Like all good soldiers, Piper liked to be neat and tidy. His current attire stank and, consequently, he decided to return to his flop above Sar-Bu-Fai's Dojo in Wapping. He told Bob and the Dandy as much, assuring them that he would also bring `the makings' when he returned. What the two men made of `the makings' is unknown but they probably had visions of C9 or something. How would they know that Piper meant tea?

The Dojo was, as usual, a hive of activity and Sar insisted that Piper take a class. He could hardly refuse. His little attic room was free, so long as he pulled his weight helping the ageing Kung Fu Master to train all the wannabe martial arts yuppies.

A cool, cleansing shower, shave and other ablutions after the class made Piper feel like a new man. He donned his black fatigues, stuffed spares, a small gas `Primus' and the makings into a haversack, put on his great coat of many pockets and holsters and headed back to the safe house, pondering.

`Carmichael', a Lord of the Realm and Borstad's employer. He was either the keeper of secrets for the State or a keeper of secrets for his own ends. Either way, someone had wanted those secrets.

When Piper returned to the house he asked the Russian whether her sources would have anything on the Duke of Oxford. Was he a Director on the Board of any Companies? What his personal balliwick was in the House of Lords, did he grind any personal axes there? Did he have a rap sheet?

The answers might point to the person, or people who had it in for the good Lord, and consequently, lead the Team to the next stage of their quest for the missing case.

:: When Piper returns, Tyen is just waking up from her nap. Shrugging her jacket on, she rubs out the little deposits from the corner of her eyes as she shifts from sleep to consciousness. ::

"They're pretty good about keeping tabs on the powerful...'specially those with any sort of political angle. It's should be long enough to see some preliminary answers on our two men. "

:: She smiles almost shyly at Piper as she rises from the cot and steps past him to stand beside and behind the decker, and touches him lightly on the shoulder. ::

"Mind if I..?"

:: She indicates his matrix connection with a nod of her head. ::

As Piper got up to leave, Deuce decided that he too had to go for a while.
"I'm heading out for a bit, myself."
Calling up Fist, his driver, bodyguard and perhaps one of his only friends, it was not long before the limo pulled up outside.
"Head back for a while. The place stinks there," and with that they head back.

After a few minutes of silence, Fist spoke up, "Sir? is everything alright? Showing the team how to do it?" he asked with a chuckle.
Letting out a laugh and not wanting to let Fist know what he really thought, Deuce went along with it, "Yeah of course. Man they need me, I make that team. We'll have this all said and done real soon." Deuce stared out the window Man all this drek is so much bigger than what we were initially lead to believe. We gotta be careful or we'll get fragged

The limo pulled into the underground garage and before Fist could open Deuce's door, deuce was out and headed for the lift. Back in his penthouse suite, Deuce poured himself a shot of brandy, good brandy, and lit a cigarette as he sat on the balcony, overlooking the city.

He pondered through the events of the evening. This is all high end drek. What would a high end person being doing in a low end part of town? The irony was not lost on the elf. he was a 'high end' type of guy working in a 'low end' part of town. But he was hired to do so....Hired? Was Borstad hired by someone to deliver this case? That would explain...well not a lot but maybe a reason as to why he was there. Any self respecting citizen would know better than to walk through any gang area at night, without a weapon, and with a case full of...well full of something important that a group of runners are needed to retrieve. Who would know what is in that case? Carmichael.....that guy. He is Borstad's boss. This Borstad isn't important really at all. He's just a delivery boy striving to be something in the bigger scheme of things. The Justin Carmichael guy seems to be what it is all about. Deuce decided to put in a call to a "friend", Tanya Grisim. The phone rang but no answer. Finally the message machine picked up.

"Hey baby, it's me. I got a name for you to check. Justin Carmichael. Hit me back ASAP. Worth your while." He knew that Tanya had her ways of getting info, and she specialized in the high end type of dirty secrets that tabloids would love. Knowing that he wouldn't get much more thinking done without some sleep, Deuce, went, had his shower and before long, was a prisoner to his own nightmares.

Sandy & Stone

Levering himself away from the wall, Crow stepped toward the duo. He gazed blankly at them for a moment before responding.

"Very well, Shadowrunners, I can give you the information you seek - for a price. One thousand nuyen will buy you a complete profile on them - members, lairs, modus operandi... - or at least as complete as one can get in this city... take it or leave it."

Deuce

Several cigarettes, a nap and a shower later, Deuce rose. Even before he made it to his well appointed wardrobe, he noticed a flashing light on his telecom, denoting the presence of a fresh email.

Tanya had responded quickly - must be a slow night for the secretary, if she was working at all. It was concise and to the point, indicating in and of itself her level of fatigue.

> Subject: Your call.......

> Hey Lover...

> Got your message - sorry I couldn't answer, the Boss was around! I've had a scan
> through the corporate database and looked up some info from a couple of locations.
> This guy's fairly influential - lots of money and a fair few hidey-holes. He's been
> spotted meeting over the last ten years or so with so many different groups that
> people are always trying to fix a definate political assosciation on him - but they
> always seem to be conflicting ideas. Many say corporate - HKB the financier, Zeta-
> Imp-Chem, IWS, loads of others. There are also his ties to the Countess of Snowdon
> and the Tir elves... that stirs up a drek-load of controversy at the Lords, I can tell you.
> He also seems to have a grudge of some kind against Druids in general and the Lord
> Protector in particular - so basically he's not the most popular of guys.
>
> That's about all I could dig up on short notice, so I hope that helps...
>
> Give me a call soon, lover, and for anything other than business, eh?
>
> Love and hugs,
>
> x Tanya x

Tyen & Piper

Bob swiftly shifts out of the way as Tyen settles herself infront of the terminal. The men look away as she inputs codes to get her into the nooks and crannies where she knows she can find the information she wants...

Sandy simply smiles at the price....he wasnt asking much, but everybody knows that you should never except the first offer, whatever kind it was!! Smiling at the greasy man..."That sounds a little steep... bearing in mind that for that price we could probably hire a decker to find out the same information, and maybe even get change!"

If the early morning had been fresh, by mid morning the `safe house' was beginning to descend into a dank and drear environment. There was little to be done until the Team could pool their various results so, as is the wont of soldiers when waiting for the battle, Piper decided to have a brew.

The small Primus, billy of water heating and the tea bag in his metal mug, he sat on one of the folding chairs, leaning it back against a wall. His pocket secretary beeped at him with a text message reminding him that he was due to take two classes the next day. Depends how quick we get the case back old friend. Piper smiled ruefully as he stood and added the now boiling water to his mug.

Some after image from checking his messages, played on Piper's mind as he mashed the teabag, turning water to a thick brown tannin filled beverage. Sitting once more, steaming mug in hand, he brought up the data that the Johnson had provided on the unfortunate Mr Borstad.

The post mortem report was extensive, and largely in medical gobbledegook, but Piper had seen enough, and done enough on the battlefield, not to be daunted. Borstad was male and fairly tall, 6 foot and a bit. He was Caucasian and had died of impact trauma; that much was clear and held no surprises. It was the in depth examination which, despite the verbiage, brought enlightenment.

The images of Borstad's head, where it had hit solid concrete, were not pretty, even though the blood, which must have been plentiful, had been swabbed away by the pathologist. One eye had spurted from its socket, like the pus from a boil, and the nasal bone had been forced back into the cranium, slicing through the frontal lobes of Borstad's brain. Death would have been instantaneous. Of course the small gold wires attached to the eye, trailing back into the orbit, suggested a little cyber enhancement.

Piper scanned further, looking for the other cyberware features he felt sure would be there. "Zeiss Optical Replacements - Brown #12 - Serial No. AP/224-81C-44LT". So the guy had bionic eyes. A data jack on his left temple which, according to the report, had been made by Shiawase. The Shiawase name cropped up again for a cyber memory implant, rated at 200 megapulses.

The pathologist had been thorough, which was good, better in that he had even gone so far as to make an assessment of surgical scarring. According to him, Borstad had been operated on to remove, what the pathologist guessed, was a smartlink, some five years ago.

This man was no ordinary soldier, yet his files on the Catterick database hadn't mentioned cyber enhancements. Ergo, he'd either got them for covert ops whilst still in the Service, or he'd had them done after he'd left the mob. But why have them taken out again?

Piper finished his tea, noting the only other item of interest about the dead man. A Wyvern coiled around a sun and moon motif tattooed onto his left bicep. It was an unusual device, very emblem like. Certainly not the usual `Mother' or a Girl's name in a romantic heart. No, this was much more like a badge, an indication of belonging to some organisation. Not military, Piper felt sure. Political or religious then? Yet another question to find an answer to.

Deuce smiled at the response from Tanya
Nice chick, good for more than one thing, that's for sure... and with that he made sure a copy of the letter was printed up. He went through his morning ritual (which, in his lifestyle, almost never occurred in the actual morning), cigarette, breakfast delivered to his room, cigarette, shave, shower, cigarette and finally to get dressed. On his way out the door, he grabbed the letter off of the printer, folded it and put it in his jacket pocket.

The ride down to the safehouse was less than eventful, usual traffic, idle chit chat with Fist, a puff on his cigarette. He looked over the letter from Tanya
Seems this guy either didn't know who he wanted to be friends with, or knew exactly who he wanted as friends....

Heading in the back of the safehouse. Seeing Tyen made him smile, he looked over to Bob and Piper Man don't these guys ever leave or do anything else other than just sit here? But, not in the mood to start any drek, he just decided to play friendly.
"Morning everyone." Noticing that Tyen was a little busy, and figuring she was the type of chick who didn't liked to be disturbed, Deuce made his way over to Piper "Here," he said handing him the letter from Tanya, "Seems our Mr Carmichael wasn't everyone's favourite person"

Reading the concise script, which the Dandy had handed him, only served to bolster Piper's own assessment. Enemies aplenty, that was for sure. He speculated, for the Dandy's benefit.

"Suppose that you had some highly sensitive material or documents that you couldn’t trust to a courier service or the matrix. How would you get them from A to B? I'll tell you. You'd use an experienced and trusted servant. One that could take care of themselves in a tight corner.

Which is what, I believe, the Duke of Oxford did. Only Borstad fell foul of one too many of those aforementioned enemies. The movement of the case was known; its content suspected, if not confirmed, as being mightily harmful to someone.

So, who has the muscle to put a hit on Borstad in the Squeeze at short notice?" Piper tapped the letter. "According to this, we can take our pick." He stood and went to make more tea. "Our Mr Borstad was a soldier with cyber eyes and a memory chip in his head. The post mortem report says so. What it doesn't say is whether anyone downloaded the memory implant."

Stirring his tea, Piper returned to his chair and sat down, looking pointedly at the Dandy, Bob and the Russian, just jacking out. "The body's down at the Municipal morgue. Perhaps we should take a look at it in person."

"Good, idea, when do you wanna go?" asked Deuce A little sneak in and take a peak... Then Deuce got to thinking, "Hmmm, I wonder if any of those people have any connection to this gang that jumped him? I would hate to think that it was just random chance"

"If the memory chip is still intact, we may even be able to look at that data. Would definately be good idea."

"Agreed, and now is as good a time as any. But we make it Military my friends. The Morgue wont let just anyone in you know." Piper sipped his tea. "I have my own gear, but Bob, Tyen and you need to look… well, a little less streetwise and more Services, otherwise we'll never get in."

The Irishman stood up and went to his haversack, pulling out several drab green and dull black pieces of clothing. He placed them, still neatly folded, on the table. "Here, see if anything fits." He moved back to his chair. "We'll also need some paperwork. Official looking, stating that we're authorised to examine the body for…. for systems recovery? You can leave that to me."

Whilst the others looked disgustedly at the army fatigues, the Irishman put another call through to his one time friend, Corporal Umar. Within minutes Piper was able to download four passes and a requisition.

The former identified Dr. Lovelace, for Tyen; Professor Hangstram for Bob; Pte. Pettigrew for the Dandy and Sargent Unwin for himself.

Whilst the latter contained the necessary identification and authorisation to recover MOD property namely, 2 (two) Zeiss Optical replacements - Model 12 - Natural Effect Brown - serial No. AP/224-81C44LT, from the cadaver identified as Robert O E Borstad.

"All set?" Piper looked at Bandwidth Bob. "The PM report states that Borstad has a data jack. While Tyen and Deuce fiddle about with the optics, download that memory implant if you can. We can't abstract it, we don't have the expertise, so you'll be our best bet."

Looking at the army clothes deuce wasn't quite sure if he was willing to try them on.
"Hmmm are we going to storm the morgue?" he let out a chuckle, "Shouldn't we try to pose as more....serious....military members?"

"Hmmm are we going to storm the morgue?" he let out a chuckle, "Shouldn't we try to pose as more....serious....military members?"

"We will be my dandy friend, though you may not find its cut to your liking. This is what all the best dressed Military types wear, when they're not on the battlefield.

Though now you mention it, Tyen would look more convincing in a white lab coat I feel… and horn rimmed spectacles perhaps." Piper smiled and raised an eyebrow at the woman as he picked up his greatcoat and turned toward the dandy. "I do believe you have a conveyance somewhere around, do you not Mr Deuce? If it has a small standard holder on the front, a Union Jack would not go amiss."

The Irishman waited for the others as they got changed. "The Municipal Morgue is in the basement of the Kings Teaching Hospital, the other side of the Thames. Tell your driver to cross via Waterloo Bridge and make for Stamford Street and the Hospital's main entrance."

Piper had been there several times in his life. Only once as a patient with a fairly serious gunshot wound. The other times, it had been less traumatic, but nonetheless painful whilst visiting good friends. Kings is world renowned for its treatment of cancer, still the greatest killer of bipeds, whatever their Metatype.

The place is enormous, twelve stories high and sprawled over nearly half a square mile. The Elven dandy's driver would have no trouble parking, the concourse leading into the Hospital, through two security barriers, is over fifty yards wide with a public carpark. Though a `Jack' on the bonnet would aid their passage considerably.

Safehouse/Morgue-Raid Crew

Bob gulps, looking at the fatigues. "I'm sure I'll be able to download something from his headware - if there's anything to be had... but, aah, there might be a little problem... you see... I, aah, I am scared of - you know - hospitals. Especially morgues. They have Dead People in them!"

The others stared at him for a while, as he cringed back at them. Under a plethora of withering stares, he folded. "Okay, okay... it will be done. But do not expecting me to like it!"

Sandy & Stone

Crow grunts, a gutteral sound that comes up from his tall black boots and fairly spews out of his lips.
"You are right, I suppose, but I tell you - you would not get half the goods I have on these guys... I am a professional, as are my guys... an gangers don't normally get too much scan in the 'Trix, so ka? You want the street, you go through the street. And you pay the street's damn price."

Crow relaxed back against the wall again, crossing his feet over and folding his arms. "But that said, I'll make you a deal. Drop the price to seven-fifty - but in return I'll want some payback - you deal with the Rattlers or find out anything... useful... you tell me, capiche? It goes in their profile for next-time and puts you back in my good books after dragging my pricing structure through the drekker. Gotta have standards, you know?

Tyrone

The mammoth, expansive Tyrone reclined - as was his wont - in an easy chair. It was all well and good for the others to go gallivanting off to hospitals or dodgy street-folk, but why bother when the work can do itself and get back to you?

The feelers that the Fridge had put out were obviously starting to filter through - as Tyrone found out when his cell-phone rang.

"Ty - it's Sol. A'ight mate? Lissen - some bird jus'come in tryin' ta flog off a load of dodgy shite. Anyway, I was a negative on your problem 'til I went through the wallet she 'ad. Credstick's gone of course, an' the moola, but there was a hidey-hole in the stitching (you get to know about crap like this in the trade, get it)? Anyway, there was a couple of fifties - which I'm keepin' for all the hard work - but you'll never guess what was wrapped up in 'em! An ID passcard for some slag... you guessed it! It's your man - Borstad.

Sandy smiles sweetly... one because she has lowered the price to a reasonable level and two because she has just got the information she has been after. "I'll tell you what my friend..." using her choice of words very deliberately "... you have yourself a deal, not only that but lets call it a nice round eight hundred for your trouble? that way we all know there is no hard feeling!" and with that she pulls out her credstick, arranges the money transfer and downloads the profiles held on this gang.


Giving the appropriate thanks they head out of Crows nest and Sandy climbs back into the landrover... heading back to the safehouse to read up on the information held on these chummers!

:: Tyen looks at the fatigues, then at Piper before realization to what he proposes dawns on her face, which takes on a horrid look of fear. ::

"Nyet! I never go out without mask and glasses."

"To each her own I suppose." Piper smiled. "Not a problem Doctor Lovelace. Change the mask for a green or white surgical type and keep the glasses. Anyone asks, tell 'em they're special cyberlinked microscopes or something."

"That was nicely done," Stone murmured as they walked along the darkened street back towards their vehicles. "I fear my skills at bargaining and compromise are less than yours, and dragging useful information out of Crow can often be time-consuming."

Sandy & Stone

Quickly scanning through the old-school hardcopy file that Crow had given them, Sandy and Stone find some interesting information.

The Rattlers, led by one "Slick Nic" - real name Nicholas Baker - are apparently a small-time gang of twenty or so members who have been floating around for years in the London gang scene. They "lay claim" to a fairly large area of London - for a gang of their size at any rate - which they share with some other groups.

Primarily (and herein lies the reason for the sharing of territory), the Rattlers are a tubey gang, with the boundaries of their patch set (currently) at Elephant & Castle to the south and Waterloo to the north - a three station stretch of the Bakerloo line. They also maintain a hideout somewhere in service tunnels or fresh-dug holes between there and the adjascent stretch of the Northern line.

Whilst the dossier details their usual activities as "Commuter Molestation," they are also noted to have a (however infrequent) presence above ground at the ganger-parties known as the "Hed-Gangers' Balls" which take place in both Archbishop's Park and Jubilee Gardens alternately - usually a monthly occurance.

The dossier goes into some detail on this - the Balls being quite the Lambeth event in the Gang Social Callender. It appears that the Balls are a sort of "Truce Dance" for the gangers, where various groups will socialise without thought to feud or enmity - or so the theory goes. It is usually led each time by a single gang. The last time the Rattlers presided over the function was four months ago, with Slick Nic organising live music at the event. According to reports, the event could almost have been considdered civilised. Only two (unconfirmed) deaths were reported. A record for the Ball.

Of most important note is the log for the last week. Although no specific details are available from the dossier, the Rattlers all attended a party three nights ago - the night of Borstad's death - at a building in Old Paradise Street, only one road away from the building where the man died.

"If you have the Union Jack to go on the car, that's fine," says Deuce, lighting up a cigarette, "We'll waltz in the front door, convince the runt who's at the desk to let us in for 'special business' and then right back out, piece of cake."

:: Tyen sighs and nods a slight smile in return to the one offered by Piper and the barest hint of a blush at his idea of her in horn rimmed glasses. ::

"I suppose I could try, but make it high quality please. My mask does more than protect identity, also protects my lungs which don't like english air."

"In that case, I'd better go shopping first" With that Piper went out into the bright sunshine of London's west end.

For well over three hundred years the Metropolis had been a tourist attraction. And where there are tourists, there are traders. Not two hundred yards from Prince's House, on the junction of High Holborn and Kingsway, there were five shops selling all those little trinkets and novelties which are so beloved of wandering foreigners. Cheap tat, of course, but just right to take home for friends and family, just to prove that the giver had, indeed, been to the Capital.

Picking up a small Union Jack was, therefore, a moments work. The surgical mask was not so easy. However, the broad front of Galencamp & Towers, just along Theobold Road on the corner of Harper Street, provided the answer. Their shop, in one of the ornate Georgian buildings, had been there since the early nineteen hundreds, as Piper knew from his time at the Woolwich barracks and the Quartermaster's store. Most, if not all, of the MOD medical equipment was supplied from the Company.

"Surgical masks?" Piper grinned at the lass behind the counter. "Two white. One green. A pack of disposable latex gloves. Oh, and a white lab coat, size twelve."

The woman gave Piper a strange look and abstracted the items from the shelving behind her. "Paying or charge?" She raised an eyebrow as she nodded at the Irishman's obvious military attire.

Piper had been prepared to pay but…. He grinned. "Charge it to the Arsenal. Quartermaster Corporal Umar. We've a body to inspect and I don't have time to go all the way back over the river."

"Not a problem." She packaged the items and pushed them toward Piper over the counter. "Anything else Sir?" Making it clear she was seeing a uniform, not the man.

"Thanks, but not just now." Piper gave her a full smile as he picked up the package and headed back to the safe house.

Idle chatter greeted him as he appeared. "Here we are." Handing the flag to Deuce, smiling. "Something for your car Sir." The brown paper parcel he handed to Tyen, with a gracious smile. "Hope I got the right size."

Smiling, Sandy feels that by doing the work with Crow might have got her into Stone's good graces! and it was never a bad thing to be in a mans good graces... after all, she may be better at bargining prices and finding out information, but when the drek hit the fan... she wanted to be stood just behind someone like Stone!

Reading through the dossier with interest she picks up her pocket secretary... uses the micro scanner in-built to the side of the object and sends a copy to the pocket sec's of everbody else in the group, as well as saving a copy for herself.

"So, whats your take on this then?" she says addressing the man-mountain stood next to her, "if they were paid to do the job then for a bit more money they might be open to payment as to who wanted it done, or at least shed a little more light on the subject." pausing briefly she the gives the alternitive, "Or they could chew us up and spit us out!"

:: Tyen smiles as she takes the bag and the clothes and heads into the bathroom. The smock is a bit on the big side, but she is relieved that it is just big enough to effectively disguise her armor underneath. Trying on the surgical mask, she breaths a few times in deep and wrinkles her hidden nose at the stale smell the mask gives off as opposed to her own standard mask. Pulling the mask down around her neck, she heads back out to rejoin the group. Holding her arms out slightly, she almost looks like a young girl trying on clothes for her mother. ::

"How does it look?"

:: Her face seems to expect the worse, feeling herself like she's no more convicing than a kid on halloween. ::

Eyeing up Tyen, Deuce had to smile Kinda cute...
"Looks good," he says, "So now that you guys have your new clothing on, I can call up the ride, and we're on our way?"

"Wait one. I have some information from sources."

:: Tyen moves back to the computer and instead of making Bob move, she just leans over and reads off the bits of information she was able to glean. ::

"I have both home and office address for Charmicael. Look like Borstad was low profile enough to have nothing worth speculating on except for the usual naughty rumors expected when a man becomes a live in servant with unknown duties."

:: She halfway chuckles at that before continuing. ::

"It is believed that Charmichael was publicly critical of Lord Marchment, but there is much speculation on the depths to that dislike. Also seen with Duchess of Snowdon enough for some to draw distasteful references, though he's also rumored to be seeing a woman named Elise Patrick.

:: She shakes her head slightly. Mutter the next bit more to herself than anyone else. ::

"I never understand why half of rumors always involve sex in some way. I think the world is repressed or something. The rich usually don't have nearly the sex life we envision for them. Money makes men impotent."

:: She clears her throat slightly and continues. ::

"He also has frequent enough dealings with Zeta-Imp-Chem and "HKB" the financial giant to make it interesting. His home is well guarded, no information on security at office."

:: Standing up, she looks to the decker and appears to think a moment. ::

"Do you think you can obtain security data on office?"

The response from Bob was noncommittal, more because his mind was on his impending meeting with the corpse of Robert Borstad than of any inability to obtain the necessary information. Tyen let it ride, knowing she would press the point once the memory chip had been recovered.

Piper stared at the woman. Horn rimmed glasses notwithstanding, she looked ...he didn't have the right superlative. Instead he swallowed hard and stuck to business. "Useful data, and we'll have to follow it up - after we get the memory chip." He headed for the door, anticipating the others would follow.

Fist seemed elated with the small flag blowing in the breeze over the limousine's bonnet as he drove the runners to the Municipal morgue. The note that they had left for Stone and Sandy was prominent on the consul keyboard and the hope that this element of the job wouldn't take long should set their minds at ease.

Stamford Street and the towering edifice that was the King's College Teaching Hospital heave into view. It may have been the Jack pennant or the sleek lines of the limo which made the first barrier lift without any sort of check on the vehicles occupants, but the second was a different story. A burly, grey uniform and sidearm held its hand up, halting their progress.

"Business?" `Grey Uniform' stared at the hapless Fist waiting for a reply. Piper leant across the driver, sensing corded muscles, tense and ready for fight or flight.

"M.O.D. business. Down in the morgue." Piper stared at the security man, daring him to enquire further.

"Papers!" Obviously this one was no fool. Piper abstracted the requisition from the Arsenal, passing it across Fist and holding it wide open for the man to read in its entirety. He didn't bother, the logo at the top fixed his gaze and he merely grunted.

"Take the off ramp over there. Park up in one of the bays allocated to the morgue. You can't miss em." He stood erect and waved to the small security cabin by the barrier and it lifted clear.

Fist gunned the car, suddenly remembered he wasn't the getaway man and tapped the brake. Sedately, the limo tooled down the ramp into the well lit underground car park. As the guard had said, you couldn't miss the morgue spaces. Two black vans, unmarked and highly polished, their rear doors toward the wall, were obviously hearses, ready to transport corpses at the beginning of their final journey.

The fore exited the limo, Deuce giving final instructions to Fist, before they went inside. Paperwork to get past a guide was one thing, paperwork for a Pathologist was something else again. Piper handed the requisition to Tyen.

"I'm thinking you'll be far better at the art of persuasion than I, me lass. It's the eyes the MOD wants remember."

The autopsy room was cold, stainless steel cold, and the rows of drawers beckoned with an imaginary bony finger.

"May I help you?" The runners started at the sudden sound and whirled as one to look at the bespectacled, dwarf of a woman in a green surgical gown.

ugh dwarven women are so ugly thought Deuce. Though not too sure if he'd rather charm a dwarven lady or muck around on a dead fragger, he decided that maybe he'd be of more use as a distraction to the lady than playing mortician. He motioned for Piper to hand him the papers stating their "official" business.
"Ah yes ma'am, we're with the M.O.D, on official business here," he said with a smile to the lady. Deuce waved his hand, signalling to the others to keep working away. "I would be more than happy to sit down with you and discuss our business with you," he took the dwarven hand and gave it a brief kiss on top, cringing on the inside, "My name is General Griffin, "
I can't remember what my name is supposed to be, and it doesn't matter to this ugly piece of work thought Deuce as he gently put one hand on the dwarf's back to gently lead her into an office.

:: Tyen is happy to hand the documents over, knowing she rarely does well directly under observation. However, seeing the confused yet stern look on the stocky womans face, Tyen nods and leans forward to comment, adding a little magical potency to her rather pathetic encouragement. ::

"He's really quite charming."

With a distinct glazing over of her eyes, the corroner allows herself to be led back into her office by the "charming" hands of "General Griffin."

Bob watches them leave. And Watches. And watches some more. It's not until he's nudged, in fact, that he makes any move at all.

"Okay okay... where is the body then, Irish?"

It takes the combined effort of Tyen and Piper to find Borstad - with no help from Bob, who cowers near the door. Within two minutes, the corpse is out on display, the freezer drawer clouding with condensation.

Bob shuffles nervously over to the cadaver and regards it from at least three feet away. After a quick nervous tick of the jaw, he spools out a cable from his deck and hands the end to Piper. "Stick the pointy end in his 'jack."

Although the others look at him like he's a dunse, he stands his ground. "I'm not touching that if I don't have to. And don't expect me to ever use that cable again. That's like... necrophilia or something."

While the Irishman fiddles with the jack, tittering laughter can be heard from the Corroner's office as the Dwarf giggles at Deuce's quips. In a short time, Bob's deck is powered up and fairly sucking information from Borstad's skull. Three minutes, and it's all over.

"I have it all. There was a datalock, but I broke it - we're ready to leave. Can we leave now?"

:: Tyen nods and zips the bag back up before sliding Borstad back into his temporary tomb. With a solid thud, the door is shut and latched and she looks to Piper. ::

"I'll get the dandy. Meet you in the Limo."

:: Heading back down the hallway, she knocks on the door before letting herself in and is thankful that the glasses hide her rolling eyes. ::

"General, something has come up and we need be leaving."

:: She takes great pains to eliminate the Russian accent from her speech. ::

Decideding that it would be better to meet up with the rest of the group, rather then go find this gang with just her and Stone. Sandy turns the engine of the Landrover over and listens as it rumbles into life, its mildly tuned engine hiding the amount of eqipment stored inside.

Getting back to the celler a little quicker then Stone on his motorbike, Sandy walks in and looks around the room... seeing the note and the left over soycaf and bread and things, she picks up the bread and happily munches on it while reading the note, realising that she and Stone hadnt been the only ones at work. She smiles happily, she enjoys working with professionals...espeically when they all work so well as a team. They are the people you can count on.

Sitting in the little office, Deuce tells the dwarf stories about his "military duty" and places he 'served" and finally to the people he's had dinner with from the social elite because of who he is. The idle chit chat lasting only minutes while the others worked away, felt like hours to the elf. Finally there was a quiet rapping at the door.
"General, something has come up and we need be leaving."
Thank whatever totem you want thought Deuce. "Ah yes, I'll be right there," he stands up and looks at the dwarven woman, noticing the look of disappointment in her eyes, "Well my dear, I must be going, duty calls, things need to be done, and someone has to do them," he gives her a cool smile.
"Will I ever see you again?"
Oh frag I hope not
"But of course, I will call, maybe a night on the town?"
"Oh yes sir!" she says with a giggle.
"Excellent," and he kisses her hand and smiles. She stays in her chair, and watches as deuce follows tyen out the door, closing it behind him.
"Holy drek, what took so long?" he says to the others as they head out of the dimly lit hallway.

As the others walk into the small underground room where they have been camped out since yesterday, Sandy looks up from the file that she is re-reading and smiles warmly at the group dressed up in their military clothes.... "Have we been playing dress up then boys and girls?! Stone and I went and checked out a couple of contacts, and we got this from one of them.... I havew already scanned it and sent a copy to your Pocket Secretaries, so everyone has a copy. It has a few interesting things to say about this gang. I was woundering what the next course of action should be? I was contemplating weather or not we should go see the gang direct and see if we can ask what they are up to."

The already pale Bandwidth Bob blanches further at the suggestion. "Ya, great idea. You do that. I have to be elsewhere, though... I have an, erm, appointment. Yes, that's it..."

Deuce chuckles at the cowboy's reaction, then quickly regains his composure.
"Not a bad idea, but I don't think the direct approach works well with gangs...anywhere." he lights up his cigarette, "I say we pool our information, lay it all out and see where we're at exactly, leave nothing out."

Nodding vigorously, Bob heads over to the corner and fishes out his old Fuchi deck, slotting the power cord into the wall. "While you do that, I'll go through what I got from the cor... corp... from Borstad. I'll sort it and feed it back out for us to go over..."

"Okay then," taking a puff from his cigarette, "Borstad, a man with a briefcase as we originally were told, taking a walk to someplace, has the misfortune of not packing heat, or in general, outnumbered, ambushed or something to that nature. His little briefcase, stolen, as I think anyone would expect. Did these people know who their target was? or was it wrong place wrong time for the fragger who's now a cold slab downtown?"

"Personally I think there is something deeper in all of this... I think he or the guy he worked for made a deal and he was double crossed, killed and the briefcase stolen."

"I agree. Borstad was Carmicheal's bitch, that seems to be no secret. Why would he venture out alone into a less than respectable neighbourhood? And did his employer know?"

"I would be willing to bet its his employer that helped set up whatever has happened... and then the employer along with Borstad has been double crossed. Maybe Borstad was asked to go because of his military history, maybe they thought he could handle himself?"

The ex-master sergeant listened intently to what the rest of the team had to say. “We now have whatever was in Borstad’s memory chip, once Bob’s deciphered it.” Piper put a pan of water on to boil.

“From what I found in the Squeeze, the hit on Carmicael’s courier was just that. A hit. He wasn’t herded into the tenement by the Gang, he went there by appointment. The Gang were the reason he went up two flights of stairs though. But the fire escape out of the second floor had been rigged, I found fresh hacksaw marks on the ironwork.” He mashed tea and stirred it thoughtfully.

“From everything that’s been said, I get the impression that the Duke’s London office might be worth our attention.” He looked at Tyen. “34 Park Lane or something? Anyway, a night visit might be appropriate, so who’s good with Security systems?”

Sandy smiles wickedly...."Well im good with security guards!! anything to brighton up a dull evening!" then looking thoughtful she comes up with a plan in her mind...

"although anther way to tackle it would be to get a security rigger in on the job, have him take over the system and lock any phonelines that may be used to call backup as well as switching off locks and cameras that would ID us. It would have to be done subtly.... then we have a team go in, either covertly so any security guards dont see us, or I go in and distract them. While that is being done the team head into the office and go information seeking. I shouldnt think the attention of a security rigger would cost much for a one building hit. If you want I dare say I could set us up with one."

Smiling inwardly...she is sure that its a good plan, not only does it stop anyone being picked up on but it would be a precise and co-ordinated operation.

The team are busily making plans when Bob jacks out from his cyberdeck and approaches them. Waiting until there is a lull in the conversation, he slaps down his roll-out screen in the centre of the group.

"Problem, mein freunds - I don't think Mr Borstad was taking that walk at the will of his boss...

"The cybereyes had a still-photo camera in them - these are the images I pulled off his headware memory..."

The group crowd around the little screen as Bob puts on a little slideshow for their benefit. All the pictures seem to be of Carmichael, taken from angles other than ideal, and showing him speaking with various parties.

"I've already got a smartframe trying to put names to those faces, but I think our Mr Borstad may well have been a plant...

:: Tyen is silent and listens as the team goes over their information, seemingly at first to just be restating the same questions that were asked before the investigation had begun. She begins to remove the overcoat and the surgical mask and pushes her glass up on top of her head as Piper begins to give his assessment. ::

:: As he turns his attention to her she smiles slightly and nods at the address quoted. Her mouth opens to answer his question but the elf woman interjects and directs the conversation beyond that point and into a torrent of brainstorming. Unfortunately, during the next pause in the conversation, she is again preempted with Bob's timely information. The silence that follows Bob's assessment stretches just long enough for Tyen to decide to try again, though her voice is anything but agressive. ::

"It looks like Borstad's job was spying, and spies usually only watch what worth spying on. Carmichael's office still best bet. We should find out what Borstad was looking for, maybe will tell us what was in case."

:: She seems to think before mumbling to herself. Her thumb and forefinger absently pulling on her lower lip as she gets lost in her thoughts. ::

"Perhaps we are working for Borstad's real employers.... he was exmilitary, maybe government, definately covert, perhaps antigovernment? most likely not terrorists.. to covert for their tastes.... highly possible it's corporate sponsored, they like ex military and are much more ruthless than most governments..."

:: Looking up realizing it's still quiet in the room aside from her ramblings she blushes as she realizes everyone was listening. ::

"Oh..sorry, just thinking out loud."

“If Borstad was a spy, which seems to be more than likely now, a visit to the Duke’s office is even more useful.” Piper sipped tea. “Some suits have it in for Carmichael, that’s obvious. Which suits needed the data Borstad stole, we should find out. At least that way we’ll know who we’re really working for.”

He drained his mug. “The other thing that comes to mind is Who assassinates the assassin?, or in this case who bumped off the spy? Whoever it was plays rough, so we should be ready to shoot first. Also, Carmichael’s office has already lost something, their security will be very tight.” He crossed to the table and put his makings away. “Bob, see if you can match any of the faces from Borstad’s optics to the Corporate hierarchy. It might tell us who the Duke trusts, or not.”

Piper went back and rearranged his chair. Sitting and stretching his legs onto another chair, he looked at the time. “It’s four p.m. which means it’s a good four hours before dark. I suggest we all catch forty winks before the fun starts.” With that, Piper pulled his forage cap down over his eyes and allowed himself to drift off.

:: Tyen nods and turns to head into the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she strips down out of her armor and clothing before taking a short lukewarm shower. Only long enough to wash the grit of the city from her sensitive skin and thick hair. Afterwards, she sits on the locker room style bench and carefully wipes down her form fitting body armor with a slightly soapy wet cloth before drying each section with a clean towel. Once completed, she dons her second skin carefully and over that she dresses in a nearly identical ensemble of dark heavy weight pants, a grey thermal and a a heavy synthetic wool pullover in a muddy shade of red. ::

:: Pulling her fingers through her tangled wet hair, she smooths it out and wrings the excess water from the ends over the small rusted drain in the center of the room. Once she has relinquished the large washroom, she spies Piper's tea impliments and smiles. Heading in their direction, she tries to be as quiet as possible as she goes through the motions, assuming he's already asleep and she'd hate to wake him. ::

:: Deciding to leave the cot available for her "guests", she settles into the corner and uses her towl as a cushion. Closing her eyes, she inhales the aroma of the bitter tea and sighs as she feels tensions ease just enough to be discernable. The small dose of therepy is finished quickly enough and Tyen wraps herself in her leather coat and lays her head on her knees. Her dark hair falls forward and as it covers the pale skin of her face, it seems to swallow up the last of the light in the corner. The shadows embrace their sister. ::

"I can take a stab at who'd bump off a spy, the person who they're spying on. If an associate were spying on me, I'd have the person fragged twice over" says Deuce as Piper and Tyen each started to get ready for their naps. Deuce then puts out the lst of his cigarette and stands up, "Well I, for one, am starved," Deuce smiles at Sandy, "Care to join me for dinner?" He glances at Stone then back to Sandy, "Your friend may also join us."
Though a shower and a decent suit wouldn't hurt him

"To be honest I havent slept since yesterday night and im shattered, if you dont mind I would rather just get some sleep!" and with that Sandy follows by Tyen's example and goes for short shower (making sure the door is locked!) before stretching out on the bed for a short cat nap....

As Sandy goes into the bathroom, Deuce just stands there for a moment
"Bah, women..." he mutters and leaves, knowing that Fist would be there shortly to pick him up.