1965-03-21 - Project Ursa: Preparations
Summary: Nick Fury leads the resistance to leaping over the border from Iran to Russia. Because Soviets love provocation.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
wanda oliver-queen nick-fury 

0700 hours. Tehran Station. Tehran, Iran.

Agent Khoroushi has seen better days. Blocking out the memory of the ops report he just sent home generally involves a good amount of sleep. He doesn't have time for sleep, acquiring any amount of paperwork and guilty looks from senior staff. Tehran Station occupies a boring apartment flat whose only good quality is a drycleaner on the ground floor. He drinks too much Turkish coffee and tea. The cosmopolitan city throbs around him even though it's early and most people would rather get off to work, school or the protests no doubt inspired by the local Communist Party. Rule here is despotic, propped up by the US, and ever a time of difficulty and change.

He is expecting his driver any moment now, transporting one of the senior agents in the damn organization. The CIA gets much better digs than he does. SHIELD budgets are pretty slim and Tehran isn't known as a hotbed of anything except hot feet.

Fury seems to appear from nowhere. "Heh." He just grunts as cigar smoke escapes his mouth. His lone eye fixes on the agent now but not directly as he stands a few feet away. "Don't like no one runnin' late." He says now with authority but albeit quietly. He looks both ways down the street now but doesn't tip off that he's actually possibly making some kind of contact.

Oliver shows up into the office with a smile on his face, actually catching a lift from one of the drivers going about after paying them a healthy sum of money. "Well, that was easy." he says as he exits the vehicle to arrive. That said, his smile is warm and friendly as he sees Fury, but says nothing, letting his appearance speak for itself.

The Station Chief has the unassuming look of an academic, cropped black hair combed over. Despite the heavy black-rimmed glasses and white button-down shirt sticking to him, he carries himself with a certain dignity of a thin, wiry man up against the world. Another cup of tea sipped gives some hint to his agitation, if the sweat and the humid room did not. The four other staff are confined to the ops room, out of his office, and he watches. Easy, they say.

"This is a right bungle." His English is accented but precise, probably evidence of his time attending Georgetown. "I would rather you came out for a social gathering, but it is what it is."

Nick Nods to Oliver. Then his attention is turned to the station chief. "We aren't much for social calls." His tone is matter of fact and he removes the cigar from his lips, the chewed saliva soaked end a bit mush between his trigger finger and thumb. "Let's get down to brass tax. As you said, things are a damn mess out here. The political climate aint helpin'." His barely audible grunt of frusteration can be heard if paid attention to and he continues. "I've read your report and don't need to debrief you. What I need." And his voice becomes hard, "Is to know what you've got in place. We are on the wrong side of the curtain." He sniffs and turns to the Arrow, "Never thought I'd say that."

Ollie nods softly to Nick before he crosses his arms and lets his fellow agent do his thing. taht said, he looks out the window more than once just to be sure that there's no riots about to go down where they are or some such. People are crazy these days. That said, he looks back to Fury and chuckles a little bit with a smirk to soon follow. "Heh, never thought you would either. breakthroughs, man, breakthroughs.

"In place?" If he could, Agent Khoroushi would laugh. These are not laughing times and he is no dervish to find ecstatic revelations through divine tribulations. He finishes his tea and then raises the cup to discover total emptiness, much like him. Rising from his desk, he heads to a pot full of lukewarm liquid and pours out the rest of the contents. One can wish. In the streets below, traffic builds, mostly on bike and foot. Pedestrians head out to work, grumbling, but not untoward.

"In place, we have assets in Iran. Tehran. I have four of my best in Nowshahr, Ardabil, Mashhad, and Tabriz waiting for any kind of response. Listening on shortwave and HAM radios, doing what they can." Ticking down the obvious gives him a rather professorial air. "Our nearest crossing point is Lankaran in the west, and Ashgabat in the east. Silence. Complete silence. I have every reason to think our contacts — SHIELD's — are completely blown throughout the southern front of the Soviet Union. We've got no safehouses that have been set up, no reliable sources of information. Assume they are compromised by the KGB or worse." He hesitates on the latter. That old thing about shooting the bearer of bad news and all.

A scowl is all Ollie gets in true Fury fashion. Another billow of smoke is what everyone in the room gets now! Fury listens then to the chief, a smug air at first but as he goes down the list he gains a slight nod here and there. No doubt that Nick is aware of the difficulties of the region. When he speaks on agents being blown a look of dissaproval crosses his face. "You would know then if someone would have crossed in, Lankaran or Ashgabat?" He smokes 'furiously' now before adding. "We need in. And if it's been complete silence I would ask for a second option along the west here. OR perhaps from the North. May take longer but should be easier. Thoughts, agent?"

Ollie simply flashes Fury an innocent grin that's filled with goodwilled humor. Aside from that, his attention is completely on the chief that speaks before them in that nervous flurry. His arms cross over his chest as he takes a moment to think. "Agreed, Fury. If they've gone completely silent for that long, we need to get in there. I doubt we have the time to get a second opinion." he nods in slight agreement, taking a moment to make sure his pistol was properly loaded as he turns his side to his fellow SHIELD operatives. "Either way, it sounds like we just walked into a giant mess, Fury."

It's hot enough he wants his handkerchief to blot his head. Khoroushi settles for the drone of the wooden fan overhead and the sip of his tea. "Iranian border guards would notice American passports," he says. As if Steve Rogers would cross on an American passport. He might. The others? "Lankaran is small, you see? Ashgabat is a large city but the borders are not porous. I am confident, yes, we would have word within the hour of it." Smoke does not bother him. Iranian opium fields and those in neighbouring Afghanistan are legendary, a secondary graveyard of nations. It would nice to have one of those right now, a dish of shisha or a ticket to Fiji. "You want in from northern Iran? The nearest port is Nowshahr. Not much of an airfield, but you see, the Shah's summer government functions there. Good port facilities. Going through the mountains has its own hazards. Landslides and routes that are not good. Ever since the Soviets took what was ours…" It still smarts. "I've got no way to fly you in. Restricted airspace and the Soviets shoot down first, and question the corpses."

Nick is nodding as the Green Arrow speaks. He knows all too clear and is thru with letting others botch things. "Hymph. A mess." All he says before listening to the station chief. When he's finished he says, "Landslides it is." He grunts then and looks to Queen. "Hope you brought yer' hiking boots." Fury sounds determined, as always. "Entry from the air is definetly out of the question. We go through the mountains then." Chewing on his cigar he awaits other thoughts, the air allowing one to speak freely for once around Nick.

Ollie loads his pistol and puts it back in his shirt. Either way, his eyes are completely on the Chief as he wipes himself down with a hankerchief. that said, he hmms a moment. "They likely didn't even bother with the border, knowing their skillset." he says then in observation before he eventually nods to Fury. "Read my mind." he says then, cracking his neck. "Just hope we got brought the good gear." he winks to the both of them. Clearly, this man fears nothing.

"Should start thinking of contingency plans, too."

"Overland or water," the Station Chief replies. "I haven't got any other reliable methods. Sending a postcard, perhaps." Not the best attempt at a joke, but he attempts some levity. This just looks fabulous from his vantage. "Getting to the border is no trouble, going through? On the water a boat can land on the shore. On land, you hardly intend to go legally and you are not Iranian. Clearly." Persians have a look to them, and neither man shares that. "I cannot speculate how Mr. Rogers gets over any line, sir. Kindly, he is not like the rest of us. His… associates…" Oh, that word is bitter as old coffee. "They are a different breed. It is their country. You are entering the wolf's lair and finding a nest of scorpions among the angry lions you never knew were there. I am sure you know this, Agent Fury, but you are going on a suicide mission."

"I doubt it too." Nick says to the Arrow. Puff puff puff. He nods t hen, "There are some in place. I'll debrief you when we leave." He too rests a weary eye on the chief but listens to him then. His joke gets no reply, just a hard look, the eye squinting ever so slightly. when he's finished he says, "I've heard that before." He removes his stogie and looks to Oliver. "Sure I don't need to relay the message." He goes back to chewing on the smoke and adds, "Arrange us transport to the border. And get me some cigars."

Ollie then looks to Nick as he listens to his words. He was the senior agent right now. Either way, he looks at the Station Chief, and Oliver walks on over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "and that, my friend, peaked out at Station Chief." he says in mild annoyance before looking to Fury. "I'll go get ready…" he pats Fury on the shoulder in a more friendly manner. HAH! suicide missions were his middle name.

"The shah may have cigars, but that may be difficult even here." Trade embargos with Cuba and all that. The bureau chief may be daydreaming of Fiji and his bed again, wishful for a long, long nap. Insouciance or rudeness doesn't bother him, given the nature of Americans. He pulls at his glasses to rub them off. "We do the best we can with what we have."

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