Moreau's Revenge - 001

[master_moreau]

Twelve men to take a single person into custody. To anyone else, it would have seemed like overkill, but these men were not here to collect any ordinary man. They were collecting Eliot Spencer. The mistake most people made in facing the Hitter of the Leverage team was in underestimating him. Even twelve men seemed too small a number. These men

Comments

[distinctive_guy]

For three weeks, Eliot Spencer sloughed through the backwater jungles of the Congo, avoiding human and animal predators alike while he worked on the sides to retrieve people caught in the ongoing Burundi civil war. There wasn't an abundance money in the hiring, but like working with the Leverage team, it wasn't an issue of payment to begin with. No, if the team back home didn't need him for the month of break, then he made himself useful elsewhere doing the same thing with his skills until the call came for them to regroup again.

Tired and at the end of the day, Eliot trudged out of the jungle with mud on his face, rain matting his hat and hair, and a young man, no older than the age of Hardison but destined to be the chief of his village because no other adult males were left, unconscious over his shoulders. Except there were men in the village, a full dozen of them with ex-military stances who scared all the women and children into hiding under their straw thatched roofs. And Eliot had to listen, because not only did they hold guns and threaten the livelihood of the whole village before him, but they threatened the life of a little girl in a remote location he cannot reach.

Or cannot reach yet.

He lowered his burden and held his hands up in surrender. "Alright," he drawled, watching the leader with wary but conning soft eyes. He was willing to play the foolish captive if it lured his enemies into relaxing. "You got me. I must really scare him if he sent a dozen men all the way out here for me, huh."

[master_moreau]

The overconfident gleam in the eyes of the younger Russian who approached Eliot, handcuffs in hand, was unfounded. All of the men were good fighters, but they were not the top fighters. No, Moreau had let another lesser criminal take charge of collecting Eliot. That way, if Eliot escaped or did not comply, it would not be Moreau he traced the trap back to, but a branch of the Russian Mafia. It was good to have so many ties in the Underworld of crime.

"'E does not vant for you to escape quite so easily, da? It took many months to locate you. You are not an easy man to find, Mr. Spencer. Cause quite a bit of trouble for my employer." His accent was lighter than most of his fellows, softened by time living in the states.

[distinctive_guy]

Eliot's gaze shifted from the Russian to the handcuffs and let fear settle into his eyes. It wasn't real, but even though Parker taught him how to pick out of a pair didn't mean he wanted to have to. "Are those really necessary?" he asked, gesturing vaguely to the metal cuffs then around at the men who surrounded him. "We can go like gentlemen."

At the other's unimpressed look, Eliot shook his head. "No? Alright, you have the advantage here." He held out his hands and made the lackey come to him.

[master_moreau]

There is no hesitance in the Russian's movements as he approached to snap the handcuffs on, letting them lock perhaps a little tighter than necessary. One of the other men wanted them cuffed behind his back but made no move to force it. If the man was going to come willingly then there was not much need. He did not even look that tough, really.

[distinctive_guy]

There was a split second window when the Russian stepped in close enough for Eliot to strike, but he let the full second pass at an unremarkable pace. The moment finalized with the cold snap of the handcuffs. He tested them briefly and held back a growl at how tight they felt.

"Couldn't you have left them a bit looser, man? These are cuttin' into my circulation." As he spoke, he turned and read overconfidence in their stances. These Russians were making plenty of rookie mistakes to be exploited.

[master_moreau]

Unconcerned with his complaints, the younger Russian pushed him along the path towards the jet, unaware of whatever mistakes they might have been making.

"Quid complaining nd move. Ve have long trip back." His accent grew a little thicker as they walked, looking slightly irritated. He just wanted to get this job over with. None of them wanted to be here in this hot, humid, unpleasant country.

[distinctive_guy]

Eliot went along and pretended to stumble into the man when they started moving. While he grappled to catch himself, he used the excuse of reaching for something to hook his hands into the man's pockets, seeing if he can palm in the keys for the cuffs.

"Sorry, man. So sorry," he muttered, falling down to the ground and slipping the obtained keys into his pocket as he did so. Really, these guys were idiots.

[master_moreau]

Rolling his eyes, the Russian hoisted him to his feet, by his arm, pushing him forward again. The sooner they got on the jet, the better. They could leave this stinking country and get rid of the supposedly dangerous man. He didn't seem so tough. He couldn't even walk straight.

The jet was small, private, unmarked. The number on the tail likely a fake number taken from a different plane or falsified. It was small, the perfect type for getting in and out of private runways or short runways in backwater third world countries like this one.

[distinctive_guy]

"A private jet," Eliot observed, still keeping up the fool persona as he got manhandled up the ramps. "Who's fundin' the op? Looks like they have some big bucks." Getting shoved into a seat didn't dissuade him from digging information either. "Do they have wet bars up here? A little drink helps settle my nerves. Your boss' payin' right?"

It took a real amount of self control to not knock his captors unconscious as opportunity after opportunity presented itself, but at the end day, a little girl's life hung in balance and the precarious situation helped him control. So he smiled.

[master_moreau]

It didn't take long for Eliot's questions to get on the nerves of most of the Russians. Less than an hour into the flight they were ready to toss him out of the plane. The older Russian of the group decided he had had enough, and fished out one of the strong sedative darts they had brought along in case the target had had other ideas. With little concern for the other men on the plane he none-to-gently threw it, hitting the hitter in the side of the neck. At least with him out, they could get back to their card games. Whoever this guy really was, the sooner they got rid of him the better. He was someone else's problem.

[distinctive_guy]

"You know, it really wouldn't hurt--" Except yes it would, to whatever it was that Eliot wanted to say. It would hurt him, or so proven by the dart he found suddenly sticking out of his neck.

The damned Russians sedated him!

Eliot tried to fight off the drug but his world went fuzzy regardless of what he wanted. His eyelids drooped heavily regardless of his struggles until he decided it really wasn't worth fighting. He'll wake up when he will, there wasn't much he could do until then anyway. He passed out.