"Sure..." Lyudmila rolls her eyes, clearly not believing a word as she grips the man by his cuffed wrists and begins to drag him out into the hall. Left to her own devices, Olena examines the door, looking for traps. Luckily, it seems that Comrade Andropov considers the extra security not to be worth the risk of accidentally blowing away a careless maid, so when the agent slides her key into the lock and feels the heavy mechanical click, that's all that happens. Turning the handle, she steps into the room with her pistol raised, but with nothing to shoot. The office is warm and smells of wood polish, moonlight pouring in through the windows. Olena tenses a little as she hears voices from outside. Beyond the windows is a balcony running around the second floor exterior, and she can hear men and women talking just out of view - from the sound of it they're party guests, voices a little slurred from alchohol, giddy and happy from having a good time. Turning back around, Olena sees what she came for - the nude hanging up behind the desk. Olena vaguely recognises the artist - a woman from the Imperial and revolutionary periods, and feels a pang of...something. that she quickly dismisses in her need to focus on the job. Looking closer, she agrees with Lyudmila's assessment - there don't seem to be any wires or connections indicating that the painting itself is booby trapped. She can't say anything for what's behind it, though, until she has a look.
For now, Olena holstered her weapon as she noted no one was in the office nor were they likely to arrive soon. This step would be the most delicate, even beyond assassinating Andropov - finding what she was looking for without leaving evidence that was her objective. She does take a moment to admire the art. The woman in the portrait was pretty: ruddy cheeks, long dark hair, wide hips and pale skin, a true Slavic beauty. Despite her nudity, it seemed more like a candid portrait of a woman reposing after an exhausting day or a particularly lengthy sleep. She reminded the redhead of some of the orphans she shared her childhood with... But that was neither here nor there. With a careful eye for detail, Olena began to look for the compartment in the frame of the portrait that would lead to her objective...
Poking and prodding against the elegant gilded frame, it isn't long before Olena feels a piece of it give in, pressing forward into a hidden indentation, a click sounding before a rectangular segment pops out. Inside, she can see a black metal box. Carefully taking the box out, she sees that it's about as long as her hand when she's not making a fist, and about as wide as her thumb. She can hear something rattle around inside. Examining it, she sees that it's securely locked. More importantly, she sees some sort of speaker system embedded into the side. Putting two and two together, she guesses that it'll start blasting a loud noise when opened.
Olena hummed as she noted the noise alarm mechanism attached to the box... Well, it was right where she expected the objective to be and she didn't know enough about such intricate defenses to be able to disable it on site... So that left two courses of action. First, she carefully searched the office for any sign of a key or another way to open the box, taking the time to check promising-looking documents and files. If that brought up no results, the only remaining options were to exfiltrate or locate and neutralize Andropov, then check his body for a way to open the box... She would like to at least confirm she had successfully acquired the objective. With that, Olena would go to the balcony, cautiously looking down to see if she could see her target in the crowd milling around or through any of the windows.
Spoiler: Luck Roll D100: 63 Moving towards the old oak desk, Olena's irritated to find no hint of a key, but prying open one of the drawers reveals a leather pouch filled with documents. There's no time to analyse them now, but from the heavy presence of numbers, she assumes they're financial documents - potentially a goldmine given the reason her paymaster sent her here. Spoiler: Stealth Roll D100: 77+10 (Deft Feet) Sliding open the balcony door and creeping forward through the shadows, Olena steps out onto the balcony, making sure not to be seen by the others. Below her is a stone patio that's being used as a dance floor, couples slow dancing to some romantic songs Olena recognises from her childhood. It's hard to make out in the dark, but eventually one couple's dancing brings them into the light, and she makes out Andropov, dancing with a woman in a cocktail dress. They're pressed up together as they dance, but Olena sees that the woman looks irritated. The two speak to each other as they dance, voices drowned out by the music, and eventually Andropov says something that must have been less than delicate, because the woman gives the bean counter a fairly forceful shove back, storming off. Andropov scratches his head, smiling to the other dancers and trying to play off the awkwardness, before moving to reenter the house. The woman storms to the craft table by the side of the patio, grabbing a glass of wine.
@majus Langley, Virginia, USA Windigo rolls open his car window, flashing his credentials to the twitchy looking armed guards at the gate, who wave him in. He's driving an old Beetle - a bit too cramped for his tall and lanky frame, but perfect for keeping a low profile. He finds a parking spot nearby and brings the vehicle to a stop. He could have a reserved parking space if he wanted, but he's always found it's best not to attract attention here, where the enemy's eye is always watching - CIA headquarters. He sighs slightly as he looks at the building - so much walking for his old bones. This complex has been around for about nine years, and every time he comes here it plays hell on his knees. Idly, he wonders why they couldn't have just kept the old building? He heads inside, suppressing a smirk as he sees the bible quote etched into the lobby wall. He never quite figured out if Dulles was being sarcastic or not when he ordered the words chiseled into the lobby of a spy agency. After passing through a heavily guarded checkpoint, he heads deeper into the building, past the public areas and into the belly of the beast, a massive, swarming office centre. Windigo walks along, carefree besides the pain in his joints, curious but not quite worrying why he was summoned here. There was no explanation given in the coded message, and some of his Canaries had been afraid that the CIA was planning to remove him. Windigo knows, though, that if the CIA intended to do anything to him, he'd wake up in a dungeon or not at all - they're not going to spill blood in their fancy headquarters (one doesn't defecate where one eats, after all. Even Americans understand that). After ogling the secretaries for a while, the old man turns off into the back rooms, long, identical barely decorated corridors, nearly getting lost. Finally, he navigates his way to a door marked Marketing and Public Relations Director - Nicolette McGuire. It's a bullshit title, of course. McGuire's work has nothing to do with marketing, and everything to do with planning coups in foreign nations. Windigo knows her by reputation - apparently she's something of a hardass. "Come in." A stern feminine voice sounds after he knocks. Heading in, Windigo takes a look at her. "Mr Stone. It's a pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat." McGuire says - not offering coffee. This isn't going to be a hostile meeting, then, but neither is it going to be friendly. "You worked for several years with Marisol Varga, correct? You were the one who recruited her, if my information is accurate." Windigo's eyes widen just a little at the mention of Marisol. He did more than recruit Marisol. She was one of his Black Canaries, picked up on a trip to Panama in the late 50s. He trained her, mentored her - and of course, was her lover. She left a mark - always willing to go the extra mile to get results on the field, and always willing in bed. He'd been annoyed but unsurprised when she was scouted another division and promoted out of the Canaries. "Have you had any contact with Agent Varga for the past 72 hours?" McGuire asks, eyes scanning his face for any hint of treachery. Windigo hasn't talked to Marisol for at least six months, since they...reconnected...in the bathrooms the last time they were both at CIA headquarters at the same time.
Alistair did not give any reaction to the question - and that was a loaded question. Why ask him, when she was already not working for him? Already a couple of theories sprang to his mind. "No." He answered shortly. Was her cell ambushed? Have they lost contact with her, or her supervisor? "I had no contact with her since six months ago." He answered truthfully - the best base for a lie is truth. And he lost nothing by giving this information - if she believes him... well, any doubts were her problem. A memory of their bodies in bathroom stall flashed in his mind. Or was it something else? Maybe the agency aimed to terminate her? Or were they checking if she contacted him... Why would she? He looked observed the director, taking in her body's speech. She reminded him of other directors he knew... For a moment, he could remember the cold of the forest and smell of ashes. They could not be that stupid to try it again... To early to jump to the conclusions. He waited for Nico to continue.
Spoiler: Awareness Roll D100: 66 Nicolette stares back at him, stony faced, for a long moment before she speaks again. She betrays nothing. The only hint he has to anything that isn't work related about her is a lightness on her ring finger, suggesting she wore a ring there until recently. "Understand that everything we speak about from now on is confidential." The disclaimer is completely unnecessary. Obviously what they're going to talk about is confidential - as if he hasn't learned to keep his mouth shut after spending most of this century in the business. Is it an insult, or does she just have - as Marisol once said - that much of a 'stick up her ass' that she feels the need to state the rules even when they're obvious? "Maribel has been working for me since you last saw her. She's been working an op of her own design in South America - building distribution networks for the supply of cocaine into the US, to gain untraceable funds for our operations." Nicolette finally explains. "She's been in Columbia for the past few months, but 72 hours ago we lost all contact with her. CIA teams raided her safehouse and found nothing. No signs of violence. We're currently operating under the assumption that she's been kidnapped by her drug smuggler contacts - perhaps a rival or a dispute over money. Other members of my department have suggested that her disappearance may not have been involuntary." IE: They're saying she decided she could get paid more going into business on her own. "The Canaries aren't under my jurisdiction. But, I know you have a great deal of leeway on which assignments you undertake. I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to investigate the matter, given your history. Of course, there's no pressure. I have other agents eager to take this opportunity." IE: Unlike my people, you're not going to blow her brains out the moment you find her and claim she was a traitor.
Windigo hummed, but not giving any different sign of his thoughts... Or appreciation. She was playing him for her purpose, that was obvious. But why? Was it a trap? This mission was not outside of their usual mission parameters, but for the last two decades, Canaries focused on counter-intelligence. There were not many missions they took outside of those parameters. A theory started forming in his mind as he noticed lack of her ring finger. He advised Marisol when she was transfering to keep her boss close - memory of the second purge of canaries was strong in him. She might have succeeded in that well enough to have Nico care enough about her to contact him... Or he was misreading the implication, and it was simply problems at home. To little data. "And?" He prompted the woman to continue, in a tone implying that it was obvious there was more to situation then she gave. He needed to know if there was more. If there wasn't, he probably had his answer.
"And... I need there to be no disruptions to the smuggling network." She answers. "I need you to find out what caused this problem. Be it Marisol being sloppy and getting in a dispute with dealers, or if there's a hostile agency involved or if the problem is more...internal." She adds finally. IE: If one of my own people stabbed her in the back to take her place.
This time, Windigo fought the urge to smirk. Of course, internal politics. This, he could easily understand. There was a reason he thought hard to keep his autonomy and stay away from Langley - to much politics for his liking this days. In old times, things were simpler - unfortunetl, the CIA grew to big to fast. It caused being as effective as it was in it's previous iterations. "So you are blind about the situation and want me to check what the fuck is going on." And you suspect someone from your people is involved. Drugs were not exactly clean way to make cash, especially with so many grumblings about banning them, but it was certainly fast way to make cash. "You want a favour." He summed it up.
"Indelicately put." She chides. "...But not necessarily incorrect. I'm not fond of the term favour, but our interests are aligned. And I would be willing to keep it that way."
Windigo shook his head. "There is no interest in this for me." Windigo answered brutally. The answer was honest. True, Varga was his pupil, somone he trained and someone he fucked. But he learned through his long life not to attach himself to all females he put his dick in. Well, he might be still fond of her, but there was no reason to let Nico know of it. "You have interest. You have a problem. You want me to solve it, while this is mostly outside the usual scope of our operations." He paused. "You want us, because we are unaligned. That is fine. I can agree to that." He nodded his head. He left her a room to open negotiations - because they're ere not going to be doing this for free.
"Hmph..." Nicolette looks away, quiet for a moment, before looking back. "Fine, if you do this for me, I'll consider myself to owe you a favour."
"Hmm..." Windigo considers his answer. The way she gave answer, was almost as if she was spitting it. Varga was right, the bitch had a stick stuck in her ass. "You seem tense." He said, instead of going into verbal negotiations. Lack of ring, might mean that he had a chance to catch her with money... Tempting and teasing was enough. "Michael should help you relax." He commented about her husband, knowing full well that the lack of ring spoke of that being not the case. But it created opening he could slide in. His eyes moved to the side, taking in the spot she was looking at earlier.
"I don't see what Michael has to do with this." She glares slightly, emotion slipping through professional reserve. "For your information, we're no longer together. But it's none of your business either way."
Gotcha ya~ If that's not my information, why are you sharing~ Windigo hummed, thinking. Those with power almost always had extravagated opinions of themselves. That they could not be cheated, could not loose, not be deceived. He had seen in all to many times... Now, how to play it... He could go all for nothing, but that was not the situation for that. A light tease, a promise and a threat all wrapped into one, would do good as a bait. He could wait. "I am sorry to hear this." He said slowly. "Very well, we will check the situation out." He said as he got up. He walked up to Nico and gave her a hand in handshake. "You should take your time to relax McGuire, it will help you to focus on your job. Trust me I know what I am talking about, there is a grain of truth about most rumours about me." His handshake became just a fraction firmer, not allowing the woman to remove her hand. "Most, if not all of them~." There. An idea of pleasure, base on rumours on his sex escapades (most of those rumours doesn't even scratch the surface of what he did.) A honey trap lure. A subtle threat, an allusion to stories of violence he partook in. (Those also, did not scratch the surface of atrocities he commited). Lust and fear mixed in a very subtle way. A subtle message 'I master in craft' - with 'don't fuck with me' under message. He looked into Nicole's face, to see if she got the message and allusions, curios what would be her reaction - fear? Longing? Respect? Understanding? Lust?
Spoiler: Seduction Roll D100 + 30 (Honeypot) => 88 Nicolette takes his hand, frowning as he holds on and refuses to let go. Then, as he makes his move, he sees her freeze a little, pondering what he's saying. He can almost hear her thoughts. What if he's right? What if stress and repression is effecting her work? Maybe...It's not like she's married anymore, right? "I've...Heard some of the rumours about you." She says. "The Old Man." She's being diplomatic - he has far less flattering nicknames, and some flattering but very crude ones as well. "I've wondered from time to time if they were exaggerated. Marisol never told, but she...implied." He watches her loosen up a little bit, the scowl turn into a more neutral, intrigued expression. It'll take more if he wants her - a few words of innuendo are hardly going to spread her legs for him - but he has her interested now. Curious. From experience, he knows that it's only a matter of nudging curiosity in the right direction to turn it into action.
(Nice throw!) Windigo considered his next step for a moment... but decided to let the woman work on it. A long tease would spice his appetite. "Hmm... why don't you check yourself?" He suggested as he finally let go of her hand. A director should have access to... some of the old files. He might actually make her his ally, in a long run... well, that's one possibility. "Good day." He gave a crisp nod, then left the room, leaving the director behind. He made his way through the building, his mind already working overtime. He could get files on Marisol... but those would be taken from the agency, and this could be inside work. No. He would check the situation on site. He walked back, to his car, making sure he was not followed, before driving of. He made a few circles before making his way to his base. He would need to prepare a team...
Olena hummed at the documents. Maybe the CIA could get something out of the financial details enclosed within. At the very least, they could take it as a sign that she was trying to give them actionable intelligence. She folded them up and... Well, a bodysuit didn't leave much room for storage space. With a mildly amused scoff, she opted for Ol' Reliable for women who find themselves in her position: opening up her clothes and using her cleavage for storage. "Guuuh... Hope to God I don't get a papercut in there," the voluptuous "Vixen" thought as she zipped up her bodysuit. In comparison to Lyudmila, who was rather extravagantly proportioned, even more so than Olena, the woman she spotted with Andropov was willowy and slender in a way that rendered her graceful in her beauty. Not at all like the floozies that accompanied many of the rich men here. Perhaps that's why she shoved Andropov away when he said something perhaps too forward. Despite herself, Olena watched her, mildly enraptured by the willowy woman's movements back to calm herself with a glass of vino... Before shaking her head and watching Andropov move back inside. Olena considered her options... "Well... I have access to the guest rooms. Could try to find a dress my size and lure him somewhere quiet... Maybe I'm not his type though, if that woman is any indication... Could be I need to wait for the party to disperse..." As she thought it through, was there any other way she could get Andropov alone?
