From: tprendergast@phenomen-x.com To: dg@phenomen-x.com Subject: DG Email Intercept 020 If you missed any previous messages, go to http://www.flyinglab.com/deltagreen and check out the list of Allies. Some of these sites are archiving these messages. The more locations we have, the harder it is for the DELTA GREEN conspiracy to suppress us! COURAGE! Thomas Prendergast Assistant Production Specialist & Webmaster Phenomen-X http://www.phenomen-x.com/ "Phenomen-X", "Watching the Watchers", and the Phenomen-X Logo are all Copyright 1990 Haley Productions. Comments made by employees in email do not necessarily represent the official statements or opinions of Haley Productions. --- >From: "Agent Graham" To: "Alphonse" Received: from unknown (HELO HUMFLA1) (207.156.41.48) Status: Content-Type: text/plain;charset="iso-8859-1" Subject: Report Date: Wed, 01 May 2002 16:29:31 -0400 Alphonse, I assume you have the summary already, so here's the full report. We dropped Charlie and Cyrus at Pensacola NAS 21:56. They radioed by 23:32 that Nick and Nancy were in position on the north shore. Lucky for them. They had a pretty boring night all things considered. First thing we noticed was that the north end of the bridge was closed for "maintenance." Causeway Bridge Police units were parked bumper to bumper across both spans, flashers running, orange cones everywhere. The cops showed up as warm on the thermal, but even so they may have been paid off to close the bridge so our meeting would have a little privacy. They don't call New Orleans the big easy for nothing. I was in the point car. Garret, Matthew and Mad Jack were in the van: Jack driving, Garret on ECM and Matthew on the other counter-measures. We came around the lake on I-10 and stopped off at the Lakefront Airport 01:11, where we badged our way onto the runway to get a look under the Causeway. There was a large yacht, a 60-footer, moored at the boat dock beneath the causeway, right under the 12-mile turn around, pretty much mid-span. We could count at least seven vehicles on the bridge, including four parked at the 12-mile turn around. There was plenty of movement, at least forty targets over the whole bridge, but only four of them were radiating any heat. We cruised around Fat City for a bit, looking for their back-up. Didn't find anything, but I'm sure it was there. I would have liked to take a look at the causeway bridge from atop some of the shoreline office buildings, but there was too much chance we might run into their people doing it and start a firefight. I got to the south end of the causeway bridge at 02:44. I gave the cops the code phrase and they let me pass. I counted at least two vehicles at each of the three turn arounds on my way in. I got to the mid span and pulled in. There were a dozen suits with assault rifles standing around like statues. All of them were wearing radio ear-jacks and not one of them was warmer than ambient. The guy in charge was the same one I gut-shot three weeks ago. He was smiling like a fool, wearing Father Luther Marks' face and a flak jacket. He recognized me right off. There was some witty banter. Cut to the chase: he wants to see the book and I want to see Nolan. He insists I go first so I tell him the book is in the trunk. He wants to see so I pop it open and let him have a gander at the bricks of C-4 that are filling the trunk. He didn't want to believe it was what it looked like. I assured him it was, 150 kilos of the stuff. New plan, I tell him. You show me Nolan and I make sure he's the genuine article, and then I'll call the book in. When everyone's happy, Mr. Ghoul gets to come with us to the north end of the bridge as our shield. No negotiations. Otherwise there's a big explosion and then the city fills up with ATF and FBI agents looking for the Al Queda cell that bombed the Causeway. Not the kind of microscope his bosses want to be under. He tried being reasonable. I convinced him I wasn't. Finally he had a couple of stiffs bring Nolan up from the yacht moored beneath us. Nolan didn't look good. He was ashen. He looked like he'd been roughed up. The two stiffs walking Nolan towards me kept pistols to his head. Nolan was cuffed, and limping badly on the calf he took the round through. We spoke briefly. I examined his calf to make sure the wound was real. Someone did a decent job stitching him up. Then kicked him in the sutured wound as hard as I could. He screamed, but didn't change back into one of those things. I told the thing wearing Father Marks' face I was satisfied. I got on my cell phone and made a show of calling Garret and the others in the van. No reason to let that thing know I was wired with a body bug too. I spend ten very long minutes killing time, waiting for them to cover the twelve miles. The ghoul kept trying to draw me out, engage me in conversation, but I kept my mouth shut in case their people were wired for sound as well. As soon as the van stopped, Garrett tripped the ECM and filled every frequency with white noise. Matthew chanted a few quick words in Tutsi and then snapped the necks of the first two chickens he'd painted with his blood. The two zombies holding guns on Nolan dropped like someone cut their strings. Nolan took the hint and joined them on the deck. When the first zombies went down, the thing dropped its guise and went for me. I double tapped him in both legs with glazers. That put him down, screaming. Its true shape revealed, the thing looked female, although it's hard to say for sure. Their faces are so canine. Maddux was out of the van and erasing zombies with the MM-1 before I had a chance to back away from the flailing ghoul. It's astounding what a 40mm grenade loaded with buckshot can do to a cadaver. Between Maddux and Matthew it didn't take more than a few seconds to clear the turn-around of walking dead. Wasn't much of a contest. With the white noise drowning out those radio-delivered orders, a lot of the stiffs just stood there like mannequins. Maddux vaporized a half-dozen more motivated zombies coming up the ramp from the yacht. Thermals still read two warm bodies on board, but after peppering the yacht with a couple of canisters of buckshot, they preferred to keep their heads down. As I touched off the flare pistol to signal Charlie, the legless ghoul started barking some shit about how we'd never make it off the bridge; that her people were closing in from both sides; that they would scoop out our brains and suck the flesh off our bones - yadda, yadda, yadda. I shot her elbows off and wrists off so Maddux could get to work on her neck with the machete. Charlie brought the Super Stallion in so fast that, for a second, I thought he was going to crash the chopper right there among us. Instead he pulled up hard and brought it down soft as a snowflake. Cyrus had the rear ramp open before the wheels touched the causeway. Garret hauled the ECM gear while Cyrus and Matthew helped Nolan up the ramp. Maddux was the last aboard the chopper, grenade launcher in one hand, ghoul head in the other. Yeah, just the head ... no point in bringing along anything extra, just the part that Nancy needs to perform a 'debriefing.' The firefight and evac took less than four minutes. We left nothing behind except two rental vehicles, paid for with credit cards that belong to people who never existed in the first place, a trunk full of modeling clay made up to look like C-4, a few shell casings, a lot of buckshot and a half dozen chickens with their necks rung. B Cell was waiting when we arrived. They sedated Nolan and put him on a flight out of Pensacola NAS before Nancy and Nick got back. They were pissed off they never got to see him. Just as well they weren't with us since we left Nolan cuffed on the flight back. Quarantine procedures being what they are, I still think you should have left him with us for the debriefing. If we're going to go back into New Orleans any time soon we're going to need to know everything that he does. Or are we just going to bug out and call it even? Be Seeing You, Agent Graham ---