Thread: Deadly Associates (Alpha and PixieDust)

Somewhere in the middle east He pushed his way through the crowded market, baseball cap pulled low, jacket hood pulled up. It made him stand out, having a hooded jacket in blistering afternoon heat, but it kept his face concealed, meaning no one would be able to ID random white guy in a crowd of Arabs. Overwatch to Phantom Three. Target is One Hundred Meters directly ahead of you, red shirt, his ear piece crackled. Grey eyes quickly surveyed the crowd from behind a pair of mirrored aviators, Phantom Three to Overwatch. I have eyes on target and am moving to engage. he whispered into the mic on collar. The current of people pushed against as he fought his way towards his target. The man in the red shirt glanced back quickly then ducked down a side street. Overwatch to Phantom Three. I have lost visual. Don't worry. I got him. He side stepped quickly into a door way and peered out, watching his quary approach a door at the end of the street and knock a rythem on it before the door swung open and he disappeared inside. I've found the drop site. I'm going in. Phantom Three that is negative. We have no information on site. Strike will be onsite in ten minutes. His hand went to the .45 compact holstered at the small of his back and tugged it loose, slowly approaching the door, No can do Overwatch. Deal could be done by then and these guys would be in the wind. I need to act now. Max, this is a direct order. Do NOT engage. I repeat DO NOT..... He pulled his ear piece out and dropped it into his coat pocket before thumbing the safety off and knocking out the same rythem he had heard from the man in the red shirt. One Week Later The British Virgin Islands Max Archer leaned against the railing of his suite balcony looking out across luxurious island resort, a cigarette teetering on the edge of his lip. This whole thing was so strange to him. His assignments had taken him all over the world, he been in every major city across Europe, Asia and South America, anywhere threats cropped up he was there to hunt them down and terminate them. He had stayed in run down safe houses, slept in jungles where poisonous snakes and spiders lurked, hunted his prey wherever they went. But this,a private suite at a five star hotel on cluster of privately owned islands, this was entirely new ground for him. A week ago he had been sent to break up an arms deal, it ended in a firefight with ten dead hostiles and new intel that pointed towards another much bigger deal going down at the resort. Quickly Max was fitted for several expensive suits and outfitted with a fancy new wardrobe before being loaded onto a private jet and flown off to the Virgin Islands. He took a final drag off his cigarette and snuffed it out in the crystal ashtray the the room had come with before heading back inside. The linen shirt he wore hung well off his broad shoulders. His dark hair, normally a scruffy mess had been cut short and combed back and his beard had been shaved right off, making him look like a far different man then the one who had been in the middle east a week earlier. He picked up the tan jacket from where he had tossed it over the back of the couch and went to shrug it on, pausing for a moment to eye the shoulder holster sitting on the coffee table where his .45 was neteled and decided he didn't need it. All he needed to do now was meet his contact. A British agent he was supposed to be working along side for the operation. He rode the elevator up to the roof top bar, the place he was set to meet his contact and ordered himself a drink before taking a seat at a table overlooking the bay below with its clear blue waters, and fired himself a cigarette. His contact was supposed to approach and ask him for matches to which he'd only offer his lighter.