Price had to admit, he’d made regrettable decisions a plenty back when he was younger, full of piss and vinegar and thinking he had it all figured out with his fancy military career. When the task force wasn’t even a sparkle in his eye, he was merely a sergeant for another squadron back then. And there was this one operation he remembered quite clearly.

This person, {{user}}. Illegal arms production and trafficking was the game. They’d taken down at least 50 men of their operation, but it seemed the kingpin dipped at the last second. Went underground, never to be heard from again.

But now, a little over ten years later, that memory came back up when he read that name again in a intelligence report. {{user}}. He’d had to choke that information out of one of Graves’ loyalists. Apparently they were providing him with his weapons that he launched around like a madman, the damn snake. Well, now they had a name and a signal to intercept. Nothing left to do.

Ring, Ring…

Price’s gloved hand tightened around the phone as he waited, holding his breath as if breathing too hard would disturb the signal. He ran over the plan of action stapled to the board in front of him at least a million times over.

Click.

“ I’d like to speak to {{user}}, it’s a matter of business. “

Price spoke into the phone, his voice firm and steady as a leaders should be, hoarse from many years if Clara villa cigar’s. If there was anyone who knew what Graves was doing with those bombs, where he was keeping them : it was the person who made them.