A few short minutes later and the flight starts to board. There's three planes in all, the first direct to Miami, the second to Panama City about an hour later and finally back north to Havana, landing at a little past 0100 hours local. Ten hours travelling to get just 750 miles, but at least you're still in the same time zone!
Another 45 minutes or so later and you clear customs.

Karl had done a little research with Jack's help before they'd left Atlanta.
"Looks like McClan's set up above and behind a bar in the north east of the city. We should probably get a room for what's left of the night, and hit them up around midday?"

"Sounds like a plan.  Nothing too close to McClan's place, might look suspicious if you're being watched. Probably are.", Palmer said.

Breathing in the tropical Air. i like the plan, we should meander a bit in the morning, playing tourist but working our way to the destination.

"Sounds like a great idea", Melissa said, "Can we find somewhere with a pool if possible please? I'd like to work on my tan".

She was tired from the large amount of travelling she'd done in the last couple of days, but knew she wasn't going to get any major shut-eye soon.

Accommodations are found and a few short hours of sleep snatched. Nobody bothers to crawl out of bed before mid morning, all attempting to reduce the fatigue everyone is feeling.

Eventually though the team finds itself near the building reported to be McClan's HQ. The bar is about as seedy as you could have imagined, but the upper floor does at least have a view of the nearby beach. A casual glance inside reveals barred reception window is located on the back wall with several dozen patrons sitting at the bar or tables in the public area.

"Don't know about you, but I'm thirsty," Karl said stepping towards the bar.
"Who's buying?"

Melissa had clambered out of bed about 10am and then made her way to the beach for a swim to get out some of the cobwebs. Between two guys asking her out and tripping on a rock, she'd gotten some decent exercise.

She was about to go into 'battle' for her meeting with McClan, dressed in an <a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/ba/4a/52ba4a52371d813e6ebd8f7894f7df1459.jpg">attractive white pantsuit</a> with a pair of black rimmed glasses that she felt made her more business like.

"Er... I'll buy. I need to look wealthy, don't I?" she said.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:46, Sun 01 May 2016.

Eric joins them ordering food, nothing to spicy or exotic and nursing a beer.

I can pay.

After breakfast and a couple of beer's that Eric hopes is the safe choice.

So, shall we take a walk and take in the sights?

The group buys drinks and finds a seat towards the rear, not far from the barred window. Now and then somebody wanders up and hands over some cash and receives a small piece of paper - it would seem that not only is McClan involved with mercenaries, but his business interests also include bookmaking.
This message was last updated by the GM at 10:45, Sat 07 May 2016.

"You want to go introduce yourself Melissa?" Karl asked as he drained the last of his drink.
"Or should we approach as a group?"
Sooner or later he suspected they'd all have to go visit McClan, but how they got that far was a little out of his area of expertise - unless they were going to breach the door and burst in weapons blazing.
Shame they were all basically unarmed.

Melissa finished the last of a glass of rum and got up.

"I'd better go myself", she said, "Wish me luck".

She walked over towards the barred reception window, stood confidently and looked at the man.

"Good morning", she said, "I'm here to see Mr McClan. I have a matter of urgent business to discuss with him".

"Do you have an appointment?" the young woman behind the bars asks.
When Melissa admits she doesn't, the receptionist inquires into the purpose of the visit.
"Are you here as a prospective employer or employee?"

Melissa leaned forward to get some extra privacy to sell her story.

"Oh, I guess he didn't tell you..." she said, "I'm not surprised... a man like that doesn't want to appear weak... I'm actually his therapist. He called me to arrange an office visit".

She paused slightly.

"If you call him to check, he'll deny even knowing me of course".

She looks at Melissa dubiously.
Make a formidable Persuasion roll.

"Try again," she said seeing right through the clumsy attempt at deception.

"I don't think she's getting very far," Karl quietly said to Eric and Michael as Melissa appeared to crash and burn with the receptionist.
"Think we should help?"

Without a signal from her lets give her one more chance.

"Think she'll give one though? She is a bit...stubborn."

Quietly If you got an idea run with it, I got your back but I'm not one for sneaky stuff.

"Could try a little honesty? Not too much though, nothing about exactly why we're here, just what sort of people we are."
"See if they're hiring."
Who knew, they might even get to see McClans armoury!

Melissa barely flinched. She'd hoped that one would succeed, but had a backup plan if it done.

"I see that you're a very sharp cookie indeed", she said, "We're actually looking to see him to get some security work and I understand that your boss is the man to see. Mind you, everyone could do with some therapy in this line of work. Seriously, there's this guy named Karl I know... developed this fear of rabbits..."

The receptionist hands Melissa four sets of forms (in triplicate) to fill out and told to wait. After over two hours, a large Cuban retrieves you all, and escorts you through to the back rooms.
There you are individually interviewed and asked to supply them with references.

Pick a contact or two, or somebody else that might be helpful...

(Will use one, former Military, from my time as an Infantry Officer)

Melissa took the paper reference form and after three attempts to get the pen to work, started to fill in her details.

She put down Mike Grover, an old buddy of hers from Vauxhall House hoping she'd remembered his number and also a CIA station chief in Cairo who she had worked with previously... who assisted mercs on the side.

Her hand was getting cramp from all these forms she'd had to fill in. Hadn't these people heard of going paperless?

(Foreign intelligence contact and old friend in SIS now freelance)

Avoiding the obvious choices, Karl put down Oscar Lindgren and Sam Allington, two people who knew about their mission and were unlikely to blow it for them - that ten percent cut was a good incentive to back them up.

The Cuban is quite thorough with the interviews, not something you expected from someone so clearly physical.
"No one to recommend you Mr Palmer?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:08, Mon 30 May 2016.

Michael will give the name of a Canadian military contact.

The office portion of the building is heavily fortified with guards, murder holes, intruder alarms and booby traps - not an easy place to get in, or out, of.
After the Chuban has interviewed each of you in turn, he leaves the room locking you in with an audible "click". Ten minutes or so later he returns.
"Your references checked out so we don't need to kill you," he says with a completely straight and serious face. "Yet."
"Come, the boss wants to see you."
He leads you out to rejoin the rest of the team, then upstairs even deeper into the fortified office before knocking on a very solid looking door towards what you believe is the rear of the building.

"Come in," a gruff voice orders from inside.
The door is opened to a plush office, a man sitting back in a large leather chair, looking out his huge one-way window, spying on beach beauties with binoculars. A huge desk occupies a quarter of the room, several tall filing cabinets are against a side wall, and half a dozen chairs wait between the door and the desk, obviously for visitors.
"Thanks," he says to the Cuban, dismissing him before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
A hand waves at the clock on the wall. "Just gone midday."
"Bourbon?"

Rum if you don't mind would be nice. A small one.

Melissa smiled at the man. Perhaps he'd been spying on her earlier. She liked to think so.

"I'll have a bourbon, with ice if you have it please", she said, moving towards one of the chairs and waiting for an invitation to sit down.

"Why not? Five o'clock somewhere right?" he responded with a thicker than normal Norwegian accent.

He poured the drinks leaving the bottles on the table next to a pile of dossiers with you names on them and noted Palmers lack of response.
"So tell me about yourselves and what you can do for me?"
"What are your specialities?"

Karl tossed back the whiskey in one gulp.
"A bit of explosives, a bit of shooting, a little swimming. You know, the usual Marinejegerkommandoen stuff."
He held out the glass for a refill.
"What about you?"

McClan knocked back his own drink before refilling both his and Karls again.
"Ah, nice try there, but we're here to talk about you four, not me."

Smiling while sipping his drink.

I'm similar to Karl, without the accent chicks dig. And i'm a little better at making things not blow up than blow up.

Melissa took a sip of her drink.

"I'm unlike these guys. I have a accent that guys dig because it reminds them of a certain K. Knightley. I'm good at analysis, persuasion and information gathering. Also planning transportation".

"I'm a combat medic. I've been deployed to bad places and brought my guys home alive.  Unfortunately, not always in one piece, but some things are beyond your control." Palmer is quiet for a moment.

"I can hold my own in a fight if I'm needed. Not much more to say, really."

"Any of you done any jobs I might have heard about?"
Seemingly getting a bit bored at the "tame" responses he was getting, his gaze wandered to the beach outside the large window and the barely clad women enjoying the sunshine.
"Great location here. The views are...inspiring."

"That would be telling wouldn't it?" Karl winked and drained the glass a second time.
"I'm sure you've done your checks though and know we're the real thing, otherwise we wouldn't be sitting here talking and drinking that quality bourbon would we?"
The glass was deposited back on the desk, ready for a refill.
"What about you? Been involved in anything we might have heard about?"

Melissa noticed McClan looking out the window at the women on the beach and thought that it would probably be better if he looked at her instead.

"Cuba has its charms, I would agreed. However, I personally prefer Jamaica. Better music and they speak English, which makes my life easier".
This message was last updated by the GM at 14:01, Sun 26 June 2016.

In reply to Karl Braende (msg # 42):

"Maybe," he replied, topping up his and Karls glasses again and doing a poor job of concealing his ogling of Melissa.
"Usually I deal with "simple" little jobs nobody else wants, but every now and then get something more, ah, interesting." His conspiratorial wink spoke volumes.

"Hey Palmer, you're fallin' behind. Drink up!"
Karl knocked back his third, or was it fourth glass in nearly as many minutes.
Slapping it back down for a refill, he prodded McClan to elaborate.
"So, interesting huh? Anything lately?"

Palmers' phone begins to sound...it's a ringtone he has not heard for many years...

"You wanna get that?" he asked with a slight slur - obviously the alcohol was starting to take effect.

"Uh, yeah. Right.   am behind a bit.", Michael said.   He picked up his glass and took a sip. He nodded appreciatively.  It definitely wasn't the usual house liquor.

Suddenly his phone rang.  Palmer was a bit surprised as he thought the ringer had been silenced.  He set his glass down and removed the phone from his pocket.

 -- "You wanna get that?" McClan asked with a slight slur

"I apologize.  Excuse me", he said as he walked to the far corner of the room.

"This is Michael.", he said into the handset, speaking in low tones.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:53, Mon 04 July 2016.

In reply to Michael Palmer (msg # 48):

Michael? I'm hoping you remember me though we have not spoken in years.  It's Robert...remember? We met in the Balkans? At that field hospital?  I was screening those men you brought in for possible chemical poisoning?

In reply to Robert MacIntyre (msg # 49):

"Yes, Robert. I remember that incident. Pretty bad deal.  Look, I'm in the middle of a business meeting.  Why are you calling?", Michael replied.

In reply to Michael Palmer (msg # 50):

"Business...that is precisely why I'm calling. My previous employer decided against renewing my contract due to, shall we say "political differences".  This means I am currently a free agent or "consulting specialist" and, through the course of several channels, I was advised to contact you."

Watching them all, slowly nursing his drink. Even slower if hes stuck with Bourbon. (::grins::)

In reply to Robert MacIntyre (msg # 51):

"Alright, What is it exactly that you do again? We didn't have much time to talk back in the Balkans."

In reply to Michael Palmer (msg # 53):

"I was a field medic, much like yourself...technically, although my expertise was in more, hmmm, lab-based work, shall we say.  And we're not talking blood samples and pregnancy tests."

"Well", Melissa said coyly, "What have you got that's interesting or otherwise? I mean, skinny dipping is all well and good, but I can't spend all my time here doing that..."

She leaned closer to George.

"Plus we are rather good at our jobs, so I'll be able to come back alive to meet you again. In fact, you want to have dinner with me?"

In reply to Robert MacIntyre (msg # 54):

"Ok.  I think I got your meaning.  Let me finish up here and I'll call you back in an hour or two. I really have to go.".

In reply to Michael Palmer (msg # 56):

"Yes yes, of course, business can be so...inpersonal over the phone.  I shall await your call."

Michael returned to the meeting and picked up his drink.

"Sorry about that. Someone that I worked with before.  Looking for a job."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:45, Fri 15 July 2016.

In reply to Melissa Messervy (msg # 55):

McClan perked up visibly at Melissa's mention of skinny dipping, and nearly fell off his chair at "dinner". Only the presence of three presumably well skilled male mercenaries also in the room appeared to stop him leaping the desk and having his way with her there and then.
"Well, ah," he stammered, poorly hiding his discomfort and frustration with another gulp of the bourbon.
"I'd like ta, but wouldn't wanna exclude these fine gentlemen."

Karl picked up the bottle and kindly refilled McClan's glass for him before "rescuing" him from the surprisingly predatory advances of Melissa.
"So you were 'bout to tell us 'bout your latest "adventure". Was it anything to do with that mess on the train over in Europe last week?"

"Nah, we don' go fer tha' sor' of fugazi, long range secret squirrel shit. Nah, we're all 'bout the fast an' hard. Go in an' get 'er done quick an' don' worry 'bout the mess."
"Did a little job up in Maine not long ago like that. Quick little snatch an' grab for a corporate shyster's spoilt rich client."

"Snatch and grab?" Melissa said, secretly glad McClan wasn't going to take her up on dinner - she had no intention of letting it go any further, "Person or object?"

"Person. A real hottie," he responded, his slurring indicating the alcohol was really starting to kick in.

Eric kinda smirks.

Wasn't that singer chick up in new england was it? Some infatuated kid  with more money than sense. Bet he was middle eastern.

"Woodna know, he slurred taking another belt of the bourbon.
"Smith never who was payin' th' bill an' I wazna askin."
He spun lazily around in his chair to look out of the window again.
"Yer know wha' I like 'bout Cuba?"

Booze and warm weather that makes women wear less?

He spun back around and grinned.
"Yeah, an no fuckin' emm pee's!"

Chuckles

Was that what you were thinking or something else?

Melissa looked confused.

"MPs? What have Members of Parliament got to do with it... at any rate, I know there's a former government minister hiding out here at the moment".

Then she realised and subtly tried to move the conversation back.

"Whose this Smith fellow? Seems like an operator with some interesting connections - and possibly dodgy ones at that... as in the sort that could lead you on a trip to Camp Black Bag".

Smiles and shakes his head at Brits sipping his rum.

Karl silently topped McClan's glass off again. It seemed he was a talkative drunk, and hey, they weren't paying the tab!

"Jason Lewis Smith. Shitbag at law," he drawled.
"Do anythin' fer a price."
He laughed as only the truly drunk can, before continuing and draining the glass once more.
"Jus' like me."

Melissa watched George get increasingly drunk and increasingly talkative. If the man was some form of lawyer - and they had just gotten his full name to boot - then he should be easily locatable with a quick internet search.

"Interesting", she said, letting him dig his own grave. They were getting close to done here, but best to get what they could

Karl topped up the glass again, nearly spilling some on the table. He'd tried to limit his consumption, but in order to maintain a decent illusion of keeping up had still managed to get a bit more than a light buzz happening. If this lasted much longer he'd be in need of assistance to get out of the chair, let alone out of the building!

Smiling.

So Mr. McClan, do you have any work for us? Or should we enjoy the beachs for a day or two while you look at what you might have for us?

"Yeah, work", he slurred before pawing awkwardly at some files on his desk in at attempt to locate one particular sheet of paper.
"Ah fuck it," he says giving up the fruitless search.
"Go fin' yerselves some LBFM an' come back tomorra."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:52, Thu 11 Aug 2016.

"Soun' like a plan," Karl responded as he unsteadily climbed up the chair to his feet, reached out and poured the last of the bottle into McClan's glass.
"Awrigh' you s'dgurglers! Les go have moro!"

"I like the way you think, Mr McClan.  And thank you for the drinks."
This message was lightly edited by the player at 00:05, Sat 13 Aug 2016.

Melissa got to her feet. She had no idea what George was suggesting that they get, but the fact it had the letter F in the acronym suggesting she probably didn't want to know.

"We shall do that. See you tomorrow", she said politely.

The group exits the building without incident, although Karl does need assistance placing one foot in front of the other, and heads back to what passes for your hotel to plan the next step.
This message was last updated by the GM at 08:11, Thu 25 Aug 2016.

Melissa made her way to her room, where she removed her pant suit and changed into a more casual outfit of a white camisole and cut-off shorts, then to cool off, poured some cold water over her head.

Her hair still damp, she made her way down to the bar.

Little unsteady on his feet Eric follows the others out, a lot more steady by the time they make it back to the hotel. He tried to not keep up with the others drinking.

Changing he joins the others in the bar and orders some food.

"Hey Palmer!" Karl said far too loudly for a public place.
"Who was tha' on th' phone?"

"Oh yeah.  That.", Michael replied. He slid around the table and took a seat next to Karl.

"That was someone I worked with once in the Balkans.  A Yank, by the way.  A medic, sort of like me but more of a lab geek.  Dangerous, being the airlock kind of stuff.  Said he was looking for work and a mutual friend referred him to me."

"Wadda yer think? Bring 'im in?"
"Donnelly's had to bail, an' we haven't heard from Jack or Antonio for a while."
This message was last updated by the player at 09:13, Thu 25 Aug 2016.

Listening to the others talk, scanning the crowd for anyon paying to much attention to them.

In reply to Karl Braende (msg # 85):

"He's good at what he does and we are short handed.  If you think we can use him, I'll give him a call.", Michael answered.

Karl nodded and nearly fell off his stool.
"An' what 'bou you two?" he asked of Melissa and Eric.
"Bring 'im in?"

Melissa nodded.

"I think it's best I run him past headquarters first, make sure that he's not on our radar for the wrong reason".

She looked at her watch.

"That said, it's gone eight in Antwerp and I might well not get a reply until the morning as the office is largely shut. What's his name?"

"This our op or theirs?" he responded somewhat drunkenly.
"Get 'im in an' we can sort that shit out later. He fucks us over and we can leave 'im in a ditch."

Is he a Lab Rat or an MD? Or an MD who mostly works as a Lab Rat? Or at least a Devil Doc level Medic?

"He's here in Havana right? Get 'im here and we can talk to 'im and fin' out ourselves."

In reply to Eric N Davis (msg # 91):

"He's more like a lab rat that does field work.  An army medic in a former life.  He didn't say where he is right now.  We can find out if we call him back."

"Do it then."

"Ok.  Let's go up to the room and you can listen in on speaker.  Too many people here."

Within minutes the group had retreated to privacy and had Robert on the phone...

"Robert.  Michael here.  I'm here with my team lead. Are you still looking for work?"

Robert had been sitting in his hotel room awaiting the call back from Palmer.  Staring out the window, he watched the world going by.  Instantly his mind drifted back to what it knew...the numbers.  He studied the roadway and traffic flow, watched the trees sway in the breeze, noting current movement.  It's all he knew anymore.  Risk assessment.  His daze was broken when the phone on the table began vibrating.  He placed his drink down and answered...

"Yeah, it's me.  What's the good word?"

"We may have a position available.  Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"Certainly.  Are we secure?"

Melissa stood in a corner of the room, watching Michael as she made the call. Once this was done, she was going to get all the relevant details and run a check through the databases back in Antwerp; due diligence necessitated that they vet any extra members of the team.

In reply to Robert MacIntyre (msg # 100):

"I'm talking on a cell phone in a foreign country.  So I doubt it.  We are in a private space though."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:52, Tue 30 Aug 2016.

"Ahh, fair enough.  Well than, what do I need to know?"

"I'm going to turn you over to our team lead,  Karl.   You're on speaker now."

Michael touched the screen on his phone and set it on the table.

Karl chose that very moment to slip off his chair and collapse onto the floor where he proceeded to snore...
The alcohol had finally caught up with him.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:42, Thu 01 Sept 2016.

Robert waits in muted silence for this 'Karl' individual to begin speaking.  The air hangs silently although he could almost swear he heard some sort of banging sound on the other end.

Looks like its up to you and Melissa Michael.

Michael shook his head.  He looked at Melissa and slid the phone towards her. He pointed a finger at her briefly.

"You're on."

Melissa took the phone and spoke into it.

"Robert, is it?" she said with her posh British accent, "My name is Melissa and I'm working with a company called Lindgren. You may have heard of us. Can I have your surname please?"

She reached for a hotel branded pad of paper, grabbed off a pen and tore off a page (so not to leave traces on the next sheet), ready to write.

A few hours later and all five of you were sitting around a table together. Robert had his bags beside him ready to go wherever the job required. Karl had regained consciousness, but was nursing a bit of a hang over - unusual for the veteran Norwegian. It seemed McClan like his bourbon a touch stronger than most.

Karl threw a few painkillers down his throat and washed them down with a large amount of bottled water.
"So, now you're on board, tell us more about yourself Robert."
"While we're talking, we also need to discuss where we go next. I'm thinking Maine to chase down Smith."

Was it Maine or Seattle? Maybe I had more to drink than I thought. Where are you currently Robert?

"I'm stateside currently...New York to be precise."

Good to know so we can coordinate travel. I'm Eric Davis by the way.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance sir.  Might I inquire as to your specialties?"

I make things not go boom.

"Ahhh...I have worked with several technicians, such as yourself.  Nasty line of work, if I do say."

"Especially when things go wrong", Melissa said, "That can result in quite a mess. I understand you're a bit of a lab geek. May I ask what you specialise in".

She took a sip of her fancy umbrella drink through the straw and wiped a bit of sweat from her brow. It was far too humid for her tastes.

"Much of my work has been 'classified', to say the least, but I'm rather familiar with Level 5 BioRad suits, if that helps to answer your question.  I've also spent time in several remote medic stations in the middle east studying the effects from chemical attacks."

"I make things blow up, kill them dead, and do it all just as well in the water."
"Anyway, lets get moving and talk more on the way. Melissa, where are we going and how long to get there?"

"I think we need to see this Smith guy in Portland", Melissa said, reaching into her handbag and pulling out her smart phone. The place had WiFi, although it wasn't brilliant and the government may well be monitoring the use of it.

No change there,then

After four slow minutes of running the flight application, she found it.

"Got it. There's a flight leaving at 11am tomorrow from here to San Francisco. Six hours on Cubana, getting in at two o'clock local time... then we'll need to get an internal flight or something to Portland from there".

After a couple of minutes trying to book them online, she put her phone done on a table rather heavily.

"One of us will need to go to the airport to buy the tickets though. Stupid thing won't work properly. This country is still stuck in the 1950s".

And I don't know that I'd trust the front desk here. I'm willing to take a ride.

"When you've figured out your travel arrangements, let me know.  I can meet you there."

"Well, Eric", Melissa said, "You've just volunteered to go to the airport. See what you can get us and please get us something better than 'cattle class' if possible, OK?"

I'll see what I can do, the job does only pay so much though. Grabing his hat and heading for the door.

"San Francisco? Isn't that on the west coast?"

In reply to Karl Braende (msg # 126):

"Yes", Melissa replied, "Is that an issue at all?"

"Are you sure that's where we need to go?  McClan said Smith was in Maine. East coast, near Canada.  San Francisco is out of our way.  Unless you just want to change planes to shake off any tails.", Palmer said.

"There's a Portland in Maine? I though Portland was in Oregon. You know, where Portlandia was set?" Melissa said, now looking very confused, "Seriously, can't you Americans coordinate your town names?"

So, what do flights look like into Maine or should we go into Boston?

Melissa started tapping her smart phone and waited for the results to come through.

"I'm guessing that going to Boston might be best... but I'll see what comes up on this phone. Stupid wi-fi... What's our plan when we get to Maine?"

While I'm going to or coming back from the airport I'll check for an internet cafe and reserve us a car.