2013.06.23 - Planning Stages

The facility in Gotham had been both repurposed and built to specifications, in a bit of an odd combination; the 8 story building with a storefront below and apartments above had been gutted by a fire some careless previous resident had started with an oil heater. It had only recently been rebuilt, to the shoddist specifications, and the only real business it had gotten had been some cheap residents in the building above, a few squatters, and a deli/catering company at the bottom floor, there for the low rents.
And that was what they wanted you to think.
The actual building that went on during the incomplete and possibly lazy restoration had been underground, into the basement and subbasement levels. Those who had the proper security clearances and the prenominal 'Agent' could filter in through the Deli in civilian clothes, and take a few stairs down. Mercenaries would have to go to a parking garage a few blocks away, through some rusted and ignored shutter, and down a long narrow drive way to the area's motor pool, ignoring the various civilian vehicles, local and State police cruisers, and the odd military vehicle or two.
Eventually, though, they'd all find themselves in the same place; a briefing room that's meant to hold many more people than the four currently inside. The walls are at least painted a soothing biege, working well with the blue carpet and the black, upholstered 'stadium' seating in front of a large projection screen.
"Heeeey, deli people!" That had been how Ortel had started the day insofar as getting to the actual place of business was concerned. He'd gone into that deli, in simple thoroughfare of jeans and a jacket, gone right to the counter, and: "Yeah, so can I get a pastrami on sourdough with lettuce, tomato, pickles, mustard, mayo, and could you hurry? I got a work meeting I got to get to." He'd shown up early for the sole purpose of trying to get that sandwich. If Martin got him sick from it, it wasn't /his/ fault; the place was supposed to be spotless for the Department of Health, after all.
Plus, the idea of one of their fronts getting fined was amusing as all hell. It would also help with the cover of keeping typical civilians away.
So Aaron had come in, a half-hour early, ordered ballsy as you please, and waited for both the inevitable delays, banter, fuck-off-kids and more that he expected to have happen.
And eventually he ended up downstairs, since the only important thing that had come out of his mouth had been the bit about a work meeting. They knew who he was, if not how /well/. He had clearance, and that was that.
A briefing room in Gotham. Sylvia didn't care to work in Gotham when she could manage it. Too many vigilante types about. It was way worse than in the other nearby cities, simply because these ones tended to take lives more often than the other heroes. That made things messy, and often as not the vigilantes, in Sylvia's mind, could be just as troublesome. Not all of them, but some. Regardless, sometimes you had to meet in a place that you didn't care for, and so she had come. The procurement specialist and all-around Agent was dressed in a business suit. Nice and formal for this meeting. Truthfully, more formal than she liked, but it helped her maintain something of a cover in this city. Just some random business person getting lunch. When she entered the deli, she advised them that she was here to speak with the management, and she ended up downstairs. Credentials, and that was taken care of. So, the woman is sitting in a chair and waiting to see what they'd been brought in to deal with.
One such mercenary leaves a blacked out BMW M3 in that underground lot, the albino woman running around as some gun for hire named Domino arriving in simple black clothing that covers more than it reveals, and conceals equally well. How she wound up getting this far into the workings of SHIELD is almost as much of a mystery as she is. One chance meeting with Fury himself many months ago in another conflicted corner of the globe eventually leads to her being called upon tonight.
Whatever the situation is, it must be something peculiar. To go through the trouble of calling her in? She's expecting to be handed a pile of someone else's bullshit that's got 'suicide mission' written all over it.
But..there's only one way to find out for certain. And here she is.
"Just tell me that we're not being rounded up to clean someone else's mess."
Aaron would get his sandwhich. It would come with the studiously polite and annoyed looks of a wait staff that is either lazy, getting pissed off, or both. He would get his sandwhich, eventually, which would be so lack luster and annoying that he would have to have been directed to management for his complants. At the very least, Martin would make sure he didn't get a good lunch at working time.
Sylvia is escorted downstairs, as well, though, again, with that same lazy veneer that seemed to be with all the employees; abrasive, really... and certainly not good for repeat business. When they're out of earshot and possibly eveasdropping, though, the 'caterers' were a bit more polite than they were with Aaron. Courtesy begat courtesy, and all of that.
Domino, of course, would het the other end of the treatment. Her car is checked when she leaves, mirroed underneath for explosives and run ove with bug scanners (that was a bit of overkill, of course; no one had a working cell phone as soon as they were near the underground facility. And she was escorted by armed SHIELD agent who was polite, and also ready to shoot her if she so much as stepped to a door she wasn't supposed to. And it was her statement that gets an answer.
"Gotham itself is a mess, ma'am. All of it. If it isn't the powerful and self serving, it's the corrupt and violent. And I don't have the people I need to monitor even a third of it. So, yes. You're cleaning up one of my messes, but don't worry. It came that way. And it, at least, is a bit of an oppurtunity."
The red-haired, bearded gentlemen is currently in a rumpled suit, the clip on tie he wears removed as he walks into the room, and thrown onto the front table along with a sheaf of documents. He might look like a haired high-school vice principal called in to sub for an unruly class at the last minute. The Glock in a holster underneath his coat dispells that illusion only a little.
"First, introductions. We have here Agent Ortel, Agent Downs, and Ms. Domino. My name is Agent Kavanuagh. I'm the Regional Director for SHIELD operations in Gotham, whatever that's worth. And I need a job done."
It was something of a game to him, a fact that sits in certain secure files in certain secure databases: he always wanted to see what people would do when subjected to certain behaviors and stresses. Either way, he got the sandwich. That was almost as important as being led down here.
And quite frankly, Aaron Ortel didn't give two *bleep*s that it was simply a terrible meal waiting to cause indigestion if not worse. For all he knew, they had dosed the meat with laxatives from the start.
So by the time he gets downstairs, he's got a more serious face than when he walked in, his mind both on how the deli people had taken to his act, as well as pondering just what it is that brought him here. He doesn't speak beyond a brief greeting to the others, holding onto that wrapped up bundle of bread as if it were garbage that just needed a can to call home. Even when Marty does introductions and gets to the point, he says nothing, just folds his arms, glances at both Sylvia and Domino, and listens.
A polite nod is given when she is introduced. Sylvia, however, doesn't speak either. The woman was waiting for details before offering something resembling an opinion. She wasn'g going to interupt the guy. He outranked her, and the woman knew that. That meant she wasn't going to go and speak up out of turn, as the chain of command needed to be respected. Now, if it was in the field, then she'd maybe speak up anyway, but that was different.
The mercenary gets brief, appraising look from Sylvia. Bringing in outside help? Well, that was Gotham for you. She turns her attention back to Martin as she waits for further details.
"News to no one," Domino replies without any hint of emotion regarding all of Gotham being a mess. She does a lot of contract work around the area, there's plenty of bad people, money and corruption around the place to support her line of work until the end of civilization.
The differences between herself and everyone else around here aren't hard to miss. The black patch around her left eye, larger than even the gaudiest of sunglasses, kind of stands out as well. Though what may well stand out even further than the physical appearance is that, unlike the others assembled, she's not here by rank. She feels no compelling urge to keep her thoughts in check.
"Things must be getting pretty ugly for you boys to have called me down here." Either that or it's a job where they're expecting losses on their side. Why send in SHIELD agents when someone else will do?
Either way, if she lives then she gets compensated for it. That's usually a good way to get her attention.
Martin Kavanagh nods just a bit at the agents who decide to stay silent for the moment, to gather information. Domino does speak, but at the very least, she was addressed before. "Ms. Domino, I have enough resources that I thankfully don't need you for my day to day. I don't need any of the agents here for that. But I have an operation that I really can't trust to even what ROs I have, which means I need... specialized assitance. Which you all can provide me with."
He grabs a remote from the table, and clicks it, the lights dimming as the projector activates from it's pre-warmed-up state, revealing a power point presentation. The first slide is the picture of an older, weathered looking Italian man. "This is Gerorgio Vernacchi. I don't expect many people to read your briefs, but the short of it is he's a middling figure in the GOtham underworld, and he had been one of those rats nipping at the scraps of the Falcone's, trying to squirrel away enough of an empire to start challenging the other families. And he's, for the most part, succeeding, primarily through arms sales, which you should probably see as a big waving flag on why we're getting involved. He's stopped with the Ukaranian Eastern Bloc shit pulled from Soviet-era wharehouses, and has moved into more modern fare; we've tracked weapons from the European and American manufacuters, modern military grade, getting processed through him to groups in North America. Drug cartels, street gangs, 'Patriot Miltias'. Some of you might remember that Quebecian Sepretist stand off about three years ago outside of Saguenay about six months ago? They were able to hold out because they got their guns from this man."
As the lights dim and the screen turns active, Aaron's eyes go that way. He's still going to stay mum for the moment, simply following along with the talking. There's a faint flicker at his lips when Marty mentions not reading the briefs, but he doesn't speak. Given his personal history that led him to S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place, it shouldn't be a surprise why he's not-quite smirking.
The sandwich is still absently toyed with, while eyes behind those tinted lenses regard the face of that Italian arms dealer now projected. Yes, even and especially with the main lights gone does Aaron keep the eyewear on. It might not be likely there will be any problems if he exposes himself, but there's frankly no reason to. The tech guys were able to solve that problem for everyday wear in his case, so he can go out and about even in darker environs such as now without something dramatic happening because someone looked at him the wrong way.
So in other words, they needed to stop this guy. Sylvia makes some mental notes about what Martin is talking about, but doesn't speak up quite yet. They were still in the information gathering stage. She lets the others, if inclined, do the speaking. The question, of course, was what the orders were in regards to dealing with him. There were always restrictions of some type in place.
'Specialized assistance.' It brings a thin smirk to Domino's blacked out lips, but she lets it ride without further interruption. For now. Instead she stands her ground, arms folding together as she finds a nearby patch of wall to slouch against.
Once the conversation touches base on arms dealing her attention is officially grabbed. Not because of the potential issues that might crop up from having that kind of hardware out in the underground market. She's more interested in securing some of it for herself.
Did Fury have a hand in all of this, as well? It seems like the sort of move he would pull. Someone knew exactly what would get Dom's interest with this gig. Whomever might have been responsible, it does achieve the appropriate reaction. Besides, it's never a bad time to supplement, or upgrade, the old arsenal. Heck, she's still favoring a decades old design which would be considered widely obsolete by current age military buffs.
"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you guys are past the intel gathering stage and are ready to make a move on him. So, what's on the menu. Retrieval, assassination, scorched Earth? I do enjoy a good fire sale."
Martin looks over to Sylvia as he keeps the conversation going. "I appreciate you going out on a limb, but I'm afraid I'm just going to have to lop it off behind you. I've got some assests in place in his organization, but the man is not stupid. He compartmentalizes information, and he knows that we can /get/ humint, but elint we're hard pressed for in certain situations. Most of his organization works off of a sophisticated intranet, and almost none of it travels over standard channels. If we went on him now, it would be bad. I could make this a stand off with the right placed information, but the GCPD would be slaughtered, and I don't nearly have enough military assests to play aganist him without leaving serious holes in my rapid response capability. I would need a goddamn miracle to get what information I need to plan that. And the reason you're all here is that I might have one."
Another slide clicks forward, this time revealing some numerical information. "I have a contact inside who has let me know they do the smart thing of sending a physical backup to an off-site center. I have no idea where their main storage center is, but I would assume it's heavily guarded. It also apparantly had it's pipes burst, and is flooded for the moment, so the /next/ back up is going somewhere new."
"What do you mean they don't use standard channels?" It's the first sentence out of Ortel's mouth since he was upstairs heckling Hepburn about her customer service skills (the lack thereof). "Encryption? Proprietary? Specialized linguistics and code?" His attention hasn't drifted from the display so presented, but his head turns slightly to make it clear he's talking to Martin when he voices his queries.
Pity. But... Plot thickens. Domino's starting to see a better picture as to the nature of their problem, and why this group had been assembled in the first place.
Oh good, and someone else here is capable of holding a conversation.
"Interception," she corrects in all of one word. "You want to grab the hard data while it's being transferred. Outside involvement means you could very easily point the finger at someone else when all's said and done." Convenient shift of blame, tag a rival group and scare people out with an underground war.
Granted it doesn't fit in with her previous idea but it doesn't seem like any less fun to her. These guys would be smart enough to arm up the convoy with some of their best equipment on hand, right? She can only carry so much ordnance, anyway.
Martin Kavanagh gives a bit of a shake of the head toward Ortel. "Most of the problem is the method of transmission. Sneakernet. Most of the data comes in in bits and pieces, either in a physical format or in a flash drive, and it's cycle through different couriers. I've got a few of them on a payroll, but most of the information I've been able to pull is spotty and incomplete, at best. We could go more aggressive, but then he'll know there's an operation aganist him, and that will make our job harder."
And then a shake his head to Domino. "That would be interesting, but if I was doing /that/ sort of job, we have a few hiccups. The drive is large, encrypted, and a known valuable. They'd attempt to destroy it, and if we were able to get our hands on it, he'd know it would be comprimise. And he isn't stupid. He'd scatter, and by the time we would be planning operations, most of our targets will have moved, gone underground, or just vanish. And there's the slight complication that it's already been transfered."
Another flick of the remote, and a sattilette picture appears, along with some standard survallience footage. "The drive is currently here, in a safety deposit box at First Gotham International Savings and Investments."
"So if it can't be moved, it can't be stolen, it can't be replaced with a dummy - even if you haven't said that, you might as well have - it sounds like you're getting at going in and copying the whole thing, encryption and everything. In other words, get the data without them knowing it's been taken, which means duplicate and crack it. Am I wrong?"
He takes off those shades during all that, but his eyes remain firmly closed while he wipes at them. Ortel even turns himself to be facing away from most people present. It's not like anyone would turn to stone, but some propriety is in order in not randomly assaulting someone's mind with a mild dose of whatever's on his emotional plate right now. "Getting into a civilian bank shouldn't be too hard; a specific box would be trouble without squeezing someone for proof of access, though."
That's two strikes. Domino's arms unfold, held out to her sides in a 'really?' gesture before they drop down to her sides. When she hears what's really going down, that the drive is hiding out in a bank, she releases a long breath. "This is starting to get boring very quickly, Kav. There's no way you need three of us to crack open one deposit box. What gives?"
And when does this get interesting again? Well, there's this Ortel fella. He's kind of interesting, what with the shades and the way that he's turning away from everyone else the moment that they leave his face. In this she observes, saying nothing. There'd be a time to mention it later.
Martin Kavanagh gives a mild look over to DOmino. "First of all, at the very least, I have a budget, so I'm not exactly asking you to do goddamn charity work. If this was a standard infiltration job, I could have used one of my own people. Almost did, in fact. Had them open a deposit box as soon as we knew the move had been made, while we were doing background. And we're confident we know which one it is. Number 541. We were able to get an x-ray image to capture the model and type. And a sniffer to indicate it's lined with at least 250 grams of Semtex, all along the box. That factored into the background we did; the bank itself caters to both the moderatly affluent, and, primarily, to mob fronts and criminal organizations. The bank manager has been made aware of the box, and has button that will detonate the box. Which means we can't send in the police, even if I wanted to, or go in the suit-and-tie method and demand access. He'll sooner blow the back up then let us down there. But."
He holds up a finger. "This gives us some advantages. It means that if the box blows with a drive inside, they'll assume that the data was safely protected. Esspecially if the detonation was by accident. So. We need a way to get into the bank itself, move aggressively to secure the detonation button, move to the vault, make it look like we were after a lot more, and the explosion was a botch to the job, and then exfiltrate. All without informing the corrupt police and giving them fair warning."
"So it'll blow if they think someone farted in the air. That's adorable." Beat. "Something says I'll be running interference on the alarms. Detonation is a little hard to stop when it's a remote signal. Maybe the tech guys have something to make wireless interference on a local scale to drown out the signal, if it's done that way. I presume all the details of what we have are in the briefing packet?"
Domino takes in all of this news, a slight frown settling upon her face as all of the pieces start coming together.
"So you're bringing all of us in so that we can put our faces in front of a metal box filled with high explosives, rob a bank, and quite possibly exchange live fire with some of Gotham's finest."
This..just might conflict with her involvement with the Birds of Prey. Then again, wouldn't it be pretty boring if it didn't?
Hell, she's more concerned about her picture making it onto the evening news.
"I hope that your budget can cover my rates, because this is starting to sound all sorts of sketchy." But definitely not boring.
Martin Kavanagh nods, slightly. "If you can keep the alarms from going off, all the better. But this needs to be public. Part of the misdirection, make it seem like you were going in their for cash and general valuables, and that you weren't expecting explosives or the drive. I can give you something to interfere with wireless signals; Standard equipment that would be easy to aqquire for the professional crew. Not going to get past the silent alarms, of course, but still expected. Nevertheless, I don't expect them to be implementing a wireless soultion. The bank vault is underground, and heavily shielded. They couldn't expect a wireless signal to get in their reliably, and they wouldn't want the back up to explode when some lowly paid teller pressed the silent alarm. We're confident there's only one point of access to the dentonator, and it would be with the manager."
He looks back over to Domino. "And that's exactly what I'm doing. I expect you armed with non-lethal rounds. It makes a good legal ploy that you weren't planning on 'deadly force'. I can handle your fee, and we'll make sure what money and equipment you steal goes into the right hands. Think about it as transporting a large cash donation to UNICEF." He gives a slight grin. "But, if it was easy, I wouldn't need you. And if it wasn't worth the reward, I wouldn't need you. But we get a hold of that drive, and Georgio doesn't know a thing about it? I can promise you then that we will be... hurting him. And I might need a hand for /that/, too." He says, this time looking pointedly at the mercenary.
"Simple enough." That's all Ortel has to say on the matter, and from there his attention will focus on Domino when Martin starts speaking to her. There's a small smile on Aaron's lips when the implications over the future are voiced out loud, but he himself keeps quiet on the matter.
That poor sandwich in his hand is getting no love whatsoever, either. It just sits there, forgotten, forlorn, no doubt offending someone's senses somewhere in the world, but it well and truly will not be eaten. He'll have Subway and eat /fresh/ later.
Again, with the non-lethal solution..! As if people didn't trust Domino's ability to shoot people with normal bullets without killing them! "To hell with the legal ploy, I'm not planning on getting caught."
There's something about all of this which has her brain telling her not to go forward with it. The whole situation is a bad idea, it's only going to cause her trouble in the end. It's not worth the risks, the risk/reward odds aren't in her favor.
That would be the predictable, sensible thing to do. That's also not how she works.
"What the hell. Count me in."
Martin Kavanagh looks between the people gathered here for a moment, beofre nodding as people give ntheir affirmations. "Good. Very good. Now, we could do this at night, but the chances of encountering enhanced security or vigilantes are higher in that point. While it may seem counterintuitive, the day allows us more of a chance to avoid vigilante acitvity, and more of a chance to escape into business or crowds. If you are caught, you keep your mouth shut. No one discuesses who they work for, or what they do. The offical cover story is that this was a SHIELD operation to test security and police response, held without knowledge for maximum versimulltude. I do /not/ want to have to use that cover story. It puts us at the forefront, and people start asking questions. And if it becomes a big enough problem, you're deniable assests. We had no knowledge of what you were doing; it was a private operation. You know the drill. My suggestion, in this case, would not to be caught."
He pauses again. "I think that covers the particulars. We'll meet in a few strategy sessions to discuss the nuts and bolts. Any other questions?"
"I'm good, as long as that briefing packet's waiting for me." Said while looking at Dom, Aaron leaves it at that. He's reverted back to keeping his comments brief, and right now he'll be devoting his attention to studying the mystery albino woman contracted to lend a hand in this little sting operation. He's got a smile on his mouth, too, that having started from the moment Martin voiced the possibility of law-enforcement apprehension, but Ortel says nothing. He /does/ look amused by the notion, though.
For whatever reason, that amusement is felt by more than just the man with the sunglasses. Domino's feeling it, too. They're being asked to rob a bank. Cause a whole heap of trouble, leave a mess behind. And, she's getting paid for it, too! It's a stupid way to earn extra money for herself but damnit if it doesn't sound fun.
"Nah, I'm good. You guys know how to reach me."
Looks like she'll have to start finding new suppliers for non-lethal rounds, she's going through those guys by the brick lately.
Category:Log