3031/Hunting the Myasnikovs (3 of 3)

Hunting the Myasnikovs (3 of 3)
Date of Scene:	22 August 2020
Location:	Red Hook Terminal, Brooklyn, NY
Synopsis:	As the Myasnikovs attempt to flee, SHIELD closes in. May leads a team of quick thinking agents -- Barton, Drew, and Whitman, with Alexander Aaron along as support -- to finally apprehend the killers.
Cast of Characters:	Melinda May, Clint Barton, Alexander Aaron, Jessica Drew, Jane Foster, Dane Whitman
Tinyplot:	Nuclear Evaluations

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Melinda May has posed:
The chase after the Myasnikov brothers has come full circle. In New York it began, in New York it is ending. At least, that's the plan.

Intel up and down the eastern seaboard has turned up whispers of the Myasnikovs, but tracking their movements has required a lot of old fashioned gumshoeing, because Alexei is a good enough hacker to have kept their electronic signature nearly non-existance.

SHIELD caught a break when, of all things, a lowly mob snitch happened to spill the beans to an agent sitting in a seedy Hell's Kitchen bar. Viktor Turgenev, a mid-level Bratva lieutenant, is supposedly entertaining a pair of old country compatriots in a safehouse down by the docks... which suggests that the murderous pair are hoping to make a quiet exit offshore.

Consequently, now, a small team of agents has been dispatched to Red Hook Terminal in Brooklyn to try to intercept the pair before they get too far. The challenge? Red Hook is a busy public port. Yes, there are lots of commercial berths in addition to the passenger areas. And it's almost guaranteed the Myasnikovs, if they're really here, will be in a private commercial area. Nevertheless... there are innocents around.

So, the quieter and less lethal the team can make this, the better.

Thus, May is running point on the team spread out through the terminal, narrowing in on the most likely area for the sting -- a busy cargo dock popular with several Eastern European import/export businesses throughout the Mid-Atlantic region. Some of those companies are quite legitmate. But White Baron Shipping is a known front company for at least one of the organized crime groups operating in New Jersey.

So, this is where the agents must logical focus.

"Heads up," May's voice says over coms from her monitoring position. "Three SUVs approaching peir 12. Look alert, people."

Clint Barton has posed:
Rule one in any version of spycraft, or copcraft is //always// look up. Thing is? Civilians never, ever do that. That is good news for one Clint Barton, then.

Dressed in black field gear with a grey 'shield' patch on his velcro'd shoulder, Hawkeye's got, well, eyes on the approaching SUV. It's just a minor adjustment, a crouched run across a rooftop to get the best angle for a shot, and he's murmuring into his com,

"They've killed their lights and engines. They're rolling in dark." He chuckles and adds, "Not suspicious at all."

There's one more burst from him, his voice low and slow. "Looks like a bug-stuffing contest. They're piling out, and I've got eyes."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    The young Olympian is not a SHIELD agent, but an asset and is used as such. Not in a bad way in truth, for his father and he do owe the people of the agency a debt for their aid in the past and the protection they've offered in honoring his father's wishes. So when Alexander was tapped to provide a measure of back up he took it very seriously.
    Settled in the back of one of the black SUVs that are parked near the main exit for the terminal, the youth has not made his presence known on the comms. Merely listening in with a hand to his ear and his attention focused on the task at hand.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Hair up in a French twist, pencil skirt, and business suit jacket in professional grey, Agent Drew looks like a shipping agent for one of the Terminal companies. The ICER fits nicely at her waist, the com bead no more apparent than any Bluetooth tech under her dark hair swept over her ear.

"Copy that," she replies quietly, pretending to consult her tablet. Her heels click on the warehouse's concrete as she walks toward the area where the subjects are likely in hiding, waiting for transport.

"Approaching the door," she says over coms.

Jane Foster has posed:
The chase is on, meaning less pistols and fancy footwork than patient fieldwork for Jane Foster. Probably a good thing, considering her profile doesn't much allow for wandering around unescorted through a Brooklyn shipping terminal with no obvious purpose. Tucked away in a van as a secondary getaway driver, certainly possible. Able to make use of not only her tablet but a variety of different equipment in the SHIELD bus, of course, means interfacing to agents able to deal with grumpy Russian human traffickers more directly.

Some of those vehicles around here are quite legitimate too. A courier company with a certificate for operation tucked on the dashboard gives a modicum of protection. Keen on any relative chatter, Jane monitors a radio feed, actual traffic coming in and out of the port through at least two public streams ruled by the Port Authority, and keeps regular taps fed to a central interface on a SHIELD-issue laptop resting on her thigh. Quick adjustments correct for points blinking on the screen, marking where active businesses light up phone lines or internet connections. Worth noting what has power and utilities, and what doesn't.

Another tab has blueprints and a high quality map in case they need a quick escape. Best to know where to go, and where to guide them. Not everyone has spider silk or a flying horse. "Copy," she repeats after Clint notes the details of the arrivals, comms link clear.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Khaki Cargo Pants, t-shirt, light jacket. Photonic-blade tucked into a back-holster and an ICER in a hidden holster within one of those large pockets on his thigh, Dane Whitman doesn't look particularly unusual. Could be any of a number of things, even someone who actually works here at the Terminal. He's actually just outside, standing in what would normally be a "break area" with phone in one hand and a cup of coffee on the other. It just HAPPENS to be the break area that's closest to White Baron Shipping (at least, closest that doesn't belong to them).

So it's a bit of hiding in plain sight as he watches the now-darkened SUVs start to roll by, and he's just smiling like he's talking to his girlfriend on his cell phone on break when he adds:

"Black Knight, I have eyes on."

There's still a fair distance to White Baron Shipping...maybe a couple hundred meters. But for now it's a relatively clean shot if he needs to close that distance.

Melinda May has posed:
May climbs into... a transport truck? Really? Yep. It's got a reinforced cab and a trailer filled with a flexible lattice capable of withstanding a direct hit by a locomotive. She revs it up and sets it trundling down the main road, happening to ease in behind the three target vehicles that make their way down the road. She, however, is far enough back from them to be largely unremarkable. For the moment.

She makes a wide left turn, as if to head into one of the docks further along a side route, and triggers a hidden button tucked under the dash. A cracking bang like a heavy engine backfire and puff of white, smokey steam explodes from beneath the cab's engine hood. She slams on the brakes and brings the slow moving truck to a complete stop.

Instant road block right across the Russians' main land-based exit point.

Then, dressed in overalls and trucker's cap, she slides out of the cab, looking for all the world like a frustrated transport driver -- albeit a small frustrated asian female transport driver.

Hey. Use what ya got, people.

"Roadblock is placed," May says quietly into her coms, popping open that engine compartment and using the moment to look at where the SUVs are going. The three cars have pulled up in front of a pier that leads to a small freighter on the dock. The men from the lead and tail cars, all of them large men in dark suits, spread out to set up a loose perimeter designed to intercept anyone who might possibly interrupt. Of the four men in the middle car, however, three head toward the boat while the fourth stays near the cars. Driver, then.

Two of the three men heading for the boat wear ball caps and casual cotton jackets. They look like any other dock worker -- save that one must be 6'7" and 350 lbs of pure muscle while the other is a skinny 5'10 and is 160lbs soaking wet. They make a distinct pair... one that definitely matches up with descriptions of the mercenaries the SHIELD team tracks.

The three enter a building in between the boat and the cars, moving through the offices within, which puts both Drew and Whitnman on a direct course towards them.

"Barton, let's take out their backup," May tells the archer, trusting the other two agents to move in on their primary targets.

"Foster, do what you can to isolate the targets for Whitman and Drew. This needs to be as quick and quiet as possible."

Clint Barton has posed:
Hawkeye can sit on a nest absolutely stock still for hours, waiting for the right shot. Right now, he's gathering intel, watching the others' backs as they go in, and he takes his job deadly seriously. It's the stillness that makes him deadly; movement catches notice.

"Got eyes on you, Jess. Knock 'em dead." So, he manages that in an honest deadpan. "Sing if it gets hot and you're extracted."

As the other locations begin to sing out, the arching Avenger keeps track of everything below, checking on the kid's location once, twice, making sure all is well.

From his vantage point, the truck bellowing smoke from the hood makes him ghost a quick smile. Pretty damned realistic, and a quiet way to keep them from moving. When the time is right, it's not a big deal to send his arrows down to make quick work of the SUVs should it be necessary.

Aaaand, there's the order. The fact that the words following were 'quick and quiet', well.. that exploding arrow he'd had queued up won't do it. "Sure, you're the one that gets to set off explosives," is groused over the coms. That can be taken as a 'roger'.

Still, as the men walk away, there is silent death from a rooftop. SHIELD's not interested in these guys, and frankly, neither is Clint. The more Bratva taken out, the better.

The first quiet, lethal arrow is nocked and loosed, and with a deadly aim, finds its way into the heart of the driver. One after the next after the next.. it's like a speed shoot that Clint has practiced for YEARS, each millisecond, he adds another to his form.

And there's no missing.

The driver waiting outside the car slumps to the ground, a soft gurgle the last sound he makes as blood pours from his mouth. The next finds an arrow in his chest, and the look on his face is pure surprise.. as well as the next.

The speed? A sharpshooter with a silenced rifle couldn't have taken them out this quickly.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Leaning to the side somewhat, Alexander addresses the driver of the SUV he's in and says, "I'm going to step out in case we need to move quickly." One hand gestures to the door and then the bench that's perhaps twenty feet down the street some, closer to May's direction than the Terminal itself properly, but it would give a good angle to approach equidistant to either.
    The door clicks as it opens and he slips out of the SUV, closing it behind him as he walks down the sidewalk, taking a moment to put his shoe up on the bus stop bench seat that he had gestured at. Keeping himself aware of his surroundings, he starts to fuss with the laces, untying, retying, then swapping shoes to buy himself enough time.
    All in all he's decent at that illusion of looking like a normal wanderer, at least in the limited time he's out there for now.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Drew would so prefer to be in combat boots, black ops SHIELD uniform with the built-in bulletproofing, and a web belt at the waist. She has ripped more skirts at the seams to have legroom to run than she cares to remember, not to mention leaving good shoes behind on a scene after kicking them off to hotfoot it and take down an assailant. She wears knock-offs for missions now, having learned the hard way.

Head down, reading the tablet that has all her attention, she exits the door and heads obliquely across the dock toward their targets. A slight breeze ripples the flags on the boat and blows a wisp of her hair over her forehead.

<"I have Brickwall and Skinny in view. I'll knock you dead, Hawkeye,"> she announces sotto voce, managing to keep a straight face.

The shush of an arrow is loud in her super hearing. It's no louder than a fly to others; out of the corner of her eye, she sees the driver slump to the ground and prepares herself to move.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane counts off a few seconds in his head, after a fashion imagining Clint at work. And after those few seconds pass, he waits -just- long enough for their quarry to pass into the building so he's not in line-of-sight, and taking advantage of the opening provided by Hawkeyes unerring aim, he bolts towards that doorway, clearing the distance on light feet, with athleticism that's pretty much Olympic-level. Pausing only to halt at the edge of the entryway, back to the wall, waiting for Jessica to move into position as well.

And in the meantime, he extracts the ICER and flips off the safety.

Melinda May has posed:
May's only response to Clint regarding the fun of explosives is a soft "Ha." She makes a show of waving the smoke away from her engine and wanders around the front of the cab, a scowl on her face. Not hard for her to act put out, really. It's kind of her default. Her footsteps take her towards the nearest of the guards. She calls out in Chinese to them, giving a bit of a wave. The nearest of them turns, and tries waving her off. "My truck's broke," she says, affecting a strong accent (so, you know, her R's end up sounding really funny). "You help? You have phone?" It's a horrible, horrible sterotype, she knows. But that's also why it works.

"Get away," the man says, trying to redirect her. "I can't help. Go ask someone else."

"Nono," May says, giving them a distressed... well, yes, that strange grimace on her face could be a smile. "You help. You see." By this point, she's between them. When the one pulls out his gun to more readily convince her to move, she makes a show of her shock and grabs for her hat. It gets tossed sharply at the face of the first fellow. She moves like lightning to take down the second. By the time the first has recovered enough to pull out his own gun, the webbing of her left hand is making contact with his adam's apple. The gun is dropped in favour of protecting his throat.

Go figure.

Heedless of the efficiency with which their Bratva enforcers are being dispatched, the Myasnikovs and their guide -- Viktor Turgenev, himself -- are continuing their way toward the boat at the end of the dock. They are as yet unhurried, but they are also watchful. They know this is the most dangerous part of the trip. Once they're on the boat? They figure they're home free.

But they also don't realize the sheer firepower of most of the ground agents on this team. Really? May's probably the squishiest of the bunch.

And she's one tough old bird.

Clint Barton has posed:
That's the most amusement that he'll get out of May, and he knows it- so, Clint's counting that as a victory. As far as his archery goes, he's got them down all within 30 seconds. Not his best, but it's absolutely good enough for the mission.

"I think one of the SUVs is gonna go for less at auction. Scratched the paint. Sorry."

Clint moves from his perch to check on the other vantages, and murmurs, "Promises, promises.." into the mic before, "Hey.. we got more coming out of the building on the south-east side, opposite May's position. Dane, watch your six. Alex.. help him with it. I don't have a clear shot yet." He's at best advantage right now up high. The moment he goes low, is the moment they lose situational, and he's not //that much// of a hot shot.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Suddenly the shoe-tying stops and Alexander lifts his head. If an operative had been paying attention to him that sudden shift of posture might well have given him away. But for now hopefully it gives nobody any insight into him save beyond perhaps he had a moment to reflect on if he had left the oven on back home.
    But then he straightens up and on the comms his voice is heard.
    << Yes, sir. >>
    And then he starts to move toward the side where Dane had deployed, footsteps quiet as he walks. At a glance he looks like a non-descript civilian. Blue jeans, white sneakers, grey shirt, black baseball cap. In this case his age helps somewhat to allay casual suspicion. Sliding his hands in his pockets, he moves to back up the swordsman.

Jessica Drew has posed:
The tablet is pushed into the back of Jessica's wide, knock-off chic belt, exchanged for an ICER with the deftness of a spider who has practiced the move. Safety off, she sights on the subject dubbed 'Brickwall' aiming for that sensitive area at the nape of the neck.

She has her gun set for maximum stun wanting him to fall and not get up until picked up with his hands and feet zip-tied into a package. The ICER chuffs, louder than the arrow, but without a ricochet that will bring the Bratva boiling down on them. The man stumbles forward startling his companion and falls in slow-motion to the ground.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Trusting that sufficient backup is on the way, Dane spares only a glance for the potential trouble on his six, and when Jessica ducks out, he's but a fraction of a second behind. He isn't the most expert marksman in SHIELD by any stretch of the imagination, but the range isn't all that far and he's been practicing plenty. So he goes for the quick double-tap, aimed more towards the upper-back but it just might "walk up" to the neck or back of the head as he fires.

His target? The other merc. Here's hoping these guys drop quick so they can wrap up their employer swiftly.

Melinda May has posed:
Alexei goes down with a look of surprise on his face, swatting at the back of his neck with one huge hand. However, this spooks his brother, who immediately darts forward, trying to avoid being shot, himself. Nevertheless, Whitman's shots clip him in the meat of his shoulder and the upper left quadrant of his back. He lets out a cry as his body vibrates and collapses uncontrollably. Turgenev pulls his weapon, ducking behind a nearby half wall. He peeks around, trying to see where the shooters are. Drew is the one he sees first, so she's the one he shoots at.

By now, the Bratva support men are running towards Whitman, only to be interrupted by Alexander's surprise interception.

Clint's vantage will let him see the deployment -- three or four separate clumps of men, between two and four in each group. So, rough total is eight to ten of them. Between the archer and the two swordsmen? The Bratva might be the ones who are outnumbered.

When May is satisfied that the perimeter men are subdued, she moves toward the conflict herself, mainly to backup Drew and Whitman and to be on hand for the collection process.

"Foster," she says to their silent engineer, "send in the meat wagons. We're gonna need a bus."

She pulls her ICER and approaches obliquely along the path Drew had used.

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint's in a mobile crouch now, boots on the roof still, and keeping himself in reasonable cover while giving his once-overs.

"Like fish in a barrel," the archer comments. One small group of three emerge from yet another building, only to be hit with one, two, three arrows; each dropping them. Eventually someone will get an idea that he's up there, but Bratva?

Not that smart.

"Alex, buddy, protect our assets. You got this." The mop-haired blonde kid is new to the 'scene', as it were, and Clint is more than happy to give him a chance. If he's not careful, Alex'll have a bow in his hands next month.

"May, got eyes. Watch your nine." Ah, okay, he's got eyes on the little asian woman.

It's those in the building that he can no longer see, and his voice drops. "Talk to me, Dane.. Jess. You good?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    The Son of Ares turns his head to the side. Running men, not SHIELD operatives. Armed. The group of four nearest him are on a close vector to close, moving to the direction of the other SHIELD agents. He has time to intercept one group, but the engagement will need to be quick and precise.
    The comms hear a double click from Alexander's earpiece as he taps it twice quickly, signaling that he's keying in and following the last order since the men might pick up any vocalization as they're near.
    Then he's turning to face the line of rushing men, his eyes widening in an approximation of terror as he espies the group of thugs rushing forward, holding his hands up and backing up to the side as if giving way. Perhaps enough to allay the initial two seconds of suspicion it takes, though his acting might be too good as one of those thugs tries to pistol whip the youth and snarls something sharply in Russian.
    Yet it is a perfect opening gambit. The pistol comes in, wrist is trapped and turned as elbow is locked. All a single smooth circular motion as he Olympian takes that one down while twisting and extending a leg out to slice the ankles out from under a second. All in an effort to get those two on the ground while he maintains control of the limb and brings the gangster's weapon in line with he two foremost thugs in their rush toward the Terminal...
    And causes that pistol to bark twice.

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Busy," comes Drew's terse answer. Never stay in the same place after firing a shot out in the open unless you'd like to be a target yourself. Drew dances away from her last position crouching low to give less profile to incoming. She knows that their adversaries are not playing nice-nice with rubber bullets or tasers, she expects hollow point ammo or Winchester Black Talons that tunnel devastating flesh and bone. Certain of her targeting ability she skirts the downed man, turning to face any oncoming. A shot blows past her temple, explosion and sensation simultaneous for her. The shooter nearly gets his mark. Before he has a chance to fire again, she pivots running toward the shooter.

Hand extended as though in friendly greeting, the Spider-Woman, blasts the shooter with bio-electric energy - as efficient as an ICER and much scarier, too.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Toss me your restraints and cover me." Dane speaks across the entryway to Jessica, "I'll get them prepped for transport." Assuming said restraints are indeed tossed over, Dane makes his way to where the fallen men are, moving swiftly from cover-to-cover just in case there are Squirrelly People with Guns up on the frieghter or otherwise in a position to disagree most violently with their friends being captured.

Don't think he won't keep his ICER handy just in case any of them twitch funny before they're fully disarmed and restrained, either.

"What's the status on evac? I've got three turkeys all trussed up for the Holidays." He calls over the secured comms.

Melinda May has posed:
"There's a bus incoming," May tells Whitman, hand touching the com in her ear. And in this case, she means a literal bus. 'Prisoner transport vehicle' might be the more formal term. It doesn't have wings -- more's the pity. But, then, she won't be piloting it, either.

Foster is on the ball with that one (also not the driver).

As Clint gives her the heads up, she turns, plants, and fires her ICER into the chest of at least one of the incoming. Then, she's off in a sprint, slidling low behind an obstacle in the street, where she pops up to fire again.

When her pursuers are down, she touches her com again. "Are we clear?" Because, really, unless Hawkeye sees more moving, or Alexander fails to take down the rest of his opponents (unlikely), then they've got their targets down. It's time for extraction.

She retreats from the open, going to join Drew and Whitman where the Myasnikovs lay alongside Turgenev, so easily incapcitated by Drew's unusual abilities.

Clint Barton has posed:
Hawkeye performs a quick perimeter check, and other than the vestiges of Alexander's .. crew, he's got nothing.

"All clear out here. Bus has access. I'll call the ME myself in the morning and apologize." Because, there's only so much morgue space!

His bow is reduced, and settling it on a holder next to his quiver, Clint's making his way off the roof by taking a running jump towards an adjascent building, hanging on to some of the trim as he hang/falls from foothold to fingerhold to ground. Once there, and landing with bended knees, he flattens himself against a building, pulling only an arrow from his quiver. A deep breath is taken when he realizes that it's 'one of them', and resets it back, ready to take a jog to meet up with everyone else.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Rising from the abrupt scene of carnage, Alexander gets to his feet with one of the thugs' pistols in his hands. The one closest to him lies unconscious with a broken arm, another has the pistol leveled at him, while the other two are suffering from shattered knees that likely will be difficult to recover from. He maintains his stance, keeps coverage, and then keys on the comms.
    << Four here, under control. >>
    With that brief statement given he then gestures with the weapon to the one thug who is somewhat unharmed at least save for the rough spill earlier that had sent his pistol skittering across the pavement, he at the least has Alexander's full attention as the youth says, "Lie face down, hands behind your back."
    And with that he'll begin to secure them.

Jessica Drew has posed:
There is only so much room under a jacket, squirreled away into the wide belt are zip ties which she throws in a high arc toward Whitman.

Still on alert, super senses tuned to high, Jessica listens before answering,"All clear. Targets are down. It's Thanksgiving, Agent May. The turkeys are being trussed now."

Heels click loudly on the concrete flooring as Jessica walks over to inspect said turkeys. "Heh, I didn't lose my shoes today." Mouth pursed into a frown, she narrows her eyes at the split in the hem of her skirt. "Eh, I can get it repaired. Better than a bullet hole."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane gets the three gents bound with hands behind back and ankles given just enough "give" to let them shuffle about when directed. Not that any of them are likely to be able to do that for several more minutes at a minimum. He keeps a watchful eye for any more trouble but can hear over the comms that others seem to have things well in hand. No excuse to completely relax, but at least enough to focus mostly on getting these particular turkeys ready to go into the oven.

"I'm good here." He comments as he gets the final set of restraints secured, "Might need some help loading 'em up. They're definitely not walking anywhere at the moment."

Melinda May has posed:
With the Bratva down and the Myasnikovs in custody, May nods with satisfaction. Their job here is done. "Okay," she says over coms. "Time to serve dinner. I'll move the truck." She leaves Whitman and Drew to care for their primary targets, Alex and Clint to deal with the rest. For her part, she trots out towards her ostensibly disabled truck, stoops to pick up her earlier discarded cap, and climbs back into the cab to move the portable roadblock out of the way.

Within the hour, the scene is secure, the prisoners are evacuated, and the bodies are being evaluated by SHIELD's in-house ME division. And the team is on their way back to the Trisk as if it were any other day at the office.

Because it is.