ic Tilting at Windmills

[trollthumper]

De Pijp, Amsterdam

Saturday, December 6th

3:23 PM local time

Joe Macayle had to admit, this was a lot better than the last time he'd been sent abroad by AEGIS.

Although it was cold and crisp in Amsterdam, and some of the canals were starting to show signs of frost, the streets were still clear and the sky was still blue. There was that general sense of charm to the place, of somewhere that was bustling but where you could find a place to sit back and watch the world go by. There was a lot to partake of here - the dive bars, the coffee shop, the other coffee shops...

But all that would have to wait. AEGIS didn't send him out here for vacation purposes, after all. The tide of economic distress in Europe had turned over a number of rocks in the past few years, and the fascists had come skittering out to preach to the fearful and distrustful. Even in Amsterdam, though, the far-right interests had limits - while the Party for Freedom had spent years preaching about the menace of immigrating Muslims and trying very hard to "keep the Netherlands Dutch," that still ran headlong into the fact that the Netherlands were, well, Dutch. The party maintained an active defense of queer and Jewish individuals, asking that they be given their freedom and the law used fully to protect them from assault - mainly as a flying wedge against what they saw as the menace of Islam, but at least with enough lip service to make most other far-right parties look at them sideways. Aside from that, there were a few parties more in line with fascists concerns, but they were minor, fragmented, and often came into conflict with the big dog - the thing about using "support for Palestine" as a smokescreen for anti-Semitism was that it ran headlong into the interests that used "support for Israel" as a smokescreen for anti-Islamic sentiment.

Which made it interesting that a new far-right interest was on the rise locally, one that seemed to be going all in. The United Netherlands Group had seen a rise over the past year, targeting working and middle class populations with the promise of a "reforged, refined" Netherlands. One that paid tribute to a heritage of fortitude, independence, and empire, and not "reverse colonization" and "personal degradation." They'd managed to stuff their distaste for things like the red light districts, the coffee shops, and gay marriage well down the docket, framing it more as a libertarian concern - "Who should tell us what we have to accept?" - while pushing the idea of a nation meddled with by outside forces, be it Zionists, Islamists, or the European Union. While the party had yet to claim any seats, it was gaining a good deal of influence in the smaller cities, and was starting to make inroads in Amsterdam. And, most alarmingly to AEGIS intelligence, the party's war chest was incredibly hard to trace. Where most of these parties had some media mogul or entrepreneur with some very unconventional beliefs pulling the strings, no one knew where the UNG was getting its funding.

There was a part of Joe that had bristled at the idea that he was being sent to try and infiltrate what UNG interests he could find. He admitted, he did look the part - but mainly to people who assumed someone who looked and dressed like he did would gravitate that direction. But if it gave him a real in with the fascists, then it would be worth it. And make it all the more satisfying when he got to deliver the beatdown. He'd been told there would be some sort of gathering in this part of town, protesting some issue or another. For now, he waited for the tinder to gather, just to see who would light the spark.

[Avenger Assembled]

Monsoon flew overhead, stormclouds gathering behind her. Amsterdam had been a terrible disappointment. All Father's talk of decadent Western imperialists, and what do I find? A city full of whores and drug addicts! At least the locals were impressed enough by the sight of a superhero to wave and take pictures, which wasn't always the case with the more jaded citizens of Freedom. "And I look _good_," she said aloud as she stopped by an upper-story window to take in her reflection. The costume Mark had helped make for her was worthy of a princess; and it even had her scimitar strapped comfortably to the back for ease of drawing. Perhaps I'll fight some Dutch supercriminal, she thought pleasantly as she flew over what must have been the local market district. Supershoeman, or Opium Lass... She checked her phone and muttered a curse in Soqotri. Had Mark really only been testifying at the Hague for an hour? It was all very noble, she conceded, that her boyfriend was helping bring down African war criminals, but it made for a tedious European holiday. 

 

Finally, something delicious pulled her out of her funk - the delightful scent of mutabak coming up from a street vendor below. She landed by the cart, a countryman (at least distantly) by his skin color and the Arabic writing that adorned his cart beneath the Dutch. "<Greetings!>" she declared. "<I, Monsoon, wish to purchase mutabak! With egg and cheese!>" she added. There _was_ something satisfying about introducing herself by a nom de guerre, that of the future...hero of Socotra, knowing the legend she was building. 

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The vendor nodded, piling egg and cheese into the specially-made dough before plopping the savory dish down on the grill. He seemed to be fairly restrained at the idea that he was offering street food to a superhero, but it was Amsterdam. The city did have something of a costumed presence - and people here had likely seen weirder things. "<I don't think I've heard that name before,>" he said. "<Are you new to... this trade? It's good to see another of us out there. There's that archer girl out in Rotterdam... why can't I remember her name?>" He handed the mutabak to Monsoon. "<I think we can let this one go free. Hopefully, you'll -->"

The vendor looked down the street, and fell silent. There was a march coming down the road - mostly men and women in a mixture of casual and professional dress, but with more than a few brawny types in flight jackets and Doc Martens in the mix. They held up posters festooned with images showing Arabic women in states of bondage and brutality, chained and beaten, along with pictures of bombed-out buildings. The leader of the group was chanting something in Dutch, but was all too happy to switch out to English.

"...our heritage! We are a land that will not bow to tyrants, zealots, or murderers! Our ways are ours, and will not be bent to the doctrine or fatwas of any invading force!"

Somehow, Joe had found a way into the mass and was trying very hard to look cross. Well, not that hard. Being ringed on all sides by assholes kind of made that come naturally. He'd tailored his look to be neutral - none of the "screw Nazis"/"antifa" stuff he wore while at home, but nothing that would make him look explicitly like a neo-Nazi. The fact that he'd slipped in with a tight cluster of boneheads would be enough for outsiders to draw conclusions. He so far hadn't stopped to make small talk with any of them, mainly because he didn't know a lick of Dutch. But for now, he could pass.

"We are the voice of the Netherlands! We are its heartblood, its children! We are --"

And that was when the leader noticed the vendor and Monsoon. He walked up to her, seemingly without fear. He was in his late 30s, somewhat rounded, but still had some muscle to him - Monsoon might have made him as ex-military. And through the thick of the crowd, Joe could make out that the leader had stopped to talk to... wait. Was that the costume Edge had made for...?

Aw, crap.

The leader smiled. "Do you fancy yourself a hero?"

[Avenger Assembled]

In times past, this would have been a simple problem. Nina al-Darsah would have thrown the fool to the ground, crushing him with the weight of the water in his body, and put her boot on his neck while declaring, "I fancy myself your rightful ruler, FOOL!" But times had changed - she had no diplomatic immunity now and was in the country on a tourist visa rather than a student's. Even if she fought her way there, neither the American nor the Socotran embassy would offer her succor if she attacked a man on the street who hadn't attacked her first. 

 

Say, there's a thought. 

 

"I am Monsoon," she replied grandly, and yes that was unquestionably Nina al-Darsah's voice. "Daughter of a race that mastered science and mathematics while yours still wallowed in their filthy huts and loped behind petty tribal chiefs." Her costume couldn't hide a sneer as she took in the man and his crowd. "How little has changed! I hope you like the neighborhood," she informed him cheerfully. "You'll be seeing a lot more of it in the future." 

[trollthumper]

The leader's expression soured, while in the crowd, those who understood English started getting rowdy. The leader raised a hand, however, and they fell quiet. "Solid accomplishments," he said. "But all this talk of a glorious past - and now what? Whatever intellectual rigor your empire had has bled away with the empires. Now it's endless sectarian conflict, with everyone trying to decide who follows the Prophet closer. And what a Prophet! Child-raping moneygrubber who commands his followers to convert everyone else at the point of the sword. In his name do the faithful beat and murder women who won't do as they're told, and sentence homosexuals to death..."

Yeah, your close personal friends, the gays, Joe thought with scorn from the back of the crowd. He could already tell they were hanging on this guy's every word. Some of them were even cheering at the quiet points.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nina could see the street vendor gripping his cart, as if trying very hard not to say something. The look in his eyes told her this was an argument he was used to hearing. If the leader noticed, he afforded it no concern. "This is a land of proud tradition. It has its values, and it has its defenders. It does not need anyone else who can rewrite it into what they want it to be. If you stood for this land, you would do best to embrace its truth - and not some murderous Arabic dogma."

[Avenger Assembled]

Nina's relationship with the faith of her mother was admittedly on the shaky side. Amir al-Darsah had encouraged public shows of piety for his population, but had made clear to his children that religion was simply another tool a king could use to craft a state out of a quarrelsome people. But when confronted with an enemy of her people, her faith, and 1500 years of history, especially when she stood as the spokesman for so many people who could have been her subjects in another world, the the words seemed to come like lightning. "Your land is a degenerate outpost of a degenerate continent. Your grandchildren will dance in quaint Dutch fashions for the benefit of  fat American tourists, and go home to watch Chinese movies on their Socotran televisions." She got close, carefully keeping her hands at her sides and away from the sword hilt that protruded above her shoulders, and whispered too quietly for the cameraphones to hear, "Do you know what Englishmen call a Dutch wife?" 

[trollthumper]

The smooth, slimy composure of the leader vanished in an instant, replaced by incandescent rage. "You... brown bitch!" He dove for Monsoon, the anger blinding him enough to miss by a country mile. "You dare to come here? To spread your filth through this beautiful land? You think you can just put on a costume and make everyone forget who you are? I'm going to show them all what you really are!"

The rest of the crowd seemed to only be half-following their leader's crazy rambling, but the fact that he was angry and attacking someone who'd insulted the noble Netherlands was reason enough to go along. They marched as one, surging towards Monsoon... and towards the back, Joe hung back, reaching into his backpack for his backup plan. In the surging tide, no one saw him slip on the helmet - and he'd been wearing as much of the costume as he could without drawing any attention. Well. So much for infiltration.

[Avenger Assembled]

Monsoon laughed, and it was a rich, throaty laugh that she had spent time practicing when Mark couldn't hear. "Mwahaha!" Her eyes bled red until they were solid orbs of crimson, and with a thought she grabbed up the water in her own body and flew into the air. Hovering above the crowd, she reached out into the crowd and snatched the leader helplessly into the air, a ripple of diamagnetic hydrokinesis in the air that looked like a miniature black tornado as she held him far above the crowd and the street below. "Behold, the leader of the master race!" she declared mockingly. "How high above the little people you are! You thought you had found a bunch of helpless cattle you could abuse at your whim," she sneered, "but instead you have found MONSOON!" 

[trollthumper]

Normally, Cannonade would be happy that a crowd of fascists were being made to wet themselves with fear. But fear seemed to be the last thing these guys were responding with. Instead of cowing before Monsoon's onslaught, they went wild, grabbing for whatever they could find and hurling it at the flying heroine. Loose bricks, rocks, garbage - some even pulled bottles out of their backpacks, or hurled their signs towards the heavens. Between Monsoon's flight skills and the dark cyclone, few of their missiles hit - but they did rain down on the street, doing far more damage to businesses and street carts than Monsoon's display had.

Cannonade took a flying leap and landed right at the front of the crowd. "All right, folks," he said, "I think you made your point, and now you're making a mess. Think it's time you took a breather." With that, he took a deep breath, and exhaled with the force of a strong gust. The protesters, however, were rather sure-footed, as only a few fell to the ground under the force - and the others looked quite angry. Ah, well, at least they're focusing on something that can take it.

The leader, meanwhile, locked eyes with Monsoon. "You miserable kanker! Do you really think you can cow the good people of this land?"

[Avenger Assembled]

Monsoon played to the cameras, shouting to make sure every word was heard on the street below. "I think the good people of this land are safe in their homes, or watching with disgust as your miserable followers rampage in the street like so many mangy dogs." I should cut an opening for my hair, she thought, so I can toss my head regally - but then I could be grappled in melee...ah, why is this work so hard! Mark had always made it look very easy. "Now," she said with a fierce smile, "remember this day. Remember that your enemy had you in her grasp - and let you walk home out of pity for the low, contemptible creature you are." And with that she _squeezed_; a compaction of the veins and arteries that would have been instantly fatal without her perfect control. 

[trollthumper]

The leader merely snarled at Monsoon as his veins contracted. Whatever sense had left him by now, as he was mainly spitting out Dutch - guttural and, by the inflection, obscene Dutch at that. Some of the crowd below were still trying to liberate their helpless leader from the flying heroine's grip, but once more, they were making a mess of things around them. Still others had decided to focus their attention on Cannonade, engaging in a sustained volley of bricks and bottles on him - most of which he managed to weave around. You didn't spend years in mosh pits and street fights without learning how to duck around random crap getting hurled at you.

"You know," he said, "I have really been trying hard not to beat any of your assholes into the ground." He brought his hands wide, trying to judge the swing so that this wouldn't be too damaging to the surrounding area. "So just know that I'm going to enjoy this."

He brought his hands together, cupping them so that the wave of force from impact washed outwards. Fortunately, the alleys here were wide enough - and most of the windows already damaged - that collateral damage was meager. Likewise, the wave had been tuned so that it wouldn't be too damaging to the crowd, but would knock them down. He'd had plenty of practice with this - and it paid off, as the marching fascists hit the ground quickly, either moaning or knocked out.

Cannonade moved up quickly, checking on the people to make sure they weren't too hurt. Infiltration had failed, and these guys were less than dog crap, but he still didn't want to get anyone killed here. There had to be some decency to maintain, after all. Plus, if it hurts their feelings, all the better.

[Avenger Assembled]

Monsoon grew tired of bantering with the poltroon before her - she squeezed around his neck, cutting off the circulation of blood to his head, and within seconds his eyes were rolling back in their sockets in a classic case of the sleeper hold applied remotely. "Weak pathetic fool," she muttered as she deposited him on the ground - then landed herself alongside the mutabak stand where she'd been when all the trouble started. "<I'll take that now!>" she declared cheerfully to the shopkeeper. She tucked the food into her costume, though, and approached Cannonade. She knew Cannonade from Mark's stories, but couldn't think of when she'd ever met him. The Socialist. Hmm! "The mighty Cannonade! A pleasure to meet you in battle. I am Monsoon, mistress of the tides!" 

[trollthumper]

The leader stumbled, then fell to the ground, lapsing towards unconsciousness. With the tide of would-be fascists passed out in the street, the vendor was a little stunned - but not too stunned to hand Monsoon her mutabak. As the dish found safety in the folds of her costume, Cannonade nodded to Monsoon. "Pleasure to meet you, too," he said, trying to sound as casual as the situation allowed. "Good work up there. Kept this from getting messier." He looked back to the crowd of unconscious fascists. "I mean, they got messy, and odds are there's gonna be some fallout, but at least it got shut down before it turned into a full riot."

This was kind of awkward. He'd met Mark's girlfriend, of course - protecting her from extradimensional Nazis was how the new Liberty League came together in the first place. But he'd never really had much time to socialize with her, and though he knew she'd gone through her share of issues lately, having her in a costume and fighting crime was still a bit of a paradigm shift - but not unwelcome. "What brings you out to Amsterdam?"

[Avenger Assembled]

"It is a sign of cringing weakness in their race and culture," replied Monsoon with cutting contempt as she looked over the fallen neo-Nazis, "that they so fear the other." In Socotra they would have been met with violent force - it was unlikely they would all be alive. A disturbing image of her father's hand, closing around the head of the neo-Nazi leader until it broke, flashed through her mind. Looking back at Cannonade, she added, a little more softly, "I followed Edge. He is in the Hague, and the city grew tedious." It was some eighty miles away; it had been a novel train ride indeed for the native of an island nation who had traveled to an urban city. She studied Cannonade and hazarded, "And what brings you here? Is there a fascist uprising in the countryside?" she asked, perhaps a trace of hope in her voice, quickly stifled. 

[trollthumper]

Cannonade looked at the pile of passed-out far-right protesters behind him. "Technically speaking?" he said. "It's not clear yet. But if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and goosesteps like a duck with really dubious allegiances... Mind you, I can't say much more, but let's assume that I've got a hobby of going to other countries and seeing if their far-right assholes are that certain kind of far-right assholes. But, hey. It's correcting fascists, so --"

"'Correcting?'"

Cannonade turned to find the leader of the group was up on his knees, clutching his aching neck and gasping out invective. He crawled forward, aiming to get closer to the two heroes. "Who are you to intervene? Foreigners, trying to... adulterate this land! You --"

Before either could act, however, the mutabak vendor stepped out from behind his cart. Cold fury blazed his hands, and he clutched his paring knife like it was the last rung of a ladder. He stepped behind the leader and, with one mechanical motion, slit his throat. The leader's rage cut off in a tide of blood as he fell to the ground. The vendor dropped his knife, the fury still there. He just looked to Cannonade and Monsoon with an expression of defiance.

[Avenger Assembled]

Monsoon repressed a gasp - this was not the first dead man she'd seen, but to see one die so quickly made her blood run cold. Damn - and in front of so many witnesses! It didn't take long, though, for the daughter of Typhoon to take over. "That man was no killer ten minutes ago," she muttered loud enough for Cannonade to hear. "What is going on here?" She lashed out with another whirling tornado, picking up the knife-wielding killer and holding him in the air. "<Why did you do that?>" she demanded in Arabic. "<He was already a prisoner! Now you just....>" Her voice trailed off as she locked eyes with Cannonade, and she finished in English for his benefit, "made yourself look like a psychopath..." 

[trollthumper]

The vendor appeared resolute, clutching the knife and just looking at Cannonade and Monsoon with fury... and yet, not moving from the spot. Cannonade could see sweat starting to pool on the man's forehead. "Yeah," he said, a sickening thought clicking into place. "It's too perfect a break." He scanned the area, trying to spot someone watching from a rooftop or a window - but nothing. At a nearby cafe, however, the patrons had noticed the bloody display. Those who weren't watching at the window had gone to phone the police. "If someone did this to him, they must've either planted a command or applied the mind whammy now. Either way, can't peg the culprit. We need to get him somewhere where he can get observed --"

A groan interrupted his train of thought. Cannonade turned back to find some of the far-right marchers rousing. They hadn't noticed the body of their dead leader yet, nor the vendor clutching the bloody knife - but it wouldn't be long.

"Okay, change of plans. We gotta get him somewhere safe now. There's a safe house we can use, or we could take the American Embassy. Unless you've got a local option."

[Avenger Assembled]

For her part, Nina looked ready to take on the entire Dutch population - or at least this little sub-section. But at Cannonade's words, she relented. "If you have a safe house, Cannonade, then lead the way." The image of the city's Socotran embassy flashed through her mind, but she dismissed those thoughts too. As for the American embassy, her illegal entry to the country wasn't something she needed to deal with. Temporary refugees didn't just wander away to the Netherlands with their boyfriend whenever the mood struck them. Her boyfriend - now there was someone to run to. Strong, powerful, maybe strong enough to solve this problem all by himself in a few minutes. 

 

That thought was enough to let her take to the sky. "Well, come on," she said to Cannonade as she and her prisoner flew up in the air, her bloodshot eyes rolling over to red. "Lead the way!" 

[trollthumper]

Cannonade grabbed the vendor, who responded to the effort to get him out of the line of fire by violently cursing in Arabic. At least, he assumed it was cursing. He flailed at Cannonade's back, with one bare fist and one paring knife. He flexed, bracing for the blow; after a few strikes, the knife was bent and broken after colliding with the supertensile muscle fibers under his flesh, leaving just a sliced-up flight jacket and T-shirt in their path. He took to the rooftops just as the screaming started, the crowd of would-be fascists finally figuring out what had happened.

He focused on the destination, ignoring the flailing and profanities of the man in his clutches. Finally, he found his destination - a townhouse with drawn curtains in De Wallen, right on a small canal. Given the assumptions everyone made of a townhouse with drawn curtains in De Wallen, it drew a matter of curiosity, but clearly catered to "discerning clientele."

Normally, there would be a five-phrase sign-countersign measure involving the price of various acts of various nationalities, but that plan assumed he was still in civilian dress. So, there was the back door - of sorts. Cannonade touched down on the town house's roof, right next to a skylight that - ostensibly - looked down on a small studio. A small chimney right next to him let out a slight electronic hum, scanning him.

"Cannonade," came a voice over an unseen speaker. "Status?"

"Well, as you might be able to figure out from the crazy street vendor strapped to my back, kinda bad. Somebody's puppeteering. We think they mind controlled this guy into killing Van Kooperen when he made an ass out of himself."

"We? That would be --" There was an almost indiscernible whirring, as if a viewing apparatus was tilting its angle. "Oh. Ms. Al-Darsah. One second."

After some time, just as Cannonade was starting to get even more tired of being the street vendor's punching bag, the machine clicked back on. "This facility is cleared for your entry, Ms. Al-Darsah, but we must ask that you remain in the reception area." The skylight clicked open, the windows bowing outwards - and revealing a polished room more befitting a military base than a townhouse, with AEGIS agents standing guns at the ready. "Enter as soon as possible. Cover's essential, and we really don't want to have to move. Again."

[Avenger Assembled]

AEGIS. Her father had told her plenty of stories about the armored thugs that were the face and fist of American imperialism, stories that came to mind again even as she reminded herself that she knew she could not simply take her father's word as gospel anymore. Don't let them see you sweat. Her back perfectly straight, Nina al-Darsah walked into the room like a princess entering an enemy garrison's keep. "Naturally." She looked around the room and mentally dismissed the guards, focusing instead on the prisoner. "It was all far too simple!" she called to the air. "The National Socialists and their allies have their dead martyr and their wicked terrorist, and this country can go in whatever direction they like." She stared at the catspaw, eyes boring into the man's soul. "If the person controlling this man can hear my words, know that you have made a dangerous enemy today, fool!" 

[trollthumper]

The man slung over Cannonade's shoulder just snarled and twitched in the face of Monsoon's invective. Cannonade placed him on his feet; before the vendor could strike out more, two AEGIS agents were on him, with one injecting something into his neck. The vendor went limp but did not go unconsciousness. The two agents led him off down the corridor as another agent, dressed in a pantsuit, her red hair bound back in a ponytail. "Cannonade?" she said. "I'm Brooks, local field manager. I see the operation has gone somewhat... lateral."

"I'm guessing that's the delicate way of saying 'cluster****,' so yeah." He looked down the hall, to where the vendor was being dragged into a room. "What's gonna happen to him?"

"Well, once we get him stabilized, we'll try to source the etiology of the mental influence - psychic abilities, possession, nanites, etc. In the meantime... Ms. Al-Darsah is correct. The UNG has its bloody shirt. If Van Kooperen wasn't a puppet before, then someone decided he'd be better as a martyr than a figurehead."

She clicked on the news, revealing a hard-edged woman of professional bearing delivering a fiery speech in Dutch. "Britt Kappel," she said. "Van Kooperen's second-in-command, now ascended to the higher ranks of the party. She's trying to make this the next Theo van Gogh moment, and not in a 'let's be bastions of free speech' sense." She looked to Cannonade and Monsoon. "There's no more blood on the streets - yet - but I'm not looking forward to nightfall. If someone's been pulling the strings on this situation, we need to find the bastard and line them up for the cameras before everything explodes."

[Avenger Assembled]

Nina was silent during the discussion of Dutch politics, fighting the embarrassing urge to call her boyfriend and the profoundly unsettling desire to call her father. I am my own woman. I can solve my own problems as I like. "Well, then, let us snatch her up to one of your flying fortresses and interrogate her!" she said in a staccato voice, drawing on what she'd heard about AEGIS. "A public confession will sway even the most cowlike of her followers, and then even what passes for the local authorities can break up the gatherings of those bigoted hooligans." She caught the look in the eye of the Americans and went on; "What? A high-profile counter-move will show we are not cowed by the doings of terrorists."

[trollthumper]

Brooks shook her head. "We've already involved ourselves with local politics enough as it is," she said. "At this point, grabbing a public figure off the street and getting her to 'confess' might stoke the fires even further, especially for a group as nationalistic and isolationist as the UNG. Extraordinary rendition isn't the solution to everything."

"So, can we short circuit them some other way?" Cannonade asked. "What if we get some concrete proof that the vendor has his mind tampered with, get the local authorities to pass the word along?"

"That would look a lot less suspect, and could give local authorities the incentive they need to bring the hammer down on the UBR. But it could also go wild - as long as the pusher isn't identified, the UBR can always claim it was a false flag. But between us, I'm not big on the idea that somebody went to all this trouble to sabotage a group of fascists who were doing their best to tie their own shoelaces together. The best bet would be to find a hard connection between the UBR and our pusher."

[Avenger Assembled]

Nina frowned. "I doubt they'll give the time of day to an Arab girl like me, especially after I showed them who the real master race is. They'll be more likely to attack me on sight, not that it would do them any more good." She snapped her fingers. "But they'll talk to you, Cannonade! You have the look of one of their number, minus the dull, stupid eyes, so you could blend into their ranks if you adopted a suitable disguise. And meanwhile Monsoon could stage some public events, some great shows of Arab pride or anti-Nazi sentiment, to draw them out!" She smiled, looking very pleased with herself. "If there's already an Arab provocateur about, no more innocents are threatened with mind-control!"  

[trollthumper]

"That'd probably work," said Cannonade. "I mean, I'm not really a fan of doing the whole 'Nazi cosplay' thing, but it was my original plan."

"Yeah," said Brooks, "but if my briefing was correct, in the original iteration, you were supposed to pass quietly as one of the crowd. Listen for details, feed them back to intelligence, see if you could pick up on something. With this killing, everyone's going to shut up and close ranks. And you still can't speak Dutch, which means that you won't be able to hold your own if someone calls you on your presence."

"We've gotta have some sort of tech for that..."

"I'll see what I can secure from the quartermaster." She turned to Monsoon. "Although... that is a good idea. Everyone's on guard right now, which means the UBR leaders are likely expecting conciliation from Muslim leaders - denouncements of radicals that they can ignore when convenient. Leading with a counteroffensive will make them angry - and making them angry will likely make them clumsy, and may draw our mentalist out of hiding in order to create another guided missile." She shook her head. "Of course, trying to flush them out by antagonizing them may also backlash on the local Muslim community - but at this point, I've got a feeling the angrier elements of the UBR are already making plans for a curb party. If we go forward on this, Ms. Al-Darsah, do you think you can direct the ire so that collateral damage is minimized?"