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Adventure! RPG: Heroes of Our Time - episode 1: City of Thieves


Alex Craft

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(mid-February, 1924)

It is a cold afternoon, and condensation clouds the breath of the men and women walking past the unassuming Baltimore headquarters of King Industrial Steel. It has been snowing fitfully all day, but the snowfall hasn't amounted to much. Most surfaces are glazed with a thin layer of dry, powdery snow - excepting the streets, where the snow has been beaten into a fine slush.

Inside, the ornate lobby contrasts with the simple Georgian exterior. The ceiling drifts two full stories above the floor, and a large chandelier drips with an intricate array of electric light bulbs. The gleaming brass, the lustrous red leather, and the critical desk staff all seem calculated to isolate less refined visitors - a description that well suits the three men waiting a little off to the side:

Blaine MaCallister stands solidly in somewhat worn street clothes. His broken nose, cauliflowered ear, and gnarled, scared hands mark him as a man of action - likely unaccoustomed to these surroundings.

From his appearances, ‘Locky’ McKenzie can’t be older than his late teens. The red-haired youth unobtrusively slouches against the wall in a cheap grey suit, casting quick, alert glances around the room, not missing a detail.

The third man wears a shabby suit and tail coat, their extreme age not hidden by many inexpert repairs, but generally overlooked due to their wearer's forceful presence. His swarthy skin, piercing eyes, and showman’s smile cause him to seem almost gentlemanly - the impression marred only by an intimidating intensity to his gaze and a shark like edge to his grin. This is John Adams Frederickson - known on the stage as the incomparable Dr. Mystery.

They have been waiting five or six when a forth man arrives, this one more at ease in these surroundings. Jameson Bradford strides into the lobby, his tailored suit and winter trench coat only partially concealing the two silver-plated revolvers belted around his waist. He moves with easy grace and total confidence.

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Shortly after Bradford’s arrival, the men are met by Rhiannon Lewis - Anthony King’s secretary. She is a remarkably attractive woman, her undeniable charms set somewhat aside by her businesslike attire. Her intelligent green eyes look over the group briefly as she introduces herself, suggesting that the men follow her up to King’s office.

An attendant holds one of the elevators for the group, waiting for them to enter and then bearing them up to the venerable building’s eighth floor. There, Rhiannon leads the men across the hall and through King’s waiting room, knocking on the door before entering.

King’s office is a large, oval room - subtlely ornamented with simple but elegant antique furniture. Paintings and sculptures - both classic and modern - stand or hang in alcoves around the perimeter of the room, and the walls are paneled with rich, red-brown water cypress - the wood stained dark by age and smoke.

A row of Chicago-style windows behind King’s desk bring the afternoon sun into the room. The desk is a huge, flat piece completely devoid of documents or momentos. King sits behind the desk, his prizefighter’s bulk minimized by its scale and by his equally large chair. Behind him hang several photographs: King or his father shaking hands with a president or king, a portrait photo of his father, and an image of King and an elegant woman (possibly of Eastern European descent) on a ship at sea.

Five high-backed chairs are arranged in an arc a few meters away from the desk, presumably intended for the guests. Standing at the front corner of the desk is Janos Rakozi - a young, pale-looking man, his hair going to grey despite his apparent age. It looks as if he may have been speaking with King before the group entered, but they are now both silent. He turns to examine the group, his pale grey eyes taking in the newcomers’ faces.

King waits for his guests’ full attention, his body language calm and easy as his warm grey eyes dance with concealed excitement.

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Blaine looks a bit out of sorts here, and he purses his lips in a slight grimace. He takes off his hat (a cap actually, the kind one often sees on drivers and chauffeurs, it's brown with a short bill and the front attaches to the bill) and reveals his mostly bald head, what little hair he has is cut short with clippers and is a dark blond color. He also shucks his worn overcoat and hands both to the attendant. He has on a well worn jacket, a gun visible in a holster under his left armpit, and he has suspenders on to help hold up his drab slacks. The plain brown tie nearly completes the shabby image. What is rather remarkable is that his black patent leather shoes are immaculate, and shine like mirrors. Not a scuff, or piece of dirt is on them.

He steps into the room and does a casual scan of it, it's hard to tell if he's impressed or maybe just has a slight case of indigestion. He looks back over his shoulders at the others as he walks in to shake Anthony King's hand.

"Mr. King. We met and talked before." not a question, just a simple statement. "But you never mentioned this Vaudeville Act. So what's the rumpus?" he pumps King's hand a few times and then turns to the rest.

"Blaine. Blaine MaCallister. PI." he says as he reaches into his pocket and flashes a Private Investigator's badge with practiced ease. The badge looks like it's for the greater Baltimore and DC area.

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Rhiannon regards the five men with professional serenity, her hands folded demurely before her as she moves to stand by the desk. She has straight brown hair drawn into a neat bun, the style a little out-of-date compared to the beige silk blouse and grey woolen skirt she wears, not a single cosmetic or piece of jewelery softening the businesslike attire and her even, regular features. Her shoes are brown leather with a slight heel, as immaculate as the rest of her appearance. A sharp intelligence gleams in her large green eyes as she watches the men, remaining silent for the present.

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Jameson Bradford stride confidently into the room, barely giving pause to the aknowledge the stark opulence of the "office". He strides up to King, his trench and suitcoats billowing behind him. Despite his tailored suit he has a pair of gunslingers holsters belted across his waist. The weapons are obviously well cared for as the silver plating has a keen shine to it and the mahogany grips are worn but appear freshly polished.

"Mr. King," he says offering his hand, "A pleasure to meet you face to face at last." Jameson has a slight twang in his voice which gives away his upbringing in the southwestern region of the country.

He turns and surveys the other men, introducing himself as, "Jameson Bradford, but please call me James, my freinds all do, and I do hope we're all to be freinds."

He finishes by introducing himself to Rhiannon. "Ma'am, I am honored to meet the acquaintance of a woman of such striking beauty. If there is ever anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to request it." He finishes and offers a dazzling smile.

Jameson then takes off his trenchcoat and hands it off to an attendant before taking a seat.

"So why exactly are we all here?..."

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Locky McKenzie walks into the room, managing to walk from the hardfloor of the entryway to the ornate, oval-shaped carpet on which the desk and chairs reside upon almost without a sound. As he walks, it seems as if he's looking everywhere while looking straight in front of him.

His grey suit is a little off in size - it's probably his only one, and this one doesn't even fit him. As he approaches the chairs, he immediately moves towards the left-most chair, and sits. He takes off the flat cap he's wearing, fully revealing the head of unruly red hair he keeps underneath, and places it on his lap. His face shows that he's still making the transition between boy and man, and his grey eyes show a... teen of spontaneity, one that more staid individuals might look askance of.

He seems a little uncomfortable in the office; one might suspect that surroundings such as these are uncommon to him. One more perceptive might realise that surroundings such as these conjure unpleasant memories for him, but that is a story for much, much later, and is not one to be started now, in the middle of introductions.

As the other men begin introducing themselves, he takes stock of the new people in the room. As Jameson introduces himself to Locky, Locky replies with a sincerely warmhearted "The name's Lachlan McKenzie, but please, call me Locky." The voice marks him as a native of Baltimore, and yet... there's something off about the accent, something just a little different, that marks him as an immigrant.

As he listens to the others introducing, he files the names away, and waits for King to speak.

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Locky shakes the Count's hand. His handshake's unpracticed, but reasonably firm. As Janos begins to let go of the handshake, Locky moves his hand back with surprising quickness, placing his hands back in his lap. He maintains eye contact with Rakosi for a few seconds more, then turns back to King himself.

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John walks into the room. Pulling his cane from his jacket pocket he, raises an eyebrow at Blaine. "Excuse me, Mr. MacAllister, do you have a problem with Vaudeville? Although, I suppose it is of no matter."

His suit is quite old, and badly repaired, seemingly many times. His hat, a derby, is black, like his suit, and puts his face in shadow. His cane is dark and about a yard long, with a pommel for gripping at the top.

He grins, disturbingly, and bows deeply to the group. "I am Dr. Mystery, the renowned Vaudeville magician. You can just call me John."

John walks over to Mr. King's desk. He turns to Rhiannon. "Hello again, Ms. Lewis, it is pleasant to see you again." John faces Mr. King and shakes his hand, examining him curiously. Pleased to meet you sir.

John's language is impeccable, but his accent betrays his Creole upbringing. John joins the other men silently, standing somewhat apart, his powerful figure makes a fearsome image.

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"Greetings, gentlemen," Rhiannon finally says. Her voice is a low, pleasant contralto with an educated English accent and a hint of a Welsh lilt for those who know what to listen for. She inclines her head briefly to each of them before falling silent, seemingly unaffected by their presence or charm.

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Blaine looks from chair to chair, and chooses the last one, settling his solid frame into the aged leather. He gets comfortable and without thinking it seems, interlocks his fingers and pushes his gnarled thick hands palms outwards. His knuckles pop and crack with a sound like rocks being dropped onto a marble floor. Satisfied he rests his hands on the arm rests as the rest of them walk in.

When he's addressed by one of them, he cracks a rare smile, showing wide white teeth, very solid looking, encased in a jaw that looks like it could take a kick from a donkey without flinching. 'Did I call it or what?' he mumbles first before addressing Dr. Mystery.

"Nah Doc, I ain't got a problem." he says as he leans forward and extends his hand, but doesn't rise from his seat. "It's just that I don't see no stage in here. You got a show for us?" he chuckles again, obviously joking. It seems he's a bit of a wise guy, along with his other charms.

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Jameson sits, or rather sprawls, in the middle chair. His booted feet crossed in front the desk as he idely fingers the butt of one of his pistols.

"While I do reckon that Mr. King asked us all here for our special talents," he says "I also reckon that he's not looking to start a traveling show." He pauses and leans forward suddenly looking each man in the eyes momentarily.

"So how's about we all just sit tight and listen to what the man has to say?" With that he leans back into his chair and waits.

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Rhiannon watches the men seat themselves silently, standing by the desk. Her face remains set in a serene mask, but green eyes flicker to Blaine as he cracks his joke, then settle on Jameson as he makes mention of 'special talents' before returning to a spot somewhere between all of the men.

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John shakes the count's hand, "Just call me John. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, sir."

After this, he turns his attention to Blaine, glaring and nodding curtly, irritation showing in his dark eyes. "No, Mr. MacAllister, I do not have a show for you."

Turning to Mr. Bradford, Indeed, "let us see what Mr. King wants of us."

John takes a seat in the chair next to the counts, patiently waiting for Mr. King to speak.

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King waits quietly, half-rising to accept Blaine and John’s hands, then sitting back into the chair. The men introduce and seat themselves one by one, their snippets of conversation coming to an end. The silence draws out for a few moments as King looks over the gathered men - his eyes resting on Locky a little longer than on the others. Then, returning his attention to the whole group, he begins:

“Gentlemen. I’m glad to see that you are all available. When I first discussed this arrangement with each of you, I explained that you would be periodically called upon to obtain certain objects and information for me. Such a circumstance has now arisen.”

“Some time ago, there was a series of explosions in the desert near Cairo, Egypt, uncovering a previously hidden complex of chambers. It appears that the local herders did not at first pass this information to the authorities - they assumed that the chambers were part of an old tomb and were reluctant to involve anyone who would disturb the site. Last month, someone came forward, and a British archeological expedition was mounted to investigate the complex.”

“They did not find a tomb. Instead, the complex appears to be a lab of some sort - currently abandoned. My contacts at the site believe that the lab was in use until the explosions reported by the locals - probably the result of a failed experiment. Regardless, the previous inhabitant would seem to have been quite the genius. While most of the equipment in the lab had been damaged beyond repair by the explosions and the later exposure to the desert, government researchers on the site believe the technology involved to be well beyond our current standards.”

“The only piece of intact machinery found on the site is a real gem. It is an electrical generator which - to all appearances - does not require fuel. As a result of this discovery, the British Empire has taken over investigation of the site, and the generator is being transported to the British Consulate in Cairo. It will undergo preliminary examination in Cairo before being transported to government researchers in London.”

“It has come to my attention that someone is making arrangements for the generator to be stolen in transit between the Consulate and the air field.”

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King produces a folder from behind his broad desk, opening it and leafing through a thin sheaf of papers to extract a grainy photograph.

“I am not yet certain who is behind this action - he has remained well out of sight. The men involved in this escapade are all locals, hired through intermediaries. Most of them are just thugs, with the exception of this man.”

He lays the photograph on the table and slides it to the edge nearest the five men. The photograph is of poor quality - most likely taken without the subject’s knowledge - and shows a thin, sharp-featured Arab is grungy street clothes.

“This is Ayed Al-Luqmani. He will be planning and leading the attack. My sources tell me that Luqmani is an anti-British agitator being paid for this adventure in guns and explosives. While his underlings are of little consequence, Luqmani is reported to be an excellent organizer, and he will most likely be successful in snatching the generator out from under the Crown’s nose.”

“All of this is relevant because I have a use for this device, as well.”

“I am sending you to Egypt tonight. You should arrive in Cairo at least a few days before the generator is scheduled to be moved. My sources assure me that Luqmani will not attempt to break into the Consulate - his men are too inexperienced at the more subtle forms of crime. Therefore, you should have ample time to get abreast of the situation before making your own move. I don’t care how you obtain the generator - either snatch it from Luqmani after he steals it, or beat him to the punch by removing it from the Consulate. However, if you choose the later option, understand: if you are caught, I would not appreciate the embarrassment of being connected to a crime against the Crown.”

“I believe that all of you can potentially contribute to this assignment, so you will all be in Cairo together. I suggest that you cooperate, or you will find the situation unnecessarily difficult. In addition, Ms. Lewis - my aide - will be traveling with you. Among other things, she will act as a translator. She may inform you of her other talents as she sees fit."

"I hope that I can trust you all to ensure her safety.”

King returns the photograph to the folder, closes the folder, and slides it across the desk to Rhiannon’s side.

“This contains background on the assignment - current maps of Cairo, plans of the Consulate, available information on the competition, and similar details. If you have general questions or objections I suggest that you raise them now - your plane leaves in six hours.”

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Rhiannon accepts the folder, green eyes flickering to the rest of the group as she opens it, passing the sheets of paper within around to be studied. "I have a certain... knack for translation, even if I cannot speak the language," she explains quietly. "I can also sense the truth in certain circumstances, mark people so that I can track them later and command others with my voice under certain conditions."

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Jameson sits sprawled in the center chair his legs crossed before him fingering on of his guns in quiet contemplation as King briefs the group.

After Rhiannon speaks, he turns toward her and slowly looks her up and down, smiling.

"Well, it seems that at least some of us are even more than they appear. Me? Well, what you see is what you get. The medals in my home say that I'm one of the best shooters there is, with just about any kind of gun. Add to that these babies," he says patting his twin revolvers, "These here are about as custom as you can get. Twin Colt .45 Peacemakers, specially modified by a late buddy of mine who had the poor luck of thinking I was bluffin' on Aces over Jacks. He balanced these two guns better than anything I've ever seen. Sealed up the chambers as well so ever last bit o' kick comes out the buisness end. He Must have shaved down the trigger mechanisim as well 'cause they fire faster than anything short of an automatic.

"I am, however, no more than what I appear to be, a displaced cowboy with a constant need for the better vices drink, tobacco, and women among them. I do have a habit of getting myself into trouble of all sorts, though I usually find myself on the proper side of the law in these cases.

"I suppose that raises my first question Mr. King," Jameson rises from his slouched position and sits upright looking directly into King's eyes, "Why exactly should a mostly law abiding man such as myself want to get tangled up in the procurement of objects which lawfully belong to the Brits, with whom I may add, we are allies?

"That said I am sure that you will be able to asswage my concerns. As such I do have a few questions regarding the job ahead of us.

"First, how large is this "engine" is it man portable at all?

"Second, how well armed can we expect the opposition to be, by that I mean both these thugs and the Brits whom we may well encounter?

"Third, my original question, why are we after this item? We'd be either directly or indirectly stealing from the Brits after all."

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"I can handle any relations with the British," Rhiannon says with a slight smile. "I do have the accent after all, and one never knows if I could find a fellow Oxford graduate amongst the Consulate staff."

She pats her bun to make sure it is still neat and glances at the other men in the office. "I am not the fighter any of you gentlemen are, but I do know the basics of handling a gun and hand-to-hand fighting. However, I'm sure you understand if I attempt to keep you between the enemy and myself."

She gives a brief but dazzling smile that lights up her face before assuming her expression of professional serenity. "If you have any reasonable requests for equipment, please let me know. It's part of my job to fill them."

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"I want the device in order to examine it, determine its means of operation, and ultimately reproduce it for a price. American capitalism at its finest."

"Consider, Mr. Bradford, the Crown's interest in such a device. A government, quite simply, can not be trusted to spread the wealth. If the British government's pet scientists manage to figure out how this generator functions, the technology will not reach the open market for many years. No, it will simply be another tool in the Crown's war chest - another weapon for another war."

"While I certainly can't claim that I wouldn't profit from a commercial version of this device, I can promise that - should it live up to its potential - it will be available for the public to purchase. A bit more democratic than the alternative."

"And regardless - if we stand by, the device will go into someone else's hands, and Egypt will have another heavily armed terrorist group to deal with. The device will be stolen either way - I'd just like to see it in my hands."

"As for the dimensions of the device, some diagrams are available among the documents which Ms. Lewis has distributed. I would estimate it to be about the size and weight of a large steamer trunk - practically transportable by two men. Luqmani's group will have a truck with which to transport the generator. If you were to ambush them, it would probably be wisest to wait until they have loaded the generator, then take the truck."

"The British soldiers, whom I certainly hope you would not engage - again, that could present some further complications with some of my foreign offices - will be armed as you might expect: pistols and rifles. Luqmani's group is currently equipped with second-hand weapons - pistols, revolvers, and rifles. It is possible that they will have obtained a submachine gun or similar weapon by the time of their attack."

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"Fine by my, Mr. King. If the British have it, we can use subterfuge. If it falls into the hands of those anti-Imperialist, then we can just take it."

"As for weapons, I see that several us are familiar with pistols. Some knowledge of knife-work will come in handy, as well. A grenade our two might be useful in extremous."

"I will do what is necessary to protect my comrades and see this mission through. Trusting any government isn't something we should do, especially with something of this magnitude."

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"Well Mr. King, what worthier cause than then betterment of mankind. Mind you lining ones pockets and the pockets of those who work for him is great motivation on its own.

"I belive that our plan of action is clear. We cannot for reasons of morals, safety, and honor, engage the British troops and personnel guarding the engine. Sadly that leaves us two options. The first is to determine a method by which we could retrieve the device from under the noses of the British without confrontation. The second is to attack Ayed Al-Luqmani and his men and take the device by force from them after they remove it from British hands."

Jameson stands from his chair and begins to pace around the room.

"Well gentlemen I'd be interested to find out which talents you have that got you hired into this group..."

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Locky suddenly pipes up. "Do we have anything on the security of the consulate? Door & Lock security, and all that. Do we know where the brits are keeping this machine?"

"More importantly, however, how many brits can we expect to be guarding the area? As much as everyone here seems to be good in a fight, I tend to be much better away from the fight. If we have to steal this thing, I'd think it would be much better to do it without anyone noticing, am I right?"

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"I agree Mr. McKenzie, that we would do well to avoid a fight if we can. I take it that you are a thief then? I assumed as much when I saw you draw your hands away from the count so quickly when you two shook. Perhaps you can show us just what it is that you 'borrowed' from our comrade?"

"Janos, though we fought on separate sides in the war I'll not hold it against youif you can do the same for me. I believe that we will find ourselves fighting side by side and I would feel much more comfortable having you at my back if I knew you to be a man of honor."

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Locky's face suddenly clouds up, and he rockets to his feet and yells "I am not a thief!" At that point, he looks around and realises that everyone is probably staring right at him.

"I'm sorry," Locky says, slightly calmer, "But I get that enough from everyone else who knows me. I'm a lockpick, nothing more. A damn good one, to be sure, but nothing more. I don't like stealing, and I've never stolen in my life. The challenge to me is getting in, not getting anything out. I'll tell you right now that the thought of going in to steal something goes against my grain. On the other hand, I see Mr. King's point in the matter, and I'm willing to help us all do this."

At this point, Locky's temper starts leaking into his voice. "But you call me a thief again and I leave this room right now, consequences be damned, got that Jameson? I ain't working with someone who don't trust me, doubly so someone who insults me in the process. Just try to stop me, I can guarantee I'll get through whatever you truss me up in in 10 seconds flat, and that's the truth."

"Are we clear on this?"

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Janos nods, then adds,

"Mr. Bradford, I believe a man's actions speak louder than words. I will give you the benefit of the doubt, until you show me differently. I do ask you this: would you still be inclined to non-violence if those troops were Germans, or Hungarians? You are asking me to do the same, after all."

With Mr. McKenzie's outburst, Janos turns to him and says,

"For the rest of us, I apologize Mr. McKenzie. The world requires men of various talents to get things done, and often honest trades can be turned to purposes beyond their initial intent. Certainly, if your knowledge of the mechanical arts can save lives, and make the world a better place, it is a good thing, no?"

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Jameson bows his head, when we looks up he appears genuinley abashed.

"I'm sorry, I jumped to the wrong conclusion based on the evidence I have. When you snatched your hands from the Count during the introductions I found that behavior a bit suspicious, but felt that it was probably my imagination. Then it was revealed that were were brought togther to procure through illicet means an object in the possession of a British embassy. I was wrong, and I am very sorry. If there is anything I can do to attone please say so.

"Janos, if the situation were such that the item was in the possesion of any foriegn government I would hesitate to enagage their men directly, I may feel more strongly because I have know many British soldiers, but as Mr. King pointed out, there would be a great deal of ambarrasment if we were to get caught removing property of a foriegn government.

"That said, I do agree with Mr. McKenzie that we should attempt to obtain the item with minimal confrontation. Though I have no qualms about killing when it is justified dead bodies tend to attract a great deal of attention. If we can get the engine without combat we're that much more likely to get away without major complications, such as law enforcement and international conflict."

Jameson sighs and sit back down. "It's so much easier dealing with an international threat from a raving madman. Black and white, not shades of grey. Let me apologize again Locky, I am sorry and I meant no insult, I have known many men who proudly called themselves thieves and acted within thier own sense of honor. I hope you will forgive me and that we can get past this and leave it behind."

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Blaine flips through the folder, examining their contents, observing the grainy photos, reading the notes. He's also listening in on the conversations around him, and grunts at all the bravado and feather ruffling going around. He flips through to the last page and sets the folder down and cracks his knuckles loudly again, perhaps to gain people's attention.

"Neat little job. Way I see it, no one's got clear ownership of it yet anyway. I don't want to go up against the British, but you're fooling yourselves if you think they're all about honor and dignity. They impounded our ships before we entered the War, and they were the only ones we could communicate with across the Ocean. You think if we could have talked to the Germans we might have gotten a different story? Hell yes.

"At any rate, King's reasons are good enough for me, I'm sure it'll be a 'rewarding' job." he winks at Mr. King. "We'll have an easier time taking it from the thieves though. Thieves usually don't run to the cops when they've been robbed. We get in, grab it, get out, and head back here before they know what hit 'em.

"No one has to worry about me in a fight. I didn't get this pretty from taking singing lessons. I'm a crack shot and got a right hand like a falling safe.

"So when's the boat leaving Mr. King?"

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"Gentlemen, there is no one in this room that I do not consider generally trustworthy - in the interests of cooperation, I suggest that you trust my judgement on that."

"To answer your question, Mr. McKenzie - your documentation includes plans of the Consulate. You will note that those plans also include notes on security measures, patrols, and other relevant information. The device is currently being stored in the basement. There are few guards at that level, but the grounds and embassy are reasonably well patrolled."

* * *

"A plane will be waiting at Logan Field by 10:00 tonight. Any simple requisitions will be already on the plane - more specialized materials will be arranged by our Cairo office."

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John sits in his chair, spectrelike, watching the actions of the men around him. His dark figure makes an impressive image in the chair.

John stands, turning towards Mr. King. "I'm, in. This sounds more interesting than magic shows."

He breaks out in a wide, frightening grin, showing his pearly teeth.

Leafing through a folder with some interest, "Definately better than magic shows..."

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Jameson stands suddenly a grin spreading across his face. "Gentelmen, and lady, I think I have an idea, tell me what you think.

"We seem to be partially divided about when to take the engine, Locky and Rhiannon want to avoid a fight while the rest of use seem to be of like mind that it will be easier to deal with the thieves. I suggest we do both.

"Locky can without a doubt break into the embassy and into the room where the device is stored. Getting a engine the size of a steamer trunk, and likely heavier, without being detected will be difficult however.

"But if somebody here has some mechanical skills, we could remove a crucial mechanism of the engine and take that from the embassy. We then wait and recapture the majority of the engine from the thieves. By removing a component and rendering the engine unusable we can ensure that it will not fall into the wrong hands in working order.

"What do you all think?"

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John nods at Mr. Bradford.

"That seems like a good idea. I am stealthy enough to get through with Locky and deal with the guards. The problem is, who would have the mechanical skills to deal with advanced technology such as the engine? None have come across it before."

"I suggest taking it while the other thieves are dealing with the British guards. That would make it easier for us, as the British guards and the other thieves would be busy dealing with each other."

"Do we have any information as to the thieves' plans?

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Blaine nods solemnly at Bradford's idea.

"I like your style Bradford. A two part plan like that is a good idea.

"Let's add to that. Let's say we get that component, that gives us a lot more negotiating power, we might even be able to the rest without getting our hands bloody.

"We can also get in on the underworld. Once they find they have a busted whatchimajig, they might be willing to dump it off on the cheap.

"How's that?"

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"Hmmm ..."

Janos puts his fist to his chin-cleft and thinks for a moment.

He raises his head slightly and speaks,

"I did a bit of sneaking around in the trenches. I imagine a more than a few of us are light on our feet."

"I like the idea of getting to the device while its still in the Consulate, but I don't think tampering with it is a good idea. Besides, they will be delivering it to their employer, and it may take that individual some time to realize it is, infact, broken."

"Likewise, waiting for the thieves to take it requires us to figure out atleast some part of their plan. We go skulking about the bazzars of Cairo asking questions, don't you think we might be noticed? Playing on their homeground doesn't sound to healthy to me."

"How about we replace it with ... something else, while it's still in the Consulate, then let the thieves take it?"

"That way, no one will even know we were involved. If we are lucky, there won't be a lick of fighting, and we will be out of the country before either the British, or the thug's employer, know anything is amiss."

"Now, if there was a social function right before they moved it, and somehow we wrangled an invitation or two .... hmmm...."

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"I believe Janos' reluctance to tamper with the device is justified. It hasn't been studied extensively by anyone, so there is no way to know how to take it apart. Removing random small parts could have no effect or permanently damage it. It is within the realm of possibility that such tampering could even cause it to explode or do something similarly unpleasant."

"Unfortunately, I have been unable to obtain substantial information about either the route the British will use to move the device or Luqmani's plans. The British have kept their plans well under wraps, and Luqmani does not intend to give his men their orders until the day of the attack. To intercept the shipment, you would most likely need to follow the British transport as it leaves the Consulate."

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"It now sounds to me like trying to remove the engine from the embassy will take a considerable amount more effort than to highjack it enroute. Perhaps the dazzling Miss Lewis could infiltrate the Embassy ahead of time and fine the papaerwork detailing the movement plans for the engine.

"We could even send Miss Lewis in as a distraction and have Locky remove said papers while she occupies the ambasador.

"If we wanted to stick a feather in our caps we could intercept the thieves AFTER they have attacked the convoy and stolen the device. We then intercept the thieves and replace the engine with a fake. Then we return the fake and the surviving thieves to the British and collect a handsome reward!!"

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Janos snorts and shakes his head.

"You americans and your fine-tuned sense of personal liberty. I find it exciting, alarming, and somewhat charming all at once."

Looking over at James,

"If we bring them back the device, and they look inside to make sure it is okay, will they not notice our forgery?"

"Even if they don't blame us, what is to stop them from tossing us in a cell for a few days while they question us? They can do that, you know. We are foreign nationals in a British Protectorate."

"I have no desire to spend time in a Cairo goal, nor do I believe the Hungarian government will come riding to my rescue. Perhaps the American Consul will be more inclined to help you, but I would much rather place my faith in Mr. McKenzie having pity upon me and taking me with him when he decides to depart."

"I believe Mr. King has reward enough for us. Let us do this job as quietly as possible, and return home safetly."

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