Assassins Tale

Espionage, Covert Ops, or other settings in our modern era.
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Assassins Tale

Post by Vick_Vega85 » Fri Jul 03, 2009 10:21 pm

Barcelona, Spain

Deacon Collins strolled through the plaza, his custom cut suit keeping the late afternoon heat away. The large square was packed with tourists and locals, all milling around, playing in the large fountain or just soaking up the culture. He passed by a group of Japanese tourists, dozens of cameras clicking away. He smiled, he loved Japan, had been there at least a dozen times in his life, he always found it funny how taken their tourists always seemed when in another country, like they never knew diffrent civilizations existed. He flipped a Euro into the fountain and headed to the cathedral. Built after the Moors were driven out, it was one of the oldest in the country with impressive murals decorating the walls and ceiling. He pushed open the heavy oak door and looked around. He had been in hundreds of churches but nothing compared to the European architects of old. They really had an eye for making everything perfect, made modern contractors look like chumps. He would never say that out loud though, his dad was a union laborer till the day he keeled over at a jobsite of a heart attack. He dipped his fingers in the small silver bowl of holy water and crossed himself. The candles made the interior even more impressive. All the statuary and pews looked like they were brand new. Deacon walked down a side aisle, looking at the handfull of people who were either lighting candles or praying feverently amongst the pews. A young couple was making out near a confessional.

He saw the access door to the bell tower just beyond a large mural of Saint George, the dragon slayer. He lit a small candle for past friends and slowly made his way to it. No one was paying attention to him, as usual. Now if his fixer did their job, the door wouldnt sound the alarm, bringing a whole lot of Guardia Civil oficers down around him. He got to the door and without a glance, pressed the lever handle down and pushed. No alarm. He slipped into the handcut stone stairwell and made his way up. The bell tower was ten stories up and had a commanding view of the land all around. Deacon picked the simple lock at the top and walked out onto the narrow catwalk that surrounded the large cast bell, long tarnished over. The long ,sleek black case looked out of place, setting on a metal tray. He quickly undid the latches and started assembling the rifle. The .338 Lapua round was the best of both worlds. It was smaller than the mighty .50 cal bmg but bigger than the could reach out over one thousand yards and drop a person or take out an engine block. Today he wouldnt need to test the distance of the round, but he needed the power that it had. Once he had the bolt locked in place, he pulled out a picture of his target. Jean Cherkov. A french/Ukranian physicist who had a briefcase full of fission particle stabilization centerfuge schematics and a few very intrested buyers from some very unfriendly countries. Anyone gets their hands on it they could do some very bad things with those plans. Deacon flipped the bipod legs down and set the rifle onto the stone ledge overlooking the plaza and peered through the scope. Jean was on holiday with his family, and also meeting a prospective client. Whoever had hired Deacon wanted him dead before that meeting. He went from face to face, looking for his target. He slid his coat off and laid it next to the rifle case and rolled his sleeves up, this could be awhile. Twenty minutes later he saw him coming out of a small eatery, his wife and twi kids in tow. Deacon put the cross hairs on the mans chest and lead him a half second, allowing for his pace. The family went to the fountain and Jean dug in his pocket, handing his daughters coins to wish on. Deacon smiled slightly, maybe wish for a gust of wind and save your fathers life. Deacon took a deep breath, let half out and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Jean watched his two little girls toss the Euros into the splashing water. Life seemed so good. This was his first holiday in years, plus the sale of the plans would net him enough to make his family more comfortable. He looked at his wife and reached for her hand.


Deacon saw the bullet punch through Jeans chest, blowing a basketball sized hole in his back, splashing his blood across his wifes face. Deacon watched as he fell to the cobbled ground. The screams reached the heights of the bell tower. He quickly broke the rifle down and stashed it back in the case and placed two thermite grenades on top, set the timers and casually made his way back to his hotel. The Concierge at the Ambassador hotel was a very resourceful man. He knew where anything and everything you could want was located or who you could talk to to get it. Deacon walked in and made his way to the small desk."My friend, where can I find some company for the night?"

The concierge smirked, "Well sir would that can be achieved in many ways. I know a very good brothel just up the block that offers a very generous discount to visiting business men."

"No, I was hoping to not pay for it tonight."

"Well then, there is a discotech that is very popular off of the plaza. Many beautiful women go there, if luck is with you you wont end the night alone." Deacon slipped the man 150 eauros and nodded, "Thank you, have a car ready in an hour."

Deacon stepped out of the shower and pulled open his closet. Lets see, late night, warm weather. A light tan suit with a mint green shirt, perfect. For coming from lower middle class parents he had very expensive tastes, something he had aquired from years in private practice. His cell phone chirped and he answered. "Nice going kid, on time and perfect shot. The client was pretty pleased."

"Thanks Montie, Im happy that you and they are happy. I'll be even happier when you tell me that their money came through."

"Well get your dancing shoes on cause it did. One hundred grand in cold cash. Where do you want it, Swiss or Cayman?"

"Swiss, my Cayman banker is being an asshole, Ill have to pull out and make another Swiss account."

"Stick with the original my friend, the Swiss are the best at it. So whats the agenda for tonight, fuckfest and booze as usual?" Deacon laughed and shook his head. He had never met his handler but it was like they were old friends. "Probably Montie. Anything else?"

"One thing, be careful we've had a few incidents involving other assets and we're warning everyone to keep their eyes peeled for strange shit. Have fun kid."

"Thanks Montie, Ill talk to you later." Deacon hung up and got dressed. It was nearly 10:00pm. He looked himself over in the mirror and smiled, not bad. His black hair was cut perfectly, a no maintenance but still trendy look. Tanned from the spanish sun, it set his green eyes off better. Plus his athletic body helped, he kept in great shape, something he carried over from the service. He checked his wallet, dug a few hundred Euros out of his overnight bag and walked down to the lobby. The concierge was waiting with a car parked out front. "Have a great night sir."

Deacon smiled back as he entered the car, "God willing."


His cell phone woke him up the following morning early. Deacon groaned and rolled over, snatching his phone off the bedstand."What?"

'Sorry for the early wake up call kid but this one is hot off the presses and going fast. Its in Turkey and its money baby, over half a mil for this job. It has to be done quick and look like a natural death."

Shit, he looked at the clock and groaned again, he had been asleep for a little over three hours. "OK, when do I leave?"

"An hour and a half, we have a charter jet waiting at the airport. Good luck kid"

Deacon hung up and flopped back down. The money was too good to pass up. He had packed up before he had left, anticipating something like this. He swung his legs off the bed and stood slowly. He heard his bed mate groan and sit up. Marcella was quite a find last night. She looked like a twenty year old, was thirty and was beautiful. Her long black hair hung down her back, flawless skin, full lips and the endurance of a tri-athlete. She flipped her hair off her face and smiled sleepily. "Whats going on?"

"Nothing baby, business, I have to go, but the room is paid till tomorrow, so feel free to stay." He leaned over and kissed her before heading to the bathroom. When he got out she was asleep again. Deacon threw on a plain grey suit, grabbed his bags and left. Twenty minuest after Marcella opened her eyes and dug her phone out of her handbag. She dialed a number and waited till the encryption kicked on. "He left twenty minutes ago. I dont know where." The voice on the other end answered her.

" He's headed to Turkey, we have booked a flight for you in three hours, you two are on the same contract. The dossier will be delivered to you when you arrive at your hotel. Dont let him see you."

"Allright." She hung up and smiled. This was one job she was really liking.

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Re: Assassins Tale

Post by Vick_Vega85 » Sat Oct 31, 2009 8:53 am

6 Years ago, Virginia Beach, Virginia.

Deacon sat in the high backed club chair in the biggest office he had ever seen. He was still a little apprehensive about being here. He had had a great career in the SEALS and had been discharged for all of a week before he got the call.The office was decorated in the standard boys club brick a brack. Stuffed trophy animals on the walls, dark wood book cases crammed with old, leather bound volumes, the walls covered with military mementos. He clutched a thick file that covered his whole history in the Navy. Even the files that allegedly didn't exist of the black bag missions. The large double doors opened behind him and an stately older man walked in. Deacon instantly read ex military off him, the stuff on the walls wasn't just decor, it was this guys history. The man took a seat at the large oak desk and smiled slightly at Deacon. "Fancy this, a squid in my office.' Deacon smiled back, a squid is what the army called sailors. Deacon spoke. "Let me guess sir, 75th rangers? Maybe a stint in Delta."

The man smiled wider and stuck his hand out, " Maxwell Solando. I'm glad you could make it Mr. Collins, you come highly recommended."

Deacon shook his hand and placed his file on the desk. "Sir, you say I come highly recommended, but by who?"

Solando took the file and started leafing through it, "A new member of my team, a Cyrill Tavenger, ex SAS you two cross trained together at Hereford and at Norfolk. Also lead a team into Tajikistan for a crashed F-18 super hornet and its pilot and brought all your men out after two teams from Germany's GSG9 sustained heavy casualties. He said you would be perfect for my new venture."

"And what would that be sir?"

Maxwell closed the file and leaned back in his chair. "Well son, I'm not going to dress it up for you. I run a private contractor business. The bulk of my company trains foreign military groups and also does private security for governments. And before you ask I have no interest in sending you to Iraq or Afghanistan to guard convoys or drive trucks or watch the back of some war lord. Ive started a new branch to handle special cases. You will kill people for money. Any contract that you get you can turn down or accept. This isn't much different from what you've been doing for the past eight years as a SEAL. All of the contracts are from the USA or our allies. You wont be asked to shoot children or kill someones family, these people are enemies of this country or fund or supply our enemies. The pay is good because its dangerous and the competitive. We will be working against other groups and companies that supply the same service. We provide the weapons but if you have contacts that you can acquire certain things from I would hang onto those. Are we clear here son?"

Deacon stared at Maxwell and then leaned forward. "Where do I sign up sir?"

Istanbul international airport. Present day

The flight attendant shook Deacon awake a few moments before the plane landed. He came to and stretched in his large leather seat and sipped some mineral water as the wheels touched down. His bags and a black Mercedes was waiting as he exited the plane.On the passengers seat was the dossier. He opened it and propped it up on the steering wheel as he pulled off the tarmac and onto the access road that lead him to the highway. Prince Mustapha Al Quasam, current ruler of some small oil rich speck of land in the mid east. He lived and played hard, spending alot of his countries money on toys and gifts and trips for him and his many girlfriends. He was seen as a hero to many of his more fanatical fans by denying any access to US and European oil companies and openly flaunting his ties with certain terrorist groups. Banking statements showed that he had donated well over 25 million dollars to shell companies that were covers for Al- Aqsa Martyrs brigade and Hamas. This guy needed to have his ticket punched but not the usual way. If it even looked like an assassination all hell would break out. Deacon wove in and out of traffic, guiding the well made piece of German engineering towards his hotel and saw in the file that the prince was a big soccer fan and would be attending the Turkey VS Netherlands match in two days. Deacon closed the file and pulled out his phone. It rang twice and a familiar voice came on. "Talk to me kid, tell me your all about the mission and not about some wild Arabian love fest post kill."

Deacon laughed, "Please Montie I'm all about this one. His Majesty is a soccer fan. I'm going to need a blue print of the stadium, a coverall like the maintenance people have and 400 cc's of succinylcholine."

"Ooh I'm liking this one. Ok kid all that should be there in twelve hours. Good luck and keep your eyes open. Kaitlyn Rodgers and Blair Ovinski were found dead in Oslo, they were working a job and someone double tapped them both."

Deacon hung up and digested that last bit. Kaitlyn and Blair were friends. They both worked for Maxwell and were deadly as they come. Whoever was trying to muscle in on their contracts wasn't playing nice at all. He hoped whoever it was would come for him, he wouldn't be caught napping.

3 hours later.

Marcella walked through the airport, picked up her bag and got into the silver Audi. A file was in the glovebox. One was on Prince Mustapha, the other was on Deacon Collins, Age 34. Ten years in United States Navy. Two years as a gunners mate, the following eight in the Elite Navy Seals. Has been working for Solando Global Security for six years as a Consultant. Expert sniper, instructor on CQB, Close Quarters Battle, High ranking Krav Maga instructor.

Not an easy man to kill but she had always liked a challenge.

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Re: Assassins Tale

Post by Vick_Vega85 » Sat May 01, 2010 9:27 pm

Istanbul, Turkey

The hotel was directly out of Arabian Nights. Flowy, Bedouin style tent set ups by the giant pool, ice cold drinks and a perfect staff used to taking well care of rich guests. Deacon loved having a large expense account and was taking full advantage of it. He had to squint through his classic Ray-Bans to sign the drink receipt that the waiter held out on a silver tray. The soccer game started in about seven hours and he needed to unwind a bit before getting in the killing mindset. Everything he had asked Montie for had shown up in his room an hour after he had called. But as the desert sun baked him brown he was miles away, and 4 years in the past.

Liberia, Africa.

Deacon sprinted down the narrow, sewage soaked alley way, his boots spalshing his filthy BDU bottoms with even more dirt. He could hear sporadic gunfire, mostly AK's, some heavy machine guns. A ragged looking dog snarled at him as he ran between the tin and tar paper shacks. This wasnt hus usual work enviorment. He had been on a Solando Lear jet, heading back to Virginia Beach after a job in Austria when the pilot had called him up to the cockpit and handed him a satelite phone. It was Max. Two of his people were helping out with evacuation of American personel from the Liberian capital and had run into some stiff resistance by the advancing rebels. The Lear jet was waiting at a private emergency airstrip 4 miles south of the city. He was happy that the jest had some emergency clothes onboard in case of such a situation. Deacon switched his Com on as he ran.

" Dirt Diver to Great White and Cossack, Dirt Diver to Great White and Cossack, come in over."

"Great White to Dirt Diver, reading you loud and clear. Are you near overwatch position , over"

"Nearly there. Will contact when Im on site, hold out till then over."

The eight story burned out office building would be his spot. Deacon pulled his FN-FAL rifle up to his shoulder and peeked into the blackened lobby. There had been looters but not for awhile. He quickly ran in, slinging his rifle and drawing his Sig Sauer 220. He took the stairs two at a time, hoping Kaitlyn and Blair could hold off the rebels. He reached the top floor and knew he wasnt alone. Someone else had thought this was a good spot to oversee the Embassy. A bare chested rebel was quickly setting up an older Russian made PKM machine gun. From this vantage point he could rake the building with heavy weapons fire, adding more misery to Deacons two compatriots stuck in there. Before the rebel knew he was there, Deacon squeezed off two rounds of .45 from his Sig. The heavy hollow points took the man high in the centerline of his back. One plowed through the base of his skull, the second struck him in the spine. He fell flat like a puppet with its strings cut. Deacon took three steps into the room when he was shot. It felt like someone had taken a sledge hammer to his chest. A second rebel had been squatting down behind a pile of broken desks and file cabinets. Deacon fell hard as the AK bullets slammed into his Kevlar vest. The thick ceramic armor plate caught the burst but he had broken a few ribs, he knew that. Deacon looked for his Sig and saw it a few feet away, he had let it go when he was hit. He heard the rebel headed his way and sat up quickly, pulling his combat knife and tucking in behind a pile of rubble.

The rebel, came around the corner, AK held out far in front. Deacon waited a few seconds before jumping out, slapping the AK's barrel away from him and striking out with his blade. The rebel gurgled as he tried to speak with six inches of razor sharp steel through the wind pipe. Deacon gave it a twist as he pulled it out. He turned and holstered his Sig and brought the FN to bear. He peered through the Luepold scope, dialing in the range and wind. The Embassy was 350 yards away and he had targets from thirty all the way to 500 yards. The FNs deadly load of 7.62 rounds were theoretically deadly to 1000. He saw a pick up with a PKM bolted to the bed of it headed towards the Embassy. He held the cross hairs a few mils left of target and fired. The gunner jerked as the bullet punched into his chest. Deacon switched targets to a group of rebels shooting AK's into the embassy grounds. For a half an hour Deacon switched targets and fired. When the streets lookec clear enough he had radioed Kaitlyn and Blair to get on the move and not forget him. A canvas covered Duece and a half roared out of the emabssy's drive, Kaitlyn popping rounds off from her M-4 in the passengers side while a uniformed embassy guard drove. Balir was hunkered down under the canvas cover with the rest of the evacuees firing at the persuing rebels with his HK-G36. Ten minutes later Deacon was getting his ribs, already black and blue, bandaged up by a kinds doctor from Detroit who had been in Liberia doing missionary work.

Istanbul, Turkey.

Deacon sipped his Mojito , then saluted the sun with his drink. He'd miss his friends, grieve later, but he had a prince to kill.

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