Assassination Attempt - Frank Archer

[heat_rises]

It's a common boast of the military that soldiers do more before 9AM than most people do all day. It's also a common gripe that the higher up one is in the military, the less they actually do. Both of those sayings were panning out that morning; decorated war hero and State Alchemist Colonel Roy Mustang had had a forgettable few hours of paper work, mostly remnants of he and his crew's still recent transfer to Central. It was a forgettable enough morning, enough that when recounting it later, he would surely say the day began when Jean Havoc had come rushing in with frantically delivered news at approximately 9:30AM.

By that point in the morning Frank Archer, slightly lower on the status rungs, had decidedly done a bit more than sign his name and take a report. For one thing, he survived without injury. Maybe not much of an accomplishment when not at war, but if hearing about his survival was the highlight of a certain Colonel's morning, surely said survival itself was busier work. If nothing else, it was likely not a forgettable morning for him.

Which brings us to undecorated war veteran, State Alchemist Major Alex Louis Armstrong. Despite being born to prestigious stock and serving as a State Alchemist in the most recent war, he was ultimately still at the lowest rank for State Alchemists: Major. Thus he'd had the busiest day. Unlike the aforementioned man one step above in this case study of status and accomplishments, he did not manage to pass the early hours of the morning without injury. He did manage to take a deep piercing bullet to the right side of his chest and continue moving for several minutes however, and most would consider that quite the accomplishment. The Major was often said to be built like a tank, but he was undeniably flesh and blood--something the man he had been protecting could attest to, what with splotches of said blood still adorning his stoop.

The Major was far from all brawn; a quick thinker and a man of swift reflexes, it was mere seconds after the blow that knocked the breath from his lungs that he had choked out for the Lieutenant Colonel to return back inside the door, behind the cover of the walls of the building. He twisted himself in order to be a proper human shield for him in his retreat, though no second bullet came. Maybe at that moment, he didn't think that a bullet that was chest level for him was the perfect height for hitting his commanding officer right between the eyes. In fact, he may not have thought so far as how likely it was that somebody else was the real target; probably, it was his natural instinct to protect and to shelter, even if there was no visible enemy.

Such a conclusion was less likely to escape Archer himself.

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[heat_rises]

[With that news, Roy's dazed morning expression vanishes. With a stern and openly frustrated look, he begins barking out orders for copies of the medical report, any information on the type of weapon, the angle of entry, eye witnesses. He laments bitterly that he's gotten too used to taking it easy in East City, where he was more of a big shot, had more established connections, could count on the information on anything local pouring in more quickly.

It's tempting to head to the scene directly or at least to the hospital, but when he thinks of what's to be gained, he stays put. He needs information. Knowing that the Major was transported to the hospital would have to do for now; it meant he was alive, for now.

Crime scene photos of blood pools near a telephone booth make his already stern expression stiffen.

Perhaps sensing his need for a distraction from his own thoughts, Lieutenant Hawkeye beside him speaks, trying to keep her tone level, professional, and, she hopes, contagiously calm.]

The Major serves directly under Lieutenant Colonel Frank Archer in Intelligence, I believe it was. That street is likely where he lives, if he was there early in the morning.

Aa. [That's a connection his mind's already made. In his case, it was one triggered by a memory of the phone booth rather than in the reverse, the thought of losing another one to some shadow he still hadn't grasped the depths of.

In the lieutenant's case, she realizes the connection to the late Brigadier General Hughes; almost as if she'd lost the right to try to calm him on such a thing, or perhaps as if grasping it as something out of even her hands, she falls silent.

The Colonel is silent as well, thinking on that shadow. He knows exactly two things about Frank Archer: one is that he is in Hughes's former position. Two is that he is alive. That's all. Hughes had never spoken of him.

He glances around the office, now empty save himself and the Lieutenant, looking concerned and almost guilty. Her expression reminds him to keep calm, or to at least try to look less on edge. He'd sent Warrant Officer Falman out to get a copy of a report; he had previously worked under Hughes in the same department. He may have known more about Frank Archer or any enemies he may have had.

It will have to wait, he decides, giving a sigh and collecting his composure. Even only knowing those two things, he at least isn't left with nothing. He knows there's some chance of a connection between Maes Hughes's assassination and the attempted one on Frank Archer. That means that there is now a connection to that something he couldn't quite place.]

Stay here and compile the reports as they come in.

[Practically out the door before her 'Yes, sir' is delivered, he starts down the hallway. As he nears the appropriate department's wing, his pace slows to something less driven, his fists unclench.

Not knowing anything about the man he's approaching makes it difficult to know what kind of face to put on.

Despite curiosity Roy finds himself somewhat hoping he's not there, when he knocks on the office door. It'd be reasonable enough for him not to be.

Hughes had a female secretary, one who was talkative and awkward, but one he could probably talk to in order to get a feel for how her boss was. Unfortunately and unbeknownst to Roy, Sciezka was no longer serving in that role--nor would she have any desire to talk to him if she did, now.]

[sadisticwarfare]

[Lieutenant Colonel Frank Archer was not the sort of man one would assume would be the target of an assassination attempt. He was the sort of unforgettable military officer who was overlooked by nearly everyone, both because he was usually very quiet and because of his lack of alchemic abilities. He had worked hard to get to where he was, but he hadn't obviously stepped on anyone to make his way through the ranks. Everything he had done had been through hard work and more recently, luck.

Perhaps that was a terrible way of putting it since he had only received this most recent promotion due to his superior officer's death. Maes Hughes had been a very interesting man - one Archer liked to some extent, but his laid-back attitude about, well, everything had driven Archer insane - but his death had provided Archer with a promotion, bringing him one step closer to his ultimate goal. In the end, that was what mattered most; it didn't matter who had to die for him to get what he wanted, as long as he didn't have to dirty his hands with their deaths (if only because getting caught would ruin absolutely everything).

So Lieutenant Colonel Frank Archer didn't have any obvious enemies. That made this morning's events even more surreal.

Someone had tried to kill him. They had shot at him. They probably would have killed him had it not been for Armstrong's quick thinking and reaction. The Major had been shot in his place, something Archer was certainly grateful for, but that certainly would make things difficult if this person targeted him again. His initial thought had been to return home and bring Kimbley out of hiding; the Crimson Alchemist wasn't built like Armstrong and probably couldn't take a bullet and live, but it was better than not having a bodyguard at all.

He had quickly trashed that idea though; he needed to keep Kimbley a secret until Fuhrer Bradley had finalized everything. Kimbley needed to be reinstated to the military and absolved of his crimes before Archer could reveal him (something the Crimson Alchemist lamented at every possible opportunity, much to Archer's annoyance). So Kimbley was out of the question. The safest place for Archer to be right now was Central Headquarters, and he had wasted no time in arriving after seeing Armstrong off to the hospital.

Archer is standing by the window, hands folded neatly behind his back when the knock comes at the door. He turns slightly, one slender eyebrow raised, and delivers the expected remark.]

Come in.

[His tone is composed, but his hand immediately strays toward the gun holstered at his hip. Archer tightens his grip on his hands to keep from doing anything stupid. It's ridiculous to think that someone would target him while he's here, but it's equally ridiculous that someone targeted him in broad daylight. It's not as though he was down some dark alley or even all that far from Central Headquarters; the shooter must have been incredibly bold.

That information alone makes him wonder if it is someone who had a connection to Greed or the Devil's Nest. The Chimeras were all killed - at least, that's what he was told, he had only entered the seedy-looking place to converse with Kimbley and Tucker - but it's possible that someone was missed and they were targeting him now because he was in charge of that operation.

It's equally possible that there's someone within the military targeting officers, particularly those who have knowledge of a certain plot that's been plaguing the military for quite some time. If it hadn't been for Hughes (and more importantly, his notes), Archer never would have discovered what was going on. He would have been left in the dark like the rest of the military and quite frankly, had that been the case he never would have been able to convince the Fuhrer to reinstate Kimbley and Tucker and put them under his direct command. Archer was only capable of getting his way thanks to the information Hughes had left behind before his death; it was almost a shame that the information went to someone like him who would use it for his own gain rather than trying to do anything about it.

After all, most people wouldn't want to work for a monster.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Archer approached the desk, carefully setting aside some of the older (and now far less important) reports. He takes a seat and laces his fingers together, waiting for the other person to enter. He's not expecting anyone in particular, but he knows he'll most likely be bombarded with questions soon enough from his superior officers. They'll want answers he can't give them, but he'll do his damn best to figure out just what's going on here.

He won't die now. He has a lot left to accomplish.]

[heat_rises]

['Hughes's office' is the first thing to come to mind. He'd never been in this particular office of Hughes's once while he was alive, so it was more of an intellectual thought than a feeling. It didn't have the feel of walking into a safety zone suited for casual chat like someplace deemed 'Hughes's office' should. The other man across the desk didn't exactly give off the same welcoming aura, sitting at his desk with his fingers steepled.]

Good morning. [It's a standard greeting as he processes the lack of secretary, the lack of worried subordinates or friends from other departments. It's probably too soon for his direct superiors to have asked for more than a verbal statement.

Many jealous people supposed he had advanced through the ranks entirely on his war record; they were people too jealous to bother flattering. Social graces were another forte of his, one which he personally attributed to his success as much as any alchemy--or maybe that was a self serving attribution to avoid really thinking on how blood stained his own history was.

He gives a smile that comes off a little more personal than the greeting, a look that really does seem to be assessing him and relieved to find him well. He already knew the other man was well. But looking to assess it and take relief in it, without verbally doing so and obligating the other to thank him for his concern makes it more believable.

Without knowing what kind of person he's dealing with, a general personable but reliable approach is safest.]

They're more dangerous than people give credit for. Desk jobs, that is.