>THE SAFEHOUSE
>0630HRS...///

“Two days ago at 2200 hours,” Steve Foster, began, “Retired Army Lieutenant Baughman passed away in his apartment in Charleston. Years ago, Baughman was given the same chance at opening new avenues for his career, just like all of you here today.”

“Your first order of business is to go to his apartment and remove any… incriminating documents. Anything anybody but Clyde Baughman and everyone here doesn’t need to know.” Steve Foster eyed the assembled recruits as Joseph did the same, offering his arm out for a better look at Baughman's apartment key, giving them a little jingle, “Welcome to Working Group Umbra. Dismissed.”

As Foster closed the door to the tiny garage behind him, there was a silence that seemed to swell in his absence. It choked whatever comfort Joseph had being inside the living room. Joseph wasn't too much in a rush to fill it, but he figured some sort of bonding was going to have to happen for them to start being a cohesive unit. Joseph wasn't in the business of holding hands and singing songs around a fire, so that was that option out the window. He clapped his hands together, wringing them as he looked them all over. Standing or sitting in the couch, none of them seemed particularly fresh-faced, which was good. The day they started conscripting the young was not a day Joseph wanted to be around for. "Well," Joseph looked at everybody about the room, not attempting to mask that little stubborn bit of Texan in his words that never seemed to go away, "Let's introduce ourselves, then."

“I’m your team lead. My name is Joseph Donnelley. If you’re wondering if I’m going to tell you why you’re here,” Donnelley paused. He had the face on him, he knew. The one Holly always said looked like he was about to tell them the truth. A little sad smile and his kind eyes as he looked at whoever he was talking to from the other side of the threshold of disappointing truth. “I’m not. Yet. I can and will tell you that if you do well enough on this first errand, then the rest of your lives are going to be different.”

“I was given the same choice as you, a long damn time ago.” He said, reaching into a pocket and producing a black pack of Spirits, he clenched one in his smirking teeth, “I sure learned to appreciate the little things since then, tell you what.”

She looked around at the people around her then smiled slightly, and clasped her hands, "I'm Dr Laine, I am a profiler with the Behavioral Analysis department of the FBI."

Her green eyes peered from behind her black frame glasses flicking over to Donnelly. "And I'm here because I want answers. If cleaning this man's apartment will help lead me there, well...I should probably change clothes."

She tapped her high heel, the twin bows on the velvet material bobbing slightly.

Sprawled on the couch like the cowboy Laurie saw himself as, he didn’t really pay attention to what was said before him. He knew they had a meet and greet thing going on and already two people spoke up. Moving down the hands he was resting his head on Laurie looked about, seeing if anyone else felt like speaking. It seemed nobody else did, and thus he spoke up. 

“I’m Laurie.” The man said plainly. “Park Ranger, I guess. I’m here to do my job whatever the heck that is.” He said, spitting out a bit of his dip. “Don’t know why the hell they brought a Park Ranger for some Suit’s cover-up bullshit.” he muttered as addendum. 

Serena cocked her head to the side and slid her aviators down the bridge of her nose a bit at the mention of “cover-ups.”, especially taking note of the thick twang in the delivery. She also took note that he made a good point. Why the fuck was she there? 

“Lieutenant Serena Gomez. LAPD, SWAT negotiator and unit B member. Five years prior with a special gang task force.” She said plainly. “LT for short.”, -short and sweet. She nodded round the room to her colleagues, an odd mashup she thought to herself, more questions.. She dropped her gaze to the center of the table, staring out. “I’m also here for some answers. I’d also like to know why this gang-bang is going on out here in ‘Way-the-fuck-out-West Virginia’.” she took her sunglasses off as she spoke. She did her best not to come off as too abrasive, she did what she could with the filter she had.

“I came a long way to get ‘em. I sure hope this trip was worth it.” she said, a bit of agitation on the fringe of her tongue.

Though it was hard for Jason to blend into the periphery of the living room he tried, his bulky frame sticking towards the walls and exterior edge of the furniture. His arms were crossed in the telltale body language of uncomfortability, and his expression was all focus and glare. Joseph Donnelley held the attention of the room, but them like the others Jason began to study each person in this ragtag spin up. He sure as hell wasn't going to speak first, but no one this far was connecting the dots like he wanted. 

"Not without purpose, I'm sure," he replied to Serena. He looked around at everyone, continuing, "Jason Jimenez, DIA. Was an Air Force PJ before that. My guess is we're following a breadcrumb trail. The purpose is supposed to reveal itself, though why we have DoD, DoJ--hell even the Department of the Interior--working together is beyond me."

Jason crossed his arms and turned to Joseph. "This counter-narco?" He asked. It was the only type of op that made any rational sense. Even then it was a stretch, a conjecture, but weren't they supposed to be asking questions? 

“That’d make the most sense outta anything I’ve heard over  this past week.. That’s for damn sure.” Serena replied.. “I’m just as clueless as you are.” Serena wiped the lenses of her aviators on her blouse then slid  them back on her face.

Laurie still wasn't exactly paying attention, but he knew the woman that just spoke had already said her piece and now she was just double-dipping. "Hey, let's have everyone say their name and then we'll get on with our job, alright Miss?" With that said, he went back to trying to find the most comfortable position on the couch. 

There was a certain feeling of freedom that came from lighting a cigarette with four walls and a roof over your head. Harkened back to another time, to when America was so, so sure of its place in the world. Joseph felt that feeling wash over him as he lit the cigarette inside, not bothering to ask anyone if they were alright with it as they went about the room introducing themselves.

To Jason, Joseph only shrugged. He was a sharp one, alright. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jason was the first to catch on to what this was. He was right there before once.

As the decidedly awkward silence loomed, Justin opened his mouth to speak. He'd sat there pretty quietly as the others said their pieces, just gripping his cap tightly in one hand. Whether it was Appalachian mannerisms or his Army conditioning, he was disciplined about that cap. Always came off when he entered, always went back on when he left.

"I'm, uh, Justin. US Army, a little bit of the infantry, mostly the Ranger Regiment." He trailed off in his drawl. From the way he looked and the way he talked, he just about could be mistaken for some local, but the deep scar along his right hand and wrist along with a partially concealed tattoo of a Ranger tab on his left shoulder proved well enough he was Staff Sergeant Clark.

Tom kept his back to the wall. He had been dressed in a black T-shirt with the first marine raider patch over the left breast. He also wore a pair of black tactical trousers complete with cargo pockets and  a pair of low cut tactical boots. He listened quietly to the other members of this [i]team[/i] he would be working with. 

“My name is Tom Stewart, I am from Boston, Massachusetts,” the FBI agent spoke with a definite Boston accent. “For the past five years, I have been a Federal Agent for the FBI in the Boston field office investigating crimes throughout New England, helping local law enforcement agencies with whatever they may need. I graduated from Boston College School of Law near the top of my class. I also graduated from the Naval Academy at Annapolis in 2006. Before law school, I was in the 1st Marine Raider Battalion; left active duty as a Captain. I am currently a Major serving with the first battalion, 25th Marine Infantry Reserve. I serve as Battalion Operations Officer. Which reminds me, I need to contact my battalion commander to let him know I will be out of the loop for quite some time. If you don’t know what Marine Raiders are, think a hybrid version of Marines and Rangers or Rangers, but in the Marine Corps. Actually, Raiders are a little more high speed than Rangers.” Tom looked over at Justin, “no offense, Staff Sergeant.” He allowed a slight smile. 

“I’m not going to speculate on what our purpose here is. Looking at Mr. Donnelly, I’d say he works for the CIA in some capacity, possibly the SAD or some such organization. The young woman who drove me here this morning worked in naval intelligence. Undoubtedly, she also is employed by the CIA as well. I have no problem working with the CIA. As a combat veteran, they were a great source of intell. I guess now it is best that we get to know one another and get along.”

“On another note, I enjoy Jameson Whiskey and Cuban cigars. I also love listening to classic Rock; Hendrix, Zeppelin, The Who and the Doors...don’t forget CCR.” Tom intentionally failed to mention his wife back on Cape Cod.

Clapping was heard, slow, and only increased for five more of the loud staccato. Donnelley wagged a finger at Tom, a slight smile on his lips. “I like you.”

Joseph folded his arms, taking another drag before flicking the ash off into a coffee mug he’d emptied before the briefing. “I worked with some Raiders once.” One of them never returned home from Somalia and there was no body in his closed casket. Joseph and the others had to stab the hell out of it before weighing the bag down and sinking it into the Persian Gulf. There was no explaining to anybody outside of the Somalia Op why they’d had to do it, or how he died. “Good men.”

Donnelley’s eyes were distant. He remembered returning fire as they bobbed away on the waves in their little Zodiac, praying whatever was in that compound was dead. He remembered shaking the rest of the night, shaking and shaking into the morning and finally being able to sleep two days later. “Real good men.” He nodded, regaining his little smile after he realized he’d lost it. It fell away in favor of a more serious face and tone, “Anyways, you’ve all been called here for a reason. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, who you report to, what you were before this.”

“You’re here now. Keep your eyes peeled, ears open, you’ll be alright.” Donnelley nodded, looking them all over. “Get settled in. We head out early, pack light, 0100.”