… well, frankly awful experiences with missions that Elias has specifically assigned. Basira came back from one and wouldn’t speak to anybody for a full six weeks; Jon still has limited range of motion in the hand that he burned. But they can handle these things - or at least, he’d like to think they can. They’re literal secret agents, after all. It’s their job to handle these things.

“Any idea what it is?” Jon asks, even though he’s sure Basira doesn’t. Elias is notoriously tight-lipped. He’s sure he’s going to get onto this plane and have a dossier there waiting for him, and he’ll be the only other person in the world to have all the information in it.

“Think it’s a follow-up to what happened in Prague,” Basira says breezily. “Don’t wince like that.”

“I’m not wincing,” Jon mutters, even though he was wincing. Prague had been… horrible. Tim had nearly died. That’s not the best feeling for a team leader.

“Mmmmhm,” Basira says, and then abruptly stops moving.

Jon follows her gaze to the ramp of the plane. There are two women standing there: Daisy Tonner, and someone who Jon swears he’s met before.

“Basira,” Daisy says, cautiously.

Basira takes a tiny breath through her nose, and for an instant Jon feels horrible. Daisy went AWOL on a mission, got disavowed, and got immediately snapped up by some other agency. He’s not even sure which one. He knows that Basira misses her horribly. And judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t expecting to see Daisy again.

So instead, Jon shifts his attention to the other woman. He tilts his head, trying to size her up. It’s someone he hasn’t seen in years, but it’s someone he’s seen. It’s-

“Sasha,” he says suddenly. Of course it’s Sasha, why wouldn’t he remember Sasha? They’d been on investigative teams together, and then she’d left for another agency. But they’d always gotten along well.

Her face lights up all at once, beatific and friendly. “Jon! I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me, I’ve changed my hair.”

“Changed your hair,” Jon repeats. He remembers her hair being darker and longer, that much is true. “Of course. It’s good to see you.”

“Good to work with you,” she says. “It’s my understanding that this is an inter-agency mission.”

“Right,” Daisy says. Her voice is too gruff, and Jon can feel Basira shift minutely next to him. “Bouchard reached out to our people, something about nuclear power cores, I don’t really know the whole thing. He wanted us to provide support for this mission.”

Basira shoots Jon a look. “Nuclear power cores?”

Jon clears his throat, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “Things in Prague went… poorly.”

Daisy slowly raises her eyebrows. Sasha just keeps smiling, which is almost more unnerving.

“Very poorly,” Jon says, just to be clear.

Basira just sighs. “Fine,” she mutters. “You have ways to contact us if you need it?”

“Always.”

“Great.” She nods curtly at Daisy and spins on her heel, footsteps fading quickly as she heads back inside.

Jon glances at Daisy. “You alright?”

“Alive,” she says, and grimaces. “She, uh… how’s Basira?”

“Also alive,” Jon says. It feels like the kindest way to say that she’s been doing poorly.

Daisy exhales, a slow huffy breath. “What the hell happened in Prague?”

Jon opens his mouth to answer, then pauses. It’s a classified mission, perhaps more than most. “I’m not sure how much you can know.”

“How much does my agent need to know to do her job?”

“There was an incident,” he says, which is a colossal understatement. “I’m assuming you’ve heard of the Syndicate.”

Sasha leans in, eyes sparkling with fascination. “Orsinov’s Syndicate?”

“It’s barely hers,” Jon points out. “Nikola Orsinov has been in maximum security lockup for the past three years, ever since-”

“Since a previous mission,” Daisy says sharply.

“Right,” Jon says sheepishly. He’s always been awful at this confidentiality thing. “A mission that Agent Tonner here and I were involved in.”

“ Jon, ” Daisy says, exasperation laced through it. “What happened in Prague?”

He sucks in a breath. “Orsinov’s Syndicate has been after a couple of nuclear power cores. A team of agents and I were tasked with preventing them from buying those cores. The mission came down to either getting the cores ourselves and letting an agent die, or sacrificing the cores for the sake of the agent.”

“And you picked the agent,” Sasha finishes, as though it’s obvious. Maybe to her it is. She’d worked with Jon for a long time.

“I picked the agent,” he says softly. It feels like an underwhelming way to explain what had happened: the dim lights of the city, the gunshots, the shouting. Tim yelling that he’d never fucking speak to Jon again if Jon saved his life instead of the world. He’s held to that promise, too; he hasn’t said a word to Jon since then.

Daisy nods slowly. “Word of advice, Sims?”

“Sure.”

“Next time, don’t pick the agent.” She gestures at the plane. “Get on. James, keep me updated.”

“Yes ma’am,” Sasha says smartly, and starts up the ramp on the plane.

Daisy gives Jon one last meaningful look - what meaning he’s supposed to get out of it, he can’t say - and then turns to leave, the opposite direction from Basira.

Jon sighs, and turns to the ramp. Time for a new mission, he supposes.

They end up in Paris, at a nightclub. At a very loud nightclub, naturally. It’s all part of the mission, but that certainly doesn’t mean Jon has to like it.

The dossiers have informed Jon that the nightclub will be housing a charity event, run by one Helen Richardson. She’s famously wealthy, famously charitable, and famously vicious in underworld circles. And the key to getting those nuclear cores is getting into that event.

It’s easy enough to get into the club, and to get changed into formalwear. It’s something of a relief to actually arrive in Paris; Sasha is eerily silent the whole trip. Jon doesn’t remember her as being talkative, exactly, but he remembers her talking and not just dodging questions. Maybe it’s a side effect of being more experienced. That seems… possible.

The dossier, unfortunately, did not tell them how to find Helen Richardson, or get into her charity event. That’s Elias for you, Jon supposes. All the information you could want, except for the information you actually need.

He lifts a hand to his ear, where he’s synced his comm with Sasha’s. “Anything?”

He can hear the tone of her voice replying, but he can’t make out any actual words. The music is head-splittingly loud, and even with Sasha speaking directly in his ear there’s no way to actually hear her. Instead, he looks around frantically, trying to spot anything or anyone that looks like Helen.

What he finds, instead, is Max Mustermann, staring across the club at him.

Slowly, he presses the button on his comm. “Sasha,” he says urgently. “Sasha, there are Syndicate agents here.”

Mustermann starts moving towards him. “ Shit, ” he mutters, and starts looking for a door. The closest one is the restroom, and he takes a moment to hope that nobody’s inside before he slips in. He looks around - nobody seems to be there, and if they’re hiding they’re about to get a nasty shock - and pulls out his gun. God, he hates shooting people, but he’s not seeing a way out of it this time.

The bathroom door swings open. Jon barely has time to take a breath before something goes flying directly at his head. He ducks, swearing as he goes, and then Mustermann is careening into him, knocking him to the ground.

Jon tries to wedge an arm up between their bodies, give him some leverage to knock Mustermann off, but the man is much, much stronger than Jon. He settles an arm across Jon’s throat and he wheezes, trying to angle his gun, trying to do something, anything-

“Orsinov says hello,” Mustermann says, and Jon scrabbles at his forearm as he presses down, driving into Jon’s windpipe, there has to be something he can do-

There’s a very loud bang. Something warm and wet splatters across Jon’s face, but the pressure at his throat goes away. Jon gasps for air, shoves the body off, scrabbles for his gun. He sucks in a breath and looks up. “Sasha-”

The words die in his throat. It’s not Sasha.

The last time Jon saw Martin Blackwood, it was when they had just captured Orsinov. She wasn’t even properly arrested yet, but she was still arrested. Martin had been forced undercover working with her, trying to find enough evidence to send to his handler to get him out of the Syndicate. The arrest was supposed to be what got him out of the game, got him somewhere safe. Clearly, it hadn’t worked.

Slowly, Martin lowers his gun. He looks breathless. He looks guarded. He looks… he’s looking at Jon. “Alright?”

“Alright,” Jon manages, even though he’s suddenly sure that nothing about this is alright. “Hi.”

Martin doesn’t smile. “You’re here for Helen, then?”

“I am. You?”

“You really shouldn’t tell other people your secret missions.”

“Martin-”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Martin says suddenly, like he’s remembering something. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Martin, breathe-”

“You shouldn’t be here either-”

“Martin!” Jon pushes himself to his feet, staggers for a step or two but comes to a stop in front of him. He has so many questions - what is Martin doing here, why would he kill Mustermann, shouldn’t he be safe, why isn’t he safe - but he forces himself to push all of them down. “Stop. We can figure this out.”

Martin stares at him in disbelief. “You think it’s that easy? To just… just figure it out?”

“Of course not.” He takes another step closer. “Not easy. But if you’re here, I’m making sure we both get out of here.”

“You say it like it’s simple.”

Jon huffs out a laugh, just this side of hysterical. “Nothing about this is simple, Martin. But I told you I’d get you out, and I meant it.”

Martin takes a deep breath. “Fine,” he says shortly. “It… fine. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Jon glances back at Mustermann. “Me too,” he murmurs. “Thank you for that.”

“You need to get cleaned up.” Jon turns back to Martin, who makes a face and mimes scrubbing at his cheek. “You’ve got a little… you know.”

Jon lifts a thumb to his cheek and wipes away some blood. He looks expectantly at Martin. “Better?”

Martin doesn’t laugh, not quite, but he says “Not at all, really.” And there’s something to his voice, a mirthful tilt in it, that makes Jon think that maybe they can get out of this in one piece.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #jon x martin #jonmartin #aucember19 #waveridden.fic #i am FULLY on my bullshit with this one lads #i had this idea at 3am six months ago and now here we fucking are #i wanna watch m:i fallout now but i don't have time before work :(

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eremin0109 · 3 years ago

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Jay, the third eldest of the notorious Pancholi siblings and the best goddamn hitman in the Kuru crime syndicate, was standing at the wrong end of a gun barrel. Bloodied and exhausted, he still stubbornly held onto his own weapon, aimed precisely between the dark eyes of his assailant.

Kanan clenched his jaw as he tightened his grip onto the handle, ready to shoot, despite knowing that Jay was faster. He couldn't let him mess this up. He couldn't afford to mess this up.

The sky was painted an ominous grey as rain started pouring hard, the water washing the blood off their faces and smearing the ground instead. The cold wind danced maddeningly around them but Jay's eyes blazed white hot.

With fury. With betrayal. With heartbreak.

"Why did you do that, you bastard!? Why couldn't you just fucking tell me!?"

Jay yelled, his voice a painful hash of anger and desperation that echoed through the wet air and slapped Kanan across the face. What was he supposed to tell him? That he was an undercover agent sent to gain intel on the internal working of his family? That he'd only approached Jay that first time in the restaurant because he was the easiest target to breach?

That Kanan Yadav was fucking con who'd smiled and charmed his way into the Pancholi-Kaushik clan to decimate it from inside out?

The truth was too bitter for Jay to swallow.

“...but then again Parth, whenever is your first love meant to last?”

Krishna said, as they both leaned against the very familiar trunk of the Bhandivrata tree and not so subtly, against each other. The sky was devoid of any stars, and even the moon had hid behind her blanket of clouds, giving the two friends the luxury of utter privacy—for this night was reminiscent of the one when Krishna and Radha had made love for the very first time. Arjun only smiled, but his eyes betrayed the longing—and maybe just the glint of desire that had always accompanied it. His dearest friend was now watching him, hypnotic hazel eyes running over the dips and lows of his face, expecting something. Every single hair on Arjun’s skin stood up with the sudden escalation in the temperature of the air, the other’s intense gaze almost threatening to strip him to his core. How could he even begin to answer Krishna’s question? “I wouldn’t know, Madhav. I’ve had many firsts—love hasn’t been one of them.” He Lied.

So, he lied.

"Because I had no reason to. You were nothing more than an entryway into the cage of beasts I wanted to kill, Jay."

And now he was lying again.

Jay let out a miserable laugh, the fingernails of his free hand digging into his palm. He remembered. Oh god, he remembered. The drunken nights, the secret escapades and conversations that stretched the day thin. The walls of the palace that knew their names, their real names, as they chased each other through the unending hallways. A passionate pair of hopeless romantics playing at being ideal aristocrats. A beautiful tragedy, a fantasy of a life lived long, long ago.

“…I would follow you to the end of the world, Madhav. You only need ask.” Arjun said, lying next to Krishna on the cold, slightly wet grass. “That’s a bold promise, Parth and I’m quite notorious for being very hard to please. So then, what if you fail me?” There was a moment of absolute silence—all the sounds in the universe muted as Arjun made his move. As graceful as any of swargalok’s apsaras and as swiftly as any respectable warrior, he was now hovering above his beloved friend. “Then I’ll take pleasure in receiving whatever punishment you deem fit, My Lord.” Arjun’s voice was low and intimate, eyes refusing to stray away from Krishna’s. The space was a mere formality between them, with Arjun’s thighs pressing against Krishna’s waist, his hand pressed down on the grass below, shoulders going stiff from their sheer proximity. Krishna looked up at him with an indescribable expression on his perfect face, before a corner of his lips inched up. His eyes, usually mischievous and full of childish glitter suddenly turned a very unfamiliar shade of grey. Eyelids drooping low, long lashes fluttering—once, twice, thrice. “Punishment?” The dark-skinned beauty only echoed the singular word, yet the shiver that trailed Arjun’s spine had nothing to do with the cold Margashish breeze. Long, slender fingers slid across Arjun’s hip, pressing just hard enough for him to let out a gasp. “…Yes.”

But apparently Kanan's memories were very different than his own.

"Fucking bullshit. I was ready to do whatever you would've asked me to. I was ready to follow you. I kept my promise. You though, all you know is how to punish."

Jay's voice broke down, but the rain masqueraded his tears, as if swearing to protect his dignity. Kanan's lower lip quivered as he flinched in surprise.

It was real. He wasn't the only one.

The realisation drew the fight out of him. The hand holding his gun went lax as the weapon dropped on the drenched ground. The silent thud felt like an explosion in Kanan's brain.

"I...I did what I had to do, Jay. Just pull the goddamn trigger and end this for both of us. Because you know I won't stop. I can't."

For the first time in his life, Jay's grip trembled. The fire in his eyes died out as they met Kanan's hollow, incredibly sad ones. He wanted to punch him to death, make him atone for everything he'd done to them. To him. He wanted to keep giving blow after blow until his knuckles cracked.

He wanted that...almost as much he wanted to bring Kanan into his arms and just hold him there as everything else fell apart.

Almost.

"How can you bear my affection alone, dear Parth? The all-consuming love of a God cannot be concentrated on one mortal."

But Arjun wanted Krishna to consume him. Tear him apart to the sub-atomic level and replace the pieces with his own hands and lips and flesh and skin until Arjun couldn't tell where he ended and his God began.

"For once in your life, Krishna, just shut up and kiss me."

The God laughed and pulled Arjun into his arms. For tonight, Krishna would worship him--his stubborn warrior prince. For tonight, he would forget about greater responsibilities and allow himself this desperate, wonderful human pleasure.

For tonight, he would let his beloved be his God.

Almosts never amount up to anything. So what do you do when your God surrenders? Does any religion have an answer for that? Or did nobody bothered to ask that question? Do you condemn him? Do you give him the finger? Ask him to go screw himself?

Maybe you just forgive him. Not because he deserves it. But because you're the only one who can.

"Get the fuck out of here. You walk away from my city and never come back. If I see you digging into my family again, I won't hesitate to put the goddamn bullet in your head."

Kanan could only stare at Jay, battered and bruised and achingly beautiful. They were on the opposing sides, but were they really? A catastrophic war, an unimpressive death and eight millennia later, here they were, still playing the same old game. Did they have to keep up this pushing and pulling until they die and start all over again? And again. And aga--

Where did it end? And when?

He didn't notice that Jay had already walked away, now merely a dark, limping figure in the damp street. How typical. Especially when he knew Kanan wouldn't stay away. He would probably come guns blazing this time around, full throttle. Or with whatever help he could scour to take down an empire.

And if the warrior-prince stood in his way, Kanan would fulfill his age-old wish of complete consumption.

After all, let it not be said that God doesn't keep his promises.

“we were lovers in a past life” trope but the current incarnations are enemy-to-lovers trope. when.

#Listen I'm OBSESSED with the Mahabharat #and I've been working on this AU for quite some time now #So when I saw this post I was like OP DID YOU PLAGIARISE??#Lmao #Anyway here's this shit I wrote instead of sleeping #Yes Jay=Dhananjay=Arjun and Kanan is obviously Krishna #Queer Bollywood #hindu mythology #mahabharat #gay #Bisexual #pansexual #mlm

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jadekitty777 · 6 years ago

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SilverEye

Just FYI, the rest of the stories of this week are fairly short. Originally I planned to make them all around this length but obviously I got carried away a lot lol.

Day 5 – Spies AU @taiqrowweek

Rating: K+

Summary: It was just a normal day on the job for Qrow. That is, until, his old teammate decided to reappear in his life and start flirting with him. Then it just got complicated. [James Bond-Esque Style AU]

Ao3 Link: SilverEye

Notes: This was just an excuse to make Tai a typical Bond Girl because hell to the yes.

The neon lights brightly flashing the name, The Grimm Adventure, had always seemed like a special kind of ironic to Qrow as he walked into the ritzy Vegas casino, the haze of cigarette smoke and the loud chiming of slot machines greeting him despite the still-early hour of the afternoon. It had a strong Asian theme to it, the décor a mixture of stunning reds and brilliant golds and the hostesses in cheongsams with their hair up in buns with chopsticks. He tried not to get too comfortable in the familiar setting, knowing he was walking into the lion’s den. But the clock was ticking. He needed information and without a lead, this was his best shot.

He didn’t want a three-year old’s blood on his hands tonight.

Qrow ducked his head as he weaved his way through the crowd of gamblers, aiming for the bar where tongues would be looser. He settled onto a stool and was greeted by a bartender who had a gruff face that reminded him of a panther. “Double, on the rocks.” He ordered. Once the drink was placed before him, he gave an appreciative nod, lifting it up to his lips.

“Well, you’re a new face.”

He almost dropped his glass, that voice striking a painfully familiar chord in him. He swiveled around slowly, leaning back against the counter as he eyed the man standing a few steps behind him.

He didn’t know what to make of the fact that Taiyang looked surprisingly good in a traditional Chinese suit. Or the fact he was here at all.

“That so?” He tried for a casual tone, even while his heart raced in his ears because what was he doing here? Agent Sun Dragon had been decommissioned almost five years ago, the organization wiping out all traces of him from their records. It wasn’t like he hadn’t understood the circumstances that made Taiyang walk out; had even considered doing the same when Agent Redbird turned up missing-in-action and, after a few months, in the presumed dead files. It had devastated them both, though in different ways.

For him to suddenly resurface at one of the Underground’s central headquarters implied way too many unknowns he had not been prepared for. But Qrow also knew a prime lead when he saw it. So the question was: Was Tai on his side or were things about to go south?

Not seeming to miss a beat, the blond crossed over to settle onto the stool beside him, pressing his ankle up against his. Even after all these years, Qrow still recognized the signal. Stay calm. “So what’s your pleasure gorgeous? You looking for some company?” There was something about the way Tai held the champagne glass and smiled at him that made him appear way more classy and attractive then he ought to.

Apparently, Qrow always being the seducer on their team was an opportunity gravely missed.

“Company’s always welcome.” He said, offering a wink. “Name’s Qrow, but I’m more interested in knowing yours.”

He could tell it was taking great effort for his friend to not roll his eyes. “It’s Zwei.”

Zwei, huh? (Wait, wasn’t that the name he wanted to give to his first dog?) So was he undercover or was it just a ruse to fool him? He didn’t know and the tension he was feeling must have been apparent somehow, because Tai was practically digging his foot in now.

“Qrow, was it?” Tai said, voice subtly sweet as his eyes flickered to the bartender who was preoccupied attending to another patron. “You remind me of another little bird who used to migrate in here a lot. She hasn’t flown by in years though.”

Qrow’s heart stuttered over a beat. Raven.

The other’s blue eyes seemed to burn into his own, that deceptive sweetness taking on a deadly edge. “I hear they missed her so much ‘round here, one night they scattered flower petals in the ocean for her.”

He turned away and let out a soft breath as his chest pulsed with pain. It hadn’t been anything he hadn’t – they all hadn’t – guessed at when she had disappeared on a field mission over half a decade ago. Yet, the confirmation shattered what little hope he still had.

Wait, petals?

Rose!

He snapped his gaze back at Tai, who was taking a sip behind his champagne to hide a smile that seemed to say: Now you’re catching on. Qrow could practically hear his old partner laughing at him.

So, Neptune’s Gate. Go at night. Got it.

The bartender was back, standing casually close and wiping down glasses quietly. No more opportunity to talk.

But there was still something he needed to know.

“So Zwei, I’m curious.” Ice rattled as Qrow swirled his drink. “What’s a respectable guy like yourself doing in a place like this?”

When Tai replied, his tone was level and relaxed. “Same reason as us all, darling.” It was the grip he had on his own glass, threatening to shatter it, that had Qrow nudging his ankle this time. “Just trying to make ends meet for my girls.”

Girls…? As in… plural?

Pieces of the puzzle he had been missing were quickly coming together to make a horrifying picture.

Summer Rose had been part of a covert government operation known as Project: Silver Eyes, a series of illicit experimentation on enhancing D.N.A to create super-powered humans. She had been both a genetics engineer as well as one of the personal test subjects. The funding got cut abruptly when the research was compromised by the Russian espionage and, before more could be unearthed, the project was quickly terminated and all records destroyed. Anyone apart of the research team was relocated and put into the witness protection program. That had been about eight years ago and helping with the displacement of the young scientist had been one of the first assignments Tai, Raven and he had been given.

Six months ago though, Summer was found murdered in her home and her youngest child abducted by another underground faction, one his team had been on the tail of for years, and who would have great interest in selling off the genetically enhanced child to foreign traffickers for a high price. The deal was supposed to go down tonight but their reports revealed the faction was being set-up for a double-cross. When it did, the chances of the toddler being caught in the crossfire were extremely high, if not all but guaranteed. Determining the location of the trade-off and securing the life of the girl was his top priority. He was assigned the mission due to him being the only one left in the association still familiar enough with Salem’s crime syndicate to potentially be able to pull it off.

However, even he had questioned his lead director when key details, mainly that of the elder daughter and the husband, were all but missing from the reports. All it said was that they were likely still alive. Oz had brushed it to the wayside, telling him it was inconsequential.

Inconsequential… or distracting?

And even if Tai was working separate from the Secret Intelligence, pulling old strings and connections – hell, Bart probably got him a new identity within hours – to get around the prohibition of an agent working on a personal case, there was no way Ozpin didn’t know. He kept tabs on his former agents like they were vengeful exes.

I’m gonna have a lot to say to you when I get back Oz. Qrow thought crossly.

Tai darted a look across the casino floor, before getting to his feet. “I hate to cut it short gorgeous, but my manager’s making rounds.” He threw him a sultry smile. “I get off at ten. So, if you find yourself swinging back on by this evening, I promise to make it worth your while.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He purred in return, watching the other mingle back into the crowd to entertain other guests.

Behind him, the bartender snorted before saying, “Gotta warn ya buddy, he’s throwing a tale. He ain’t got any kids.”

He hoped that merely meant his niece was somewhere in protective custody. Because if she had also been abducted, things would become vastly more complicated. “Never much liked kids anyway.” Once he returned, they would have three hours to reconvene, plan and get ready until negotiations began. It wasn’t as much time as he would have liked, but they had been under stricter time constraints before and had pulled it off.

Qrow drowned his drink in one go, setting it on the bar along with some bills before taking his leave. No one the wiser that he wasn’t just another customer.

He peered across the casino floor one final time, spotting Tai laughing with a patron. No one the wiser he wasn’t just another host.

But come tonight, those facades would be shed and Agent Blackbird and Agent Sun Dragon would team up one more time to save little Ruby Rose’s life.

No one else stood a chance.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #qrow #taiyang #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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inyri · 7 years ago

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Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story)- Chapter Thirty: Power

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

Comments are always appreciated! Visit me at:

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Fanfiction Dot Net

Power

“Well, she didn’t say no.” Nine spins around in her chair as the call disconnects, turning back to Lana and Theron still sitting on the couch. “Not that I fault her lack of enthusiasm. We are going to blow the roof off the place, after all.”

Theron shrugs. “It’s Nar Shaddaa, and we’ll be thirty floors up from the access point. Hook up some backup generators and I doubt anyone’ll notice beyond the power flicker.”

“We’ll work out the details once we’re there. Lana, you’re still all right with leading the drop team? I’ve got a feeling you’ll work better with Veeroa and her people than Theron.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lana says, attention still on the datapad on her lap. “Korriban taught her all its worst lessons, but I’m quite familiar with the type. Properly aimed, she’ll be useful. You’re sure we can trust this Sia’hla, though?”

She stands up, licking her lips. Her throat’s dry from so much talking; she could use a drink. “I’m sure. We go back a long way, she and I.”

“Is this her- with you?” When Lana holds up the datapad she can’t really see it at this distance, takes a few steps toward the couch as Theron turns his head to look and-

Oh, Void, that got on to the Holonet?

“Years and years ago, but yes. She’s a dancer, though I assume she’s largely retired now if she’s running her own place,” she says, watching herself on the little screen, the two of them draped artfully over each other, spinning circles around the pole in the center of the stage. Was she really ever that young? That was- oh, stars, that was right before Hunter. “She knew what I was- it was unavoidable, given how we met. I’d use her as a reference for undercover work, like here.” She points at the audience, sitting in shadow. “That Devaronian in the front row was about two hours away from the business end of my knife.”

“You had way more fun on the job than I used to,” Theron murmurs. “Ex of yours, I’m guessing?”

“What? No. That would have been- she would have felt obligated. The last thing she needed back then was someone else taking advantage of her.”

Both of them raise eyebrows at that, but Theron’s the only one who responds. “You know I don’t care, right? It was just a question.”

“I know.”

(They’ve been honest with each other on that front. Not in detail- neither of them were much for jealousy and that sort of comparison was vulgar, frankly; she may be many things but vulgar isn’t one- but what’s the point in lying? It’s all in the past, in any case.)

“What kind of leverage do you have on her?” Lana sets the pad down on the table. “She kept your identity secret this long, apparently, but if she goes running to the Hutts- or worse, the Zakuulans-”

“It’s not as though she’s sitting there with my dossier in hand. She never even knew my real name- stars, Kaliyo never even knew my real name. We always used aliases, even back then. But she’s not going to nark on us.”

Rubbing her temples, Lana leans back into the cushions. “I know she’s a friend, Nine-”

“Force, I thought I was paranoid.” She perches on the back of the couch, just in between them, as Theron nods agreement and she nudges her elbow lightly into his neck; he makes a face at her. “She won’t. Trust me.”

“You’re that certain?”

She sighs. “Did your family have slaves, Lana? When you were a child, before you went to Korriban?”

“Droids, mostly. But yes, a few- though I don’t really remember them. I had a nanny. She was the one who told my parents when she found me floating my schoolbooks across the room to my desk.” Lana lowers her hands. “Why?”

“What about later?”

“I was a research strategist, Nine, before I was Arkous’ advisor- hardly wealthy. And even if I could have afforded slaves, do you honestly think I would have wanted them?”

With a tilt of her head, she tucks her feet up beneath her, carefully balanced, while Theron shifts his silent attention back and forth between them. “No, I suppose not. But your masters all had them, and their masters.”

“Yes, they did. All of them. It was just-” Lana pauses, glances down and then back up, chewing on her lower lip. “The system was what it was. You know that better than most.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know- and all bought from Hutt space, of course. One can’t simply force the conquered into servitude any longer, so we have the syndicates to do our dirty work for us. Have you ever visited the slave market on Nar Shaddaa?”

Theron makes a noise, low and angry in his throat- he’s been there, then- but Lana only shakes her head. “No. Never. What’s your point?”

“I spent a lot of time there-” she turns a little more toward her- “in the early years of my career. No monitoring permitted, so it was one of the best places to work a first meeting with an informant assuming you don’t mind watching crying children being sold for the cost of a decent meal.”

Lana shifts, uneasy, as her hands curl into tight fists.

“Sia’hla was a slave when I met her. Belan, her owner, ran a cantina-slash-whorehouse as a front for the Hutt cartel, but he’d been feeding us intel on the side for years. I took over as his handler on my first tour there- back before I was made Cipher.” She remembers that posting far too well; those were memories she would have gladly let the Empire take if they had wanted them. “He was scum. I’d have put a round through his head if it were up to me, but my orders were to keep him talking.”

“I had a few contacts like that,” Theron says quietly, “down in the undercity. Lots of things that are illegal in Republic space get a little less so when you stop seeing daylight.”

She looks toward him for a moment, a tiny little nod. “And Sia was his favorite, which just meant that he used her by turns as a dancer, a bedslave and a punching bag depending on his mood. The bruises were fairly hard to miss.”

“She shot him, she said? Sounds like he more than deserved it.” Theron again. Lana’s still silent, still listening.

“He got greedy- started skimming credits off our take, and unlike my predecessor I actually audited his books. When I showed up at his place to call him out on it I think he knew what was coming. He was beating the shit out of her, and I couldn’t-” she frowns. She had, though. All of them had, over and over again, all pretending one good deed could somehow make up for thousands of old sins- “I couldn’t just stand there and watch her die. I pulled him off, but he hit me with a stunner and I woke up an hour later in a cell, collared, bound, and bleeding.”

Theron’s hand rests against her back, a small comfort; she leans into his touch.

Lip curling into a scowl, Lana finally speaks. “Did he really think he’d get away with it? Greed’s one thing, but trying to sell an Imperial agent into slavery? He wouldn’t have survived the week.”

“I don’t know whether he planned to sell me or just have a bit of sport and then kill me, but thankfully I didn’t have to find out. When I missed my check-in with Kaliyo she came searching. She found him with a hole through his back and Sia, shaking like a leaf, holding my rifle.”

“Good for her.”

“I paid out her contract on the spot with the money we were going to recoup from him. I bought all of their contracts, all ten of his girls. ‘liyo and I pulled the collars off their necks and got them the fuck out of that place. The oldest one was twenty, I think. Sia’hla was seventeen.” She pushes up off the couch, back onto her feet, restless, needing to pace, to drown out the memory of their fear with the sounds of her footsteps. She’d given them the rest of the money, too- her handler’d been pissed and it wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, but what more could she have done? Taking them back to the Empire would have gotten them all sold again at best and shot at worst. “She’d worn that collar since she was eleven years old. She still has the scars from it under that expensive dress you just saw. And you know why she finally worked up the nerve to turn on him?”

Lana closes her eyes, presses her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. “Because you made him stop.”

“Because I made him stop. Because I was the only one, out of every single person who set foot in that place, who ever did. So my point, since you asked, is that we can trust her. It’s got nothing to do with leverage. It’s-”

She stops, then, in the middle of the room. Theron’s watching her with something like pride in his eyes when Lana lets her hands fall and rises, stepping around the edge of the sitting area to meet her where she stands.

“Yes,” Lana says, “I understand. I’ll let Veeroa know we’re ready to move. When do you want to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ve still got an apartment there we can use as a staging area and we’ll take Nightshrike. It’ll only be five of us traveling: Theron climbing with me, you with the topside team, Kaliyo on demolitions and for slicing- Tee-Seven, I suppose? SCORPIO’s still on that Gravestone project. That’ll leave Senya and Koth-” typing a quick message on her comm while she talks, she sends it on its way to both of them- “to take over command duties while we’re gone, and they’ll need a briefing. And I ought to eat something at some point, but-”

“I’ll grab food and meet you in the War Room.” Theron hops over the back of the couch. He never did like to go the long way ‘round. “And caf, yeah?”

“And caf. See you there.”

He taps at the door panel, barely waiting for it to open before he’s gone into the hallway.

“Can I ask you a strange question, Nine?” Lana’s datapad’s still sitting on the table and she leans far across to retrieve it, looking down at the screen again. When she cranes her neck to look, too, the video’s paused; in that frozen moment the two of them are turned in profile to the camera, backs arched until her hair and Sia’hla’s lekku brush the stage floor, held upright only by the counterweight of their bodies wound around each other. “All that horror- and she stayed on Nar Shaddaa, dancing. Why didn’t she leave?”

“I asked her that, too… it was what she knew how to do, she said. At first it was- therapeutic. Familiar. I didn’t quite understand it at the time but it seemed to keep her calm, so-” she shrugs. She understands it now, of course. Oh, Void, does she understand it now. “And she was good at it. We made ten thousand credits in tips on that dance alone, but that wasn’t even the point. Every eye in that room was on her. In that world, that’s power, and you hold on to power when you find it.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’re Sith. Of course you don’t.”

Lana frowns. “That’s unfair, Nine. You honestly think that being Sith means I don’t know what it means to be afraid? To feel powerless?”

“Not afraid. We all know afraid. But powerless... you could bounce me off the ceiling with a wave of your hand, Lana. You could have called me into your office five years ago and lopped my head off and not a single person there would dare meet your eye- the only question you’d have been asked was who was going to get my job. Call it relative, if you like, but compared to the rest of us you started out a hundred paces ahead.” She reaches out toward the screen. “A thousand ahead of someone like her.”

“Is that what you want, too? Power?”

(For a moment the world goes still and silent and she can feel Valkorion in the back of head, a dull throb that reminds her of nothing so much as the impatient tap tap tap of a finger on a tabletop, waiting, waiting-

Is it?)

When she blinks he’s gone.

“Back then I would have said yes.”

“What about now?”

“Power’s only useful when you’re playing the game,” she says, “and I’m so tired of games. But I don’t have much choice, do I?”

Lana tucks the datapad away and, wordless, rests her other hand carefully on her shoulder. At first she thinks she’s trying to read her, but no- there’s nothing, not even a whisper of pressure, only silence. They’ve never been very good at apologizing, her or Lana; sometimes the quiet’s as close as they get.

She understands, though. None of them had a choice this time around, not when the other options were yield or die.

“Did you ever think about what you’d do when you retired?” Changing the subject, letting her go, Lana starts to move toward the door. They’ve got meetings, still, and packing and planning, before the morning comes. “Before all this happened, I mean."

“Not really, no. I always assumed I wouldn’t live that long.”

***

She’ll need to do some shopping once they get to Nar Shaddaa, but by half past one in the morning her bag is packed and ready and she sets it by the door. Time to sleep, then. With any luck she’ll manage four or five hours before their planned departure.

Twenty minutes later she sits up in bed, sweating and shaky, gasping for breath.

Only a dream, she tells herself. It was only a dream.

When she tries to settle herself, though, closing her eyes again, she’s right back in the moment: her fingernails scrabbling desperately on gloved hands as they tighten, digging into her exposed throat- this was supposed to be a training exercise i haven’t even got a weapon oh i can’t breathe it hurts i can’t - and she does the only thing she can, whips her head back hard until she feels something behind her give way with a sharp crunch and-

She throws off the blankets and springs out of bed.

“Fuck off, old man.” Her voice comes out a rasp in the darkness. “I’ve lived through worse than you. If you really want me to let you help, you need to work on your people skills.”

Valkorion doesn’t respond.

Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, she stoops to pick up her shirt and trousers from the floor, dresses quickly, steps into her shoes. No sleep? Fine. She’ll get some more caf and read through the operational plan again. May as well do something useful.

The lower living quarters are quiet when she steps off the lift, doors shut and lights dimmed; she pads softly down the hallway toward the mess, finding that similarly empty save a few guards eating before morning watch begins. Nodding to them, she searches the shelf for an empty carafe- forget cups, she’s going to need more than that- and fills it to the brim.

She makes it halfway back down the corridor before a door slides open behind her. She turns out of reflex, looking back over her shoulder as a shadow-outlined figure leans against the doorframe-

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Theron says, barefoot in sleeping clothes, frowning down at her hands still clutching the carafe. “That doesn’t look like sleeping to me.”

“Yes, well-” still hoarse. So much for just a dream. She clears her throat, once and then again- “someone had other ideas. I’ll nap tomorrow.”

He sighs. “Another nightmare?”

“Another memory. A very old one. And I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I’ve been packing.” He gestures back toward his room. “But I might need to shop when we get there. I forgot my only other jacket’s got a hole through it, and I’m pretty sure you’re not going to let me wear my red one.”

She smiles a little, trying not to laugh. He never did like armor, but stars, the man’s attached to that damned thing. “You would be correct. We’ll go together- I need to pick up a couple of things, too.”

“Okay. But back to my original point: you need to sleep. You look-” a pause. Whatever he was going to say, he thought better of it. Instead, he takes her by the wrist and pulls her gently through the doorway; she doesn’t resist. “It didn’t seem this bad the last few nights.”

“It wasn’t. A few nightmares, but-”

Compared to the corridor his room’s so bright, the lights still on and his bag sitting half-full on his still-made bed, and she has to squint against the glare. When she can see properly again, Theron’s staring at her, mouth half-open.

“What the hell?” He lets go of her arm, raises his fingertips to her throat as she pulls away reflexively. “Your neck-”

“What are you talking about?”

These rooms really are small- she’s spent so little time in his quarters, or Lana’s, that she’s never realized it before, but it only takes them three steps to make it across to the ‘fresher cubicle and he slides the door open, turns her to face the mirror above the sink and-

She blanches and that only makes the bruises stand out more, two handprints fanned out in livid purple on her skin, and when she lifts her own hand to the marks they match, precise, down to the shallow scratches left by her nails.

(For a moment she isn’t sure if that’s better or worse.

Worse, she thinks.)

“It was a dream,” she whispers. “It was-”

He takes the caf pot from her grip, sets it down on the sink and then wraps both arms around her, just holding on tight.

“We should talk to Lana. Or Senya, or somebody- but this is crazy, Nine. I didn’t think he could do this.”

“Let them rest, for now. A few hours won’t matter.” Eyes closed, she sags back against him, fatigue finally crashing over her like so many waves. “I doubt there’s anything we can do, in any case.”

“There has to be something.” He turns her around and she rises onto tiptoes as he lifts her, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms around her waist. “You can’t not sleep.”

No, she supposes she can’t.

A few steps take them back out into the little room; Theron sets her down on the bed. Shoving a few pieces of kit into his bag before he digs into a side pocket, he moves it onto the floor and then sits, too, flipping the cap off a tube of bacta gel with a loud click. “Let’s at least get something on those bruises.”

“I’m fine.” It’s a lie, of course, and he knows it as well as she does- he doesn’t even say anything, just coats both palms in the gel and starts to work it slowly into her skin, careful not to use both hands at once, careful not to curl too tightly around her neck. Even so she has to fight her instincts, forcing herself to stay still, to not push him away.

He’s helping. He’s helping.

She breathes.

“That should help a little.” The last of the bacta absorbed into the bruises, Theron wipes his hands on the blanket as the tightness in her throat eases. “You want me to walk you back up to your room?”

Instead of answering she flops over backward, staring up at the ceiling. “After Corellia,” she says, counting the tiles above their heads- one, two, three, four. She used to do the same thing in her cabin. It had twenty-five and one-third tiles in four rows, wall to wall, an imprecision that always irritated her- “I had nightmares for months. Lokin made me take medication so I’d sleep. I hated it… have you ever used ryll?”

He nods, hand on her hair, smoothing it down with gentle strokes. “Once, when I was a lot younger. Didn’t agree with me.”

“Me either. The meds made me feel the same way- slow, stupid, half-floating. Like me, with all the edges filed off. But I didn’t dream.”

“That doesn’t sound like an answer,” Theron says.

More tiles- five, six, seven. She keeps counting; there’s a false sort of peace in mindless tasks, but a false peace is better than nothing. “It’s a bad answer. But if he can get to me that easily when I’m dreaming-”

“We’ll find another way.”

“Maybe.”

“We will. C’mere.” He slips one arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her slightly until he can slide into the space between her head and the wall. “He wants at you, he’s going to have to get through me first.”

She thinks of Ziost, then, and flinches. “Don’t say that. He’ll get ideas. And I should get up- people will talk come morning, if-”

“Let ‘em.”

“You say that now.”

Despite his caution his knee nudges into her upper back and she shifts position as he mumbles an apology. “Pretty sure we’re not breaking any rules, are we?”

“No. But-”

Theron takes one of her hands in his, presses his mouth against the back of it, a kiss and a guidance both, pulling her up and along the bed. “Don’t worry about them, okay? Just try to sleep. If you start thrashing around too much, I’ll wake up and shake you out of it.”

“So neither of us sleep? That’s not much of an answer, either.”

“You didn’t dream as much the last few nights, right? It’s better than nothing.”

“True.” Theron’s settled back onto the bed, wedging pillows behind him; she curls her knees into her body, turning, until she’s stretched out beside him with her head against his chest. “Although I think I like my bed better.”

“More room, definitely. If you want, we can still go-”

She closes her eyes. “No. This is good.”

***

(The rest of the night passes, lulled into sleep by the rhythm of their breathing and the sound of his heart, and she does not dream.

It’s something.)

***

They’re a day out from landing- not that it matters, with an entire file full of false identities he can use; it’s not like any of them will be clearing customs with their real names- when she finally remembers to ask.

“So.” She spins around in the copilot’s chair, turning toward him, hands folded in her lap. “Theron, what exactly did you do to get yourself barred from Nar Shaddaa?”

He looks up from plotting their last few jumps with a shrug and a teasing grin. “Guess.”

“Public nudity- no, done that one, doesn’t merit a ban. Tried to carve a chunk out of Karagga’s statue?”

“Gold’s not my color,” he says. “Try again.”

“Sliced the slot machines at Club Vertica?”

Theron yawns. “There are way easier ways to make money that don’t involve getting your kneecaps broken by a very large Gamorrean. Nope.”

“Frankly, I’ve got no idea.” She stretches out one leg, taps the toe of her shoe against his thigh until he grabs at her foot, pinning it against the arm of the chair. “I’ve broken about every law on that trash heap of a moon, which is to say all three of them, and the most I ever had to do was send a gift basket full of credits. Tell me.”

“It’s way more fun making you guess.”

“I hate guessing-games.”

He tugs at one end of her shoelace. “Public nudity? Really?”

“It made for a very memorable alibi. I’m not ticklish, by the way, so don’t get any ideas.” That makes him stop, knot halfway undone, and she winks.

“You really want to know?” Abandoning the shoelace, he wraps his hand around her ankle, runs his thumb along the curve of her calf instead.

“I’m also-” she stretches out her other leg, batting at his hand- “not that easily distracted. Tell me.”

“Back in the SIS we used to swap ident cards sometime- it was easier to remember a name you knew, so we’d just transpose pictures. If someone got caught, you could prove you were off-planet pretty easily- the card must be a forgery, right? Give another false card as backup and everyone gets out easy.”

She tilts her head. Makes sense, but- “Your excuse is that someone else got busted using your ident as a cover?”

“I’ve been running on fakes since I left the SIS, so I didn’t even realize it’d happened until the other week. I was checking how much damage my fath-” he catches himself- “Jace had done to my clearances when it came up on the report.”

“Do you know who it was?”

Theron rolls his eyes. “Three guesses.”

“That little shit.” The minute he said it she knew exactly who it had to be- she doesn’t know that many other SIS agents by name and most of the ones she did are ones she’s killed- and when he grins she knows she’s right.

“It was a couple years ago, to be fair. Everyone was running scared back then, even after the surrender, and I’d already split for Wild Space. I can’t blame him that much.”

He does have a point. “Okay, then, what did Balkar do to get you kicked out of Hutt Space?”

“Vandalism.”

“No, seriously. What did he-” she flicks her feet again, perched on the edge of her chair, spanning the gap between them, and then yelps as he reaches forward off his seat and grabs her behind both knees. She pushes off, launching herself across, laughing, and when she lands on him he’s laughing, too.

“When you crash a pleasure barge into a moon,” Theron says, muffled against her chest, “apparently they consider that vandalism.”

***

Their first day on Nar Shaddaa is a surprise in three ways.

Her apartment’s untouched, first of all, her clothes still in the closets and even the maintenance droid still waiting patiently at the front entrance when they all pile out of the hovercab. She hadn’t expected that. She wasn’t paying rent on it, granted (the benefits of winning one’s housing), and the paperwork was under an alias- one couldn’t exactly sign contracts as Cipher Nine and not expect to attract attention- but she thought someone would have noticed she hadn’t set foot in the place in years.

It’s wartime, though. There must be a great many apartments sitting empty nowadays.

Second, Theron’s far less fussy than she’d thought he’d be when they go shopping. He draws the line at a printed shirt, but she talks him into new trousers, shirts and, miracle of miracles, a sleek black jacket.

(“I don’t even look like myself,” he says, turning in front of the mirror. ��Are you sure about this one?”

“That’s rather the point.” She considers a moment, then turns to the salesgirl. “Though I’d go a size down on the jacket, don’t you think? Oversized seems to be the style, but-”

She could roll the girl’s tongue back up into her mouth, probably. Quite right- he looks delicious in proper clothing. “Oh, yes. That one’s definitely too big. Let me check in back.”)

It doesn’t take her long to dress for the evening. Half her old outfits will have to go, of course; the saber scar makes that much clear. But most of them still fit, and after a few minutes she’s doing up the back of a high-necked minidress and slipping her feet into her second-favorite pair of heels.

“If you’re not wearing that blue one,” Kaliyo says from across the room, “can I have it?"

She throws it backward over her shoulder. “All yours, if you think it’ll still fit you. It’s been a while since you’ve borrowed my clothes.”

“It got over that ass of yours. It’ll work just fine on me.” Kaliyo snaps back, teasing, and it’s just like the old days for a second; she smiles to herself as she pulls a pair of earrings out of their box. “Come zip me, yeah?”

Lana speaks up from somewhere deep inside the larger closet. “I still don’t see why I have to change at all. My robes are fine.”

“For a nightclub? We’re walking in the front door: we’ve got to blend in. What would you normally wear?”

“You say that as though you’re assuming I normally go out. It’s a planning meeting tonight, not a party.” Accompanied by the sound of hangers clattering, she can barely see yellow eyes behind a row of dresses. “Don’t you own any trousers, Nine?”

“Of course I own trousers. Look to your left.” She points for emphasis.

More clattering, rather a lot of hopping, and a disgusted sigh- “How do you even- ugh. Never mind. Hold on.”

Kaliyo’s standing in front of the mirror on the far side of the room, the dress hanging loose around her chest until Nine goes across to her, drawing the zipper up along her spine. “If you want us to pick something out for you-”

“Oh, honestly. I can dress myself.” Lana steps out from between the shelves, and-

“Well, damn.” Kaliyo whistles. “Look at the legs on you, Beniko.”

Now that’s a surprise.

Rolling her eyes, a pair of shoes dangling from her fingertips, Lana gestures toward the door. “We’re going to be late. Let’s go.”

***

Author's Note: Another one gone to weird places on me, hence the change of title.

A difficult few weeks, life-wise, and some of that probably bled in here. Hopefully back in the groove now for the next chapter?

#equivalent exchange #inyri writes #nine #nine/theron #swtor fanfiction #imperial agent #what happens when you ignore valkorion? nothing good #and a little sentiment for good measure

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dong-hyucks · 7 years ago

Note

can you do a spy au with one of the dreamies? she/her pronouns please :) ily~ - baby anon

fear is our enemy. | na jaemin [1]

➳ genre. spy!au, future!au, angst, minor fluff➳ warnings. mentions of blood and death, character death in later chapters, swearing➳ word count. 4.4k+➳ author’s note. lmao this was supposed to be a oneshot but oops // i stopped procrastinating to write this for nana’s birthday :))) - admin. jade➳ synopsis. [Y/N] Park, the adopted daughter of late director Park Minjun, crosses paths with Na Jaemin, a spy known for his aloof tendencies.

➳ masterlists. | 1. | 2. | 3. | 4. | 5. | 6. | 7. | 8. | 9. | epilogue.

You stared down the target, your arms outstretched, pistol armed. Breathing slowly through your nostrils you let your eyes focus on the target’s head. In a single movement, a bullet shot from the .44 Magnum, piercing the target successfully.

“Nice shot.”

You spun on her heel, pressing the barrel of the gun against the chest of whomever stood behind you. You only relaxed upon seeing his face, relenting with a sigh. “What do you want, Chenle?” you asked the hacker, shoving the gun into the holster strapped around your thigh. “I told you not to interrupt me while I’m training.”

Zhong Chenle rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around your shoulder despite the glare you sent his way. “Taeyong called for you,” he beamed, “been trying for half an hour apparently, and you know how he gets when he has to wait.” Sending you a mischievous grin, he pushed you out of the practice room. “It was nice knowing you,” he sung.

You refrained yourself from flipping the younger male off. Despite having worked with him for a couple of years, his constant enthusiasm still got to you from time to time. Grumbling under your breath about being interrupted, you made your way down the halls of NCT headquarters. As you walked, you fiddled with the holster strap nervously. Not that you’d ever admit that you were nervous, anyway. Even through your prior annoyance, you knew Chenle was right.

An impatient Lee Taeyong was never a good one.

It wasn’t long before you reached his office. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the doors open, not bothering to knock. Taeyong was sat behind his desk, as always, a slight scowl painted onto his features. His fingers tapped against his wooden desk as he leaned back. He almost instantly locked eyes with you, the feeling of being under his glare making you shudder.

Before you stood a male, one you had never seen before. He had yet to turn around, but his hair was much lighter than the other spies you had worked with beforehand. The man wore a blue pinstripe suit, perfectly tailored to fit his sturdy yet thin frame. When he did glance over at you, you felt your breath catch in your throat. To put it bluntly, the man in front of you was gorgeous. Everything about him just yelled ‘model.’ You heard someone clear his throat. Turning your attention to Taeyong, you ignored the way your face heated up slightly. The man chuckled, having obviously caught you in the act of checking him out.

“When you’re done checking each other out, I have a mission for the both of you,” Taeyong began, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. His voice was cold, just as it usually was but with an edge to it. You assumed it was because of your late presence. “You have no choice in the matter.” You raised a brow. The mission must be important, since you usually have a say in whether or not you take missions.

“We’ve had a break in. Yesterday at roughly 21:00, DH noticed suspicious activity in the vault while watching the security tapes,” at the mention of the young hacker, Taeyong’s frown deepened. “When he went to investigate, he was knocked out with chloroform. We’re now missing seven top secret documents.”

Beside you, the man stiffened. You felt yourself grow angry at the thought of Lee Donghyuck, unconscious and drugged. The man had, after all, been like a brother to you since you joined the organization. He was the first one to befriend you in the hellish world that you worked in.

“The two of you are NCT’s smartest spies. We’ve already identified one of the perpetrators, we just need you to go undercover and retrieve the documents.” Taeyong fished through his desk drawer, pulling out a manila folder. He tossed it onto the desk, gesturing for you and the male to look at its contents. You did, finding pictures of two men, both clad in black. Only one of them was masked, the other merely wore a cap and bowed his head. His attempt to stay hidden failed, however, when he had glanced at one of the security cameras. Your eyes widened at the picture. Though blurry, you could recognize him clear as day.

“That’s Byun Baekhyun, thirty-five years old. We suspect his accomplice is Kim Jongdae, his jail-buddy, based on height and probable weight.” Taeyong furrowed his brows together, “We can’t be sure, since his face is covered. Anyway, they’re regulars at the Seven Luck Casino in Busan. They’ve been seen countless times by the staff– every Saturday at exactly seven, Byun will come in with a few friends of his. They all go under different names though.”

The man beside you crossed his arms. “Why do we have to go undercover? We know where he’ll be, we can just ambush him when he least expects it and get it over with.”

“He’s apart of EXO,” you mumbled under your breath, your chest tightening. “They were an underground crime syndicate before Byun, Kim, and another; Do Kyungsoo, were arrested for murder. Every member had their profiles leaked by some unknown source. All of them were almost arrested before they escaped. Only three other members got caught. The rest just,” you paused, taking a moment to trace the indents on your pistol. “– disappeared.”

The male looked surprised at your knowledge, but Taeyong wasn’t phased. “We’ve had some altercations with them in the past, but this is the first time since they disappeared that they’ve gone anywhere near us,” he informed the man.

“Then shouldn’t I go alone?” The male shifted his weight, not meeting your gaze. “If you’ve had contact with them in the past, wouldn’t they recognize her?” He nodded in your direction. You narrowed your eyes at his condescending tone. He stood straight with a cocky air surrounding him. You nearly scoffed. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

“Agent 127 wasn’t apart of NCT back then. Neither were you, another reason why the two of you are the best fit for this mission.” Taeyong closed the folder. “We’ll have 323 and 423 there with you. They won’t interfere with your mission unless you instruct them to. They’ll only be there for backup,” Taeyong glanced at the two of you, his eyes dark. You nodded, not questioning the director. “I sincerely hope you will not need them.”

“Sir, if I may–”

“Dismissed.” With that, Taeyong brushed the man off. While you turned to leave, the man stayed rooted to his spot. You felt tempted to pull him away, he obviously didn’t know how Taeyong took people who denied his word. However, the thought of Taeyong exploding at him sounded far more amusing. You stopped outside of the office, a growing smirk playing your lips like a violin.

“Sir–”

You heard a thud, presumably something Taeyong had banged against the table. “I said, dismissed, Agent. Do I need to tell you twice?”

There was silence before the man exited, walking past you completely. You snorted, even the way he walked seemed pompously arrogant. “You must be a newbie,” you commented, pushing yourself off of the wall you had once been leaning on. He turned to you, glowering. “Everyone who’s spent more than a week here knows how Taeyong is. Didn’t help that I was late,” you shrugged.

He stared at you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer, before he abruptly turned and walked off. You followed closely, clasping your hands behind your back. “You have a name, Mr. Tall, dark, and moody?” He looked annoyed at your ‘nickname’ for him, a scowl on his face. You nearly laughed at how much he resembled Taeyong in that single moment. “At least give me a fake one; we’re going undercover Saturday, I’ve gotta call you something.”

He paused for a moment, “Nana.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. Nana seemed to notice and glanced over his shoulder at you quizzically. You chuckled in amusement, “Nana? Seriously?” He growled at you under his breath, his glare hardening. “Might as well call you my grandmother. If that’s really your name, then damn, you must’ve had one rough childhood.”

Nana’s mood seemed to have dropped drastically. If he wasn’t annoyed before, he surely was now. His stare was harsh and his form was rigid as he sent hate toward you through his eyes. “My childhood is none of your business,” he spat, turning to walk away again. And again, you followed.

“Woah, man,” you walked ahead of him, raising your arms in defence. “It was a joke. You know, something people say to induce laughter? That sorta’ thing.” Nana sent yet another glare at you before jogging down the corridor, disappearing down a flight of stairs. You huffed, “What’s his problem?”

Shaking your head, you headed back to the practice room. When you got there, Chenle was still present; this time with Mark Lee, a gunman. “Hey look, the woman of honor is back!” he exclaimed upon seeing you. You scoffed, cocking your gun. “What’d the boss want you for?”

You rolled your shoulders back, stepping behind the table covered with ammunition. “New mission with a newbie. He’s a total asshole, though.” You picked out a certain clip, inserting it into the magazine. “Name’s Nana, apparently.”

You heard Mark cough, the sound directing your attention away from the bullet-riddled targets on the other side of the room. Mark looked shocked, wide eyed, open mouth. “Nana? You’re working with Na Jaemin?” he asked quietly. Chenle gasped, eyes shifting from Mark to you.

“Jaemin?”

Mark nodded. “He’s a new recruit, yeah, but he’s skilled. Rumor has it, he stopped an entire mafia from mass murder on his own.” Mark looked as if he were mentally admiring Nana, or rather– Jaemin, as he spoke. Chenle rolled his eyes at the older male’s clear admiration toward him.

He crossed his arms, a small frown appearing. “Well, I’ve heard rumors that he paralyzed his past partner,” Chenle harshly whispered, brows furrowed in concern. “Apparently Jaemin,” he uttered his name with disgust, “let him get hit by a train. He was lucky he didn’t die, but the poor guy hasn’t been able to walk since. Practically lost his entire career thanks to your little role model, Mark.” You shuddered at the thought of Jaemin letting someone get struck by such a fast moving vehicle.

Mark gaped, “I hadn’t heard that one.” He turned to you with worry, “Don’t go near any trains with him, okay? Maybe he’ll do that to you too!” His voice was hushed as he spoke, leaning in ever so slightly as he did. You rolled your eyes at Mark’s behaviour; typical of him to go from admiring someone to practically cowering in fear.

Honestly, it was surprising he was even a gunman– he was too much of a sweetheart for such a job.

“Stop trying to psych me out, guys,” you huffed, shaking your head in an attempt of forgetting Chenle’s story. “We’re only partners for this mission. After that, I can ignore him all I like.” You missed their relieved expressions when you turned to face the targets once again. “Besides, Renjun and Jeno are going to be present; if he tries anything suspicious I can just call them for backup.”

The boys simply watched as you shot at each of the target’s heads skillfully, never missing. Your late father had been the past director of NCT, so as you grew up you learned how to use a variety of weapons. Through his teachings, Taeyong was able to confidently hire you with little to no worry. Lucky for you– you’ve heard brutal stories from other spies in the agency about the ridiculous training regimen.

You heard a beep, most likely from a phone, but chose to ignore it. From the corner of your eye, you could see Chenle pressing his phone against his ear. He let out a sigh, a sound that was equivalent to that of a mouse compared to the deafening bang of a gunshot. “[Y/N],” he called. You whipped your head in his direction, slightly annoyed at the constant interruptions.

“Your partner’s causing a ruckus in the basement,” Chenle scoffed. “Management wants you to take care of it.”

You let out a groan. You had forgotten about NCT’s seventh rule; you are responsible for your partner’s safety and behaviour. You shoved the pistol into your holster for the second time in the past hour. You walked out, your irritance obvious in your walk. You could hear Mark and Chenle following you, the two whispering to each other loudly.

The three of you headed to the basement, using the elevator instead of the stairs you had watched Jaemin stomp down moments before. When the elevator dinged, you headed out. Almost immediately, you could hear yelling, coupled with the familiar sound of a fist colliding with skin. Turning a corner, you were immediately faced with Jaemin, hovering over a boy – whose, you had no idea since Jaemin was covering him – his collar collected in his fists.

“Jaemin,” you exclaimed, rushing over. Only then did you see the boy. Anger coursed through your veins when you saw the blood dripping from Donghyuck’s nose, the quickly forming bruise on his jaw that stood out against his skin. Donghyuck was merely a hacker, though he was trained in physical combat and with guns, it was no doubt that Jaemin, a spy, would be stronger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, pushing the man off of Donghyuck.

You didn’t notice how stiff Jaemin looked as he stared at you with wide eyes. “You okay?” you asked Donghyuck, helping him up. You barely spared Jaemin a glance as you headed back toward Mark and Chenle, who had been watching with agape jaws. Mark was quick to act, helping you move Donghyuck to the elevator.

“You’re getting all beat up lately,” Mark said with a light tone. “You should start carrying a gun around with you.”

Donghyuck rolled his eyes, “I’m a hacker, [Y/N]. Most don’t even know of my work, much less will they come after me. Even if they did, I practically live in HQ; we have insane security.” You gave Donghyuck a dirty look. Catching it, he shrugged. “Okay, we have a few cracks, but normally it’s pretty insane.”

Chenle chuckled, pressing the button to the third floor; the mini hospital wing. “Still,” you pressed on, wiping the blood away from his face with your jacket sleeve. “You’re apart of NCT. I’m surprised Taeyong doesn’t already make you guys carry guns.”

Donghyuck and Chenle shrugged nonchalantly. The elevator dinged quickly after, and the four of you hastily brought Donghyuck to one of the nearby beds. Moon Taeil, one of the resident doctors of NCT, saw the four of you and shook his head. He made his way over, raising a brow at Donghyuck’s beat up state. “Again, Donghyuck? You were just here yesterday, if you keep getting attacked like this it’d be best you carried a weapon of some sort.”

“See,” you and Mark chorused.

“Oh, leave us alone,” Chenle stuck his tongue out.

Taeil chuckled at your interaction, before waving toward Donghyuck. “Come to the X-Ray room, judging by your state there’s a possibility of a fracture or break.” Mark moved to help Donghyuck to the aforementioned room. You saw another doctor come out of one of the rooms, glancing up at the three with confusion.

“Hey,” he said, looking over at you. “What’d he do this time?”

You let yourself laugh. “Got beat up by my weirdo of a partner.” You glanced over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be helping? You’re Taeil’s assistant after all.”

The assistant, whom everyone knew as Jung Jaehyun, shrugged. “It doesn’t take two guys to do an X-Ray, unless the patient’s hostile or something.”

“Have you met Donghyuck?”

There was a pause. “Good point. I’ll get going then,” Jaehyun bowed his head toward you and Chenle before scurrying off in the direction Taeil, Mark, and Donghyuck had disappeared to.

You let your gaze linger on the doors that swung back and forth as Jaehyun passed through them before leaving with Chenle.

Morning came, and it came far too quickly for your liking. With barely an hour’s worth of sleep, you were forced to get up to go to work. Sometimes you wished you lived a normal life, one that didn’t include the guns and violence, all so you can get a good night’s rest. Then again, anything other than your job now seemed boring to you.

You couldn’t sleep that night. Your thoughts had been too preoccupied for sleep to even become an option. All you could think of was Donghyuck and Jaemin. On one hand, you were truly worried about Donghyuck, but on the other hand you were curious about your partner. Rumors were rumors, but what Chenle had told you seemed to stand out in your mind. The way he carried himself made him seem unapproachable, not to mention the arrogant yet impudent way he spoke.

It didn’t take long before you arrived at NCT headquarters. Though you had a car, you always preferred to walk since you only lived a block away from the main building. “Morning,” Nakamoto Yuta, a security guard, smiled at you as he let you enter.

“Morning.”

You passed by many other people; staff members and spies alike. Most of them, however, weren’t as chipper as Yuta could be in the mornings and just ignored your presence completely. Fine by me, you thought.

“Hey,” a voice grumbled from behind you. You turned to see Jaemin standing before you, hands shoved in his pockets as he avoided eye contact with you. He was wearing another pinstripe suit, this time in black. “Taeyong wanted you to know that we’re leaving for Busan at 20:00. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so he wants us to get prepared before the mission.”

“Why couldn’t he just,” you shrugged, “text me instead of having you be a messenger for him?”

“Apparently, you never answer your phone.”

“Well, touché.”

He merely rolled his eyes before spinning on his heel and turning away. Before you had the chance to even continue heading to the hospital wing, he stopped and turned. He took a step forward, the movement hesitant. “How’d you know my name?”

You cocked a brow at him. “That’s confidential,” you quipped, crossing your arms in a defiant manner. Jaemin frowned as he hunched forward, his bangs hanging over his eyes slightly.

Before you could even say anything else, Jaemin really did turn away and walk off. Only when he disappeared from your view did you continue on to the hospital wing.

When you got there, Mark and Chenle were already surrounding Donghyuck’s bed, all three speaking eagerly about something. When Chenle spotted you walking toward them he hastily shut the pair up by covering their mouths. You watched in amusement as they complained, their whines muffled by Chenle’s hands, completely oblivious to your presence.

“Okay, I expect this from Donghyuck, but you Mark? Weren’t you trained to pick up on quiet noises? Including footsteps?”

Both Mark and Donghyuck jumped simultaneously, whipping around to find you standing there. “[Y/N],” Mark stuttered. You merely chuckled, moving to stand beside Chenle. He avoided eye contact, as did Mark and Donghyuck. You raised a brow at their suspicious activity, placing a hand on your hip as you stared each of them down. They were all being suspicious.

Noticing your side eye, Chenle laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he finally turned to look at you. “We were just talking about,” he paused looking to Mark and Donghyuck for help. When they both coughed, he sent a glare in their direction. “We were talking about girls,” he sounded unsure, his smile forced and body rigid.

You nodded slowly, not believing a word he said. “Sure. Anyway, I just wanted to visit. I’ll be leaving for Busan with Jaemin later.” Donghyuck winced at the mention of him. You caught the worried looks Mark and Chenle were sending you and sighed. “I’ll be careful, don’t worry. If he tries anything weird, I’ll send a bullet through his shoulder or something.”

Donghyuck still looked concerned but nodded. You glanced over your shoulder. No one else was in the hospital wing, other than Taeil, Jaehyun, and a new doctor you didn’t know the name of. “Hey, could you do me a favour?” you requested, glancing at the two hackers. “When you have time, could you possibly find out about Jaemin?”

Mark looked incredulous, staring at you with a small frown. “What ever happened to we’re only partners, I can ignore him later?”

You snorted, “I will ignore him after the mission, I’d just like to know more about his background. Something about him is off.”

“Like his sanity?”

You chuckled at Chenle’s comment, shaking your head. “No, something else.” Glancing at your wrist watch, you began to step back. “I’ll get going then,” you smiled toward Donghyuck, “recover well. I should be back by Monday at the latest.” You waved toward the men, walking off toward the elevator.

To your surprise, Taeyong was in the elevator when it arrived. You stepped in, keeping your distance as you pressed the button to the fifth floor. “I’m assuming you know the departure time,” Taeyong surmised. “I could care less about what you do until then, but when the time comes a few of the guards will come get you.” You nodded.

Reaching into the pocket of his blazer, he handed you an envelope. “Inside will be your identification and a summary of your character. Study it, become it, then dispose of it. Byun’s smart; you knew of his role in EXO before it disbanded. If you come on too strong, he’ll figure something’s up and you’ll be in danger.” The elevator stopped on your floor.

Taking the envelope, you stepped out, turning just before the elevator doors closed. Taeyong stared back, looking void of emotion as he nodded at you. “Good luck, Agent 127.”

You stood there for a moment, unmoving, before making your way to the main ammunition room. You thumbed the envelope, tracing its edges as you walked. The only noise you could hear, other than your own breathing, was the quiet tapping of your shoes against the tiled floor. As you reached the ammunition room, you pressed a hand against the scanner on the wall. After a second, the door opened on its own.

Almost instantly, you saw a man hunched over one of the desks. You immediately recognized the clothing and stature, freezing in the doorway. After hearing the door open, Jaemin glanced over his shoulder. When his eyes laid upon your form, he looked away. Shaking your head, you moved toward the far wall, ignoring his presence completely.

He watched as you picked out a couple of guns along with the necessary clips. When you finished loading the weapons, you turned to see him staring at you. “What?” you questioned, switching your Magnum with a Berreta M9 as you spoke. You packed a S&T Motiv K14 into a spare case and brought it off of the desk. Jaemin’s gaze lingered on you for a while before he went back to loading a few guns. You furrowed your brows before exiting, the large steel pocket door closing behind you automatically.

Jaemin truly was odd, to say the least.

True to Taeyong’s word, a couple of guards had found you a little before the departure time, both equipped with a packed suitcase for your new character. You had been on the top floor, practicing your sniper skills. The sniper room took up practically the whole of the top floor, so it did take the guards a while to find your exact location (since you had left your tracked phone in the lockers near the entrance). The drive to the private airport, owned by NCT, was quiet for the most part. Every once in awhile, Johnny Seo– the main guard, would crack a joke and Ten, the guard whose real name you didn’t know, would laugh.

“We’re here,” Johnny announced, parking the car. You climbed out of the vehicle, thanking the two quietly before ascending the stairs to the entrance. Inside, Jaemin was already waiting for you, dressed differently from when you had seen him earlier in the day. This time, he was wearing a simple white button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, coupled with slacks. You had to stop yourself from staring. Even you had to admit Jaemin looked great with his light brown hair almost messily pushed out of his face.

“You’re late,” he grumbled. You scoffed, glancing down at your watch. It was only five past the given time, you were hardly late. Jaemin glanced down at your clothes, the bomber jacket you had been wearing slightly dirty from when you had been laying on your stomach during practice. He gestured toward the restroom, “There’s a dress in there for you, a wig too, probably.” You scrunched your nose up at the thought of wearing a dress but complied.

Leaving Jaemin, you headed to the restroom, locking the door behind you. In the envelope Taeyong had given you, you had found out that your ‘new name’ was Kim Hyonhui, a name you rolled your eyes at, an employee at TCN Inc. Hyonhui was a completely different person from you. Hyonhui’s character was the disloyal and seductive wife of Kim Hansol– or rather, Jaemin.

True to Jaemin’s word, there was a neatly folded dress on top of the counter. Beside it was a long, black wig. Grumbling under your breath, you slid the dress on and carefully placed the wig atop your head, hiding your natural hair effortlessly. Soon after, you spotted a pair of heels on the ground. You nearly groaned– if you detested anything more than dresses, it was heels. You inspected the shoes, recognizing the style. There was a secret compartment in the back, perfect for hiding spare clips or drug capsules.

You walked out of the restroom, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip. As you walked with your head down, Jaemin looked over after hearing the clicking of your heels against the hardwood floor. He quickly looked away, trying to appear nonchalant.

When you reached him, a man walked into the room. He wore a pilot uniform, making it obvious that he was the pilot. “The plane is ready,” he said upon walking up to the two of you.

You and Jaemin locked eyes before nodding. Together, you followed the pilot outside to the private plane.

Off to Busan.

⇢ next

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qoslinqs · 6 years ago

Text

Untouchable (Chapter 3)

Tony Stark: genius, crime syndicate leader, billionaire, and stolen art collector.

A man who was many things.

Now, he was a criminal informant too.

OR: An alternate universe where Tony Stark is the head of a major crime family in Manhattan and gets caught.

.°•.° .°° .°•.°

Pairing: Steven Rogers/Anthony Stark (STONY)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word count: 4000 something (~15-20 minutes)

Author’s Note at the end of the chapter.

After being released from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Anthony Stark called Happy Hogan, his driver and security detail, to take him and Pepper Potts to their homes. Tony debriefed his friends on the situation they faced.

“You’re crazy, Tony,” Pepper mumbled under her breath. She was still calming down from being interrogated by the Bureau; although she only had been asked a few questions, the uncertainty of her future made her scared. She knew that there were risks associated with doing this type of dirty work, but she had not expected it to fall apart after all these years she had worked with Tony. Noticing her anxiety, Tony wrapped his arm around her and gave her a shoulder a gentle squeeze.

It was strange. All of his life, Tony had been taught by his father, who had run the Stark crime family concisely and with passion, to avoid the law. On the other hand, Anthony had mixed work with pleasure- collecting stolen paintings as a hobby and investment strategy. Consequently, he was now forced to work for the law to maintain his freedom or face prison for the possession of stolen artwork. He was a criminal informant.

He never imagined that he would be in this position. What would happen if he slipped up and blew his cover? What if the criminals took it upon themselves to deal with him? There were no courts of law to deal with criminals who changed sides in the underworld. Instead, there was a bullet in the back of the head. They would string his body up in the middle of New York City to make a statement: even one of the most powerful men in the criminal underworld could not interfere with their business. The FBI would not help him; if he got caught, the Bureau would leave him to die. It would be one less person that they would have to worry about.

Tony shuddered at the thoughts but attempted to push them away. He was safe. Happy would guard him, Pepper would be monitored whenever they were working on a case, and he wore a sleek, black tracking band around his ankle. All three of them were protected. We’ll be fine, the brunet tried to tell himself. The Bureau would find him if he ever went missing, or at least return his body to his friends.

Placing his left foot on his right knee, he fiddled with the device around his left ankle. The only way to open the ankle monitor was through a key that Agent Steve Rogers held; however, Tony was sure he could figure out a way to unlock the device if given enough time. It was not state of the art technology; it was just the typical government-issued tracker with a few security improvements for criminals who had committed federal crimes.

“Do you think they’d know if I messed around with it?” Tony asked, to no one in particular.

“Do you want to go to jail that bad?” Happy replied as he looked in the rearview mirror, “Leave it be, sir.” Then, parking in Pepper’s driveway, he exited the car to open the door for the lady.

Grabbing her belongings, Pepper smiled softly one last time at Tony. “Thank you, Tony,” she said quietly, “For doing this.” She tapped on his left ankle and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Leaving Tony’s car, she waved and chuckled, “Don’t do anything stupid with the bracelet. I like my freedom.” He laughed in return and waved her off.

“See you tomorrow, Pep. Busy day.”

After dropping her off at her door, Happy returned to the car and drove off to Tony’s mansion. The two sat in silence, both thinking about the future that lay ahead.

The following morning, Anthony stepped into the Stark Industries tower and greeted the security guard. He walked to the elevator with no interruption, no questions asked. Business as usual. No one stared at him as if they knew something strange had happened yesterday- good.

He stood at the elevator and checked his watch. He was late, as per usual. Today he was supposed to have the meeting with Paint, but seeing as Paint was not an art dealer, he assumed that deal fell through. Instead, he would be having a meeting with Agent Rogers about his upcoming undercover operation. Curious to what Pepper had planned for him, Tony took a quick glance at his schedule and noticed that it had changed to an incredibly vague outline of his day.

TODAY: 10:30 Meeting | 12:30 Lunch | 2:00 Meeting

Always on top of things. Tony thought as he exited the calendar to look at emails. As he stared at his phone, a hand tapped him on his shoulder. Turning to look, it was Pepper. “Late. Again,” she scolded as the elevator doors opened. “You’d think that you’d come early if you had something important to do.”

Tony snorted as the two stepped into the elevator. She knew well and clear that he would not fix his lateness, even if his life depended on it. He was always late, even when Pepper adjusted the schedule to try to accommodate for his lack of punctuality. They stood quietly for a moment in the elevator, and Tony watched as the lift made the ascent to their office’s floor.

“He’s already here,” Pepper said, breaking the silence, “He came thirty minutes early. I had to tell him that you never come early, much less on time. He’s been looking annoyed for the past hour.”

“He always looks annoyed,” Tony joked, “Don’t think he’s too happy about this arrangement.”

“Well, whether or not he’s happy, you should make a good impression. I’m telling you this as your friend. Ten years or so in prison is not something you would like. Slumming it isn’t Tony Stark’s preferred lifestyle.”

The criminal pouted and relented to his friend’s wishes. “I’ll try my best.”

The elevator doors opened with a ding and the two stepped into the workspace. Pepper went to her desk while Tony went into his office. Inside, Supervisory Special Agent Steve Rogers sat idly, tapping his foot and looking around the room. He seemed to be discomforted by all the books, robot parts, and exotic souvenirs that laid around the workspace like a child’s messy bedroom.

When he walked in, the agent stood to greet him.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.”

“Mornin’- Just call me Tony.”

“...Well, uh, Tony. You can call me Steve then. But...you’re late. I’d appreciate if you could come on time. Every minute matters in this case.”

“I don’t think Black Widow can kill,” Tony checked his watch, “A person every minute. If she managed to finish thirty contracts- well, I’d rather take the cell. Wouldn’t want to deal with her.”

Steve let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head. He bent over in his seat to grab a briefcase and some folders, then placed them on the brunet’s desk.

“This briefcase is yours. We searched it as per protocol. While I don’t approve of the contents, Agent Fury believed some of the items may be essential for other operations.”

As the agent spoke, Tony opened the container. Inside, there was twenty-one passports for seven different small countries, foreign currency, various fake identity cards, and a handgun. After a quick inspection, he closed it. Everything was in order. Long ago, the briefcase was prepared in case of an emergency that would require Tony, Pepper, or Happy escaping the United States or any other threats. It had never been used- the only time Tony felt scared enough to use it was yesterday, and it was no longer necessary.

“The folder is everything we know about your assignment,” Steve continued, “The Bureau was thinking that we would try to set up a meeting with Black Widow tomorrow.”

The criminal grabbed the folder and skimmed the contents. Raising his eyebrow at the agent’s lofty goals, he stated flatly, “We can set up the meeting, but we might not be able to meet her tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

Tony sighed, “She decides the meeting.”

“So, for all we know, it takes eight months?”

“Right.”

Agent Rogers frowned. “Great. What else do you know about her?”

“Only so much. She’s pretty secretive. Obviously good at her job. Loyal to money, but usually takes contracts for the Russian Mafia. She’s focused in New York. Though, last I heard, she’s done hits in L.A. too. The Bratva likes her because she does everything cleanly. As far as I know, those high heel marks you have are her only mistake.”

Grabbing the folder and a pen from Tony’s desk, Steve jotted down the given information. Unsatisfied, he tried to pry for more information. “That’s all you have?”

“Unfortunately. The only thing we can do now is go to Brighton Beach and call her,” the criminal shrugged, “I can bring her to you, but I never said it was going to be easy.”

Rubbing his temples, Steve Rogers shook his head and muttered, “Fine. We’ll see you tomorrow at the FBI office at ten. I take it that you have your company to attend to, so I’ll leave you to do your business. Don’t be late, Tony.”

At eight in the morning, Tony Stark arrived at the Stark Industries skyscraper. Walking into the building, greeting a surprised security guard, and going up the elevator, he soon reached his office. At her desk, Pepper typed away at replies to dozens of emails from clients who wanted to meet with the illustrious businessman. She glanced up as the elevator ringed, a look of confusion was present on her face as she noticed it was her boss at the elevator door.

“Morning- what’s the rush today, Mr. Stark?” she asked as she rolled her wheeled office chair away from her computer to see him better. Today, he was looking nicer than usual. She knew that he had to do an important operation today, but she did not think that he would take it as a reason to look even more polished than he usually did.

Tony shrugged as he sat in a chair across from his assistant. Grabbing some papers from her “TO: ANTHONY STARK” bin, he shuffled through each of them. They were mostly press requests to hear about Stark Industries’ latest advances in robotics and other scientific fields, but some were encrypted messages for deals regarding his other business. Unfortunately, he did not have time to address them today. Today, he’d be working for the enemy of his underground clients.

“Are you nervous?” Pepper realized, with a large smile on her face, “Anthony Stark? Nervous? What a world we live in.”

Cheeks turning a light pink, Tony rolled his eyes and replied, “No. I’m not nervous, Pepper. I just wanted to see you before I went to Brighton.” Only half of that statement was true.

“You are nervous!” His assistant laughed as she wheeled her chair over to his side. She rubbed the small of his back and encouraged him with a smile. “You’ll do great, boss.”

“Thanks. Hopefully, Black Widow doesn’t realize that I’m about to throw her in jail and kills me,” Tony mumbled. Truth be told, Tony was more nervous about meeting Black Widow than he was about summoning her. If they somehow knew that he was not going for a hit, but instead trying to arrest her, he would be done for. Getting shot in the back of the head was not the way that Anthony Stark wanted to go out.

The criminal stood up and gave his friend a thin smile. She believed in him, and so all he needed to do was believe in himself. (At least, that’s what he told himself.) He squeezed her shoulder as she smiled in return, giving a thumbs up as he turned to leave back through the elevator.

As the lift doors closed, Pepper shouted, “Take her down, Tony!”

He made his way back to his car and slid into the soft, leather backseat of his car. Giving Happy the okay to begin driving, the two made their way to the Bureau's headquarters.

“Thanks for telling me to go early,” Tony said quietly, which made his driver look in the rearview mirror and give him an encouraging grin.

“Miss Potts always knows how to bring the morale up, sir,” Happy nodded as he honked at a jaywalker. New York City traffic never stopped for anyone, and that included a criminal overlord. The jaywalker flipped the car off and shouted profanities. Happy sighed, but continued to speak as he pushed on through the city.

“Agent Rogers informed me that I would be allowed to sit in on the surveillance of the bar. But he told me that it would be purely audio.” Upon hearing that his bodyguard would be present, Tony seemed to relax a little.

Happy continued, “They’ll be giving you a watch with a wiretap system on it. If they’re using the same technology that I’m experienced with, you can turn it on and off, but I suggest you keep it on. It might give the Bureau the wrong ideas if you turn it off. It also has GPS tracking, so I assume they’ll be taking off your ankle monitor. Don't run, or that'll be bad news for both of us.”

The criminal nodded- that seemed fair and was obvious. Why would he want to disconnect or escape from the one group capable of saving his ass in a Bratva bar anyways?

And with that, the car pulled into the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s parking garage.

At the elevators, two agents that Tony recognized were standing and chatting quietly. It was Agent Barnes and Maximoff. Happy opened the door for him as the two approached the vehicle.

“Mr. Hogan, Mr. Stark, thank you for coming,” Agent Maximoff said as she shook the two’s hands, “Agent Rogers is waiting for you upstairs, Mr. Stark. Mr. Hogan, if you’ll come with Agent Barnes and I, we’ll show you the surveillance mechanism.”

The brunette gestured to a vehicle that had been painted to look like a plumbing van. To Tony, it seemed convincing. Hopefully, the Russian mafia would think the same and not realize that they were being spied on. Agent Maximoff ushered for the bodyguard to follow her as she moved towards the van. With Stark, Agent Barnes pressed the elevator button, gestured to the lift when the doors opened, and pressed a button labeled “20” after swiping his ID card. Once the criminal made it inside, the agent left the elevator to join the other agent and Happy.

Eventually, the elevator made it to the twentieth floor. Stepping out of the elevator, he was immediately greeted by Agent Wilson, the man who was undercover as Paint.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Stark, glad to finally meet the legend without the disguise,” Agent Wilson grinned cheekily, “People here don’t call me Paint- it’s Special Agent Sam Wilson. Though Sam works too. I’ll be watching over Miss Potts today while you work.”

“So you’ll be at the office today?” Tony asked, “Under what guise?”

“A client that you had to meet- Paint, of course. I came the other day and you weren’t there, so your assistant rescheduled me for today. Well, that was after I told her that I needed to have a cover identity. She suggested that we go to lunch and discuss business together in your stead. Clever girl you got, Stark.”

The criminal chuckled and nodded. Indeed, his good friend was clever.

"How do you like Rogers so far?” Wilson asked.

“He’s an agent,” Tony said bluntly as he shrugged, “Got a bit of a stick in his rear.”

“Yeah, that’s the supervisory special agent for you. Good man though, he’ll treat you well. He’s studied your case for years. He’s practically your biggest fan.”

So they knew all that time? Tony thought to himself as he raised an eyebrow at the statement, Probably have a lot more dirt on me than I thought. Need to ask Happy to investigate that. He would have to get access his file somehow.

The two walked as they continued Tony’s introduction to the office and its workers and, soon enough, they reached the office of Steve Rogers. Entering, the criminal looked around as Agent Wilson spoke to Rogers for a brief moment. Tony had never seen the office space before- the last time he was here he was held in an interrogation room.

There were dozens of certificates and plaques hung up along the walls. He had an old, worn vinyl chair and scratched mahogany desk with paperwork neatly stacked in a corner. Compared to Mr. Stark’s luxurious desk made from African woods, real leather office chair, and incredibly messy workspace, Agent Rogers’ seemed more official. Tony did not really need an office; he only used it for meetings with business partners or a place for him to hang out when he did not want to spend his time in his private lab.

Finishing their conversation, Agent Wilson waved goodbye to Stark as he left the room. Shutting the door after the agent, Steve gestured to another worn chair for Tony to sit in. Making himself as comfortable as he could- the chairs weren’t very ergonomic or soft- the wealthy man sat and listened to the briefing by the agent.

Steve began, “We’ll be giving you a Rolex watch and you--”

“A Rolex! Where did you guys get that money?” Tony interjected.

The agent sighed, “You aren’t our only high profile criminal that we have arrested, Tony. The DEA and the Bureau worked together on a case to capture a small-time drug lord who enjoyed collecting watches. We filed and collected the evidence, so we have a lot of watches. The tech experts fitted this watch with a microphone and tracking device, so we could use it for undercover operations like these. Can I continue?”

Tony nodded, satisfied with the blond’s answer.

“Thank you. You’ll be leaving it on when you go to contact Black Widow. We’ll take off your tracking band,” Steve stopped giving instructions to pull out a key from his pocket. He gestured for Tony to bring his ankle up and took off the tracker. In its departure, Steve brought out the watch and handed it to the criminal to put on. With that, he continued speaking.

“If you think your cover is blown, don’t do anything. Try to act calm. But, if you know your cover is blown, use the code words ‘the simple life’ in a sentence. We’ll come in and do what we can, though that will destroy the operation. Use it wisely. If they take you somewhere, we’ll track you down with the watch’s GPS signal. Got it?”

“Sounds easy enough,” the criminal said as he admired his watch.

“Great,” the agent said as he went to grab his jacket, which was slung over his chair, “Then let’s head to the beach.”

After a long hour of driving, Tony and the Bureau made it to Brighton Beach. He had to drive in a separate vehicle to deter any suspicion. Why would Anthony Stark, an incredibly wealthy man, go to the beach in a repair vehicle? He took his Rolls Royce instead.

Stepping out of his car and locking the door thrice- he saw the way the people stared at his car- Tony stuffed his keys into his suit pocket and gazed at his watch for a moment. Sure hope it works, he thought to himself.

Taking in his surroundings, he noticed the lines of Russian shops and restaurants that filled the boardwalk. “I’m definitely in the right place,” he muttered to himself as he began to walk down the wooden pathway. He passed little trinket shops, crab shacks, and Russian bathhouses. Looking for the bar named Pautina, which was a known hangout for the Bratva, Tony stared at the storefronts. While he walked, people stared at him. It was uncommon to be wearing a designer suit to the beach.

Eventually, the criminal found his destination. Taking a quick look around, he noticed the plumbing van, the FBI’s cover, parked at a reasonable distance in a little lot. Near the vehicle on a bench, sat Agent Barnes in boardshorts, flip flops, and a loose, Hawaiian shirt reading a newspaper and wearing headphones. At a beach entrance, Agent Maximoff appeared to be taking photos of the ocean while wearing headphones and a simple swimsuit cover-up dress. On each of the agents, Tony noticed a bump on their bodies. From that, he deduced that they had brought their weapons just in case. He felt a little safer.

When the male walked into Pautina, both agents muttered, “Iron Man has entered,” which was inaudible to passersby.

Once Tony entered the establishment, he noticed that there were a lot of Russians. It made sense because Brighton Beach was known as Little Russia, but how many of those men were a part of the mafia? The men playing cards in the corner looked like they could break every single bone in his body, then seal them back together using brute force. The woman seducing what seemed like a tourist could probably slit the man's throat. For all he knew, she was Black Widow. He swallowed his anxiety and walked over to the dirty bar where the bartender stood talking with clients.

The bartender was an older man who looked like he had fought in many wars. His face, wrinkled and worn with time, had a nose which was broken beyond repair. The man could probably split Tony in half if he spoke wrong.

Approached by Tony, the bartender looked up from his conversation and asked in a thick, Russian accent, “What can I get you?”

The criminal looked around, nervous as if someone could hear him, and said, “You got single malt scotch? On the rocks, please.”

Pouring out Tony’s drink, the old man joked, “What is man like you doing in Brighton Beach? Anthony Stark, you are big businessman! Do you not go to Hamptons?”

Great. He knows who I am. ...The cover isn’t blown, though. Just...stay calm Tony. He drank the cup in a few sips and placed it down. When the bartender went to pour another one, he shook his head.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” The bartender took the glass away.

“I’m just visiting Brighton on business,” the brunet answered, watching as the other clients at the bar moved away to play pool, “Really craving a White Spider right now though, heard Pautina was a good place to get it. Can I get that?”

The old man looked unfazed and nodded as he began to prepare the beverage. While the bartender mixed the components together, Tony spoke.

“Do you guys have the ingredients to make Chyornaya Vdova here?”

For a moment, Tony got nervous, as if he had said something wrong because the bartender stopped making the drink. His body tensed, and he almost wanted to call for help. However, the man went back to mixing the drink and replied in a hushed voice.

“Yes. We do. I did not take you for that kind of man, Mister Stark. Not many people ask for that.”

“I didn’t either, but sometimes you have to try new things,” the criminal responded in an equally hushed voice. “I’ll be here until tonight at nine. Then, I’m going back to the Stark Industries tower. Do you think you can make it for me by then? I don’t want to take up too much of your time right now- I have other things to deal with.” Tony glanced at his watch. She has nine hours to come.

“Of course. That is little time, but I will see what I can do. Do you have number I will call you at?” The man placed Tony’s drink on the counter and a napkin with a pen.

“Yeah, call me here.” He scribbled down his number and took a sip of the White Spider. The taste was disgusting to him, but he didn’t spit it out in kindness. Instead, he slid the drink back after taking a few more difficult sips.

Tony pulled out his wallet and dropped two one hundred dollar bills on the counter and waved goodbye to the bartender. The meeting was arranged.

“See you soon, Mister Stark.”

“Yeah, I look forward to it.”

His stomach somersaulted as he walked out of the bar and onto the boardwalk.

Sighing, he brought his arm up to his head and itched the back of his neck as he muttered, “It’s done. Now, we just wait.”

READ ON AO3 | FIC MASTERLIST | TWITTER

#fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #tony stark #steve rogers #*#*writing #*writes #untouchable

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uniteordie-usa · 7 years ago

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Obama Admin Allowed HEZBOLLAH to Smuggle Tons of Cocaine into the US

http://uniteordie-usa.com/obama-admin-allowed-hezbollah-to-smuggle-tons-of-cocaine-into-the-us/ http://uniteordie-usa.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/CocaineImportAgency-300x300.jpg Obama Admin Allowed HEZBOLLAH to Smuggle Tons of Cocaine into the US Cocaine Import Agency Seal PART I A GLOBAL THREAT EMERGES How Hezbollah turned to trafficking cocaine and laundering money through used cars to finance its expansion. In its determination to secure a nuclear deal with Iran, the Obama administration derailed an ambitious law enforcement...

Cocaine Import Agency Seal

PART I

A GLOBAL THREAT EMERGES

How Hezbollah turned to trafficking cocaine and laundering money through used cars to finance its expansion.

In its determination to secure a nuclear deal with Iran, the Obama administration derailed an ambitious law enforcement campaign targeting drug trafficking by the Iranian-backed terrorist group Hezbollah, even as it was funneling cocaine into the United States, according to a POLITICO investigation.

The campaign, dubbed Project Cassandra, was launched in 2008 after the Drug Enforcement Administration amassed evidence that Hezbollah had transformed itself from a Middle East-focused military and political organization into an international crime syndicate that some investigators believed was collecting $1 billion a year from drug and weapons trafficking, money laundering and other criminal activities.

Over the next eight years, agents working out of a top-secret DEA facility in Chantilly, Virginia, used wiretaps, undercover operations and informants to map Hezbollah’s illicit networks, with the help of 30 U.S. and foreign security agencies.

They followed cocaine shipments, some from Latin America to West Africa and on to Europe and the Middle East, and others through Venezuela and Mexico to the United States. They tracked the river of dirty cash as it was laundered by, among other tactics, buying American used cars and shipping them to Africa. And with the help of some key cooperating witnesses, the agents traced the conspiracy, they believed, to the innermost circle of Hezbollah and its state sponsors in Iran.

They followed cocaine shipments, tracked a river of dirty cash, and traced what they believed to be the innermost circle of Hezbollah and its state sponsors in Iran.

But as Project Cassandra reached higher into the hierarchy of the conspiracy, Obama administration officials threw an increasingly insurmountable series of roadblocks in its way, according to interviews with dozens of participants who in many cases spoke for the first time about events shrouded in secrecy, and a review of government documents and court records. When Project Cassandra leaders sought approval for some significant investigations, prosecutions, arrests and financial sanctions, officials at the Justice and Treasury departments delayed, hindered or rejected their requests.

The Justice Department declined requests by Project Cassandra and other authorities to file criminal charges against major players such as Hezbollah’s high-profile envoy to Iran, a Lebanese bank that allegedly laundered billions in alleged drug profits, and a central player in a U.S.-based cell of the Iranian paramilitary Quds force. And the State Department rejected requests to lure high-value targets to countries where they could be arrested.

December 15, 2011

Hezbollah is linked to a $483,142,568 laundering scheme

The money, allegedly laundered through the Lebanese Canadian Bank and two exchange houses, involved approximately 30 U.S. car buyers.

Read the document

“This was a policy decision, it was a systematic decision,” said David Asher, who helped establish and oversee Project Cassandra as a Defense Department illicit finance analyst. “They serially ripped apart this entire effort that was very well supported and resourced, and it was done from the top down.”

The untold story of Project Cassandra illustrates the immense difficulty in mapping and countering illicit networks in an age where global terrorism, drug trafficking and organized crime have merged, but also the extent to which competing agendas among government agencies — and shifting priorities at the highest levels — can set back years of progress.

And while the pursuit may be shadowed in secrecy, from Latin American luxury hotels to car parks in Africa to the banks and battlefields of the Middle East, the impact is not: In this case, multi-ton loads of cocaine entering the United States, and hundreds of millions of dollars going to a U.S.-designated terrorist organization with vast reach.

Obama had entered office in 2009 promising to improve relations with Iran as part of a broader rapprochement with the Muslim world. On the campaign trail, he had asserted repeatedly that the Bush administration’s policy of pressuring Iran to stop its illicit nuclear program wasn’t working, and that he would reach out to Tehran to reduce tensions.

The man who would become Obama’s top counterterrorism adviser and then CIA director, John Brennan, who became CIA director in 2013., went further. He recommended in a policy paper that “the next president has the opportunity to set a new course for relations between the two countries” through not only a direct dialogue, but “greater assimilation of Hezbollah into Lebanon’s political system.”

Barack Obama John Brennan

By May 2010, Brennan, then assistant to the president for homeland security and counterterrorism, confirmed in a speech that the administration was looking for ways to build up “moderate elements” within Hezbollah.

“Hezbollah is a very interesting organization,” Brennan told a Washington conference, saying it had evolved from “purely a terrorist organization” to a militia and, ultimately, a political party with representatives in the Lebanese Parliament and Cabinet, according to a Reuters report.

“There is certainly the elements of Hezbollah that are truly a concern to us what they’re doing,” Brennan said. “And what we need to do is to find ways to diminish their influence within the organization and to try to build up the more moderate elements.”

In practice, the administration’s willingness to envision a new role for Hezbollah in the Middle East, combined with its desire for a negotiated settlement to Iran’s nuclear program, translated into a reluctance to move aggressively against the top Hezbollah operatives, according to Project Cassandra members and others.

Lebanese arms dealer Ali Fayad, a suspected top Hezbollah operative whom agents believed reported to Russian President Vladimir Putin as a key supplier of weapons to Syria and Iraq, was arrested in Prague in the spring of 2014. But for the nearly two years Fayad was in custody, top Obama administration officials declined to apply serious pressure on the Czech government to extradite him to the United States, even as Putin was lobbying aggressively against it.

Fayad, who had been indicted in U.S. courts on charges of planning the murders of U.S. government employees, attempting to provide material support to a terrorist organization and attempting to acquire, transfer and use anti-aircraft missiles, was ultimately sent to Beirut. He is now believed by U.S. officials to be back in business, and helping to arm militants in Syria and elsewhere with Russian heavy weapons.

March 26, 2014

Indictment of Ali Fayad

The indictment alleges Fayad, along with his co-conspirators, agreed to provide the FARC with weapons to kill U.S. and Colombian officials.

Read the document

Project Cassandra members say administration officials also blocked or undermined their efforts to go after other top Hezbollah operatives including one nicknamed the ‘Ghost, linked to multi-ton U.S.-bound cocaine loads and weapons shipments to Middle East.,” allowing them to remain active despite being under sealed U.S. indictment for years. People familiar with his case say the Ghost has been one of the world’s biggest cocaine traffickers, including to the U.S., as well as a major supplier of conventional and chemical weapons for use by Syrian President Bashar Assad against his people.

And when Project Cassandra agents and other investigators sought repeatedly to investigate and prosecute Abdallah Safieddine, Hezbollah’s longtime envoy to Iran, whom they considered the linchpin of Hezbollah’s criminal network, the Justice Department refused, according to four former officials with direct knowledge of the cases.

The administration also rejected repeated efforts by Project Cassandra members to charge Hezbollah’s military wing as an ongoing criminal enterprise under a federal Mafia-style racketeering statute, task force members say. And they allege that administration officials declined to designate Hezbollah a “significant transnational criminal organization” and blocked other strategic initiatives that would have given the task force additional legal tools, money and manpower to fight it.

Former Obama administration officials declined to comment on individual cases, but noted that the State Department condemned the Czech decision not to hand over Fayad. Several of them, speaking on condition of anonymity, said they were guided by broader policy objectives, including de-escalating the conflict with Iran, curbing its nuclear weapons program and freeing at least four American prisoners held by Tehran, and that some law enforcement efforts were undoubtedly constrained by those concerns.

But the former officials denied that they derailed any actions against Hezbollah or its Iranian allies for political reasons.

“There has been a consistent pattern of actions taken against Hezbollah, both through tough sanctions and law enforcement actions before and after the Iran deal,” said Kevin Lewis, an Obama spokesman who worked at both the White House and Justice Department in the administration.

Lewis, speaking for the Obama administration, provided a list of eight arrests and prosecutions as proof. He made special note of a February 2016 operation in which European authorities arrested an undisclosed number of alleged members of a special Hezbollah business affairs unit that the DEA says oversees its drug trafficking and other criminal money-making enterprises.

Project Cassandra officials, however, noted that the European arrests occurred after the negotiations with Iran were over, and said the task force initiated the multinational partnerships on its own, after years of seeing their cases shot down by the Justice and State departments and other U.S. agencies.

The Justice Department, they pointed out, never filed corresponding U.S. criminal charges against the suspects arrested in Europe, including one prominent Lebanese businessman formally designated by the Treasury Department for using his “direct ties to Hezbollah commercial and terrorist elements” to launder bulk shipments of illicit cash for the organization throughout Asia, Europe and the Middle East.

A former senior national security official of the Obama administration, who played a role in the Iran nuclear negotiations, suggested that Project Cassandra members were merely speculating that their cases were being blocked for political reasons. Other factors, including a lack of evidence or concerns about interfering with intelligence operations could have been in play.

“What if the CIA or the Mossad had an intelligence operation ongoing inside Hezbollah and they were trying to pursue someone . . . against whom we had impeccable [intelligence] collection and the DEA is not going to know that?” the official said. “I get the feeling people who don’t know what’s going on in the broader universe are grasping at straws.”

The official added: “The world is a lot more complicated than viewed through the narrow lens of drug trafficking. So you’re not going to let CIA rule the roost, but you’re also certainly not going to let DEA do it either. Your approach to anything as complicated as Hezbollah is going to have to involve the interagency [process], because the State Department has a piece of the pie, the intelligence community does, Treasury does, DOD does.”

Nonetheless, other sources independent of Project Cassandra confirmed many of the allegations in interviews with POLITICO, and in some cases, in public comments.

One Obama-era Treasury official, Katherine Bauer, in little-noticed written testimony presented last February to the House Committee on Foreign Affairs, acknowledged that “under the Obama administration … these [Hezbollah-related] investigations were tamped down for fear of rocking the boat with Iran and jeopardizing the nuclear deal.”

February 16, 2017

Katherine Bauer testimony to the House Committee on Foreign Affairs

Former Treasury official criticizes the Obama administration.

Read the document

As a result, some Hezbollah operatives were not pursued via arrests, indictments, or Treasury designations that would have blocked their access to U.S. financial markets, according to Bauer, a career Treasury official, who served briefly in its Office of Terrorist Financing as a senior policy adviser for Iran before leaving in late 2015. And other “Hezbollah facilitators”arrested in France, Colombia, Lithuania have not been extradited — or indicted — in the U.S., she wrote.

Bauer, in an interview, declined to elaborate on her testimony.

Asher, for one, said Obama administration officials expressed concerns to him about alienating Tehran before, during and after the Iran nuclear deal negotiations. This was, he said, part of an effort to “defang, defund and undermine the investigations that were involving Iran and Hezbollah,” he said.

“The closer we got to the [Iran deal], the more these activities went away,” Asher said. “So much of the capability, whether it was special operations, whether it was law enforcement, whether it was [Treasury] designations — even the capacity, the personnel assigned to this mission — it was assiduously drained, almost to the last drop, by the end of the Obama administration.”

With much fanfare, Obama announced the final agreement on implementation of the Iran deal on Jan. 17, 2016, in which Tehran promised to shelve efforts to build a nuclear weapons program in exchange for being released from crippling international economic sanctions.

Within months, task force officials said, Project Cassandra was all but dead. Some of its most senior officials, including Jack Kelly, the veteran DEA supervisory agent who created and led the task force, were transferred to other assignments. And Asher himself left the task force long before that, after the Defense Department said his contract would not be renewed.

As a result, the U.S. government lost insight into not only drug trafficking and other criminal activity worldwide, but also into Hezbollah’s illicit conspiracies with top officials in the Iranian, Syrian, Venezuelan and Russian governments — all the way up to presidents Nicolas Maduro, Assad and Putin, according to former task force members and other current and former U.S. officials.

The derailment of Project Cassandra also has undermined U.S. efforts to determine how much cocaine from the various Hezbollah-affiliated networks is coming into the United States, especially from Venezuela, where dozens of top civilian and military officials have been under investigation for more than a decade. Recently, the Trump administration designated the country’s vice president, a close ally of Hezbollah and of Lebanese-Syrian descent, as a global narcotics kingpin.

Meanwhile, Hezbollah — in league with Iran — continues to undermine U.S. interests in Iraq, Syria and throughout wide swaths of Latin America and Africa, including providing weapons and training to anti-American Shiite militias. And Safieddine, the Ghost and other associates continue to play central roles in the trafficking of drugs and weapons, current and former U.S. officials believe.

“They were a paramilitary organization with strategic importance in the Middle East, and we watched them become an international criminal conglomerate generating billions of dollars for the world’s most dangerous activities, including chemical and nuclear weapons programs and armies that believe America is their sworn enemy,” said Kelly, the supervisory DEA agent and lead coordinator of its Hezbollah cases.

“If they are violating U.S. statutes,” he asked, “why can’t we bring them to justice?”

May, 31, 2017

Indictment of Samer El Debek

From roughly 2008 to 2015, Debek allegedly received military training from training in surveillance, explosives and firearms.

Read the document

Kelly and Asher are among the officials involved in Project Cassandra who have been quietly contacted by the Trump administration and congressional Republicans, who said a special POLITICO report April 24 on Barack Obama’s hidden Iran deal concessions raised urgent questions about the need to resurrect key law enforcement programs to counter Iran.

That won’t be easy, according to former Project Cassandra members, even with President Donald Trump’s recent vow to crack down on Iran and Hezbollah. They said they tried to keep the project on life support, in hopes that it would be revived by the next administration, but the loss of key personnel, budget cuts and dropped investigations are only a few of many challenges made worse by the passage of nearly a year since Trump took office.

“You can’t let these things disintegrate,” said Kelly. “Sources evaporate. Who knows if we can find all of the people willing to testify?”

Derek Maltz, who oversaw Project Cassandra as the head of the DEA’s Special Operations Division for nine years ending in July 2014, put it this way: “Certainly there are targets that people feel that could have been indicted and weren’t. There is certainly an argument to be made that if tomorrow all the agencies were ordered to come together and sit in a room and put all the evidence on the table against all these bad guys, that there could be a hell of a lot of indictments.”

But Maltz said the damage wrought by years of political interference will be hard to repair.

“There’s no doubt in my mind now that the focus was this Iran deal and our initiative was kind of like a fly in the soup,” Maltz said. “We were the train that went off the tracks.”

Project Cassandra had its origins in a series of investigations launched in the years after the 9/11 attacks which all led, via their own twisted paths, to Hezbollah as a suspected global criminal enterprise.

Operation Titan, in which the DEA worked with Colombian authorities to explore a global alliance between Lebanese money launderers and Colombian drug trafficking conglomerates, was one. Operation Perseus, targeting Venezuelan syndicates, was another. At the same time, DEA agents in West Africa were investigating the suspicious flow of thousands of used cars from U.S. dealerships to car parks in Benin.

Meanwhile, in Iraq, the U.S. military was probing the role of Iran in outfitting Shiite militias with high-tech improvised explosive devices known as Explosively Formed Penetrators, or EFPs, that had already killed hundreds of U.S. soldiers.

All of these paths eventually converged on Hezbollah.

This wasn’t entirely a surprise, agents say. For decades, Hezbollah — in close cooperation with Iranian intelligence and Revolutionary Guard — had worked with supporters in Lebanese communities around the world to create a web of businesses that were long suspected of being fronts for black-market trading. Along the same routes that carried frozen chicken and consumer electronics, these businesses moved weapons, laundered money and even procured parts for Iran’s illicit nuclear and ballistic missile programs.

As they pursued their investigations, the DEA agents found that Hezbollah was redoubling all of these efforts, working urgently to raise cash, and lots of it, to rebuild its south Lebanon stronghold after a 2006 war with Israel had reduced it to rubble.

Dating back to its inception in the early 1980s, Hezbollah, which translates to “Party of God,” had also engaged in “narcoterrorism,” collecting a tariff from drug dealers and other black-market suppliers who operated in territory it controlled in Lebanon and elsewhere. Now, based on the DEA’s extensive network of informants, undercover operatives and wiretaps, it looked like Hezbollah had shifted tactics, and gotten directly involved in the global cocaine trade, according to interviews and documents, including a confidential DEA assessment.

“It was like they flipped a switch,” Kelly told POLITICO. “All of a sudden, they reversed the flow of all of the black-market activity they had been taxing for years, and took control of the operation.”

Operating like an organized crime family, Hezbollah operatives would identify businesses that might be profitable and useful as covers for cocaine trafficking and buy financial stakes in them, Kelly and others said. “And if the business was successful and suited their current needs,” Kelly said, “they went from partial owners to majority owners to full partnership or takeover.”

Hezbollah even created a special financial unit that, translated into English, means “Business Affairs Component,” to oversee the sprawling criminal operation, and it was run by the world’s most wanted terrorist after Osama bin Laden, a notoriously vicious Hezbollah military commander named Imad MughniyehImad MughniyehA Hezbollah mastermind who oversaw its international operations and, the DEA says, its drug trafficking, as head of its military wing, the Islamic Jihad Organization., according to DEA interviews and documents.

Mughniyeh had for decades been the public face of terrorism for Americans, orchestrating the infamous attack that killed 241 U.S. Marines in 1983 in their barracks in Lebanon, and dozens more Americans in attacks on the U.S. Embassy in Beirut that year and an annex the year after. When President Ronald Reagan responded to the attacks by withdrawing peacekeeping troops from Lebanon, Hezbollah claimed a major victory and vaulted to the forefront of the Islamist resistance movement against the West.

Over the next 25 years, Iran’s financial and military support for Hezbollah enabled it to amass an army with tens of thousands of foot soldiers, more heavy armaments than most nation-states and approximately 120,000 rockets and ballistic missiles that could strike Israel and U.S. interests in the region with devastating precision.

Hezbollah became an expert in soft power, as well. It provided food, medical care and other social services for starving refugees in war-torn Lebanon, winning credibility on the ground. It then evolved further into a powerful political party, casting itself as the defender of poor, mostly Shiite Lebanese against Christian and Sunni Muslim elites. But even as Hezbollah was moving into the mainstream of Lebanese politics, Mughniyeh was overseeing a secret expansion of its terrorist wing, the Islamic Jihad Organization. Working with Iranian intelligence agents, Islamic Jihad continued to attackWestern, Israeli and Jewish targets around the world, and to conduct surveillance on others — including in the United States — in preparation for future attacks.

Hezbollah mostly left the United States alone, in what was clearly a strategic decision to avoid U.S. retaliation. But by 2008, the Bush administration came to believe that Islamic Jihad was the most dangerous terrorist organization in the world, capable of launching instantaneous attacks, possibly with chemical, biological or low-grade nuclear weapons, that would dwarf those on 9/11.

By funding terrorism and military operations through global drug trafficking and organized crime, Mughniyeh’s business affairs unit within Islamic Jihad had become the embodiment of the kind of threat the United States was struggling to address in the post-9/11 world.

The DEA believed that it was the logical U.S. national security agency to lead the interagency effort to go after Mughniyeh’s drug trafficking networks. But within the multipronged U.S. national security apparatus, this was both a questionable and problematic assertion.

Established by President Richard Nixon in 1973 to bring together the various anti-drug programs under the Department of Justice, the DEA was among the youngest of the U.S. national security agencies.

And while the DEA had quickly proven itself adept at working on the global stage — especially in partnerships with drug-infested countries desperate for U.S. help like Colombia — few people within the U.S. government thought of it as a legitimate counterterrorism force.

In the final years of the Bush administration, though, the DEA had won the support of top officials for taking down two major international arms dealers, a Syrian named Monzer al-Kassarand the Russian “Lord of War,” Viktor Bout. And thanks to supportive Republicans in Congress, it had become the beneficiary of a new federal law that empowered its globe-trotting cadre of assault-weapon-toting Special Operations agents.

The statute allowed DEA agents to operate virtually anywhere, without permission required from other U.S. agencies. All they needed to do was connect drug suspects to terrorism, and they could arrest them, haul them back to the United States and flip them in an effort to penetrate “the highest levels of the world’s most significant and notorious criminal organizations,” as then-Special Operations chief Maltz told Congress in November 2011.

As they crunched the massive amounts of intel streaming into the DEA’s Counter Narco-Terrorism Operations Center in Chantilly, Virginia, the agents on Operation Titan, Perseus and the other cases began to connect the dots and map the contours of one overarching criminal enterprise.

Read More: https://www.politico.com/interactives/2017/obama-hezbollah-drug-trafficking-investigation/

#Hezbollah #Obama Administration #Project Cassandra

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inexcon · 7 years ago

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RSI Comm-Link: Plain Truth: Shadow State

< Transmission Begins >

In the land of misinformation, we must rely on the truth to be our guide. No matter how dark and hazy it gets, we must continue our crusade toward the light. This journey begins with us and it starts right here. My name is Parker Terrell, and it’s time for the Plain Truth.

The other day, a news alert popped up on my mobi, a simple headline that said Storm Securities financed the failed assassination of Imperator Costigan. That was it. One simple, declarative statement and the alert went away.

As it turns out, after evidence surfaced that this vaunted company had made payments to Maurice Vano, the assailant killed fleeing the failed assassination of Imperator Costigan, law enforcement raided their New Junction headquarters to look for more information. Publications were suddenly claiming that Storm Securities wasn’t just a company that had once hired Vano for some work. No, these so-called ‘news organizations’ decided to drop all pretense of due process and label Storm Securities as the financier behind the entire operation, without providing a shred of evidence outside of a single, unnamed source.

Now, this took me a bit by surprise because I know the folks who run Storm Securities. Their founder, Hamsa Paul, is a friend of the show, actually. We had him on several years back after a few of their contractors were involved in an unfortunate incident with the Advocacy.

But, we’ll circle back to that point later, because the second I read the news about Storm Securities, I reached out to Hamsa Paul for a comment. The truth of the matter is that Storm Securities hired Vano to do some legal security work and paid him out. That’s it. The company completes hundreds, if not thousands, of similar contracts every year. Yet, the Advocacy still kicked down their front door and used this small connection to Vano as an excuse to help themselves to the company’s records.

I don’t believe the “unnamed Advocacy source” for a second. No, instead I see this new development as a sign that we’ve entered a dangerous new part of the investigation — score settling. The failed assassination of Imperator Costigan has triggered the UEE’s shadow state into action, affording them the political cover to attack their adversaries and further their own sinister agenda.

Some of you have heard me rant and rave about this shadow state before — a cabal of people so powerful that most of the public isn’t aware that they’re the ones pulling the UEE’s strings. I know some of you are shaking your head, asking if this shadow state is so powerful and secretive, then why’s little ol’ Parker Terrell know about it?

Because I’m paying attention.

For instance, have you noticed how little information is truly out there about the attack on Imperator Costigan? Yeah, sure, every day a pundit hops on the spectrum to spin some wild new theory about how it was a Xi’an crime syndicate or some Tevarin separatist group behind it all. But the actual facts of the case are few and far between. Almost like someone doesn’t want us to know what really happened …

Don’t believe me? Well, let’s take a moment and examine exactly what we know about the assassination. Let’s toss every bit of unconfirmed information out the hatch and focus on things we know. That we can prove.

On May 30th, reports of an incident at the Banking Federation Summit in New York City flooded the spectrum. Two verified points rose above all the noise. First, that an assassination attempt aimed at Imperator Costigan had failed, but left one member of the 1st Marine Combat Battalion dead. Second, an individual believed to be involved in the attack was shot dead while fleeing the scene.

Exactly one week after this dramatic incident, Imperator Costigan makes his first public appearance. He arrives on the Senate floor to advocate for the Human-Xi’an Trade Initiative moments before a vote is scheduled on it. This highly unorthodox move would’ve created a political firestorm under normal conditions. HuXa opponents fume at the theatrics, but understand that criticizing the Imperator at such a time would only backfire. A vote is held and HuXa passes by a razor thin margin.

The morning after HuXa was passed, Advocacy Director Thomas Carmody holds his first press conference since the day of the failed assassination. He reveals the name of the individual killed fleeing the scene to be Maurice Vano. He also claims that Vano’s system had a “significant amount” of the new designer drug called Flow in it, but provides no relevant information past that.

Journalists investigate Vano and reveal that he’s ex-Navy. He worked as a merc for decades and has some tenuous ties to a hardlined Terran independence group. The Advocacy raids his flat and hangars. Boxes upon boxes of personal belongings are removed, but there’s no further official comment. His neighbors are hauled in for interviews and then, according to one of them, advised to avoid making comments in the press. Some end up speaking to journalists anyway, but they all say the same thing: Vano kept to himself, but occasionally had outbursts of anger. A description that could be applied to many others.

Despite his checkered past, very little information about his actions over the previous year has surfaced. That is, until last week’s raid on Storm Securities. Suddenly, someone in the Advocacy is leaking like a sieve, claiming that the company might’ve financed the entire operation.

Doesn’t that seem strange? In the two months since the failed assassination, all we’ve gotten from the Advocacy are bare bones facts about the attack and the name of the assailant. There hasn’t been one other leak out of the Advocacy until this “source” came forward to claim that Storm Securities financed the operation.

That got me wondering. Why now?

Well, some of you out there, much like me, might not be too surprised by this turn of events. You might even remember exactly why Storm Securities founder Hamsa Paul was on the show a few years ago.

If you don’t recall, back in 2945, a team of Storm Securities contractors were protecting a cargo hauler when it was jumped by members of the Otoni Syndicate. These security professionals turned the tables on their attackers and eliminated the threat, only to find out that one of the Otoni attackers was actually an undercover Advocacy agent.

The Advocacy came after Storm Securities, claiming that the agent had attempted to notify the operators of his true identity in an effort to maintain his cover, and that the company was liable for what happened. They made Hamsa Paul’s life a living hell for a year, but for all the Advocacy’s bluster, Storm Securities was ultimately cleared of all charges. They put the tragic event behind them, but the Advocacy doesn’t seem to have moved on.

It seems to me that scores are being settled, and this will be but the first controlled leak that happens. Despite all the lies designed to confuse or distract us, we must stay vigilant and on top of the truth more than ever before. The future of the UEE depends on it.

We need to take a quick break. When the Plain Truth returns, I’ll be speaking with Ezra Talen about the shadow state and his new book Whispers & Handshakes, which examines how the real empire-building is happening behind the scenes. That, and more, when we return.

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