Description: Already, Max's first mission, the recovery of the Spanish galleon San Jose and its billion British pounds of silver and gold, was a disaster. Ambushed by an unknown force on the train to Cartegena, Max had lost a key piece of his puzzle, Colombian Federal Intelligence operative Sophia Marcos. One MI6 analyst in Cartegena was dead, and one allied intelligence agent was missing and presumed captured. That leaves it up to Agent Max Evory to recover Agent Marcos and hunt down the force that stole her from the luxury train they were taking to the coast from Bogota. But Max isn't alone; Interpol has sent its finest Agents to assist him in saving the girl, getting the gold, and capturing the bad guy. Unfortunately for him, the finest seems to be the infamous Daniel Jack and the eccentric Daisy Mallone...
Already, Max's first mission, the recovery of the Spanish galleon San Jose and its billion British pounds of silver and gold, was a disaster. Ambushed by an unknown force on the train to Cartegena, Max had lost a key piece of his puzzle, Colombian Federal Intelligence operative Sophia Marcos. One MI6 analyst in Cartegena was dead, and one allied intelligence agent was missing and presumed captured. That leaves it up to Agent Max Evory to recover Agent Marcos and hunt down the force that stole her from the luxury train they were taking to the coast from Bogota. But Max isn't alone. He's enlisted the help of the Colombian Junglas, elite counter narcotics and weapons trafficking special forces, handpicking a platoon that trained with the 7th Green Berets in Florida, for maximum loyalty to the mission. These are the creme de la creme of the Colombian military, beyond corruption and skilled marksmen. Now all that's left for Evory to do is hunt through the jungle for the mysterious man, Lynx, that he met last week.
In a small Colombian town near the Caribbean, Evory stands in a button-up Hawaiian shirt with a white sleeveless tanktop worn below it, the Hawaiian shirt open and exposing the cotton fabric. He wears a pair of khaki pants and hiking boots on his feet, for manuevering in the jungle. Inside a small tent on the edge of town, he looks over several maps with a pair of Junglas soldiers, one an officer and the other the pilot for their nearby helicopter, which sits in on a small helipad near the motel that the team is using as a barracks. Max and the two men speak Spanish quietly, as they point at various geographic features displayed on the map.
If things were bad so far for Max, they may be just about ready to get worse.
Daniel Jack was spending a long, long time Missing In Action after his mission in Metro City. When he returned, he expected a lot. An angry Chief, a desperate report, and possibly a long long time filing paperwork in the 'crypt.' When he arrived, he had three surprises. The first was that his access card still worked. The second was, when he arrived to his office, the Chief was there, overwhelmed in joy to see him. The third was a certain partner being handed to him, with an immediate mission, no questions on where Daniel was at.
And now he was in Columbia.
The jeep had two people in it; One of them was Daniel Jack himself. The dark-skinned detective was clad in his Interpol greys; the government-standard three piece suit that was typical of an international detective. He did pass on the trenchcoat though; the jungle was blistering hot, and sweat was pouring down his face. That though, that wasn't because of the heat. As the jeep approaches the village... quickly, he grips the sides of the jeep with one hand, a hand on his hat with the other. He quickly speaks to the driver of the jeep, his partner for this mission.
"Agent Mallone, I think- I think that- "
"Can you slow this thing down Daisy!?"
The individual in question sits next to Daniel furiously working the steering wheel of their fresh off the factory floor off-road jeep. Like any good safari vehicle, it is painted in a dark beige, though between the mud and dirt that already coats its exterior, it can be difficult to tell. There is no roof or windows, save the low-cut rectangle of the front windshield and little more than a few pieces of curved steel protruding up from its frame provide any sort of protection to those inside against the possibility of rolling over or being struck.
Which is probably one of the main sources of Daniel's anxiety. Daisy seems not to hear the desperate tone in her partner's voice as he pleads with her to slow her aggressive manuevering of the winding country roads leading up towards their destination; she's far too busy enjoying herself. Dressed in a tan uniform that looks like it could have been swiped from the set of an old 1950's safari movie, the young woman grins with excessive glee as she rounds a sharp corner at highly inadvisable speeds. The jeep tilts sharply, listing hard to the side until only two of its wheels remain attached to the ground, furiously kicking up a storm of rock and dirt behind them as if the Road Runner himself had come to town.
"Wheeee!! This is so much more fun than doing all that boring paper work back at the office!"
Adding further to her growing list of inadvisable actions, Daisy removes one hand from the wheel to hold the large pith helmet down over her short-cut blonde hair, lest it go flying off in the whipping wind of her own making. Miraculously, the jeep manages to slowly crash back down to all fours and the pair make their way up towards the camping spot where their contact should be to meet them. Daisy glances over at her superior as if finally remembering that there's someone else in the car with her.
"Oh, hey, you don't look so good!" She leans towards Daniel, taking her eyes completely off the road. "You feeling okay? Maybe you should drink some water, it's pretty hot out here!"
Max looks up from the maps arrayed before him as he hears the Jeep approaching. Those would be the lads from Interpol. He nods to the officer and pilot, speaking a few words of departure in his business level Spanish, before he steps out of the tent and meanders towards the road. Max slips on a pair of Aviator sunglasses and places his hands on his hips, a shoulder holster visible under the right side of his Hawaiian shirt holding a Walther. The dirty blond assassin's face is implacable, as his cold, sad blue eyes stare down the incoming vehicle as it slows to meet them. This is when he gets his first look at the two being sent to meet him. He'd rather do without Interpol complicating what should be a finely tuned military operation to recover Sophia, but their access to information is beyond even Her Majesty, so he'll have to tolerate the intrusion of law enforcement and their rigid, deferential style of operation. His face is an absolute rock as they get closer, eyes moving from one to the other without his head moving. He does not give them a single greeting, merely standing in place, faint sweat stains visible on the collar of his armless tanktop as it clings to his physique.
Daniel shifts to muttering prayers wordlessly in response to his partner.
As the jeep tilts hard, the detective stiffens his legs to brace against the floor of the Jeep. Gritting his teeth, he stares wide-eyed into the dark glasses of the coolest thing in this village. His lips move, as he prays to sweet Jesus. And the answer comes, as all four wheels reaches the ground again. The jeep makes it to the village, another miracle. And steadily, steadily, he realizes that the jeep was now rushing past what must be their contact. Gripping the sides of the jeep tightly, Daisy suddenly says something.
"Water. Yes."
The detective clears his throat.
And throws himself out of the jeep.
Daniel Jack rolls twice as he hits the ground, tumbling skillfully on impact. Perking straight up on both feet, the detective dusts himsself off. Content, and adjusting his hat, the sweating agent strides across the path to the cool-faced counterpart. The dispatch made it clear. Support the MI6 contact with information and resources form the international community, as long as it is approved from his superiors. Pulling out his ID from inside his jacket, he shows his badge, speaking tersely to his new English partner as he locks his gaze to him.
"Agent Little. Interpol."
"You must be Agent Evory." He continues, letting the ID linger for a moment before folding it up. His gaze does not break. He gestures towards the jeep. "That is my partner Agent Mallone. You may know her from her work in dispatching international crime; she is the one who dismantled the Manila Crime Syndicate, and stopped heroin trafficking cold in and around the Phillipines." The detective adjusts his tie; you could almost see the steam coming up.
"She is the best Interpol has to offer, is what I'm saying."
"Hey wait, where are you going?!"
Daisy leans towards the now empty seat that her partner once occupied, a look of surprise on her face at his sudden departure. She blinks a couple of times, not really comprehending the situation but it suddenly dawns on her that she should probably stop and see what he's up to. Through some further inexplicable luck, the woman's shift in her position also pulls the steering wheel slightly to the side and the jeep wheels into a sideways spin on the loose dirt. The car whirls around Daniel and the unknown agent like a ballerina, missing both of them by inches.
"Hang on, wait for me!"
Shifting her attention back to the road, Daisy smiles like someone who has no idea what kind of situation they're in - or someone who simply doesn't care. Planting her foot on the brake, the jeep's tires bite into the ground and it slowly grinds to a halt, still whirling like a pinwheel. A storm of dirt engulfs the entire camp cutting off vision between those present and the spiraling vehicle. There is a few more tense moments and then a dull thud.
When visibily returns, both the jeep and its driver come into focus once more, the pair of them neatly planted between several of the tents, all of which remain completely intact. Daisy gets to her feet, standing on the seat of her safari jeep and waves both of her hands in the air with child-like enthusiasm, beaming a big sunshiney smile at everyone present.
"Hellooooo! Don't worry, guys, we're here!"
Max's chin dips downwards faintly as he examines the Interpol badge, before Daisy begins her stunt driving around him. Now covered in a light shine of dust, he contemplates in the back of his mind whether or not they're a circus act masquerading as Interpol. He shakes this off, realizing that the Cold War hasn't been on since he was a small child. He reaches up and wipes his mouth of the dust and sweat, before gesturing at a nearby cantina. "Agent Little." He looks over to Daisy. "Agent Mallone. Charmed." Now that that is out of the way, he suggests, "We should get out of the sun. And have a word more privately." He slowly turns and moves towards the town's little cantina, mostly deserted this early in the day, since the townspeople are at their various jobs, either working in town or active in agriculture in the nearby farms amidst the jungle. He leads them into the little establishment, a little on the seedy side but rather quaint, with a modest supply of liquor and beer on tap, plus a cooler for pricy imports. "Uno Heineken," he says to the barmaid as he slides onto a stool at the edge of the bar, the only other man in the bar a portly man with a sheriff's badge. Max offers him a faint nod, returned by a sweaty, slow tilt of a lawman's hat, the sheriff quite uncomfortable at Max's presence.
Daniel Jack shuts his eyes as the wind blows past him.
Daisy would not kill him. He was certain of that. It was everyone else that he was worried about. As the crash comes, he reopens his eyes again. He does not say a word until Daisy makes her move. Waving at the others, he glances to the woman, and then, back to Max. The look in his eyes emphasizes it.
The best that Interpol would offer.
With the offer of more privacy (and a cooler place), the detective nods in return, and glances back to Daisy. "Lets go." He states firmly, and he turns to follows Max's lead. As he enters the bar with the agent, Agent Little casts his eyes across the room, scanning the interior dilligently, before settling his gaze on the sherrif. Daniel was sweating like a hog, but his intense expression contrasted against the cool, easy candence of the MI6 agent. He plants himself squarely on the bar, before raising up two fingers.
"Bourbon. Neat."
"Okay!"
Daisy dismounts from the jeep with a cheerful hop and gathers up a few small items from the back seat, one of which is her pistol, which she buckles onto her belt before following the the two men into the local bar - but not before making sure to lock up the car. The headlights flash and emit a noisy chirping sound in response to the button she pushes on a small keychain dongle. Best to be safe!
The rustic little establishment gets a good inspection by the Interpol agent, her thick hiking boots clicking on the wooden floor as she wanders around to check all the various pictures and cultural paraphanelia hanging on the walls, offering some innane comment about each one before moving on to the next until she finally makes her way back to the bar and takes a stool next to Daniel.
"Oh, are we getting drinks?" She turns her blinding smile onto the lady behind the counter. "Do you have milkshakes?"
The Heineken is delivered to Max from the imports cooler, and two fingers of Bourbon are poured for Daniel. Daisy gets a blank look, before Max raises his hand. A moment later, Grenadine and Coca-Cola are mixed together and delivered to Daisy. "That's a Roy Rogers. Non-alcoholic. Ice cream is a rare commodity here." He turns his attention to Daniel. "It appears we have a mutual interest in Colombia," Max begins, sipping his beer with a tilt of his fingers. "Besides our ally, the Colombian government, there are three major groups operating here. FARC, a Marxist people's army, the death squads, right wing land owners' enforcement troops, and the cartels, the primary cocaine exporters to the rest of the world. One of these three groups is involved in the kidnapping of a Colombian intelligence officer, and likely also the death of an MI6 operative in Cartegena. We suspect they're after the wreck of the San Jose, which has nearly a billion English pounds of gold and silver bullion on board. We intend on giving this find to the Colombian government, but we also do not want it falling into the wrong hands. We believe there is the presence of a fifth, unknown organization, operating in the Western Hemisphere, manipulating affairs towards a mysterious end. Tell me...What do you know of a man that calls himself 'Lynx'."
That helped.
Sipping the bourbon, Daniel Jack just lets a deep breath out. The jeep ride was behind him. Now was just good whiskey, and business. He stares ahead, the fierce glower on his face as Max speaks, explaining the situation. He knows Daisy was listening too. She needed to listen, she was the expert on this. The FARC, the Death Squads, and the Cartals, and a bullion in gold and silver. A hell of a heist. But as Max mentions the name of Lynx, the detective's expression softens, a look of troubled interest over his face. The man reaches into his grey suit jacket, and shaking his mustache a bit, turns back towards Max.
And Daniel pulls out a dossier.
"This is what Interpol knows about Lynx." He begins, speaking evenly. " He was a professional killer, an assassin, who was captured in Russia. He was sent to a Siberian prison, where he was recorded as having died. This is clearly fabricated, as the individual known as 'Lynx' has been turning up across the world in various criminal and terrorist cells. Not clear if he is working as a mercenary, or something more reliable. While Russia continues to make it clear that he is dead, we also have strict orders of not to capture or kill Lynx." The detective pushes the dossier across the bar to Max. "You can sift through the details of where he has been seen, and what we've recorded he's capable of. But if you want my opinion Max?" Daniel looks back at Daisy, and nods at her, before leaning in towards Max.
"Interpol officially recognizes that this is the activities of drug cartels." Daniel Jack whispers flatly. "I am instructed to provide you with whatever resources you need in your investigation of the drug cartels. I have been given a dispatch on what's happened here, and I have read the news. But right now Max, looking at the fact this guy is showing up here? I don't think we are just dealing with local thugs on this treasure hunt." Daniel leans back a bit.
"What do you think, Agent Mallone?"
Daisy meets the blank stare with her unwaiveringly cheerful smile until the glass is pushed across the bar at her. She inspects it for a few moments. This is clearly not a milkshake. Her enthusiasm dips momentarily but after sampling the not-milkshake she finds that its sweetness is pleasing enough to suffice and, more importantly, it helps to cool her down.
The Interpol agent slurps at her new vice noisily while the two men discuss their reason for being here, seeming to pay only passing attention to the words exchanged. Her curiosity piques slightly when Daniel produces the official looking envelope full of what little information they had been provided on the man known as 'Lynx'. It is certainly an intriguing story - a man who was officially dead showing up all over the world in association with multiple, unconnected criminal and terrorist organizations. How did he escape from his confinement? What business could he have with so many disparate groups? Why is the government trying to cover up his involvements, going so far as to issues orders not to apprehend or interfere with such a dangerous individual? As usual, there are far more questions than answers to be found in these official reports and the agents assigned to the case are left to blindly stumble around in the dark.
Daisy stares intently at the dossier while her partner thumbs through some of the pages, nibbling idly on the straw in her mouth. When Daniel turns to address her suddenly, she reacts only after a few moments of delay, tilting her head to regard him with a cow-like innocence. Eventually, she just gives a glowing smile and says, "It's not as good as a milkshake, but it's pretty good."
"The Mexican connection, then," Max says quietly as he sips his beer again, knowing full well that somebody is holding back on him. Either Daniel, or his superiors. He takes the dossier, and leafs through it, recognizing Lynx's face from the Russian mugshot inside. "It's him," he says, closing the folder and sliding it across to rest under his left hand, a territorial show of annoyance at being shortchanged by someone. Possibilities flash through his mind. Maybe Lynx is working as an agent of a foreign power with ties to rogue states, like China, and Interpol does not want to lose the entirety of Asia as operational footing. Maybe Lynx is a Russian operative, and the rest of the European Union is holding out on MI6. His eyes flick towards Daisy, sharp beneath his sunglasses. She's the supposed expert. And she's awfully quiet. Is Lynx an agent of Interpol? But the list goes on, and this isn't the same as reading a two-bit cop in Brooklyn. These are seasoned veterans.
Evory takes a slow draught of his beer, tipping his head back. "I'm going to need a list of known players in the Colombian cartels with ties to cocaine smuggling in America. Just the Latin side, thank you. And keep your inquiries with the Colombian government as gentle as possible. There are apparently leaks that Lynx is exploiting," he murmurs quietly, as the sheriff stares at the three gringos hatefully.
Daniel could not see in the windows of Daisy's mind.
"It sure is Agent Mallone." The detective responds, pinching the bridge his nose. "It sure is." Daniel wasn't holding back on Max. He was just a curious about this as he was. Hell, at this point, he didn't even know if Max could be trusted. He was outside Interpol, and his goals were more for British security, not international security. As he gives the positive ID towards Lynx, he releases his nose. He could read Max's irratation.
And frankly, Daisy wasn't helping things.
"You are calling the shots on this Agent Evory. Whatever you need from Interpol, we can provide. Daisy, you have the folders on the cartels?" He gestures for his partner, as he glances at the sheriff, studying him warily. "They are dated, as a warning, we haven't contacted the Colombian government in months for these. But if you need a refreshed list, I can get in contact. Don't worry about me." He puts down the glass on the counter.
"I can keep a light touch."
*siiiiiiiip*
Daniel's mental trauma at her lack of focus doesn't register in the slightest on the dainty blonde's pretty face as she slurps at her drink yet again. What lies in the depths of the former super-star agent's fragmented web of memories and thoughts is as much of a mystery to herself as it is to any one else. Chasing one of the many phantasms that drift to the surface from time to time is akin to wandering through a house of smoke and broken mirrors where the observer themself is also a mirror. Which shard of information is relevant and useful and which is just the shattered reflection of a long-dead ghost?
None of these deep thoughts manage to make it to the surace. Daisy gives a casual shrug and shifts her smile towards the foreign agent as he lays out the information he needs from them. She's dealt with quite a few drug cartels in the past but the Columbians were always a particularly nasty lot and elusive as well. She'd made several busts on their operations but never captured anyone important in the process. Too many middlemen between the contraband and the bosses up at the top.
At his request, Daniel finds a collection of folders being shoved into his hands which she produces from underneath her khaki shirt with a quick flourish. "Here you go!"
Max gives Daisy a long look, before his face softens and he glances at Daniel, a little concerned. He says nothing, however, drinking his beer for a few long moments as he contemplates what happened to her. A lot of nasty things can happen in this line of work. "Don't ask them," the assassin indicates, suspicious of the Colombian government. "I suspect someone high up in their intelligence network is on the pay, either out of corruption or fear. Best not put them in that position." Max looks at the bottles arrayed behind the bar, avoiding looking at the pair for a solid minute. "I'm going to find the biggest growing operation possible, and follow the chain from there."
"Great work Agent Mallone"
Daniel takes up the folders from Daisy, shuffling them a bit as he looks down on them. "You can see here that-" But he is interrupted by the man correcting him. The detective's face hardens, as he looks up from his folders. "Well, we have a job to root out corruption as well, and if this runs all the way..." But the silence was deafening. The MI6 agent wasn't even looking at him. Daniel holds in place, as the slurps up her drink. His patience was wearing thin with this special agent. But then, he announces his plans. Daniel Jack slams the folder on the counter, and stands up. "Now hold on, Agent Evory! We're partners in this. Where you go, we follow. You can't just go solo on any missions unless you tell us the what and where you are doing, scuzzy." He thrusts a finger at the special agent.
"Interpol doesn't tolerate mavericks!"
Daisy's eyes widen at the sudden outburst and she sits up a little straighter in her chair, a reaction that has become reflexive at this point. After the incident that saw her temporarily retired from service and her subsequent triumphant return, she's experienced a rather significant increase in the number of people who are upset with her on a regular basis. Naturally, she expects this to be another one of those times.
However, it seems that Daniel's anger is directed at their would-be ally, for which she is quite grateful. Still, even if she isn't the one getting scolded, there's a sharp increase in the tension in the room now. Daisy sits quietly on her stool and sips at the sweet concotion, her eyes shifting back and forth between the two men as she watches the situation unfold like an obedient child caught nearby as her parents quarrel.
'Interpol doesn't tolerate mavericks!'
Something about that statement rings familiar in her ears, though for the life of her, she can't remember why. Vague images flash through her head, blurry and distorted. Memories? Thoughts? None of them are clear enough to paint a coherent picture. Oh well, can't be that important!
Max slowly sweeps his gaze to look up at Daniel as the Interpol agent berates him, lips gently pursing in what appears to be amusement. "I assure you, I'll keep you briefed, Agent Little," he replies, taking a long sip of his beverage, enough to finish it. He sets the bottle down on the table, then pulls a money clip out of an inner pocket in his Hawaiian shirt, on the left side, opposite the gun on the right. He leaves a twenty dollar bill, American, on the counter, then adds a five for the tip. "My plan was to use our friends in Colombian counter-narcotics to raid a cocaine plantation in northern Colombia, interrogate the highest ranking survivor before he's deported to a Colombian prison, then track the money and drugs until we find a sign of Agent Marcos. Do you have a better plan of attack?" He's showing his military training, certainly, once a Commander in Her Majesty's Navy, based in Myanmar, also known as Burma.
Keep him briefed.
With Daisy having his back, he begins to sweat harder. His gaze is ice, his body tense. He was terse, but wary, watching, analyzing, and listening. He takes in Max, reading him like a book. But as the agent breaks down his plan, the detective begins to relax a bit. "As long as the government does the lifting, that seems fine. Daisy can sift through the details, she has a lot of experience in dealing with cartals." The detective holds up his hand.
"... But we need to put down some ground rules, Agent Evory."
"Interpol doesn't want MI6 to be working this solo. We are going to work as close to you as possible; we won't be doing anything without telling you, but you have to tell us every single thing you do down to the last detail. You are clearly in control here, you know what you're doing. I concede that point. But nothing that you, or MI6 does dealing with this mission will be withheld from both of us and Interpol, you understand?" Daniel Jack passes a glance towards Daisy, looking for some spupport. The detective was... not a commander. He was in fact a bit uncomfortable dealing someone who was well outside his league, in fact. As bizarre Daisy could get, Daniel at least felt like he had some edge on her. With Max though?
The guy just felt too good.
Fortunately, both of these men are professionals. What could have quickly turned into a nasty power struggle instead drops down to a more subdued level. Things could still go sideways but atleast they aren't shouting at each other right off the bat. On the other hand, people like this Agent Evory tended to be even more dangerous when they are calm and focused.
Daniel's glance her way almost earns him a salute, once more out of nervous habit, but the other agent is deep in thought, distracted by something that seems to have caught her short attention span. Instead, she ignores him and stares intently at the drink in her hands as if the tiny bubbles of carbonation hold the secrets she desires and she just has to wait for the right one to pop and reveal them. One tiny morsel of an idea does manage to make its way to the surface of her thoughts and after a few moments she chimes in suddenly.
"So... if the Columbian government has been infiltrated, doesn't that mean the guys who hunt down the drugs could be too? I mean, they don't exactly have a great track record when it comes to stopping the flow of product out of the country and they've been at it for decades. I seem to remember catching a lot of people who were supposed to be on our side with their fingers in the cookie jar when I was chasing down leads in that area. Won't the cartels know as soon as we catch one of their men and just move their operations to another safe location?"
*siiiiip*
"Then maybe I should mention a strange detail," Max says to Daniel, hiding how much the thought haunts him with a hard look, the adoption of a poker face his only real tell, and it says little about the hand he holds. "This 'Lynx' claimed to be a former agent of the American government." Getting abandoned in an enemy prison could easily happen to Max, if he oversteps his bounds as an agent, and he damn well knows it. It's a standard rule of spycraft. "He could be telling the truth." There's a faint purse of his lips at Daniel, meaning to convey his inner thoughts without stating it openly, since this is something Interpol might not be comfortable with. Max seems, above all else, polite.
He turns his attention to Daisy. "The Colombian Junglas are a special forces unit, very reliable, and are not members of the rank and file Colombian military. They report only to the federales," he explains, using the slang term 'federales'. "This particular unit has recently trained with the Green Berets in Florida in urban combat tactics, and our American cousins have a sufficiently intense vetting process to make me somewhat comfortable with my support. As for moving the operations...This is possible with normal cocaine smugglers, they simply hit and fade. But this group showed military characteristics, which means we'll see a ripple." He pauses to let this sink in. "And as soon as the fish bites, we snap the rod back, and reel in our culprits. Whomever captured Miss Marcos..." He trails a little, indicating an intimacy by use of that title instead of the formal one, completely aware he's shown his hand here with their relationship prior to the kidnapping. "Is probably the one attempting to hijack this largesse from the Colombians. And we have one extra ace up our sleeve."
He smiles warmly, and points upwards. "The Americans are a close ally of both Britain and Colombia, going back centuries, and have the best communications monitoring systems in the world."
What.
As Daisy starts talking, Daniel seems to get real sheepish. Sticking a tongue in his cheek, he listens to Daisy's response, identifying the potential flaws with incredible detail. He is awe-struck as right now, if it wasn't for the sheriff, he might be the dumbest man in the room. "Yeah, I think what, what Agent Mallone said-"
And Max gives his counter-point.
"Uh..." Daniel begins, looking back and forth between the two. Well. Shit Two geniuses. Daniel Jack was not a master spy, or an experienced gang buster. he was a detective. "I... think I'll leave the planning and decision-making between you two. Yeah. I could... monitor things... or investigate..."
Daniel Jack scratches the back of his next.
"So what do you two want me to do then?"
Daisy appears to contemplate this briefly, once more chewing on her straw at the corner of her mouth while she simultaneously sips at the sickeningly sweet beverage. Eventually, she just shrugs and her former vapid smile returns to light up the pretty blonde's face.
"Well, I guess if you say so, then they're okay with me!"
With her lone concern settled, Daisy turns to Daniel and pats him on the shoulder enthusiastically. "Did you hear that? We're going fishing! I hope there's a sports store nearby, I only brought my safari gear." She puts a finger to her chin and peers at the ceiling thoughtfully. "You think I could catch a fish with a machette?"
Agent Evory looks between Little and Mallone, not entirely comfortable with having them tag along, still. But, orders are orders, and if the international community has a concern here, then it's up to Max to make it work. "The Junglas are already working on finding the most sophisticated factory in the province. Once we have that, we go in. Whether or not you want to ride along on a jungle assault is up to you, but I could use someone briefed in international law to play 'good cop'. You offer our subject a way out after I give him the hard talk." He smiles faintly, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses, but his faint crow's feet are showing. "As for Agent Mallone, we could use her picking out who to interrogate. It seems to be her specialty."
Daisy was... unpredictable.
"Yes, Agent Mallone. Kinda like that." Daniel Jack could just FEEL the disappointment. Not that he shows it on his grim exterior. No, that he was showing by tweaking his mustache. "Well, I may not be the brains of this operation, but I can be the brawn. You won't find a more experienced martial artist in all of Interpol." Except for Chun-Li. "And as far as good cop... I'm experience with being a nice guy in these kinds of things. Sorta." Daniel still couldn't get over him being the dumb one out of the three. "Whenver you give us the call, Agent Evory, and we'll be down to bring international justice."
"You dig?"
Log created on 21:59:43 12/15/2015 by Daniel, and last modified on 13:04:23 12/17/2015.