2007-08-03: Homeland Security Intel


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Felix lets Namir in on a little secret concerning a convoy on the way to Niagara.

Dark Future Date: August 3rd, 2009

Homeland Security Intel

Namir's "Place", Queens

When Namir described his place as a 'hellhole', he wasn't kidding. The tiny, cramped basement space somewhere beneath an abandoned building in Queens is very dark, very hot, and very ugly. The only light is a crank-lantern that casts a sickly pale glow over the bare living space. There's a thin hard cot shoved against one wall and a duffel containing everything the man who occupies this space ever owned. There's also a wooden crate with a digital-face watch displaying military time and a pair of pictures: one is ancient and shows a couple seated beneath a tree, the other is of Namir and Samantha on their honeymoon — a much happier time than what they experience now.

The man himself is sitting on the cot in the near-dark with a handgun resting within easy reach. He's eating something from an unmarked can — something he shares bits and pieces of with a common brown rat that scurries over his lap and up onto his shoulders. The entrance to the room is booby-trapped, but anyone meant to enter it would know to knock and speak the proper code in order to enter without being blown to bits.

It's a hellhole only if you didn't grow up in Soviet Russia. Insert Yakov Smirnoff joke here. There's the sound of footsteps outside in the hall - whomever's approaching isn't bothering to conceal his presence. And then there's a voice beyond the door, voice wryly good-humored under the surface solemnity. "People should not be afraid of their governments," it intones, and then pauses, to let Namir finish the couplet. It's not exactly. "Flash…..thunder," but it will do.

Funnily enough, footsteps occasionally happen by around here — usually looters or the like trying to scavenge, or darker sorts hoping to find easy pickings or a place to hide in the abandoned building. Even still, Namir ceases eating and takes a firm grip on the gun at his side. When he hears the voice on the other side, he relaxes some and rises to switch off the trapped door. "Governments should be afraid of their people," he grunts as he draws open the door just a crack to peer out into the hallway behind Felix. There's a brief moment when the Homeland Security spy's breath becomes extremely amplified, very audible, and then it returns to normal and the door opens fully. "Come in."

"Freely and of your own will, and leave some of the happiness you bring," Felix finishes, in a terrible fake Transylvanian accent. Someone's got an insatiable appetite for American pop culture. He's dressed in his semi-homeless guy outfit - worn Germany Army parka without its liner, jeans, faded t-shirt and Chucks. He slips in, moving a bit stiffly, flashing Namir a onspiratorial grin as he does.

Once Felix is in, Namir switches on the trap again and steps away from the door. His upper arm is bandaged heavily, some of the gauze slightly bloodied. He doesn't seem terribly amused at the quote, but then he's never terribly amused about anything these days. "Funny, I don't drink wine either," he remarks dryly before he takes a seat on the cot. "What can I do for you, Felix?"

He offers a feral flash of teeth that really isn't a smile. "A word to the wise. Homeland Security is rolling in sweet, sweet gear, and you resistance monkeys can get your hands on some. Specifically, there's a rail convoy heading upstate next week. Supplies for that fucking camp they built up near Niagara. Much of it will be food, clothing….but there will be military gear. And the parts of the ALliance I know are too peaceable to get it. IED the tracks, and you've hit a jackpot. You're the best one I know of to make use of this information."

Namir nods once as he takes this in. Technically he's still out of commission, but then a visit to Bekah should fix that easily. He wouldn't want to not be there for such a nice hit. "I'll be sure to pass the word along. When exactly is the convoy moving and how will security be?"

"Departs the western freight yards at 0600. That puts it at Niagara at noon. No road security, no air cover, to the best of my knowledge. Just one machine gun mount at each end,a couple of passenger cars worth of troops. Gun mount is first and last. Next to last and second are the troop cars, though there may be a handful of troops in the freight cars," He makes a face. "This is lowest bidder shit. I should be glad Petrelli's administration doesn't have their act together like Papa Joe did."

As Felix speaks, Namir goes to the duffel and pulls out a notepad and a stub of a pencil. He starts jotting down notes in Arabic at a quick pace, then nods as he studies them thoughtfully. "Well, what is their stupidity is our gain, I suppose. They won't have trackers planted, will they?"

"On the weapons themselves? I seriously doubt it. Rifles're too tightly engineered. I'd scan the ammo crates, myself. You won't be able to take away the bulk of it, but ruining the tracks will put paid to that for at least a couple days. They'll have to offload what you leave and take it by road," he says, settling down cross-legged, wincing.

"Mm, and it will be amusing to see the looks on their faces." Namir raises an eyebrow when he catches the wincing, passing a tidbit of food to the rat still on his shoulder. "Did you take a beating, or are you just getting old?"

Felix curls his lip. "All of the above? Got fucked up when some liquid Terminator of an evolved decided to bust out his girlfriend, after we took her in a raid. And then ran into Babenkov and his sweetie. They fucking shot some poor cryokine in front of me, and winged me when I tried to take 'em. It's been a bad week," he says, but he pushes himself up with his good arm. "How about you?"

Namir shakes his head. He's heard about Babenkov in passing and his War Against Evolved. Madman. At the question of his arm, he shrugs a little. "I surprised a couple of guys in an alley. They weren't happy with it." He sets aside his empty can, then plucks the rat off his shoulder and sets the creature near the can. The rat gladly begins to polish off what little is left. "Do me a favor, will you? I left some guns at Sam's place. If I ask you nicely, will you get them for me? She should know where they are."

"Well, you won't get me booze, because you're a good Muslim. And you won't yield to my more lewd entreaties, same as above. Also Sam would kill me if I tried anything. So, what do you offer in return?" he says. He's mostly teasing.

"Ask Sam to give you booze. I'm sure she has some." He's sure because he's had it. But of course, Namir would never admit to that. "But if you touch my wife, I'll break your neck."

"If I tried, Sam would break my neck," Felix notes, slightly more somberly. "Let alone you. Listen. Stay lucky. And let me know if there's anything else I can do," He waits patiently for the door to be disarmed.

"There, then. Double incentive not to touch my wife." It all works out so nicely, doesn't it? Namir does rise and moves to the door to disarm the trap, then pulls it open after peering out into the hallway. "Thanks for the tip, Felix. You stay lucky too."

With that, he's gone, only footsteps to betray his passage.

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