[center]BUCKHEAD. [/center]


An old man sat in his chair. His chair faced a wall glass, glass that over looked the city of New Orleans. His name was Julian Guiderone. A shadowy figure that one reads of in books or sees in movies. 

Julian Guiderone had been behind the scenes of some of the worlds most changing events. The rise of climate change, Russian intervention in Syria, The Irian nuclear deal and his persoal favorite, The United States becoming involved in the Middle East.  

His face and body both looked younger than his seventy years. His mind was however, was frightfully quick. With an ability to think many more steps ahead than peers, if he had any. 

A man, much younger than Julian Guiderone entered the room. A dark haired middle aged man, with fair complication and dark grey glasses. Everything about him was perfect, from head to toe, nothing was out of place. Not a hair, nor a crease in his clothing. To be in the employ of one like Julian Guiderone, perfection was the cost. 

"Sir, if I may. The FBI has dispatched a SWAT team in Atlanta and Elijah Craigh seems is also in Harlan County Sheriffs office. How Shall we proceed?" The younger asked as he placed a fresh glass of brandy on the old man side table.

"The young Russian girl, Luna Yvilkov, send her a text message.  Inform her of what is coming and tell her to exit through the front. The SWAT team will be overconfident in their numbers, a full assault through the rear is most likely." Julian Guiderone's eyes never left the lights dancing upon the water. "Do you need instruction on the matter?"

"No sir. If you'll excuse me." Not another word was exchanged and the younger man left to room to follow his orders.

Julian Guiderone's face cringed a just the slightest amount at the thought of Elijah Craigh. Elijah had foiled a plan or two in the past. It was all a matter of circumstances, Elijah had no way of knowing what was really going on. He was just a solider, nothing more. 

Yet Julian knew, the stories told of Elijah were true. It seemed almost every Special Forces and Intelligence group had a name for him. THe Russians called him Baba Yaga, the English called him the Boogieman, the Americans called him Reaper and the Middle East called him Azrael. These names were hard earned, and spoken of in hushed tones.

With a few moments, the work was done. The plan was set in motion. A message was sent to the young Russian woman Luna Yvilkov. "SWAT is coming, leave through the front. Take everyone with you."

Just a block short of the club a heavily armored van suddenly came to a stop. From the rear of the van six men came busting out. Each of them armed with short barrel automatic rifles and equipped with a full kit meant for a full on assault. 

All but one of them ran down a back alley to and entered through the rear. The remaining one took a position hidden behind a car but a clear sight of the front door. He also carried with him a shotgun, loaded with bean bag rounds. He waited with a finger on the trigger, waiting for the right people to come out.

As the five stacked behind one another, each person checked the safety on their weapons ensuring they were off. A single pat issued the order to breach the back door and enter the building. Each room would be checked and cleared, anyone resisting would be forced to comply.