[recieved 5:45:39 UT.]
[decoding]
[verified Wyldcilde]
[message status=busted play]
[message decoded]
Damn it's hot! The ice cubes are now just watering down my
drink...more. The air shimmers with the heat waves coming from the
pavement. The sun pounds down upon my skin, baking me. Sweat pours
down my body, getting in my eyes, it's salty taste on my lips. Of
course the fact I was born and raised in Minnesota is probably not
helping.
The natives seem fine with it. I notice because it is them I am
staying aware of. I see a woman behind a cart selling food the is
rotting in the sun. I think she is middle aged, but the harshness of
life here in Somalia will age you well past your years.
One of the waiter burshes past me on the way to the kitchen to
fill an order. Or most likely to see if he can fill the order;
supplies are short all around. Which is why I am here. Five U.N.
relief workers have been kidnapped. While I have no love for the U.N.,
the workers are innocents, they are need desperatly here, and I don't
like the idea of letting those murderous bastards have anything
without a fight.
My last report from the Farm said the U.N. was in negotiations
for their release. I wish them luck, they will need it. Negotiaing
with them will only solve the problem for now. In three months when
they want something else they will kidnap more innocent people. That
is why the Farm was created. To find those who would use terror to
accomplish their goals, and to destroy them, to make sure they will
menace no more.
It is a monumental task, and we know we have no chance of ever
erradicating terrorisim, but that does not mean we can just stand by.
Someone, somewhere has to say no more. To draw the line and say you
will not cross it untill you have spilled my blood upon it. We have
been holding that line the best we can for as long as we are able.
While I am typing my eyes continue to scan the crowd. It is a
feature honed over my years of training at the Farm, improved by my
limited field experience. I will admit I am scared. I am an operative
operating alone for the first time. Anyone who is not scared in this
situation is lying or insane.
I see something to set my senses into overdrive. A best up old
truck pulls up, carrying a full load of gun men. While they are
carrying old, beat-up ak-47's they will cut me down just as easy as
the shiniest, right off the rack M-16. My heart reate increases. I do
not want to stop typing because that my draw attention, but I do shift
in my seat. When I sat down I reahced back and pulled out where my
shirt covered my sidearm.
I tucked it back in. Leaving the governmet issuse Colt .45
readied. Now a grab to the small of my back I all that is necessary.
I took off the safety when I sat down. A round is in the chamber. I
pray that it does not come into play. At the ranges I am talking about
it would just mean I might take one or two of them with me.
My pulse begins to ease back to normal when I see the truck turn
the corner. My senses are still primed, but I can not help but relax a
step when I see them leave. It is in this higtened state I make him
out. Anywhere from his early thirties to late forties. African, maybe
6' and a long muscled 200lbs. He was designated by our contacts in the
CIA. We were warned however. He is working for thier payoffs. If
offered more it is most likely he would turn.
I give him a nod. The New York Times sitting on my table being
turned to the story of the kidnapping being the recognition signal. He
pulls up the other chair and makes eye contact. We size each other up.
Neither really likes what he sees. He sees another damn American
sticking his nose into world affairs. What I see is what scares me.
This is not an opportunist, willing to sell anyone or anything. This
is a solider, a warrior fighting in the best way he knows how.
He seems to see the flicker. I see him break eye contat, for the
briefest of a milisecond,making it with someone else. I do my best not
to notice. I can not help but notice the footfalls behind me. I also
see the shadows approaching from the corner the truck took. If I can
just reach the busted play key it might give me enough of a
distraction.
[tranmission ended: encoding: affixing busted play relay:
igniting charge]
That is all we have. Our busted play relay is when one of our
people is making what could be their last report. The charge is a
light thermite one. Meant to turn their laptop to molten slag. We have
had no communication from Wyld, and there is no information at the
present time except what in currently contained here.
I have decied to relay to the Centre because Wyld may still be
alive and unable to access our communications set up. If that is
impossible I am sure he would contact someone at the Centre. We have
agents in the field. If you have any pertinent informatin please send
to me. Place my name in the title and I will be notified immediatly.
-Yakov Katzenelenbogen-tactial advisor
(currently leading the search for Wyld)
