INT. UNDERGROUND DC PARKING GARAGE. BOTTOM LEVEL. NIGHT.
Libra's footsteps echo off the walls. Flickering neon light buzzes. In the corner of the garage a whole sector of lights has gone dark. Shadows thicken. A lighter flickers in the darkness as a cigar is lit.
LIBRA: Carthago. Countersign?
CENTURION: Delenda est. Sort of overly dramatic don't you think?
LIBRA: Not paid to think. What is the assignment?
CENTURION: The Wing thinks it's time to lay a little blue smoke between the mirrors. Take the heat off our team and torch the other side. That's your job.
LIBRA: Fine. How wet does the Wing want it to get?
CENTURION: We project that if three team members are put down it should put a stop to any attrition in 2014.
LIBRA: Wouldn't taking out just one serve the same purpose?
CENTURION: No. It has to look like a pattern.
LIBRA: Fine. Any particular team members you need erased?
CENTURION: Nobody from Chicago or San Francisco. And from safe seats only. We need to preserve the count. Renegade's very keen on that.
LIBRA: Level of obfuscation?
CENTURION: None. Public and messy. "Accidents" would be counter productive. But no families. Renaissance would be upset.
CENTURION: Within the next 10 days. It would be best if all three were within the same day.
LIBRA: You want target clearance and notification?
CENTURION: No. This will be the last contact for this contract.
LIBRA: Half to the Bahamas account by noon tomorrow and the half on completion to our friend in Costa Rica.
LIBRA: Anything else?
CENTURION: No. If we need you again we can always find you.
LIBRA: That's what you people always think. Oh, by the way, was that stuff about you getting naked with Renegade over the golf weekend the real deal?
CENTURION: Just get it done.
FADE TO BLACKPosted by Vanderleun at February 21, 2013 10:49 PM