Internal Affairs

"Whelp, found 'im," Sheridan whispered, before readying his rifle and stepping as quietly as he could into the bathroom.

He looked at Mickey, "A'ight, you're up," before closing the door behind him.

Stairway - 400 S. Mashta Drive

Mykola started to make his way up the stairs being careful to be as noisy as possible as he called out. *thump* *thump* *thump*

"Mr. Smirnov my apologies for disturbing you but I need to speak with you. We have a problem, sir. It isn't safe for you here right now."

---

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

Mykola frowned before deciding a version of the truth would be his best bet. "There is a criminal syndicate operating within Miami but we don't yet know who is in charge. We'd been investigating them to find out when we heard your name come up. It seems they have put a hit out on you. We volunteered to do the job because we don't want to see you dead but if we make it look like we did it, it'll help us earn their confidence. We've made arrangements to transport you to a safe house."

Mykola paused for just a moment to let him take that information in before adding, But the choice is yours. We can fake your death and move you some place safe or you can stay here and hope your security does a better job when the actual assassins come for you."

---

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

The obese, graying haired man listened to what the intruder into his bedroom had to say, taking a seat on the bed and recovering his senses somewhat as he let out a slow, rattled breath. "Wodka," he blurted when Mykola finished laying out his choices. The fleshy man waddled to a mini bar in the corner of his room and poured a glass, the bottled rattling the edge of the glass from Alexander's shaking hands. Downing the pour in one gulp, he began to prepare another with more steady hands. Finally he turned, resignation evident on his full face as he took in the pair of them.

"So ... I guess her anger will not be quelled," he said, his Russian accent thick. "There was a time when she wouldn't have dared," he added with an amused snort. His eyes shifted towards the double doors leading to the porch, turning wistful as the moved to the rooms interior. "What do you want from me ... if I allow you to 'kill' me?" a touch of sadness in the smile he had as he returned his attention back to Mykola.

---

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

"There are 2 others with me right now," Mykola said as he triggered his radio. "Bill, Nik, come on in. He's on board, we need to execute our exit plan."

Mykola addressed the fellow once again. "We have made arrangements to rendezvous with another member of our team at sea. The plan is to 'steal'* your yacht, make the rendezvous, transfer to our boat and drop you off at the safe house. We'll scour your yacht clean of any evidence except for a couple of items we'll plant there. The most immediate concern is getting from here to your yacht."

Mykola turned to Nik and Bill**. "You guys ready?"

*Enter air quotes here.
** I am assuming the other 2 come in when I called but if not, I can change this.

---

"Oh, talking actually worked?" Sheridan answered over the radio, "Huh. Neat."

Carefully, he worked his way out of the bathroom, and up the stairs. Before entering, however, he put the AUG on safety. Zipping open the bag, he stuck the carbine in barrel first, letting the stock poke out, enough to see it was there, but not enough to alarm the guy into thinking he was coming in shooting.

Peaking his head in, he gave a nod to the people inside as Mykola was talking, before stepping in, closing the door behind him.

"Depends," Sheridan answered when Mykola finished, looking at the chubby old man with a quirked eyebrow, "We friendly enough to send the guards around the yacht home? Or we going to have to 'convincingly' shoot our way out? I'm up for either, just need to know whether to get dressed or not."

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

The large Russian calmly sipped his Vodka, his old yet experienced eyes studying Mykola as the 'arms dealer' and would be assassin laid out there well thought out plan having spent the better part of two days in it's execution. Smoothing his graying, and still wet, hair into some semblance of order, a small knowing smile touching his otherwise dour lips, as the gangster surveyed the trio of 'hitmen', his brow rising in amusement at Bill's questioning bravado.

"The security company can be called. The men dismissed," he stated simply, seemingly more relaxed now that he had knocked back a couple of drinks, "But I must ask again ... how much will this charade cost me?"

Sheridan nodded at confirmation that the guards could be called away. The nodding stopped with the slightest smirk at the question about price. Silently he walked over to Mykola and whisper conversed with him real quick to double check what Mickey had said about the group.

Really had to let slip that we were 'investigating', huh?

"Well, fortunately for you," Sheridan said, walking up beside the rotund Russian before squat-leaning, facing everybody as he spoke, "the guys paying us wanted the bodycount at an absolute minimum if we could help it, an outlook we agree with for personal reasons."

The soldier made a singular light pat on the shoulder of the greying man, "So consider the ticket itself payed for, though the accommodations might be a lot more humble that you are currently used to."

Straightening his back, he crossed his arms.

"I'll be straight: our backers might want to talk business with you afterward. About what precisely is above my need to know, though my best guess is 'go back to the status quo' won't be the subject."

A wave indicating the crew.

"That said, we've still got to work with the syndicate, and as we are no doubt establishing, their retirement plan sucks. So if, say, someone, with knowledge on how they work, were to give tips on how to get on their good side easier, when those backers do decide to come around... the deals would probably lean more in the helper's favor."

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

"What's it going to cost? Monetarily, nothing. But any information you have on them would be appreciated."

Mykola shook his head. "As far as calling the security company to remove their guards, it'd be too suspicious. No investigator worth his salt is going to let that detail slip by. Why would you call off your own guards right before you went missing?" Mykola thought for a moment, "Unless . . . I might be able to disguise my voice well enough to make them think it is you. The call will presumably be recorded so a more thorough analysis after the fact might reveal the voice was a fake in which case they are less likely to suspect your cooperation in this matter."

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

Alexander calmly listened, a small smirk and quirk of a grey brow in curiosity as his appraising, piercing pale blue eyes took in the pair of men as they continued to make their pitch. Taking a sip, the Russian mob boss paused to look at the now empty glass in annoyance before setting the empty cup aside, before replying, "You claim to only want information yet fail to specify what exactly you are looking for me to provide."

He surveyed the three of them through narrowed eyes, clearly trying to decide what the unusual trio were about, "You speak of 'accommodations' and my not being used to them ... I own many homes. Many this size or more. Most she doesn't know about." The alcohol seemingly given the heavyset boss courage, a bit of annoyance now in his tone, "Why tell the security company anything at all? They are private ... hired to protect me and I never provided from what. So what about your investigators? ... they'll know the 'who' was responsible regardless and good luck proving it."

He stood, taking the empty glass back to the bar to refresh, "And if you were hired to 'kill' me ... I would think they'd be more interested in the results than the methods."

"Admittedly the one picking us up wanted to be part of asking specifics...""...and I didn't want to get your hopes up that we'd rented a five-star hotel or something."

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

"Results are important but we won't have a body. They'll only have our word and the fact that you are missing to go on and I wouldn't just take our word for it without trying to verify it. But if no one sees us leave there will be fewer leads to follow. You want to call them off and then we can get you out of here?"

"He will," Sheridan fake whispered out the side of his mouth, "Once he stops looking this gift horse in the mouth."

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

The heavyset boss scanned the trio from his position at his sidebar, eyes narrowing in silent contemplation as he thought over what they had proposed. Eventually the graying mob boss let out a resigned sigh, poured himself a fourth healthy sized drink with one final look out over the bay, his lips pouting wistfully. "May I be allowed to change?" he asked, his Russian accent thick after a few 'wodkas', "Or is part of this charade dumping me overboard in nothing but my robe.".

Hearing no objections Alexander waddled towards his closet, Nik pacing ahead of the stout Russian to block him accessing his panic room as the elder man let out an amused snort. Moments later he exited the spacious wardrobe, smartly dressed in a designer suit with a small duffle that they could see had a few spare clothes, toiletries, and such. Eyeing the three of them suspiciously, he slowly plodded to what appeared to be an expensive painting hung over his large dresser, that easily swung aside at his touch to reveal a small safe. Moments later he was stuffing a number of passports, papers, and rolls of cash in the bag.

Seemingly settled, after a few more sips from his now less than healthy glass, Alexander pulled out his phone and after a somewhat lengthy and heated conversation - much of which involved terms and fees - the Russian emphatically pressed the end call button, tore the cover off the back of the phone and dropped the sim card in his now nearly empty glass, and announced that the rent-a-cops would be leaving with in the hour.

"Gee, Mickey," Sheridan gave a knowing smirk after watching the display before him, "I tink dis guy's done dis befer."

Pulling out and slipping on his headset, the vet keyed the pre-planned frequency as he poked his head into the bathroom.

"Wow, these are even better without unconscious Haitians in them," he quipped before leaning on the doorframe.

"Line to Fisher, Line to Fisher, come in Fisher."

He waited for her response before continuing.

"Catfish is cool, and willing to jump in the boat. Waiting for sharks to clear the waters, ETA one hour, over."

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

"Yea, get changed and take what you need but don't overdo it."

Mykola moved to one of the windows in the room to peek outside while listening in to Dozer's transmission.

Line? Fisher? Catfish? Mykola just shook his head but didn't say anything.

"Oh, where do you keep the keys for your boat?"

---

Master Bedroom - 400 S. Mashta Drive

Sheridan's headset crackled to life, an amused Fisher followed by a more serious Hard Copy as the grizzled veteran confirmed they were in possession of the HVT and were moving to exfil.

Peering out the window, an amused shake of his head at Bill's use of radio code, Mykola checked the status of the mafioso's rented sentries. The security guards at not left, but were now gathered in a group in apparent conversation, clearly more relaxed as even the dogs were barking and wagging their short stubby tails no longer feeding of their master's wariness. It seemed that the order to break things down and leave had been received. Now that he thought on it, he didn't recall seeing any sort of van or vehicle parked in the drive ... thus they were most likely waiting on transportation.

To the 'arms dealer's' question on the keys to the yacht the stout boss snorted with amusement, "Good question. My crew always handled getting her ready to take out ... but I suppose it is hanging with the keys to the rest of my vehicles, hanging on hooks in the room off the garage."

"Well, unless they plan to take the yacht then I'd say we shouldn't rush lookin' for them, risk blowing this too early," Sheridan said as he double-checked to make sure he was gloved as he walked over to the glass with the dead sim card in it, "In the meantime, while we hurry up and wait..."

He gave a little nod to Nick, before shooting a look to Mickey, "I'll keep an eye on the 'VIP', while one of you gentlemen with better taste than me can take a look around, make sure things are set."

He held up the glass, and swirled it around so the card tapped inside, "Maybe do a bit of obscuring? Don't want a CSI tech with debt issues giving the game away.

"The other guy can keep watch on the guards, then go fetch the keys once the coast is clear."