NationStates Jolt Archive

The young woman had ignored the warnings of the cab driver. From a good family in Lavenrunz, she was used to being in a land with no crime at all. And New York and Jersey was an allied country, a safe country...or so she thought.
Elspeth Triebich lay in the alley, her fair golden hair strewn over garbage, her clothing torn open, and strange marks made with her blood on the filthy walls around her. She was surprised and horrified to find that she was still alive, and managed to whisper "O Gott..." before her heartbeat ceased.

A little while later a drunk stumbling out of a club found her, and, retching, ran for a payphone.

It was a matter of minutes before an ambulance arrived on the scene. Elspeth Triebich had ironically collapsed a matter of minutes from Metropolitan Hospital on the upper east side of Manhattan. Yet irony would not save her as she was D.O.A and a Crime Scene Investigation unit was dispatched to check for foul play. Local detectives from the 23rd Precient were also dispatched however with little evidence of foul play they were regulated to asking the Taxi Driver who remained at the scene rather than drive off and have cops hunt him down.

With the ID and Passport they knew she wasnt a citizen of NYNJ, this was never good. Foreign nationals especially young ones dying in NYNJ was bad for tourism. The cops didnt comprehend that because they had a job to do, but the young state department offical definately knew this and he was worried about making the report to the head office. The body would be taken to the hospital and from there transfered to the county coroners office. Several days would pass before the fact of a Lavenrunzian citizen was dead in NYC, and laying in the corners office.

"Oh shit she's from Lavenrunz..." One aide spoke with another as they rode the elevator up to the very top of the Chrysler Building.Several days had passed over since the body was picked up and the meeting that took place and a series of obsticles had risen up. They had done basic blood screen for drugs but they hadnt openned up the body. For foreign nationals that was the choice of the family which had yet to be contacted. "This isnt gonna be a good thing I'll tell you that. Our relations with them only improved slightly after the whole King Greg, and the Duchess of Lavenrunz mess. "

"Well we're still waiting on the coroners report..right?"

"We dont even know if the family want the body checked on. We had to put it on hold since it isnt a murder and she isnt a citizen." The elevator stopped and the doors chimed sliding open. The two aides walked toward the secretary who waved the young men into the office of Joseph Puglissi. He already knew what the aides knew however he wanted ideas and suggestions. What he would get wouldnt please him.

"So..this woman..visits NYNJ on a tourist visa..and ends up dead on our streets and you've still failed to contact the Lavenrunzian Embassy?" Puglissi was ticked, this had the making of international incident at the moment and someone had to contact their embassy which was just a hop skip and jump away across the East River in the last vistage of a German neighborhood in Brooklyn. Secretary of State Puglissi would of course make a personal phonecall to the Lavenrunz Ambassador, and President de los Santos would learn of the incident in his daily breifing.

In the meantime the body of Elspeth Triebich lay in cold storage. With a toe tag on her foot and a bunch of unanswered question swirling above her body inreference to her death.

The Lavenrunzian embassy had an inner courtyard with a garden which was the joy of those who worked there. The size and daunting height of the buildings of New York and Jersey sometimes depressed Lavenrunzians, who found themselves overwhelmed by how busy and brash the place could be. The Ambassador was admiring some transplanted daffodils when his secretary, hovering nearby, got a telephone call. He came up, bowing, and said, "Excellency, it is the Secretary of State."
Baron von Bulow, the Lavenrunzian Ambassador, took the phone and said, "Ah, good morning Herr Secretary, so good to hear from you." in his pleasant and deep voice. He was a man who looked deceptively avuncular, good natured and easygoing. The fact that he had been head of Lavenrunz' equivalent of the National Reserve Bank, the Director of a major corporation as well as a cabinet minister was hidden by this. He was, however, hoping that this would be his last official position, and indeed he had only accepted it because of the Empress' desire that someone of real quality should show Lavenrunz' interest in pursuing good relations with New York and Jersey.

The figure pulled the hollowed out blade from the chest of his victim, then slammed it back into her flesh, blood spraying a little onto his shirt, he then pulled the blade from the body, and let her fall. He took of his shirt, now liberally covered in blood, opened the small bag that looked similar to the ones used by doctors and pulled another clean shirt from the bag. He then picked back up his blue coat and dusted it down, before putting it back on. He was quite surprised when, as he was putting on the coat he heard her murmur.
'Mein Gott.'
Made of tough stuff these Lavenrunzians. he mused as he reached the end and hailed a cab.

All that had taken place in just under a minute.

The blue suited gentlemen got into the cab, his black hair slicked back and pair of sunglasses covering his eyes, his fingers were gently pressing against each other, his gun concealed, he then opened his mouth and in a quiet, gently Midlonian accent he told the cabbie to head to the Park House Hotel in Brooklyn.

As he crossed the infamous bridge, he had to admire the sheer beauty of the architecture, after all, it wasn't every day he came to New York, his job had taken him to many places, but never a city as big as this.

Colin thanked the cabbie after the half hour cab ride and payed him his fare, and a little extra, a hundred dollars if he'd wait around the back of the hotel for him, which the cabbie faithfully did, he then turned, straightened out his suit, and headed inside, into the foyer, where his next job was supposedly staying.

Jack Dawson checked his watch and frowned. He was still expecting a call back from his consulate, and felt irritated. Thus far, the small nation of Inthing had no embassy in New York and Jersey, and so everything was backed up at the small impromptu consulate that was really the rented home of an expat who for reasons of patriotism had decided to help out.
He was still damp from the shower and went naked, towelling himself, to check the papers he had laid out that had just come off his laptop's printer. He heard a knock on the door and a voice saying 'room service'.
Jack came from a pretty peaceful little country and without hesitation went to the door to open it, only pausing because he realized he should at least put a towel around his waist. Then he opened the door.

The barrel pushed against the man's forehead, Colin pulled the trigger and felt the gold plated Beretta kick slightly in his hand, the whisps of smoke wandered lazily over the similar-plated silencer.
The man fell, the towel still wrapped around his middle.
Colin glanced up and down the corridor outside, checking that nobody was around, he then pulled the door quietly shut behind him.
Stepping over the body, he glanced around the hotel room. He saw the usual, clothes, coffee making facilities, TV, but the laptop and paper caught his eye, he eyed them, then swept them into his bag. He then looked at the body, then at the bed and smiled a little.
From his inevitable case he pulled out a pair of Latex gloves, the disposable, medical kind and pulled the man up, into the bed and covered him with the bedsheet, he then proped the dead man's hand so it covered the bullet wound.

Chuckling slightly at his handywork he turned and left, snapping the gloves off and storing them in his bag, he then stopped, sighed and turned back into the room, he bent down and inspected the carpet.
He was looking for the spend shell case, which he just couldn't find. Tutting a tad annoyedly he turned and left, when he got outside his sunglasses were back on his face and his fingers seemed to be gliding over eachother.
He turned and got into the cab, then told the cabbie of his next destination.

"Mr. von Bulow, I wish I could exchange pleasantries with you, however I've got a rather serious matter to address. One of your citizens has died on our streets. It wouldnt be of much conseqence if the woman werent rather young and fit looking. We need you to personally get incontact with the family of the deceased a one..Elspeth Triebich..and ask for a permission for the coroner to do a full report on the matter..." Puglissi was quick and to the point on the matter and he had to be, granted a foreign citizen rarely died on the streets of NYNJ unless they were old and visiting, but this was a kind of weird black eye. Especially if something foul were amiss as it appeared to be.

"Good heavens, this is dreadful. Murdered you said? In an alley? Dreadful business, dreadful. And her just recently posted to the Gestalt-Fabricken branch here, how awful. You know she was sort of more in training as her father is on the board of directors. And such a bright young woman, such promise. Truly, we are as grass that is put into the oven and baked. I cannot thank you enough for making me aware of this...I hope you won't mind if I send a couple of my people down to see the body and get confirmation?"
The Ambassador was horrified by the news. Murder was terribly rare in Lavenrunz and his briefings had told him it was the same in New York and Jersey, so he had not put out the sort of cautionary warnings he might have to citizens living in the place...

The cab purred gently behind the hotel, Colin tapped on the window and then opened to door, the cabbie was snoozing.
'Wakey wakey.' he chuckled as he sat in the back and re-adjusted the wire that ran from the end of his sunglasses.
His thumb and forefinger clicked again, in faint blue glowing letters one of the eye peices was covered in writing.

#Subject: Elspeth Triebich TERMINATED.
#Subject: Jack Dawson TERMINATED.

The words soon vanished and a new destination with a small picture appeared.

ooc: leave the destination to you Jo, I felt like posting and perhaps reviving this thread a little >.>