10-06-2013, 07:37 PM
Trano struggled with something, but what it was, Reed had no clue.
She did not look amused by his whining. This was the badass the agency predicted to win the Presidency? Politics aside, she had a job to do. If Trano wasn't going to scoop his own balls off the sidewalk, she'd do it for him.
The short drive to the hotel was delayed by traffic. By the time they pulled to the front entrance, she'd transferred the bottle to the floor and rearranged her workwear. Just before exiting the car, a ding from her Wallet gave her pause long enough to glance at the screen....
...and flip into action mode.
She pulled the door shut and spun around. In a flash she was across the car and snatched Trano's hand, yanking him back before he had two feet on the ground.
"Custody agents," she warned with a hiss. Whatever Trano had done to get out of that room unmolested, well it was now coming back to bite him in the ass.
"Drive!" She ordered. The man behind the wheel, apparently unbothered by the proximity to government conduct, aggressively carried the vehicle back into traffic.
Somehow not disheveled, Reed punched command after command on the Wallet until a video screen lifted in front of her face.
Her jaw clenched at what was beheld.
It was their suite. Not a pillow was out of place, but two men in suits were walking around like they owned the place. "Abrams should be there." She said, seething, but watching closely. "Wait," she whispered to herself. The camera on their room was a static, single position view, and she cursed Abrams for not letting her put up the full perimeter.
Splayed fingers zoomed in on the image and sure enough, there he was. Dead.
She took an angry breath and flipped nearly upside down, reaching far under the seat. Double clicks quickly followed. She pulled out a spare .22, a jamming device, and a flask. The .22 she checked quickly and set aside. The jamming device she flipped on and jammed it into the flooboard. The flask she chugged.
She called to the driver an address southeast of the Kremlin in Zamoskvoreche. Very quickly, the neighborhoods took a downward turn.
Finally, she turned to Trano, "Let's cut the bullshit, Trano." She slid along the seat to get close enough to lower her voice to a quiet seething dare, "Either we're blown or you fucked something up. Custody agents, Trano!" There was a thin layer of fear behind all her bravado. "There has to be something else that you're not telling me."
She did not look amused by his whining. This was the badass the agency predicted to win the Presidency? Politics aside, she had a job to do. If Trano wasn't going to scoop his own balls off the sidewalk, she'd do it for him.
The short drive to the hotel was delayed by traffic. By the time they pulled to the front entrance, she'd transferred the bottle to the floor and rearranged her workwear. Just before exiting the car, a ding from her Wallet gave her pause long enough to glance at the screen....
...and flip into action mode.
She pulled the door shut and spun around. In a flash she was across the car and snatched Trano's hand, yanking him back before he had two feet on the ground.
"Custody agents," she warned with a hiss. Whatever Trano had done to get out of that room unmolested, well it was now coming back to bite him in the ass.
"Drive!" She ordered. The man behind the wheel, apparently unbothered by the proximity to government conduct, aggressively carried the vehicle back into traffic.
Somehow not disheveled, Reed punched command after command on the Wallet until a video screen lifted in front of her face.
Her jaw clenched at what was beheld.
It was their suite. Not a pillow was out of place, but two men in suits were walking around like they owned the place. "Abrams should be there." She said, seething, but watching closely. "Wait," she whispered to herself. The camera on their room was a static, single position view, and she cursed Abrams for not letting her put up the full perimeter.
Splayed fingers zoomed in on the image and sure enough, there he was. Dead.
She took an angry breath and flipped nearly upside down, reaching far under the seat. Double clicks quickly followed. She pulled out a spare .22, a jamming device, and a flask. The .22 she checked quickly and set aside. The jamming device she flipped on and jammed it into the flooboard. The flask she chugged.
She called to the driver an address southeast of the Kremlin in Zamoskvoreche. Very quickly, the neighborhoods took a downward turn.
Finally, she turned to Trano, "Let's cut the bullshit, Trano." She slid along the seat to get close enough to lower her voice to a quiet seething dare, "Either we're blown or you fucked something up. Custody agents, Trano!" There was a thin layer of fear behind all her bravado. "There has to be something else that you're not telling me."