Operation Shutter.
Posted: Mon Jun 24, 2013 5:42 pm Retrieval missions. They came about for numerous things; lost devices, useless tracking modules, and last but not least.. people. People who'd went missing, had been disappeared by means that didn't include the Agency's say so-- people who knew too much. This mission was concerning a single agent who held no true status, but hadn't at all been trained to keep his mouth shut; try as he might, Freidrich hadn't broken through that thick skull of his. Thus, without as much as a phone call or computerized report on his status, he was deemed a threat. The Agency didn't take threats lightly, obviously.
The agent was put into mission no sooner than he'd arrived for work, the sun was just barely creeping up above the tops of the skyscrapers and shedding light on the already bustling streets. He'd stood just outside of the facility, adjusting his com and hoodie.. the straps of a backpack that held very little more than a notebook, a picture of the subject in question, and things that were meant to be left behind to stage it as a possible suicide-- even if these guys weren't dirty when it came to cleaning up after themselves. They did, by all means, know Agent Jack. Knew he was on the brink of falling clear off the cliff, and never being seen breathing again.. perhaps, just a planting of evidence to make it feasible, and their hands would be clean.
Not to mention, it was only by seeing that the agent was alive and well during a particular outing of his, that had set this plan into full operation mode.
"Test," he agent said, pressing a hand to the piece barely noticeable in his ear. When a voice came through, he merely adjusted the volume. "Going mobile. Standby."
The walk was by no means a brisk one, and bypassed the utilization of taxi cabs. He stuck to the trail given almost as if he were on a track, driven by magnets below; it would've almost seemed uncanny, the way he walked, had he not blended beautifully with the flow of human traffic along the sidewalk that lead to the subway station. With his hands casually in his pockets, he waited at the turnstiles after purchasing a ticket, and boarded once the train screeched to a stop. For the entire ride, once the train lurched with momentum, the agent stood, holding loosely to a strap that hung from the top of the car.. and he didn't at all move until his known stop came to be.
He filed out nonchalantly, and even re-adjusted the straps of his backpack as if he were simply some college kid making his way to campus. But, he most definitely wasn't. And before he could reach the campus at all, he veered off onto a side street so that the black Blazer that had been planted could become an extension of his own ability. He let himself in, and dropped the visor down, and caught the key that had been left for him. "Wheels acquired," he said, with another press to the button that the device in his ear possessed. "I'll report after I've found the target." After a second's worth of static, a female voice gave him the go-ahead, and thus, he cranked the engine, and shifted into gear before veering into the slow flow of traffic. He just needed to get close enough to the destination, and from there on out, it'd be on foot. After all, a Blazer wouldn't fit in tunnels.
Thirty minutes later, - mainly due to traffic - he parked the Blazer in the parking lot of the next terminal's employee's area, and climbed out. The backpack was slid back into place, and he was on the move.. right down into the terminal, and he bypassed the checkpoints and turnstiles. The ticket booths and security. It was as if no one could truly see him, even if he were very real, and very much walking past them. They were paid, though, and that was how it should be when Dr. Antmann had paid top dollar to have them look the other way. It was the only way he was able to get down into the service tunnels without being called out due to his lack of uniform.
He maneuvered through them as if he'd done it a thousand times, without prompt, and without any form of GPS locating device, and very soonly had ascended the stairs to the last door. It was there he paused, and drew out one of the two Nighthawk suppressed 1911s and fired at the door to break the lock. Unconventional, perhaps, but he didn't have time to stand there and pick the lock as a rogue might have done. Letting himself in, he pushed the clothes aside and soon deposited himself right into the penthouse. "Clearing." the word was hushed, and from his vantage point he'd taken - just behind the bar, - he was waiting. Watching. Watching for a certain brown-haired, boyish-looking fool to bring his head into range.
The agent was put into mission no sooner than he'd arrived for work, the sun was just barely creeping up above the tops of the skyscrapers and shedding light on the already bustling streets. He'd stood just outside of the facility, adjusting his com and hoodie.. the straps of a backpack that held very little more than a notebook, a picture of the subject in question, and things that were meant to be left behind to stage it as a possible suicide-- even if these guys weren't dirty when it came to cleaning up after themselves. They did, by all means, know Agent Jack. Knew he was on the brink of falling clear off the cliff, and never being seen breathing again.. perhaps, just a planting of evidence to make it feasible, and their hands would be clean.
Not to mention, it was only by seeing that the agent was alive and well during a particular outing of his, that had set this plan into full operation mode.
"Test," he agent said, pressing a hand to the piece barely noticeable in his ear. When a voice came through, he merely adjusted the volume. "Going mobile. Standby."
The walk was by no means a brisk one, and bypassed the utilization of taxi cabs. He stuck to the trail given almost as if he were on a track, driven by magnets below; it would've almost seemed uncanny, the way he walked, had he not blended beautifully with the flow of human traffic along the sidewalk that lead to the subway station. With his hands casually in his pockets, he waited at the turnstiles after purchasing a ticket, and boarded once the train screeched to a stop. For the entire ride, once the train lurched with momentum, the agent stood, holding loosely to a strap that hung from the top of the car.. and he didn't at all move until his known stop came to be.
He filed out nonchalantly, and even re-adjusted the straps of his backpack as if he were simply some college kid making his way to campus. But, he most definitely wasn't. And before he could reach the campus at all, he veered off onto a side street so that the black Blazer that had been planted could become an extension of his own ability. He let himself in, and dropped the visor down, and caught the key that had been left for him. "Wheels acquired," he said, with another press to the button that the device in his ear possessed. "I'll report after I've found the target." After a second's worth of static, a female voice gave him the go-ahead, and thus, he cranked the engine, and shifted into gear before veering into the slow flow of traffic. He just needed to get close enough to the destination, and from there on out, it'd be on foot. After all, a Blazer wouldn't fit in tunnels.
Thirty minutes later, - mainly due to traffic - he parked the Blazer in the parking lot of the next terminal's employee's area, and climbed out. The backpack was slid back into place, and he was on the move.. right down into the terminal, and he bypassed the checkpoints and turnstiles. The ticket booths and security. It was as if no one could truly see him, even if he were very real, and very much walking past them. They were paid, though, and that was how it should be when Dr. Antmann had paid top dollar to have them look the other way. It was the only way he was able to get down into the service tunnels without being called out due to his lack of uniform.
He maneuvered through them as if he'd done it a thousand times, without prompt, and without any form of GPS locating device, and very soonly had ascended the stairs to the last door. It was there he paused, and drew out one of the two Nighthawk suppressed 1911s and fired at the door to break the lock. Unconventional, perhaps, but he didn't have time to stand there and pick the lock as a rogue might have done. Letting himself in, he pushed the clothes aside and soon deposited himself right into the penthouse. "Clearing." the word was hushed, and from his vantage point he'd taken - just behind the bar, - he was waiting. Watching. Watching for a certain brown-haired, boyish-looking fool to bring his head into range.