Biomaterials In Turkey

July 17, 2016:

Special orders are received and a mission assignment.



NPCs: None.



Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

Gabby Trent was not well after her incident. May had taken the young woman via Leyline to one of Jemma's 'offsite' lab spaces. Spaces that the biochem intends to maintain for a while, particularly while she works on 'projects' like these.

As usual with Jemma's work spaces, there's always a supply of tea. No Vodka, unfortunately for Jericho. He might be wanting one about now.

It hadn't taken long for Jericho and Jemma to arrive on foot and the biochem is now settling Gabby on the bed. The combined effects of the traces, Bio-E depletion and Leyline travel … not leaving her in a good way. Hopefully, May's making tea whilst this is happening.

Darcy had also received a call. Whilst Jemma doesn't need office supplies, she does need a couple of things from her lab and if there's one person she knows she can trust to get them and do it quick smart, it's Darcy.

"Just rest for a moment, Gabby. I've organised for more electrolytes to be bought in and I want to monitor you for a while."

And that will give them all time to talk.

Jericho Trent hadn't planned on making this particular visit today, but then again he's quite sure that his sister hadn't planned on… really anything that's happened to her in the last month and a half or so. He's leaning against the wall, a usual spot for him, while Gabrielle lays back on the examination bed. She's taken off her long sleeved tee and is now clad in a simple black tank top and jeans. Her arms and what's visible of her shoulders, back and chest are covered in whirling, celtic-like traceries that look like the ones May and Jemma know to be on her brother except, you know, less techy. That is, all except for one blank spot that runs from her right wrist to her elbow where the traces had burned off after she'd done something to stop an out of control car.

She looks tired. Jericho does too. Not physically tired but mentally and emotionally weary. To keep himself occupied, the hacker is poking at the local networks and checking up on his various hacking efforts many of which are semi-automated. He's not aware that someone present was recently asked to 'consult' with him on a SHIELD matter. Not yet.

A phone call. A grocery list. This is exactly what Darcy was trained for.

Okay, so it wasn't all top secret spy training but this is important anyway. Darcy could tell. So, without question and without hesitation, Darcy jots down the list and the desitantion address, and sets off on her mission. All business as she heads into the lab and sees to it she gets every item on that list. Even the ones she has no idea what they really are. If Jonathan Franks can techno-babble….

With everything packed up securely in a case and her purse, Darcy makes her way out of HQ and to her last century flipped odometer car. She unlocks the driver's side, ready to get in and make her way to her final destination tempted to text back and ask…

'Leaving the house now. Want me to stop for bagels and coffee?' Darcy texts Jemma as she slides into the driver's side chair and settles her purse under her calves and the case behind her seatback. She nestles it in the sweaters she left back there.

Reginald Darrow had rather publicly quit SHIELD after the dustup with the shapeshifters— having made his position very clear. Reginald is a spy for hire, not a warrior on the side of a cross-dimensional conflict.

That said, the Spy with No Identity had grown a bit fond of some of the members of SHIELD, and had left certain means for being contacted among select members. May, if she ever needed help, and Darcy… well.

She had his number, too.

His clothes don't quite clash, but they're not of a synergy that an American would select. A muddy green-brown tweed jacket, very small round-frame glasses that sit on the end of his nose— grey slacks, and mahogany dress shoes.

He slips into the passenger's seat without so much as a word 'hello', shoving some of Darcy's things to the backseat with a casual motion, and buckles his seatbelt. "Do you have ze address?" he inquires, in a heavy Belgian accent. His hair's cut short and he's dyed it a bit grey in places, creating the illusion of age and a receding hairline. His accent? Posh, snobby Belgian. "And will we survive the plague you are no doubt transporting in zis automobile?" he adds, wrinkling his nose at the mess in her back seat.

"Because zis car, eet smells. Like… a butt."

Melinda May is indeed preparing tea. And she hopes that Jemma thought to add something with a little more bite to that list she texted to Darcy. She is carrying a hip flask, but it's very likely that the only person who would find the contents firey in any way would be Jericho. And not in a good way.

Well, Jemma might have thought to ask Darcy to add Grey Goose to that list. That she even knows that's what Jericho drinks, means she's likely been working a lot with the man over the last year or so.

We have tea. But if you want coffee, you'll have to pick it up. Don't be long though, I need those electrolytes stat. The message is sent back to Darcy.

The lab space is a few minutes drive and the other pair shouldn't be long in arriving. When they get there, they'll be able to make their way to the office without issue.

"I don't like this, Jericho." the biochem mutters at the hacker. "Each time the traces burn off, her recovery is slightly slower. And it's taking a toll on her." They've already discussed Jemmas main concerns about what these traces are doing to Gabby.

Taking a mug of tea from May, the biochem hands it to Gabby. "I won't ask how you're feeling, I think I can tell. You're recovering, slowly. Like last time, this might take a while." There's little else for the biochem to do but take Gabby's vitals and do a blood draw. Although, she's fairly certain that the blood tests will reveal nothing specific and the vitals … will be low but recovering.

There isn't, indeed, anything in the blood. But Jemma already expected that. The 'physical' effects of what's happening to Gabrielle Trent can't be measured by conventional instruments which is more than a little frustrating but, you know, there it is.

By the time Reginald and Darcy arrive things will have settled a little. With the initial tests out of the way there's nothing to do but answer questions, watch and wait. Jericho knows that May probably has some about his sister, but he'll wait for her to ask them.

"This was a lot simpler when it was just me and HYDRA." Jericho sighs, making a face. That's what Reginald and Darcy will here as they walk in. "At least they seem to have moved away from direct, brute force applications of their organization." Another face as something comes up on his HUD, one of his searches returning a result. "Though I can't say that this is necessarily a good thing. They're being a lot more… difficult than they used to."

"Who is?" Gabby asks from the bed as she too glances at the new arrivals. For those who haven't seen her before she's a young woman, mid twenties with shoulder length brown hair and a remarkable resemblance to Jericho.

"HYDRA." The hacker clarifies.

"That happens when assholes invite themselves without warning," Darcy retorts to the bad fake French accent potentially-murdering-fuckhead that got into her car. She really needs to remember to LOCK the passenger side door. The hand with the phone drops it to her lap screen up before sliding to the side pocket of the bag on teh floor board infront of her while her body leans forward to shove the keys into the ignitiong to hide that she's reachign for her tazer.

And the phone in her lap buzzes and lights up. She glances down at it as she starts the car's engine. Her lips press into a tight line and she straightens up with her tazer in hand.

"Nothing personal," she says as she levels the 'weapon' on the French…Belgium… crazy guy in her car and squeezes the trigger. When the charge is expended, Darcy tosses the tazer onto the guy's junk and drives off in her manual transmission clunker… while texting Jemma back:

'No problem. I gotta dump a moron that got into my car. So I will drop off your groceries and head back out for coffee and anything that came up in the meantime.'

One-handed swipe mode is the sauce that is awesome, otherwise known as awesome sauce. The drive is quick, and Darcy collects the things she was asked to bring and uses a scarf the guy had flung into her back seat to tie up the seatbelt to make it hard to take off. Should hold for the five minutes it'll take her to drop off and check in. She hustles, miling at the two she sorta met in the cafe that time not long ago.

"Cheerio loves! I've brought some bagels and fruit roll ups," Darcy yammers in a really BAD attempt at a horrible British accent. …reasons, okay?

"No! You daffy loon, I'm a fri-AAARGUGHZZGGHGH!"

Whatever Reginald was going to say, it gets checked when he gets tazed. And it's not a fun experience, because Darcy has one of the good semi-restricted cop stunners instead of the commercial civilian ones.

He spends the trip slackjawed and drooling, letting Darcy tie him up without complaint or any fight in him.

So she might be a bit shocked when he breezes into the room behind her, draping the scarf over her shoulders and wiggling the expended Taser launcher at her. "Hirt is your Tazer, Darcy. Es gut, ja? Very handy." He adjusts his round glasses, low on his nose, and peers around the room, and flashes a Department of Defense badge at the room.

"Dr. Hans Verner," he greets everyone. "I am udnerstanding you have radiological samples for me, ja? Something about bone marrow?" he says, looking to Jemma— the woman who looks like a scientist, even without a lab jacket on.

When Darcy enters, May looks at her and simply nods a greeting. When 'Dr. Hans Verner' breezes in after her, she pulls an ICER with the speed of an Old West gunslinger and fires a round at his face. You do NOT waunter into secure facilities unannounced. Especially not when May's already here and already on alert. "Security, lock down the building," May calls out, knowing someone will hear and comply, as she approaches the man to secure him with her sash whip. Circulation-stoppingly snug restraints. Oh, and if you give her grief, Dr. Verner? She can easily modify it into a hogtie.

"Bone marrow?" The brunette woman says from the bed, alarmed.

"Bone Marrow?" Jericho echoes. He hadn't heard of anything of the sort. Of course… he wouldn't have. Darrow's cover is that good and he doesn't look or sound anything like himself. Even Jericho's facial recognition software isn't getting a positive hit on the man.

Before things can, hopefully, go too far a couple things happen at once. The first is that May's phone beeps, along with Darcy. Both have recieved a very official looking e-mail with a very official looking document attached. If either bothers to look, they're orders. Orders that place Darcy on Field Agent status.

That… has to be a mistake, right? Darcy's been in the field before but this is a step above that. Permanent Field Agent status attached to a newly formed tactical recovery team.

The second is that May's phone beeps again, along with whatever communications Darrow has. The Spy with No Name doesn't work for SHIELD anymore, of course, but he still knows places to find work, presumably. And he's still, presumably, approved to work for SHIELD if ever he feels like taking on one of their problems. One has just come up. A SHIELD annex in Turkey was looted during the recent coup attempt there. No surprise considering that SHIELD is trying to streamline it's operations in the wake of discovering a serious rot in the organization. That facility was storing a number of biological samples. Most of it was medical related but it's all gone missing. A tactical recovery team is forming to find it. They could use someone who can, shall we say, blend. Someone who can be anyone.

Tazer face dropping her scarf over her shoulders stuns Darcy into open mouthed confusion. So when May draws her gun on the guy, Darcy just stands there like a gaping fish brain. And then her phone dings and instinctively she lowers her eyes to look.

Well, that's twice. Kudos for a good disguise, right?

He goes down like a sack of potatoes, the *ping* of his phone masked by his body. It's a good, secure version, the sort that would be hard to crack without some proper, dedicated equipment.

"Ow," the spy exhales, weakly. "It's me— Reggie. Cor, May, quick trigger finger much?" The face might be new, but that voice— that's umistakeably Reginald Darrow.

He rolls to his back, eyes out of focus, and stares at the ceiling. "I mean, nothing clears the bells like a few hundred thousand volts, but twice in one day is too much."

He sits upright, then puts his (unbound!) hands on his lap. May's a fair hand with a sailor's knot, but Reginald is apparently one hell of an escape artist. "Was that my phone pinging me?" he inquires, trying to shake the bats from his belfry. "Someone mentioned you lot ran into a spot of trouble, I thought I'd save you the trouble of asking and swing by to see if you blokes and lasses needed a second set of hands. Seems my instincts were right."

Melinda May stops and looks at her phone also, then turns to apologize to Trent and Simmons before approaching the others. She helps Darcy divest of the items she brought — most importantly that electrolyte solution — turns the young brunette back toward the door. Where she hefts Darrow back to his feet to march them both out of the building. "We're going to Turkey. Now." Darcy's car will be fine here for a few days.

After pulling both people maybe about a hundred yards away from the facility, he calls on her leyline pendulum and, regardless of how much strain it puts on her to pull two people along, she brings them both to a tiny patch of foliage about half a block away from the Triskelion. And… there's the migraine. Right on schedule.

"Darrow," she says lowly. Do not make me want to shoot you for real. Now let's get going." She leads the way toward the Triskelion, not caring if either of the other two are still possibly suffering after effects from the abrupt magical transport.

Vomit. That's how Darcy deals with the sudden magical upheavel; with one of her own. Still fighting what feels like a sudden bout of binge drinking, Darcy forces herself to move after May.

"wha… bleck. What's happening?" Darcy manages as she uses that scarf to wipe her mouth.

"What the fu-" Darrow's words are lost to the vortex as Melinda snaps them across reality, and he staggers a little to lean against a nearby fencepole. He's not quite siuck, but he turns a lovely shade of green and is clearly quite vexed by the dizzying experience.

"Are you sure you don't want to reconsider shooting me? What the bloody hell was that?" the spy asks Melinda, trying to hold down his gorge.

Melinda May doesn't bother with answering Darrow, she just drags the two along with her, pulls them through the almost excessive security at the Triskelion's entrance and to the briefing-in-progress. Now that they're all there, they have about five minutes to glean as much intel as they can about the mission they've been volunteered on and maybe drink some water. Then they're all being sent off to prep for the mission, the quinjet takes off in twenty. Darrow, a liaison agent shadows you most annoyingly. And, well, opens the doors you don't have access to open. As in, all of them.

Darcy's a quick study some days. And she drinks down a bottle of water as she takes in as much info as she can manage. In the locker room, she puts on those things that a full Field agent needs to have on, drinking a put more water and making a fast bathroom break. One thing she learned from Mom: Always go potty before a long road trip. Flying to turkey counts as a long road trip. She huffs onto the quinjet 19 minutes 30 seconds later and flings herself into her seat.

"President!" she declares, as if answering a roll call.

Darrow works efficiently, and his actions are… a bit odd. For one, he raids the locker rooms. Including the women's room, where he brushes past Darcy, picks several locks with a hairpin and a screwdriver, and steals all the makeup he can get his hands on.

Then he picks up a duffel bag, goes into the mens', and gets his hands on an odd and eclectic variety of clothing— everything from a full three-piece suit to ratty workout clothing.

Unbothered by his petty larceny, he returns to meet Melinda at the Quinjet, having taken two minutes to change his diguise into that of a sensible, middle-aged blue collar worker with a distinctly Hispanic surname on his jumpsuit, and drops into the seat next to Darcy.

"Estoy aqui," he wheezes in a droning voice quite unlike his normal tones. He turns to look at Darcy.

"Ola, you come here often?"

Melinda May was here well before the other two, and as the last of the mission team load up, May is gettign clearances to take off, Yes, she's flying the quinjet. And yes, she took something for the migraine already.

In short order they're underway and headed toward Turkey. If you need to take a nap, now's your last chance.

Darcy looks over at Reginold, one brow quirking. "Do not give jur steek too mee," she quips, almost smirking at herself, before she digs out her ear buds and cranks on her music. She closes her eyes and lets her ehad fall back onto the headrest. She's been on enough internatinoal flights now to know that wheels up means lights out because it's likely GOGOGO soon as wheels touch tarmac at the destination.

Reggie doesn't sleep, but he does dig in his pocket for three small books: A Tourist's Guide to Istanbul; 1001 Phrases in Turkish; and Kurdish and You: How to Say Hello.

He sets up comfortably as he can in the Quinjet and sets to studying for their arrival.

The flight is indeed a long one, and with the other mission team members doing their own various routines, it's mostly quiet the entire way. Finally, though, they land at a covert SHIELD base on the outskirts of Istanbul and the team promptly disembarks and is put into SUVs to make the relatively short drive to the looted annex.

Darcy's bopping her head the whole way, glad for the USB charing ports on the quinjet to top off her phone's battery. Missing inventory. She's been plotting things to look for, after having requested the full list of what was IN said store house. Looking like she's scrolling through her Facebook wall, Darcy skims the manifesto of biomedical goodies that were stolen.

By the time they land, Reginald's borrowed the computer for a solid hour to chat via Skype with some friends in Turkey. He works with remarkable speed— in the last thirty minutes, his accent's almost completely gone and he's even adjusted the set of his shoulders and the tension of muscles in his face. He appears twenty pounds heavier and his skin, duskier but a bit sallow and unhealthy.

He adds the final touches on his outfit as they leave the Quinjet and by the time the SUV parks, he's dressed like a local day laborer.

The SHIELD SUVs make good time, including a small stop to drop Darrow off so he can scout around and see if anyone nearby is trying to sell off any ill-gotten biomedical stuff. The rest of the team arrives at the annex and spread out, doing whatever alternate tasks they were assigned to do — review security footage, check inventory, so on. May stays in the command center, directing people and fielding updates as they come in.

The standard nature of a bulk of the medical items could just be a local clinic trying to restock.

"I want the computer files checked to see if the databases were touched," Darcy tells one of the techs they brought with them after taking a quick walk through. She makes her way up to the command center.

"You know, this could just be some local militants trying to restock their first aid kits, right?" she starts off as she keys up her tablet to sifts through her truncated inventory list. Remove the mundane things to see what's left in order to figure out where they may have gone with it all. Like looking for traces of an Einstein-Rosenburg bridge.

"Is there anything that's normally heavily controlled missing?" Reginald asks Darcy, speaking over his concealed microphone on their private net. "Medical gear is one thing, but biotech equipment is another. Most soldiers know to grab morphine and pencillin, but advanced antibiotics and the like— that takes some know-how to identify."

Melinda May nods to Darcy. "We know. We just can't take the chance that it's something more than that." What kind of agency would they be if they didn't take things like this seriously? "Darrow's suggestions are valid, though, from the looks of this place, Darrow, the looters tried to take everything that wasn't bolted down." And some things that were.

"Everything is missing, Mr. Bean. That's the issue," Darcy retorts to Reginold just as May's confirms her words. Darcy purses her lips, skimming through the items again. "This wasn't a research facility, so thankfully we're not looking at anything retarded like weaponized anthrax. I'm concerned about some of these samles though. May? Look. I've got multiple listings under H1N1. Like… the virus in the late 2000s?" Darcy holds out her tablet.

Darrow frowns, though the expression is unseen by women on the other end of the radio. "Live cultures, or antivirals?" Darrow may play the fool at times, but he's clearly no idiot— and he's busy cozying up to some of the local laborers to see if any of them have an idea of who might have done the deed, or almost as good, if anyone's suddenly quit the relatively lucratic contracting job in the last few days.

"A mixed," Darcy answers quickly and efficiently.

Melinda May says, "The anti-virals I don't care about. The live cultures are a problem, though." May looks at Darcy and nods, giving her the go-ahead to do whatever she needs to do to track that H1N1. Sounds like that's the worst of whatever used to be in this annex."

"I'm having the database time stamps looked at. Meanwhile, I'm pulling HR files. I'll send them your way,. Zazu." Darcy says, aiming the last to Reginold as she turns a bit from May to work on her tablet some more.

"Mucho gracias." The fellow goes quiet for a few minutes, talking in heavy Turkish with a strongly Kurd accent— blending effortlessly in with the day laborers, who seem to accept him as one of their own quite readily.

A few minutes later, he rejoins the conversation. "Seems three fellows haven't shown up for work since the robbery," the spy says. "Two local fellows and a man who joined up two weeks ago. It's not uncommon for the Kurds to funnel goods from the Turks to support their operations on the border. I'm not one for striking a blow against these blokes, but they're saying the third fellow was from Syria. That might be our man on the inside," he mutters.

May can only agree with Darrow. "Can you get names, address, ways to track those three men down?" She especially wants to track down that Syrian man. She knows that day laborers have almost zero documentation with the companies they work for, so that'll be a dead end. But the laborers themselves are usually a wealth of information.

Glancing over at Darcy, she adds quietly, "Flag anything else that might be noteworthy."

With a nod Darcy adds, "I'll send the information to your fanny pack, Odo." She nods to the tech to send her teh first of his reports so she can cross reference and send pertinent items in teh right direction. "How's the coffee out here?"

"I'm on it. Give me a few minutes, I think I can suss this out of the fellows." Reginald resumes his conversations, spreading around some goodwill in the form of a few lira and a nip from his pocket flask.

"It's not coffee, it's khavesi," Reginald corrects Darcy, over the radio. "It's unfiltered and could wake the dead. The Kurds make it about the same way, and I only recommend it to people who like coffee that they can stand a spoon up in."

"And I don't know who Odo is, but I wouldn't be mentioning fanny packs until you've lost a few kilos off your lately overly-shapely rear, luv," Reginald mutters, sallying right back at Darcy.

Melinda May knows only too well how nasty Turkish coffee is, and if Darcy gets wired on the stuff she'll have to find her own ride back home. "Enough with the quips. Both of you." But mostly Darrow. Darcy's infamous for stupid nicknames, but she doesn't let them get out of hand. Darrow very decisively crossed the line there. "Get me the intel or stay off the line."

"Yes, ma'am," replies Darcy with only a hint of her usual sass in the words. Just a smudge. The HR files are flagged adn sent Darrow's way. There are some local doctors that were contracted. They could be possible leads too.

"Any possibility of Stupid and/or Malicious mistaking live cultures for antivirals or else looking to trick some poor saps into making that mistake for a quick buck?" she asks aloud as she works.

Reginald finishes collecting his information and rendezvous with Darcy and May a short time later.

"First, I want someone to find that lush redhead for a congratulation kiss, because I've surely earned it," the spy says— even though he looks like a portly fifty year old Turk in sweat work clothes. He wiggles a flash drive in the air, and tosses it to Melinda. "The blokes in the lounge keep a camera running to make sure no one filches biscuits from the company," he explains. "I've noted timestamps where all three of those blighters can be readily seen, including Hassan Abu Musulum, our Syrian 'friend'." He finds a chair and drops into it, sweat sticking to his neck and his shirt. "It's not much, but it's a lead."

Melinda May catches the flash drive and passes it on to Darcy, who has the tablet-wrangling going on. "Find this Hassan Abu Musulum. I want to know where he is right now." She's very much aware that Darcy will likely be coordinating with SHIELD's central Intel group to do that, and she's okay with it. As long as it gets done. For her own part, she's already drafting up an update report to send back to the Triskelion.

Catching the flashdrive, Darcy plugs it in and starts overlaying the information and tossing files by May's way for her update while working on getting the tech guys to hack the street cams… are there street cams? to find the guy. Darcy them turns to the power of SOcial Media. She grabs a still from biscuit cam, has tech guys backdate a fake social media account the fits her quick reserched of a Turkish girl and then she makes a post with the guy's pic on it. Help! This is my brother. I miss him. Help me find him.

An hour later, direct message with a picture of the guy getting a bite to eat at a street vendor.

It's a brilliant three-person ploy. Darcy's on social media comms, Melinda's running the foot patrols, and Reginald's doing what he does best— he dives in feetfirst and follows his instincts. They lead him to a dive bar, which takes him to a Turkish bath, he detours by a museum and then ends up at a soccer match.

It takes the three agents and their support staff all of six hours to run HAM down, and Reginald's at the side of the recon team who frogmarches the man into the building.

"Ladies and germs, Hassan Abu Musulum," he announces, pushing the fellow into a detention cell. "I think that's a new record. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've earned a nip from my flask and a short nap. Do what you do best, I'll be in my bunk," Reggie says, waving farewells.

Melinda May is glad to see this over and done with. She lets Darrow and Lewis and the rest of the team have the remainder of the day to rest. Tomorrow, they return to the US.

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