Of Operations: Chapter 2

Back in Indianapolis, my superiors John Castleson and Troy Alluster were sitting in front of me. I looked at them both from across the cold metal table in the small interrogation room. John was holding the AAR (After-Action Report) from my mission in Croatia while Troy was texting a colleague. John was a former Marine General, who was giant, muscular, clean shaven, and had grey chopped hair was dressed in an unwrinkled blue suit. He worked with a total interest in the American security but could sometimes be blindsided by his conventional view of things. Troy Alluster on the other hand had a muscular build but was not as massive as John. In his black suit, with the top button of his white dress shirt open, he looked like he belonged in a James Bond film. He had short yet not chopped black hair, with rough stubble on his face, with streaks of grey starting to show. Troy had been in the Army Special Forces for over twenty years before joining the Agency. Personally, I have no idea how they got along. Castleson closed the folder and flopped it down on the table. “I wasn’t aware this was an assassination mission Agent uh… say what is your name? It doesn’t matter, as far as I had been led to believe, this was supposed to be an intel grab. Your man should have led the targets away from the enemy safe house so you could slip in and find take pictures of the blue prints they were carrying. That was it. What changed?” I folded my arms for a moment and took a good look at Castleson. I then straightened my back in my metal chair, reached into the inner pocket of my black Zegna suit and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The ex Marine took the paper and unfolded it, eyeing me curiously. He looked at it, obviously trying to make heads and tails out of what he was looking at. “What am I looking at?” said Castleson said. Alluster leaned over, and smiled a smile that belonged to a wolf; a wolf that had seen his fair share of fights. His face showed a history of many smiles, scars, and years. “Those are bank account numbers John, to the Shwuad bank in Switzerland.” I returned the smile. At least someone in here knew what was what. For the first time, I opened my mouth, “I’m not sure why my friend couldn’t keep them out of the house for longer, but it’s irrelevant. What is relevant is the contents of the accounts. Let’s start with the first one. It contains four million dollars. I had a contact trace the money but all that he could tell me was that it came from a man of Iranian nationality. There are 23 more accounts on that page. Need I go on further to paint a picture of its importance?” Castleson looked up at me. Remember who you’re talking to boy. We haven’t all been thieves or spooks all our lives. We all don’t know how to work the shadows like your kind does.” I gave him a smile, but my eyes remained as a predator’s. “Yes you prefer the spot light, don’t you?” The ex Marine General was about to go ape shit when Alluster leaned forward, slightly in front of the General and interjected, “I think what he’s trying to say, John... is that we all come from different areas of expertise and that we need to work together.” I stood up from my chair and straightened my jacket. “I’m going to Vienna to meet my Ukrainian agent. I’ll report once I have something.” I nodded at Alluster who promptly returned the nod, but gave me a looked that cautioned any more testy remarks. After pushing in my chair, I turned and walked out of the room.
Before going to the airport I drove to the pub in my black Infiniti M Hybrid. The pub that I was a regular at (whenever I was actually stateside that is) was an old building made of white brick with a subtle green sign that hung above the door that said “Mog’s”. I walked in saw a few other regulars and nodded to them politely. Most of them were old men in their fifties or older. I walked up to Alroy, the manager and bar tender and slipped him a piece of paper, “Alroy my man, give this to Cornelia please.” He looked at the paper and sighed. “You just got back… you’re leaving again so soon? Another conference?” I rolled my eyes dramatically and nodded, “Yeah, another conference. Damn boss loves his conferences. You’d think we’d sell enough suits to make him happy.” Alroy looked at me for a moment too long for comfort, and then nodded as well. We shook hands and as I was about to say goodbye, he spoke “You know those damn Europeans. Have to have their fancy French suits or it’ll be another revolution.” I led out a solid chuckle and put on my sun glasses. “You got that right my friend. I’ll see you soon.” I slapped the counter, then turned and walked out of the restaurant, leaving behind one of my best friends and a place I truly enjoyed. Cornelia was a waitress there that I had built a solid friendship with. We had this odd thing where we would read books and then give a report about them to each other. The note I had given to Alroy contained my summery of the most recent book I had read, which I knew she was eager to hear about. I had come to know the employees so well through my younger years. When I was 18, I moved to Indianapolis to go to college. I would often come in to Mog’s to drink coffee and study, and eventually became friends with most of the workers. Powerful memories of my college days floated in my mind and tugged on some heart strings, and as I smiled softly, I shut them out without mercy. As I walked down the old brick sidewalk to my car, a gust blew down the street and shook the trees that lined the street. It smelled like Mid-October; like Halloween was on its way. I opened up the door to my car and the smell shifted from the peaceful of Fall to one of luxurious leather. Time to go to work.
Sixteen hours later, I was in the large Austrian town of Vienna. It was bustling with tourists, shops, traffic, and other events like many European towns. What impressed me about Vienna though was it’s prestigious musical background. Many of the big composers had either lived or worked in Vienna at one point in their lives and from that a legacy of musical excellence had filled it’s streets. I had decided to wear dark, thin fitting designer jeans, black leather all-terrain shoes, a black shirt with a worn brown leather jacket. As I opened the airport door I was blasted with the extremely cold Austrian air, however I welcomed it after the warm and cramped seven hour flight. I realized for probably the millionth time that I was in a foreign country with nothing but my black backpack, three thousand dollars, and a fake passport. I put on my Oakley sunglasses and hopped in a Taxi, which after some improvised communication with the driver; I was able to reach the address where I would meet Mikhail. I paid the Turkish looking driver, stepped out onto the crowded sidewalk and calmly looked around me, trying to catch any possible tails or surveillance teams. Once I had deemed that I was probably in the clear, I grabbed the thick metal handle to the buildings door and stepped inside. Expecting a deli or maybe a sausage kitchen, I was surprised to see instead five bowling lanes. The bowling center was well lit, however seeing as most of the occupants smoked, visibility was hindered. The place smelled like many European places; food, smoking tobacco, and coffee. Two of the five lanes were occupied with some other people lounging near the far rear corner. All in all, there were probably around ten people in the building total. I sat down one of the lounge settings, and looked at my watch. It was noon and five minutes till our meeting was supposed to take place.
As the front door opened, the first thing I could see was Mikhail’s pale, bearded face cracking a grin. He had on a heavy black coat, Adida running pants, and a pair of indoor soccer shoes. I gestured for him to take a seat and he nodded, flopping down in the cushioned chair, the groan of the chair’s wooden frame betraying Mikhail’s seemingly light appearance. He was a shorter man, and not exactly massive in build, but was made of iron to his core; especially his core that is.
“You know Mikhail, Ukraine broke off from the Soviet Union in 1991. You can stop dressing like a god damned Soviet hitman” He let out an accented laugh and then retorted, “And you, my main man, can stop dressing like an Armani Indiana Jones. You look like eh… you belong in a museum.” I grinned widely, “You son of a bitch… you never told me you’d seen Indiana Jones.” Mikhail leaned forward on to the table “Oh yes, they are very, very good.” I sat back in my cushioned chair, astonished, and shook my head. “Anyway, I just have pride in my country, and my gender. Speaking of style, you ex-Ukraine spec ops guys have none. It’s always black sweaters with black jeans and black boots with you people.” I said back. His laugh quieted down to a chuckle, and he replied in kind “Well at least we Ukraines can cook. This MacDoonalds your people eat is very bad, I will tell you that. It is as if you are tenderizing and cooking the cow’s shit instead of the meat.” I smiled and raised an eyebrow, replying in Russian just for the hell of it, “Does my body look like it is full of fast food my friend?” he smirked and shook his head. Alright, looks like we are getting down to business. Mikhail pulled out a folder and after placing it on the table slowly, looked at me seriously, yet when I tried to open the folder, his hand pressed down on mine in a cautioning fashion. “Before you open it, I need to tell you this… what you will see inside, will disturb you.” He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. “The west is in trouble. And there is really no way that Ukrainian Intelligence, or any Intelligence as a matter of fact, can help. Officially that is.” He said with a brief tilt of his head. I put a toothpick in my mouth and chewed on it carefully, looking up at Mikhail and nodding slowly. “Understood. Now let me see what’s inside.” Mikhail sighed and removed his hand, allowing me to open it.
Project Merlin were the first words that I saw as I pulled the paper out of the manila envelope. My eyebrows furrowed in concentration and I moved my toothpick to the other side of my mouth. Most of the page was redacted, reading:

Project Merlin has been a success my fellow colleagues. I cannot begin to tell you how much we have accomplished in even the law few quarters.. We have a secretary ready for typing and filing .. Our competitors will surely not see this coming. This is a new age for our great company. The secretaries abilities range from paper editing, securing meeting times, and management. She also has a good smile. Our friend that is heading this new office will have a full official summery for you on Monday. This is just a personal update from one friend to another. May god bless you.

-Abu Rashad

I looked up at Mikhail. “It's encrypted.” I said. Mikhail clasped his hands and looked down briefly before looking back at me, shaking his and and smirking “Yes my friend, I know it is encrypted” he pointed at the extremely vague piece of paper in my hands, “ but that is maybe the most valuable piece of intelligence currently residing on planet Earth. I would be very happy to have it if I were you.” I shook my head and looked up at the now grim Mikhail as he exhaled smoke out of his nostrils. “Well give me some context Mik… I can’t work with this.” My Ukrainian friend shrugged and shook his head, “I don’t have any such context to give you. If I did, you would already know it. The only person who will know what these encryptions really mean is the original writer and recipient of the letter.” Before I stood, I took one more look at the letter, then folded it and stuck it in the inner pocket of my jacket. As Mikhail stood up as well, I smiled and asked “Isn’t there something else you’re going to give me comrade?” He looked at me quizzically for maybe half a second before nodding and mumbling “Da, da, da…” and pulling out an envelope which I took and put in my other inner coat pocket. We shook hands and smiled at each other. “Thank you my friend. I can always count on you.” “You be careful out there… Abraham.” I nodded at him and walked out of the bowling alley. Reckless my friend, to use even my cover name in public. Reckless for you, and me. I took out my phone and began to reserve an international flight.