Post by Peggy Carter on Mar 27, 2017 5:29:28 GMT
A SMILE LIKE A LOADED GUN
The call from the king's advisor had come at four in the morning; thirty minutes later, Peggy was on the first flight out of Manhattan. It was a six-and-a-half-hour flight to London, but Peggy wasn't wasting a moment of it. The attack on Liberterram was a fucking outrage, and the fact that news trickled in slower than a dried-up water fountain had made it so much more infuriating. But the country's communications network had been targeted; any updates on the attacks had to be smuggled out of the country. And Peggy understood the risk that their informants had taken to get the news to them, because (as she was starting to remember), once upon a time, she had been one of them.
There was an abrupt lurch from the plane as it finally touched down on Old England soil; Peggy stepped out a few minutes later, mobile phone pressed against her ear as she spoke to the panicked advisor on the other line. "I'm here," she said briskly. She'd been awake for over thirty hours by now, was starting to feel the exhaustion seeping into her bones, but neither her face nor voice showed it. Waving to her usual driver, who was waiting in front of a shiny black sedan parked on the tarmac, she added to the advisor, "I'll reach Whitehall in twenty minutes, at the MoD--"
"No, not there," she heard the advisor say. His voice was muffled, as though he was trying not to be overheard. "Head to the old War Office; have the car drop you at the next building, and enter through the back. "
Peggy arched an eyebrow, but repeated the order to her driver, who nodded and pulled out of the airport. As the advisor relayed further instructions, Peggy's gaze flitted to her personal assistant, Vera, who was sitting quietly beside her and doing her best to suppress a yawn. Placing a hand over the speaker, Peggy leaned over and murmured to her driver, "Carl, please make a stop at the usual hotel; we'll see Vera off first." Peggy would have to get through the day without sleep, but there was no reason why her poor assistant had to suffer the same.
They'd dropped Vera off at the hotel and the next destination was Peggy's, a white, neo-Baroque building that spanned an entire block. As directed, Carl pulled over to the adjacent building, then handed her a sealed, white envelope which Peggy slipped into her trouser pocket before exiting the vehicle.
The old War Office used to belong to the Old English Government and had been responsible for managing the country's armies, but sometime during the last ten years, it was sold on the open market and converted into a luxury hotel. The back of the building was busy with staff and deliverymen, causing Peggy to pause behind one of the delivery trucks to consider her next move; the king's advisor had made it clear that she wasn't supposed to be seen. She would have to sneak in without being noticed, possibly with some sort of disguise.
The uniforms of most of the hotel employees were white shirts and dark bottoms, but the external workers--contractors, deliverers, mechanics--were more varied. Noticing that the truck in front of her was unlocked, she climbed inside and found a pair of sunglasses and a black jacket with a company logo hanging off the back of the driver's seat. Shrugging the jacket on and slipping on the sunglasses, she grabbed a clipboard that was lying on the dashboard and made her way towards the building, pausing every so often to 'inspect' delivered goods.
Good God, this place went through a lot of bleach.
As soon as Peggy managed into the hotel, she discarded the clipboard, sunglasses, and jacket and slipped into the stairwell, going down, down, down, until she reached the bottommost basement floor. There were two doors, but only one of them had a working handle. Recalling the advisor's instructions, Peggy went for the one without, retrieving the envelope Carl had given her and tearing off the seal. A single key fell out, small and rusted. Peggy moved to the door hinges, feeling the knuckles of each one until her fingers brushed against one that was missing a pin. Her key in hand, Peggy inserted it into the pin-less hinge and turned. Slowly, the door lurched open, groaning with effort. After one final, critical glance to make sure no one was around, Peggy stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
The room felt small, and appeared no more bigger even after Peggy switched on the lights. Unlike the rest of the building, which had clearly been renovated after it had been sold, this room remained a relic of its days as a government department; a faded Union Jack hung limply on the far wall, and there were few shelves that contained redacted files of old war missions. Judging from the relatively thick film of dust that layered the room and lack of fingerprints, it seemed as though the hotel staff had never set foot inside.
The only item that wasn't covered in dust, Peggy noticed, was a thin manila folder that rested on the only table in the room. She opened it and skimmed the pages contained inside, her brow furrowing as she read. According to the file (left by the advisor or one of his people, Peggy had surmised), Liberterram's military had been compromised and there were spies within their ranks feeding critical information to the enemy. The folder had tasked her to with leading a special force to identify the spies and the organisation for whom they worked.
Peggy set down the folder and looked around, letting her shoulders droop for just a moment as a tired sigh left her lips. She could use a coffee, but she couldn't simply run out and fetch one. The rest of her team would be arriving soon, and she needed to come up with a strategy. Their dingy meeting place wasn't much of a war room, but she'd worked in worse conditions. Besides, it wasn't the state of the room that mattered, but the competence of the team.
"And I certainly hope they've picked a good one," she muttered to herself.
There was an abrupt lurch from the plane as it finally touched down on Old England soil; Peggy stepped out a few minutes later, mobile phone pressed against her ear as she spoke to the panicked advisor on the other line. "I'm here," she said briskly. She'd been awake for over thirty hours by now, was starting to feel the exhaustion seeping into her bones, but neither her face nor voice showed it. Waving to her usual driver, who was waiting in front of a shiny black sedan parked on the tarmac, she added to the advisor, "I'll reach Whitehall in twenty minutes, at the MoD--"
"No, not there," she heard the advisor say. His voice was muffled, as though he was trying not to be overheard. "Head to the old War Office; have the car drop you at the next building, and enter through the back. "
Peggy arched an eyebrow, but repeated the order to her driver, who nodded and pulled out of the airport. As the advisor relayed further instructions, Peggy's gaze flitted to her personal assistant, Vera, who was sitting quietly beside her and doing her best to suppress a yawn. Placing a hand over the speaker, Peggy leaned over and murmured to her driver, "Carl, please make a stop at the usual hotel; we'll see Vera off first." Peggy would have to get through the day without sleep, but there was no reason why her poor assistant had to suffer the same.
They'd dropped Vera off at the hotel and the next destination was Peggy's, a white, neo-Baroque building that spanned an entire block. As directed, Carl pulled over to the adjacent building, then handed her a sealed, white envelope which Peggy slipped into her trouser pocket before exiting the vehicle.
The old War Office used to belong to the Old English Government and had been responsible for managing the country's armies, but sometime during the last ten years, it was sold on the open market and converted into a luxury hotel. The back of the building was busy with staff and deliverymen, causing Peggy to pause behind one of the delivery trucks to consider her next move; the king's advisor had made it clear that she wasn't supposed to be seen. She would have to sneak in without being noticed, possibly with some sort of disguise.
The uniforms of most of the hotel employees were white shirts and dark bottoms, but the external workers--contractors, deliverers, mechanics--were more varied. Noticing that the truck in front of her was unlocked, she climbed inside and found a pair of sunglasses and a black jacket with a company logo hanging off the back of the driver's seat. Shrugging the jacket on and slipping on the sunglasses, she grabbed a clipboard that was lying on the dashboard and made her way towards the building, pausing every so often to 'inspect' delivered goods.
Good God, this place went through a lot of bleach.
As soon as Peggy managed into the hotel, she discarded the clipboard, sunglasses, and jacket and slipped into the stairwell, going down, down, down, until she reached the bottommost basement floor. There were two doors, but only one of them had a working handle. Recalling the advisor's instructions, Peggy went for the one without, retrieving the envelope Carl had given her and tearing off the seal. A single key fell out, small and rusted. Peggy moved to the door hinges, feeling the knuckles of each one until her fingers brushed against one that was missing a pin. Her key in hand, Peggy inserted it into the pin-less hinge and turned. Slowly, the door lurched open, groaning with effort. After one final, critical glance to make sure no one was around, Peggy stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
The room felt small, and appeared no more bigger even after Peggy switched on the lights. Unlike the rest of the building, which had clearly been renovated after it had been sold, this room remained a relic of its days as a government department; a faded Union Jack hung limply on the far wall, and there were few shelves that contained redacted files of old war missions. Judging from the relatively thick film of dust that layered the room and lack of fingerprints, it seemed as though the hotel staff had never set foot inside.
The only item that wasn't covered in dust, Peggy noticed, was a thin manila folder that rested on the only table in the room. She opened it and skimmed the pages contained inside, her brow furrowing as she read. According to the file (left by the advisor or one of his people, Peggy had surmised), Liberterram's military had been compromised and there were spies within their ranks feeding critical information to the enemy. The folder had tasked her to with leading a special force to identify the spies and the organisation for whom they worked.
Peggy set down the folder and looked around, letting her shoulders droop for just a moment as a tired sigh left her lips. She could use a coffee, but she couldn't simply run out and fetch one. The rest of her team would be arriving soon, and she needed to come up with a strategy. Their dingy meeting place wasn't much of a war room, but she'd worked in worse conditions. Besides, it wasn't the state of the room that mattered, but the competence of the team.
"And I certainly hope they've picked a good one," she muttered to herself.
z inactive timothydugan James Barnes R. El
Any order is fine, I imagine that each person was somehow contacted, given as many details as you decide, and received a similar key in order to unlock the door. Peggy's just standing around, waiting for them. I don't have concrete plans so we can make things up as we go along. Let me know if you want anything clarified/changed!
Any order is fine, I imagine that each person was somehow contacted, given as many details as you decide, and received a similar key in order to unlock the door. Peggy's just standing around, waiting for them. I don't have concrete plans so we can make things up as we go along. Let me know if you want anything clarified/changed!
