05-14-2014, 04:19 PM
Jacques had his work cut out for him. Conference calls with Moroccan authorities, all back door/old boys club type calls to Generals and politicians, those rare few that shared a common vision with the Legion. The gears were already turning; acquisition requests writ and filed, quarter-masters and supply techs probably in a white-knuckled rage to receive sudden, confusing orders to load equipment and ammunition onto trucks with no confirmed destination on their work tickets.
That destination was Mohammed V International Airport, where 250 Legionnaires were now scrambling to unload a plane that had been bound for a peaceful landing in Jerusalem.
Maps of Jeddah, pictures of the airport, flight itineraries, supply requests, status reports, even live-streaming news, all hovered in the air around him. Other members of his personal staff worked diligently in the background, going over contact reports and sit-reps from the Legionnaires on the ground in Sierra Leone, allowing Jacques to focus on the immediate task at hand.
He frowned when a pop-up appeared amidst the myriad of holographic projections; 'Incoming Call. Private Number.'
He drummed his fingers on the simple desk at his fore, eyeing the message for a moment before quickly sweeping his hand through the air, collecting all the various screens to one side; close enough that he could keep an eye on them, while not distracting from whomever had his number.
He took a breath, then sat back in his chair, suddenly looking calm and took up a cup of coffee as he tapped the image, accepting the call. "Good evening. This is Jacques Danjou, CEO of Légion Première."
It was very unusual that anyone phoned him directly; there weren't many who had this number after all. A handful of friends, and of course the senior staff of the Legion, but they had more official means of getting ahold of him.
The face that met him was quite familiar to him. Not that they had ever crossed paths, but it served to know the sorts of people one was likely to cross paths with in his line of work. After all, he, and the former CEO of the Legion, had worked closely with the Red Cross in the past. "Ah, Mademoiselle Northbrook. This is a dark night. What may the Legion do for the Cross?"
A few deft gestures of his hand out of her view began to pop up screens of information about herself and any Red Cross operations in both Sierra Leone and DV. It always served to look like he knew what was going on, after all.
That destination was Mohammed V International Airport, where 250 Legionnaires were now scrambling to unload a plane that had been bound for a peaceful landing in Jerusalem.
Maps of Jeddah, pictures of the airport, flight itineraries, supply requests, status reports, even live-streaming news, all hovered in the air around him. Other members of his personal staff worked diligently in the background, going over contact reports and sit-reps from the Legionnaires on the ground in Sierra Leone, allowing Jacques to focus on the immediate task at hand.
He frowned when a pop-up appeared amidst the myriad of holographic projections; 'Incoming Call. Private Number.'
He drummed his fingers on the simple desk at his fore, eyeing the message for a moment before quickly sweeping his hand through the air, collecting all the various screens to one side; close enough that he could keep an eye on them, while not distracting from whomever had his number.
He took a breath, then sat back in his chair, suddenly looking calm and took up a cup of coffee as he tapped the image, accepting the call. "Good evening. This is Jacques Danjou, CEO of Légion Première."
It was very unusual that anyone phoned him directly; there weren't many who had this number after all. A handful of friends, and of course the senior staff of the Legion, but they had more official means of getting ahold of him.
The face that met him was quite familiar to him. Not that they had ever crossed paths, but it served to know the sorts of people one was likely to cross paths with in his line of work. After all, he, and the former CEO of the Legion, had worked closely with the Red Cross in the past. "Ah, Mademoiselle Northbrook. This is a dark night. What may the Legion do for the Cross?"
A few deft gestures of his hand out of her view began to pop up screens of information about herself and any Red Cross operations in both Sierra Leone and DV. It always served to look like he knew what was going on, after all.