xp_logs | Operation: Lie Back and Think of England: Shadow Bosses (Reply)

Farouk sets up a meeting and with Remy and Ororo, bluffs some revelations on the sale of Agria Research.

Switzerland. Remy hated it here. He was never entirely sure; something about the literalness and politeness of the Swiss which covered an absolutely flexible moral character in the ones Remy had known well. They were happy to deal with any monster if it worked in their favour, and Gambit had turned it into a refuge for himself. To Remy, it felt like stepping back into a giant and soiled lie. Still, this was where Agria was headquartered, Bennett had worked, and the answers had to be found here.

"I love this country!" Amahl beamed happily at an aggressively blond barista, with more (and more bloodthirsty) tattoos than most mercenaries of his acquaintance. "In the summer, that is." He amended, gratefully claiming his coffee. "The air is fresh and clean, and positively aglow in the scent of good chocolate and a refreshing luck of scruples."

He carefully avoided glancing directly at the lobby of the towering building across the road. "As field excursions go, this is very acceptable, I must say. Positively civilized."

"Indeed," Ororo commented with a wry smile, cupping her own coffee in both hands and enjoying the smell of the quality brew. "If I did not know better, I would think Remy had been lying to me about all his dangerous, dirty field missions all these years."

"Dey don't all involve pastry." Remy groused, looking around the coffee shop. He'd chosen it for two reasons. The first was that it was easy to keep all the sightlines open, and the second was that he knew the owner, and it had white noise generators at strategic locations, making it all but impossible to effectively bug any conversation. It could be a very weird country at times. He took another sip of his coffee and leaned forward. "Looks like we have a few minutes before our 'guest' arrives. So, what do we need to know 'bout him, Professor?"

Farouk looked longingly at the cup, but set it aside, calling to the forefront of his mind the necessary facts. "Our good friend Mr. Bennett is a very picture of the modern entrepreneur. Not old money - he made himself and bought into the upper class with the drug money."

Ororo's eyebrow rose minutely and Amahl shook his head quickly. "All legal, I assure you. Pharmaceuticals - you may remember one actually. It hit the market a few years back, cornered the niche for a while - helping the mutant kids who manifested before puberty with the control issues. Very, very lucrative. One of his."

Farouk glanced at the building again and continued. "As is usually the case, even in these democratic times, the New Money receives only a modicum of respect among the British Blue Bloods. Even when it's spread around as generously as Dexter appeared to have done. But the really interesting phase started about five years ago."

Remy nodded slightly, almost to himself. "De gaps."

"Exactly right. For the latter part of the decade, Mr. Bennett began to disappear off the grid for rather noticeable periods of time, leaving nothing behind but blank spots in my background work-up."

Amahl sniffed in a somewhat offended manner and reclaimed his coffee. "And I do so hate blank spots in my research. It's untidy."

Shaking her head at the older man's fastidiousness, Ororo glanced out the window once more before turning back to Remy. "And this 'guest' is presumably going to be able to fill in those blanks for us?"

"Hopefully. Him or Agria itself. Been doing a little research, and Remy not exactly sure why de company was sold and Bennett bought out in de first place. It wasn't in danger or undervalued on de market, and it holds essentially de same place with de new conglomerate as wit' de old one. Dere weren't even any special patents or research being done at de time. It's not a bad business deal, but dere doesn't really seem to be a reason. Like buying your neighbour’s car for de price he paid for it new, when you already own an identical one."

Farouk grunted noncommittally, acknowledging the oddness but unwilling to speculate.

The play of shadows across the mirrored wall of the cafe caught his eyes and he cleared his throat softly. "I do believe the exciting part is starting..."

The caravan of black cars filling the street was almost ostentatious even framed by the background of the fading financial capital of Europe. Amahl's lip curled in slight contempt. New money.

"Dere's some details dat Remy think you left out 'bout dis meeting, Professor." Remy tracked the cars, suddenly very wary. He shared a look with Ororo. He slipped the USB stick with the data they'd already collected under the table to her. "'ro, just in case dis goes bad, you get out wit' de data. Remy and Farouk will cover you." Remy's tone suggested that Farouk's role could very well be as a human shield.

Ah, so it was that type of meeting, was it? Ororo slipped the USB stick into her pocket discreetly, leaning back in her chair to get a better look at the cars in the street. The whole business had such an odd feel to it - suspicious by dint of being completely and utterly normal. She knew enough to know that if Remy's research hadn't turned up anything amiss then something was definitely wrong.

The SUVs and the limousine they book-ended stopped with smooth precision, the doors of the flanking cars opening while the caravan was still moving. The bland, impeccably dressed men with tell-tale bulges under their arms spread out quickly and efficiently, with nary a wasted movement. Only their eyes were in constant motion, tracking and assessing the entire street.

There was nothing remotely pro-forma about the process and only after they were completely satisfied did one of them speak softly into his lapel, allowing the limousine to open its doors.

"Wheels." Amahl said quietly and Remy squinted in understanding as he registered the weight and pressure that the luxury automobile was exerting, riding visibly low, despite customized suspensions.

"Enough armor on dat wagon to stand up to an RPG."

"At least someone's well-protected," Ororo murmured, partially amused but mostly on edge.

"And paranoid. Dey'll have shoot first orders if it comes to it." Remy said darkly, considering the tenuous situation they found themselves in. The security came forward first, opening the doors and scanning the café for threats. Finally, the limousine's door opened up.

Amahl spared a cursory glance for the man exiting the car, his attention held by one of the bodyguards. A non-descript looking man in an immaculately tailored suit seemed familiar, and familiar in a way Farouk needed to pinpoint.

He let his conscious mind go blank, concentrating on the details, allowing his backbrain to run on automatic and intuition make its leaps. A short functional haircut, the barely noticeable bead of a communicator in his ear, intelligent and intent roving eyes, the tell-tale lines of the body-armor almost compensated by the genius of the tailor, the G36 carbine held loosely yet with firm surety at tactical posi...

"Son of a bitch...."

His companions' eyes flickered toward him at the imprecation and Farouk shook his head in quiet disbelief.

"That's Franz Mittelstaedt. Recently of Kommando Spezialkräfte."

"You know, Professor, dese are de kind of details we like to have before dey walk into de damn cafe." Remy said quietly. German Special Forces were nothing to take lightly, but the reality was that it only underscored the worry that their contact was taking about the meeting. That was the opposite of the normal way they wanted to operate. Finally, the man entered the cafe, his security fanning out with obvious skill and experience. Remy all but shoved Farouk towards the man. "Dis is you show now, Farouk."

Amahl took a deep breath. For reason that escaped him at the moment, LeBeau seemed intent on provoking him. Farouk's role has so far been limited primarily to that of analysis, utterly dependent on the data provided by the X-Force - presumably because they were still evaluating him and were reluctant to expose their network before the process was complete. His own sources, those that survived the destruction of Alamut were centered on the Middle East, with only a few contacts among the immigrant and criminal scene of European Muslim population.

Yet the Cajun seemed intent to assign blame for the inevitable fruits of a hurried op to Farouk.

Amahl chose to believe that it was simply another test. The alternative - specifically that Remy was buckling under the strain of the recent rifts within the organization - was bleak.

So he took another breath a pulling a determinedly bland smile over his face unhurriedly crossed the street. "Herr Hauptman Mittelstaedt. You are looking rather well. For a 6-month-old casualty of that unfortunate business in Herat, especially."

The bodyguard spared a look towards the older man, though he didn't go so far as to allow any surprise to enter his expression as he slowly scanned him, obviously evaluating him as a threat. Apparently Farouk didn't register too high on the scale, as Mittelstaedt's body language didn't change from that of wary preparedness, continuing his scan of the area as he spoke. "Can I help you, sir?" His accent was clipped and precise.

Farouk smiled benignly. "No, not at the moment - but perhaps later. We could discuss the mechanics of coming back from the dead. I might have a business opportunity for you. For now, why don't you just run along and get your boss. He should be expecting me." The business card appeared as if by magic between Amahl's fingers. "Chop, chop."

Mittelstaedt looked for a moment as if deciding between taking the card and shooting Farouk in the stomach, but opted for the peaceful route. He walked back to the car and passed the card over to where his employer waited. There was a brief exchange, before finally the man detached himself from his men, with Mittelstaedt alone following him back towards the table.

"Professor Farouk. This meeting represents an inconvenience for me. I hope you can rectify that."

Amahl's brow quirked and he nodded absently, "Oh. Are we going to play it this way then and pretend that you had a choice? I do apologize. Must be off my game."

Arnett's eyes glinted with a dangerous light of a man who is neither used to being baited nor plans to become so, but the moment passed quickly. His index finger jerked almost imperceptibly, the gesture mirrored efficiently by the bodyguards putting just enough distance between themselves and the table to provide an appearance of privacy to the pair.

"I do apologize, Professor." The businessman's tone flattened out into a politely bland query. "The long trip had unsettled my nerves. How can I be of assistance to... the people you represent?"

Amahl smiled toothily. "It's a rather tawdry matter of money, I am afraid."=

It was now Arnett's turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Beg your pardon?"

"Let's not be coy, Mr. Arnett." Amahl said. "Or would you rather be addressed by a different name?"

That was pure bluff, of course. An informed one, given the rapidity with which the man agreed to meet them, the overkill of an entourage and the gaps in his history.

Still, it he had guessed wrong...

"No." The clipped, laconical reply containing a barely suppressed explosion of rage put Farouk's apprehension at rest, as well as filling in some more interesting details. Whoever the man across the table from him was, he was not a professional. Not nearly enough control. Nor was he the top of the food chain - too much fear in his anger...

Regrettably the psi-blockers were in play. Amahl strongly suspected that Arnett's natural shields were flimsy things at best.

"What do you want?"

Farouk shrugged. "A fee, of course. You are trespassing in our backyard. And are doing so very clumsily. Payens Industries is a well respected business conglomerate, as you well know, with traditional and substantial interests in Brazilian pharmaceuticals. Legal and otherwise. And Mr. Tremont does not appreciate bungling attempts by interlopers to disturb the market. Your little stunt with the sale of Agria Research, was not well timed."

That little 'fuck-you' was Farouk's own contribution to the op. As well as the use of his real name. Somebody was backing Bennett, with influence and money - his machinations made little sense otherwise. Until the situation was clearer it made little sense for the X-Force to reveal itself. Using the Templars as cover appealed to Amahl on several levels. And using signing the work with his own name should send the signal quite clearly that he did not appreciate the unfortunate incident in Pakistan.

Arnett sat still, his eyes hooded and hateful as he clearly worked through the alternatives. "How much?"

Farouk smiled. "Smart decision, Mr. Arnett." He pulled a napkin toward himself and, after gesturing for permission to Mittelstaedt, reached for the pen inside his jacket. Writing down the number he turned the napkin around toward Arnett.

Another pause stretched before the Englishman nodded abruptly, rose and left without another word.

"How rude." Amahl muttered and flagged down the waiter. He was feeling rather peckish and Bennet would pick up the tab, after all. Besides, the next few days would probably be composed a rather beastly take-out diet, as they went back to London and holed up in some abominably boring safe house, waiting for Cypher to track the money from Arnett to Tremont, conveniently illuminating all source of interesting people and business interests.

Farouk glanced one last time at the departing motorcade and tapped the bug in his collar. "I think it's safe for you two to finish necking now and put away the guns. Come try the lamb."