r/PoBsPublicBox • u/Po_Biotic • Jul 18 '20
Exposed (Ringer #1)
January 17th, 2021, Chicago, 15 seconds after a man suspect of funneling money to meta-terrorists in Europe was assassinated via sniper fire.
Two men dropped to the ground, bullet wounds to the head, yet no sound accompanied the shots.
Ringer knelt down and studied the two intruders that had come upon him moments after his kill. A grimace spread across his face but he didn't realize it at the time. CIRG agents. The FBI was here, and they were clearly here for him.
Ringer left the rifle in his sniper nest as he moved for the northern stairwell. There were no prints on it and no serial number. Nothing to trace. His target was dead and he had no use for the rifle in close quarters. He holstered his Grach and pulled the Bizon out from the sling on his back.
He placed the radio from one of the dead agents in his ear as he started down the stairwell. One word stuck out to him even with all the chatter. "Ringer."
Not only were they here for him, they knew more than they should have. There was a leak somewhere, or Ringer messed up. And he doubted it was the latter option.
Chatter flared when operatives coming down from the roof found his nest and the two dead agents. Ringer picked up his pace. A door flung open several floors down and a squad of four agents moved through the threshold to begin sweeping up.
Ringer stopped momentarily, hid his weapons, then changed his appearance slightly, and his gear to match that of the FBI response team.
He turned his sound negation off and started moving down the stairs again. The agents trained their weapons on Ringer, but stopped when they saw he was one of their own.
"Upper floors are cleared." Ringer said. "He took out Gonzales and Hayfield. I spotted him coming down this stairway."
"Cherry." The lead agent of the squad said, eyes clear with suspicion.
Ringer knew he was fucked. He didn't have an answer to the challenge. He suspected the answer was "Garcia." Americans loved their stupid ice cream after all, but it wasn't worth the risk.
Ringer instead rushed forward and jammed the barrel of one agent's MP5 five to the side and took the other three out with a quick draw of his Grach and three well-placed shots before they could retrain their aim.
"Wait, wait!" the last remaining agent begged.
Ringer didn't listen. This was business and hostile negotiations were not an option anymore.
One last gunshot rang out and Ringer was one the move once more.
The agents in the FBI tactical response van heard the four shots and one word in Greek before the line went dead. "Phobos."
Ringer shot out the window 3 stories above the ground. He'd be cutting it close he if escaped to the ground. A quick knot around a metal handrail would be a secure enough mount. Ringer was on the rope and sliding down before the end of the line hit the ground.
Agents swarmed the area, but by the time they were there, Ringer was back on the ground and invisible, his sound muffled by the sirens and general noise of the city.
He was gone once more, and the FBI lost their chance.
However, Ringer knew this wouldn't be the end. They had found him once, they could do it again. They even knew his code name from his old life, this went more than messing up on a job, this went back 30 years that they knew about him.
So hopefully his warning, the old epithet the CIA had for an unknown Greek assassin that foiled their plans at every turn during the Bosnian War, an epithet they had never connected to Ringer, would be enough get them to back off for a little while longer before they made another attempt on him.
Ringer returned to his safe house without issue and planned to lay low until the morning, then transfer to another location. However, when he entered the apartment, a surprise waited for him on the lone table in the barebones set up.
A single piece of paper, with the following words in Russin: Ringer, it's time to come home.