Once upon a time there was a rich asshole named Ross Perot. He owned a nice house in Bermuda, but became very upset because he couldn't dock his yacht. There were reefs in the way. So he brought in a few explosives experts and blew up the reef. This was, as you might imagine, contrary to local law. The rich asshole told local law to fuck off, and off it duly fucked.
However, Perot did at least have the decency to make sure his explosives experts got off the island without spending a night in jail. He did this by putting them on board his private plane and zipping them out of the country within a few hours of the explosion.
I mention this because I, like many of you, have been paying attention to recent events in Haiti.
If you're going to go to the trouble of assassinating a president, why wouldn't you make sure the assassins fled the country?
Answer: you do that when you don't care what happens to the assassins, probably because they're idiots. With the possible exception of those few still on the run as of time of writing, who may be out of the country by now. Bet the triggerman (men?) had a plane or boat waiting. Either that or a shallow grave. Perhaps both.
Some sources claim the mercs had nothing to do with it, that President Moïse was actually killed by third parties shortly before their arrival. Plausible, certainly. It would mean the mercs are basically expendable patsies. Gullibles.
But, God a'mighty, how dumb do you have to be to answer an advert on the internet looking for someone to help arrest a president? Hands up who thinks American agents from whichever agency it may be can go to a foreign country, arrest and extradite any member of its government, whether the president or the local garbage collector. Go on, shame yourselves.
Nigerian 419 victims are Mensa members compared to Haitian American James Solages, who claims to have been hired to help execute a warrant, not a person. Or Manuel Antonio Grosso Guarín, former member of the Columbian armed forces, who posted pictures of his Haitian vacation on Facebook shortly before the deed.
Sourced from 2008 Cohen film Burn After Reading
The other question floating across my forebrain is why the hell did whoever the brains of the operation is need twenty eight people to shoot one man? [Assuming that the President's own guard didn't do him in prior to their arrival, of course.] Though I suppose the answer is, Brains didn't have anyone on the payroll capable of sneaking in like Sam Fisher, so Brains hired a mess of morons to ram-raid the place. Creche of cretins? Band of boobs?
Gosh, if only Brains had a couple of pretty girls with a spray bottle. Or some kind of Heath Robinson remote control rifle. It would have been so much easier.
Frankly, it just goes to show - if it needed showing - that thriller writers whose protagonists or antagonists are highly skilled ex-SAS/Special Forces types capable of killing a man sixteen different ways with a pencil, and who effortlessly execute insanely complex schemes while simultaneously completing the New York Times crossword, in pen, are talking out of their arses.
Paid killers aren't geniuses. Spies aren't charismatic James Bond types. They're silly, greedy little idiots playing with toys, or ex-military who've spent too long in the sun.
I mean, look at some of these clowns. The spy who couldn't spell. Kevin Mallory, who China paid a measly $25K for state secrets and is now spending his twilight years in prison. Mark Thatcher (fucked if I'll call him Sir, much less The Honorable) who bankrolled a coup and has since been refused residency in Monaco and Gibraltar, jurisdictions not famous for their integrity. Or, as Sir Roger Moore once said of Monaco's new quasi-criminal citizens, 'how do you say piss off in Russian?' The Achille Lauro PLO hijackers. Dangerous? Certainly. In the same way a 4 year old with a handgun is dangerous. But you'd never see these loons in a James Bond film.
Honestly, it gives me hope when I read about $80 million bank heists. Not that I want banks robbed, but at least someone's putting the effort in. That was a clever stunt. Or the Hatton Garden crew. Though to be fair the Bangladesh Bank Burglars were let down by a spelling error, and the Hatton Garden robbers were arrested after blabbing in a pub which the police were surveilling. Human nature strikes again.
Night's Black Agents and games like it thrive on highly skilled ex-SAS/Special Forces types doing the impossible and looking damn cool in the process. NBA even proposes the Hit as a potential active mission:
The agents must kill someone. This can be a simple sniping, or a gang rumble. Provide the target and his security, plan a weakness in one or both.
Of course, it doesn't come with an exfiltration plan.
Let's play with the concept, in a little scene I'll call:
A Large Splodge of Wonga!
[Wonga = cash. Quote from Simon Mann, one of Mark Thatcher's pals.]
The Hit went off more or less successfully. The agents might have lost some assets or a Network contact or two, but the target is down. Time to make that clean getaway ...
What happened to our clean getaway?
Mr. Smith let the side down, and either failed to arrange an exfiltration or just didn't bother. The agents are in hostile territory, with few escape routes. I've done something similar in Macau before, but that assumed vampiric involvement. This is a straight, old-fashioned hit, with no supernatural elements.
As to exactly where, I'll leave that to the Director. It could even be somewhere entirely fictional - in Swords of the Serpentine, say. The location's key characteristics are:
- Small, as in Lichtenstein small.
- Relatively isolated. You can fly out or catch a boat, but either there are no land borders or the ones that do exist are cut off by mountains or similarly difficult terrain. Deserts, jungles, that kind of thing.
- Alternatively it's easy to get across the border, but the folks on the other side are even less welcoming that the ones you're fleeing from. Diplomacy needed to wangle a safe harbour.
- Heavily armed. The hostile territory's armed forces, police, internal security possess sophisticated armaments and aren't shy about using them. Shoot first and ask questions never is their operating protocol.
- Even more heavily armed. Never mind the cops; the average citizen has a handgun, shotgun, SMG, machete, and is especially jumpy right now. So don't provoke an armed mob, not unless you like being barbecued.
- Game of Thrones. The hostile territory's government has a few would-be leaders waiting in the wings. Theoretically the agents could cut a deal with one of these claimants: safety in return for ... something.
- Asset rich, aka Wild Geese. The hostile territory possesses something that the outside world really wants. That means there are important state and non-state actors who might get involved, for a price. Maybe the Chinese Embassy will provide safe haven, or that mysterious multinational conglomerate can lend a jet.
Start at Heat 6 minimum. After all, the agents did kill someone important. Starting Heat can increase depending on how messy the Hit was, but it will not start at less than 6.
Then let the good times roll.
Even if the agents are captured, there's always a chance bribery - the large splodge of wonga - will get them out. Of course, capture can be difficult to arrange when the country's up in arms ...
Enjoy!
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