Homestead, 1348 hrs local:

A look of momentary confusion crossed Double Down's features, when she was tagged as Albinson's relative, but it was almost immediately as quashed as turned to face Staff Sergeant Fischer.  "Wh..." she started, "Why that is pretty amazing...  Is it the eyes that gave me away?"  She pushed up her oakleys onto the crown of her head, though from what she could remember of the photos of the Captain, she looked nothing like him.

The auburn-haired pilot simply dismissed any apologies for foul language, extending a hand in greeting and introducing herself, "I'm Hannah."  She smiled gently and prompted the elderly gentleman, "And it is a pleasure and an honour to meet you..."  Double Down seemed more than willing to chat with Fischer for as long as the man was interested.  Ever since the encounter in Australia, Hannah had become acutely aware that there was more to a lot of things than met the eye.

Plus, she'd love to know more about whether the Staff Sergeant saw who might have been with the Captain when he had his stroke.  It sure sounded like Fischer knew more than he was telling anyone.

---

Miami, 1551 hrs local:

Hannah took a seat when prompted and leaned back to hear Doctor Adessi's story.  Her brow furrowed slightly, as she looked thoughtful for a moment and leaned forward.  "I am sorry, Doctor," the auburn-haired aviatrix prompted Adessi, looking for expert clarification as she played the layman, "But what do you mean by 'aggressive'?  Was it irregularly shaped and that is why it was so difficult to operate on?"

She knew that the next order of business was to actually see the clot and the 'foreign body', but it struck her that the neurosurgeon wasn't telling them something important.  But also, that she wanted to.

”No thank you,” Lina said, politely declining the offer of limeade.  Had she realized that Key limes differed from more common Persian lime she was familiar with, she might have accepted.  Kowalska had other things on her mind that than local citrus fruits however.

”I’m not sure if you are aware, but George Frye was murdered a few weeks ago outside of a Miami law office.  The suspect is a high value target for our Task Force,” Lina said.  She watched Paddon to gauge his reaction.  She didn’t expect that he would be surprised to learn of the killing, given Paddon's extensive personal security practices.

”Admiral Frye’s death came to our attention after our Intel Chief was contacted following the death of Floyd Waters.  Captain Water’s personal effects contained a file showing that he was assigned to Observation Squadron Fifty-Four.  Through subsequent research and analysis, we located the records of fourteen other veterans assigned to Squadron Fifty-Four, including you.” Again Lina studied Paddon’s face for any micro expressions, this time associated with Squadron Fifty Four.

”Of the fourteen members we’ve identified, nine have been killed in the last two months," Lina paused for a second, then added, "There is a pattern.”

Karolina motioned to the daypack she had placed at her feet.  ”If you will permit me,  I’d like to retrieve my tablet to show you what we have found.” Despite Paddon’s ‘retarded CPO’ deflection, Lina knew enough about the US Navy’s Nuclear propulsion program, both what it took to get in and what it took to stay in, to realize that this retired Navy Chief was likely the smartest person in the room right now.  It would be useful for him to see the raw data on the unit members, their locations, and cause of death.

”One of my team spotted a geographical pattern, right to left here, and then starting down from here,” Lina said, showing Paddon a map of Florida, with details on the deceased Fifty-Four members, from Ormond to Stephanidis.  None of the living unit members however, appeared on the map.  Lina had memorized the names and locations of those members, including Paddon.  OPSEC in case the tablet was ever compromised.

”We are very interested in stopping the next attack.  My unit deals with terrorism in many forms Mr. Paddon; domestic, trans-national, other.”  Kowalska paused to let the Chief’s mind chew on a concept of terrorism that might fit the last category.

”What can you tell us about Squadron Fifty-Four that might help us?” she asked.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:08, Tue 09 Feb 2016.

"Sure, I'll have a limeade, thanks Chief." Durand grins, his French accent purposely turned up a notch as he takes a seat at the table, nodding appreciatively as Paddon passes him a glass. The Frenchman then sits back, crossing one leg over the other, his demeanour relaxed, sipping the limeade as Kowalska starts asking her questions.

Whilst the Polish Captain is talking the DGSE operator concentrates on watching the Chief, trying to observe the older man's body language, watching to see if he can see any visible reaction to Dancer's line of questioning, at one point his left hand slipping of the arm of the chair, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together to try and attract Ricky. It's a calculated move; if the man sees that his cat is comfortable around his guests it may make him more relaxed.

When there's a break in the conversation Durand will shift forward slightly, place his glass down on the table. "So what did you do after you left the Navy, Chief? I saw the sign outside that said 'Marmell Consultancy. Do you mind telling me what you consult in?" He offers the senior citizen another grin, ine that is almost apologetic. "Sorry, it's just that the more you can tell us the more it helps us. We are pretty sure that your Squadron mates did not die of natural causes, and whoever is doing this we want to catch them before anyone else gets hurt."

"This may sound odd, Doctor, but did you find anything that could be classified as an entry wound in the patient's head or neck region?"

James almost didn't ask. Considering the patient's age and the symptoms he was displaying when admitted, chances were better than good that the ER staff didn't think to look. It wouldn't have shown up on any of the X-rays either.

-

Key West, 1915 hrs local:

Despite his well-practiced poker face, Paddon twitches just a bit at the mention of Frye.  "I read about the admiral in the paper," he says noncommittally.  "Damn shame."  He leans forward and takes Karolina's tablet, adjusting his reading glasses.  "Shit.  Connie's wife emailed me and I went to the service.  I hadn't heard about the others.  Except Paul, I guess.  I saw the story about this but the victim wasn't identified."

He hands the tablet back to Karolina, scowling.  "Yeah, it's a sequence, and I see where they're headed.  Thanks for the warning, Captain.  I'm pretty well hardened here and I can call in a few favors."

He sits back and considers Karolina, then shifts his gaze to Sébastien just as Ricky abandons his repast for the Frenchman's lap.  His frown softens slightly.  "No shit, there we were... okay.  The squadron's a sensitive subject.  A lot of it's still classified.  We were a test and evaluation unit for experimental aircraft.  Ever hear of ANP - Aircraft Nuclear Propulsion?  The Air Force ran that program at about the same time.  They wanted a strategic bomber powered by a nuclear reactor.  Their testbed was what they called the NB-36.  The Navy was interested in the same concept for maritime patrol and ASW work, high-endurance aviation."  He stares into the distance.  "This was before they put reactors in surface ships, so us bubbleheads were the Navy's only real source for personnel.  That's how I got involved."

It's a good story, and from what the agents know of the American history with nuclear power, it all hangs together.  But it's definitely rehearsed. 

Paddon continues, focusing on Sébastien.  "After I got out of the Navy, I went to work for Westinghouse, doing pretty much the same thing.  I retired from that in ninety-two and my wife and I moved down here.  The consulting firm was in her name - it's easier to get some government contracts if you're a woman-owned business."  He chuckles.  "I still get up to Turkey Point once or twice a year but mostly I screw around in my shop.  Probably half the boats around here have some part I ran up for a mechanic."

He looks back toward Karolina.  "The consulting is why I have all the security.  That, and the assholes from Homeland Security who came around after Nine-Eleven.  They were here to 'advise' me about terrorists but they acted like I was the security risk for daring to live this long with 'classified information' inside my head."  He snorts.  "But it gave me an excuse to put in about twenty grand of hurricane hardening and charge it as a business expense, along with the alarm system."

"Tell you the truth, most of the squadron's died of cancer already.  I'd be surprised if there are many of us left beside the - fourteen, you said? - you'd found through the VA.  All of us probably had a healthy glow..."

---

Miami, 1606 hrs local:

Doctor Adessi turns to Hannah.  "The clot was abnormally adhered to the walls of the blood vessel, not just lodged at a narrow point."  She refocuses on Michael.  "I'll walk you to Pathology.  You won't be able to get in without badge access."  She flips her own ID lanyard for emphasis.

She's beginning to stand when James drops his question onto the table.  She pauses.  Blinks.  Slowly turns to him.  "I did not.  But that is not something I would have been looking for."  Her head tilts in what's clearly her version of Michael's "processing new, unexpected inputs" mannerisms.  "Are you suggesting this stroke was somehow deliberately induced with the... introduction of the foreign mass we found?"  She tilts her head toward the door.  "Come on."

The pathology lab is tucked far away from the parts of the hospital normally shown to visitors.  Adessi swipes her badge across an RFID reader and ushers the agents through two sets of doors.  A trio of technicians looks up from a workstation in unison.  "Hey, Monica, I was just about to text you.  This is really uhhh," trails off one as he sees the visitors.

"Yeah.  We're here about that."  Adessi gestures to the agents.  "FBI.  They're here because of Albinson.  What do you have?"

"Beats the hell out of me."  The tech adjusts his glasses and flashes a crooked grin.  "Which is not what you want to hear in this room, right?  But this is really weird."  He gestures to the screen, then steps back as Adessi moves in.

The image takes a moment to process before the horizontal and vertical scale bars along the side of the window give it context.  "Right, that's your blood clot," Caradoc murmurs, his accent drawing a sharp glance from Adessi.  "Platelets, fibrin - that's your proteins that web them together.  And that is your 'foreign body,' yeh?"

The object in question is slightly less than half a millimeter in width, shaped like a roughly hexagonal bowl made of hundreds of burnished bronze rice grains.  Chains of the rice grains extend from each vertex, with clumps of tissue and blood clot visible at their tips - presumably the anchors which kept the clot so "aggressively" lodged.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:45, Fri 12 Feb 2016.

"Doctor, I would venture to say that your earlier question about inducing a stroke has definitively been answered." Dacovetti looks up from the monitor and tries to run a personality diagnostic on the technicians and the doctor.  "Is this everyone who has seen this object?" he asks as a follow up. "We need to secure the door.  No one else in or out."

The airman's eyes return to the screen and another series of questions almost erupt from his mouth before he remembers the limits of his own powers of coercion.  Despite years of service as a non-commissioned officer in the US Air Force, the TACP has spent most of those years in a rather solitary specialty.  As a consequence, he occasionally has trouble commanding puppies to sit, let alone medical professionals to comply with his orders.  This means he will have to apply an offensive strategy utilizing a judicious amount of polite words like "please," and "thank you."

"If I could impose, I have a series of questions about this object.  Let's skip the preliminary 'have you ever seen something like this before', because the answer for all of us is obviously 'no." He takes a breath and offers a smile.  "This may not be in your wheelhouse, but this kind of thing is in ours, so let's please work together and figure this out, because we are not pathologists."

The object has the designed look and color of several other objects of Attar origin that the team has recovered, but he can't say for certain. "Right now, I need to know three things.  Is there any evidence of how this object was introduced into Mr. Albinson's body?  What is the thing made of?  And finally, we need to figure out a way to determine if this object is transmitting a signal.  Please let me know how I can help you.  Thank you."

The story about nuclear powered aircraft sounds plausible enough, but there's something about it that does not sit well with Durand, makes him think that Paddon is not telling them the whole story. It's the Chief's revelation that other members of the Squadron have died of cancer that cause the Frenchman to shoot a brief but quizzical glance at Kowalska before he shifts his attention back to Paddon as the man's cat makes itself comfortable in his lap.

"Chief, the Captain and I both have experience with the group that we suspect are behind these killings. With all due respect your security may not protect you against these...people." Picking up from Dancer's earlier cue, the pause between words at the end of his sentence is quite intentional. "We could arrange for some additional protection. Maybe get you some accommodation on base at Key West, for you and your family. And Ricky of course." The Frenchman grins as he strokes the cat behind the ears. "Just in the short term, until we have dealt with the threat. These bastards aren't fucking around Chief. You are in real danger. If you'll excuse my French."

Lina took the tablet back, but didn't put it away.  As Sebastian spoke, she opened up the video player and queued up the TUNGSTEN MEMENTO videos.  As if to accentuate Durand's point, she once again presented the tablet.  The map of Florida was replaced by the still picture of an Attar holding an AKS-74U.  Lina pressed play as Paddon looked on.  When the Saudi 2007 video ended, the Kunduz video started.

"And finally we have Sebastien's handy work in Libya," Lina said as she started the third installment.  It was Dacovetti's cellphone video from Tripoli.  Lina couldn't help but smile as the Attar's skull off-gassed and even though she knew Seb had suffered for his close range coup-de-grace, it was satisfying none the less.

"Please let us protect you Mr. Paddon," was all Kowalska said as the three videos ended.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:36, Mon 15 Feb 2016.

Key West, 1929 hrs local:

Paddon grunts with mild interest and takes the tablet.  His eyebrows go up at the knifework in the Saudi prison.  They stay up as the Kunduz assault plays out.  When Sébastien and Michael's encounter in Libya comes up, they attempt to crawl up his forehead.  He runs the third video back to the dissolution, pausing it a few times to pinch and zoom.

At last, he grunts again and hands the tablet back to Karolina.  "So that's what they look like," he says.

He sighs and turns to Sébastien.  "This isn't a conversation we should have here.  If we're not on a clock, I'd appreciate you waiting around an hour while I secure my workshop and pack a bag." 

He pushes back from the table, preparing to stand, then pauses.  "Are you pulling in the rest of the squadron?"

---

Miami, 1608 hrs local:

An awkward silence falls in the room after Michael's rapid-fire delivery of questions.  The lab tech swallows hard and scratches his jaw.  "Erm.  Well, it's definitely not metallic or it would've shown up on the MRI.  I guess we can try--"

The other tech interrupts angrily, holding up her hands.  "Whoa!  Rewind that.  What do you mean 'secure the door, no one out?'"  She looks at Doctor Adessi for support.  "Monica, what is this crap?"

Adessi's nostrils flare and she steps up to Michael.  "That's an excellent question, Mister Dacovetti.  You're not locking down this lab without a great deal more justification.  That's not just me, that's hospital protocol.  This facility can't be taken offline arbitrarily.  And if that, that... item was deliberately introduced into the patient, as you suggested," she rounds on James, "then this looks a great deal like an attempted homicide, which requires me to notify Miami-Dade PD.  Unless you're suggesting we're being detained under some highly implausible justification?"

James adopts the firm, authoritative tone that Quantico teaches on day one,

"Let's not jump the gun here, doctor. Whether or not that object was deliberately introduced into Mr. 's brain has yet to be determined. That's why I asked about possible entry wounds earlier. Ruling that out should be our first priority. If and when local law enforcement needs to be informed, I'll handle it. This is a federal investigation and that's my purview. If you need to see a federal warrant before you cooperate, that can easily be arranged. Until that time, that tiny 'foreign body' is potential evidence in what might very soon become a federal homicide investigation, and there's a chain of custody to secure and maintain. But I think it would be in the best interest of you and this hospital to help instead of hinder this investigation. Let's be frank, doctor, if this is an attempted homicide we're looking at here, you missed it."

James pauses to let the ramifications sink in. He resumes in a more conciliatory tone,

"None of us," James gestures to his associates, "have the necessary medical expertise to make that determination. You do. We need your help doctor. I'm asking for your cooperation."

The ball is in Adessi's court.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:58, Wed 17 Feb 2016.

Lina was a bit surprised at Paddon's reaction to seeing the TUNGSTEN MEMENTO EBE.  She suspected this unit was involved in something the aliens were interested in, but clearly Paddon knew about the existence extraterrestrials, though clearly not what they looked like.  She didn't think it was necessary to tell him about the BRONZE FREESTYLE humanoids that Seb and the others had encountered in Australia.  At least not yet.

"I think we can spare the time for that," Lina said when the venerable Chief asked about preparing to leave.  Replacing the tablet in her bag, Kowalska took a moment to swap the Glock 21 in her waist-pack for the Colt Wasp.  The sun would be setting soon and deployment of the classified machine pistol wouldn't be as noticeable at night, if it ever came to that.

When Paddon asked about the rest of his squadron, Lina nodded.  "Yes, those we know about," she said, making clear that she might be working with incomplete intelligence.  "The rest of our team are working down from Homestead.  We started here and are working our way north."

"We have an NCIS escort outside performing counter surveillance.  They are unwitting to this threat.  Our cover story is that we are a NATO Task Force interviewing survivors of this squadron to gather ASW tactics and techniques.  If you'll excuse me, I'll check in with them now and let them know we'll be here for a bit longer." Karolina pulled out her smart phone and dialed the number she had programed in for Lieutenant Spencer.

"Good evening Lieutenant.  I just wanted to call and check in.  It looks like we will be here for a bit longer.  I'll give you a call five minutes before we are ready to depart.  In the mean time, please let contact me if you notice anything strange or suspicious."

Lina will start pulling close protection on Paddon after the call (entering rooms first, staying a few meters away, etc.)
This message was last edited by the player at 20:14, Wed 17 Feb 2016.

Facts are filed away in Durand's mind as Paddon speaks, things the Frenchman would like to explore more just now. Like Paddon's reaction to seeing the Attar. That's what they look like. So the American knew of them but had never seen one before. The DGSE Operator would like to know how the Chief knows about the extra terrestrials, but it's clear that Paddon would prefer to wait to have that conversation. But it is a conversation that would have to take place at some point. perhaps  after they were securely ensconced at Key West.

Other thoughts are competing with each other in the Frenchman's head, unsettling ones. If Paddon does have experience with these things then how long have they been visiting the Earth? It was easy to imagine conspiracies in those circumstances. Who else knew? Who else had been covering it up? His thoughts turn to his own father, a member of the French Senate. What secrets did he have in his head?

Pushing those thoughts away Durand rises to his feet, slowly, so as to give Ricky warning. "We got four other names besides yours Chief." He extracts a slim black notebook from the cargo pocket of his pants, flicks through it until he finds the page he's looking for. "Dana Albinson. John Ceelen. Darnell Hawkins. And Alfredo Herrera. Is there anyone else that we should know about who is not on that list or the list of the deceased?" He locks eyes with the older man. "We all know about Opsec Chief, but if there is anyone else who was off the books we need to know about them so that we can help them. Oh, and one other thing, I am presuming that you have a weapon?"

Double Down stood off to the side next to Painter as Dealer and the Lizard King took the lead in 'negotiations' with the lab techs and Adessi.  At first, her eyes were glued to the screen and what was being displayed at magnification there.  But then her gaze slowly wandered down to the actual petri dish and the object itself - however, small it might actually be.  She pushed her oakleys up onto the crown of her head for a moment.

Hannah took a deep breath and her expression went a touch distant.  The fingertips of her right hand touched her chin briefly as she stared intently at object for a thoughtful moment.  Her thin frame shuddered slightly as when she finally caught herself holding her breath and let the stale air in her lungs out.

The auburn-haired army aviatrix averted her eyes and rubbed her left temple for a moment - which morphed into scratching her hair and pulling on her sunglasses instead, suddenly a touch self-conscious.  Her lips were pressed thin in a tight, pensive moue.  "That..." she ventured quiet, "is a strange piece of tech..."  Hannah shook her head slightly, a gesture that might have been either dispelling a notion or dispelling a fog that had clouded over her eyes.  Either way, she paused for a moment before noting rather obliquely, but with a distinct level of certainty, "Must have been pre-programmed or transmitting and receiving at one point.  It's not like it could be controlled mentally, I mean that would be crazy."  She assumed that the others would understand her emphasis on the mechanical part and that she was confident that the rice grain didn't exhibit any 'purple' glow or anything that she could 'detect'.

After the debrief of the op in Australia, the rest of Grey Cell were well aware of what Cooper and Hannah had thought was going on with themselves and the ASIO agents that had encountered the BRONZE FREESTYLE specimens and their psycho-active BELCOURT MALLARD equipment.  Hannah herself had been nearly hijacked psychically; only the timely intervention of Williams had prevent something like that.  And subsequent to that Hannah had (like Cooper) been contacted by the doctors at the Rhine Institute.

But, of course, she couldn't say anything explicit like that (about either the specimens and equipment or their effects and her teammates actions).  At least, not in 'mixed' company.

You have protocol, I have a weapon, is what Dacovetti wants to say before getting a grip on a pulsing adrenal gland.  He's not a federal officer, and it's not a problem in the sense of not having a badge, or at least not yet, it's the lack of a legal framework software package running on the wetware residing in his cranium.  With Choi running interference, Michael makes a tactical decision to withdraw from the negotiations for a few moments and focus on the object with Hannah and the one tech who has proven to be at least nominally helpful.

"Can you show us what you've done so far, please?" he says to the tech.  "We're trying to understand how this could have been introduced or been activated.  Also, if I could borrow your clock radio for a second," Michael doesn't wait to receive an answer and ignores any of the strange glances he receives while unplugging the radio, walking it over to the device, and plugging it back in.  He waves the antenna around the space directly near the device to see if he can pick up any distortion to the smooth jazz playing out of the tiny speaker.  To say that he wishes he was carrying one of his spectrum analyzers in his backpack while on leave is an understatement.

Key West, 1931 hrs local:

"All clear here, ma'am," Spencer advises Karolina.  "Just let us know when you're ready to roll."

Paddon narrows his eyes at Sébastien's list of names.  "I don't know a Darnell Hawkins.  I served under Lieutenant Ceelen for... six months, maybe?  The other two sound familiar."  He grins.  "And you correctly presume I'm armed."

---

Miami, 2031 hrs local:

James firmly takes charge of the scene, quelling the techs' objections and delaying, if not completely obviating, Doctor Adessi's incipient explosion.  With Caradoc in tow, James and Adessi examine the unconscious Albinson in his room while Michael and Hannah prod the technicians into accepting catered dinner and overtime pay from the federal government's black budget.

In the end, it is James who finds the entry wound.  It's a needle mark near the right side of Albinson's upper sternum, positioned to intersect the carotid artery as it ascends toward the neck.  Bruising around it suggests a forceful injection, and additional bruises and abrasions on Albinson's hands and forearms are suggestive of a brief struggle.  Adessi remarks that the wound should have bled more, and a quick sample and another round of lab work determines that some sort of coagulant - not one known to the hospital's lab - was at work to seal the injection.

The same coagulant is present on the foreign object which triggered the stroke.  By raiding the hospital's radio room, Michael is able to determine that it's neither magnetized nor actively transmitting, including - as far as he can tell - a total absence of the WILDWOOD GROUSE signature.  Delicate probing causes the chains of particles to twitch as if searching for something solid to latch onto.  Severing one of the chains causes the severed portion to dissociate into individual rice-grain particles.  Further destructive testing of that sample reveals the grains' outer surface is some sort of ceramic sheathing, under which is a fine network of microscopic wires of the same turquoise hue found in some of the Attars' implanted devices and a tiny reservoir of the coagulant substance.

It's a simple matter of coordination to get Hannah into Albinson's room while Adessi is in the restroom.  However, she's unable to obtain anything more than a brief headache from trying to read the man's thoughts.

---

Key West, 2053 hrs local:

The process of "securing the workshop" turns out to involve locking away several volatile chemicals and gracefully shutting down a 3-D printer which is slowly building a replacement part for a small pump-jet engine.  Once that's done, it's a matter of minutes for Paddon to retrieve a pre-packed overnight bag and a smaller bag full of cat care supplies, then ensnare Ricky and stuff the protesting cat head-first into a soft-sided carrier.  "Hurricanes," he explains to Karolina about the preparations.  With a phone call to a neighbor to take in the mail, he's ready to depart.

As he passes through the gates of NAS Key West, Paddon's demeanor changes subtly, years and retirement falling away.  The group links up with a Spencer and Gutierrez outside the office building which houses the base's NCIS contingent.  When the trio exits the rented Explorer, Spencer steps forward and holds up a hand.  "Folks, I need to take the chief here to a secure phone.  Wait here, please."  The earlier easy compliance is gone from his voice and Gutierrez is two steps from cover.

Ten tense minutes pass in the humid twilight before Spencer and Paddon return.  The lieutenant is a ghastly shade but he waves off Gutierrez and hands Karolina a keycard.  "I apologize for the delay," he grinds out.  "We'll wait here for you.  The chief can show you to the SCIF."

"It's security checks all the way down," Paddon grunts and heads into the building, still carrying Ricky's carrier.  He doesn't speak again until the trio is ensconced in a shielded room barely large enough for them to sit without their knees touching.  Then he unzips the carrier, allowing the disgruntled cat to begin inspecting the room.

"Sorry about that," he says with as much remorse as he displayed the last time he uttered the phrase.  "There is checking out and there is checking out.  And there are places where you can check out but you can never leave."  He waits for a hint of recognition of the lyric, then continues.  "I have a call-in number in case people come around hinting at the squadron's real mission.  I didn't think you'd ever come..."

---

Miami, 2053 hrs local:

The physical evidence is secured in Michael's backpack, copies of the data rest in the other three agents'  bags, and the technicians have been sent home under an oath of silence enforced by the full weight of James' badge.  A tight-lipped Doctor Adessi walks the quartet of investigators to the lobby in icy silence.

Rain beats down on the sloping glass over the reception area, turning the Florida sunset a strange shade of salmon-shot gray.  The space is deserted save for two women at the reception desk, a janitor with a vacuum cleaner, and a third woman slouched on one of the couch-like growths scattered in a semicircle around the desk.  The latter looks up at Adessi's approach, jams her phone into a pocket of her rain jacket, and rolls to her feet.  She unerringly tracks toward the quintet, stops a few paces away, and scans faces, settling on James.

"Special Agent Choi, I presume, if you'll forgive a bit of racial profiling."  Her eyes narrow as she appraises him.  "Detective Salcedo, Miami Homicide."  One hand brushes the hem of her jacket back to reveal the badge clipped to her belt.  "Let's talk."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:50, Sat 20 Feb 2016.

When Spencer takes Paddon into the office Durand walks around the Explorer, placing himself between Kowalska and Gutierrez, facing the Polish woman, his back to the NCIS agent. Reaching behind he placed his hands on the back of his neck, began to roll his head from side to side, his eyes half closed, his movements no different to that any tired traveller might make after a long day sitting in planes - no matter how comfortable - and automobiles. "I need more coffee." he remarks to Dancer casually, before lowering his voice "Did you notice that he had never heard of the crypto guy, Hawkins? That is a red flag."

Once they are in the SCIF the Frenchman eschews a seat, instead leans against the wall, his arms folded, locks eyes with Kowalska at the mention of the Squadron's real mission. "So what was your mission Chief? The real one? And do you have any idea why they are suddenly coming after you all now, after all these years?"

Key West:

Paddon grins humorlessly.  "Flight-testing of experimental aircraft based on recovered alien technology," he says without preamble, watching for Sébastien's reaction.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:44, Sun 21 Feb 2016.

The assumption shouldn't bother him at all, but it still does, a little. He resists the sudden retaliatory urge to ask Salcedo if she's somehow related to Gloria Estefan. Adessi or someone on her staff had called James' bluff, and it kind of stings.

"What about, Detective?" he inquires pithily, flashing a brief, disarming smile and trying to keep his tone light.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:45, Sun 21 Feb 2016.

Miami:

Salcedo dismisses Doctor Adessi with a lift of her chin.  She matches James' smile and tone, acknowledging with her eyes that this is how the game will be played - for now.  She steps in a pace and waits until the physician is out of earshot before speaking.  "My office has a pretty good working relationship with the Miami field office.  When my boss heard about the FBI looking into something in our lane, he had me call over there.  So how about we go get coffee and talk about how Miami PD can help," she sweeps her gaze over the rest of the team, "a 'multinational CT task force' do whatever it's here to do."

"Yes, it's very concerning," Lina said with a slight nod, and an out of place smile.  It wasn't that she didn't take the idea seriously; it was that she appreciated former DSGE Agents insights into the matter.  Kowalska made a mental note to get the information to Choi and the others before they visited Homestead.



Call-in number, caught Lina's attention.  No doubt she and Seb had been flagged in some ops center somewhere out there in America.  She wondered how long the USG had known about the threat.

When Paddon mentioned testing recovered alien technology, all Lina could think is that the rumors about Roswell and such must actually be true.  Suddenly a wave of conspiracy theories involving the United States Government and everything from suspicion that they instigated World War 2 establish economic hegemony across the world, to their part in the Kennedy Assassination popped into her mind.

Karolina took a deep breath and refocused on the issue at hand.  She had about a million questions that she wanted to ask, but most were not relevant right now.  She settled on repeating Bannon's speculation.

"Chief, there is some concern that our Task Force's recent activities might have triggered the adversaries current response.  Our team's first mission was in Libya, extracting two scientists working on nuclear fusion technology.  That was in March," Karolina said, putting the idea out and waiting to see if it triggered any synapses in Paddon's cortex.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 13:17, Sun 21 Feb 2016.

Flight-testing of experimental aircraft based on recovered alien technology. If someone had told him six months ago that they had flown experimental aircraft based on alien technology Durand would have thought that they were perhaps a little crazy. But now it feels like a normal conversation. For a moment the Frenchman's mind drifts, to what life will be like after Task Force 47. Will he have a number to call if anyone ever comes asking about things that they should not know? Will he be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life in case their alien foe ever decides to come after him? Will his head be full of stories that he cannot share with anyone except those who were there, those who also know?

And how many people do know? They had gone into Libya unprepared because someone sitting behind a desk somewhere had decided that there was information that they did not need to know. How many other men and women were there, how much information was still being held back from Grey Cell?

The Frenchman continues to lean against the wall as Kowalska asks her questions, his eyes never leaving the elderly American as he listens to what he says, watches his responses.

Dacovetti smiles thinly at the Detective then slides his eyes along the horizontal to Agent Choi.  "Excuse me for a moment, I need to make a phone call."  He motions Crewe to come along with a jerk of the head.  The walk outside is brief, the Florida air hot and humid in a familiar way that brings back memories of his tech school experiences up north on the Panhandle.  The concrete and asphalt are still radiating off the accumulated thermal energy from sitting in the sun all day and he starts sweating almost immediately.  Instead of dwelling on it, he digs out his iPhone and punches in a few numbers making sure the line is encrypted.

"Dealer, secured line." he says into the phone, then waits for the reply from Foundation.  While he waits, Michael's eyes constantly scan the area, as he tries to maintain some situational awareness leaving Crewe doing the thing.  "Our stroke was outside the normal parameters, I'll have a data squirt sent in a few minutes.  We need a background check on Miami PD Homicide Detective Salcedo, no first name. She's here wanting to interface, Choi is dealing with it."  He pauses again.  "No, call me back, I've got to transfer the files over with a summary anyway."

The phone disappears into the jacket he's wishing he could shed in the thick air.  The laptop comes out of the backpack, screen carefully shielded from view, and is flipped open, balanced on one hand.  Happiness is roughly equivalent to an LTE signal, he thinks, and begins to type.

"So, Special Agent Choi, what am I volunteering to get my department into, exactly?"

James blows gently across the dark surface of his hospital cafeteria coffee, wondering if the detective has connected his refusal of milk or cream with the lactose intolerance fairly typical of East Asian populations. Nothing validates all stereotypes quite like one even partially valid stereotype.

"My team is here investigating a credible threat. A terrorist cell with connections to the Middle East is apparently targeting ex-service members for assassination. We believe several elderly veterans have already been attacked, including Mr. Albinson; threats have been made against several others, although not to the targets directly."

James studies Salcedo's face for a reaction. So far, she seems to be buying what he's selling.

"Why senior citizens? Why not Kennedy or Eglin or something more... relevant?"

"Well, first of all, it's terrifying. Whacking seniors packs nearly the emotionally punch of going after little kids. It might not be 'relevant', but it's relatable. Half the country has connections to a retiree in the state. Second, these vets have ties to the U.S. military but they're the softest of soft targets. These aren't martyrdom operations- not yet, anyway. This is a relatively small cell and it's trying to make a statement and conserve its strength for the big show, whatever that might be. We're here to catch them before they can do any more damage."

"If they're trying to 'make a statement', why haven't I heard anything about this in the media?" Salcedo asks.

James takes a sip of the bitter brew to cover for a brief involuntary grimace. She's good.

"That's a very good question, and one that we're keen to answer as well." James pauses to smile apologetically, "I'm sorry, Detective Salcedo, but that's really all I can tell you right now."

I've probably already said too much...

"Alright, then." Salcedo responds, failing to mask an enthusiasm that catches the FBI extraterrestrial terrorist hunter a bit by surprise. "How can my department help?"

James disguises a sigh of relief by blowing across his coffee again, unnecessarily,  "Security, starting with Mr. Albinson. We've already placed other vets on the target list into protective custody, but there may be more. If your people can help with that, we'd be much obliged. I give you my word, as soon as I'm cleared to share more information with outside agencies, you'll be the first person I call."

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This message was last edited by the player at 01:26, Mon 22 Feb 2016.

Miami:

"I can get a uniform in here," Salcedo agrees, "if you can give me something about method and motive.  Captain Albinson was brought in as a stroke patient.  That's... not a normal manner of homicide."

"And if I'm going to run any kind of interference for you, I need to know who the rest of your team really works for, 'cause they're pretty clearly not Bureau.  I'm not even sure they're all U.S. citizens, which raises some awkward questions of jurisdiction."

There's a long pause while she stares intently at James, clearly deciding how many more cards to reveal.  "I'm also working another homicide," she concedes.  "It might be on your list.  George Frye.  Retired rear admiral.  But he pretty clearly didn't die of a stroke."

---

Key West:

Paddon frowns in thought and shakes his head.  "I can't think of an initiating event," he says slowly.  "We don't talk a lot about the squadron but some of us kept in touch.  We've always been looking over our shoulders a little bit.  But with most of the deaths on your list looking like natural causes, that wouldn't have been immediately obvious to most of us.  We're all a bunch of cantankerous old bastards."

"Libya," he says, turning to Karolina.  "That's not someplace I'd expect to find a fusion program.  They were barely able to get their fission research off the ground.  What can you tell me about their work?"

---

Miami:

Caradoc boosts himself onto a concrete planter and casually scans the sidewalk while Michael goes to work.  "If James can't get her to warm up, maybe I'll take a run at her," he says, exaggerating his accent just a trace and glancing through the window at the FBI agent and the detective.  "What?  We need someone with the legal authority to order a full autopsy."

In near-unison, Michael and Hannah's phones warble.  "What, no one wants to talk to me?"  Crad complains, grinning.  "Fine, then, fuck you both."

Michael's call emits the electronic tones of the encryption firmware syncing up again.  "Dealer, Foundation, secure line," says the distant voice.  "Salcedo, Adriana P., Detective with Miami-Dade Police.  Age 34.  Self-identifies as Cuban-American.  A.A. from Miami Dade College, B.S. in anthropology from University of Miami earned while working in patrol.  Eight years in patrol with occasional TDY to narcotics.  Made detective four years ago, spent three years full-time in narcotics before transferring to homicide last year.  Commendations and citizen complaints suggest she is clean, ambitious, and aggressive.  Additional support for that: an application to Florida International University's law school is in process."  The recitation pauses and Michael can hear the clatter of keys in the background.  "Further, personal: divorced, no dependents of record.  Father was a Marielito who earned American citizenship through Marine Corps service, now manages a Chevrolet dealership... ah, owned on paper by her mother.  One younger brother, currently serving aboard USCGC Campbell, homeported in Maine."

Meanwhile, Hannah's caller ID indicates Barbark wants her attention.  "Miss Hannah!  The bird looks good for a rental.  She's ready when you are."  He pauses.  "We have door guns available.  Do you want me to mount them?  Oh, and tell Mister Mike his black box is wired in and ready."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:19, Thu 25 Feb 2016.

James listens intently, giving subtle non-verbal feedback cues to encourage Salcedo to disclose more. His mind is balancing processing the incoming data with preparing suitably diplomatic, yet satisfyingly substantive, responses...

"My team is part of a multinational anti-terrorism task force. It's a sort of quid-pro-quo, package deal kind of thing. The FBI helped tackle affiliated cells in my colleagues' home countries, now they're returning the favor. Technically, they're here acting as 'observer-advisors' in the current investigation. It's all perfectly legal, I've been assured, but it's also top secret. I'd appreciate you not sharing any of this with anyone else."

James winces inwardly at his own words. He's wading out into some pretty murky waters here, opsec-wise, and legality-wise, and he knows it. He's attempting to make Salcedo a co-conspirator, win her trust by bringing her into the cone of silence, all without giving away too much. He not naïve enough to believe she won't tell her partner everything as soon as she walks out of the hospital, and after that, who knows how far it'll go. It's a confidence game, of sorts, one James doesn't feel entirely comfortable playing, but it's the only game in town right now, and he's doing the best he can.

He can't give her too much time to think, though. It's time to change the subject.

"We're still trying to figure out exactly what caused Mr. Albinson's stroke. The medical team found an injection site where there shouldn't have been one. At the moment, it looks like some sort of foreign substance was introduced intravenously, prompting the stroke. Were sending a sample to our crimelab."

James was being honest, yet deliberately vague, well aware that the proffered explanation implied poison, or a biological agent of some sort- a natural assumption that James wasn't about to disabuse Salcedo of.

"It's an unusual m.o., one that we haven't really seen these folks use before. They've used edged weapons and firearms in their other hits- including the one on George Frye," James pauses for dramatic effect, then opens the door hoping for reciprocity from the good detective, "What can you tell me about that?"

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This message was last edited by the player at 03:03, Thu 25 Feb 2016.