Spies and Secrets. (Alpha and Sacred)

Port Paradise was a small cluster of man made islands nestled in the Caribbean. It was a place for people of all walks of life to come and enjoy the warm tropical breezes, pristine white sandy beaches and clear blue water. Casino's, hotels night clubs and shopping all in one place. Amid the scores of vacationing people, rich and poor, old, young and everything in-between no one paid much mind to the half dozen men in loose fitting linen suits and dark sunglasses. They moved in pairs, blending almost seamlessly into the crowds that moved along the busy main drag of the central island. Neon lights burning in the warm tropical night, casting shadows across the concrete.

But the men in suits paid little attention to the sights around them. The wonders of the island where of little interest to them. Instead they focused on a single man who moved through the crowd. He was dressed simple enough, a Hawaiian shirt, tan khaki's and sandeles. His hair was brown and shaggy, as was his beard, the edges of a scar visible at his temples. He often joked that it was from a fly fishing accident when it was a kid, but anyone who looked closely enough would notice it was much more recent than that. As far as the people at the resort knew, his name was Martin, a bartender at the Sand Dune on the east island beach. But to these men this seemingly humble bartender was something far worse. To them his name was Jason Grave, and he was a highly trained covert operative who had gone AWOL four months earlier.

A man who knew secrets that could put lives at risk. And they had one simple job, to remove the threat before he could act.

There were a lot of beautiful women living and vacationing on the island, but there was one that got a lot more attention when she walked through the street. Among all of the beautiful women in bikinis and other lewd garments Anya Avdeyeva still stuck out pretty prominently, and it was no secret why. The blonde was a beauty. Large tits, wide hips, thick lips, a pretty face, and a small undertone of fitness to her curvy body that suggested that she had spent more than a bit of time inside of the gym. At least one man got cuffed on the shoulder by his significant other for staring at her ass and a woman staring at her got the suggestion from her husband of inviting her up for a threesome. Normally Anya would consider an offer like that, but unfortunately she wasn't going to end up being in the area for long enough to get picked up and invited back. She had some work that she needed to tend to right now anyway, the important work that explained why she was on the island.

Of course it would be hard to tell that she wasn't on the island for pleasure from the way that she dressed. She wore tight sandals on her feet and a knee-length dress of a dark blue with a loose skirt that fluttered slightly. Her blonde hair was back in a ponytail and in her left hand she held a small purse. A pair of sunglasses were perched atop her head but they would of course be useless right now. She had a small watch on her left wrist and what looked to be a class ring on one of her fingers. She had a small smile on her face as she worked her way through her crowd and headed right towards the target. She knew that things weren't going to go well, she had to act fast. Unfortunately she also couldn't afford to spook him in public, so she simply kept walking with her eyes keeping track of the world around her.

The men in their linen suits hung back from their target. Keeping a distance from him and hoping he wouldn't notice he was being followed. Their orders where to confront him in a place free of outside interference. He had been living in a small beach front house on one of the smaller islands, it was fairly isolated and they had determined that it would be the best place to make their move on him. Two of their numbers carried what looked to be beach bags over their shoulders, but if someone was to open them towels and sunscreen would not be found inside and instead they carried sub machine guns that could be quickly removed and fitted with suppressors. This unassuming looking bartender was dangerous. He had operated around the world, possessed an adaptive IQ of 180, spoke six languages and knew at least two different martial arts.

He no doubt had prepared the small house he used for some form of attack. They would have to be smart if they where to accomplish their mission.

Martin, or Jason, or whatever he wanted to call himself, veered off the main street. Following a foot path that led along the southern bank of the island towards a foot bridge. "Looks like he's heading for home." one of the suits muttered into the concealed mic on his collar.

The house was set back from the beach, nestled a bit a grove of palms that concealed it from view, the terrace looking out towards the water. The hit team had scouted the area the day before, surprised to find no counter measures hidden amid the dense foliage. The gathered there now, one of them watching the house through the night vision scope of his rifle while the others preparedtheir weapons.

They knew he was in there, even if the sniper couldn't get a visual. The warm lights inside told them everything.

Jackets came off, revealing the shoulder holsters they wore, spare magazines where tucked into belts and the five man assault team moved away from their hiding place, leaving the sniper there to cover them as they advanced. Three of them slipped over the railing onto the terrace, staying well back from the windows to hide amid the shadows before reaching the back door, taking up positions to breach wile the other two moved around the front of the house.

The kitchen window was open and one of the back door men worked a flash bang loose from his belt and tossed it in. At the count of five the device detonated with a blinding flash and a defining bang, the back door was kicked inwards off its hinges and the small house was stormed. They found their target sprawled out on the living room floor, disoriented and.

One of the men trained his weapon on Grave and approached, catching him by the collar of his shirt and flung him towards the couch.

"Alright Grave" he hissed through gritted teeth, "Where is the Antomic?"

Fear raced across the man's face, his features going pale, his eyes wide, "I...I don't know what you're talking about. My name's Marty Cole, I'm a bartender!" he shrieked.

She cursed quietly to herself when she saw that they were following him down the path towards his house. She could tell what direction they were moving in so she cut off in the other direction with a clear position in mind. There was an area behind the house that was slightly raised with a lot of brush for cover. She quickly hurried back there and ducked down. She had to get ready quickly.

When she opened her purse anyone nearby would be able to tell very quickly that it wasn't just for holding her make-up and wallet. There was a handgun concealed in it for easy grabbing but right now that wasn't the weapon that she had planned to grab. A large portion of the purse pulled out and opened up to reveal a breakdown rifle which she quickly went to work assembling. She showed impressively practiced ease with assembling the weapon, and less than thirty seconds after the case was open she had the rifle assembled with a suppressor extending from the end of the barrel and a scope on the top of the rifle. Running in and taking on all of these guys wouldn't be a good idea, she knew that, so she decided that she would take them out with a bit more finesse. A moment later the blast of the flash bang rang through the air and she raised her rifle. She knew that they wouldn't shoot him before they could learn something, so that gave her the chance that she needed. She knew that the house was between her and the other sniper so right now she was free. She had a great angle from the back of the house to look into the living room. She looked through the scope and grinned widely. This was going to be a fun time.

Only a moment later a small spitting sound that would be lost to the wind came, and a moment later one of the males that was aiming a gun at him cried out in pain as his left knee cap was blown to bits by a round ripping through it. He quickly buckled and a momemt later the fire increased. A half dozen rounds of well-aimed fire began pouring in through the back window, with the rounds whistling over Jason's head in the direction of the well armed men that were standing in front of him.

This whole thing made no sense.

Who the hell where these guys?

Why where they standing in Marty's living room with big fucking guns pointed at him?

Why did they keep calling him Grave and what the hell was the Antomatic?

All these things kept running through his head over and over again but there where no answers for him anywhere. "L....looks man, this has to be some kind of mistake!" his protested, "I'm telling you I'm just a bartender, I don't know anything about any Anomatic or anyone named Grave!"

The man who held the gun on him took a meniceing step forward, pressing the barrel of his weapon, an H&K UPM .45, something Marty somehow knew but didn't know HOW he knew it, to his forehead, "You've got till the count of three to tell me Grave, then your brains are on the couch. One, two...."

The man never made it to three, a series of bullets tore through his body. Marty reeled backwards away from the man, rolling over the top of the couch and landing in a heap on the hard wood floor with a cry of pain. One of the other men opened up, pouring round after round into the couch. It took everything Marty had not to curl into a ball and scream in fear, instead he forced himself to crawl forwards, the bullets punching through the fabric as he moved, narrowly avoiding them and clambered through the bedroom door, kicking the door shut behind him and scuttled around to the far side of the bed.

"Shitshitfuckshitfuckfuckshit." he muttered, covering his hands with his head, "shitshit whatthefuckisgoingon fuckshitshit."

In the living room the man who had opened fire ejected the spent magazine from his weapon and locked a fresh one into place, the others had grabbed cover after the first volley of fire from outside the had dropped their leader. They didn't know where the fire had come from, with all the windows open it was hard to be sure. But this has just complicated matters. One of the men gestured to the man who had taken cover by the stove, indicating for him turn on the gas for the burners. They weren't going to be able to keep this neat and clean anymore. The easiest option now would be to burn the house down with Grave inside. The Antomatic would have to be dealt with later along with whoever was shooting at them.

Anya was relieved to see that the man she had been sent to rescue wasn't just standing there. The bedroom wasn't the best location to go to, but it would provide him with a bit of cover while she finished off the rest of the shooters. Her position providing fire from afar was working well, but she knew that she couldn't let them get entrenched or she would have issues dealing with them. She knew that she couldn't stay right here, but luckily she was prepared for that eventuality. The scope that was attached to the top of the rifle was held on with a quick detach mount that allowed her to quickly grab the sight and pull it off. A set of folding sights were flicked up and a fire selector by her thumb would allow her to shift the weapon into automatic fire. It wasn't a weapon made for close combat, but with her skill she would be able to use it for such. The purse's shoulder strap slid over her shoulder before she took off through the underbrush towards the home that was waiting at the bottom of the small hill. Anya's choice to separate herself from the sniper with the house was paying off right now, but she ken that soon she was going to have to deal with him. There were a lot of different angles to this battle which was what made it difficult.

The wall surrounding the bath tub provided a bit of cover, but soon she reached the edge. She was standing by the left of the back wall where she could see through into the living room. This was when she made her move. Her trained ambidexterity allowed her to swap the rifle into the other hand for her to aim it around the corner. Without any further ado she opened fire again, with muffled spits accompanying three round bursts of automatic fire shooting through the window of the living room. She could tell that they were going for the stove, so her fire was concentrated there and soon a round shot through the neck of the man that was attempting to turn on the gas which definitely prevented him from being able to fulfill his task. At that point her magazine ran dry, requiring her to drop behind cover. She caught the magazine as it fell and slipped it into her bag before grabbing out another magazine of twenty rounds to replace it. She only had sixty rounds for the rifle so she was going to have to fire sparingly if she didn't want to be stuck with just her sidearm.

Another target had entered the combat, the hit team didn't know if this was the same one who had already dropped one of their number was unknown but they had to assume there where at least two hostiles on the field now in addition to Grave. Two of the agents turned to engage the new contact, one laying down a field of suppressing fire to try and keep the new contact pinned down while his partner moved in to flank. The last remaining suit made a run for the bedroom, shouldering the door open and letting off a blind burst of fire in the hopes of hitting the target before Grave had a chance to react.

The rounds whizzed over Marty's head and he let out a muffled cry from his hiding place behind the bed. He heard the squeek of springs as the shooter advanced over the bed and he looked up to see the muzzle of the SMG as it peeked over the edge of the bed. Something in the back of his brain took control and he reached out, locking one hand around the weapon and the other on to the arm of the man holding it and swung, using the gun as a fulcrum to hurl the man into the bed room wall. The man hit the wall, the weapon coming loose from his grip and with a deadly grace Marty spun it around to bring it to level on the man he had disarmed and fired of a clean three round burst into his head. The whole thing happened in under a second and once it was the done the weapon clattered from Marty's hand, "Holy Fuck...." he whispered in shock.

Anya was distracted by the other guys so she didn't notice the one running into the bedroom before it was too late. “Fuck.” She muttered, and a moment later she heard three gunshots. She had the others down so she quickly hurried in. From the angle she entered she could see in the doorway of the bedroom to make out the dead body, and luckily it wasn't Grave's.

When she slammed her back up against the wall next to the doorway she had her rifle in her arms but didn't have her finger on the trigger. She knew that one of her greatest opponents of all time was inside and chances were that he was scared, pissed off, and felt like cornered prey. “Grave! Or whatever the hell you're calling yourself! My name is Anya. I'm here to rescue you. You have to come with me if you don't want to die. There's a sniper outside and I guarantee that there are more mercenaries coming. You need to trust me right now and come out without a weapon. I can get you out of here, but only if you help me.” The blonde called out before slowly peaking around the corner so that he could get a look at the pretty blonde woman that was speaking to him. She wasn't surprised to see him with a dead body in front of him, but the shock that was flashing in his eyes was pretty surprising. She had seen Grave shoot people in the back of the head without blinking, so to see him shocked by the act of killing someone who was actively trying to kill him made it clear that the spy that she had fought with so many times was not the man that she was looking at right now, even if the two of them did inhabit the same body.

His eyes where wide in disbelieve, the weapon laying at his side still smoking from the rounds fired into the now ex-person laying in a heap against the wall, blood slowly draining through the trio of neatly punching holes in his chest. He knew he should be terrified, he knew he should be feeling sick to his stomach and on the verge of vomiting. But instead he felt only a strange calm. Detached from the whole thing as if someone else had been the one to pull the trigger. The disarming, the act itself, everything had been so smooth, so natural as if someone else had taken control over his body and made him to do it.

The sound of a woman's voice made him jump and he snatched the weapon from where it lay on the floor, and spun, bringing it to level with the door, his hand strangely steady for how jumpy he was. "St...stay back. I know how to use this thing and I won't hesitate to shoot!"

There was something familiar about the woman he saw when he turned around. A hazy image as if from a half remembered dream, he knew she was someone he should know, but he didn't know how, didn't know exactly why.

"Tell me what the fuck is going!" he barked, trying to throw some force behind his voice but not having much success.

A soft swear in Russian came when he grabbed the weapon back and raised it. She quickly slid her head back around the wall so that she wouldn't catch a round from it. She had no idea how good he was right now and didn't want a misfire hitting her.

“You might now realize it, but you know a damn important secret! A secret that could change the fate of the world! These guys don't want you to talk. I want you to be safe so you can let it out. Right now that's all you get. Come with me and I'll keep you safe, or else you'll have a team of those jackasses kicking in your door in the next few minutes.” She called back as she reached into her bag. She wouldn't like to use it if she didn't have to, but among the small supply of weapons that Anya had was a Taser that she was ready to deploy. She wouldn't feel bad at all about knocking Grave out if it meant that she could get his ass out of her. She was phrasing it as a choice right now, but in reality she knew that she had no choice. She needed what he knew, so he would come with her voluntarily or would come with his hands tied behind his back and his body twitching from an electric shock.

"I don't know anything lady!" he protested, the weapon stilled trained on the door, hands far more steady than he would think they should have been given the situation, "I'm just a fucking bartender! I'm not....who or whatever you or these guys seem to think I am!" He grip tightened on the weapon his knuckles going white, but his finger resting against the trigger guard, an action that his hands fell into completely on the own.

Outside the sniper swept his weapon back and forth across the house, trying to get a visual on the target, or the other members of the team. He had caught a brief glimpse of the second shooter but the woman was smart enough to keep herself out of the line of fire. "Command, this is West, the rest of the field team has been terminated by a third party. Recommending a drone strike ASAP to terminate Grave and the unknown hostile before they have a chance to escape." he whispered into his radio.

There was a pause of several seconds before the response came, "Roger that West, drone strike has been authorized, paint the target and wait for further orders."

The sniper flipped a switch on one of the mounts on his rifle, engaging the laser designater. The marked would help zero the attack drone in on the house, and allow for a quick and precise strike that wold leave it has nothing more than a pile of smoking rubble on the beach.

Anya was pretty pissed off right now. She had just nearly gotten shot in order to save her life, but now he was standing in his bedroom aiming a gun at her and whining about how his life was falling apart. This was obviously not what she wanted. She knew that they would have very little time before they were attacked again, and right now she was desperate enough that she considered shooting out his kneecap so she could drag him out. Luckily for her right now she didn't want to have to deal with the wound. “God damn it, even if you are just some bartender right now you're a bartender that has a group of well trained thugs trying to kill you! Let me give you some clear options. You come out right now and I save your life, I come in and drag you out unhappily, or you fucking stall and get both of us shot. Don't be a dumbass, Grave, or whatever the hell you think your name is, and let me save your life.” Anya barked back as she readied the Taser in her hand.

Marty tightened his grip on the UMP, taking comfort in the familiar weight of the weapon. It felt as if he had held one of these before a dozen times over. His jaw tensed. Against that name, why did people keep calling him that tonight? "I keep telling you people. I'm a bartender." he growled, not realizing he was speaking Russian as easily as he did English, "you and everyone else who's come through here tonight seems to think I'm someone called Grave. And I'm getting really sick of it."

His finger tightened against the trigger, a gesture that seemed almost casual.

Above the drone cut through the night sky, descending above the resort and zeroed in on the laser marker painting the small beach side house. Weapon's safeties where disengaged as it grew closer, preparing to lay waste to the target inside.

She knew this was going nowhere, and she needed to get going, so there was one option left. Anya knew that this was going to be close. If he got a shot off before she did she could end up dead or at least bleeding from a gunshot, but if she managed to get the strike in first she would be able to pull him out of the building without any difficulties. There was a long moment of silence as the two of them both waited for the other to strike, and then finally Anya made her move. The Russian blonde spun around the corner with only half of her body revealed. The Taser was already up, and with a pull of the trigger the two electric prongs shot out from the weapon and aimed directly towards his body where a good hit would have him trembling on the ground. The moment she fired her body spun back in case his reflexes caused the gun to go off and fire a burst of rounds in her direction.

The two prongs struck him square in the chest, sending 1,200 volts coursing through his systems. Muscles spasamed, his finger tensed on the trigger, letting off the remaining rounds from the weapon in a spray of undirected fire that punched through air, punching through windows and leaving pocket marks in the drywall.

Marty collapsed in a twitching pile on the floor, slack jawed and drooling on the floor.

Anya crouched when he opened up against his will to make sure that none of the rounds hit her. Luckily she got out of it alive and quickly hurried into the room. She grabbed the UMP and sling the strap over his shoulder before grabbing him up. A rifling through hid pockets found his keys which luckily had a car key on it. He would get a feel for how fit she was when she lifted him into a fireman's carry and walked out.

The Jeep Wrangler he had waiting outside was a decent vehicle for a getaway on the island. She stumbled a bit under his weight before getting the door open. She dumped him inside of the passenger's seat and slammed the door shut. The submachine gun was shoved in the foot well by the driver's side door as she slid his keys into the ignition. The engine protested a few times when she turned the key before rumbling to life. "Alright, let's get out of here." She grumbled as she shifted into drive.

The sound of the engine rumbling to life drew the attention of the sniper who quickly snapped his rifle towards the sounds, catching site of car as it pulled away he squeezed off two rounds, the first going wide and the second whizzing between the seats and slamming into windshield of the jeep.

"Rifle One, you're on longer marking the target. What's going on?" squawked his radio.

"Target has left the house, heading westbound in a Jeep Wrangler, change drone course to intercept!"

The drone banked hard, descending over the road, the roar of it's engine drowning out the sounds of the jeep. A high pitched whine filled the air as the twin 20mm Vulcan canon's spooled up before a volley of rounds erupted, chewing up the dirt round behind the truck.

"Gah....what the fuck is it now....." Marty groaned, trying to strain his neck to see what was going on behind them but still feeling the effects of the tazer, "what da fuck is that...."

The sniper round smashing through the windshield caused her to duck, but Anya was lucky enough that the round didn't hit her. She quickly slammed the gas and took off. She thought she would be good, but then she heard the boom of the cannon behind her. They weren't out of danger yet or even close. “You've been living here for a while, right? I need your help. I need to find some cover from the air around here to use to escape. Is there anything else around here that we could use for that? A tunnel? A parking garage? Maybe even a particularly dense forest?” The female agent asked as she glanced up at the drone that was following behind them. She had already adjusted her driving for the threat, with her car shooting back and forth in a spastic and unpredictable zig-zag that would make it hard for the cannon to hit her. The amazingly powerful weapon would tear up the truck that they were driving right now so she knew that she had to find something. This would only lead to them getting killed.

The dirt road was chewed and turned up under the hail of bullets, the drone weaving side to side as it tried to land a steady bead on the speeding Jeep so it could be shredded by 20mm rounds. Marty gritted his teeth and covered his head with his hands, breathing deeply and trying not to throw up. Adrenaline was pounding in his ears, his heart trying to claw its way out through his throat. Why did people keep fucking shooting at him tonight, what had he done to deserve this?

It took several moments before he words settled in. Somewhere they could get away from the thing chasing them? Some place covered? His brain started to shuffle, as if working from some old ideas, maps of the island, details, things he didn't even realize he knew. When he spoke his voice wasn't his own, cold, detached, "Take the next left, we'll pass through a heavy grove, lots of tree coverage then emerge into an area with a heavy civilian population. They won't risk collateral."

“Got it.” She replied before hitting the next left. She had some knowledge of the area, but she didn't know how to get out of this. She was going to have to trust him. The large coverage of trees looked like it would work pretty well. A few thin dirt paths ran through the area between the trees, and above them was a thick coverage of dense foliage that would make it impossible for them to make it out from above. “Right now we're focusing on getting you out of here. I'm heading towards a boat I have waiting that we can take over to Cuba where there is a helicopter waiting for us.” Anya explained over the roar of the engine as she shot down the bumpy path. She could see the area in front of her, a dense market environment that would make it impossible for the attackers to shoot at them without hitting one of the civilians that was walking about and shopping at the stands.

The drone banked off, the heavy presence of civilians providing too dangerous to continue pursuit.

Marty was shaking, yet his mind seemed oddly calm after the whole ordeal, a eerily familiar peace enveloping his mind. He couldn't explain it, didn't understand any of what was going on. He sucked in deep breath after deep breath of warm tropical air, but it was doing little to help calm his nerves, or his stomach.

"Pull over," he wheezed, choking back what was about to come pumping out of his stomach, "Pull over RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW."

Seeing the drone bank away got a relieved sigh out of her. That was one threat gone. As Anya shot down the street she pulled her smartphone out of her pocket and accessed the GPS to figure out where she needed to go to find their waiting vessel. The Russian spy grimaced at his request to pull over but despite how gross that was she couldn't afford to. "Sorry, I can't do that right now. Every moment that we dally is a moment that could be used by our enemies to trap us and kill us. If you have to throw up just don't do it on either of us. Vomit in the back or out the window.". Anya requested as she moved out of the marketplace and continued towards the waiting boat that would be their ticket off of the island.

The coldness of her response caused his anger to boil up, but he remained silent, reaching back to grope blindly in the back seat for a bag or bucket or something he could use, finding an old plastic bag to empty his stomach into before hap hazardly tossing it out the side of car before slouching in his seat. After several moments of silence he spoke, his voice shaky, "What the hell happened back there? Who where those guys, why did they want to kill me and who the fuck are you?"

He wanted answers, needed them, there where things floating around the back of his mind, memories that seemed half formed and hazy, memories of violence, of training. Of killing again and again, and none of it made sense.

Anya continued to drive without much of a response as he threw up. It wasn't the first time she had seen someone throw up, but it's never something she wants to see. Anya frowned when he asked her for details on the current situation.

“I'll tell you all of the details once we reach the safehouse, but until then I can give you a bit of details. You might not know it, but you used to be a spy. Those guys know that you know something that they want being kept secret. They want to kill you to silence what is going on inside of your head. My name is Anya, and I was sent to make sure that you don't get killed by them. I will give you the full story when we get there, but for now just know that I'm here to keep you safe.” She explained in a serious tone as she roared towards the coast.

"Used to be a spy?" He echoed, his confusion at her statement clear, "that doesn't make any fuckin sense. I grew up in Jersey, got my bartending license there. Worked a few different places in Jersey City before getting the job here six months ago. I was never a fuckin spy lady. You have the wrong guy!"

He plucked nervously at the hem of his shorts.

He was just a bartender, wasn't he? He had just killed a man with casual ease, did it was easily as tying a shoe. That wasn't something a bartender should be able to do. He had never fired a gun before and yet had known the number of rounds carried by the weapons his attackers used.

"Let's say I belive you. How do I know you're actually trying to help."