NationStates Jolt Archive

A Story in Rain – The Spreading of the Order in Guffingford

Saint Denis', Freestate of Rooi-Nassau, Guffingford

Godawful rain, it never stops. A front of cold, wet weather is passing over and the weather channel doesn't predict much good. The sea has swollen to a daemon, lashing its many tailed waves on the shoreline, whipping away the beaches grain by brain. Every pub and bar was filled with the same kind of people, escaping the rain washing the streets and roofs clean of beggars and other thugs. They are hiding someplace else, who cares about them bastards. Inside these buildings beer and other booze flows richly, money is well spent to make life more pleasant.

"Give me another one Jo... Ohn. John..."

Our drunken anti-hero Charles Guillespeak wasn't an exception in this bar, after he fled the town of Westminster somewhere in the south since strange happenings began to take place he settled here, in Saint Denis'. A true pirates hole, bank robbers and all sorts of scum were in this bar. Charles was tapping with his empty glass on the bar, the sound of glass on wood didn't seem to make the bartender John Rogerson to make haste to serve his best paying customer.

"Hang on a sec Charley, I'm listenin' to the forecast."

Listening to the forecast was an excuse not to go work right now, all the forecasts are the same: rain rain rain.
That was the only thing he said to Charles while he was hanging partially sodden, in an awkward manner on the bar. Sometimes he ushered a few sounds that could be remotely identified as words, but mostly it was some kind of babbling drunk folk spit out - saying something just for the sake of saying something.

"Another one?" The bartender asked while he was walking to Charles, and serving another customer when asking. He poured the sour beer in a greasy glass, cracked but nobody seemed to care. As long as the liquid contained alcohol all was well.

"Yeah, just pour me another of your fine... stuffy." Now coughing, he grabbed the shot glass and threw the contents of it into his throat. The feeling of fire in his throat, and the experience of being clubbed on the head made way for an 'enlightened' feeling in his head.

"That'll be two ÐG and thirty cents." John said, not in a sense of duty. Charles took out his wallet and gave the man six coins. Without counting it, he put it away in the cash register. The very same moment the telephone rang, and everybody looked up in a way ‘what the hell’, is the most apt description of the reaction. John picked up, but did not say anything. He was the one being called, so he doesn’t have to start talking. On the other side of the line a voice, quite feminine babbled about a man named Zax Marler, wealthy, yet very eccentric new face in town. He went through the rain (even more ‘what the hell’ reactions) just to secure a fat loan at the local Wellis & Rothschild office, a well-known banking establishment. Charles worked there, but the job was little more than a sinecure.

Water was still falling from the sky, tapping on the windows, the roofs and everything. Everyone was wet, and everything was soaked and wood was starting to rot. What started as small drops turned into an almost continual stream of water. It wasn't going to stop any time soon, the dark clouds drifted about over the roofs of the houses and small office buildings, while releasing their never-ending load of water. The rushing sound coming from the drainage system penetrated every building in the small town, but the people were used to the sound, and thus it became inaudible.
Getting up from the barstool was the most difficult part, it is a very difficult task when you drank too much. Far too much, in Charles’ case. He stumbled, shambled, a combination of trying to walk and trying not to fall he moved out of the bar, into the cold wet outside. Dark clouds were still drifting about, racing through the dark and brooding sky endlessly, letting all their water fall onto the dreadful city and the surrounding landscape. It hasn’t rained like this in years. Charles was shambling around on the wooden boards laid across the streets, from door to door, to prevent people getting wet feet, while screaming nasty and dirty words into the cold watery air he made his way into the bank office.

When Charles entered the building, all his clothes, except his underwear, was dripping, he looked like he stood in a shower, it’s partially true.

“Finally Charles, you’re here…” Before his colleague Mr Frederick could continue Guillespeak tripped over his own feet and landed on the wooden floor, thankfully he wasn’t in a great deal of pain. Grinning, and then helping his colleague back on his feet Mr Frederick, a typical accountant and pen pusher continued.

“Charles, Mr Zax Marler wishes to loan a great sum of money…”

“How much Mr Marler” Charles asked and interrupted Frederick.

“I need, at least, two hundred thousand in gold.” He said it without blushing or blinking his eyes.

“Well Mr Marler I’m sure we can arrange something, a payment plan and…” This time Frederick couldn’t finish his sentence because of Marler.

“I don’t need a payment plan nor do I want a payment plan. I want the amount in cash in full, tomorrow.” Charles couldn’t stop looking at the man, who just stood there. He never heard of him before, and judging by the way he dresses himself he’s rich. He’s very rich, but he wants more. His dark purple trousers, the leather shoes untouched by mud or water, his silk crimson tie, the silver buttons on his darkblue jacket. Everything about him just looked perfect. He was the ultimate gentlemen and he was indeed eccentric.

“How do you plan on transporting all that money?”

“That’s none of your business Mr Frederick, I can handle it all nicely.” There was something discreet about this Zax Marler, something unclean. The air of unnamed evil hung around him like the stench of a rotten carcass. Frederick smelled it, and even Charles inbetween the foul odor of old and sour beer. Things that people do not want to know, yet how he acts and the politeness of his words made one think otherwise.

“Mr Marler I need to call with the main office in Hoogenbosch, they need to authorize such a large gold shipment.”

“Is there something wrong with loaning this amount of money?”

“Maybe not from whence you came, but here it is. People loan money to pay
the bar tab, a whore or the monthly alimony. Things like that.”

“I see.” Marler sat down in the cold hard wooden chair, uncomfortable but at least he sat. Frederick and Charles both had good chairs, and none of them were in the mood to please this Marler fellow. Frederick left the room to call for the authorization while Charles and Marler were left behind. Charles has fallen asleep and Marler was just sitting on his chair, waiting. It remained unknown to both Charles and Marler why Charles had to come over. He did nothing, Frederick did all the work alone.
Frederick in the meantime – while being put on old - was thinking about Marler. Is he the kind of mind man that thinks of all sorts of schemes, fraud or embezzlement? Maybe to lure people into a financial trap, maybe he was a white collar criminal. Who knows? He comes, he wants money and we’ll never see him ever again.

30 Minutes later…

With a happy face, and a ridiculously big smile on his face while rubbing his hands Frederick returned to the lobby and was going to tell the good news to Mr Marler. The whole process was given clearance by the Master Banker in Hoogenbosch. Before he was going to say it, Marler stood up and shook hands with Frederick.

“No need of telling me everything’s alright Mr Frederick, I can see it in your eyes.”

“Eh, oh, right, yes of course. Oh yes of course everything is settled. You can get your money tomorrow.” Left behind quite in awe, Zax Marler left the bank office, and jumped right into a car which has been waiting all along and drove off to someplace else. He’d come back the next day, sign the paperwork and do whatever the hell he wants with the gold.

He who has the gold, rules

“Mr Marler, I am truly pleased to see you, it’s been a while?” A businessman, fat and pompous with a smug smile on his face leaned forward and shook hands.

“I never expected any trouble down there in Saint Denis, they’re too damn stupid to find out. The Market always shows where to get the most, the cheapest is it not?”

“It is, Mr DeVerran, it certainly is.”

“But anyway, the two hundred thousand are secure and can be used to finance our projects here in Guffingford. The Market is not very genuinely Free here, but with our work and a little help from our friends and associates abroad I think we can reach a nice success rate, don’t you think?”

“That is true Mr DeVerran, very true.” The two men talked on and on about The Market and the Order – they were the hosts in Guffingford to welcome the Order of the Invisible Hand.

OOC INFORMATION
As said here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9586421&postcount=585) the Order is spreading to Guffingford. If you have questions or comments feel free to telegram them to me.

The next day

“Excellent, splendid, marvelous.” Marler returned to the town of Saint Denis’ early in the morning, and it was still, as you’ve guessed, raining. Heavy drops fell onto his fedora and black leather raincoat, but apart from that he wasn’t wet.

“Well Mr Zax Marler? I think this is what you’ve requested. Two hundred thousand in gold, yes. Nine hundred and ten gold bonds, one ounce certified. All you have to do is sign here, the batch sheet and nine hundred and ten bond papers!” The truck driver began to laugh, too loud and in an unfunny way. This is not what Marler wanted to have. He wanted to have gold, solid gold. Not some worthless piece of paper.

“Hold it right there, I wanted to have SOLID gold, not bonds.”

“Yeah right, like the government’s gonna send you two hundred grant in bars. They’re corrupt and mad, but not thát mad you know. If you want it, you’ve to go and get it yourself.”

Shit. This is not good. The worst thing is they’re worth shit at this moment without mine signature, and it’s good for one ounce of gold. I want the gold itself. That’s a steep one. No sane investment company or individual investors want a gold bond, especially one from the Guffingfordian government. Goddamnit… Perhaps the national bank accepts them.

“Well Mr Marler am I going to get your signature or not?” I need to get going, I have other things to do right now okay?” With an unhealthy aversion he signed the batch sheet and the receipt and the truck driver was off again.
Now that I’ve signed the receipt I don’t think I can dump this batch easily. I might trade them, but no. I need gold, not paper. If we wanted to have state bonds we might as well stayed someplace else, in a more economic friendly nation. No, Guffingford is the only place where you can get gold in quantity from the government with surprising ease. I must go to Hoogenbosch and trade these bonds for actual, concrete gold. But I must contact DeVerran first to inform him of this small annoyance. I’ll do that later, maybe I can clean up this mess before he smells anything fishy. Marler took out the bonds from the cargo box and looked at is very closely, such a fine thing he thought. But it cannot be used for our plans, unfortunately he thought. He put it back somewhere in the stack, but that didn't matter. They were being placed in a random sequence.

The bond Marler was looking at (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v298/fruityloops/bond.gif)
So there he went, Mr Zax Marler to the Guffingfordian capital city of Hoogenbosch. A city of splendor, colonial architecture and unsurpassed wealth. It looks like all massive mining headoffices and (banking) corporations are housed in wealthy, perhaps a bit too wealthy, estates. High rise condo’s, corporate towers dating from the beginning of the 20th century – it’s all here. Marler managed to get hold of the Master Banker, an occupation almost equal to the title of a nobleman. Master Banker James Thaddick, at 2PM sharp. I don’t think it’ll be a lot of unnecessary hassle, but you never know. Ten minutes before two in the afternoon I entered the majestic building of the First Bank and Trust Company, the national bank of Guffingford. I don’t think I ever saw so much marble, gold ornaments and other expensive goods in one place. The tapestry, the servants, the elevators everything is clean and shows an astounding wealth.
“Mr Marler I presume?” One of the bank’s servants walked up to me and I politely said to him I have a most important appointment with Mr Thaddick. He excused himself and asked me to wait for him. Wellis and Rothschild is a certified bank, so I don’t expect a lot of trouble when I trade these for gold. After a few minutes or so I was allowed to enter the most well-furnished office I have ever witnessed in my entire life. I won’t start describing what I saw there – but believe me, it’s unbelievable.

“Mr Zax Marler. I am delighted to meet you, please have a seat so we can discuss business. Time’s money.”

“Of course Mr Thaddick. I am here to ask for a most unusual trade. I have ordered two hundred thousand in gold, but by accident I received goldbonds, not gold itself. So to speak, I need gold, without the bond.”

“Yes, I see. Well that is quite a request Mr Marler but I don’t want to obstruct any businesses you might have, or want to purchase so I’ll keep this short. I allow you to take an exact amount of nine hundred and ten one ounce gold ducat guilders, on the condition of an annual six percent interest rate. You agree with that?”

“Yes, but do I really need to sign all of them?”

“No, because we already have a receipt, they are officially yours but you trade them for actual gold.”

“Very good, thank you Mr Thaddick.”

“Just something important, don’t expect that this transaction remains secret for long… This is the first time in years such a large gold trade happens. The news papers will be all over this.”

“Thanks for the warning Mr Thaddick.”

“I will sign the order personally, that’ll put some extra pressure on the people working below.”

“Outstanding, my thanks for your attention and time Mr Thaddick.”

“Not a problem Mr Marler, just doing my job.” After shaking hands Marler left the office with a feeling that cannot be described by words. The gold’s ready in the vault, and it is now property of Mr Zax Marler.

The Next Day... Again.The International Tribune

Hoogenbosch, today - Undisclosed sources confirm one of the largest concrete gold transactions made in the history of the Republic of Guffingford. The person in question who bought the amazing quanity of pure gold, being no less than two hundred thousand is said to have made a personal deal with Master Banker James Thaddick, after which he gained ownership of the gold. Many people see this as yet another happening in a deteriorating society moving slowly towards a corporate utopia where the rich feast on the poor. State officials deny this, but many people think otherwise.
These rumors are fed by the already existing rumors of the Order of the Invisible Hand gaining influence in Guffingford – and perhaps beyond. In even firmer wording, the government subsequently denies this “anti government anarchistic hogwash having no source whatsoever.”
Albeit it may or may not be wrong, this major gold purchase fuels these rumors even more, which is something the government cannot deny. When asked for a response, government officials said “no comment”. According to many citizens, that says enough.
OOC note: The non-English language on the bond isn't Afrikaans or Dutch; it is the sort-of Dutch language known as 'Hoogs'. The history of the language is roughly the same as Afrikaans, though but the languages itself are not the same. If you're Dutch or Flemish or Afrikaner you'll notice less differences between Dutch/Flemish and Hoogs than Afrikaans and Hoogs.

A news article from The International Tribune, a newspaper with a high reputation - in Guffingford that is.
The International Tribune
EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH MAN WHO MET THE MYSTERIOUS GOLD BUYER

Hoogenbosch, today – A bank employee who met the mystery man who bought two hundred thousand in gold? We managed to get hold of him, a man known as Charles Guillespeak. A normal kind of guy who happened to be at the right place at the right time, as he witnessed how the man - whose name is not disclosed by Mr Guillespeak – wanted to buy 200,000 in solid gold. Unfortunately he received the exact amount in 910 gold bonds. Mr Guillespeak says:

“It most unusual, flat out strange. He just came in and demanded the money.”

“Was he violent?”

“Not at all, he was a bit too friendly. He just waited there until my colleague Mr Frederick arranged the delivery truck to come deliver the bonds tomorrow, that means, the day before yesterday.”

“I see. What did this man look like?”

“He was a foreigner no doubt, and too well dressed to be from these rural places around Saint Denis’ and Suid-Oos Amsterdam. With foreigner I mean, not from around here. Maybe from Hoogenbosch or something in that direction, but he was certainly not from around here.”

“Do you think he might have had links to the Order of the Invisible Hand?”

“Well, now that I think of it, he might. Nobody in town ever needs amounts in excess of one thousand. Two hundred thousand is just too much.”

Speculations about the origin of The Mystery man (as he is called now by virtually everyone in Guffingford) fluctuate along with the daily headlines. Most stories consist solely of wild rumors without any truth. Some however, swear they saw a man along with a regiment of heavily armed guards leaving the First Bank and Trust Company, the State Bank of Guffingford. When we asked Mr Thaddick – the Master Banker – for a reaction, all he said was “no comment”, just like all government officials. Civil unrest, along with the continuous stream of rumors and stories going around like a wildfire does not give the social situation of many much relief. In fact, the public opinion on the government’s lax response to these serious rumors are a thorn in the side of many workers and labor unions. However, if this Order of the Invisible Hand is actively recruiting and gaining power in Guffingford, we ask all citizens to be ever vigilant for suspicious activities.

~Tag~

James Alwood had just arrived in Guffingford, in Hoogenbosch. He still carried the paper that had excited interest in his superiors. The newspaper, The International Tribune, had carried a story with a very important phrase in it, twice actually 'The Order of the Invisible Hand'.

This had excited the Shadow General and now Alwood (not his real name) was in Guffingford, he'd been in eight countries in ten days trying to dig up a bona-fide member of the Cult to track down and surveil, something that the Shadows of the Republic had been trying to do for some months with little sucess.

Alwood folded the paper under his arm and headed out to the taxi stand. He was carrying an FKC passport and for all intents and purposes was a Vrakian businessman, even speaking Vrak and effecting a Vrakian accent. He had no weapons, but he wasn't there to kill anyone, just yet. He was just there to see what, if anything, the Order had to do with the seroius gold speculation mentioned in the papers.

He stepped up to the curb and hailed a taxi, as usual he was in a nation with no Vaadian Embassy, no contacts and was expected to do everything on his own. Just like every mission he'd ever been assigned.

Not a single tourist knew what was going on. When asked they got a brief word about the Ministry of State releasing important information about this years gold quotas, and some other matters of the highest national importance. Everybody rushed to the nearest cafe, bar or pub and sat down in a chair, on a barstool or stood – watching the television screen or listening to the radio at maximum volume and waited for the Minister of State, Maximillian Kalba to issue the long awaited speech on this year’s Imperial Gold Reserve, if the quota’s are met with full satisfaction, if the same amount, more or less coins are going to be issued by the Royal Guffingfordii Mint and much more about silver, iron and crops but gold was by far the most important.
The streets were empty, not even police officers were there to patrol the streets. All of them raced to the nearest City Watch station to catch a glimpse of the Minister’s speech, it was about to begin any moment now…

“Fellow citizens! This year’s gold, silver and palladium mining quota’s have been reached because of the hard working men, women and children down below us in the state and corporate mines. Alas, the platinum reserves remain the same for this year since the mines near Änglenbach are closed down due to the presence of toxic gas. The mine has to be closed down until the danger is cleared. This happening is not going to affect the state value, since this is beyond our control.
It is my humble duty to announce that the gold price of this year, being the Guffingfordian State Value, has been raised to two hundred and thirty ducat guilders an ounce, in conclusion, the coin quota of this year has been exceeded slightly because of this raise. The value of the coins rose beyond our expectations and now we witness the unfortunate side-effects of the bullion values going above the national maximum, not by much I must add.
It is truly most unfortunate, but the recent rumors of gold hoarding by the reputed Order present in Guffingford and many citizens to have their own social security played a significant role in the raise. Next year the coin quota shall be lowered with 4.57 percent per month. The silver value and silver coin quota’s are maintained…”

Shocking. Terrible. Awful! This is not supposed to happen, less money, higher prices. Unbelievable.
All of the Guffingfordian citizens walked with their heads down, some were weeping softly. All because of those blasted idiots who… Doesn’t matter. Some thought this was just another attempt to keep the citizens poor, poor and frightened citizens are easy to control and manipulate. When you achieved those two prime objectives, nationalism and loyalty aren’t even necessary anymore. The silver value never changes, it’s all about the gold. Some foreigners see the endless supply of gold as a blessing, but it is nothing but a curse. Yesteryear the gold prices were lowered, but goddamn it, why does somebody or some group of low-life’s mess it up for everyone? Thank heavens the crop expectations remained the same, and more food has been produced this year so the effect for all our wallets will be minimal. But damn, the people of the Order must be happy with this raise. 9100 Fuckin’ ÐG’s more than one week ago, nice profit margin. Just doing nothing and watch your money become more without having it on a bank account. Of course, social unrest was met with harsh penalties but the general feeling is shifting.

Marble Gardens Plaza, Hoogenbosch

“I take it you heard the news Mr. Marler.”

“Of course Mr. DeVerran, earning over nine thousand one hundred ducat guilders in one single day makes me quite happy. Still, I am sure the Order appreciates if we ship the gold out of Guffingford soon, we must raise funds here to enforce our brothers and sisters of the Order abroad, that is our task.”

“Mr. Marler, I don’t want you to lecture me about our mission. I am your superior here, understood?” His face looked like a swollen tomato, red and the veins clearly visibly - ready to pop out. Marler on the contrary showed a pathetic slavish behavior, like a small dog being beaten.

“Yes…” Times like these pissed Zax Marler off, he knew DeVerran likes to belittle people, but normally he doesn’t mind that – as long as he isn’t the target. His head felt like jelly, empty and blubbering whenever DeVerran gives him another verbal punch in the face. To the world Marler was a strong man, well dressed, snappy suits with fast hand movements and stood like a rock, able to stop whole armies. But in the presence of DeVerran he was nothing.

“Good. Let’s say we have two hundred and ten thousand, rounded up is easier. Having it around here is good, but we cannot afford any more media attention. I want this gold to be shipped to Knootoss, I reckon it is safe there. Shame the Guffingfordian gold value isn’t a legal way of determining the value, but we keep the ten grant here to cover further expenses. The Master asked for two hundred thousand, so we deliver two hundred thousand.” DeVerran's face still showed a remarkable resemblance to a red ripe tomato. The veins changed from a raging torrent of blood to a calm stream. This is the best way to measure DeVerran's mood, and Marler learned how to take advantage of that.

“Sure thing Mr. DeVerran, I know a corrupt naval officer who might be willing to transport it, his name’s Maynard Blouff. If he refuses – which I doubt – then I know several of his associates who are certainly interested, when properly motivated.” He looked at a briefcase full of money and nodded.

“Outstanding, I think we can arrange a deal with Mr. Blouff that way. Or... what’s his rank?”

“Commander of a few fleets and Captain of a Flagship. Not the first sailorboy who earned a bunch of third class medals in combat. This guy’s a vet.” Althought DeVerran did not mention it, he wanted to see Blouff dead when he starts making trouble, but Marler saw this and just shook his head. The last thing they can have is a dead naval veteran.

“Establish contact with Mr. Blouff, and fast. The sooner we’ve done this, the better.”

“But Mr. DeVerran, what about the Wellis & Rothschild bank and the money we owe them, the interest rate..?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Thaddick is one of ours. The State Bank will handle those things. Remember the gold value which was raised only fifteen minutes ago? They'll pay the bill with the excess money earned with the raise. Now go!”

------------------------
The Davinci Residence
Knootcap, Knootoss
------------------------

"Gold?"

David Davinci (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/David_Davinci) raised an eyebrow as he made himself comfortable in his seat by the fire.

"Yes, gold. Quite a significant amount in fact. The media in Guffingford reported a price raise due to a monetary shortage of their currency, so we are talking about Market-altering quantities on the macro level," Willem Van Noorstrant reported to his old friend.

"Market manipulation? By Order members? That sounds almost heretical," Davinci replied with an amused smile. "But, do tell, whatever do they intend to do with it?"

"Ah, and that is the amusing thing my dear friend", Willem continued as he leant forward in his chair. "It is a donation, it seems, to support the cause. A rather sizable donation."

"Altruism? Are you sure these fellows are of the same club?", David raised his voiced exitedly now, "Surely not."

"I don’t think so", the old Van Noorstrant answered. "But it is rather fishy. Clearly someone feels the need to aquire significant amounts of hard capital in primary resources, and several of our more influential members are involved. They cannot be transactionists though, they hold Gold to be worthless. And as you know by far most Knootians subscribe to the transactionist view."

"Who does that leave then?"

"Well, at the risk of indiscretion, I heard this particular bit of news from the sparring partner of Deburghraeve. So you can imagine that this stays between us."

"Obviously", Davinci said solemly, but still highly surprised. Both slurped on their glass of red wine, Dominion vintage import, before Davinci spoke again.

"Your story puzzles me even more", he began, "because I have heard that we are setting up an official chapter in Guffingford. Several of our people have begun the lobby, and Hans is doing his always-exiting book lectures again."

They both smiled, each recollecting their individual memories to the book-presentations of the energetic, stocky Knootian academic. While not part of the Big Money aspect of the Order, it was nevertheless a vital part of the spreading of the word about the Market. A part often too easily forgotten: missionary work.

Van Noorstrant put down his glass.

"Guffingford is an odd sort of place though, isn’t it? Former colony of ours if I recall? Like Alcona?"

"Uncoordinated settlements, more like", Davinci answered. "It has a rather dreadful landscape. Of course, if we had known about the gold back then I doubt it would have left the Knootian Federation", he grinned wryly. "Most people speak some sort of bastardised Dutch, and we still share ethnic heritage. The powers that be deemed it to be the perfect place to spread to, shared cultural heritage and all".

"But wasn’t it also a rather unpleasant tin-pot dictatorship?", Willem asked with a frown. "I must confess I am not terribly informed about their current affairs, aside from it being a footnote in my old history books."

"Rather libertarian country, really, even if their democracy is not really to write home about", Davinci answered with casual air. "At least they inherited their libertine values from our own national character. But the Market of ideologies there has not sustained a democracy, excessive supply I would think."

"All the same", Van Noorstrant said, "It could make our job much easier."

Suid Oos Amsterdam

Great are the things in life but none like being a crook, that’s what Blouff always says. Crime doesn’t pay? Check my wallet or back account he says. A smuggler, a thief and a liar that’s what I am. Proud of it? Damn straight I am proud of it. People who don’t have the guts to try to succeed in life shouldn’t live in the first place, that’s what he says. He says a lot of things but frankly and damn it – he’s right. Crime pays in Guffingford, and it doesn’t pay bad at all.

Blouff got contacted by a kind of strange and very interesting personality, a guy named Zax Marler. He asked me – more like commanded me, but when I saw my payment passing by, I just didn’t felt like raising my voice against him in anger. This Marler personality wants to ship an amount of nine hundred and ten gold bullion coins, all accounted for. As clean as a virgin he said. Well Blouff isn’t a yokel or someone who takes a person’s word for granted, so he did a little snooping and found out to his amazement, that his word is truth. So he agreed to shipping it away from Guffingford. Just for the record, shipping state bullion away from Guffingford without permission from the National Treasury is against the law, but the concept of law, rules and regulations is used very loosely here in Guffingford. So Blouff agreed to the shipment, and the pretty penny he was going to earn with it. Quite a large amount and for Guffingfordian standards enough to retire with in style.

Hoogenbosch, Marble Gardens Plaza, Two days later

“Mr. DeVerran, we must seek contact with our brothers of the Order in Knootoss.” Marler sat down before his Master told him to, but since Marler arranged the whole shipment, found people who can be trusted DeVerran ignored this. With this liberty taken, Marler poured himself a glass of a superior brandy, Charlotte Lagoon Very Special, a beverage only consumed, and known, by the upper regions of the Guffingfordian high society.

“Well… As I see it Mr. Marler I think that is a good idea. Though I’d like to remind you of their policy regarding solid currency such as gold, and the interference in a national economy. No matter how fragile it is.” DeVerran’s face still looked like a tomato, but without the bright red facial color. He continued talking “…I assume we can fully trust this Blouff character without any questions? I know his service record, such statistics do not lie.”

“An integer and trustworthy man. Moreover, he’s not one be trifled with, so to speak.” For one brief second you could see a spark of discomfort in both of his blue eyes. DeVerran saw this, but did not immediately said it to Marler. After rethinking it all, he came to a conclusion.

“Marler, find a band of thugs – shouldn’t be too difficult in this country – who are willing to find and… Put Guillespeak and Blouff out of business temporarily, after he came back from delivering the gold in Knootoss. Same holds for Mr. Guillespeak. I don't know if they are connected or have contacts who know each other in some way, but I suspect there are. I want them to forget this whole ordeal.” Without saying a thing, Marler walked out of the room and to the busy streets looking for a gang who were willing to do a little dirty work without asking too many questions.

In the meantime, DeVerran was seeking contact with his superiors, or his fellow Brothers of the Order in Knootoss. Let them be displeased about the gold, he thought. They have my personal guarantee everything’s going to work out well. I’m sure they can use the gold for their own agenda, spreading the Order and help the Marker grow even further. Gold is the fuel and the Market is the furnace. DeVerran wrote this message, and going through the usual channels, it was bound to arrive safely. Thaddick deal with secure messages and classified orders. His banking connections do everything, they worship him like a God.My esteemed Brothers of the Order,

As you might have heard on the news or read in the newspaper, a large hoarding of gold is happening in Guffingford right at this very moment. Though I am fully aware of your thoughts on such large purchases of raw currency but I assure you, with my personal guarantee, all business shall be handled with utmost discretion and secrecy. If necessary, I will take further steps ensure the secrecy of our business deals and shipments. Without a doubt I am a hundred percent sure you will found good use for the gold, the options are legion.

With deepest respect, ever faithful to the Order of the Invisible Hand, Mr. DeVerran.

Mr. Alwood had hailed a cab (sucessfully) and read the paper as it headed to the most expensive hotel round these parts, where he had reserved the most expensive room. He had decided on the conspicuous route. A rich, apparently Vrakian foreigner throwing around gobs of money was bound to attract the nortice of the alleged elites of the Order in Guffingford.

He smiled as he read the news, if the purchase of the gold had raised this much attention then his activities were bound to do the same, and hopefully bring the Order running to attempt to secure access to his ample coffers.

His arrival at the hotel went with some notivce, as most Vralians would, he bowed politely but was a bit gruff with the hired help, one could imagine him arguing with walruses. He tipped the bellboy outrageously and settled into the Presidential Suite, and went about setting up his laptop and other 'business' equipment and began contacting Real Estate agents and of course the offices of Wellis & Rothschild, real estate speculators needed financing. He also re-summoned the bellboy and tipped hgim outrageously again to recommend a body guard service or to find someone who could recommend such a service.

Alwood, as most of Ilek-Vaad's secret service, was strange. They very rarely went directly after their quarry, preferring to attempt to attract them while at the same time surreptitiously cultivating similiar lines of contact that would 'accidentally' bring him into close quarters with his prey. Like most of the "shadows' he was inclined to wait, first class of course, for his opportunities.

“You there, little lad… For how much did Mr. Alwood tipped you?” The young bellboy looked around and there he was, the Manager of the hotel. The Manager always hides himself in his office, except when someone eccentric or very wealthy spends time in the most luxurious suite, and spending cash like there’s no tomorrow.

“Five hundred.” He said it without shame and this kind of answer upsets the Manager.

“Dear God. Apparently he’s good too much money for his own good, let him spend some more in the casino. Make him feel comfortable and observe his interests.”

“He also asked me to summon a bodyguard for him.”

“Now, we can arrange that? Go to the barracks and find a member of the hotel security and send him up here.”

“Yes Mr. Manager.” The bellboy ran to the barracks and within a flash he came back with a tough looking guard, a gorilla face and knocked on the door of Mr. Alwood. So, that’s one request done.

The Manager himself strolled through the halls of his magnificent hotel, and suddenly he grabbed his set of keys, opened a door and immediately he strolled through an unpleasant concrete corridor until suddenly he came into the heart of the hotel security. Upon entering the room, the head of security, a former police officer, greeted him.

“Are we listening?” The Manager looked at the television screens and he turned a few switches. “There, that’s much better.” The Manager and the head of security – Mr. Hansson is his name - looked at Mr. Alwood in the presidential suite, through the internal security system.

“Is he someone special? Do we need to monitor his behavior?” The head of security asked bluntly, already knowing the obvious answer. If the Manager switches to a different channel in person, you must pay close attention to him or her.

“Of course. I want to read the telephone transcripts, telephone numbers et cetera…” The head of security snapped his fingers and again, within a flash a security officer came back with a few sheets of paper. The Manager closely looked at them, then he put down on the table behind him. The head of security also looked at them, but found no real ‘incriminating’ evidence of suspicious activities.

“Well Mr. Manager, he looks like a legitimate businessman. Real estate, speculators, stock options, Wellis & Rotschild activities, banking information…”

“Hold it right there Mr. Hansson, did you just say ‘Wellis & Rotschild’, the bank associated with the Order”?

“Yes, why?” Mr. Hansson, the head of security looked with a kind of dumb, but childish face at The Manager, and before he left, he told Mr. Hansson to drop the video surveillance. Five minutes later, the Manager was no longer in the security office. He knew enough. This Mr. Alwood was one of the Order’s associates or even a Brother. He had to contact Mr. Alwood soon, a fellow friend of the Order from abroad, Vrak in this case, is always good to meet. But the Manager couldn’t know a hundred percent sure Mr. Alwood was indeed a friend or even loosely connected to the Order. He fully relied on his feelings, and he was certain this kind of behavior is a message to all who watch. It wasn’t hard to guess the Secret Service (STASI) was also paying close attention to Mr. Alwood – so discretion was advised. The Manager has one chance, in the casino, tonight before the festival starts. A lie would be best, saying there’s a must urgent phone call for Mr. Alwood, so vastly important the Manager himself has to tell him. Yes, that’s good enough, and it also impresses other guests.

It is cocktail night at the Marble Gardens Plaza, drunken guards, many guests – nobility, upper class and many other VIPs and government officials.

Investigating Mr. Alwood's background (if anyone did) would reveal that he was president and CEO of Alwood Properties Inc. based in VrakPrime. It appeared to be a small company, only Mr. Alwood and a few employees. It was involved mainly in real estate speculation though deeper digging would reveal business dealings in just about anything that made money, and the company made a lot of money. One of the quirks of the activities of the 'Shadows' was that they had to fund themselves, so Alwood wasn't just the head of a front company, but the head of a real one, dedicated to turning as healthy a profit as possible. The James Alwood in Guffingford , was actually the third James Alwood, the other two had been re-assigned.

James had decided to attend the cocktail festivities, he was never one to down a drink. He was also eager to eavesdrop on just about any conversation that came along. He had intended to learn as much as possible while at the same time enjoying himself as any out of town business man would, with a nearly unlimited expense account.

He headed to the festivities, bodyguard in tow, he had already tipped the man generously, to insure loyalty, and promised more to come if the service was good.

http://knootoss.vogels.nu/images/globalhell.jpg

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Rotterdam, Knootoss
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The letter sent to the Order by Mr. DeVerran ended up in the hands of an irregularly meeting group of industrialists meeting in a restaurant belonging to the Global Hell Group. The Global Hell Group, as one of the top private sector oil and gas companies in NS, had a reputation for corporate hospitality.

“They’re crooks”, one of the more astute men said simply. “And already their gold purchases have made the local papers! We’re not going to get away with this.” After emphasising his point he adjusted his monocle to look straight in the eyes of a young man sitting across him at the table.

“Well,” the young man began (seeing it as a personal attack, judging by his shortness of breath) “it is an opportunity of a lifetime. If it works. There is no reason not to distrust them, they are honestly committed members. I know they are. And people gossip all the time.”

“Either they are spies trying to snuff us out, or they are stupid”, a man sitting at the head of the table said. “Global Hell cannot use more reputational damage at this moment. I’m washing my hands of this. If it works, great, but don’t expect any help to bail you out if this goes wrong.”

“Coward”, a frigid woman sitting besides the young man said. “But you’ve grown afraid Joseph. Ever since that little oil spill you’re fretting about reputational damage. It is hurting your business.”

“Global Hell is doing fine”, he responded defensively, “Better than ever before, in fact. Lets stick to the matter at hand. What do we do with the gold… the Market would demand that we make use of it but I really do not trust them. Gerald, I like your initiative but I don’t trust these people as you do.”

The young man nodded.

“We’re not going to take any risks. The gold arrives here, and we’ll take care of it. We can always claim ignorance, and none of our businesses will be involved. Nor will the ministry of economic affairs”, Gerald said looking at the man with the monocle in front of him.

“Do not send them a letter back then”, the man at the head of the table conceded, “but you can go there personally to take care of the matter. Remember: we have nothing to do with this. Are we agreed?”

Nodding from across the table signalled that it was time for the next item on the agenda.

Saint Denis’

Rain again. The water washed the streets clean of all the robbers and beggars, and chased them into the town’s many pubs and beerhouses. All of them were full, and the beer was flowing as rich like the rain falling down on rooftops. Fighting, arguing, yelling and above all, drinking were the most common ways to ‘entertain’ yourself, and everybody was too occupied with his or her ‘entertainment’ to notice a man walking in, straight towards the bar where John Rogerson was still serving his customers.

“That’ll be two ducat guilders… Thank you” He took the money without counting in the cash register, and continued to polish the bar, serve beer and many other, most often, illegal alcoholic beverages. Then he saw the man, soaking wet. This person introduced himself as Lorgan Vimes, a friend of Maynard Blouff. He was searching for Charles Guillespeak, and without saying a thing John pointed to someone laying on the floor near the fireplace, sleeping. With mixed feelings Vimes looked at the sleeping ragman and turned his face to John’s.

“You sure that’s ol’ Charles Guillespeak?”

“Damn sure. That’s him, he always sleeps at this hour. Better not wake him, or he’ll be like the devil chasin’ ya tail around town.”

“Well I need him, his life may be in danger.” The worried look on Vimes’ face did not impress or intimidate the bartender. In fact, he looked at Charles even more apathetic. He lifted his shoulders, and went on pouring drinks.

“John, look. I did not travel five hundred miles just to see a drunkard sleep. Is he indeed Charles Guillespeak.” If his snorting did not make such a load of noise, one could swear he deceased and was already starting to decompose. What a smell! You have to sniff the air to believe it.

“Jeez man, yeah he is ol’ Charley.” With a quaint look on his face he stared at Vimes, who was staring at Charles, now lying on his abdomen, still snorting and coughing. He held a bottle of Ol' Booze to his chest, like a child holds his or her favourite doll close to their hearts.

“Goddamnit.” Suddenly Vimes felt someone pulling on his wet raincoat and was told to sit at his table. Not in a way you’d think something might be wrong, but a friendly push telling you to sit down, relax and listen.

“I notice you want or need to talk to Charles, I can arrange that.” He nodded his head, while avoiding Lorgan’s face for a brief moment, then he returned his face – and attention to the conversation.

“How much?” Lorgan was already grabbing his wallet, but a gentle push on his arm, made him put it back in his pocket. He looked quite surprised at the man, but his kind smile made me feel a bit more ‘at home’.

“Mr. Vimes, I’m not that kind of person.” The look on the old guy’s face betrayed many things indeed, and Lorgan knew he was lying about not willing to be paid. Somehow he thought this part was free of charge, the interesting stuff will cost me.

“Well you sure look like one I’m afraid.”

“Don’t kid yourself Mr. Vimes, looks don’t tell the truth.”

“In some cases they do.”

“Sure, but I bet you did not come here to have a chat with an old bugger like me. So tell me, what brought you here in Saint Denis’?”

“To be frank, I think Charles Guillespeak can help us with some… research.”

“So you’re here to investigate the rumors about the Order and interrogate Charley about this Mystery Man do you now?”

“Well, since you already guessed a major portion of it, I might as well ‘spill my guts’.”

“Of course Mr. Vimes. But allow me to tell you something about ol’ Charley. All the jokes people make about him having no friends is a lie, and a bad one too. You see, people respect him with whole their hearts. And I ain’t talking about respect like people respect Johnny at the bar or Frederick at the bank. No, I mean the equivalent of mobster respect. That’s something, don’t you agree?”

“Indeed it is something, that surprises me, to say the least. I never thought people respect him.”

“He’s the savior of this town. He protects us from the outside.”

“What do you mean… mister…?”

“Eliasberg’s my name. That’s right. Charles Guillespeak’s a real strange one. He has power, influence and connections with the underground. Not the local underground of smugglers and thieves, but the political underground. He knows resistance and people who actively confront and, if necessary, fight the government.”

“Woah, that’s amazing. How can he…”

“All fake. He drinks a lot, but I tell you, he’s the fastest and most dangerous shooter in town. I remember a day when he was posting a few letters – nobody knows to who or what he writes – at the post office when a guy stepped in, dressed in a raincoat, but it was like 40°C outside, so he drew attention of the guard. And before you could say ‘HOLY SHIT!’ a double barrel shotgun went off, firing one barrel and killing the guard. His brains were smeared all over the wall behind him, and Miss Percy too. So Sharkfaced Pete, the postman stood there quaking in his booths, legs shakin’ but not ol’ Charley. Jan also stood there, paralyzed, but armed.”

“Not ol’ Charley. Go on.”

“So the robber stood there, one barrel still able to fire and Guillespeak with a Cobragt .45, a state issued model. Pretty solid design, but some flaws. The guy with the shotgun held it a bit awkward, and asked Sharkfaced Pete to fill his bag with money. Banks are too hot these days, and you’re likely to get killed by a hitman the bank hires.” Eliasberg leaned back on the sticky chair, smelling like old beer as he took out a cigarette of poor quality (the tobacco fell out from the end) and lighted it with a match. While burning, he threw the match on the ground where the little flame died. He continued. “The robber was messing a bit with his shotgun, so Charley got his chance, took out his revolver from his quick-draw holster, pulled back the hammer, aimed – all in a second – pulled the trigger and…” Eliasberg was the kind of person who could bring such an awe-inspiring amount of tension in a story, and this recollection of happenings wasn't an exception. Several other fellows were listening even though they already knew what happened afterwards.

“And what? Please go on.”

“Nothing. A misfire, that happened quite a lot with the Cobragt .45, and Charley couldn’t help it by pulling back the hammer again, it was dead stuck. He robber saw this, aimed his shotgun but he was still messing around with the bag of money and aiming the shotgun and now I tell you something it is not a lie, Charley made a duck jump towards Jan, took out his pistol and popped the sonofabitch with 4 rounds between his eyes.” With a certain feeling of great personal satisfaction he leaned back again, brought the cigarette to his dry red lips and inhaled deep. He kept the smoke in his mouth for a while, not exhaling but he was tasting it. Lorgan was still occupied with his own thoughts about Charles Guillespeak, trying to organise this new load of information and to discard all the untrue things said about him.

“Unbelievable. That is unbelievable. Where’d he learn to shoot like that?”

“His contacts learned him, but I have to go now.” Eliasberg left the table, leaving Vimes and the others behind. Baffled about the story just told, he was sure this Charles Guillespeak isn’t a regular lowlife. No, he’s a man with a future. He’s with us, not against us. I will do what I must to recruit him for our own purposes. I must persuade him before the Order finds him – and puts an end to his life.

Meanwhile

The festivities were in full bloom. Guests were entertaining themselves, the men were discussing politics and business – acting like they rule the world and the nations far beyond their (limited) grasp in space. The women were flattered by the tipsy men flirting, chatting about fashion trends in many other nations while a cheerful classical music was played by a small band, and eventually as evening fell around 7PM in the Marble Gardens Plaza a jazz band came to the stage and the dancing began. At eight o clock the dinner is going to commence, and the guests began to drip into the grand dining hall, one by one. The Manager of the hotel kept a close watch where Mr. Alwood was sitting down, the table with the Duke of Lancaster of Gloucterbury, good. Klaes Dernhest, also good. Guffingfordian citizens with influence and who’ll gossip about the strange guest. The Manager turned his back to the dining and talking guests, returned to his office and began to wait until the main course was being served. Then, when they were all eating he’d announce the important phonecall, and talk to Alwood about the Order. He looked at his watch again, again… Waiting.

It’s time. With a certain haste he moved cautiously through the tables, navigating past all the servants carrying dishes, silverware and fine wines until he reached the table with Mr. Alwood. Without saying a word to the other guests, he frowned and told Mr. Alwood about the phonecall. Saying it softly – but not whispering to let the other guests hear what was being said he told Mr. Alwood. He excused himself, and waited for Mr. Alwood to get up and follow the Manager to his office.

James is a relatively handsome man and in reasonably good shape, personable too. He could probably be a ladies man, a real James Bond, if he put his mind to it, but for all the world to see he was a businessman. Inbetween his scotch and sodas he was always on the look out for the same conversations, anything that conveyed opportunity. He listened intently for any real estate gossip, investment ideas or if anyone mentioned the words 'venture capital' he quite politely ingratiated himself into the conversation. His polite bows and easy smile , as well as his rich silk suit certainly made him look to be a man on the make, and he was all business. His only flirtations with women were with the obviously very rich ones, looks didn't seem to matter.

He was enjoying himself immensly and had a seat, running through the drinks and appetizers to the main course, when he was interrupted by the manager. The manager, relaying a phone message? He nodded and then stood, bowing to the others at his table "If you would pardon me, apparently no money gets made unless it's with my direct input."

He said it with a smile and a wink and was off, following the manager.

The group of men, all wearing their fine Gucci linen suits, with their dark frames sitting on top of their well combed head, pushing their hair to the rear, looked at the man standing to their forefront, both his hands firmly planted on the long oak table seperating them all. The man standing, his eyes weaving between the men sitting in front of him, was the chief of the Imperial Intelligence for National Security Agency , Johann Grouder. His power was immense, matching that of even the advisors to the emperor, but he knew how to use it selectively, because he knew how many people wanted his job, and how willing Fedor was to boot him. However, he also cared about the security of the Empire, and the latest news concerning their rather large neighbor Guffingford was of much concern. Grouder relaxed a bit, taking his weight off the table and grabing his coffee, freshly brewed at the local [i]Anitas Cafe, a much loved place where most of the intelligence officers that worked in the central office, within Fedala, bought their morning coffee.

They preferred Anitas to the six or seven Starbucks that littered the streets around the center of Fedala, since Starbucks was growing evidence of capitalism's dark side. One shouldn't get confused though, the Empire was fully capitalist and testamonies to that existed within the Empire's wars against Communism. Nonetheless, they also had an interest in protecting their citizens from the more hurtful aspects of capitalism. Indeed, capitalism induced the survival of the fittest, however, there came a point where the fittest held all and where those with less could not survive. Consequently, it could be said, the interest of the Empire lay in a middle ground between Communism and laissez faire.

Johann Grouder put down his coffee and opened his mouth, finally feeling dry. Licking his lips he continued,"Alright gentlemen, you have been hand picked by myself for a very important intelligence mission. You have all been briefed with what you need to know, and you all have some foundation to why you are here. Correct?" The group nodded and Grouder pressed on,"Please open the manila folders located in front of you to the first sheet."

The room filled with the noise of people ruffling through the papers and finally landing on the first page, of course, after taking a scan at the rest of the folder. Grouder cleared his throat and went on,"It appears as a Mr. Thaddick, a reputed master banker of the Guffingfordi First National Banking and Trust Company allowed the transfer of two hundred thousand ducat guilders. Although in a nation like Guffingford, which as really gone to hell in the last couple of years, things like this are normal, what worries me is that a transaction as large as this is unheard of, even in Guffingford."

Hans Jemias looked at the newspaper article arrayed in front of him, and then to Grouder, and spoke up,"They say that place is the easiest place to get money when you need it. I mean, c'mon it's one of the most corrupt countries in the region. Can we really suspect something from this? Well, what I'm saying is that in the breifing I received I came to suspect that this would have a huge impact on us, but this sort of thing happens every damn day in that country"

Grouder nodded and responded in kind,"True, however, most transactions, aren't of two hundred thousand fucking ducats."

Hans nodded and remained silent, allowing Grouder to continue,"Now, if you turn the page, you'll notice yet another article. It seemes that the transaction was done by a Mr. Guillespeak, a low life banker, and drukard, who we haven't gotten a hold of just yet, but we plan to. He says he thinks this might have something to do with the order."

Someone in the back interrupted Gouder with a question,"The order?"

Grouder looked up and replied,"Uhuh, the order. We don't have much on it right now, it seems rather clandestine, but what we do have on it is that it's more of a cult. It seem as if it was nurtured and cultured in Knootoss, a former occupier of what is now Guffingford. It applies hardcore capitalist theories, and argues for the complete reduction of free trade barriers, and anything that goes against that is considered going against the Order. Recent intelligence also suggest a rise of the Order in Excalbia. Other than that we don't know much about them. The problem arises when you take in consideration the economic situation within Guffingford. Their economy is large, considering the size of their industry and their relative gross national product. However, what worries me is the fact that the rise of the Order within Guffingford can, and probably will, smash the civilian sector. True, it is already smashed, but we don't need a third world nation, regardless of the administration's wealth, next to us."

Hans spoke up once again,"How can you justify that it's the Order?"

Grouder raised his right eyebrow and bore down on Hans, retorting,"I can't, but I got a hell of a case here, and I think we all agree that there is a large possibility that it is."

Hans cracked a laugh and undermined Grouder's statement with,"And so what? How does that effect us?"

This last question could be considered as largely stupid, despite Han's general aura of being one of the best agents in the IINSA. Grouder replied slowly,"Well, take in mind that we almost border Guffingford. Furthermore, Zarbia, who sits between us and Guffingford is in a worse economic situation than Guffingford, allowing for an even easier expansion of the Order. That could very well seep into our own borders, and what we don't need is a damn capitalist 'theocracy' within us, trying to destroy the government barriers that we put up that protect our citizens."

That settled most of the questions, and the rest stayed quiet for the rest of the meeting. Grouder continued expanding on the mission at hand, and he finally ended with his orders,"Claude, Tanner, Jacque, Hans, Kobech, Karl and Otto. The following names have been given an addendum to their folders, please read them by tomorrow. Remember, don't be late."

Hans looked at this perplexed. Late for what? This was all too much like mission impossible. Shaking the thought away he got up and made his way to the central hall, and finally made his way down and out of the buildings, the entire time reading the pamphlet, making sure nobody was around his shoulders and whatnot. He wasn't really taking the whole thing seriously, but the deeper he got into the addendum the more he understood the problem. As he walked out of the building he shut the folder and placed it snuggly within an inside pocket underneath the flap of his suit's jacket.

Behind him, Claude and Tanner walked out, talking smuggly between themselves, and they made their way towards the end of the block. Fedala was all too beautiful, however, it resembled Madrid in more ways than one. Tall buildings, built in the 18th and 19th centuries rose up all around the city center, topped with marble and stone statues of Aragoan mythology, including chariots and gods and godesses revolving around war. The traffic was horrendous, and cars whizzed back and forth through the four lane streets of the city. Both of the agents stopped at the corner and waited for the box at the other end flash for them to walk accross. Making their way through that Claude walked up to Anita's Cafe' aluminum and glass door, opening it for Tanner. They sat down at the nearest desk to the counter, and Tanner went to order their coffee. Unknowingly, Jacque had come in behind them, and he himself sat down to the table to the rear and to the right of them, keeping a newspaper to his face at all times.

Tanner brought the coffees over and sat down, immediately beginning the conversation, although in a relatively low tone,"The Order? Seems pretty farfetched, no?"

Claude shook his head,"I think it's plausible. It was sure to happen. I mean Guffingford is the perfect place for a capitalist paradise, where the rich feed off the poor. We should have suspected it a long time ago."

Tanner nodded and went on,"What about this Guildspeak fellow? He would be a pretty high priority for the Order to kill, no? I mean, he basically gave them away."

Claude, the more astute agent, nodded and replied,"Indeed, we need to get to him before they get to him. It's imperative. I really hoped that the mission would come as soon as possible, not in two days. We're losing the advantage after every hour we waste."

Tanner's expression never changed; it remained quite worried, and he said,"Claude, let's get out of here. I have a sense that what we've just said has been heard. I don't think its safe here. Everything since that meeting has suddenly turned for secretive, more dangerous, and I don't like it."

They grabbed their coffees and left Anitas, and Jacque followed them. They weaved through the streets, and Jacque continued to keep his distance from the pair. Suddenly they turned into an alley marked with a huge blue sign that read, PARKING, and Jacque followed them into the alley. As all three were inside that single alley all the noise shut off, and an eerie aura began to flow into the area, forcing Claude to turn around, setting his eyes on Jacque. He smiled and exclaimed,"Jacque! Why didn't you say anything? You parked here too?"

Jacque didn't say a word and continued to make his way towards them. Claude tried again,"Jacque, anything wrong?"

The third man still had a cold expression, almost set in stone, unwavering, and as he approached Claude he opened his suit's jacket, revealing a pistol reinforced by a silencer. Whipping it out Jacque put it to Claude's head, who tried to manuever but was too late, killing the man in an instant. The muzzle was overly silent, and the round entered through the man's forehead, and out the back, leading a small spurt of bright red blood. Tanner was about to make a run for it, but Jacque shot him in his kneecap, bringing the other agent to the ground. Jacque approached tanner and bent over,"The Order cannot be defeated. This is not a war in the way which the Golden Throne knows how to fight. This is an economic war. In the end, the Order will prevail."

Tanner turned his face, splashed with black streaks of mud, and he whispered,"Pedicabo te."

Jacque put him out of his misery by placing a bullet in the man's cheek, blowing his brains apart, and sending him to Elysium. Looking back he made sure nobody had seen his crime, and then he retraced his steps, making sure he left no evidence. When satisfied he got back up and made his way into the parking garage, which was where the alley led to. Fortunately, the exit was at the other end of the apple, taking him away from the scene. It seemed as if the IINSA was now officially involved with the Order and it's presence in Guffingford - and it could be said that the IINSA would seek retribution for the death of two of its agents.

Just two more days...

The Manager’s Office

“My apologies for disturbing you Mr. Alwood but pressing matters go first I’m afraid. I cannot tell you who’s on the phone, privacy regulations and such. But the person told me it is very, very important. It had something to do with your real estate, but you have to hear it for yourself. He sounded quite upset about something.” They walked on, and Alwood did not say a thing except for the worried look on his face mixed with the way his eyes watched the Manager moving forward, down the hall. The eyes betrayed they did not know what was happening, and it was only logical in his own reasoning his cover was blown, somehow.

“Well Mr. Alwood here’s my office. I have to excuse myself, it is quite a mess. I didn’t have time to clean up and…” As he babbled on about the mess, he pulled a small cable from a socket in the wall and then he stopped talking about his office.
“Well Mr. Alwood we can talk in peace now. The internal security system is now off, and the door’s locked. I know you seek contact with the Order, drawn to this country by the gold and the many opportunities it holds. Me myself, I am not part of the Order but I know who is. Seek for a company named DeVerran Management, a financial accounting and advice group. I shall inform him of your arrival through the necessary channels. Mr. DeVerran has many people working for him, both actively searching the Market for opportunities to exploit and possible new associates. To become a brother in the Order, you have to pass a few tests or some kind of ritual I don’t know and I don’t want to be part of the Order but I know where to find them. Normally…”

The Manager ceased explaining everything and the feeling of Mr. Alwood seeking contact with the Order disappeared. There was no reason to stop now, he already said too much.

“Well Mr. Alwood normally I’d ask Mr. Marler from upstairs to guide you, but I cannot stand him at all. He’s a burden, a well dressed burden. Officially I have to send every man through him, but that’s just a farce. Mr. DeVerran is the public face of the Order in Guffingford. I mean, the only person who’s both a CEO of a major corporation and sees normal citizens and businessmen on a regular basis.”

OOC: A post where Lorgan Vimes meets Charles Guillespeak will follow shortly. There some answers will be found, just you wait!

James did look a bit concerned as he followed the Manager, he looked very concerned when they entered the office and the Manager didn't directly reach for the phone. He had non-chalantly slipped his hand into his pocket and rested it on the hilt of his thin 'lung-knife' strapped to his upper thigh.

He was ready to pounce as the Manager turned and unplugged the cord, normally he would have slipped behind the man and slipped the ice-pick like knife between his ribs and into a lung, but when the Manager mentioned the Order he smiled and laughed as the Manager finished talking.

"I must say, you quite alarmed me there. I have of course heard of the order but honestly I wasn't looking for it, not per se. I supposed I've thought about joining in the past, but frankly no one has ever asked me.

I had read about the Order's possible involvement in the gold scare, but coming here to seek the Order wasn't the main objective. "

He pauses and puts a finger to the side of his nose "Mind you if the Order is behind this I have to thank them, If things go as I've analyzed then when people in Guffingford start to panic about the gold, the next best thing to have will be real estate."

James couldn't believe his luck, the Shadows had been attempting to crack the Order for quite a while now, and it appeared that a convoluted newspaper article leading to his visit, and some good old dumb luch was about to pay off.

James grinned back at the Manager "Still, this is an excellent opportunity. If I can help the Order with it's gold plans, the Order can help me with my speculations. I think it would be a very good group to get in with!."

He paused and took out his PDA "Now you said to contact DeVerran Management, or will they contact me? Is there a password I should give them? "

To the Manager James seemed to excited by the chance to actively manipualte his own investments, or possibly even by the thrill of 'cloak and dagger' dealings, though in line with his previous behaviour at the party, he appeared to be excited about the money, the Manager could practically see dollar signs in James eyes.

OOC information: This post's sole purpose is to provide a link between Charles Guillespeak, Lorgan Vimes and Maynard Blouff. The Order does not know about this in any possible way. To some this might seem a bit confusing, so I'll make a short summary of what's going on. If anything is missing, do tell me through telegram or msn.
Marler gets 200,000 in gold bullion from Master Banker James Thaddick, a member of the Order. This is all done through legal ways to prevent by-the-book members of the fiscal watchdogs to catch sight of illegal transactions. Marler is an associate of the Order and Thaddick is a full member.
Marler contacts his superior, Mr DeVerran (CEO of DeVerran Management) and is the public face of the Order in Guffingford. He agrees with Marler's proposal so ship the gold to Knootoss.*
Marler contacts Maynard Blouff, the most notorious smuggler of Guffingford. He agrees to ship it away from Guffingford.
Blouff tells his friend Lorgan Vimes (a retired captain of the Guffingfordian navy) about the oddities and asks him to investigate the Charles Guillespeak case after reading The International Tribune article on the reputed presence of the Order in Guffingford.
Charles Guillespeak is the only person who saw Zax Marler buying the gold in Saint Denis' (Wellis & Rotschild banking). What happened to his colleague Frederick is unknown. He's most likely an associate of the Order.
After meeting a guy named Eliasberg in the cafe, Lorgan Vimes finds Guillespeak knocked out because of a few too many drinks. Eliasberg tells Vimes about Guillespeak's secret occupation but does not discloses much information, except that he's a damn good shooter.
Back in Hoogenbosch, the Manager of the Marble Gardens Plaza establishes contact with (secret agent) Mr. Alwood, a supposed Vrakian businessman. The Manager talks to him about the Order and how to seek contact with them. He tells Alwood to look for Mr. DeVerran.
I'm discussing a good cover for the gold shipment with Knoot at the moment thru telegram, so this will probably be changed tomorrow or any time soon.

IC:
The day Maynard Blouff got the order from Marler to ship the gold to Knootoss

Being at home again, a small but wealthy residence in the Old Quarter of Hoogenbosch Maynard Blouff was weary of all his adventures on and off the high seas. Being a commander and a criminal just don’t mix, that’s a sure thing. As he let his body fell in the old leather chair, he noticed how old it really was. The leather used to be black once, now it’s brown. Yes, this job will pay me enough to quit my job and retire in style. All of a sudden he felt the urge to have a drink and to call his friend Lorgan Vimes. He grabbed the phone (also old) dialed the number and waited for Lorgan to pick up. After a few minutes of waiting Blouff was thinking of throwing the horn on the hook again when it was picked up by his friend.

“Lorgan! Old friend how’s life?”

“Still going on I’m afraid. Say, have you heard about all this on the news? The Order, the ministry’s information… Have you?”

“Yes, it’s really disturbing. Which reminds me, I picked up the most unusual of orders today. I gotta ship an unspecified amount of gold to Knootoss, on behalf of a guy named Zax Marler. And damn me, it’s a lot of that yellow stuff.”

“I think there’s too much talk of that blasted metal already. Can’t you give it a rest? Gold this, gold that, gold here gold there. Damn it!”

“Yeah I know it’s the main source of wealth – and worries of many citizens but this is really odd, you got to listen to this.”

“Well alright, only because it’s you. Keep it short, I have water almost boiling and I want my noodles.”

“Yeah yeah, listen to this and I’m having today’s paper. ‘large quantity of gold bought by an unknown man’ so says the International Tribune. I for one know he got it at Wellis and Rothschild in Saint Denis’, and sure enough, the shipment originates from Saint Denis’. I think we have a match. I did a little research ya’ know. Such things don’t go unnoticed. And it’s printed in the paper.”

“So let me get this straight Maynard, you think you’re pulling off a job for the Order of the Invisible Hand?”

“Well, yes. I want you find this Charles Guillespeak guy, talk to him about try to shake some useful information out of his sorry ass. Blackmail him with whatever, bribe him with a bottle of Ol’ Booze if you have to. Can you make a report of it and drop it on my desk of the Naval HQ? Thanks a bunch.”

“Yeah sure, I love playing a Sherlock Holmes every now and then…”

OOC: Ilek, I'll reply to your post tomorrow. I had to address this first.

The Manager's Office

The Manager felt so much better after he heard Mr. Alwood confirming his sense. Thank God he was right, and everything will work out well. However, he did not know what the answer was to his query; he had to ask DeVerran.

“You have to ask Mr. DeVerran. He has all the answers. Real estate sounds like a solid option, but I have this whole hotel as my own personal bit of real estate. But as I said, you must pay a visit to DeVerran Management. Tell them I’ve sent you, they understand why I bypassed Marler. And by the looks of you, they’ll welcome you into their fold.” Although his mind was at rest, the Manager was still not entirely convinced of Mr. Alwood’s motives. There was something not quite wrong with him, but there were things. Things that cannot be explained, for they are just feelings. When a pistol is put on your skull, you feel you’re going to die, this is the same. You feel Mr. Alwood isn’t the person he claims to be. But there’s no reason to assume or suspect otherwise. All his records are legitimate, all of them go back to Vrak. Accredited and all, but not too perfect to make it surreal.

“But now, the party is still going on. I have some other business to do, my servant shall lead you back to the gala. I believe the show is about to start.” A servant led Mr. Alwood back, and when they were out of sight, or out of hearing range, the Manager took the phone. He only pressed a button, not dialing a number.

“Hello? DeVerran? This is the Manager. I’ve got another one. A powerful and very rich businessman from Vrak. He’s very interested in the Order, and seeks contact.”

“You screened him? Thoroughly?”

“Yes, he seems to be on our side. He’s very concerned with the Market, the real estate Market to be more specific.”

“Very well, I haven’t seen a real estate man in a few months. Is there anything else you wish to say?”

“Watch his steps, there’s something within me that makes him not to trust him. Don’t let your emotions guide you.”

“Thanks for the advice.” DeVerran hung up, and so did the Manager. Moments later, the Manager returned to his duties and Mr. Alwood was back in the grand hall.

The GLI-898 jet bounced up and down as it hit the heavy turbulence over Guffingford. It was strange being in this region, where it could rain so much in Guffingford, but just north of it, a desert could unfold for hundreds of kilometers. It was truly amazing how the regions of this world were so strange, but so beautiful. Well, it didn't seem so beautiful to Hans, who turned to the agent sitting next to him and put his hand on his shoulder while saying,"Puto pais. I hear it's been raining over Guffingford for the past few days. Looks like our little espionage job is going to get that much worse."

Kobech looked up at him and twisted his eyebrow, and then turned to look beside him, and then behind him. Jacque looked up and also arched up his eyebrow and retorted,"Hans, you are wonderful at saying things very loudly."

Hans laughed and answered,"Who's going to hear us?"

Jacque shook his head and went back to reading as the GLI-898 continued to bounce. It was a huge aircraft with two stories worth of passengers, including some four hundred bodies packed into the airframe of the aircraft. Fortunately, the aircraft had a sorts of ventelation system which helped to alleviate what would otherwise be one of the worst smells in human history - the smell of packed, sweating men and women, for a four hour flight turning into a six hour flight. Hans put his hand over his stomach and spoke up again,"I think I'm gonna be sick. When is this damned flight going to land?"

Kobech replied this time with,"I think in an hour, just chill for a while. This is obviously not your expertise within the agency, huh."

Hans shook his head and then changed the subject,"What a coincidence that Claude and Tanner were killed on the same day, right after our sacred meeting, huh? Seems as if this is becoming more and more dangerous."

Jacque, obviously pesked, whispered through the crack in between Kobech's and Han's seat,"Hans, please, don't speak of that. It was an unfortunate disaster for the team, and now we're done to five agents, when we could have had seven, because of some tweaker who decided to slay our two partners for only God knows what."

Hans turned around and looked Jacque straight in the eyes,"You said you saw them?"

Jacque nodded,"Yea, I saw them walking through the alley. The must have been slain after I passed the alley. I should have said something to them - invited them to lunch..it might have saved their lives"

Hans chuckled,"Yea."

They all went back to reading, obviously a bit sickened by the heavy turbulence as the skies around Guffingford got worse, raining and even with small thunderstorms over the dark black clouds. While they all read Hans took out a small notepad and a pen, and began to jot down specific notes. Opening it to the next blank bage he began to write,Jacque saw Tanner and Claude before they die, and there's something fishy about that. Are they setting us up? Who could of known what went on within that meeting? Does the order have something within our agency? Kobech looked over to see what his partner was writing and Hans shut the booklet tight. Kobech said,"You can't trust me to read that, but you can trust me with your life?"

Hans looked at him half dazed and replied,"No, it's that what I don't trust you with." Kobech raised his eyebrow again and they both fell silent for the remainder of the trip. The aircraft had seemed to make three or four turns around the international airport within Hogenbosch because of bad weather to make a clear landing, but it seemed that after about thirty minutes it was able to finally land. When it skid to a halt over the tarmac Hans let out a sigh of relief, and waited for the jumbo jet to taxi to the gate.

The entire team made it out at the same time, one behind the other, and Hans slowed down to meet up with Jacque, leaning over and whispering in his ear,"I'm watching you." Hans then sped up to catch up with Kobech. Jacque looked at Hans from behind for a while and then gave a quick smirk, letting it go when Otto turned around to see the entire commotion.

The five man team would rent three cars, one for Kobech and Hans, one for Otto and Jacque and a single car for the team leader, Karl Heinz. From the rental area they would stay at the Macabee embassy, where they knew they would receive good food, a hot shower, and much needed shudeye. The next day the three cars would make the drive down to Saint Denis where it was the last time anybody heard of Charles Guillespeak, the man who had given the reported Marler the money in government issued bonds. If the Golden Throne's intelligence was correct the man was in danger, and he would soon be killed off by the Order for revealing their position. Understandingly, the IINSA wanted to get their hands on Charles before he died and pry enough information to continue their mission on eradicating the order from Guffingford as fast as they could, and as clandestinely as they could.

No one could understand how hard it was to even get information on Charley from the Guffingfordi government. The Empire, personally delegated by the chief of intelligence himself, had paid enough money to the Guffingford underground/behind the table administration to pay for food for the rest of the year, just to get information on the elusive Charles. They would need enough information on him as possible, and they would soon need information on others, including the secretive Guffingfordi workers underground, which although largely secretive, and out of the Empire's intelligencia's jurisdiction, would prove quite helpful for the IINSA's mission within Guffingford.

After speaking to Charley the team would then travel to Thaddick's office, which sat in the same city, and could see how the gold transfer had gone through. It would all prove extremely interesting, although perhaps through experience some things would change, and perhaps the team would never get to see Thaddick - one could never tell. Life had a tendency to pop strange things up. What one could successfully tell was that the team had much work ahead.

James thanked the Manager and then rejoined the other guests at the nights festivities. He was in an even better mood when he returned and enjoyed himself considerably for the rest of the evening.

The next day and the next couple of days after he busied himself with meetings with Real Estate agencies and banks, to get properties lined up and possible loans lined up as well. He wanted to have business raken cae of before meeting with anyone at DeVerran Management. He wanted to show them that business was his first priority and that the Order of The Invisible Hand and Mr. DeVerran could wait until he had the important things in order.

It wasn't until three days after meeting the Manager of the Marble Gardens Plaza that he made an appointment to meet with Mr. DeVerran , using the Managers credentials as his refernce.

Business as usual

"So, my dearest Mrs Appleby, do you have the investment, stock and bond reports ready? I'd like to have a sneak peak at them before I start trading." DeVerran warmed his hands at the fireplace, the fire was burning bright and sparking, the wood was still a bit wet because of all the rain.
"Yes Mr. DeVerran, I will get them right away..." She did not say it, but hell if she didn't thought 'you pompous and fraudulent sack of shit'. And went off to the secure hall of records.

A brief moment later, she was back and delivered the documents onto DeVerran's lavish desk, probably something made by Chippendale in England. While thumbing through the pages and pages of numbers, reports and expectations of next years economy, he found something interesting. Perhaps coincidence, but interesting nonetheless. It seems that Mr. Alwood is pretty busy with the real estate market, yes it is most interesting. DeVerran knew real estate is a valuable asset these days, so he wrote an invitation to Mr. Alwood. Considering the urgency of this message, and the fact Mr. Ludwig DeVerran himself of DeVerran Management Inc., the most prestigious and respected financial management company in Guffingford, wrote it, should ring a bell or two.

James was going over his business plans when he received Mr. Deverran's invitation. He chuckled as he looked it over, apparently his decision to not make The Order a priority had made Mr. DeVerran a tad bit anxious, as he had anticipated. Anxious persons tend to cut corners and not check things out quite as thouroughly as they should, which may bode well for James.

He paused and called in his body-guard "Be a good lad and order a car, I have to meet with a Mr. DeVerran. I don't want to keep him waiting."

James smiled to himself as he locked up his things and prepared to meet Mr. De Verran.

He didn't take anything with him as he left, just himself and a growing sense of satisfaction at a job well done.

[OOC: Interesting spin-off created by myself. Doesn't directly have to do with the Order, but of an organization that bases itself off the tenets of the Order, only much more violently; a basic economic holocaust. Should be interesting if we get a bunch of really good role players who agree to role play the effects such an economic holocaust would have on their nation. Of course, in the end, the Knights of Pir-Sar fail.]

[EDIT: Forgot the link: This Was (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=445759).]

Saint Denis
The rest of the team had stayed in their quarters in the outskirts of Saint Denis, paid for by the IINSA under the name of a Mr. Steiner. The latter, of course, being largely fictional, with a false indentity page constructed by the IINSA and uploaded to the intelligence servers shared by the IINSA and other nations of the region, so that Guffingfordi intelligence and counter-intelligence could be accurately led away from the truth of the matter. Hans, however, was ordered by the IINSA to continue the quest to find Charles Guillespeak himself, and with this in mind he made his way to the center of the city inside a specifically imported Alfa Romeo, brought to him by the IINSA themselves, with all the gadgets fit for a James Bond movie.

The rain pelted his windshield and he murmured to himself,"Goddamn rain." Indeed, it had been raining for at least the past week, and for the entire time the team had been down here. His windshield wipers were working back and forth fervently, trying to clear the plexiglass from the little paws of water. He kept his eyes intently on the road, looking for oncoming traffic and the such, while his left hand was fervently working itself around his black leater jacket tightly wrapped around it. Reaching in he felt if he had his gun and smiled when he felt the stock. That would be his only means of protection for the next couple of days until they could get their hands on some bigger artillery pieces, maybe an assault rifle even. The sidearm, however, was his personal choice, and her .50 cal muzzle never failed him.

He turned a car on another street, looking down his right side for a specific buildings. He squinted through the rain, while he also kept watch in front of him, and finally he sat the outline of the entrance to a bar, and he nodded. That was it. Moving on past the bar he turned into a subterranean parking lot, typical of countries that emulated the old European city construction style, like the Empire itself. When he finally stopped the car he stepped out quickly, pulling the keys out with him, closing and then locking all doors, and then making his way back to the top, where he would get into the bar.

When he entered the bar he saw a shabby man asleep next to a firepit on the side, and a bartender, with a few costumers along the bar table. Moving on, locking eyes with one of them, he saw down. The bartender came to him and asked what he wanted and he responded,"Cubata. J&B with Coke." It was given to him rather quickly, and he took a sip from it - perfect.

Hans made a sign for the bartender to come back with his eyes, and he made the bartender lower his head, and he said,"What's your name?" Before the other man could respond Hans put sixty ducat guilders on the table.

The man responded in kind, taking the money and placing it inside his pocket,"John Rogerson"

Hans nodded and opened his mouth. He waited for a second and then closed it again, reaching once again within his pocket and taking out another sixty Ducat Guilders. He then went on,"Where is Charles Guillespeak, John"

The man pointed towards the one bum sleeping next to the firepit, who looked more like a beggar than what Charles was reputed to be. Hans looked towards where he pointed, scoffed, murmured,"Fuck", and then went on,"Wake him up."

[OOC: I guess I'll let you take on the role of John Rogerston, since it is your character.]

DeVerran Management Inc, CEO's Office

"So, Mr. Alwood is coming today. Very good, I am very anxious to meet him. He has been sent forth by the Manager of the Marble Garderns Plaza in person, so I think he is, compared to my standards, vastly superior to all the bumpkins Marler sends me." He just sat up in his chair, doing nothing and waiting as he was chatting with Mr. Thaddick, the master banker. Just small talk.

"Mr. DeVerran I envy you. While I work my ass off in some non-profitable banking job as a cover-up, you just sit here and have a cold one and let the money flow into your already fat wallet. I don't understand how, and frankly, knowing how to is going to corrupt my mind even further. We are doing this for the Order, not personal gain..."

"Ah, Mr. Thaddick please relax. Stand up, look outside and smile to the world. It is a beautiful day to do business. And that's what we're doing: business in the name of The Market, and as you are fully aware, The Market always shows the path to money."

"And power and corruption. I do not like this at all. Don't get me wrong, Mr. Alwood truly is an addition to the Order, or the outer layers of our secret society, but it's just..."

"What's wrong? Tell me, please notify me if something troubles you, big or small." DeVerran's face looked as sour as a lemon, his satisfaction of being overly secure about his whole scheme is damaged.

"I don't believe this gold shipment to Knootoss is such a wise move after all. This Blouff guy, I don't trust him. At all."

"Well... Uhm... Okay. Well Mr. Thaddick I see Mr. Alwood has arrived, you know the way out. My apologies, but the shipment must go on. I know their thoughts on raw materials, but..." He did not finish his sentence, because Thaddick already left the room.

OOC: I'll reply to your post later today Mac.

OOC: I also sent this to Excalbia, and I think this might be good to clarify a few things. I could've written most information ICly, but this is a little more effective. Should you have any questions, don't hesitate to telegram them to me.

To understand how the Order operates in Guffingford, it is really important to know the Guffingfordian people do things the rough way. Because a democratic process is completely unknown territory to them (like russians in 1950 during stalin) they aren't the same as their Knootian brothers of the Order.

In Guffingford, violence and deception prevail. In Knootoss - well probably not in the same way. The major influx of African slaves in the 1600's, the native Indians being oppressed and the enduring hostilities between the Dutch and Germans (will write a thread on that in the near future) create a volatile mix of relations. The already tense political stalemate is even worsened by harsh economic times, and a severe dry desert climate in the upper north and central highlands, with the damp rainforests near the shores. A land of most extreme contrasts.

So far the Order in Guffinford needs to get rid of two persons who can inflict (some) damage to their interests: Captain Maynard Blouff who's going to smuggle the gold to Knootoss - with what purpose will be explained later on. and killing Charles Guillespeak. Charley is a resident loser in every aspect to the people who see him daily. The Order in Guffingford thinks he's just someone who saw too much and therefore needs to depart this world. But if they knew he's part of an underground resistance group who's purpose is to counter the Order, then they would've killed him much earlier.

Killing them is essential, but the Order is - like virtually every organisation in Guffingford - ill organised. Though the order's not as security hole ridden as several corrupt ministries, they are growing in power despite of their flaws. Remember, the bigger they grow, the more obvious the flaws become. These can be used to the advantage of security agencies, but they shall also become obvious to the Order itself. It speaks for itself they will eliminate these flaws.

James arrived at DeVerran Management for his requested meeting. He took in the surrounding a bit as he waited the few moments it took for Mr. DeVerran to disengage from Mr. Thaddick. James was travelling light, he was completely unarmed and didn'r carry any sort of listening devices or spy gadgets, only his Blackberry. After all, the Shadows of the Republic were hardly interested in arresting anyone, just eliminating them, so evidence beyond what James could personally report, was unnecessary.

He entered Mr. DeVerran's office when bid to do so and bowed politely and introduced himself "Good Afternoon, I am James Alwood, President and CEO of Alwood Properties Inc. I was told that your firm was the largest management firm around here and that our business relationship could prove to be very beneficial."

He decided, once again, to let everyone else bring up specifics, he purposely wanted them to think that he wasn't actually digging around for anything.

Ludwig DeVerran was a massive man, and apart from his custom made suit, you'd swear he wears boxing gloves after work. Even though Alwood was already allowed into the main office of the management building, after passing through the security checks Alwood noticed the alarming amount of security. Though remaining invisible at all times, he felt that eyes were watching every step he makes and every breath he takes. It was most unnatural to see the friendly face of DeVerran who stood up and smiled to Alwood, "It's good to see you Mr. Alwood, I heard many good things about you and your enterprises."

DeVerran's smile was obviously a feigned one. Still, a warm feeling of comfort and friendship 'radiated' from his face, and this made Alwood forget the feeling he had earlier. DeVerran offered Alwood a cadre of (non) alcoholic beverages, tea and coffee.

"So, Mr. Alwood. The real estate market you're in, I am sure it is fascinating. Guffingford is a land of oppertunities, chance and money." He almost sounded like a teacher. "I am not here to lecture you about all the daring entrepreneurs who are now struggling for a bigger piece of the real estate cake. I noticed you came all the way from Vrak, Klatch. That's quite a distance, especially for a real estate market. You have a nose for business my friend." Something was wrong with DeVerran. Without saying, just by looking at Alwood there was something in his eyes that told him: 'I know all about you. Don't lie or try to deceive me. I see everything.' And as soon as this secret message came into DeVerran's eyes, it disappeared and returned to the friendly kind of eyes you know.

James was too well trained. He noticed the increasing layers of security, but to any casual observer, he seemed totally oblivious to the increase in security. Years of training had haerdened his poker face into an iron mask, he appeared to take very little notice, or alarm at his surroundings.

He sat down when bid by Mr. DeVerran and added that tea would be fine. He then set about dispelling Mr. DevErran's misgivings, although James didn't appear to the slightest bit aware of Mr. DeVerran's hard gaze. He began matter of factly.

"Well, Mr. DeVerran, I didn't think that the real estate market in Guffingford was going to be all that attarctive. Upon arriving the papers were all in full speculation mode about gold purchases and monetary stability, so I've decided to stay a while, after all if this alleged gold scare pans out, I'll be able to eat up prime real estate when panicked owners need to liquidate to shore up their cash reserves, or even their gold reserves."

He paused and smiled politely "It's a good thing too, I've been through eight countries in ten days, Tanah Burung, Knootoss, Lavenrunz, New Shiron and I must tell you I was beginning to think I wouldn't scare any big up, just small transactions. The real profit is to made in a place where my Kronors will buy more than at home." he said with a wink.

He had divulged his strategy and set an alibi for his travels and the great distance he had come. Either DeVerran would even more suspicious of James all-too-ready answers, or his fears would be assuaged.

OOC: In response to The Macabees' post. Written with his consent.

Ye Olde John Pub, Saint Denis'

John Rogerson pointed at the beggar-like being snorting in the corner near the fireplace, as everybody looked at the strangers. Sixty ÐG's is a hell of a lot of cash these days, so that drew quite a lot of attention. Some people already left the bar, because they smelled trouble. He did not woke him up, for Charley's wrath is immense when you awake him from his sleep. When you do, he rises up, leans to the cold stone wall and says: "Who dares to disturb my slumber?" Sometimes he breaks your nose, or kicks you in the crotch, or busts your kneecaps. Not badly, but with a violent temper that frightens people to the bone.

Today this did not happen. Everybody - even John Rogserson - looked in fear when Hans was going to wake Charles up. He approached him carefully, and with a tenderness women dress and handle baby's, he was awakening Charley. After a few minutes he opened his eyes, and a very hateful grin was all across his face.

"Well, Mr. Hans Schwerin I've been hearing this and how you were going to wake me up. Let us go to my room, there the walls don't have ears." Albeit he did not say a word about the men who left, they were surely servicemen of the local intelligence office. It seems Hans understands this.

"How can you possibly --" Charles put his finger across his own, dry and cracked lips. He stood up in an unhandy way, staggered around and made his way to the stairs. On the second floor, he was struggling to find the right key and to put the right key in the keyhole. So, some time later he managed to find the right one and open the door.

Surprisingly, for a man such as Charles Guillespeak the room was in perfect shape. Spic and span, clean and full of fresh air. His desk on the contrary, was a complete mess. Paperwork, books, pencils, notes, memo's, banking information, money...

"So, Mr. Guillespeak..." Hans started awkward. He did not know him apart from intelligence records, but even those can be wrong, or slightly off the mark. He continued speaking in a formal way. "... I wanted to ask you about the happenings around the large purchase of gold. Who was that man?"

Not standing firm on his feet, and being dizzy of all the booze, Charles was no more than tipsy. With a strong voice he replied "The man was well dressed, in his mid thirties, rich, driving a fast car and I believe his name was Mr. Zax Marler. A pretty strange name for this area because it is predominantly..."

Hans did not want to hear any more of this inane chatter coming from Charles. The fool told everything he wanted to hear without even letting him spill his guts. Too easy. Too easy for sure. The next fifteen minutes the air was filled with anecdotes from his youth, half true and more nonsense small talk. Then, Hans excused himself and went to his friends, waiting for him.

Saint Denis'
Hans took his time making his way to the outskirts of Saint Denis' where he thought his team was still waiting for him. The flat they had bought, or more accurately the IINSA had bought, was in rought conditions, much like everything else in that damn country. Hans even wondered how Guffingford could sponsor a war with Stevid and provide a futsal team for the international tournament in Fedala. He parked the Alfa Romeo on a sidestreet, making sure it was in a designated parking space - he didn't need attention around his assets. Getting out and closing the door behind him he made his way into the building and up the stairs. A few flights up and he stopped, gaping at the sight he saw. The door to the flat was flung wide open, and people were staring at it safely from behind their doors, and he set his eyes on the small trickle of blood falling like a waterfall step by step. Quickly pulling his gun out he looked over to an older woman and demanded,"What happened here?"

She looked back at him and closed the door. The other neighbors did the same; they didn't want his problems to transfer over to them. He shook his head and slowly made his way into the flat, keeping a constant look out. Turning the first corner into the living room he saw two dead bodies on the couch, both slumped over each other. Pacing himself over there he turned them over to see the carved up faces of Kobech and Karl dead. Horrified he turned them back over and made his way into the other rooms. He finally found the severed head of Otto, but after a thorough search he never found Jacque. Swearing to himself he fell to the padded chair under him and placed his hands on his head,"Son of a bitch, he killed them all."

Glaring up he tightened his lips and put his gun back into his leather jacket, got up, and walked out the door. The neighbors were looking again and for all to hear he said,"Those men that died here today died for you. And for you, I will kill those who dare oppose the Empire."

With that said he thundered his way back down the several flight of stairs, walked to his Alfa Romeo, pulled out and made his way to his next subject, or better said target - James Thaddick. The latter was the master banker of Guffingford's national bank, and Hans thought he was something else as well. But first he had to get Charles Guillespeak before he was killed - this man had now become extremely important to Hans. The IINSA agent wouldn't fill in the agency about the destruction of his team for a while; he wanted the jurisdiction to go solo for a few missions, and the best way to do that was to make sure nobody upstairs knew about it.

Raging through the streets of Saint Denis' he parked in the middle of street, got out, and made his way into Ye Old John Pub, who's withered sign swinged back and forth through the rain and wind. He marched in, all others turning to look at the comotion, but he ignored them. Making his way to Charles, who also wide awake, seeing the rude man come again for him, he took out his pistol and put it right up to Charles' neck, whispering,"Come with me and get into the car. You're going to be my guide to James Thaddick, and if you fail me you won't die by the hands of the Order, but to me. Do you understand?"

He put his index finger right on the trigger, and with his thumb pulled back the flint, making sure that Charles Guillespeak understood exactly what Hans wanted. There would be no room for error, just action. The others around the bar had kept their stare on Hans, but Hans never took off his glare from Charles, ignoring the others.

[OOC: Guff, in your response, if you're going to roleplay Charles following orders, you can just role play the car (driven by Hans) making its way to wherever Thaddick is.]

"Shoot me coward. And these men will promptly send you right after me..." Charles snapped his fingers and before Hans could say 'shit and fried eggs' John Rogerson took out a heavy bolt action sniper rifle, a small piece of cultural history of this embattled region. Took aim, placed his finger on the trigger and told everybody to follow his example.

"One shot at Charles you fucker, you're dead!" He yelled while having Hans at point blank range, six other men and women took out their pistols and all of them were aimed at Hans. The poor bastard was looking around, staring into the cold steel barrels when Charles said: "Face me like a man you coward and shoot, or put your gun away and live." Instead of all the faces surrounding Hans distorted by anger and disturbed by a wild, prehistoric desire to kill, maim and slaughter, Charles himself remained the epitome of calm and serenity. The gun was still pushing in his neck, Hans had little choice but to lower the gun and ultimately, put it away.

"Now, that talks a lot easier. Gentlemen, ladies, please put your firearms away." All of them did, Hans looked around bewildered as everybody returned to drinking and laughing. "So Mr. Schwering, you saw the things our friendly members of the Order are capable of. Not a sight you wish to see every day eh?" His voice came from a high horse of arrogance and scorn, while lighting a cigarette and taking a sip from a nearby bottle of Ol' Booze. "I take it you think Mr. Thaddick, master banker and politically connected, is an accessary. Well, I ain't going to lead you to him. You have to do it youself. I'll go with you, but remember this at all times: they will find you if you do something to me."

Both of them walked out, Hans was still baffled about the way Charles handled everything, and was sure of it. There was more to Charles than he said and people knew. Both stepped into Hans' vehicle, a rather smart looking mobile and not a thing normal Guffingfordian citizens see daily. As they got in, people from the bar were still fixed on the car, and Charles. Hans did not doubt the word of Charles, if he'd touch him, they'd find him.

"So Mr. Schwerin. You want to find Mr. Thaddick? Let us drive around, then I'll explain you a thing or two. Things that will save your neck."

Hans had been slapped in the face inside that bar, but what would he have done? Had he had his team he would have killed them all, but in the end, alas, it worked better this way. Had Charles Guillespeak refused to get in the car Hans probably would have torn his spinal cord with a bullet through his neck, and Hans would have most likely died as well, but that didn't matter to Hans; all he wanted was retribution. His cold stare, expressionless, emotionless continued to penetrate through the Alfa Romeo's windshield, and he listened on as Charles continued to speak. When the other man finished he said,"Charles, let's get one thing straight here. If I wanted to save my neck I could very well get an invasion of your country and throw out the Order by force. However, for sanity's sake my Emperor ordered not the army, but the IINSA, into this hole in the wall you call a country, so I suggest you start to cooperate. I could kill you right now, and your friends wouldn't know for at least four days. By that time I would be in Fedala, and I'll be damned if your men get into our Empire so easily."

Hans passed all the information he knew through his mind within seconds, deducting where Thaddick was. Apparently, Charles Guillespeak was not going to cooperate to that point, and Hans thought it better to take things slowly. He finally rested on the idea that Thaddick was at his bank, since he was the master banker, and there he drove, setting the global positioning system on his car to take him there. Then he turned to the other man and spoke again,"Mr. Guillespeak, according to our intelligence you are not part of the Order, and I hope that is correct. Although the IINSA is infamous for its accuracy it can be wrong many times, and I wouldn't be suprise if you worked for Knootoss. Before you answer that let me tell you of what's happening between the Empire and your Republic. The Order is threatening to undermine the welfare of the common worker, although it is true that your nation doesn't much in the way of welfare anyways. Regardless, imagine the conditions you see now, and now imagine them under the Order, where you have no working rights. You will work for the state; that is pure capitalism. The IINSA sent a seven man team into Guffingford to undermine the Order's operations, unfortunately, two of those men were killed in Fedala, and three men died some hours ago. Only one man survives, and that is my partner Jacque, who I suspect killed them all, and I suspect works for the Order. He will die, along with the rest of the Order in Guffingford. So, I hope you now cooperate with me a little bit more, for not only your country, but for your life, as the Order most likely is looking to kill you too."

Hans put his eyes back on the road and waited for Charles' response. They had about twenty minutes worth of driving before they got close to their destination, and even there in a city like this it would take at least ten minutes to find a good parking spot if not in a subterranean parking garage. All the while Hans felt for his .50 pistol underneath his coat, and he knew he had more in the trunk. Today would be a bloody day.

[OOC: I have to talk with you Guff, because a lot of this stuff is very iffy in terms of compatability with the roleplay. I'll be gone from here at 9 AM Pacific Time, which I think is 7 PM Dutch time. Regardless, this role play is taking a more violent role, something I think we wanted to stay away from, and I in no way want to ruin the storyline, so before I progress I need to talk to you.]

Saint Denis', Town Hall

"You seen that? It's just unbelievable. Sixty damn ducat guilders. Town attracts a lot of wealth these days. The Mystery Man a week ago, now this freak. I heard some fella' in Hoogenbosch is also spending cash like water. His name is Alwood. James Alwood I believe?" One of the persons said this, in a small and confidential meeting at the Saint Denis' town hall, whispers of forbidden pieces of information never meant to be talked about.

"Yeah, it is amazing. I heard the same stories. Rumors go he's from a place called Vrak. Sounds like the place is named after a wrak [Hoogs for wreckage]. I don't want to see how that place looks like. But damn, you guys remember when Charles Guillespeak served The Mystery Man? He was mentioned in newspapers, now some fool named Hans Schwerin is after him. People are murdered." Muttered one of the others.

"Say, suppose if there was a connection between all of this, let it be the Order. That's the thread that links all of this, I'm sure of it." One of the conspirators was looking at sky; still showing no sign of giving sunshine to let his blasted rainseason end. The infinite flow of water did not wash away the sins of many, or the shed blood.

"Whoa, we're not onto some kind of conspiracy that goes all the way to the top right? If it does, I want to make some money out of this ordeal." That said, the men nodded in agreement.

*****

Both sat in the comfort of the car - but neither of them was safe. Charles knew Hans was a IINS member, the secret service of The Macabees. If this ever leaked to the Order, the whole situation would fall into a rapid current, no way of stopping. Collapse, chaos, anarchy!
Then they'd know people are after them, and they throw off the cloak of their laid-back and easy-going way of preparing Guffingford for a new era. No, they will take power in one swift wave of force. Those three men who left the bar must know about this, or at least, figure it out in a couple of days. Hans Schwerin is probably not his real name, but they saw his face and a telephone call to a certain government agency does the trick Charles reckons.

"Mr. Guillespeak, I'd like a few straight answers now. We've been driving around for thirty minutes and you haven't said a thing." He started at the pale face of Charles, lighting another smoke with his cheap zippo. The thing produced a risky, unsafe flame and sparks came out of the thing when lighted. "I am under the impression that you don --"

"Hans, I can't help you at all. If you want to go for Thaddick, best wishes. You'll end up killing a small cog in the wheel while letting the big guys live to continue their heinous crimes against the workers. Think before you act, please." He looked outside the window, into the landscape covered in the bleeding crimson light of dusk. Heavy light was flooding into the Lightholler Valley, where Saint Denis' is built three hundred years ago. Charles knew this place quite well, and in ten minutes they'd reach a bridge with no fence on the edge - only a few reflecting poles. During this time of the year, there's almost ten meters of water when he lands.

"So, where must I seek then to exact my revenge?" Charles did not move a muscle, and a few minutes later he said something in response.

"Look for a person among many others. He's addicted to gambling, the horses to be specific. He's a captain and commander of the Guffingfordian navy and lives in the northerst city of Guffingford, the town of Windhoek. His name is Maynard Blouff. From what I gathered, he's due to leave Guffingford tomorrow, to send out a package to Knootoss, on behalf of the people you are looking for. I know you think it will take four days for my friends to find my rotting corpse, but you are wrong. We live in a small world." With that said, he remained quiet, finished his cigarette and they approached the bridge.

"Well, I wish you good luck in your endeavours. You will need it. For now, goodbye Mr. Schwerin!" As he finished talking, he opened the door and jumped right out of the driving car, into the dark air below him. With incredible agility, and precision he fell down twenty meters, and then he crashed into the cold water.

He lives.

Hoogenbosch, Guffingford

Amanda Wahler and Edgar Sildegs arrived on the same flight from Jefferson. Wahler, an attractive but rather stern-looking woman in her forties, was an executive with Millennium Investments. MI was venture capital outfit based in the Confederation of Sovereign States. It always on the lookout for new opportunities and investments and, as such, it made perfect sense for Wahler to be in Hoogenbosch to look into the newest rumblings in the local Market.

MI was also a wholly-owned subsidiary of Confederated Enterprise – CE – the Confederation’s largest and most powerful corporation. CE’s chairman and CEO was John Hayes. While many people in the C.S.S. suspected that Hayes was the power behind the throne in the Caine administration, few knew he was also the leader of the Confederation’s chapter of the Order of the Invisible Hand.

Wahler, like her employer, was a member of the Order. However, the Order was far less hierarchical than many of its enemies imagined. Just because John Hayes and Confederation President Tom Caine were members of the Order, it did not mean that they knew everything that was happening within the Order in Knootoss or other countries. So, Wahler had been dispatched, in part, to make contact with the Order in Guffingford. Of course, she would also be looking for a way to make a tidy profit for MI and CE.

Edgar Sildegs was also a businessman. The younger but greyer Sildegs bore an Upper Virginian passport and would have introduced himself as the president of his own shipping and transportation company. He would add, if asked, that he was looking to expand his company’s business to Guffingford.

However, if anyone had been paying attention, they might have noticed that Sildegs was keeping a close but discrete eye on Wahler. Excalbian Imperial Intelligence had identified her as a member or the Order and they wanted to know what she was doing in Guffingford.

As Wahler went about finding a taxi to her hotel, Sildegs stayed carefully in the crowd, never getting too close, but never letting her get too far away.

Wahler finally found a taxi and turned her bags over to the driver. She slipped into the back seat with her briefcase – her only truly valuable possession – and gave the name of her hotel to the driver. She was looking forward to a good nights rest before her scheduled meeting tomorrow at the First Bank and Trust Company.

Saint Denis'

Hans swerved the car to the side as his passenger opened the door and rolled out. Slamming on the brakes he watched his velocity drop to ten kilometers per hour, and he stomped on the clutch of the Alfa Romeo. The cars behind him had braked as well, honking at him all along, apparently not noticing the man who had just jumped out and most likely died. As he moved to the side the first few cars slowly went around him, drivers glaring at Hans. He sneered back and then opened the door when it was safe, keeping his gun hidden under his jacket. Closing the door behind him he walked over to where Charles Guillespeak had jumped into. Looking down on the hill he noticed very little, and then the marks of compressed dirt, weeds and grass, the sign of someone tumbling. Decided very quickly what to do he began to slip down the hill slowly, using one of his arms to keep his balance by touching the ground behind him. When he made it to the bottom he gave a disgusted face as his boots hit water and he murmured,"Son of a bitch. Screw it."

He quickly ran back up the hill, deciding that Charles had most likely died in the fall, for a twenty meter fall was nothing to scoff at. Most would think it was him, but at this point he cared very little; all he wanted to do was to make sure the Order knew who they were messing with, and that if the IINSA wanted, it could shut down their entire operation in Guffingford.

Getting back into the car when traffic was light, he turned on the ignition once again, allowing a piston to rotate the fly wheel, when in turn allowed the battery to send electricity to the motor, and then he pulled out and into the bridge. Looking into his mirror he studied the area around him, all the while pounding thoughts through his head...Maynard Blouff. His brain sent a jolt through his body, and he pulled a quick u-turn on the bridge. He would head north, to Windhoek, to find this man before he left. Blouff was either headed out by aircraft or by ship, and if by aircraft that meant he would have to be in a major city with an international airport, which was out of the question...he would be headed out by sea. The IINSA could most likely order to stop and seizure of this ship in regional waters, merely because the Empire had now worried about worsening relations between neighboring countries, but that would force Hans to alert him of his operations, so that too was out of the question. Consequently, he would be lucky to catch Blouff before he left, and of course Blouff would be allowed to live. But, if he did not catch Blouff he would have to search his house, and then catch Blouff on his return trip. One way or the other, Hans would have his answers.

As the rain pounded his car, and his hair dripped from the water he had collected as he had attempted to search for the now expected dead Guillespeak, he drove on, through the eerie aura of gloom that so beheld Guffingford. He would make just one more stop, the flat. The police had most likely arrived. The murder of three was something that could be kept secret for long. However, Hans would find it easy to forge the credentials of the Guffingfordi police, and he would take the fax machine, used to send encrypted messages back and forth from Fedala to the team.

It took about thirty minutes to drive through the traffic to where he was staying, and as he parked on the street he could see the line of police vehicles. He opened the door and leaned down to open the trunk. Quickly bolting out of his seat he closed the door behind him and walked to the trunk, throwing up a black base cover, designed to cover the spare tire. Instead of the tire, however, there was an array of weaponry normally reserved for someone in the military, and Hans chose the twelve guage single barreled shotgun. He also reached in a side pocket and took out a series of documents and a badge. Closing the trunk he made his way quickly to the police line, flashing the badge around that said 'Detective', and he passed under the police tape. Rushing up the staircase he saw the curious neighbors again, and when they saw him, they closed the door. The police also began to stare at him and he started to flash his badge all around, showing his credentials, and he walked into the flat without saying a word.

The bodies had been removed, and all he could see was the outline of his dead brethren. He swore under his breath, but walked on, and into the private room that was locked by key. Apparently, local authorities had decided not to open the door just yet, and again he swore. In an impeccable Hoogs he said,"Open the door," again flashing his credentials.

Another officer came and kicked it open for the detective, allowing Hans to go in while he gave his thanks. Looking around he set his eyes on the machine and then called for the officer to bring him a large bag for evidence. This was given to him and he put the machine within the bag, and then walked out. The authorities said nothing in respect, but allowed him to take the evidence with him, as he said,"This is for intelligence purposes." Something that was for intelligence purposes would get out by midday the next day through word of mouth, Hans was sure of that. But by midday tomorrow, either Blouff would be within his custody, or the apartment would, and by the second day Hans would be far away from Saint Denis'.

Getting back into the car he drove off, heading north to Windhoek. It would be a four day drive. He would simply raid the apartment, and get Blouff on his return trip, or if he had to, fly to wherever Maynard Blouff had gone. Nobody could understand how set Hans was on his objective. But little did Hans know that his old nemesis, Jacque, was close behind his steps...

“Goddamn. Not again.” The local police officer looked at Hans in a dumb way as a dull light of the dying sun dripped through the dirty, unwashed window. The bodies have been removed, taken to a morgue and blood was still on the wooden floorboards. Hans was gone, until Eduard Weddeltop came in, a STASI agent.

“Good afternoon fellow policemen, I take it you have transported the bodies to the special morgue, not the local one in town?” With his sunglasses in his hand, pointing to the scene of the crime with the other, he investigated the place, took some blood samples and continued his questioning of the police officers.

“Of course mister. But there was a man who came before you…” The word ‘moron’ was written all over this guy’s face. Weddeltop noticed his lack of comprehension skills, and ignored this character. “…He presented his credentials…”

“Let me take a wild guess. Out of the blue my good man. His name was Hans Schwerin? He spoke Hoogs flawless, not a Spanish or English accent?” The police officers confirmed. “I don’t blame you for letting him pass. That’s his job, he’s from the Macabee secret service, the IINSA.” Weddeltop was still talking as Watchofficer Morgan walked into the apartment, excused himself and joined the conversation. Morgan was the boss of all the police units in the south, a very wise but dangerous man.

“So, we have a few IINSA agents roaming around? I bet they were either looking for Charles Guillespeak, or finding leads to our darling corrupt captain Blouff. It all makes sense, what say you Mr. Weddeltop?”

“Of course it makes sense. A mystery person borrows a large quantity of gold, he disappears, appears in Hoogenbosch to claim a hundred thousand in claim, exactly the amount he borrowed, without interest. Then Blouff takes time off, plans a trip to Knootoss on his most secure freight ship… People get killed, presumably IINSA agents though the Macabee administration will never admit it. A character named Hans Schwerin takes away evidence. Charles Guillespeak disappears into thin air…”

OOC: I’ll make a post about Excalbia’s characters arriving and I’ll go into Charles’ daring escape tomorrow.

OOC: Tomorrow eh?

OOC: Okay, my predictions were wrong. I'll make a post here as soon as possible.

Hoogenbosch International

Lancelot Du Lac, recently appointed as new minister of trade and financial affairs, awaited the Excalbian business delegates with nervously and impatient. He heard the rumors, he knew the stories of the Order in Guffingford. In fact, he knew too much to function well as the new minister. Though a socialist by nature, the government decided to put Mr Du Lac forward to make a (radical) change in policy, to stabilize the national economy and to attract some new investors. Stalinist states or extreme capitalist ones, international enterprises had to recognize Guffingford as a place where there are plenty of oppertunities to grow and expand. Putting Guffingford on the map as the international mining capital isn't hard, many nations have exclusive contracts with the mining industry here, and is the only industrial branch which isn't infected by the seemingly corruption.

So there he was waiting, Lancelot Du Lac from the French freestate Cerfonlande. The Excalbian plane already touched down when he arrived at Hoogenbosch International, but with the ongoing conflict in The Macabees, and the recent... 'difficulties' between the nation of Guffingford and several others the state of awareness has been raised from something to something higher. There's no 'green', 'yellow' or 'red' system, a threat indicator, it's either higher, lower or the same. Pretty easy, and saves a lot of trouble. If it is higher, you have to accept it is higher. Questioning these affairs isn't appreciated, true citizens never disobey or do not trust our authority. Finally, they passed through all the security checkpoints and customs departments.

Lancelot looked at a small note, the names of the man and women from Excalbia. Amanda Wahler and Edgar Sildegs they are, good. Sounds German, they will feel at home in this country. He was not going to approach them, no, he just observed the whole situation very closely. But why, I hear you asking, why is a minister of an important department just standing on an international airport observing two - seemingly - innocent citizens of Excalbia? Well, like I told you already Lancelot heard the stories. He wanted to see them with his own eyes, and then make a judgement. No matter how unbiased and free the newspapers claim to be, seeing something with your own eyes is the best way to judge about people. Discrete, but not like a seasoned detective he followed them, cautiousless, and saw them taking a cab, a swell American mobile from 1955. Apparantly a Buick. It was a law in Guffingford that tells all taxi drivers to report their destination to the central point of traffic information, an extension of the STASI.

That wasn't a problem to the drivers, they just said: 'end destination: you name it'. So, Lancelot called the Traffic Information Bureau, and said the number of the cab. CC 1879 that is, and what do you know... Heading straight towards the First City Banking & Trust Company, which happens to be led by no one less than Mr. James Thaddick, connected to the Order in Guffingford. How odd. This asks for further investigation, but not today.

Last night, near Saint Denis'

Jesus, that was one hell of a jump. Lucky I still live to tell the tale. He felt in his pockets, and with an urgent haste he almost strip-searched himself. Damn! No cigarettes, and even if I had them, they'd probably get wet. Lighter's still working, I need to warm up a little he thought wisely.

Charles began to gather dry wood and grass, threw it on a big pile and just before he was going to set the bundle of dry wood and grass aflames, he waited. Looked around, back and forth, left to right and put the lighter down. You could never know is he's still watching. That gun of his, and his hands just love to put a bullet between my eyes. But on the other hand, I do not think he is going to do it. After all, I helped him. Betraying Blouff's never a good idea, but he'll never find me. And even if he does, I sincerely doubt he can harm me. If this Schwerin person tried to torture me, I would have put all my promises to shame, which I cannot allow. Nor do my associates and leaders tolerate such failure. I have to be careful, and I must keep moving. Staying here doesn't solve and riddle or mystery, nor does going back to Saint Denis'. I have to find my way to Eliasberg, and get him to find Lorgan Vimes. These two had contact with each other, I must speak them both.

That is my primary objective.

OOC: where is my money! Or are you done with this thread? :)

OOC: I'm sorry that I've fallen behind here; I'll catch up tomorrow. FYI, for Guffingford, Wahler is from Soveriegn States and is part of the Order, but Sildegs is from Excalbia, but is pretending to be from Upper Virginia; he is a secret agent type. (Yes, we play all the nations of the Excalbian Isles.)

OOC: where is my money! Or are you done with this thread? :)

[OOC: No, it's not done just yet. I still have to finish my story and stop you evildoers!...or try.]

OOC: Post is due to arrive any moment! And knowing me, you know what that means! I'm gonna RP the arrival of Capt. Blouff in a Knootian port you wish, the whole journey is a bit boring... I promise it's gonna be posted today. I'll edit it into this post.

IC:
Finally, finally, finally… The arrival of the HMS Morning Star, my ship that is going to deliver the gold to Knootoss. Why on earth they want or need it remains an unsolved riddle to me, and my crew. As long as it pays, I am willing to look into it, or to deliver it. My fee is steep, but I am worth every penny I ask for my services. Do I sound like a cheap manwhore, or a pimp? No sir, I am just earning a little money for a righteous cause. And that cause happens to be my wallet and bank account. How am I supposed to make a living solely on my meager salary as a captain of the Guffingfordian navy? I am asking you how can I accomplish living a life were luxury is infinite luxurious with only 100,000 per year? The answer is plain and simple, you cannot. That’s why I am doing this.

- Captain Maynard Blouff

*****

Blouff’s ship threw out the anchor after a quiet journey where nothing happened worthy of writing down here. Rough waters sometimes, but overall the sea was as flat as a mirror. Perfect weather for making a long trip. Finding the person who is going to pick my precious cargo isn’t of my concern. If they want it, they should come and get it. And a bit discretion would be nice, nobody is hoping for a few lunatics who get the coastguard or customs on our tails the minute we dump the crate on Knootian soil. The ship is still on a good distance from their nautical borders, tomorrow we are going to request permission to enter their waters. It has to go through the official channels, otherwise you never get it. However, no one is sleeping safe and sound with all the fuss of the recent weeks in the back of their heads. Somehow this is connected with all the happenings in Saint Denis’, and it is worth investigating Blouff reckoned. Hence why he asked Lorgan Vimes to do a little snooping around.

Whatever he digs up, it must bear some value.

---------------------------------
Rotterdam, Knootoss
---------------------------------

Rotterdam and the waterways coming through it were busy; extremely busy. The main river was busier than any concrete highway in country, and yet amidst all the traffic there was a semblance of order. The Rotterdam Waterways Traffic Control Centre, a public-private institution paid for by a conglomerate of Knootian business, managed the the traffic in different lanes along the river to maximise capacity. Most of the work, of course, was done using computers. However, as not every ship was equipped with the necessary information technology there also was a fair amount of traffic on open channels. Every ship on a Rotterdam approach was contacted by Traffic Control, and Guffingfordi ships were no exception.

"S.C.S Victress, I read you as inbound for the 3rd petroleum harbour – pier 73 has been cleared for your arrival and the Yuttie paperwork has been cleared. I’ll be relaying the updated navigation data to your system… now."

"This is Are, Doubleyou Tee Cee Cee hailing, I am recognising as inbound the Menelmacari Argonaut for Marc-Alexander Haven… please prepare to take the second lane and readjust your comm. data for Rotterdam approach, over."

"KCS Rijntrots, please try to maintain the third lane when you enter the main Rhine branch, and have a good trip to the Austar Union."

"KCS Heron, I read that your floating whale processing factory is incoming for repairs and two towing boats are on the way for the final stretch. You have been assigned spot 6 in the second working harbour."

"Acknowledging you as outbound, Amber Lagoon. You might like to know that the weather in the Resurgent Dream is sunny, and temperatures at your point of arrival approach thirty degrees Celsius. Have a nice trip!"

"Captain Blouff, the HMS Morning Star has been assigned pier two-hundred thirty in Marc-Alexander harbour. Registry says this is your first visit to Rotterdam, so if you need additional information on navigation you can just ask. Oh, and please give my niece in Doornenbosch regards from the motherland. Rotterdam Traffic Control out."

"Oh good, they are hauling us in." Blouff called the skipper on the internal communication thing, telling them to pier two-hundred and thirty. Easy done Blouff thought. The red tape will be taken care of by our experienced pen pushers from Hoogenbosch down below, and any other administrative business will go through them. Let's get this over with, I don't want to be here any longer than necessary.

"Captain Blouff, sir, what are we going to unload here?" A cadet asked. This was his first voyage, and was glad the sea was as flat as a mirror during the entire trip.

"Well mate," Blouff replied cheerfully - but with a slightly cynical undertone - one package, beset with danger." The cynicism went unnoticed by the cadet.

"Why danger, is it explosive?" Blouff did not answer this. Yes it was explosive. It was a potential political timebomb. Let's hope those bastards will pick it up tomorrow, or rather tonight actually. They say the 'jenever' in Knootoss tastes like trash.

Blouff picked up the microphone and replied to the man of the Traffic Control Centre, "I'll send her your regards my good man. I'll tell her we have been treated like royals in your fine land. Over and out, for now."

Windhoek
The four drive had been a large rest for Hans, and he was able to clear his head of all the anger concerning the assassination of his team. He had also had time to consider what Guillespeak had said and Hans once again mentally revised his planned actions. He knew he would not survive Guffingford, except if he left, and he knew he could not leave for he would most certainly love his job at IINSA, and he would live forever with the anger of his assassinated coworkers and with the fact that retribution had never reached the Order or Jacque. So, he developed his conclusion and it was simply frightning. He would kill. Murder. Burn. Upon entering Neuland-Gruenberg-Gooshen he had driven to Saint Julien where upon he entered a bar to have a late night drink and finally finish his planning for what would happen once he entered Windhoek.

He slammed open the door, although he raised no concerns in the, just as usual, noisy bar, and he took a seat ordering the bar tender down,"Give me two scotch's." The bar tender nodded and turned around and Hans quickly added,"On the rocks." As the other man went on to prepare his client's drinks Hans whipped open a notepad and took a blue pen out of his leather jacket, putting ink to the paper. He waited until his drinks were served so that the wandering eyes of the tender wouldn't 'accidently' witness something not supposed to witness and then he turned to a page already written on and completed it for the time being.

Hit List

Jacque
Maynard Blouff


It was rather short but Hans had kept the notepad because he expected the list to increase as his adventure continued. Perhaps the Guffingford security agency would even be pursuing him which would mean bloodshed on both sides, although more for the latter, potentially. Regardless, Hans had disputed whether or not it would be profitable for the Guffingford security to even act since the death of an IINSA agent would not be seen kindly in Fedala, and with three other deaths and the disapearing of Jacque it would all be linked back to Hogenbosch, whether it was correct or not. Nonetheless, hans would not take his chances.

Finishing his two drinks he slapped the money owed on the table and put the pen and notepad back inside the jacket. Getting up, he left the bar and unlocked the doors to his Alfa Romeo. He would have to ditch the car. Making his way through the inner streets of Saint Julien he finally found the car of his choice, Tango et Kartuma, a design from his own country - the Empire. Parking his Alfa Romeo on a side street he walked the rest of the way to the dealership and waited for one of the attendants to come and see to his needs. Although Tango et Kartuma was a middle class car company, it was also considered high middle class and even low high class, making it a very conspicuous car, especially when it was paid on the spot in, in cash. However, Hans no longer cared about stealth; his mission was death.

Driving the car out onto the street he began to speed towards Maynard Blouff's flat, about a twelve minute drive in the morning traffic of Windhoek. He parked the car parallel to another, lacking a better spot, and crushed open the main glass door which formed the entrance to the building. He charged up the stairs looking for Blouff's flat and finally, with no luck, pounded his gun on the door of a neighbor. A middle aged man opened, with his jaw set on the floor, and Hans demanded,"Do you know a man by the name of Maynard Blouff?" The other man nodded and pointed upstairs and Hans rolled his eyes,"Number?"

The man stammered a "Twenty-six right." Hans nodded his thanks and pulled out ten Ducat Guilders, placing them into the palms of the nervous neighbor. Then he turned and continued to run up the staircase, making it to where the man had said Blouff lived. He stopped to recompose himself and make sure his pistol had a full clip.

Then, with his shoulder her barged through the wooden door, opening it and slamming it against the wall and rushed in, pointing the gun towards any openings. Slowly he made his way through the house, looking around corners and being rather cautious. When he was done it was obvious Blouff was already gone and he murmured,"Damn." Regardless, he set on what he was supposed to do - get information. The apartment was a mess, with papers all over the place, and Han's eyes placed themselves right on top of some sort of a ticket. Upon closer inspection it was an information stub on when Blouff's ship was headed out and, he was right, Blouff was already gone. Continuing his search he found some more, rather interesting, information - what Blouff was carrying, whatever it was, had come from Mr. James Thaddick - master banker of Guffingford's national bank. After that it could only be obvious what Blouff was up to. Looking back at the stub he looked at the destination... Knootoss - the home of the Invisible Hand.

He walked out of the apartment, silently closed the door, who's lock had been snapped, and tried to piece it together by putting a large splinter of wood through where the keyhole had once been and then through the lock, so that the door would not open in case of a gush of wind or through its own forces. With that he set himself downstairs again, passing by the flat the other man lived by. Before making his way to the car he knocked on the door again and the same man opened and Hans told him,"If the police or intelligence comes you say this was Blouff's work. Understand?" The other man nodded and that was enough for Hans, and he went to his car after a two minute trip down the staircase.

His destination was Hogenbosch, back the Vrye Republiek Rooi-Nassau.

"...With respect to the following..." The spokesperson was briefly interrupted by a messenger in his annual speech for the upper crust of the Guffingfordian society. A short and bald man waved at the spokesperson, who left the stage in a secretive haste, walking down the few steps and without saying a word, both shook hands.

"STASI agent Mr. Weddeltop. A strange name, with a strange man holding up the riddle of his being. Care for a drink?"

"Not now, thank you Mr. Thaddick. However, your generosity never fails. You're a good company. And I am quite sure Mr. DeVerran and Mr. Marler feel about that exactly the same."

"Wha... Oh yes. I see you are up-to-date on the happenings around my more classified operations. In-the-know might be a smarter way to phrase it. I cannot deny it. If that's what you're here...?"

"No, not at all. And yes, I did know of you being connected to the Order of the Invisible Hand. But you see, there's a loose cannon running about in Guffingford. He's a bit too nosy for comfort."

"I know that kind. Lorgan Vimes is one of them..." This time Weddeltop looked awkwardly surpised. His thick bald face, and his small but fat body were thinking. Every muscle was cooperating with his brain, and all sorts of weird scenarios raced through his mind.

"That's something new I hear Mr. Thaddick. Pray tell me, what does the esteemed but retired Commodore Lorgan Vimes have to do with this. If I may speak so freely?"

"But of course, I can't keep any secrets from you. Before Blouff left for Knootoss, delivering a package... A symbolic package just to show off how easy it is to obtain wealth and influence in Guffingfording, making it clear to the ringleaders in Knootoss that Guffingford is a great base of operations, Lorgan Vimes was instructed to gather information about us."

"...And with us you mean the Order, not the STASI?" Weddeltop asked.

"Correct" Thaddick replied. "However this Vimes guy appears to be a very apt investigator. He found a little bit too much for his own good..."

"And his reputation and popularity make him a very difficult target." Weddeltop concluded. "Well, it seems there's only one option. This loose cannon must be eliminated. Luckily for us, we have clues. He was in Blouff's house, some landlord spoke with him briefly."

"Do what you have to do Weddeltop, I don't want any more mess."

"Look Thaddick, when I'm done with that bastard Hans... Shit! When I'm done with that bastard, I'll make sure the Order isn't going to infiltrate the STASI. You have my personal guarantee for that, mark my words." Thaddick laughed nervously and told Weddeltop to leave.

*****

OOC: Mac, I think it's time to let Hans die and unravel the mysteries still standing. What say you?

OOC: well, I think we can assume that I've taken and stored the gold by now, but I'm not sure what else to do. Most of the character RP, I believe, is between Guff and Macabees now...