Introduction
Resources: (If you need to brush up on your history, it's not required. If I get facts wrong, I apologize, please help me to correct them asap.)
-Cold War
-Lyndon B. Johnson
-Brezhnev and again.
-Bolshevik
Year: 1968 - The Height of the Cold War
America and the USSR are locked in a nonviolent battle of wits and military prowess. By 1968 Leonid Brezhnev has taken power in the USSR and is stockpiling weapons as quickly as he can. President of the United States of America, Lyndon B. Johnson is striving for peace not only with the USSR but with Vietnam. As the battle rages on in Vietnam, a battle rages within the Oval Office as the president paces, the fate of the world as he knows it balancing on the tip of his ballpoint pin.
- This will be a character motivated roleplay. I'm going to be very broad about what I want, so feel free to ask if something is ok. It probably will be (as long as it's realistic. no robot presidents, please.) Johnson and Brezhnev will be NPC's, controlled by me. If you just really, really, really, jump out of your seat, need to play one of them, you can contact me. The whole roleplay centers on a "What if?" situation of assassination. Now, I don't want anyone to have to die, but that's just the world. You may be doing the killing, who knows? It's all up to you. Have fun. Try not to die.
- So you'll basically be playing the agents within the CIA, FBI, and the Defense Department that are fighting to protect America against the USSR's military. And in turn MI-6 agents are allowed to be scrambling around, not knowing what's going on while the KGB picks up the pieces of its "abandoned" company. You can choose from a myriad of agencies to be a part of (each with their own unique, very difficult problems):
Interpol,
FBI,
SIS(MI6),
CIA,
KGB,
and others.
-By the way, all the agents (which is everyone) has an easily hidden barcode somewhere on them. It's used as identification between two agents. They are shown and inspected before you can enter some top secret places, and to get lunch at the buildings. They're used globally as an ID system. Agents who don't have them are considered to be nonagents and are thus operating out of government permission and they can be tried for treason against their country and conspiracy against any other. Each country doesn't know that the other uses the barcoding system, so don't think if you're caught you'll get the "barcode patdown", besides, only the agencies have the numbers listed. So even if the Americans capture a Russian, they don't know if they're actually a Russian agent, or if they're Interpol, or why the heck they got such a freaky tattoo. Any questions? No, good.
So here's that basic idea I said I'd give you: The cold war is happening. Chaos is everywhere. You're the agents that have been picked to do specific tasks. Assassins, protectors, spies - you choose. It's all perspective. So tell me, what if?
Random Edits/Addons:
To help explain my idea for the roleplay, because i can't always spit it out quickly; AKA i'm wordy:
"I also feel that there may be a low number of people interested. I'm planning on waiting a while, gathering those that will do it and start it. The beauty of it is the agencies will run themselves as the story progresses. In essence, this could be played with very few people. Essentially you're all moving to either kill the president/protect him, or Brezhnev (in the same way). So if you only had myself and another person, well we'd interact with "agents" (essentially NPC's) and it'd be almost like writing a short story. Time progresses, no matter what. The world rages on and you focus on what your end goal is in the roleplay.
For instance, if I'm a KGB assassin, my end goal is to kill the president. Well that requires a lot of NPC interaction. My actions will then be affected by, and will affect, those of the CIA agent, whether its to board a plan, or eat a pastrami on rye. It's all based on the world revolving and the players shaping one another's lives. So, im not so much concerned about numbers, but, rather, dedication."
(Typed it out in a message to someone. It's a tad out of context, but you get the idea. :) )
- 16 posts here • Page 1 of 1
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President Johnson sighed and rubbed his head, watching the rain hit the window for a moment before turning to his aide, "I know." He chewed on the unlit cigar and took a seat, breathing in the recycled air within the office. "Tell Interpol not to act yet. We need to wait. And tell them that they should go through the defense department next time. As much as I love them, I am not in charge of our agents."
His aide nodded and stood up, "Yessir. Will do."
He sighed again and took a long drag from a glass filled with unknown substance.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Brantley breathed out and watched the cloud of white form in front of his chapped lips. He stepped out onto the snow and shook his head as snow fell around him. Wrapping his thick coat closer, he marched to his car and flipped it on, letting the heat flood the car. He flipped open his phone and hit his speed dial number one. It rang twice before a crisp voice answered on the other line.
"Hello?"
"Marcus. It's Panther."
"Red marshes?"
"Only where the red fern grows."
"Good to hear from you, Panther."
"Same to you. I spoke with the mark, she's going to give us the information, but she wants immunity."
"Dammit. I knew it. Alright, we need to get her to the states. As soon as possible."
"I'll get it set up."
He flicked the phone shut and began driving away from the icy building towards his house within the desolate Russian landscape. The miles flicked by and he hummed quietly to himself until he drove into the driveway. He turned the car off and headed into his house, yawning as he stepped through the threshold. With little thought he went through the motions of putting his briefcase and phone up, getting out of his tiresome work clothes, and lighting a fire. He soon found himself next to fire place with a cup of tea in his hand, wrapped in a small blanket to hold in any warmth.
He took a sip of his tea and stared into the fire. It had been a long day and he needed the rest he was partaking in. His cat jumped into his lap and curled up. The spy life wasn't as glamorous as it seemed, but it had it's perks. With a sigh he closed his eyes and set his tea down, hoping to catch a nap before his next meeting.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Lindsey watched as the people walked past her position on the park bench outside the CIA office in D.C. She pulled her bangs behind her ear as she waited. A man, clad in more black than was necessary, approached the bench and sat down. In a cliche exchange, she obtained a half a sandwich, a new joke, and her next assignment.
She stood up and walked in the direction of her car. With ease, she got in, turned it on, and began driving in the direction of the nearest coffee shop. She stopped in front of the coffee shop and got out. Her eyes scanned the parking lot as she made her way through the door and to the counter. Two coffees and a confused teenager later, she sat at a particularly shady table in the corner of the dimly lit room.
A man with shockingly blonde hair sat down across from her, accepting the drink she offered him, sipping it quietly.
"Monsieur, it's a pleasure."
"C'est. J'aime cafe, oui!" His French accent was evident, even more so when he spoke next, "It seems you have found my weak spot, beautiful coffee. Yes, it's absolutely wonderful." He drank quite heavily from the coffee now, continuing, "I suppose you'll be wanting what you truly came for, not just my odd conversation."
She laughed and sipped her own drink, "Yes, I suppose I will."
He passed her a backpack that he'd been carrying in his hand and smiled, "That's all you wanted, and more than you'll ever need. I hope you understand what you're getting into."
Lindsey picked the backpack up with care, smiling, "I understand quite well and it gives me great excitement."
Eyeing her, he stood up, taking his coffee, "We should do this another time. But not on business, on pleasure." He smiled, "We French, vous aimez pleasure, non?" He laughed and turned, leaving.
She almost hugged the backpack as she walked out, taking her coffee and the scent of adventure with her.
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If Lenore was honest with herself, she'd realize that nothing pleased Robert anymore. When he got his promotion with the Air Force, he started to change. He worked longer hours and would come home, clutching a black briefcase. He started locking himself in his study with it, and locking the study if he left the briefcase inside. Then he started drinking. Lenore watched helplessly as paycheck after paycheck vanished and bills became harder to pay. He blamed her for there not being money in the bank, but she never saw a dime that he didn't personally hand to her.
Whatever he kept in that briefcase was the cause of his mood swings, and Lenore hated it. She tucked a few strands of her light rust-colored hair back in the bun, wondering what could be in that briefcase. Robert took it for granted that she couldn't get into his locked study, but she had a way. How else did he think it got dusted and vacuumed every day?
"Jack! Don't pull Farley's ears! Kelly, don't hit the dog!" Lenore started to stand to stop her little monsters from hurting the dog, but they quickly moved on to another game. By now, her kids knew that Mommy only got angry once and then she told Daddy. The threat of the belt was enough for now to keep them behaving.
She sat back down and sighed. What she wouldn't give to have her perfect life back.
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Artyom began to walk forward, heading towards the woman in a very nonchalant way. To the average observer, he was just a man taking a stroll. When he was near the woman, She was yelling at her children. She suddenly stood up, and Artyom had to fight the urge to draw his gun. She doesn't know who I am, i don't exist in her mind. When she settled back onto the bench, Artyom removed a business card from his coat pocket. It was a phony, but unless the woman actually worked for the CIA, she wouldn't be able to tell. The card had only three things on it:
Central Intelligence Agency
Kyle J. Phillips
(202)-526-0800
Artyom slipped the card into the woman's pocket, moving carefully so she wouldn't feel his hand. As soon as the card was in her pocket, Artyom began to walk away, back towards his car. He already began to plan his complex and roundabout way of going back to his apartment. He didn't want anyone following him. The woman would eventually call him. Now it was just a waiting game.
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_____________
Brantley ran his fingers through his hair, watching the pilot do his pre-flight checks; a woman stood by his side, her light blonde hair whipping in the wind. The engine roared and the two of them boarded, greeted by a slightly shabby interior and four seats, one already occupied by a drink sipping agent.
"Only where the red fern grows? Really?" The agent smirked.
"That's the code they gave me." Brantley replied, putting his back pack and duffel bag behind his seat and grabbing a drink from the container in the back, unscrewing the top and taking a sip.
The woman put her purse beneath her seat and set her backpack next to Brantley's before taking a seat. She nodded to the agent and picked at a button on her shirt.
The pilot came over the speaker, "We'll be taking off shortly, please buckle up."
The three of them buckled up at roughly the same time. With a few moments of just sitting there, they took off into the sky, the plane pointed towards America.
______________
Lindsey Macher
______________
Lindsey applied her lipstick liberally as she walked down the street. She knew the red would be just what she needed to attract the senator. Earlier she had set up the lunch date with him, eager to speak with him about business, and maybe just a little more. Senator Daniel Brewster awaited her at a table in a swanky new restaurant in D.C. The table lay in a corner, shadowed by the walls and made darker by the restaurant's apart aversion to light.
"Senator, it's a pleasure." She gripped her purse and smoothed her skirt down as she stepped next to the empty seat. "May I sit down?"
"Of course. And the pleasure's all mine." He motioned towards the seat, a smile on his face.
She took the seat and returned the smile. "Have you ordered yet?"
He nodded, "Yes, I got you something special; I hope you like it."
"I'm sure I will, senator."
"Please, call me Daniel."
She laughed, "Alright, Daniel." His name rolled off her tongue playfully. "Sadly, Daniel, we do have business to discuss before we can get to the... other points of discussion."
"I guess we do."
"Now, I was recently called into the CIA building here to have a dialogue with a few of the agents. You do know what I do, correct?"
A waiter approached and put down two plates of food, a large fish and an equally large amount of steak. The senator waited till he left to reply, "You're a digger, are you not?" He cut into the steak with little difficulty, taking a bite.
"Yes, I am. I haven't been called that in a while, though." She gingerly pulled a bit off of her fish and ate it quietly. "I called you because one of the agents I'm investigating is calling you out." She took another bite.
The senator put his utensils down and looked at her, "Calling me out?" He paused and took a sip of his drink. "For what?"
She continued to daintily eat her fish, as was proper, before replying, "Bribes."
He went back to his steak, "I would never... To think that someone would..." He paused again and looked at her.
She let out a small laugh, "I'm not saying you did. He's going to testify against you in order to get immunity from his own bribery charges."
"Why would you tell me this?"
With a smile, she replied, "Because you need to be prepared. This will be a big hit for you. The charges will pass through within the week and a warrant will go out a few days after that." She sat back and sipped her water, watching him.
"Well, thank you. Thank you very much... This will be very difficult to handle, but that gives me quite a lot of help..."
She sighed, "That's not the only agent that's squealing, though. There was a second agent who said you were responsible for the recent death of a KGB agent who had been doing the bribing." She paused. "Allegedly."
The senator loosened his tie and eyed her, "Dirovich."
A nod was all she gave, her face staying straight.
"Well that adds a bit to it all." He took a bite from his steak and took a similar position to Lindsey.
She cracked a smile, "It does. Now, senator, on another note, I heard you recently separated from your second wife."
He nodded slowly.
"My apologizes, Daniel." Her eyes danced with devilish intent.
***
Lindsey found herself in a hotel room, with the senator in the bathroom. She grabbed her purse and pulled out two pairs of handcuffs, awaiting him while sitting on the bed. He stepped out of the bathroom and grinned. "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
Moments later Lindsey had him hand cuffed to the bed, still grinning like a fool. "Senator, I must say, this has been an enjoyable evening." She ripped off his tie and button down, revealing his chest.
She reached towards her thigh, underneath her dress, and produced one of her many knives. She ran the blunt side from his sternum to his belly button. His eyes widened and he breathed in to unleash a scream before she crammed a piece of cloth into his mouth.
"Now, Senator, Interpol has been doing a lot of digging and we've done a good job of finding everything we need out." She flipped it over made a small cut on his abdomen. He let out a muffled scream. "And we've found that you have been linked in a very big way to people you should not be dealing with. Very, very..." She paused and made another cut, "Dangerous people. We just don't think you should be associated with such people any more. Sadly you're a little to far in to find your way out. I'm glad you had an enjoyable dinner."
She pulled the knife and up and then plunged it into his chest, leaving it there as the light left his eyes. She jumped up and began the wipe down of the room with her cleaning supplies. Within minutes she was gone, any trace of her wiped from the room.
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She put the card back in her pocket, thinking that must be it. He was a friend of Robert's and she just picked the card up while cleaning. Humming, she went back to the lundry, finally hearing the kids start to quiet down. But, then, the little demon of doubt crept into her mind. She hadn't really picked anything up today, not before she went to the park. And Robert never spoke about any of his business friends. Certainly, the name of Kyle Phillips didn't sound familiar. Lenore bit her lip as she put the wet load of whites into the dryer. Should she ask Robert if he ever heard of Kyle Phillips? Something was just nagging at the back of her head.
Robert would never like it if she talked to him about his work. She took the card out and turned it around in her fingers again. She was almost certain she didn't have the card this morning. The longer she thought about it, the more curious she got about how she came by the card. She didnt' want to embarass her husband. Appearances meant everything. And calling a strange man out of the blue would be embarassing.
But if she didn't have the card that morning, it meant she gained it somehow in the park. And that was a mystery.
Taking a chance, she scooped up her rapidly tiring kids and put them to bed. Shutting them in, she went to the kitchen and picked up the phone. She dialed the number on the card, and promptly hung up. She did this three more times before gathering the courage to let it ring more than once. She was about to hang up again when she heard it click. Someone had picked up on the other end.
"He-hello? This is Lenore Williams. Is this Kyle Phillips?" She decided to not tell him she had no clue who he was just yet. Maybe he was someone Robert knew, and she just forgot putting the card in her pocket. This would embarass her and she knew she'd never live it down.
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"So, Lenore, you did get my card? Good."
"No Ma'am, you were supposed to get that card."
"I planted the card on you. That's right, today at the park."
"I gave you the card because I have something important to speak with you about."
"It's about your husband. Look, I can't say much over the phone, but if we could meet..."
"Do you know where Lou's Cafe is? That's right, on 52nd and Palmer Ave."
"Can you meet at 2 p.m.? Perfect. See you tomorrow, Mrs. Williams."
Artyom hung up the phone. He was pleased, the woman had agreed to a meet tomorrow. Artyom got up, went over to the record player standing in the corner of the sparse room. He pulled out a random record and put it on the table. After a few seconds of scratching, the music kicked in. Artyom wasn't quite sure which piece it was, or who composed it, but he fell under it's hypnotic spell none the less. Artyom was pleased. His plan was working like clockwork.
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When Robert came home that night, Lenore tried in her best subtle way to ask him if everything was all right.
"Of course it is," Robert snapped. He grabbed a plate of her roast beef and went to his study. She flinched as he slammed the door and locked it. It only served to embolden her resolve to talk to the mysterious Kyle Phillips.
The next morning, she had her neighbor watch her kids, giving the excuse she had errands to run. She put on her secretive best; a kercheif over her head and big sunglasses. She parked a block away and walked to Lou's Cafe. As it came in sight, she slowed to a stop. She could see people sitting, talking and laughing, standing around. She recognized no one and worried that she might be early. She took a deep breath, taking another step to the Cafe.
Then, her heart stopped again. What if Mr. Phillips' news was just too horrible? What if Robert was in real trouble? She couldn't do this. Lenore turned and ran back to her car, and drove home.
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He had a phone call to make.
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Robert had his briefcase with him, but Lenore was sure that he left something behind. She tested the drawers of his desk and found one filled with papers. She had no idea what they said, and she was sure it was in English. A lot of words were just three or four letters and the language was above her head. There were some diagrams and equations, but she had no idea what they meant. Whatever she held in her hand, it was the cause of her marital strife.
She was about to put them back when three little letters at the bottom of one page caught her eye. Mixed in the middle of the alphebet soup and foreign concepts was something that turned her heart cold.
KGB
"Oh my God," Lenore whispered. Just then, the phone rang and she jumped. She hastily shoved the papers back in their place and scuttled out of the study. Her heart pounded as the phone's shrill call echoed through the house again. Unnerved, she picked it up by the third ring, praying it was just the neighbor.
"Hello?"
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Artyom sat down at his work desk, which was covered in files and papers that were all focused on the American government, but there seemed to be papers that focused on one man in particular: Lyndon B. Johnson, the President of the United States.
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New York City
Five o'clock
Dusk, 78 Degrees Fahrenheit
______________
Brantley stepped out of the plane and the woman and other agent followed closely behind him as they made their way into an unmarked vehicle, which promptly took off.
"Alright, Isis, we've got you to America. Keep your end of your deal and it'll be a nice stent in witness protection, don't keep your end of the deal and we'll ship your ass back to the frozen hell that is Russia. Got it?"
The woman gave him a bored nod, "I understand." Her Russian accent twinged a little on the words, making her voice unmistakable.
With the same tone as Brantley, commanding and filled with authority, the other agent spoke, "We'll be taking you to Interpol's headquarters here in New York, from there you'll be processed."
She nodded once again, keeping her eyes on the New York traffic as the driver tried his best to speed through it.
"Panther." The agent looked to Brantley. "It was good working with you. Tell the boys back home I said hello." The man's light Russian accent had faded easily into his natural British accent, giving the words an almost playful tone.
Brantley responded in the same accent, hinting they were from the same place, "I will do."
The car stopped in front of an imposing black building a few blocks from time square and Brantley got out, "Keep her safe, got me?" He looked at Isis, "Don't do anything stupid, sweetheart. You've got the looks, don't waste." He left with a wink and a nod, his last words fading into his unmistakeably American accent.
His footsteps faded into those around him as he made his way into the building and up to the fifth floor. He made two rights and a left down the hallways and into the third door, and unmarked black door that held his next assignment. Almost hesistantly he pushed open the door and stepped in. Darkness enveloped him.
_____________
Lindsey Macher
_____________
The door her heel slammed into popped open to reveal the handsome Frenchman she'd met with earlier that week on a couch with a young woman, kissing her. "Marvelo, get up."
He jumped up, trying to compose himself, "Mademoiselle! What a surprise, what are you doing here?"
"You promised me some time. I'm cashing that in." She pulled out her gun and pointed it at the girl. "You have ten seconds. Blab to the police and you'll be history. Scram!"
The girl ran out crying, clinging to what clothes she had left. Lindsey pulled the door closed behind her. Aiming the gun at Marvelo, she stared him down. "Did you read what you gave me?"
He shook his head and stood up, his hands in the universal symbol for surrender - up. "No! I swear I didn't. I didn't even know what it was. Sarge just gave it to me and said to deliver it to the cutesy little red head who looked like she'd been through hell."
She laughed, "Then you really didn't read it, did you? Or you would have been waiting for this..." She put her gun down and pulled the backpack off, setting it down. She grabbed a file from it and tossed it to him.
He jumped when she threw it to him. Cautiously he looked down at it, then to her. "It's names."
"Yes."
"Mon appelle c'est ici. Non! Non!"
"Oui. Your name is there. It's the second one, right under the senator's name."
"The senator?"
She grabbed the remote that lay on the table and picked it up. Clicking through the channels, she stopped when she saw the body on the screen. With a few more clicks, she had the volume up.
"...body was found, in a hotel, it seems that the killer left no trace of evidence behind. Suspects have yet to arise as the police are being dead ended by the lack of evidence. John, our police consultant is here with us. John, what do you make of this?"
A larger man with an odd mustache and a southern accent appeared, "Well, Amy, I feel we're dealing with a hitman. Senator Brewster was a very powerful man and due to the legal problems he was about to experience, one could almost say this was expected. There are a lot of people out there who will kill for money, in this case, it may have been the Russians. That's the sad thing we may have to consider. In this political atmosphere they control our politics as much as we do."
"Thank you John. For more on the story, tune in again for the ten o'clock news."
Marvelo had taken a seat on the couch and was shaking his head, his eyes locked on the paper. "It's a hitlist?" His French accent hit the words hard, showing his hidden fear.
"I'm afraid so."
"Who ordered the killings? Why do you...?"
She pulled out her gun again. "You know who ordered them. You know why. Au revoir, Marvelo, vous voir en enfer."
The bullet penetrated his skull, killing him on impact. His blood splattered slightly onto the folder. Lindsey put her gun up, turned the TV off, grabbed her folder, and picked up the phone.
Her gloved hands punched 911; her words carried a French accent, light but noticeable.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Oui! Help! Help! Gunshots, I hear gunshots!" She unleashed an unearthly scream and dropped the phone, sprinting out.
The operator spoke to the room with it's dead man and arbitrary items of little value, "Ma'am? Ma'am!?"
Sirens wailed in the distance as Lindsey sprinted down the alleyways, praying she could make it home in time for dinner.
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Robert came home in a black mood. A senator had been murdered, and Robert was taking the news far harsher than he had when his own father died. When Lenore tried to ask him what was wrong, he snapped, "The dead lying son of a bitch! The cheating bastard went to the Russians! Everything! All of it! My whole project is going to have IA on our asses, and our funding is out the window! What ever happened to loyalty and the American way?" Robert slammed his fist into the wall, making a dent. "I hope he rots in Hell."
"It's sad he died," Lenore said, but Robert didn't care. With his mysterious project on the brink, he was in a worse mood than normal. Forgoing his dinner, Robert took a bottle of scotch into his office and locked the door. Lenore prayed he stayed in there all night. He was a brute when he drank.
Cautiously, she put the kids to bed and got the kitchen cleaned up. She had a restless night, worrying over her meeting with CIA Kyle Phillips. She woke to a cold bed, and Robert gone for the day. She had all day to plan on how to sneak out without anyone knowing she was gone.
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Artyom sat at his table, planning for the meeting tonight. He knew what he was going to say to Lenore, but to really convince her, he would need hard proof. But since he was lying to her, he would need faked documents. Artyom snatched up the phone and punched in a phone number. The phone rang once, and then a voice answered. " Allo? (Hello)?" Artyom stayed quiet for a moment, enjoying the sound of his native tongue. It was surprising how much he missed the Motherland.
"Da , YuriΔ? Eto Artem. (Yes, Yuri? This is Artyom.)"
"Ah, Artem ! Ot sut stvuyushchieRodine vse zhe? (Ah, Artyom! Missing the Motherland yet?)"
"BolΚΉshe, chem vy znaete. SlushaΔ, mne nuzhno koe-chto. (More than you know. Listen, I need something.)"
"Poka eto otnositΒ·sya k vashyeΔ missii , ya tvoΔ muzhchina. (As long as it pertains to your mission, I'm your man.)"
"Da, eto tak. Chto mne nuzhno neskolΚΉko falΚΉshivyh dokumentov. Transmissii , pravda. (Yes, it does. What I need are some false documents. Transmissions, really.)"
"Ya vizhu. Mezhdu kto? (I see. Between who?)"
"Moya tselΚΉ muzh , Robert UilΚΉyams iagentom KGB. (My target's husband, Robert Williams, and a KGB agent.)"
"Ya veryu, chto smogu sdelatΚΉ eto. LyuboΔ agent , v chastnosti? (I believe I can do that. Any agent in particular?)"
"Horosho, ya budu sdelatΚΉ eto. (Ok, I'll get it done.)"
"Ya budu bolyee pozdnimi segodnya vecherom , chtoby zabratΚΉdokumenty. Do svidaniya. (I will be by later tonight to pick up the papers. Goodbye.)"
Artyom hung up the phone. It felt good to speak Russian after speaking English for almost a year. Artyom quickly left his apartment. he had a few errands to run before he met Lenore tonight.
----------- 11:38 P.M.-------------
Artyom was sitting on the bench in the spot he chose for the meeting. He had given the "intercepted" transmissions a thorough look-over. Yuri had amused him by making the random KGB agent one mister "Artyom Nikolaevich Trushchalev". Yuri must have thought it was funny, but it didn't bother Artyom. If Lenore recognized his true name, Artyom had a backup plan in place. Namely, a Makarov 9mm pistol with a sound-suppressor. Artyom sat back and waited for his American contact to arrive.
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"Please, sleep all night," she whispered. "I'm only doing this once."
She tied a handkerchief around her head and put on her coat before slipping out of the house. Softly, she made her way to the park, each step sounded loud in her ears. How could no one hear her? Every footstep was an alarm, every noise of nature an accusation. The only thing that prodded her onward was the memory of seeing the words "KGB" on that paper. If she could find a way to save her husband, she would.
She made it to the bench at five minutes to midnight. It really didn't surprise her that someone was already waiting. Kyle Phillips hadn't sounded like a man who arrived late for anything. Cautiously, she sat next to him. Smoothing out her coat, she said, "Lovely night, isn't it." She glanced over at the man, unable to make out much of his features despite the lamp. All she could get was that he was her age, maybe a bit older, with blond hair. He exuded an air of danger. Then again, she imagined most CIA did.
"You said you needed to talk to me," Lenore said softly. "I'm listening."
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"These transmissions were intercepted by one of our agents. Apparently, your husband felt our nation's security wasn't as important as his wallet." Artyom's perfect American accent was back. "This is a serious breech in our country's defenses. Normally, your husband would most likely be executed for treason, but not in this case. We, namely I, want him to think he is still in the clear. I want him to lead me to his contact." Artyom reached into a brown paper bag sitting beside him, and pulled out a camera. It was small, but it wasn't exactly a spy camera. "Mrs, Williams, what I need from you is to get access to your husbands briefcase. He has been under surveillance and we believe he keeps the coded transmissions in there."
Artyom placed the camera in Lenore's hand. "I need you to take pictures of all of the contents of your husband's briefcase. Take as many photos as you can, and you will deliver them to me once a week. I will contact you with the drop information." Artyom stood up and began to walk off. Just as he reached the edge of the lamplight, he turned around and looked at Lenore. "And Mrs. Williams? I am sorry you had to find out this way."
And with that, Artyom turned and walked into the shadows, vanishing into the night.
Setting
0.00 INK
She looked at the camera, finally being aware that Kyle had put it in her hand. Once a week? She had been in shock and forgot to ask if there was any way to save her husband. Well, she'd make that bargain once she knew why he was hoarding money. There had better be a world tour in her future or he was going to jail!
Standing up, she tucked the papers in her coat and went home. Everyone was still sleeping and she hid the papers under the mattress. Since she did all the cleaning, she didn't have to worry about Robert finding them. She would burn them in the morning. The information was already engraved in her memory.
Laying on the bed, she pulled Robert's pillow to her and sobbed.
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"Kyle Phillips"
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MI6, Interpol
"Kyle Phillips"
(Not an actual profile, just an extention of my other charater)
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CIA, Interpol
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"Kyle Phillips"
(Not an actual profile, just an extention of my other charater)
Brantley Meadors
MI6, Interpol
Lindsey Macher
CIA, Interpol
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Branded: What if?
by Syreaa on Sat Jul 23, 2011 11:20 am
- 18 Replies
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- Last post by Syreaa
on Sat Aug 27, 2011 8:07 pm
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Branded: What if?
Most recent OOC posts in Branded: What if?
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Syreaa wrote:@Amamelina: yes, you can. I've got it listed as one of them. If you'd like to, you can, but know it's not the KGB as you think, when Brezhnev took over, he dropped the KGB so they kinda had to work under the radar. But you can if you'd like. :)
Sounds pretty much what I was planning. I want to play an American housewife whose husband is in the Air Force or something like that. Money is tight, she has one kid too many, bills are piling up and her husband is feeling the crunch. She's enticed by a KGB agent hiding in America to spy and sell secrets. At first, it's a little something here and a little something there. It adds some spice in her life and money in her pocket. And then she realizes how deep she's in. By then, she wonders where her loyalties really lie.
Can I play her?
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[OOC] Branded: What if?
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