Nuclear Trashcan


anton_icon.gif cardinal_icon.gif

Scene Title Nuclear Trashcan
Synopsis A contact drops off some documents for Cardinal.
Date Oct 9, 2009


Click. "Redbird here." The voice is familiar, perhaps. Tired.

«Kazimir Volken is not dead. He killed your friend. I have a document you will find interesting, how can I get it to you?»

There's a pause on that end of the phone. "…which friend would that be? And Old Lucy's serves as an acceptable drop point, if you must."

«Peter Kobrin is dead. I need someplace less crowded, I cannot be seen making the drop. I am a government official friendly to your cause.»

Silence lingers in the air for a few moments, longer this time. "Garbage can two blocks down the street from it, the intersection with the green building on the corner."

«My position is in jeopardy, It is dangerous to see my face. I will make the drop in thirty minutes, it is best to make the pickup in one hour. -CLICK»

Hm. The phone's hung up, and a shadow spills into the night. Time to go investigate this mysterious drop.

Anton's on time, but then he's always on time. Stumbling and mumbling something or other in french, as he polishes off another bottle of wine for the evening. Cigarette dangling from his lips, as he hurls the bottle down the sidewalk and exchanges it instead with a bright silver flask. He pauses near the trashcan, before leaning over to vomit. Its, well you can tell by the aroma that its easily the contents of a night've drinking. Then with a stumble backwards he pauses, jerking out his kerchief from a jacket pocket to dab his lips before moving to stumble on.

There's a shadow on the wall, but it seems a normal shadow; that of the trashcan itself, cast by a lamp from across the street. Of course, it's not, it's Cardinal, just watching and waiting.

The lid of the trashcan, not the one he vomited in but the one he steadied himself against seems to be just a touch more ajar than it had been before Anton got there. Anton for what its worth, just sort've stumbles on a touch further before pausing to vomit Again. Never mix beer and liqour kids, it always ends this way.

Ah, clever man. Cardinal doesn't track him, though, instead just waiting— patiently— for the man to move on, wanting to recover whatever it is without being spotted.

Anton eventually rounds the corner, and dumps out the rest of his flask on the ground. He discards his kerchief with a frown, takes a heavy pull of his cigarette and quickly fades into the night.

The shadows divulge a man, then, Cardinal pushing up from the pavement and stepping to the can; sliding the lid away, glancing over his shoulder as he checks it for the drop.

"Hnm." Cardinal slips a memory stick into a pocket, glancing about once more— and dissolving away into darkness. He'll check it at home, on a spare computer in case of viruses.

Its a PDF file, a big fucking PDF file. The front page of which has a beautiful full color image of the CIA's emblem, followed by "TOP SECRET" "DO NOT MAKE COPIES" "DO NOT REMOVE FROM ARCHIVE" "DO NOT TRANSPORT THIS DOCUMENT" and so on stamps upon the cover page.

Inside is cyrillic writing, with english text in floating text above. "Catalog of active Soviet Nuclear weapons 1989"

Inside of course, is a listing of every single nuclear weapon the soviet union ever produced, notes on its state of readiness and its location as of 1989.

"Well," murmurs Cardinal once he's looking through the file, "Now this is interesting…"

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