European Intelligence Bureau
Operation Myrmidon - Christopher Liberius (Recurring Character)
07:30 Moscow Time
11 March 2004
Christopher Liberius pulled the small timer from his suits inner pocket. He had timed it to the second countless times before and now he was just waiting in his office. He looked around the room as his mind slowly faded from his surroundings as he listened to the ticking of the countdown. The papers scattered around his desk mulled into nothing but a blur, hardly intelligible from the Atlas, or the Keyboard, the Globe, or the files strewn about his grotesque, black desk. Being an accountant had surely come with more than its fair share of paper work. Being an accountant for the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service had come only with a good deal of hassle. The quaint view in the window behind him, looking out over a growing Moscow, was hardly a comfort.
First he had had to come up with his new identity, which was easy enough. An old Soviet loyalist from the days of the Invasion of Afghanistan. Mikhail Dukovny had been used by him before, so the basics were sound. All he had to do then was change a few records in the governmant databases, alter a few university transcripts and then, with many hours of reading on Russian economics and accounting, he had been born anew. Twice anew in fact, if he was counting his transformation to Mikhail Dukovny again, before all of his changes. Of course though, those simple changes were not enough to convince the Service that he could be trusted. It had been a long time since September, and guiding a few small arms firms out of debt and into profits had been a good test. With a few bribes, he had got better contracts. Eventually, and this was only a few months before hand, he had even been hired by the company that had co-financed the Oil Rig he blew up - to save them from bankruptcy.
Life had a funny way of bringing the past back to people, and Christopher agreed to do so. As much to pay off his debt to them, as it was to secure good karma and a friendly company for his retirement. Hell, the amount of people he had brought out of the red and into the black, he was surprised he hadn't done this before. Still, it was enticing retirement opportunity.
After those experiences though, it came down to the most basic of means to get hooked up with the Foreign Intelligence Service. It was widely known in Europe that the organization was bulky, over enlarged and outdated. With a few suggestions his friends in EIB had helped him form, he had got to work with his accountant skills and put together a brief plan to trim down and then make the Service more capable. For whatever reason his superiors agreed to the plan, he wasn't sure. All he knew, was that he had never expected that making the enemy stronger would be worth access to their account information. What his superiors wanted, no doubt, scared them shitless.
The final click of the timer was louder than the others, and dragged him from his memories. The guard was changing. Christopher stood from his leather chair, it slowly rising upright from its laid back position behind him. He opened the door of his office, the lettering of - "Mikhail Dukovny, Senior Accountant" showering him with praise on the way out. The door shut behind him as he walked through the rows of workers in their cubicles, busy like bees in their hive. He smoothed his red tie as he walked closer to the far side of the room. The rather podgy guard, with plain brown eyes and a bald head nodded to Christopher as he stood before the door to the stairwell.
Looking up at the red electronic panel above the door, Christopher could see the door was locked.
"Going out Mr. Dukovny?" the man asked in a thick accent, his rather gutteral tone had always been a slight nuisance.
"There are some files I have to get from upstairs. If you don't mind." Christopher said impatiently, gesturing at the door in front of him.
"Of course, Sir." the man said. For moment, Christopher tried to remember his name, but changed his mind. The man toyed with something behind the desk that let off what might best be described as a blaring, monotone notice and the signal was now a neon green. No doubt it could be heard by the whole miserable floor.
Christopher grabbed the door handle and pulled it open as he heard the door of a nearby room open. The guards were right on schedule. He pulled the door closed behind before dashing up the stair well, up and around the steps he went. One floor, two floors, three floors. By the fourth floor, he was just on schedule.
"Nikolai, open the door." he called out to the microphone on the door in front of him. "It's Mikhail, I need to get some files for my report." He waited for a response that didn't come. "Nikolai, this is urgent, if I don't get those files then you can tell the Head of Intelligence why the Foreign Service is wasting money." he said, blurting out his impatience.
The same blaring noise as the one below him was his response. Calming himself and straightening out the gray jacket and his red tie, he pushed the door open and walked inside.
"Thank you Nikol-" he began.
"Mikhail Dukovny." A woman on the other side said. "It is good to finally meet you. I have heard a great deal about your abilities as an accountant. No doubt you are treasured asset to the Service."
Christopher did his best to adapt to the new situation. Looking to his left he saw the woman was standing with Nikolai beside her in his plain guards uniform. Why the Service had left such average looking men in charge of Security was beyond him. Their very uniforms looked like the sterotypical guard from countless American films. Chances are, he guessed, they were just as useless.
"Why thank you, Ms.?" he asked, noticing the absent ring from finger. It was odd though. It almost looked like there had been one there for a long time. One that was missing now.
"Ms. Ivanova." she said, extending her hand to shake his own. Her satin black hair draped down around her neck as he grasped her hand. Red nails, he noticed. Doing his best to seem discrete, he made a note of her figure. Her body was curvy, but only slightly. She was fit, most likely a runner from what he could tell. Her arms were toned and her skin was smooth. A bit of cleavage was showing from her suit. The black coat and skirt was accented by a white shirt, with some of the buttons left undone and the halves pulled slightly apart. Enough to show some skin, but still look sophisticated. He could just make out the necklace that hung around her neck, though it was well concealed.
"Viktoria Ivanova." she added, sizing him up as they relinquished hands.
"What brings you up here, Ms. Ivanova?" he asked.
Who was she? Why was she here? Nobody just walked into the Financial Center without clearance? Was his cover blown? Had anyone followed him? What was she doing here? Stop.
"I was just checking one of our accounts. I had been told that you had replaced a lot of the materials used on deployment to some less effective materials."
"Slightly less effective, if I may. The cost-benefit ratio did not justify the extra rubles spent on materials that could be substitued with other materials that together, pack a bigger punch, but are fare more cost effective."
"A messier punch, you mean. I can understand the change of the explosives on most assignments, but some of the recomendations you made were a little unnerving."
"Ms. Ivanova, I'm not told the targets. I'm told the money spent on them, and the materials purchased. My job is to save money. I am an accountant."
"Accountant? You sound like you're Jewish." Nikolai laughed. Christopher looked at him emotionless while he watched Viktoria's reaction.
"Nikolai I think I can show myself out when my work's done." Viktoria said, her head slightly turned to the left, but not looking at him. Christopher watched her eyes hang on the floor while he opened his mouth to speak, but then decided against it. Hurrying over to his station, Nikolai brushed past her and left the pair alone.
"You sound only half like an accountant." she said, her tone far more grave by now.
"And the other half?" he asked.
"The other half sounds like the Foreign Service." she smirked. He smiled back.
"Which account was it that interested you?" he asked, hoping to get what information he could. If it was important enough for her to come down here, it might just be what his superiors wanted.
"Just one of our black accounts." she paused momentarily. "Do you have clearance?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Enough." he answered.
"Well, let's just say it's been a pet project of mine. Projecting power through indirect means are something of a specialty for me." she said with a wry smile.
"I've always preffered the direct approach." he said returning the gesture. She continued smiling at him.
"Well, Mr. Dukovny. I hope you find what you're looking for." she began.
"I think I already have." he interrupted. She looked away momentarily and then back at him with her deep chocolate brown eyes, traced with a spider web of hazel streaks.
"Perhaps we'll meet again." she said, her smile fading as she check her watch.
"Life has a way of bringing things back." he said.
"Not in my experience." she said, raising her eyebrows.
"Well, maybe this time you're wrong."
"That would be a first. But then again, the way they talk about you, it would be a first for you too." she said finally. "Now, I really must be going. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Dukovny." she said hurrying off and past him.
"The pleasure was all mine." he said under his breath as she walked out of ear shot. He turned to carry on ahead, to look through the files and grab the one he was looking for. Operation Red Cave. A black account.
After a few minutes of searching, he quickly found it. Looking through the files in the folder, he saw a good deal of information. This was one of those accounts where his recommendation had changed it. More cost effective and, at the same time, more deadly. Cycling through the pages he found financial records of bribes, a two way flight, separated by a few months into Moscow and then back to Rabat. The exact records though were massive. Shipping and production costs of Industrial nails, the purchase of steel scraps and the much loved and widely renowned C-4. All 50 kg of it. There was also a list of financial donations to various Islamic organizations, and payment to a few different families.
All of it added up to one thing. Bad news.