Dangerous Liaisons - Closed RPG

"You're not going to like this one."

Mac rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. Of course she wasn't. She'd managed to go for a full month living a life that was somewhat tame. That life had never been the long term plan. Not for her and not for her lover, but there was some small sense of regret lingering deep in the pit of her stomach at the realization that she was excited.

She'd never pretended to be anything other than who she really was, at least not to herself. To herself there were no lies, even if they would be most expedient at times than the truth. More palatable, more acceptable.

This mission was one that she wouldn't have been able to turn down even if she'd wanted to, and as things stood, she most certainly didn't.

"Give me everything you've got," she told Prophet as she kicked back in the wheeled chair, and rested her booted feet on the conference table, casually crossed at the ankle.

Leather pants encased her legs and the grey v-neck that she was wearing was both comfortable as well as functional.

"Gregario Allegri is a weaponsmith who has been dealing in cutting edge arms. His zest for high technology items is legendary, as is his intense code of honor. He will sell only to those he believe to be honorable, although his right-hand man does not feel the same. Unknown to Allegri, his second-in-command has placed announcements of the auction for the most recent piece of technology out to more nefarious parties than usual."

"I know who Allegri is," Mac sad as she retained her studiously relaxed pose. Prophet was one of the very few people who she let her guard down with, but there was too much going on under the surface and in her mind for her to allow that second-nature protective shield to go. "I've had first-hand contact with him on numerous occasions. I spent a year establishing the deep cover identity of Alexandra Temple, and then stints as that identity afterwards."

Prophet nodded as she sat down in the seat across the conference table from Mackenzie and swiftly flicked through the tablet in front of her.

Mac's covers were numerous. Some verified and thrown away within a day, others that she pulled out every now and then for extensive work. Alexandra Temple was somebody she had spent more time as than she should have. It was always hard to break that cover and come out of it .

A weapons dealer of immense talent and reputation, Alexandra Temple was nobody to be messed with. Known for her enigmatic persona and quiet relationships within what was a relatively tight-knit black market community, it had been nearly a year since Mac had stepped into her shoes.

She removed her feet from the table, sat forward, and ran her hands over her eyes, taking in a deep breath. "What does he have and when's the sale?"

Prophet's eyes narrowed with keen suspicion as she swiped again through the tablet. "It's a new form of ammunition. High powered rounds that contain nanites in them. These nanites, once they enter the bloodstream of somebody, begin targeting and transforming DNA. The applications haven't been field-tested, but it's suspected that there will be a demonstration. Allegri is hosting a buyer's ball on his private island off the coast of Italy, and Alexandra Temple is the perfect cover for infiltration. Invitations will be formally extended in the next 24 hours."

Some part of her wanted to go home, sink into her couch with Bastian, have some good wine, and then spend the rest of the night getting lost in him. She smirked at the thought, her lips curving like a cat that caught the canary.

Instead, she would be going over optech and mission plans, and somehow, in other ways, that was just as fulfilling.

She would have Bastian anyways.

"What's the mission objective? Destroy or retrieve?" Her fingers tapped on the edge of the table as she began mental tactics.

Prophet's brow furrowed as she leaned slightly forward in her chair, steepling her fingers together before running them through her hair in frustration. "Retrieve."

Mac's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She'd been on this end of missions very similar before, and had them blown to hell. She'd been used as nothing more than a weapon - a weapon who had been willing at the time - in order to retrieve weapons from the hands of one terrorist, only to bring them to another. "Are you sure?"

Prophet's eyes widened first in surprise, and then admiration. Never was she called out like this, never second-guessed. "There are pros and cons to both, but I need to be able to backtrace this and reverse manufacture. Allegri is good, but he's not this good. Somebody gave him either an initial blueprint and a shove in the right direction, or there was a guiding hand along the way. I need to know who, in order to learn why. And in order to learn who...I need to see it."

Mac nodded solemnly as she stood up and shoved her hands into her pockets. The two women had been friends for ages, as thick as thieves, and the best of friends. But lately, something had shifted in the dynamic, and Renegade still wasn't able to decipher just what that was.

---

Alexandra Temple was as different from Mackenzie Sullivan as night was from day in so many ways. Where Mac could be fiery, fiendish, and tempestuous, Alexandra was cold, disattached, and ruthless. She was known for her policy of no betrayal and no forgiveness. She was one of the most effective brokers in the industry, and her record was without blemish.

A woman in a man's world, the blonde with pale blue eyes had always worn her feminity on her sleeve, but done so in an understated and non-threatening way. She was a woman and that was never forgotten, but above that in importance was her reputation, always.

It had taken no time at all for Mackenzie to slip out of her own skin and into Alexandra's. Even the way that she carried herself was different. Her head held higher, her shoulders straighter, her nose just slightly more aloft.

Her crimson red hair was a pale, platinum blonde that hit her just below her shoulders, and her style of clothing had shifted from tight leather to cultured skirts, blouses, and dresses. She was as capable as ever with her weapons, par for the course for a broker, and she took no shit from anybody. Alexandra Temple was renowned for her ability to freeze somebody out with a single gaze. They called her the ice princess behind her back, and it was a moniker she relished and lived up to at every opportunity.

The private air strip that she had been flown into for the buyers weekend was a half hour outside of Rome.

Mac gathered her items - two carry-on cases that would never leave her sight - and descended the stairs of the plane.

Across the tarmac were three secury guards all clad in Armani suits. They were tall with with shoulders like football players, and all clad in impeccable Armani suits. The only flaw was the sidearm that all of them carried in shoulder holsters breaking the lines of the suit. Backup weapons would be on the ankles and she'd be surprised if they didn't have knives strapped to their ankles.

They would be arriving at all locations were 'guests' were arriving in order to transport them to the port, where transportation to the island would be awaiting them.

Her nose wrinkled at the smell of oil, exhaust fumes, and the light sweat covering the skin of the three bodyguards as they approached her.

"Ms. Temple," the tallest one, standing on the right greeted her. She swept her eyes up and down him coolly, as the pretense for checking his weapons placement. He was a giant of a man, standing at 6'5" with the shoulders of a professional football player. His hair was a light gold, longer than was professional and brushing his shoulders, and he had a slight scar bisecting his left eyebrow. She'd done work with him two years ago in Sicily and remembered distinctly his brutality in hand to hand.

"Oliver Peretti," she responded coolly.

"If you'll follow me," he offered, turning and beginning to walk back towards the chauffeured limousine. Her eyes narrowed as she quickly took everything in. Allegri wouldn't be present, not yet. He was known for his almost recluse-like nature, and while she didn't trust any of these men as far as she could throw them, she did trust them to deliver to to their point of destination without harm.

The ride through the city streets was as smooth as any ride through a bustling metropolis ever was. Ancient architecture mixed with modern marvels passed by through the windows of the car, and it was after fifteen minutes that a tense, terse silence overtook all of the men.

Squished between two of them and across from Peretti, she leaned over one and peeked out the window, all sense of decorum gone.

Following them subtly was a tail, and from her quick evaluation, it was a nondescript black sedan with bulletproof glass.

"Is there something I should know that makes this buy particularly contentious, Peretti?"

"No, Ms. Temple," he responded before tersely muttering to the driver via the earbud he and the other men wore.

She was thrown against the shoulder of the smaller of the two as the car began defensive maneuvering; maneuvering that continued for a full ten minutes to no avail.

And then...the unmistakable popping sound of suppressed gunfire.

They were shooting at the car. Fantastic. Fantastic, and futile.

"Hand me your weapon, Peretti," Mac ordered quietly as she toed off her shoes.

His eyebrow raised with bemusement as if she were a child asking for something out of her reach.

Another gunshot and a swerve of the car. Mac braced her hand on the shoulder of the man sitting next to her as she stood in a crouched position within the interior of the limo. "Weapon. Now. They're trying to run us off the goddamn road."

The next swerve almost sent her toppling into his lap and she gave a quick tug at the hem of her tight pencil skirt, just as Alexandra Temple would in this situation.

"Instruct your driver to open the sun roof and give me your weapon," she said calmly, with that lauded sheen of ice distinct in the tone of her voice.

Her order brooked no argument and she quickly found the grip of his gun in her hand, and the sun roof opening.

She stuck her head through and blinked against the afternoon sun as she turned around and quickly sighted her target. She ducked back in for a moment, having memorized perfectly the gridwork of cars and extrapolating the path that their pursuers would follow.

Using the backlighting of the sun to her distinct advantage, Alexandra brought the gun up and quickly took off three shots. The first went wide as the car saw her and attempted to swerve out of her path, but the next two went exactly where she wanted; a wheel and the engine block for good measure, quickly disabling the car.

She pulled back inside the limo and handed Peretti his weapon. "Hopefully your boss will have a better handle of things at his estate, yes?" she asked, her lip curling with clear derision.

This was going to be a longer mission than she thought.

-A Day Prior-

He arrived in the cover of night. His employer was adamant that he use the elements of stealth and limited visibility to assassinate the target. A calculating bounty hunter, Bastian made use of everything and anything to confirm a kill. The water was murky and darkened with the same shade of black blanketing the night sky. From the opaque depths of a filthy river, the Last Kaiser emerged. Tall, muscled like an avatar of Mars and adorned in garments and ballistic armor blacker than night, he strode forward, weapons on his person, focus on his mind.

Hugging a frame greater than those of ordinary men was an attire made from a nano-material with self-repairing qualities. A silvery layer of carboplatinum-reinforced coltan-titanium was grafted into his left arm. And over the lower half of his features was a mask forged from titanium and ceramic composite armor plating. Over his eyes he wore goggles. Onyx in shade, and with lenses that acted as ultraviolet cameras, they picked it out radiation sources beyond the frequency of light radiation. Water dripped from his frame as he strode, and behind his mask and goggles was a countenance that was icy and razor-sharp with focus. He was not a man that yelled or screamed. He was a veteran soldier no longer touched by the brutality of war or battle.

He held an air of stylish aggression, a confidence as cold as a glacier. He had ice running through his veins and it showed in his walk, in his swagger and streak of composed aggression. The air was cold, so cold that should one speak, their breath would mist. As he walked, the ground grew muddy, clumps of wet soil coming together at his ankles as he swept his tracks from the swampy soil. His target was a Konite smuggler. One that if rumors were to be believed, was a primary supplier of the Brahma Brotherhood. Vegetation welcomed him, trees that climbed into the sky and covered it with their leaves and branches stood in bunches. From his earpiece, instructions for his next mission echoed. He was to destroy a new form of ammunition capable of warping the genetic instructions in one's body.

It was all he was told. Nothing more. Nothing less. The Last Kaiser held his position, eyes searching from behind the smokey lenses of his goggles. They searched and eventually identified his target in the distance. He heard the leaves, branches and twigs crunch and break under their boots as they drew closer. They were transporting him, the Konite supplier. Likely to a safer location. Reaching for his weapon, his 'Thermal Rifle', Bastian crouched behind a voluminous bush. Resting the neck of his rifle on a log for stability, he poked his rifle's mouth some inches forward. His position enabled clear observation of his targets. And with his firing alignment secured, he readied his grip, keeping it light. He steadied his breathing, controlled his muscles, and fired. The 'Thermal Rifle' was long-range and stealthy. It made no sound and it's rounds were invisible.

They did not exist in the visible spectrum of light because they were microwave beams. They could not be seen nor heard, and Bastian could not be tracked. He fired a second time, then a third time, high-powered non-visible beams of microwave radiation striking home and quickly heating up the bodily fluids and fat molecules of his targets. He'd adjusted the wavelength of the beams. Why? So that his targets would boil from the inside. He watched, silently, as stream from their boiling bodily fluids was trapped beneath their skin, scorching them further. They cried and wailed but soon fell silent. With his targets dead, and their skulls soon collected as confirmation, the Last Kaiser spoke the confirmation code into his earpiece, his deep voice echoing his native German with cool certainty, "Sarg (Coffin)".

He departed for Italy.

When somebody spoke the words 'private island,' there were certain images that came to mind. Sea green waters as warm and tranquil as a bath. Sunsets that streaked the skies with every imaginable color ranging from rustic reds to vibrant pinks to regal golds and every possible shade in between.

What wasn't conjured up in the mind of the imaginative were private estates with every security measure that one could think of, and many more that weren't available to even the most discerning tastes in black market circles.

And that was exactly what Gregario Allegri's island was. A mix of the tropical and tranquil combined with high tech defense and offensive systems, perfectly blended into the Mediterranean architecture and the perfectly manicured grounds.

Every potential buyer had been given their own suite of rooms within the estate's main palatial building, and that many arms brokers and outright terrorists under one roof was enough to make even those with ice water running through their veins a little uneasy.

Mackenzie, even in her guise as Alexandra Temple, was no different. The island was a tinder box with far too many matches present. All it took was one open flame for everything to go up in smoke.

A sharp knock on her door jerked her from her reverie as she left the bed and strode across the room with an intentionally languid pace.

She'd checked the room top to bottom for bugs the night before, but she had no false illusions that Allegri was more than capable of hiding something undetectable in there, so at every moment she was hiding under the polished veneer of Alexandra Temple.

Her eyes narrowed as she peeked through the hole of the door. Peretti again. There were no meetings or gatherings planned for the morning and the sun was only beginning to pass the horizon, so his appearance here was out of their standard operating procedure.

Mac tightened the white silk of her robe, securing the belt around her waist, and smoothing the stray strands of her platinum blonde hair as she opened the door.

The scent of cigar smoke assailed her sensitive nose and she fought the urge to wrinkle it in distaste. Instead she arched an eyebrow in silent bemusement.

"Was there a sunrise meeting that I missed the summons for, Peretti?"

"No, Ms. Temple, nothing so mundane as that."

"I'm not sure that mundane is a word I'd use for anything that takes place on a private island."

"No, I suppose not."

She prepared to turn and shut the door in his face, displaying that famed icy disdain that Alexandra Temple was lauded for, when Peretti reached out for her arm.

It was a huge break in decorum. He was the right-hand man and the security and as such, he was beholden to certain customs and actions. Displays of anything other than obedience and strict adherence to the rules were not part of either of those mandates.

She looked at his hand on her arm and then back to him, catching what may have been an ounce of humanity in otherwise emotionless hazel eyes.

"There's a special meeting for you and one other prospective buyer this evening. It's formal dress with no weapons."

Her eyebrow arched marginally higher as she nodded her assent.

---

A quick glance at the sleek black alarm clock on the marble bedside table told her that it was nearing 11 P.M., and that she would have to depart for the meeting soon.

And a quick glance in the mirror told her that she had everything settled as far as her first weapon went. The tight black dress clung to her slight curves, enough to distract the more frivolous, but not enough to be deemed an intentional distraction.

Her hair had been sleeked back and secured in a complicated series of braids and twists, leaving her neck and shoulders bare save for the silver and emerald choker twined around her throat, accompanied by emerald studs at her ears.

The dress was tight enough that it was clear there were no guns hidden on her person, but the dagger tucked into a sheath secured to the lace garter at her thigh would escape all but the most strenuous of inspections.

A dash of honeysuckle based perfume at the pulse points of her neck, ears, and wrists, and she was as clad in armor as she could be for the night.

The mansion was filled with twists and turns, long hallways that led into wings and suites of their own, but the walk from her suite to the dining room where the meeting was being held was relatively short - short enough at least that her feet weren't aching in the four inch pumps that she'd donned.

Peretti was there to guide her into the room, and immediately she went into defensive mode without altering an inch of her body language.

Allegri wasn't here, but members of his security were. Seven men lined the walls of the indulgently large dining room, the center piece of which was a gargantuan table that sat at least fifteen. The head of the table had clearly been designated for Allegri, but there was a seat directly to either side of him, both of which were empty.

Presumably for her and the other mysterious guest who had yet to arrive.

The purpose of this meeting was still unclear to her. It wasn't a demonstration, it couldn't be. Was he just testing the water? Pitting her against whoever else he had his eye on?

It was well known within this particular community that Alexandra Temple was not onne for games. She came in, she acquired the weapon she wanted, and she sold it to the party of her choosing - or in rare cases, kept it for herself.

There was too much pomp surrounding this buy for her to be anything other than uncomfortable.

Peretti came forward and gently guided her to her seat.

The moment he reached to place his hand at the small of her back she strode forward of her own accord and shot him an icy look over her shoulder. The last thing she wanted was his hands on her.

"Mr. Allegri will be here soon," one of the more burly of the security guards said as a female server dressed modestly in black came in and poured the finest vintage of the season into her glass.

"I eagerly await his arrival," Mac said quietly, her eyes slowly scanning the room as the pit of unease gathered in her stomach.