Dead Letter Office - The Swiss Connection: In Vino Veritas

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In which it is learned that no plan survives first contact with the enemy, and that some people are going to have a very long plane flight ahead of them.



"I'm just saying, after three minutes in an office with the woman, I wanted to shoot her in the face," North related as he walked into the bar, followed by Doug and Amanda. "I do not lie, I have sat in rooms with war criminals and at least one Central American dictator and they had more goddamn human empathy than that woman. I am at a loss to why Gavin hasn't slipped a garrote around her neck, mother or no."

Indicating the aforementioned courier who was managing to occupy a single booth by himself - unless the conga line of empty pint glasses counted as company - David walked across the bar, signaling for the bartender to draw another round. "Gavin! Look inside yourself and find some sobriety, we have information."

"I'm sick to fucking death of information," Jake snarled, not bothering to look up at their approach. He drained the half-empty pint in his hand, letting the glass drop back on the table with more force than was likely necessary.

Sliding into the booth next to him, Amanda nudged him gently with her shoulder. "Sorry, mate," she said. "But the job calls and information's what we do. I promise, when we're done I'll get as paralytic with you as you need."

Jake flinched away from the touch, upsetting the empty glass he'd just set on the table. He looked as if he were about to say something, then bit back whatever half-formed snark was trying to escape his lips, righting the pint with exaggerated care and sliding it to line up with the rest. "Fine. Whatever."

Doug folded his hands on the table and marshalled his thoughts. Committing things to paper was a poor idea in their line of business. The less of a trail there was, the better. "The bottom line is that there's an auction in South Africa, in three days. I've managed to put two more buyers in, so that gives us a seat at the table."

David looked incredibly grouchy, even for him. "Unfortunately, there's no way the four of us can get to South Africa in enough time to set up a sting. After that meeting with Ariel and Devi, anywhere Jake and I go is going to be like taping road flares to our asses and jogging through Notre Dame Cathedral. They're going to see us coming."

As the new round of drinks came, North cradled his between his palms, then took a long pull. "God damn it. Nineteen years I've waited to put a bullet in Arkady's head, and I'm stuck in goddamn Switzerland. We have to contact Remy in New York, get a team moving to Sun City. Arkady Russovich cannot get his hands on the carbonadium synthesizer."

At the lack of recognition, North sighed and took another drink. "It was part of the Soviet super-soldier program developed during the last days of the Cold War. Imagine a metal with the tensile strength of adamantium, but malleable and flexible. They'd created it, but couldn't keep it stable enough to use. Not without the synthesizer. There was only one prototype, and we managed to steal it and try and get it out of Russia through an Infonet courier. But when we showed up for the delivery, the courier and the package both vanished in a firebombing. So we thought."

"Only for it to show up at this auction," Amanda confirmed, sipping at her own drink. "So, why's it so important to this Arkady bloke?"

"Back in the 1980s," North explained, "an American scientist named Abraham Cornelius defected to the Soviets to work on their super-soldier program. One of the successes was Arkady Russovich, they called him 'Omega Red'. The other was the carbonadium synthesizer. Think of how dangerous Logan is, yes? Now imagine he could kill you without even moving. If Russovich obtains the synthesizer - and if he's working with Cornelius? That's the kind of nightmare monster we could be looking at."

"And Infonet's doubly responsible for it being out there," Jake muttered. "Beautiful." He took a long pull from his newest pint. "So we've got Russovich and maybe Cornelius. Any idea who else is after this carbon-- carbo-- thingy? I can't imagine that's the sort of thing that will go unnoticed."

North started counting off on his fingers. "SHIELD, Mossad, those Basque mutant separatists - you know, the ones with the eczema? That cocksucker Vazhin, Dan Lyman - by the way, if his name pops up, I have a 10mm sniper round with his name on it. No, I mean literally. God forbid the Indian wackos get their hands on it, can't trust them with a fucking popgun, much less super-soldier technology..."

"If Lyman shows up, I'll spot for you," Doug murmured. He remembered the man's name from the run-in that Scott and Jean had with him. "I'm not necessarily sure how he might find out about it, but I shudder to think what Francisco Milan could do with a device like that if he put his mind to it. For that matter, to combine Russian and technopathy to make my worst nightmare, if Natalya Ignatova shows up I'm just going to have a nice quiet mental breakdown."

"All the more important we make sure we get it first," Amanda said, interrupting the worst care scenario nightmares. "Is there a way we can intercept it before it gets to the auction?"

North sighed. "We're going to have to send people in. Probably a team-" he glanced at Doug, who shook his head and held up two fingers. "Two teams, smart. One on the inside, one to intercept. Monkey, we'll need to contact New York, get them headed to South Africa as soon as possible. Jake, start making calls in Geneva - call your friends, call your university sweetheart, we need to establish that the four of us aren't leaving town."

He drained his beer and set the bottle down on the table, swearing under his breath in various languages. "As much as I want a shot at Russovich, Infonet has people watching us, I'd stake my life on it. We leave Geneva, they'll have people on us and the whole thing's blown."

Doug ignored the 'monkey' jibe as beneath him and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He thumbed a button and gave instructions in rapid-fire French after a pause to wait for the phone to be picked up. "Okay, I gave Marie-Ange the lowdown, they'll get moving immediately," he said after he hung up.

Jake drained his pint glass, lining it up with its fellow soldiers. "I'm betting I can still hit up a couple of old...contacts," he said with a smirk. "Who wants to go drinking on Infonet's tab tonight?"