The Hunt

[rbshinichi]

The CIA found itself in jeopardy when Ellenia Orlova, an undercover Agent who was assigned to dismantle a huge syndicate, went missing. Without a body to ID, and no clues about the cause of her disappearance, the Agent was declared MIA.


In the agency's attempt to save the 2 years of hard work, and their integrity, they send another Agent to recover Ellenia, even as a corpse, along with all of her accounts of the possibly failed mission.


With her last location being the only known information, an undercover Agent in the name of Kurt Johnson was sent to Cuba. Set to follow a what seems to be a cold trace of his comrade, he needs to utilize every thing he could get - even the help of another government spy agency, who's got the same actual mission he has.


In a game of hunting, will he find the right clues to the truth, or will the game change to the hunter becoming the hunted.

 

[Lenaara]

The humidity of Cuban summers was creeping into every street, every building, and every room. Tourists flooded the streets both in the day and in the evening, wheezing as they hid under air-conditioners from the heat of the summer sun. They huddled together in groups, hugging the locations favoured by other tourists, afraid to venture beyond those areas in the fear of locals or simply getting lost. Even so, some were brave – or desperate – enough to visit the places favoured by the locals instead.


One of such places was a rundown bar, which was pressed between two shops that sold cheap clothes on the outskirts of Havana. The bar seemed to blend with the buildings, the only sign that indicated that it existed was a glowing BarBar sign, and it turned on and off, some of the light bulbs around the letters long dead and dark. In front of the entrance to the bar was a small wooden table, the surface of it cut and darkened; the front door itself looked even older than the table, the glass of it was very dim, either intentionally or with dirt. Everything about the bar screamed Turn around, thus tourists avoided it.


That’s why Ellenia liked it.


Even so some tourists managed to creep into it anyway. You would assume that the dark man drinking cheap bear and smoking at the wooden table outside would have scared them away, or at least give them second thoughts about the legality of the bar, but no.


A couple, British by the sound of their accent, were sitting at a table in the corner of the bar right underneath the only working conditioner. One of them had a small tattoo, by the looks of it a map, on her wrist; the other had no tattoos or any vivid scars. Dressed accordingly to the weather, no electronic devices on their bodies aside from simple phones that they took out once they arrived at the bar and then immediately put away, upset with the fact that there was no Wi-Fi in the building.


“Another.” Ellenia tapped her finger against the empty glass in front of her. The glass was placed slightly to the side of her, turned so that it reflected the British couple in the corner.


The barman nodded.


Andreas Metaxas, a man in his mid-forties; tall and slender, Andreas had very little muscle mass, and from his beer belly and double chin it seemed that he led a not very active lifestyle. His oily grey hair was tied in a low ponytail behind his neck, eyeglasses rested on the bridge of his nose. He had been running the bar the past ten or so years after the previous owner had retired. No previous convictions, the only illegal ties were with local alcohol importers that sold him several bottles of Tequila and Whiskey without necessary licences.


Surprisingly, Ellenia had gathered very little on him. The information was vague, it lacked details in some parts of his history, while in others the information was very detailed. In the past two months of living in this neighbourhood Ellenia knew Andreas’s preference in women and alcohol, and very little about his education or life before owning a bar. So far, she had thought of about a dozen possibilities to the lack of information, all written down and analysed in turn.


Metaxas twisted the cap off a dark green bottle and poured its contents into the glass before him and then pushed it towards Ellenia. The woman lifted the glass, nodded in the barman’s direction, and took a swig from it. The familiar burning sensation at the back of her throat calmed her down, and at the same time annoyed her. She hated drinking.


“Got a job yet?” Metaxas took a dirty glass from the counter and began to clean it with a dirty grey piece of cloth.


“If I had any would I be sitting here?” Ellenia frowned.


Her skin was slightly covered with beads of sweat on her forehead, neck, and collarbone, the light clothes that consisted of a simple white tank top and jean shorts did not help cope with the humidity whatsoever. Her golden blond hair was let loose, it covered her shoulders and back, and stuck to the back of her neck because of the sweat. Well, at least it hid the eagle tattoo between her shoulder blades.


With the back of her hand she wiped off the beads of sweat from her forehead. It was too damn hot.


Apart from her and the couple the bar had seven other people in it. Five locals from the neighborhood, two others were small drug dealers that sold cheap and very accessible drugs. Of course, Ellenia kept tabs on all of them; she kept tabs on every person in the neighborhood and its surrounding area of fifty miles.


((Sorry for the delay, damn real life.))

 

[rbshinichi]

It was just a little after 5 in the afternoon when Kurt's plane arrived at the Jose Marti International Airport. He walked out of the airport looking left to right as if looking for somebody. It's his first time in Cuba, and his first time to be assigned as a recovery agent. The sun's getting ready to set but it was still as hot as the noon time.


Kurt walked out the airport in his khaki shorts and white shirt with it's top three buttons loose. He took off his sunglasses and put it over his head tucking his wavy hair in place. His blue eyes searched the crowd in front of him. There were cabs, cars and a lot of people waiting for the passengers. A big black bald guy walked over to him. "It's a great day for apples in Cuba." the man said. Kurt looked up and stared into his eyes before answering. "I would love to buy some apples." It was a simple exchange of random phrases but those were codes to be identified.


The big guy nodded at him and started walking. Kurt followed close behind. They walked over a car parked on the sideways. It was a red california spider. "Sweet ride." Kurt exclaimed. "People's taxes go a long way you know." the guy replied.


"How long have you been here Mike?" Kurt asked as they drove away from the airport.


"Been stationed here for almost 3 years." the guy answered. He reached down for the lever of the glove box of the car. He opened it revealing a small black bag. "That's you." Kurt took the bag out. He opened it, the bag contains an ID for a modeling agency with the name Neal Jeffries. A hotel keycard with the number 1305, an international ATM card and some lose dollars and a burner phone.


"When was the last time you heard from our lost agent." Kurt asked.


"About a year ago. Heard she had worked her way deep within the organization. But even us have no clue how deep. She's got the name Katharina Verona. At least that's what we could gather. You also have in that bag the place she used to stay. It hasn't been used for a long time so it's not probably gonna help but maybe you can see something we couldn't. " Mike answered.


"Thanks, I appreciate it. But for now. I'm tired. With HQ being compromised there's a lot of work to cover. I want to rest first." he said leaning back against his chair.


After 40 minutes they reached the hotel he was going to stay. Mike tossed the key to him. He caught it with his free hand and looked at the guy with inquiry. "You'll need a ride around here if you want people talking to you." he then turned around and walked away.


He got into his room and took his laptop and a brown envelope. It contains just one page. And it's all he's got on what he's mission is. A letter head on top of the paper and all necessary information.


"Ellenia... how the hell am I supposed to find you? I don't even know how you look like. I don't even know if you're still alive." he complained reading from the paper. He took out a lighter from his pocket and burned the paper.


He closed his eyes, and fell silent. "Let's just say she's still alive. One thing she needs will be a place to stay." he typed away on his keyboard searching for lodges, inns, motels and hotels. He saved at least 10 pages. Not surprising given how Cuba has great beaches and lots of tourists.


"Ah damn, this is hard work. Okay, I'll hit the bar first." he got up and tucked in some cash in his back pocket. He went down to the hotel's bar and found a lot of people swarming around the place. It was packed with tourists. He shook his head, "this early?" then he looked over his back and saw the vast beach lying beautifully. The waves crashing to the shore and people everywhere.


He decided to just drive around and find somewhere nice and quiet. He just got off of a Miami trench so he's not in a hurry to be in sea as of the moment.


He was driving slowly and very carefully, being new to the place he wouldn't know where to turn, or where anything is. It was getting dark and places started to light up. He tried to stay with the main roads so he wouldn't find it hard to get back to where he came from. His car halted all of a sudden with a clank coming from the hood. Without even thinking he knew what had happened. He threw his palm to his forehead in dismay. "Damn Mike." He popped the trunk and got out. As he was looking at the engine he saw a signboard with very little lights. He looked at it and couldn't even make any word out of it. Most of the lights were busted so he walked over to it and checked it. He's close enough to read it says BarBar .


"Got a bad feeling about this." he whispered before he entered. There weren't that many people inside, tables were empty but he wouldn't occupy a whole table just for himself. He walked over to the bar, he sat next to a blonde lady. He waved to the bar tender, "An ice cold beer would be great."


He was looking around, acting like it was his first time in the bar, which is true. He's casing the place. Where the exits are, where will the escape route be in case of an emergency, where would he have the greatest vantage point in a gun fight. He wouldn't call it paranoia, it's just taking precautions for him.


He looked over to his left, staring at the girl. She was blonde, kinda hot, and literally hot. He can see beads of sweat rolling from her forehead. He could understand her situation with the bad air-conditioning of the place. But even with that, he wondered if she was alright, maybe she's high with something.


"You okay? An orange juice would help you know." he said softly.