Pete Wisdom is saving the world...from itself. (mister_wisdom) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-09 15:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, commander tyra shepard, pete wisdom |
"Wot're you on about, Shepard?"
Who: Shepard, Wisdom
What: Intel, disclosure, and cutting some deals regarding a very illusive man.
When: Last night...ish.
Where: unnamed neutral ground bar. They're the handiest places ever for sharing info!
Rating: PG13, language. Naturally. *points at the pb* .__. GDI Pete.
Status: Complete
Shepard was waiting at that bar again, where she'd met with Raynor. The seedy nameless one that was considered a sort of neutral ground. Like the Crown in London, or a dozen other bars across the world.
The Crown was a popular place in London. Pete used to be found there often, getting blasted out of his mind, and talking to at least some people that he would have otherwise arrested if they crossed paths, outside that hallowed space. It was also a good place to listen in on rumors, and when you're trying to catch killers and thieves, it was even better to be on neutral territory, and keep an ear open.
He walked in and looked around, cursed that there was a prominently displayed no smoking sign, and put a cigarette out by dropping into a nearby pint glass on the table. It was fair game, because no one was sitting there, and it had about a half an inch of beer and backwash in it.
He looked around for Shepard.
The woman's hair was indeed purple, and cut to frame her face. She had her left arm in a sling, and her face was crossed with faded scars, as though she'd gone through shattered glass. She spotted Wisdom and gestured with her glass.
"Oi, why's your hair gone grape flavored candy-colored?" he asked, as he drew near. He slid into the booth across from her, with the sort of practiced ease a professional drinker has. "And who took the shredder to your face?"
"I wanted a change." She shrugged a shoulder, taking a drink from her whiskey. The truth was too out there, so she replied instead, "Bastard of a fight that was. You should see his face."
"Good on you then. Hope it looks as though his face had been run through a grinder. So tell me," he looked around, slouching down a little, "wot's this meeting all about? It must be important information. I mean, it has been a while since our paths crossed, after all."
The slouching made him seem utterly careless, and since he was still trying to get over that bout of pneumonia, he really didn't care. Top it off with the earlier escapes on the valar net and he was ready to find a cliff to drive off of. Recklessly. He just had a few meetings and a case to finish, then he'd get right on that.
Also? The hell with what the prescription bottles said, he was going to drink anyway while on those meds. If he fell over, then he could still focus well enough to pop a cap in someone's ass. That's all that counted, really.
"Well, a little bird by the name of Anderson told me you were in the area. And since there are a few reasons you would be, and most of them have to do with the reason I got shot, I thought I'd give you what intel I could." She leaned forward, tapping the table with two fingers, "The Illusive Man interrogated me, personally. He's not going to be someone easy to ...snag on trumped up charges."
She sat back, and finished her drink. Her ego was still bruised, and she was still worried about the people she'd gotten involved in this. Primarily Tali, but anyone from her dreams. Kitty. Raynor. Urdnot Ranch.
"How are you on conspiracy crap and the supernatural, lately?"
"The charges aren't trumped up," he snippishly shot his mouth off, to nip that in the bud. "That's the thing. We know the bastard's involved somehow with the whole mess. Finding a way to follow all of the strands in the web, to make every little connection to him, is what's proving to be a pain in the arse.” He was waving for a drink already and promptly ordered, figuring he could nurse it until he got good and properly pissed blind later on, with Domino. "I think you know the answer to that also, already. I keep tabs on both things. Avidly."
It was his hobby, after all. He wasn't as much up on occult stuff as his sister was, but she could always be consulted as needed.
"Dreams? Because they're relevant to this."
"Ah, those. Right. I've gone back on the valar net and read through all the mention, kept notes, filtered them away through the usual channels. They're locked so tight that it'd be like trying to break into your Fort Knox for a two second peek, before you were shot, blown up, and it was locked down tight again in red alert."
Drink safely in hand, Pete squinted across the table at her and put a cigarette between his lips, simply for comfort. "Wot're you on about, Shepard? With all of this supernatural talk, and dreams, and conspiracy theories? Don't be a bloody tease."
Shepard looked around, then leaned forward again. For all Wisdom's demeanor, he was trustworthy, and there was no way to tell how dangerous the Illusive Man really is, without letting Wisdom in on these secrets, "I dream too. It's the future. There are aliens. The galaxy is run from a central location called the Citadel, with a council handling the big things and leaving the individual alien races to handle the day to day running of civilization. We're recent upstarts into galactic society. We get a place on the council eventually, and I become the first human Spectre. Think ultimate black ops, reports directly to the council, gets almost unlimited power."
She paused, in order to wet her throat again. And because she needed another drink in general, "Another Spectre went rogue, and I go after him. Eventually talk him into blowing his own brains out, because there's a bigger threat and he was brainwashed. We're getting to the fun part."
"Every fifty-thousand years, an alien race called the Reapers sweeps through. I was given a vision from the civilization that preceded our own. Their death, their war, their final moments. The Reapers harvest them, and destroy whatever trace they can, and then they leave, waiting for the next set of species to find the trap they laid. The Citadel and the galactic transport system called Mass Relays."
Ordering another bottle, Shepard didn't even bother with a glass this time, "There's a group. Called Cerberus. They're human supremists, terribly racist and anti-alien. They're run by a man called the Illusive Man. I get killed, my ship destroyed. Somehow, Cerberus brings me back. Like Lazurus. I have to work for him, until I can break free. We have the same goal. Stop the Reapers. Save humanity. The Illusive Man is willing to sacrifice everything, while ensuring humans come out on top. I'm not willing to stoop to his level. You can guess we don't get along."
Another drink, and she finally gets to her point, "They're the same man. Jack Harper, and this man from my dreams. I believe he's having dreams. He thinks the Reapers are coming and it's God's judgement. The most fucked up part is his eyes, they're cybernetic. They're the same. From some of what I've seen, I believe the Reapers have him indoctrinated. Brainwashed." She reached onto the seat next to her, and put her burnt out N7 helmet on the table, "That showed up in my home one day. That's the helmet I wore when I asphyxiated and died."
She fell silent.
"...I think I read a fair amount of people finding some weird shite they didn't know what to do with. And that's quite a twisted tale, Shepard." He was definitely trustworthy. There were still some shreds of him that wanted to do the right thing, after all. It was merely a case of how he saw fit to do the right things, that could become a bit...hazy, where morality was concerned. "So Harper's this bastard from your dreams, and he's probably dreaming the same thing, and thinking aliens are going to come an' reap all of us. And he wanted to use you, to stop him."
Pete thought on it a while, had a fine coughing fit, and finally got his voice back again enough to say, "Mass hallucination is always a possibility. Government or privatized experiment on mind control gone wrong, implanted memories...there's all sorts of shite they can do to anyone they see fit to, but never tell you about. Chemtrails for instance. But the items. Can't explain that. Haven't had it happen either. No dreams of another life, or anything of the sort. Wot you're getting at, is that he needs to be stopped. Stat."
"Yes. Before he does something that hurts a lot of people. Even if it's just to get me back. He does not like to be burned." Not for the first time that day, Shepard wished she smoked, "He tried to recruit me a few months ago. Before these dreams started. That's the weird thing about them - you feel drawn to certain people, inexplicably. My allies in my dreams. My friends, I was drawn to them before I ever dreamed about them. That may be the case here."
"Dross. No one's been drawn to me, or me to them. What's the use in that? And friends? Really? The more dangerous one's line of work, the more risk you'll lose others around you, along the way. Solid, indisputable fact."
Even so, being outside of it, he couldn't discount the dreams aspect, at all. That was what was making things so bizarre. Pete even found his eyes glancing periodically toward the helmet, thinking that if there was a god - and there wasn't one - they would have to have a sick sense of humor giving that back to someone, with that sort of backstory to it.
"Fine," he grumbled, "I believe you. Because we've crossed paths before overseas, and I know you're not a filthy fucking liar. Why contact me though? I'm basically a liaison. This was their way of getting rid of me, by pulling strings with the government here, and shipping me over on assignment. Which is shite, mind you, because we're supposed to stay in our home countries and I felt safer in London. Oh well. I work best alone, anyway."
Pete waved one hand to end that thought. He took a drink of scotch before continuing, pounding a fist against his chest to stop a coughing fit and loosen up that heavy feeling that had settled in his lungs. Once that had passed, he cut to the chase, "You're worried he's a flight risk, or you wouldn't be talking to me. That's it, isn't it?"
"I've seen you work before. I know you're involved already, so I thought I'd give you a piece of it." She held up a finger, "We need to find him. But I want me or Vakarian putting the bullet in his brain. And if he gets out of the country, that happening is going to be a lot more difficult."
That was clear as day, although it might pose some complications where his job was concerned. Which was why he was opening his mouth and saying so.
"I'm not ops, or intelligence, really. Well, I am, but it's more like police intelligence, for usually unintelligent criminals. I can give you the intel, and I already have an international red notice to go after the bastard. If I find him, it's as good as any arrest warrant. FBI gets called in, you know the typical red tape wankery doo that goes into the whole mess. You're asking me for a tip, if we get a hit on him leaving or a sighting elsewhere...when I'm supposed to have him brought in? The problem with that, Shepard," he took a swig of scotch to help clear the rasp out of his throat, "is that if we don't interrogate the fucker? Then we can't find out just how far his reach is, or connect the bloody dots with who else is involved."
"But." He held up a finger right back at her. "He steps out of this country, say, even to another Interpol member country...and I find out where...and it's not one of the countries that have a notice out for him, as a suspect? I can leave immediately and get in quickly, bypassing some of the mess. I can turn a blind eye. So. Have your passports ready."
In other words, he was willing to let Interpol sort out the mess with the money laundering and other criminal acts, later. After things collapsed some, because someone had a bullet in them. And then every country could seize holdings, investigate to their heart's content, and get their fair share. The world would be rid of one terroristic bastard. None the wiser.
"Will do. I'll try to get some information out of him, if I find him first. It's gotten a little personal. Archangel will be a problem, he might shoot first and not worry about questions." She used Garrus' CIA handle. Wisdom may or may not have heard of him, but that kept his identity safe.
Heard mention of in passing, but they had never met. If they knew Shepard though, whom he considered a reliable source, then that was good enough for him. And the sooner this was finished? The sooner he could die a very content Interpol Agent.
"Fine enough, then. You know the drill there. We don't travel together, but the precise instant there’s a blip on the radar, then I'll contact you, and you contact Archangel. If Harper runs and it is in a member country with a notice, things could get complicated. I'll see what I can do to cover it up, though. Hope it isn't the case."
He scrunched up one eye and started coughing, which prompted him to light the cigarette and beat his lungs into submission. That done, he was finally able to keep talking as best he could.
"I want the bastard, dead or alive. So it's fair deuce. I'll accept dead. My only provision is that after one of you gets ahold of him and he's dispatched, I get to discover the body. I can drag it back and say 'oh bloody no, wot happened 'ere then?' And we both know how that works. It makes my job easier. I know you, and likely your ally, will know enough to be careful and cover your tracks. You two have a vendetta? Have the fuck at it."
Shepard chuckled, and smiled knowingly, "Yes, I remember how that all works. I won't even use american bullets."
"Then we have an understanding," Wisdom said, with a toasting motion of his glass, and a smirk around the cigarette.
Shepard toasted back, and then finished her drink, "An understanding."
"Right. I'll probably send you some cryptic shite and you can pass it along. We'll play it like Chinese whispers. The usual pass it on, go, dispatch, collect, scatter. At this point, every agency's got a bug up their arse about this one, that I think they'll all breathe a sigh of relief when he's not among the living."
Made sense too, that if they took the head off this one, then there probably wouldn't be too many people to pick up the pieces. He already had the project outlines Alma Wade's mother gave to him, scanned and sent off to Interpol, and he was going to send them to Fury and the CIA as well, in a fair trade of information. But Harper had been so careful to keep everyone from knowing everything, that it was likely once the spider was plucked from the web, the web would start to collapse entirely. Except for a few stragglers that they could easily keep their eyes on.
"Have any preference for the pass phrases, luv? Or, nevermind, I'll think of summat appropriate."
"There's something else." It should have occurred to her before, "In the dreams, Cerberus operates in cells. Take one out three more pop up kind of thing. We need to be careful that's not the case, here."
"Aww, feck it," Pete said with a sigh disguised as a cough. There went his theory from before. "I mean, that's brilliant that you mentioned it? But you had me thinking that cutting the head off this beast would cause much more of a significant, and traceable, collapse. I'll have an eye kept on where the digital money goes once word gets out, that he's pushing up daisies. As long as it keeps funneling and moving, then we'll know where the danger areas are. Then we’d know who to keep an eye on."
"If we can figure out the links and liaisons...Or it'll turn into 'oh look we took out #3 again. there's a new number 3' all over again!"
"That's a whole fat lot of bullets. I'd better stock up. You realize too, this would put a neon bullseye on some of us, even after he's gone."
Not that Pete cared anymore. He'd put it on, himself.
"I can live with that, for myself. I'll work with some hackers to cover the trails of some of the others. I'm personal friends with a rather famous one I won't tip the name off to." She was pretty sure Admiral was wanted by Interpol, among others.
Very likely. But if it was a friend of a friend, who was doing him a favor on a big case, then he was willing to look the other way.
"No need to worry about me. I could bloody well care less. Come at me. But anyone else involved? You'll want them covered."
Shepard nodded her head, "No problem. I know you can take care of yourself."
He nodded back at her, but knew damn well he'd gotten lazier about it. That wasn't entirely an accident.
"Well. Deal's on. Hate to cut this short, but I have a not-a-date with a very hot woman whom I'll never shag because she'd probably cut me prick clean off and shove it down me throat. Can't say who, she would probably cut my lips off also." Ready to go, Pete stood up. "Either way, summat's in danger of getting cut off, there. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Cheers for the drink, though? And the information."
"If I hadn't found my woman from these dreams, I'd ask for her phone number," Shepard replied, leering a little bit.
"That shite's more trouble than it's worth," he said rather grimly about finding any dream women, while trying to shrink his hands up underneath his coat sleeves. The room temperature was fluxuating somewhere between burning up and freezing cold. "But to each their fucking own, I suppose."
He waved a...sleeve...at her. Bye bye.
Shepard waved her bottle at him, before proceeding to finish it off.