Eagle One.

David Whitehall. 35. Born and raised in Los Angeles, CA. Living In New York City, NY. Accountant. V.A.L.O.R. Agent

[david-whitehall-blog]

greywolftatya:

Taking another sip of her drink, Tatyana chuckled hearing his question. At least it appeared she wouldn’t have to drink alone for the night, and he did seem tolerable enough, for now, so her smirk grew. “Depends on what you deem important.” She vaguely replied, but then she shrugged after a moment or two. “Surprisingly enough, there is only one paragraph about the topic, a jumble of post-Leninism and something about how the Russians are wild enough to put their vodka in their cars, to prevent the windscreen from freezing in low temperatures. Can’t really say I believe the latter, but who knows.” She added the latter with a humorous smirk on her lips.

“It’s about that old man, Genovese. He died last night and the papers are filled with eulogies, conspiracy theories and epics about his life.” Tatya said after another careful sip of her drink, after which she’s pulled out a cigarette from the pack in her bag and after a moment of digging through the various items in her little black purse, lit it up.

That was a surprise that Russian wasn’t splayed across the paper as the Cold War waged on. It was usually one thing or another about the Communists. The paper had managed to sneak in something about the Russian alcohol, so it was at least something. David managed a chuckle, “I actually can believe that.” All the while, he was lifting up his own glass which had the aforementioned drink poured into it over ice. “Do you think I should be worried about what this stuff is doing to my insides if it's used inside cars?” He asked giving the glass in his hand a suspicious look. Ultimately he seemed to decide against the idea and took another deep drink from his glass.

David knew all about Andrea Genovese death and about the metaphorical storm that would hit the city. it was already starting, but the agent’s features remained collected, not giving away that anything about the mention of it made a difference to him. “That’s the crime boss right?” He asked as innocently as someone who was hearing it for the first time. “I haven’t been long in the city. California originally,” he explained. Mixed with some truth, the lies still came so easily to him. 

“I guess it still makes for interesting news.” he Offered with a rise and fall of his shoulders in a shrug. “Did it say how he passed? Natural causes? Or, I’m guessing, a man in that kind of position, natural causes isn’t exactly the likely ending.”

[chantatum]

[josephineabbey]

Tatyana was seated in a bar, the morning’s newspaper spread out in front of her, even if she didn’t particularly care about the event which occurred the night before. So, the Genovese patriarch was dead – who cares? She certainly didn’t care. Men like the late Andrea never had her sympathy; they were all cruel men, with lustful, gluttonous appetites. She’s seen them before. Worked for them. Ratted them out. And the world was a better place for it, if only for a few fleeting moments, before another came, even more ruthless than the other.

At this point, she was neither surprised nor particularly caring of the idea.

She has had her task set in front of her, and she did her best in performing it splendidly, and if she was anything, it was determined. Drawing a glass to her lips, she took a sip, folding the newspaper and sliding them to the side of the bar, no longer interested in the content. Tatya turned around to a sound of a voice coming to her left, and arched an eyebrow at the question.

“Evidently, it is not taken. You may join me if you’d like.” She said, a hint of irritation leaving her features, but it wasn’t directed at the person, rather at the situation in general. The world was a glum place and she was convinced it wasn’t about to get any lighter.

[david-whitehall-blog]

Coming to the bar that evening wasn’t about being on assignment or anything else. In fact, the V.A.L.O.R agent was simply there as just David, the accountant, who had moved from LA to the Big Apple for a luxurious job he couldn’t pass up. Sometimes just being himself was harder than the cover stories. He was sometimes too smart for his own good and got lost in the idea if he really knew who he was anymore. Or was it that he was all the roles he took on just there were different aspects. It was enough deep thinking that would cause anyone to seek out alcohol. Though this was usually his evening practice, trying to unwind and remember that the world kept spinning at a normal pace despite the craziness of his career.

Dressed in a simple pair of dress slacks and a button up shirt like he had gotten rid of the business tie and suit jacket for the casual look, he crossed the social atmosphere to the bar where one of the few seats left him next to a blonde and her newspaper. Not wanting to be rude, manners were important and his mother would have a field day if he wasted all her efforts, “Is this seat taken?” He asked.

The obviously irritated response was not what he expected. Maybe there had been a dozen or so others that had asked the same question of the other that night. Maybe she was waiting for someone, though she followed up the irritated reply to welcome him in taking the empty bar stool for himself. “Thank you,” he offered with a small and held up a single finger to catch the bartender’s attention that he wanted to order something.

Vodka on the rocks was his drink, which he had soon enough sat before him. He had to give the Russians some respect, they knew how to make their alcoholic beverages. Turning back towards the blonde who had graciously allowed him to the empty seat, “Any important bylines that don’t involve the words Russia or communist in it?” he asked of her point to the newspaper she had pushed aside.

[david-whitehall-blog]

codenamejunior:

Harry had been making his way towards the back of the train. His progress was slow by necessity. He had been offered one lost umbrella already, black and yea long, just as he had asked for. He’d taken it up, turned it around critically, and finally declare it was not his–could not possible be–the handle was all wrong. So sorry, but he simply had to press on.

Their man would have had advantages in choosing either a compartment or the crowd. One afforded breathing space and privacy, the other anonymity. Harry kept his eye for a while on a man trembling and looking at his hands, but dismissed him at last. Those hands had been far too work-roughened to belong to someone with a desk job. Metal-worker, if Harry had to hazard a guess.

He had been just about to turn back and continue in the other direction when he saw Eagle One came barrelling through. Well, that was unfair; for a big man, he was doing a good job appearing merely bumbling, harmless. Harry caught his nod. He made a show of patting his pockets and drawing out a pack of cigarettes before retreating back towards the final open-air walk-way between the passenger car and the mail coach.

Once they were both out, he tapped out a cigarette and caught it between his lips, offering one to his colleague. He dug out his lighter (damn, he’d brought the wrong one–the one with a technicolor Elvis, his Stantham cover’s favourite) and lit up quickly. Even if he could only inhale one breath, it was always worth it to make it look good.

“Sudden shower of rain, huh? And me without my umbrella. I guess if you can’t stop the rain, make it hail.” He lifted his jacket to flash the smooth black leather of his shoulder holster. He smiled, but did not wink this time. Even he would have to agree that would have been paramount to not taking their mission seriously. “How many? Private compartment?”

Between the two of them, they could cover both sides of the narrow walkway outside the compartments, closing their enemies into their trap. Even so, it would get messy from here.

The American agent shook his head at the offered cigarette, of the vices he did have that was one he hadn’t picked up yet. Watching his counterpart blow out the smoke from his lungs, it would be enough to explain their presence between railcars as the locomotive sped North. The technicolor Elvis and the ‘rain’ wasn’t his concern now. It was the difficult task made even more so with the presence of the two he had had a run-in with earlier.

David appreciated the matter of fact questions from the British man. “Two Russians coming from the dining car. They entered a private compartment. When I walked by, I could only catch a glimpse inside and I didn’t see a third person. They wanted the time, which means their meeting with our government official here on the train, not at the border.” Which also turned to the other’s task. “Any luck with your umbrella hunt?” He asked, with a smirk on his features, essentially asking if anything suspect came up while talking to the others riding the train and did anyone stand out.

“We should take care of our Russian comrades first. It’s possible we find the three together or something inside their compartment about who the mystery informant in. Either way...” He trailed off not needing to say it again. With the Russians taken care of there was nobody for the other to meet and being stuck on this train it would make them incredibly nervous to think they might be next. It might just be enough to spot the traitor who was selling out the US government.

Leading the way back into the train car, the cigarette seemed unnoticed and forgotten. It was easy to pass from one car to the other, looked like they were headed for the dining car. It was the middle car where the two agents headed. He stopped at one side of the private compartment’s door, pressing against the wall and staying back from the small viewing window that allowed a peek inside. He signaled for Junior to move to the other side of the door. It was a narrow space and they’d have to move fast in the public walkway before anyone came upon the scene.

David knelt onto his left knee, and leaned forward to reach his right ankle where he lifted the pant leg and sitting there in a holster was a Beretta 418, easily concealed as the “pocket pistol”, it was just as deadly and accurate. He upholstered the gun and got back to his feet. He looked over to the other and gave him a nod that he was ready. He knocked on the compartment door and called out to those on the other side could hear, “Train conductor, we are checking tickets.”

[david-whitehall-blog]

agentsokolov:

There was no denying that Andrea Genovese’s death changed things - complicated them. Surely things would be different if Lucca took over, as he seemed likely to do. Not that it bothered Roman very much. He had a job to do, no matter who he was working for, no matter who was in charge of the crime family. They were only a means to an end for his own organization, so he had no real investment in the matter.

He had been tasked currently with keeping an eye on one of the Genovese advisors, making sure nothing happened in the light of Andrea’s death, so he was doing just that, settling into a coffee shop near where the man worked. However, it seemed he was not the man’s only company. The handsome faced man almost blended in perfectly - almost, but Roman was nothing if not good at his job and it caught his attention how the man had positioned himself, the glances toward the mafioso across the room. Perhaps it was coincidence, but something in Roman’s gut doubted that very much.

With a cup of black coffee for himself - he had never been one for any frills, despite stereotypes about men with his affinities - he moved over to sort of intercept, approaching the table of the man who kept glancing at his client. “Can I sit here?” His accent was carefully practiced to cover up the low Russian tone. “Was hoping I could borrow your paper - the parts  you are not reading?”

David tried to make it look like the crossword was difficult, making those stumped, scrunched up faces as if he was overthinking it trying to contemplate the puzzle. To be honest, it was not more just a game to him of how well he could act out the part. Plus it gave him the opportunity to steal glances towards the Genovese advisor he was tailing that morning. It was a simple but easy cover and he did it well. He was just that typical American enjoying coffee and stealing a break from work like the others scattered around the coffee shop. Even his assignment was doing the very same thing. Nothing suspicious about that. So far he hadn’t learned anything of interest, but the death was still sending out its shockwave around the city.

He was good at what he did. David approached life and his work as a puzzle and his mind came up with a hundred different scenarios with variables and ways things could turn out. The one he almost arrogantly hadn’t thought about was that while he was watching the advisor that he was being watched simultaneously. An untrained eye wouldn’t pick up the subtle glances towards the other, it was in human nature to look around, though his interest was only in the one occupied table.

The crossword he was working on was all but filled out when he looked back down to the Times word puzzle. He’d had to make do with reading the paper now. Or he would have had the approach of someone to his table not caught his attention. Stopping what he was doing, it wasn’t his assignment that had caught him, but another inquiring of the seta and the paper. Green eyes took the other in, was there an accent there or was he just randomly hearing things. He took in the other's appearance subjectively going through the things you were trained to look for. Athletically built, he looked like the type who could handle himself. He hadn’t said anything odd and it was more than a reasonable request. 

“Please,” He said gesturing to the seat across from him. “Help yourself to the paper, I’m well...” he trailed off looking down his paper and his filled out the crossword. “I guess I’m taking the sports section.” Recapping his pen he twisted in his seat and put it back into the pocket of the jacket hanging from the back of his seat.

[david-whitehall-blog]

David had previously been in Berlin, in the heart the communist eastern sector, before he had returned stateside. Now he was in the middle of Greenwich Village back in New York. The world kept spinning and no one had a clue.  Though being home didn’t mean skipping a beat from work, especially as news passed through the city that mob boss Andrea Genovese was dead. There was an anticipation for what happened next – all of V.A.L.O.R waited with baited breath to see what would happen next. Assigned to him, he was tasked to keep watch and gather intel.

He had been following his assignment since that morning. David, though, had that unique ability to blend in and just be another American out that morning. He didn’t get to close, not too far. Dressed as an accountant in the unusual businessman’s suit you would expect to find in the heart of Manhattan, he found himself led to Caffe Reggio which catered to the lazy afternoon crowd. He entered the quaint little coffeehouse. He’d been there before, but even that comfort zone of knowing the area didn’t quiet his mind as green eyes quickly scanned the room, scenarios in his mind being puzzled out about where the backdoor, front entrance, how many people were sitting in there. He was a couple customer’s behind his assignment he was tailing. 

Precaution in the moment that David had his back turned, he watched in a reflection off the metal of the coffee machine his assignment move into the sitting area and find a table and chair. David paid for a drink that would be brought to him. He slipped off the suit jacket he was wearing and set it on the back of his chair, looking like he was taking some time away from the office. Picking where he sat was very specific - his back to a wall where he could see both the front and back, but could also overhear any conversation should someone come to meet the other and that this wasn’t just a caffeine pick me up in the afternoon. David had picked up an abandoned newspaper out front and had carried it along with him.  Just a guy out to read the morning bylines. Opening the paper, David found himself leafing through the pages until he triumphantly found the crossword puzzle. He reached around to pull a pen out of his front suit pocket, what accountant didn’t have one on him.

Outward appearances, David looked like your typical former athlete that got by on good looks and the teachers gave a pass to in hopes for winning their Friday night games. It used to bother him that people didn’t take him seriously, but now he took that and made it to his advantage. He had already filled one of the words across when the barista brought his ordered espresso and left it on the table with a smile his direction. He thanked her and took a moment to let his gaze quickly glance over to his assignment before picking up the small porcelain cup from the saucer. Taking a sip of the hot coffee drink, he set it back down and once again picked up the pencil as he got back to work on the crossword.

[david-whitehall-blog]

codenamejunior:

Harry had seen Eagle One before in passing and had made his initial judgment already, based on mere impressions and what little he had been told. Very American, was the gist of it, which for him implied a certain combination of an alien form of social subtlety and brute power. Neither was a bad thing in an agent. He meant to impress the man if he could.

Harry lowered his voice. His colleague would know how to read lips if the clanking and the babble proved too much, he was sure. “I think so too. They’re less anonymous. If you go have a general look, I’ll strike up some conversations.”

They did not know what the man they were after looked like, so all they’d have to go on was instinct and observation. Breaking character for a fraction of a second, Harry winked, then stood up and stuffed his newspaper under his arm. “Excuse me!” he said to the next tangle of people on his row. “Terribly sorry… Have you seen my umbrella anywhere?”

A mother with two children and an elderly man in shabby tweed shook their heads. Harry moved on between the seats. “Apologies… excuse me… A black umbrella, about yea long?” He took mark of the men between twenty and sixty, looking for either someone who looked very much like a government official or was just as obviously wearing a poorly thought-out disguise. Nothing had suggested this man was anything but a civilian.

Just as there was an opinion of being very American, there was also one thought of the posh Brit that was also assumed on David’s own part. Even though he very much should know better than to judge a book by its cover so to speak. It’s something he’d had to come to terms with and now was put to full advantage. His surprise though was watching the younger agent drop for a split second the act they played to offer a wink. There was a bemused chuckle on his part even as the other struck up conversations about his missing umbrella. He had a feeling the two of them were going to work well together. As fun as it might be to stick around and see the reactions play out as other encountered the Englishman, he had his own plan to carry out. Another quick glance at his watch and the mathematician couldn’t help but think that every second counted and was a missed opportunity to find the government official.

He stood from his seat and passed through the middle of the railcar without a second glance, he looked like just another passenger up to stretch his legs on the long trip they had to the Canadian border. He passed each row, quick to take note of any male that could fit the lack of description they had – a government official type or someone who seemed exceptional nervous about the trip. The agent was exceptionally smart but not even he could understand what it took to sellout your government for money. He would like to think it wasn’t as easy a decision as changing socks was but maybe he was overthinking it and the official didn’t care.

David passed from one rail car to the next, the train had nine cars it was pulling in total, but two were mail carriers and one for the engine and train operator. It left five cars for passengers and private compartments and one designated as the meal car for drinks and food on the journey. He was good at being inconspicuous as he made his way forward as the train moved scoping out not only the passengers but the layout. If things turned ugly it was not going to be easy with a bunch of civilians around. He curiously cast a glance into private compartments looking like he was just a nosy second classer who couldn’t afford the price of a ticket to sit so fancily. Maybe it was the ‘I heart NY’ shirt that helped but other than a few sneers to get lost he didn’t get any eyebrows risen.

He was entering the last passenger car before the food/drink one when the door on the opposite end opened and two men stepped through speaking to each in what was hard to miss, Russian. The two seemed just as surprised as he was to see them, their talked stopped, obviously being Russian in the United States wasn’t highly looked upon. David was silently cursing for being caught by surprise. Not every Russian person was out working for the KGB. It was even possible that two Russians just so happened to be on the train on their way to the Canadian border when there was a government official looking to sell government secrets, sure. But you didn’t survive in this job based on coincidence. But he didn’t let on and instead played the nervous American thinking ‘communists’ as he quickly shuffled by the two.

“You.” The Russian said a moment as David passed and in his mind, he was thinking ‘shit I’ve been made’. But as calm and as laid back as his cover Duran was he turned to look back to the others. “Can I bother you for the time?” The Russian asked tapping his own left wrist to indicate the timepiece that David wore on his own. “Of course,” he looked over to his watch, glad he had gone with just this old beat up thing he had bought from a pawn shop in college, it was so anti his family that he had had to have it. He kept it for moments like this. “Half past eleven. I’m going to rustle up some lunch before everyone else gets the same idea.” The Russian thanked him, probably the only time like that would ever happen. He turned and made to go through the door, but watched in the reflection of the glass window to see the other two turn their backs and head the opposite way.

David stayed on the catwalk between cars as the train rushed ahead, gripping onto the railing. Once he saw the other two leave the car and pass onto the other he re-entered into it and quickly hurried to the opposite end to pear through the window and watch the two Russians making their way through the railcar. They passed from the next forward and David followed and stopped again at the other end to see the two in the third car and enter one of the private compartments. The Russians had asked what time it was that could mean only one thing, they weren’t waiting until they got to the Canadian border to make the exchange. It was happening here on the train and that meant their time had been cut even more to find the government operative.

Hurrying back without seeming like he was hurrying back, David entered their rail car and made a sort of a nodded gesture with his head that seemed innocuous to an untrained eye. It was a ‘go the back we need to talk’ kind of nod and they couldn’t have the conversation there among families and possibly the government official. He stepped out through the door at the back of the train and stopped on the catwalk there waiting for the other. Once he was joined, the first thing David said, “We have a problem.”

[david-whitehall-blog]

codenamejunior:

Harry dropped the newspaper he had been reading and flashed Eagle One a polite smile. He was going by his real name for once which, after all the time he had spent as ‘Arno Lutz’, felt just as much like an alias. He hadn’t resisted the urge to dress up almost as a comedy Englishman with a pinstriped suit and a bowler hat that would have made his old college friends goggle. “Oh, not from New York,” he said in his poshest accent. “A different city entirely.”

He was having far too much fun with the part, but then it seemed his colleague was, too. 

He folded the paper neatly and set it on his knees. “No rain for the whole week.” This was code to say there had been no signs they were being tailed. “Can you imagine? I wonder how Central Park survives.”

In a lot of ways, it was fun to cast yourself into an entirely new role, even despite the seriousness of the situations they found themselves in: like a government official willing to take a bribe to sell American secrets to the Russians. Duran Woodworth was his more casual alias, sort of the hippie without the long hair. He was a stark contrast to the posh Brit he now sat opposite to. Junior. He didn’t honestly know that much about the other passed his infamous V.A.L.O.R operative brother who kind of took the spotlight. But still there were good things said and the agency felt they were the best fit for this time crunching mission.

Talking about the weather was so commonplace that it was easy to weave into the conversation. “Good thing too. I forgot to pack an umbrella,” The response back to confirm that he also hadn’t seen any signs of a tail. It was good news, whoever the government official was, didn’t know that his phone call had been overheard. For David, it was like crossing it off the checklist but not dropping his guard - just because no one suspected their involvement in this didn’t mean that could change. 

The train started to pull away from the station and looked down his watch on his left wrist, he checked the time - the clock was now winding down on the time they would have to identify the government official and the confidential information he intended to pass on. Conversation in the busy carriage led to being able to talk more freely as the long journey began. “The last couple cars were mail transportation. I watched them loading a couple large deliveries but nothing that one person could handle on their own. I’m thinking one of the private compartments. Will make an initial sweep through the train.”

[david-whitehall-blog]

Closed Starter - First V.A.L.O.R mission assignment together for Junior and Eagle One.

Technology was changing. You never could know who might be listening to a phone call or intercept a letter that just so happened to be detailing plans to sell government secrets to the Russians. It was the height of the Cold War between the Americans and the Soviets and neither side was entirely innocent when it came to trading and buying secrets. But when an analyst overheard a phone call from a nondescript government official making plans to take a trip to Montreal where he had classified information to be sold, it tended to raise a few red flags. It was how the mission came to V.A.L.O.R. No mission too impossible, especially with what little information they had to go on - male government official with New England accent. 

It would take twelve hours for the trip from Penn Station to Montreal, where they would be stopped by the Border Patrol and if the informant hadn’t been found by then, it was mission failure. Time was of the essence. All of this came down to two agents or rather an American and British tourist heading to the French Canadian capital. 

Duran Woodworth proudly wore his ‘I Heart NY’ t-shirt that he had picked up as a souvenir in his travels around the Big Apple. He looked like your typical All-American as he boarded the train, duffle bag hanging on a shoulder with a newspaper in hand, ‘the sports section’. Handsome but forgetful face as he looked around the middle car for a seat. Penn Station, of course, was one of the busiest stops in the city and the number of families, other tourists, businessmen, and woman, it was damn near impossible to pick out anyone in the sea of faces. He walked down the aisle and found a row where two seats were on either side and would have to face each other on the long ride ahead. Someone already sat there and he waved to the empty row, “May I take a seat?” He asked though was already slipping off the duffle bag from shoulder and letting it drop to the floor. Shoving it with his foot under the seats he sat down in the aisle seat and made himself comfortable.

“This was my first time to the city, did a lot of sightseeing. Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building.” It was natural for him to start up a simple conversation with the ‘stranger’ sitting across from him. He sounded like your usual excited tourists to the concrete jungle. “Are you from the city or just visiting?”

@codenamejunior