Christy's - Fine Tea and Delicious Pastries

[Hidamari]

"Well, im pretty sure i'll stay warm with you with me" he said calmly, 'ouch, justin come on, that was soppy' he thought to himself immediately after saying it, though didnt give it away in his mannerisms, "well lets be off.." He stated and pulled the door allowing Skye to exit into the rain and he followed, closing the door leaving the establishment as quiet as before he entered.

[Highland Laddie]

The bell rang softly as Hubert walked through the front door of Christy's, shook the rain off his coat, and looked over towards the counter, nodding at Christy and motioning for a cup of tea as he walked over towards the table where Chief Inspector Casey Renei was already sitting. She barely gave him a nod as he sat down and put a small device on the table and pressed a button on it. The white-noise generator in the device helps prevent eavesdroppers from listening in. He stares at her silently for several moments as his tea arrives, and he takes a few sips before speaking. His voice barely registers above a whisper, but with crystal clearness. Precisely what you want in this sort of business.

"You already know why I'm here, so let's cut straight to the chase. We know something is going on with the new project in O-3, but we need to know what the Crown wants, how much, and what the badger blokes are offering."

He discreetly slips a small case across the table in front of her. The diamonds were inside in a hidden compartment. Much harder to trace than credits.

"There's half. The rest comes after the information pans out and we get the contract."

He looks out the window once more, takes another sip of his tea, and then stands up, leaving a few credits on the table for his drink.

"I have to go now. I'll be on Waterloo Station, awaiting your transmission."

He noticed the man in the corner glancing at him when he first entered the door, but a second peek as he is beginning to leave the building confirms the suspicion that was already building in Hubert's mind.

A Bowex mole.

His thoughts begin to race as he travels across Scotland Yard and into the busy streets of New London.

Had Renei sold him out? It seemed unlikely she was simply unaware of his presence in the room. Perhaps she was dealing on both sides of the table...he got his meeting, and the Bowex chap got to have a fix on him.

Suspicions were confirmed again when Hubert made a sudden stop and turned around, finding the same man from Christy's maybe 10 meters behind amongst the crowd, trying awkwardly to look like he hadn't been following.

Damn...this'll have to be taken care of soon.

Hubert makes his way down the road more quickly now, no longer needing to keep the pretense that he is unaware of the tail on him. The tail notices as well, and picks up his pace. It wouldn't be long, now.

There's a small, indiscriminate looking warehouse not far up ahead. Hubert practically sprints for it, running past several workers running forklifts and unloading containers off a newly arrived shuttle craft on the outside landing pad. He enters the warehouse door, turns a corner, and runs down an aisle of stacked containers. He ducks behind a small gap in the rows, and waits.

The tail comes a few moments later, this time with a drawn hold-out pistol. Hubert decides to make his move, anyway.

He lunges at the man and grabs at his arm, quickly producing a small knife concealed up his sleeve, and stabs at the mans throat. The gamble pays off, and a shot rings out as the agent fires a hasty shot past Hubert's head, while Hubert's knife finds its mark and plunges into the man's carotid artery. A horrible gurgle bubbles up from the man's chest and he struggles for air, clutching at Hubert as he falls to the ground with blood pouring from a gaping wound. He manages to get two more shots off as he writhes on the ground. One of the shots clips the side of Hubert's leg, causing him to curse and fall to the ground. Only a graze, but it still hurt like hell. Moments later, the man lies unmoving as the blood begins pooling.

Hubert limps up and searches over the man's body, but doesn't find any useful intel. Naturally, he wouldn't expect a corporate agent to be carrying anything incriminating, but one can't be too certain. He finds an empty container amongst the stacks and puts the man's body inside. Hubert knew someone would come along eventually to clean up the mess, and the evidence as well. No report filed, no questions asked. He already knew this before he ran into the warehouse, but it seemed his would-be attacker was too intent on killing him to notice the shipping labels on all the cargo containers.

They all read Gateway Shipping, Inc.

Hubert limps over to the shuttle on the landing pad, and departs for Waterloo.

[Marcus]

. Casey finished off her drink and waited until the soft chime of the doorbell from Hubert's departure had long faded. She stood up and reached down to pick up the briefcase, carefully attaching a small name tag before walking over to the shop counter and handing the case over to lost and found. A slippery officer known to be a little too free with who he let through customs would soon have his lost luggage containing a small fortune returned to him, luggage that would quickly be replaced with handcuffs and a long sentence for bribery.
Exiting Christy's Casey opened her communicator, keyed in her boss's number and waited for it to connect.

"Casey here, it's done."

--------------------------------

"Casey here, it's done."

The listener disconnected the call without a word, and then redialed to the Hubert's quarters on Waterloo Station. Protocols came online, scrambling the video feed and distorting the audio. The call was challenged by the stations automatic operator, then ignored when it was simply shut down by a police override, connecting directly to Hubert's personnel terminal.
The terminal flicked to life, showing nothing but static and a shadowed figure. Leaning forward the figure spoke clearly, as though simply imparting information for a report.
"There are new factories being constructed on Planet Sprague. Built for the government, run by BMM, and supplied by Bowex. BMM has already sent the list of materials that it will need, all that is left is for Bowex to simply accept, name their price and the contract is theirs. The project is being spearheaded by the Minster for Defence, Baron Piett, but final approval for the shipping contracts will pass through the office of the Secretary of State for Trade and Industry.
Details on the project and the cost estimates for the materials will be sent directly to you, simply underbid the estimate and the contract will be yours."
The transmission cut. The protocols traced back through the system, police overrides erasing logs and leaving one unread message on the terminal.

The caller reached into the drawer of the office desk and slipped a data disk into the computer port. Accessing the BPA central core communication logs the caller paused at a classified communique, copied it the data disk and overlayed a decoy file designed to disappear when accessed by a specific signature. The caller pressed a buzzer on the desk, summoning a clerk. Picking up a sheet already on the table the clerk was handed both items.
"See that these are sent directly to Mr Hubert, he should be on Waterloo Station by now. He apparently caused a three transport pile up when leaving New London, leading to a small fortune in fines. The disk contains his receipt for when he pays off his fine, make sure he signs it."

The caller leaned back in the office, thinking. One corrupt officer too smart for his own good dealt with, promoting how effective the BPA were at rooting out corruption. A bidding war between the completing corporations leading to reduced costs for the new BPA commissioned factories and the other half or Hubert's bribe being discretely funneled into the BPA coffers via a very large, and very invented, fine. Resting comfortably in her office the Lady Kensignton, Chief of Investigation for the BPA, allowed herself a small smile.

[jammi]

Chief Inspector Helen Timson pushed the tea room's door open, the little bell tinkling to announce her arrival. It had been almost a decade since her last visit, before the horrors of the Siege of London and the hellish firestorms that had swept the capital from orbit. Looking around the room, everything was well appointed and cozy, to the extent that even a real woodfire crackled heartily, banishing the winter chill and damp.

Despite that, the paint and plaster looked slightly too fresh, the proportions of the room awry, even the door bell sounded different to her ears. She couldn't tell if the building was one of the hundreds of thousands that had been incinerated and rebuilt. Perhaps her memories of better days were simply jaundiced and faded.

Christie, the rosy old proprietress, wasn't there - Helen very much hoped she had survived the war. A woman she didn't recognise was at the counter instead. The Chief Inspector sighed and looked for a table, picking her way through the huddles of BPA constables who gave her suspicious or scornful side-eyes. The Bretonian Police Authority did not play nicely with the Civil Defence Initiative, although her Chief Inspector's pips limited matters to no more than sour looks.

Many regular constables saw their militia counterparts as a disgraceful stain on Bretonian policing traditions, and largely useless to wit. Helen often found herself agreeing, and had volunteered for a rank reduction and secondment to the CDI to try and right the ailing ship as its CO. So far, the ship was fiercely resisting course correction.

She ordered a cup of tea from the table and settled down to wait for her contact. Victor Steiner, no less than the former director of the Secret Intelligence Service. Although she somewhat suspected that senior spooks could never truly be considered out of the game.

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[Victor Steiner]

He had never been to the Bretonian Police's home turf, even in his hey-day, he never really had a need, or opportunity. The place wasn't exactly full with police and the ones that were there looked tired, as though there simply wasn't enough hours in the night for them to sleep before they went back out into the word. One couldn't help but feel for them, their numbers had been decimated during the war, but unlike the Armed Forces, they were more easily forgotten. Now they were expected to police a house full to the brim with unemployment, crime, poverty and a population well used to death and trained to kill

No. He did not envy them at all.

He wandered into the tea room, clad in a fine black suit with nothing noticeable about it. He looked around and spotted the woman he was to meet. He wandered over and introduced himself. Chief Inspector? Victor Steiner, thank you for meeting with me.

[jammi]

The Chief Inspector rose and shook Victor's hand. "Helen Timson. Thank you for your time, director." She took a seat again, and gestured to the chair opposite. "A shame that we were not introduced under better circumstances, but such is life with the CDI. Tea?"

As she asked, she placed a battered plastic device in the middle of the table and flipped a switch on its side. A low hum quickly rose to an near-imperceptible whine before fading to nothingness. "A gift from another agent I once knew. It should provide a safe space for frank discussion."

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[Victor Steiner]

He nodded at the suggestion of tea and took his seat. He approved of her security measure, most prudent even here of all places. And a frank conversation is what we will have. Much has changed since I've been away and, if you'll forgive my saying so, but you invited me here so I should hope you are someone who might be able to bring me up to speed on everything that has happened. Firstly, however, the CDI?

He was curious, he'd met them only a handful of times but they didn't remind him or indeed look like and BPA officers he'd ever met before. In addition, Helen seemed like a fairly well informed woman, she might be able to elaborate on the situation of Bretonia more broadly. Although he could tell by the security was taking, it probably wasn't good.

[jammi]

The Chief Inspector looked tired and took a sip of tea before continuing. "One of Parliament's bright ideas during The War," she noted wryly. "A way to press into service those who weren't eligible for conscription, had been drummed out, or were already serving in protected professions. Corporates, criminals and cripples. "

"The CDI started out as a ground militia policing the refugee camps, however that quickly expanded into a patrol force responsible for security along The Line, Omega-3 and for a few years even Dublin. It was a fast, low-quality stop-gap to address the security holes created by conscription."

"In 821, the average lifespan for a green CDI pilot was approximately 90 hours. There wasn't much awareness of the issues at the time, as the Admiralty and Intelligence Services had bigger fish to fry, and it wasn't a patriotic, morale-raising project the media wanted to touch. Parliament was happy to pay for a paper-thin veneer of security with blood."

"Most of this is thankfully history by this point, but I can send you some files if you're interested in a broader overview. Low recruitment and training standards created institutional issues we're still grappling with today, regrettably. Corruption being one of them."

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[Victor Steiner]

Victor nodded as she told him of the creation, no doubt an excellent idea on paper with absolutely no forethought put into its execution. Ah. So the letter I sent you the other day regarding 'greasing of palms' and less than ideal familiarity with with the remaining Gauls isn't actually all that far fetched. That must be bloody frustrating. He could only imagine what other mischief the overzealous and undertrained CDI officers were getting up to. You'll have to forgive my prying on that matter, I wasn't there. A civilian passed the information along. However, I am also not here to criticize or condemn, I'm sure you get more than enough of that as it is. I hope to be able to provide you with some solutions and options.

True enough that the CDI might not be 'preforming' but that was hardly his department, still she was overworked and stressed, or at least he assumed she would be. In her reply to him, she wanted support, not critical opinions and he couldn't help but wonder if it might be time to revisit his old trade again.