The Division

[Red Beret]

THE DIVISION
A Modern Espionage RP

Out-of-Character Thread

01: Red Beret - Krylenko, Nikolai (Sickle)
02: MasterCrew - von Bohman, Othmar (Watcher)
03: Siphran - Tarret, Alteid (Styx)
04:

A spot is still being held for:
vince01 - Ishikawa, Kazuyoshi (Rain)

GM: Red Beret

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Undisclosed Location - Somewhere in the Pacific
10:00 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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"You're looking well."

"Let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? You know why I'm here."

"Ah, yes. If you'll follow me, I'll show you that all is in order."

"When do you expect to be operational?"

"My friend, we are already operational. We're waiting on you."

"That was quick."

"We employ a... motivated work force."

"I see. Well, acquring human capital is rather more time-consuming than building--"

"I thought we were never to discuss the operation aloud?"

"Right... well, as I said, it's going to take time."

"Of course."


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Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:03 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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Drs. Simon Egler, Samantha Corey, Burton Fields, Iosef Andreyev, Karl Werner, and Daisuke Niigata. Those were the names that Spencer Bates and his boys at Whitehall had picked up while listening to different chatter around the world. Ordinarily, a kidnapping scheme like this would be reported to the local authorities, who would act on the information in their own way, but the chatter had belonged to a network of neo-Soviet terrorists known as the Nezak, or Strangers. The fact that the Nezak were involved was particularly troubling--they had not been active since the downfall of the Syndicate back in 2008, a little less than four years ago. To further complicate matters, all of the targets had one thing in common--they had worked on various missile defense systems for various NATO governments, and at least one of them had a hand in the Odyssey Project.

Acting quickly had been paramount--Pierce had contacted the Police Nationale to inform them that four Division operatives would be arriving in Paris to provide additional security at the Marriott... needless to say, Krylenko, Ishikawa, Bolten, and von Bohman had been received rather coldly by the police, but the Division had acquired two rooms, side-by-side, on the hotel's second floor. Ishikawa and Krylenko shared space in one room, Bolten and von Bohman space in the other.

They'd toured the hotel, been assured that there was adequate security, and then been left to their devices, to plan accordingly over the next few days. They hadn't been able to smuggle any weapons in--the police checked them fervently, grudgingly allowing them to retain their handguns, in case of a dire emergency. Even now, as he surveyed the lobby of the Rive Gauche conference center, Krylenko was glad to at least have that familiar weight at the small of his back--the SIG-Sauer P229, chambered in .40 S&W, was a comfortable handgun. Perhaps not as concealable as the Walther PPK he'd become accustomed to in his service with the GRU, but definitely comfortable. He had come to find that he preferred Hornady ammunition, and even now the SIG was loaded with Hornady's 155-grain TAP ammo, high-quality, semi-jacketed hollow point ammunition that kept the targets dropping. Expensive, compared to other brands, but worth it in his opinion.

As the reception commenced below, Krylenko kept a vantage point on a walkway overlooking the lobby, where he could see Egler, Corey, and Werner mingling. Niigata was obscured from his view by one of the large columns, but he was sure that one of the others had a bead on him. He wasn't sure where Andreyev and Fields were, and though that bothered him, it was the precise reason that they had four operatives on the job. It was just a pity that they couldn't get their field equipment in here... the best they'd been able to do were throat mics, hidden by collars and ties, and an impossibly thin kevlar weave, which would protect them from small handguns, possibly submachine guns that used pistol ammunition, but nothing more. The throat-mic was accompanied by an almost-invisible earwig ear piece, which felt comfortable in Krylenko's ear... he'd grown used to the earpiece, loved being able to hear and converse with his teammates without letting his voice rise above a whisper.

There was something missing, though, and he realized that it was the Cross-Comm that the Division had been testing for little over a year now. He could hear his comrades, he could spot them and the targets by scanning the crowd, but the Cross-Comm system made it so much easier, identifying targets and teammates, and as the technology progressed, even giving names and other small pieces of information. It was good to practice finding things without it, though... people who relied on technology tended to get soft, quickly, as their instincts degraded and they were forced to rely more and more on their crutch.

"Krylenko, in position," he murmured, briefly cutting visual contact with the targets to scan the area around him. He heard the others confirm the same.

"Très bon," came the reply. The voice was female... deeper, somewhat throaty, but still feminine, "Satellites confirm no suspicious activity at the moment. Stay alert."

Stay alert. As if she had to remind them. Krylenko didn't say anything, merely scanned the crowd for his targets and relished the weight at the small of his back. He almost wished that the Nezak would try something here. He'd love to shoot one of the backward fucks... they were the reason it was dangerous to go home. They and the military personnel and politicians who had supplied them... but no, that was a distraction that could wait. Krylenko scanned the room again, feeling himself relax a little, calm down.

But still, deep in the back of his psyche, he hoped that the Nezak made a move...


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Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:05 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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"Are you ready?"

"I would be ready if you would stop pestering me about being ready. Do you know how difficult it is to assemble a rifle with someone prodding you in the back every five minutes?"

"Is no different from our days in the Army. You're getting soft."

"Shut up, already."

Nezak 4 finished assembling the AKS-74U as Nezak 5 kept a lookout. There were security personnel crawling about the place, though none of them seemed particularly worried. There was going to be no attack, not here in Paris, they thought. It was almost amazing that they had managed to get twelve Nezak soldiers into the hotel, fully armed. They had integrated themselves into the hotel and convention center staff easily over the past few weeks, all in preparation for tonight.

"All right. I am ready."

"Good."

The two Nezak hid their weapons from view on the janitor's trolley. Their uniforms identified them as the hotel's cleaning crew--the others were disguised as various other hotel employees. Not all of them were fortunate to have the assault rifles, but they did have automatic weapons stashed about the place, ready to go in a pinch. Their mission was simple... they were to apprehend two of the scientists from the list and get them to a drop point outside the city. From there, they would be free to make their escape. Six targets, twelve Nezak... and only two targets needed to leave the conference center. It was almost too easy.

"Nezak Lidera to Nezak," said a voice in Nezak 4's ear, "Leader to Nezak. Sound off."

Ten different voices sounded off... Lidera made eleven and Nezak 4 himself made twelve.

"Get into position. It is nearly time to strike."

[MasterCrew]

Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
19:58 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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The SIG-Sauer P229 was the first pistol to be manufactured in Exeter, New Hampshire. It is one of the most popular pistols and carried by thousands of law enforcement professionals throughout the world. The compact size of the P229 makes it ideal for concealed carry. But to the standards that Othmar von Bohman was acquainted with, this firearm barely reached minimum acceptability in the “concealed carry” category. The KX9 Throwing Knife, the fastest and most deadly knife ever created by the US. Made of High Carbon Stainless Steel, this blade is double-edged and only weighs 3 ounces. Gazing into his second floor, hotel room mirror, he peered at himself, doing a visual check of all equipment and clothing.

A well-trimmed tuxedo, designed especially for occasions such as this, gracefully disguised his firearm, which was holstered across his chest, and his four knives, strapped meticulously along the outside of his form fitting, white dress shirt. A throat microphone, secretly concealed in his bowtie, was a consort to his virtual undetectable earwig listening device. Communication is key to keeping an eye on multiple targets. Inside his perfectly ironed, white dress shirt rested a thin kevlar weave, which should in ideal circumstances guard from light machine gun rounds. The thrill of possibly facing hostile forces and testing his mettle against them was too alluring for him to linger on thoughts of his physical appearance. No matter what, this reception would have to start, and sooner seemed better than later.

Tightening the holster across his chest, Othmar synched up his bowtie, straightened his suit, and headed out towards the door. While walking in the hallway in the direction of the elevator, he reached into his pocket and pull out a rusty but ornate circular clock. The hands showed 8:00 pm on the dot.

“It’s show time,” Othmar whispered under his breath as he entered the elevator and pressed the “L1” button.

Focusing on the matter at hand, Othmar closed his eyes and murmured a short prayer as the elevator descended to the first level. The elevator stopped. With a soft sound of a bell, the two metal doors automatically opened to the elegant reception floor. While leisurely striding out of the elevator, Othmar glanced to his left and noticed that the concierge was not at his post. It was strangely unnerving since everyone else was manning their posts. The waiters were by the food, the welcome committee next to the soon to be opened doors, and the hotel managers waited eagerly at the front to disclose their hotels beauty. Over the past years of military involvement and reconnaissance experience, Othmar knew that this uneasiness about the empty concierge desk should be noted and kept a keen eye on. Scanning around the area, he deduced that his team was already in place.

“Heading towards outer pillars,” von Bohman proclaimed quickly through his throat microphone as he skipped his pace up to a jog.

Nearing the three, herculean pillars, von Bohman slowed his jog to a walk. Stopping at the third pillar, he waited for the reception to begin. Suddenly, the two gigantic doors on the far side of the room opened and in flooded the respectable masses.

"Krylenko, in position,” murmered Krylenko through the Cross-Comm.

”Watcher, in position,” he voiced as he spotted his targets come cordially walk in with other high and mighty personal.

Scanning fervently for the scientist, Othmar spotted Dr. Daisuke Niigata and Iosef Andreyev making their way over to the food stands near the pillars, opposite of him.

“I have a visual on Niigata and Andreyev, are the other targets located?” questioned von Bohman.

__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ________________

[vince01]

Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
19:30 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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From behind his non-prescription, wire-rimmed glasses, Ishikawa Kazuyoshi, codename: Rain, scanned the lobby expectantly from his seat in one of the corner sofas. The reception would be starting in half an hour, and already some attendants and attendees are mingling and ushering. Cacophonous sounds of French, English, German and scores of other languages seemed to permeate the very air of the lounge itself, giving the event a truly international feel.

And that was what Kazuyoshi had in mind when choosing his wardrobe: An anonymous, grey suit that is a tad bit too big, white shirt, black tie, matching pants, and shoes, and complemented by a non-prescription glasses as a way to change the shape of his face. All this worked in favor of projecting the persona of a typical Japanese sarariman(salaryman/bureaucrat), and in this case, Kazuyoshi’s cover is Kanzaki Goda, business consultant from an IT firm that works with the Japanese Government concerning matters of missile software technology. By adjusting his gait and expression, Kazuyoshi gave off the impression of just another businessman on orders from his boss to survey the conference.

What didn’t match his cover was the H&K USP Compact chambered with .45 bullets holstered in a shoulder holster artfully covered by his large suit. Primarily, he preferred the mk23, but due to the nature of the mission, a more concealable option is needed, and the USP Compact fitted the bill. Although if all goes well tonight, he won’t have to use it. Hopefully. This was his first assignment with the Division, and having worked solo for years, it is nice to finally have an organization backing him up again, especially if shit were about to hit the proverbial fan.

Nevertheless, Paris is a nice change of place from his usual Asian territory. He visited the city quite a few times in his mercenary days, and never grew tired of it. Over the years, his line of work were mostly exclusive to the urban terrain, where clients pay high price for certain targets to be eliminated without it being traced back to them. And now, sitting on the sofa, nursing a glass of unobtrusive glass of water while monitoring the entrance to the hotel, Rain is in his element.

A few minutes before the commencement of the reception, Kazuyoshi spied another operative from the Division, Othmar von Bohman, AKA Watcher, arriving at the lobby, and getting into position. Kazuyoshi himself was already in the lobby one hour ago, and have noted the arrival of the target scientists. Looks like it’s showtime. Right on cue, throngs of guests seemed to appear out of nowhere as the reception commenced at eight, and Kazuyoshi began to mingle with the incoming crowd, noting the general locations of each of the scientists, before placing his empty glass on a waiter’s tray and approaching the food stands near the pillar.

“Krylenko, in position.”

“Watcher, in position”

Two confirmations came from his team a few seconds from each other, coming in slightly crackled through the earpiece. “Rain, in position.” Rain breathed, keeping Drs Niigata and Andreyev, who are on the opposite side of the table, in his peripheral vision as he began to pile in his tray of food with some choice escargots.

Ah, the perks of the job.

“Oishii sou no esukarugoto, desu ne?” (Delicious-looking escargots, isn’t it?) The sudden burst of Japanese momentarily took Rain off-guard, before he quickly realized that it was the Japanese doctor who was addressing him, seemingly identifying Rain as a fellow countryman. Kazuyoshi smiled and agreed, before moving off the table with the two doctors, and introducing himself with the Goda identity. Dr Niigata proved to be an outgoing person, introducing his friend Dr Adreyev to Rain, and the conversation soon returned to English, as they began to discuss the potential missile technology market in the Asian region.

This was unexpected, but it provided Rain with an opportunity to stay close to the targets without arousing suspicions, and conversing with friends provides a better cover than if he were standing innocuously alone. Kazuyoshi smiled at this fortune, as he began to scan the crowds again while keeping the conversation going.

[LTDan]

Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
19:30 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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To call the man who was milling about the food tables, eating bitefuls that the yuppies and rich loved because it allowed them to watch their figure, out of place would be an understatement. Wearing a simple white shirt that had been ironed sloppily, slacks showing the same treatment and topped off with a new sport jacket that was brown. It clashed with his black trousers but it was the only thing he could find on sudden notice. Reaching under his arm Bolten scratched his armpit without much care to the look. Smearing some hippie cheese on a organic piece of shit cracker the marksmen glanced at his surroundings in disgust. Oh how he hated this assignment already. It was the type where they had to look after the rich and famous. Shoving the cracker in his mouth Jack swallowed it whole.

"Bolten in position, I wanna punch the guy who designed this place." Came the southern drawl laced with discontent. Indeed the lobby was a huge tactical nightmare. Same with the outside of this shitty place with narrow streets, a raised train track and tree galore. Plenty of cover for the attacker, none for the defender. God forbid the enemy actually breach the hotel because the entire layout was no conducive to defense. No siree or Jack wouldn't be mingling with these rich fuck faces. Across the street he tried setting up but that god forsaken train was in the way. A complete and total nightmare. Under his arm sat a fine American weapon, the Colt 1991 .45 auto pistol.

Another more personal nightmare Bolten was fighting was the attire. To mingle with rich fuck faces you had to dress like a rich fuck face. Problem with that is Jack would kill even for his damn combat fatigues. A suit made him itch while the tie, residing in a nearby trashcan, felt like it would choke him. Which would explain his tactless scratching. Some blond lady in a small black number walked up as he was reliving a spot on his leg. Jack nodded his head with a smile,

"Come here often?" After a sour look his way the woman abandoned her attempt at getting food. Instead she elected to get as far away from the tactless heathen as possible. To explain his tactlessness the Division came up with an ingenious core. An American worker accompanying his boss but in truth if that was the case then is drawl and obvious look belonging in a mine just sealed the deal. Not that many people would even dare his looks to talk with him. Sighing Jack went back to his eating as he watched the front doors. Completely out of his element.

[Red Beret]

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Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:04 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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Krylenko's eyes fell on Bolten, and he immediately wished the Division had assigned him a perch somewhere... even without the effective cover, he was drawing too much attention to himself. He'd already thrown away the tie... though if his antics drew attention away from the rest of them, perhaps it was all for the best. The Russian turned his attention away from the American, instead looking to locate the others. Ishikawa had given himself a golden opportunity, and was moving around with two of the targets... might make him a target himself, but at least the other two were safe. He didn't have a visual on von Bohman, but that was fine--Bolten was the only one who looked like he was going to need a babysitter on this one.

"We have visual on all targets except for Fields," Krylenko confirmed after Ishikawa, von Bohman, and Bolten checked in.

"Get a visual on Fields, then," Descoteaux's voice came over their line again, "Mon Dieu, Reaper, this is a matter of international security. These are very important people, try to keep that in mind, s'il vous plait."

"Heads up, Bolten," Krylenko said, "It seems that one of the guests reported you... you have security coming your way."

Two rather beefy-looking Frenchmen were making their way across the lobby toward the table Bolten was loitering at. That would be one pair of eyes that they lost because a team member couldn't suck it up and cooperate. A pair of janitors, one of them rolling a cart, had paused to watch the scene, too... Krylenko's eyes passed over them. They looked a little too fit, but everyone had their passions, and perhaps these two worked out.

He returned his attention to the lobby, but something drew his eyes back to the janitors. He could see the tip of a tattoo, barely visible above the collar of the jumpsuit, but he'd seen enough of them to recognize it. Nezak. The second man locked eyes with him, only for a brief second, but it was enough. Krylenko knew that at least one of the Nezak operatives knew they'd been made.

Krylenko kept calm, suppressing the urge to draw the P229 and fire, and went back to watching the lobby below. Shooting these two would be a mistake... Two Nezak up here, and heaven only knew how many were down there, or otherwise located around the conference center. He waited until the "janitors" passed by to alert the rest of the team.

"Confirm Nezak presence," he murmured, but the team would be able to hear him quite well, "At least two of them, there will definitely be more. Keep your guard up and stay alert..."

Stay alert. The one thing he didn't have to tell anyone on this mission... From the looks of it, though, this was not going to end well.


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Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:06 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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"Lidera, this is Nezak 8. We have completed our objective."

"Maladets, Nezak 8," came the reply, "Good job."

So, Dr. Burton Fields--an American aerospace engineer who had done work for the US Air Force and, more importantly, the American space program--was in the bag and moving away from the conference center even now... 8 and 9 had completed their mission early, and without force. They would be praised if they made it out of this alive. Nezak 4 and 5 made their way along the walkway, pausing to watch security approach an American on the other side of the lobby. Nezak 5 smirked, but didn't say anything... Nezak 4 knew that it was because he only spoke Russian, and didn't want to give himself away.

They were alone on the walkway, with the exception of one other man, who seemed to be watching the proceedings below. Nezak 4 noticed that they'd drawn his attention, though his eyes didn't seem to linger long. He wondered if the man was part of the hotel's security. He looked ex-military, but he was more likely former Intelligence, the subtle way he held himself. Nezak 4 had been Spetsnaz, himself, and one learned the little things. The man was most likely ex-GRU, but had likely been influenced by other agencies... perhaps a mole of some sort for Russian intelligence? Briefly, Nezak 4 wondered if there were others the Nezak had drafted into the plot. They'd done things like that before... the cell had political ties, after all.

His eyes moved to Nezak 5 again, and this time he spotted something, Nezak 4 could see the reaction, small as it was, out of the corner of his eye. He and 5 were compromised. For a moment, he and the man locked eyes, then he motioned for 5 to keep moving. The man said nothing, merely stayed where he was, and the two of them passed him and made it to the elevator without incident.

"Lidera, this is Nezak 4. We've been made."

"That is disappointing," came Lidera's reply as Nezak 5 looked at him, visibly confused, "You are to refrain from engaging your target unless absolutely necessary. Stand by to cover the others."

"Da," 4 confirmed, then shook his head at 5.

If they made it out alive, he'd let the fucker know that it was his damned tattoo that had ruined the mission...

[vince01]

Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:03 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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The conversation was going well, partly due to ‘Goda-san’ playing on the two doctor’s ego, and partly due to them being visibly buzzed by the glass of wines they have consumed after their small meal. In fact, another dark-skinned waiter promptly glided over to the trio to offer more alcoholic beverages, which Drs Niigata and Andreyev took gladly, while Kazuyoshi, claiming health issues, declined, even as the half-Japanese observed the Division’s very own “middle-class foreman” being approached by security.

Christ, that man sticks out like a sore thumb.

Still, this could offer some unexpected advantage, as surely no one expects that under such crass demeanor is a well-trained operative and a deadly sniper, and Reaper’s overt action could potentially hide his teammates’ more covert ones. Drawing attention to himself to effectively camouflage the rest of his team.

Goda-san turned back to the two scientists as the conversation predictably moved to the uncouth American, with Dr Andreyev sniffing his disdain and Niigata shaking his head, which was fortunate, as that meant they didn’t spot the hard ripple that permeates Rain’s facial features as Sickle’s voice crackled in:

"Confirm Nezak presence," the voice was tense, and Rain briefly imagined a tiger on a prowl, “At least two of them, there will definitely be more. Keep your guard up and stay alert..."

Looks like tonight is not going sail by in a breeze after all. Rain began to scan the crowd again for any suspicious behavior. Just as Kazuyoshi turned back to the scientists however, Dr Niigata’s features scrunched as he held his stomach, the same expression was mirrored in Andreyev’s. “To…toilet.” Dr Andreyev whispered, even as he gestured feebly, and Niigata nodded enthusiastically, both their motions hurried as they quickly made their way to the lobby restrooms before Goda-san could say a word. Rain watched the two doctors practically running to the restrooms, and shook his head as he continued to scan the room, before turning back and seeing a dark-skinned waiter placing a cleaning sign on that same toilet. Rain frowned, it was the same waiter that offered the beverages, and now he is accompanied by another Caucasian waiter. Both of them looked fit, even trained somehow. All at once it hit him like a bus.

Laxatives in the wine, get them to the restroom, chloroform them, then quietly extract them, probably claiming these guests have too much wine.

Even as the two Nezak waiters discreetly entered the toilet, Rain was already moving fast towards the toilet, heart pumping but restraining the urge to draw his gun. “Two suspected Nezak operatives moving into the Lobby toilet where Niigata and Andreyev is. Nezak is making their move. Moving in to secure.” Rain whispered into the microphone, dodging guests and other waiters along the way. His brain shuts out all activity as he formulates his plan.

Rain dodged the cleaning sign, and burst inside the toilet, clutching his stomach and making a pained expression. The restroom was a regal affair, with stalls on one side and the sinks of marble on the other, lit softly by indirect lighting. One of the waiter was outside the stall, keeping watch, while the other was nowhere to be seen. The Caucasian waiter was visibly shocked at this sudden interruption. “Toilet is closed. Cleaning.” The Nezak said in an even voice, unsure whether this middle-aged bureaucrat present any threat. Goda-san continued edging closer, adding a shrill to his thickly Japanese-accented voice, “Yes, yes. But need toilet…stomach…not feeling good.”

The Nezak operative was narrowing his eye and beginning to let his hand drift behind his suit, when Rain burst from his crunched posture, took two steps in, and launched a hard right jab at the waiter’s throat, even as his left hand secured the enemy’s right. The Caucasian’s eyes bulged and he lost his balance, and Rain swiftly snaked his right arm in and around the Nezak’s neck, took a step past him and arced down, as if to throw the operative over his shoulder.

There was a moment of corporeal resistance, before a distinct crack sounded and the Nezak slumped lifelessly. The encounter took less than five seconds, before one of the stalls burst open in front of Rain as a dark-skinned waiter stepped, a syringe in hand, and jaw slack as he saw what happened to his partner. The second Nezak was faster, and he managed to draw his gun equipped with a silencer before Rain dived in low and practically tackled the would-be kidnapper to the ground.

Once on the ground, the Judo-trained Kazuyoshi was in his element, where he quickly arrested the enemy’s gun-hand, twisted the grip to disarm the Nezak, before promptly dislocating his wrist. The scream that ensued was terrible to hear, and as the tanned Nezak recoiled his body up in pain, Rain snaked to his back, and employed what in Judo is known as the Hadaka-Jime, or what the westerners knew as the Sleeper Hold. The scream was cut short by Rain’s biceps and forearm pressing in on the Nezak’s throat, and before long the would-be kidnapper slumped, unconscious.

Rain held on, just to make sure that he won’t be getting up again, before letting go and checking his surroundings. Niigata and Andreyev is unconscious, but alive. And short of the one scream that was involuntary, it seemed that no attention has been drawn yet. “Niigata and Andreyev secure. Two assailants down. They were equipped with silenced pistols.” Rain whispered, breathing hard, even as he looked at two unconscious bodies and two dead ones. Looks like the Nezak is making their move. Rain shook his head, hoping no one will ignore the sign outside and come in now.

Shit.

[MasterCrew]

Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:05 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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“I have a visual on Niigata and Andreyev, are the other targets located?” questioned von Bohman.

"We have visual on all targets except for Fields," Krylenko confirmed from his walkway perch.

Scouring the floor, Othmar attempted to lock his eyes onto the distinguished scientist Dr. Burton Fields. This attempt was to no avail. The obstreperous yakking of the intellectual hoard of scientist and businessmen erupted as the reception continued. Over the noise, von Bohman heard Ishikawa Kazuyoshi, call sign “Rain”, speaking his native tongue to a guest that engaged him in a conversation. Quickly turning his gaze to back to Niigata and Andreyev, he was stunned to observe that Niigata was the guest speaking to Kazuyoshi. Not only was this a golden opportunity for Rain to keep a constant visual on both Niigata and Andreyev, it also provided Othmar a chance to search for Dr. Fields.

Walking slowly away from the pillars and into the prattling crowd, von Bohman exerted even the most basic movements into a casual stride, striving to appear as a curious businessman leisure strolling to get some delicacies at the food tables. Shortly after entering the crowd, a loud voice barged through the air from the tables. They voice cleared above all the other chatter.

“Come here often?”

This bombasterous cackle belonged to the fourth member and designated marksman of the Division. Jack Bolten, call sign “Reaper”. Shooting a look to his left, Othmar winced to behold Bolten dressed in a poorly ironed and dreadfully stained white shirt, slacks exuding there well-worn quality, and a clashing brown suit coat that made the his imagine nothing less than ridiculous. Reaching under his arm, Bolten scratched his armpit without much care, seeming almost aloof to the situation at hand. The theory of being exceedingly overt to be secretly covert seemed to be back firing. Othmar realized that Bolten’s actions would cause a stir in hotel security, turning the focus on him and not on the possibility of a kidnapping.

Out of the corner of his eye, von Bohman caught Dr. Karl Werner jogging down the hallway leading to the ballrooms. Dr. Werner then picked up his phone and walked out of sight. Briskly walking away from the raging racket caused by Bolten, von Bohman engaged his entire being in an all-out chase to follow Dr. Werner. His brisk walk turned into a jog, which then in turn changed to a fully-fledged sprint towards the one place his team had not kept an eye on this entire time: The back hallway leading to the St. Michel’s ballroom. Upon reaching the doorway of La Sorbonne B, von Bohman hooked a left and charged down the hallway. Surveying the hallway in front of him, he was relieved to find Dr. Werner engrossed in a cellphone conversation near the open doorway of the ballroom called St. Germain de Pres B.

Slowing his pace to a walk, Othmar continued down the hallway, approximately 200 yards from Dr. Werner, who was still heavily engrossed in his call. As he observed the doctor, two men from hotel’s decoration and preparation crew exited St. Michel’s ballroom and passed into St. Germain de Pres B. The two disappeared from sight as they entered the room. Continuing his walk down the hallway, Othmar heard the doctor give his finishing comments to the person on the other end of the call and hang up. Suddenly, the two men from preparation crew sprinted across the carpet, grabbed the doctor and pulled him into the emergency stairwell at the end of the hallway with a white cloth over his face. Chloroform extraction. Directly before the door closed, one of the crew members locked eyes with Othmar. He without a shadow of a doubt was a Nezak .

Time seemed to slow to a lethargic tempo as von Bohman charged towards the stairwell. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. A euphorically supernatural focus washed over him as he stampeded down the ornate hallway. Arriving at the stairwell entrance, Othmar pressed his back against the wall, left of the doorway. He speedily took off his outer suit coat and detached one of his KX9 Knives from his sleeve. Sliding slowly towards the door, Othmar reached across the door for the handle and nudged the door open. A series of rounds then tore through the metal door, nearly missing Othmar retracting arm.

Listening closely, Othmar could hear the swapping of pistol magazines. He had to move quick to catch the Nezak off guard whilst he changed his mags. While flinging the door open with his left hand, he released his knife cleanly, placing it in the stomach of his tan skinned opponent, standing at the base of the staircase. The man screamed and doubled over in pain. A tip von Bohman once received in military martial arts was commit to the fight, be fearsome and brutal, without any mercy, yet wise in victory. Carry home your shield, or be on it. These were the words flashing through the mind of the martial arts expert as he engaged his enemy in combat.

Flying through door, Othmar jumped horizontally and tackled the Nezak to the ground in the bear hug position. After wrestling for a moment, Othmar found himself in a firm frontal head lock with the Nezak. Firmly grabbing the man’s unguarded loins, von Bohman placed his other hand on the Nezak’s neck, twisting the man upside down, over his shoulder, and flat on his back. The Nezak shrieked again in pain as he thudded to the tile flooring. Slamming both hands against the opponent’s ears, Othmar complemented this final attack with a double handed jolt to the neck, snapping the man’s vertebrae instantly. The other Nezak could be heard carrying a burden, most likely the limb body of Dr. Werner, up the stairs. Pulling out his SIG-Sauer P229, Othmar scaled the stairwell four steps at a time. Just from estimation, he guessed the second Nezak was three flights up.

The ascending footsteps of the second Nezak abruptly stopped. A noise that could only be described as a body crashing down onto tile flooring sounded loudly through the deep stairwell. Stopping his movement, Othmar stepped back to the corner landing, waiting for the Nezak to make his move. A roaring volley of bullets imbedded deep into the tile flooring about 2 inches away from Othmar position. Swiftly, Othmar skipped around the oncoming rounds and aimlessly returned fire as to provide him time to scale the steps up to the Nezak. As the exchange of bullets ensued, von Bohman finally reached the floor directly below the Nezak position. Out of nowhere, the Nezakjumped over the guard rail, grabbed the rising tile platform, and swung himself down on top of his enemy. The nimble attack disarmed Othmar leaving him stumbling backwards with his hands raised high, with a gun pointed directly at his head.

The Nezak exclaimed with a devilish smirk as he cocked his pistol, “Any final words?”

“No… ” pronounced von Bohman as he slapped the gun away from his face and viciously sent a glaring punch towards the man’s face.

The Nezak fired the off target pistol, barely missing Othmar left ear, but soon found himself on the ground being pummeled into the tile by one of United States finest martial arts combatants. Othmar finished his foe again with a firm twisting of the neck. An almost distant sounding crackle echoed in the stairwell. His opponent was dead. Releasing his grip from the Nezak’s head, he rushed over to Dr. Werner, checking to see if the dirt bag treatment the Nezak delivered had incidentally killed the scientist. Putting one hand close to Dr. Werner mouth and the other under the man's right cheek bone, the lite throbbing of his pulse and the detection of air exhaling from his lungs dubbed him breathing and alive.

Thank God, he’s only been chloroformed. Hopefully no body decides to check out the stairwell

"Two Nezak down. Dr. Werner is safe for the time being…" Othmar breathed into his throat microphone heavily.

The attack of the Nezak had only just begun.


__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ___________

[Red Beret]

________________________________________________
Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:07 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
__

Krylenko watched from the corner of his eye as Bolten attempted to talk down the security guards, though he should have known the man would not have much success. An American acting that way in Paris, it was almost too easy to guess that the security guards would be more than willing to escort him forcibly from the hotel. Not that they would have the chance... Krylenko's full attention was given to the matter automatic fire rang out (the signature sound of an AK rifle), and the first security guard fell forward, three holes in his back. Bolten went down under him, and the second security guard was caught in mid-spin and toppled backward onto the table, flipping the various foods and drink available onto the heap. No doubt if Bolten was already cranky about the mission, he'd be pissed after having the contents of the table dumped onto him.

"Everybody on the ground!"

The voice spoke in English, but the accent was Ukrainian, no doubt belonging to one of the Nezak operatives that had crashed the party. Krylenko couldn't see them from his vantage point here--the fire had come from under the walkway. He cursed and ran for the stairs, knowing that the elevator would be too slow... but as it turned out, so were the stairs. With the P229 now in hand, Krylenko ran into the lobby, to find the Nezak gone. He assisted Bolten with the dead guard, "Where are Rain and Watcher?"

Bolten gave a shrug, and Krylenko turned to one of the guests, "Which way did they go?"

The guest pointed, "Six of them! They took two hostages!"

So that was the game. They'd known the mission would fail, and they'd elected to make a power play, get at least three of the hostages out of there. It wasn't clever, but it was something Krylenko would have espected from the Nezak. He ran through the doors that the guest had pointed to, and found himself in a corridor of offices. He heard the sound of a struggle up ahead, and saw the kitchen doors swing shut. The Nezak were moving slowly, but this would be the last chance to save the targets before they were taken from the building.

Krylenko moved into the kitchen, and immediately had to find refuge behind a counter. There was at least one Nezak who'd stayed behind to cover his friends with an AK. It was hard to get a bead on the man, there were too many things hanging, too many shelves, too much to obscure Krylenko's vision. He needed back-up, and he needed it fast.

"This is Krylenko, I could really use some help in the kitchens! They are escaping with the targets!"

[MasterCrew]

Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:08 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________




Adrenaline pumped through von Bohman’s veins as he rushed over to the limp Dr. Werner, checking to see if the dirt bag treatment the Nezak delivered had incidentally killed the scientist. Putting one hand close to Dr. Werner mouth and the other under the man right cheek bone, the lite throbbing of his pulse and the detection of air exhaling from his lungs dubbed him breathing and alive.

____
Thank God, he’s only been chloroformed. Hopefully no body decides to check out the stairwell

_____

"Two Nezak down. Dr. Werner is safe for the time being…" Othmar breathed into his throat microphone.
______
"This is Krylenko, I could really use some help in the kitchens! They are escaping with the targets!"
______

Making a quick cerebral calculation, von Bohman realized he was currently situated on the third floor. The unconscious scientist on the tile needed a safe haven before Othmar could engage enemy personal again. That safe haven to keep the comatose man would be the second floor bedroom the hotel granted the Division’s operatives. After swapping magazines in his SIG-Sauer P229, Othmar hoisted the scientist to his shoulder and coasted down twenty three steps to reach the second floor doorway. With a hard shove, the door flung open into the serine, quiet, and ornate hallway. Walking briskly along the red and gold carpet, von Bohman fervently searched for room 234. Millions of thoughts streamed through the mind of the operative. Who was taken? How many were taken? Are his fellow men alright down in fray? __________________________________________________ ________________________________


Upon arriving at room 234, Othmar pressed his card up against the sensor. The mechanical tic of the lock chattered. Opening the door, he walked into the bright yellow hotel room. Numerous reproductions of Picasso where framed on the wall opposite of him. The room seemed undisturbed, hence deeming it the scientist ‘safe haven’. Othmar, feeling that he would be safe, gently rested Dr. Werner down on one of the two twin beds. Walking over to the light switch at the entrance of the room, Othmar hit it and turned off the golden bulbs. Darkness encased the room in its respectable shadows.

________________________________
The light from the alley way cascaded through the slightly tarnished glass window. The less attention brought to the room the better. Suddenly, a crack of a firearm and a cry of pain could be heard from the alley. Realizing that the position of room 234 was two floors directly above the kitchen’s emergency exit alerted him to presume that the cry of pain result from a wounded Nezak operative. In a quick maneuver, Othmar unlocked the lower window panel, opening it just enough for his body, and stepped out onto a rusty, black, emergency staircase, which was probably made back in 1954 when the hotel was first constructed. Peering over the edge of the railing, von Bohman watched as a white van pulled away out of the alley, into the back parking lot, and disappeared to the left, leaving what looked like a civilian lying dead in the middle of the road.
____________________________________________-

A chase through the city of love was imminent. The chase is on!

[Red Beret]

________________________________________________
Marriott Rive Gauche Hotel and Conference Center - Paris, France
20:09 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
__

"Rain" Ishikawa had reached Krylenko in the kitchen not a minute later, with a noticeable absence of Jack Bolten. There was no time to worry about that, now, though--Ishikawa used the AK-74 he'd pried off of a dead Nezak to send the remaining terrorists running. Krylenko was after them like a shot, ducking and weaving through the kitchen... he heard the sound of tires, and burst through the door just in time to see the first van leave. He brought the Sig 229 to bear and fired, taking one of the remaining soldiers down in one shot.

The second van came out of seemingly nowhere, passing the dead man in the alley and heading off. Krylenko looked up, saw von Bohman, and gestured at the escaping van... then he remembered that he had a microphone.

"Watcher, Rain and I are going to attempt to go after them."

"Krylenko, what's going on?"

Descoteaux's voice cut in, but there was no time to brief her fully on what was happening... hopefully she'd been listening enough to know that the attack had gone down. As he turned and ran after Ishikawa, Krylenko told her the important information.

"Two vans, white, unmarked, heading out," he said, "I do not know where they are going, I need you to track them."

"I will do what I can."

"Watcher, Alpha is going to try to track the Nezak," Krylenko said, "Head them off, if you can. Rain and I will not be far behind them."

Without waiting for von Bohman's response, Krylenko leapt into the passenger seat of the car Ishikawa was attempting to hotwire. He wasn't a car kind of man, but he knew that this one was a faster, sleeker model. The vans were large and bulky, they could not maneuver the same way, and they might not even be able to accelerate as quickly. To make things easier, the Division's communications systems were satellite-based, and they had a much longer range than traditional radios. Krylenko, von Bohman, and Descoteaux would all be able to stay in touch with each other, no matter how much distance between them.

"Hurry it up," Krylenko hissed in English. Ishikawa responded in Japanese... Krylenko wasn't quite sure what he said, but he didn't doubt it was something that oughtn't be repeated. The car came to life, and Ishikawa threw it into gear. Krylenko removed the agency smart phone he carried from the inside pocket of his jacket and activated the GPS system.

"Alpha, I'd like to see what you can see," Krylenko said.

"You really don't," came the reply, "Because what I see is a very angry-looking diplomat heading our way. But I will loop you into the satellite feed, that should be much more helpful."

The city of Paris suddenly appeared on the phone's screen, a mass of lights and roads, cut by dark water. The image showed two blinking markers, which were headed in opposite directions. Krylenko cursed.

"Watcher, one van is headed northwest along Rue Froidevaux, one van is headed south on Rue de la Sante," he said, "Rain and I are heading south, try to catch the other bastards, if you can..."