NationStates Jolt Archive

On KCTV a news story was running...
"And this just in..." A female anchor read, staring intently at the words flashing up on the screen behind the camera (which of course the viewers can't see), "A routine inspection by customs officials in the anarchy ridden AWM province of Klatch has uncovered a huge amount of foreign aid money believed to have been stolen."

The anchor paused moentarily, scanning down, "It seems the aide money had been stored in a warehouse by the Axe Canal. Preliminary reports suggest the Provincial Dyelli Beybian Spy Network, the Cheka may have been responsible."

"While the Cheka has refused to comment at this stage, National Customs Officials estimate the haul, is worth several billion dollars, although they refused to disclose which Nation the aid money was originally intended for, what currency it was present in, or indeed how it ended up in Klatch."

BUMP for the FKC.

Emirate News Network

ENN Logo flashes while a Loud Booming Voice says, "Reporting live is Edward Titius at the International Relations Complex, in the Drakonian capital of Drako Throne, on the recent news of Missing Foriegn Aid in Drakonia."

A man appears in a crisp expensive black suit, he is of average build and looks to be of english-decent. Behind him is a large office build adjoined to a large modern mall. All around him is a well kept sidewalk bordered with well-kept trees and garden-like flowerbeds. "Behind me is the main offices of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps., built onto the International Relations Complex that is the center of foriegn relations in Drakonia."

"It was here today that the Diplomatic Corps. announced that expected Humanitarian Aid and Reparations could not be accounted for. The aid which was going for to the Nuclear Holocaust Foundation, which is responsible for the care of those suffering the effects of the nuclear strikes that devistated three cities in Drakonia.

"Official believe that it is possible the money was simply lost, because of an accounting error, but are not discounting the possibility that it was never recieved. An investigation is being launched to determine what really happened to the money.

"In a possibly related story, a large ammount of foriegn aid money was discovered in the Klatchian Province of Axe Weilding Maniacs. Both Dyelli Beybian and Drakonia officials refused comment on whether this was the money that had not been accounted for by the Diplomatic Corps.

"It appears an investigation is also pending as speculation grows on where the money came from in Klatch and where the money went in Drakonia. We'll bring you the latest as this story develops. This is Edward Titius reporting from the International Relations Complex, in Drako Throne."

The screen again changes to the ENN Logo and the Loud Booming Voice is heard again saying, "This has been an ENN News Bulletin."

Djel House, Cyro, Cheka HQ

Unlike most of the Cheka agents in the parts of the building accesable to the public, the ones deep in the interior of Cyro House were not wearing the field grey uniforms with blue piping. In fact they wore no uniforms at all. To anyone who hadn't noticed the fact that they were now in a nuclear bunker, it would look very much like any other upmarket office across Klatch. In a meeting room, it's walls painted light grey with fluorescent lighting overhead, two men were talking over a folder.

One of the men shook his head, he was a slim man with black hair and a well trimmed beard, "I don't like this at all Richard."

Richard shook his head in agreement, he was a handsome looking man, blue eyes and short, sandy hair, "We could always claim it was a mistake."

The first gave a short humourless laugh, "It is a bloody mistake, and had I known what was going on I most certainly wouldn't have authorised it...just wait till I get my hands on Team 17."

"With all respect Sir, Team 17 has vanished, I doubt we'll be finding them any time soon. Shouldn't we discuss what's to be done with the money, at least we know where that is."

The black haired man shot Richard a glance, "I would have thought that was self explanatory, get the money back."

The officer known as Richard seemed unphased by this, "It will be difficult Sir. Customs officials seized it once it was converted into hard currency. "

"I don't care how you do it, Richard." the first man replied, "Just do it. I I thought it was going to be something easy I wouldn't have got your Team involved."

"Objectives Sir?"

"Return all the Benjian Money to the Drakonian Imperium. We don't want anyone knowing it was us that pinched it, we want this to go down as an error in the accounts...oh yes and unless the Drakonians are totally incompetent they'll be snooping around up there too, when money goes missing, and the same amount shows up in an anarchy ridden Province of Klatch you start to ask questions. Oh yes...and I imagine Team 17 will be up there as well. You and your Team have a liscence to kill, obviously."

----------------------------------------

Armed gangs roamed the streets of the small Canal-side town. Only one place wasn't being looted at will and that was the bank, where a over 30 armed Soldiers were standing guard over what had become something of a fortress. The money wasn't moving yet. In the shadowy windows of an apartment block, someone watched the building. Inside were 6 million Kronors he had so brilliantly stolen, and he would blow his own brains out, before allowing some lousy customs agents to foil his master plan.

Tag for now.

A column of four trucks and 2 4x4s weaved it's way across the border of what had once been Axe Wielding Maniacs. A small contingent of Dyelli Beybian Police was all that marked a border that had once been held by several Divisions of troops. Noone in their right mind would cross it now. The border held nothing, and nobody in the North was organised enough to try to push towards Quisa all those miles away. All there was now was a nearly deserted barracks and the long and dusty road that seemed to stretch into eternity.

They were over the border now, Political Officer 1st Class Richard Quentin was reading over the notes he had been given, a few sheets of paper in a manilla folder, suddenly he snapped them shut. The man sitting next to him didn't take his eyes off the road, "Finished then Richard?"

"There's nothing in here." he waved the manilla folder at the other man, who still did not take his eyes off the road, "Go in grab the money. There's God knows how many customs agents and of course the seven from Team 17, and who can forget the whole bloody population of Axe Wielding Maniacs. There's seven of us and twenty Gestapo officers with us. Oh...and I nearly forgot one thing, however many agents from other Governments have decided to poke their nose in."

"We're not supposed to be playing Rambo Sir." the agent next to him rebuked mildly. He was a middle aged man, thinning on top and slightly chubby although weathered, making him vaguely reminisent of a farmer.

"No." Richard nodded, "No we're not, but I hate being this unprepared." he shook the folder again, "We don't even know how the bloody custom's officials found out....that wouldn't stress me too much, but we're also bloody obvious" he waved his hand indicating the convoy, "If some Government happens to be spying on the border they'll know we're up to something, even if we do, as the plan goes, 'blend in' once we hit the destination."

Kevin Ruil was a small, unimportant little man. Well, at least his friends thought so. They were all high-powered bankers, lawyers, and corporate executives who lived the high life down in the capital, Vrak Prime. Perhaps either due to his unwillingness to follow that way of life or perhaps due to his very real small size, he was banished into the outer reaches – and became a customs official.

Not that being a customs official was all that bad, and he did show some ambition, having risen to a fairly respectable level. At least it was enough to get him out of actual border patrols along Dyelli Beybi. But, during his years along the Vrakian corridor he came into contact with what one would say “less desirable” elements. And some of them found it quite helpful to have a customs official in their backpocket.

Of course, there were always risks, and the Vrakian government was notorious for carrying out purges of officials who didn’t comply with directives from on high. So far, Kevin was able to elude such events. The introduction of the new FKC government meant that some disorder naturally occurred when a new system was being implemented, and Kevin was astute enough to carve out his own territory.

The day the man came with the proposal, Kevin could hardly believe his ears. So the rumours were true about the FKC paying off the Drakonians in Nekoa Bay. And it was true that the amount was mind-boggling. And the man said that some of that money could be diverted here and here, use fake accounts and influence at the customs office. After all, you could be sitting on the beach in Jiggady sipping whatever they drink over there.

So, the plan was put into motion. The man would contact Kevin, making sure it followed according to what he said. Strange, mused Kevin, this man sure knows a lot about Vrakian customs procedures and international banking regs. A discreet background check on his part revealed nothing. Which wasn’t too surprising. After all, Kevin wasn’t the Intelligence service. It was if he was dealing with a ghost or ethereal spirit. And the man knew how to squeeze Kevin to make him comply.

But all plans tend to have unforeseen problems…

Victor Hughes stalked the run-down apartment like an angry cat. He slumped down in a chair oposite his theoretical second in Command, Maria Anderson. She was a severe looking woman, young but with her hair tied back in a manner which suggested she had a 'short fuse'.

"Do you have any idea who got the customs guys involved in this?"

She shook her head wordlessly, she had this wisdom to stay silent when Victor was in one of his moods.

"I get the funny suspicion someone in this Team wants more than their fair cut of the money, but that their plan backfired on them a little...do you have any idea who?"

Maria shook her head again, Victor gave her a thin lipped smile, "Well keep your eye out, they might try to get rid of us again...and remember, one less person is one less to split between."

Kevin’s cell phone made an irritating musical sound. He fumbled with the dastardly thing as he opened it up.
“Hullo?”
“Hi Kevin. It’s Dad.”
Kevin’s voice suddenly went dry.
“Hello Dad,” he replied cautiously.
“Well, Kevin. I just wanted to ask how you are. How’s work?”
Bastard! thought Kevin. The money was transferred as he instructed. Why is he checking up on me?
“Everything is fine, Dad. You know, work is busy.
“I’m sure it is. Look, I just wanted to see how you were. Take care, and don’t let anything happen to my little granddaughter.”
The implication couldn’t have more clear if he wrote it mile-high letters in the sky.
“No Dad. I won’t. Take care.”
“Bye son.”
Kevin hung up and buried his face in his hands. Why did he ever get involved? It seemed too easy. Easy money. Just a small diversion. Play with some numbers and bribe the right people and he could retire. Retire! And leave his cow of a wife. But now, he was trapped. And desperate.

====

‘Dad’ hung up the phone and chuckled. That Kevin was useful but then, like all tools, they outlive their usefulness. I’ll have to do something about that fool before he runs to the authorities and spills his guts. Course, Dad counted on Kevin’s cowardice not to do anything. And it’s not like the Vrakians would be pleased at finding a mid-level customs official somehow diverting aid money to line his own pockets. He counted on the fear from the Vrakian customs office to work against them in this case.

He chuckled again as he looked across the street. It's not like this is all I took. Six million Kronors plus what Kevin wired should be enough - for now. Time to get a move on.

OOC: Fixed a typo.

Richard Quentin was sitting in the driving seat of a beat up looking Dyelli Beybian hatch back, hardly the kind of car the Cheka usually used, they nearly always avoided the faulty contraptions Dyelli Beybi put together. He thumbed through a magazine, "Interior Decorator" pictures of sumptuous, tidy and immaculately clean houses sprung up at him as he flicked through the pages.

"I don't know why you read that crap, man."

Richard lifted his head, he was seated next to a slim Arabic gentleman with a fair amount of 'designer stubble', "Have you finished looking at the bank now?" he asked, changing the subject entirely.

"Well I reckon that block of flats over there would be the perfect place to set up surveillance." The Arab waved a hand at a tall apartment block overlooking the bank they had been surveying. It had a somewhat burned out and deserted look about it.

"Damn, I hate this province." Richard swore, "Bloody anarchy, we need a new Government in here, one that will stabilise the place. It's a bloody nuisance trying to discretely watch a building when nearly all the other cars are burned or hidden...enough already though, lets get the team moving up there" he nodded at the apartment block.

---------------------------------------------

"Shit" Victor watched as two unmarked vans pulled up at the back of the building, the side not visible to the bank, men spewed out armed with a variety of shotguns and assault rifles, "Maria!" he yelled, "Get everyone down the fire escape and across the road now! We've got company, and I'd bet my bottom dollar it's the Cheka..."

"Shit" Victor watched as two unmarked vans pulled up at the back of the building, the side not visible to the bank, men spewed out armed with a variety of shotguns and assault rifles, "Maria!" he yelled, "Get everyone down the fire escape and across the road now! We've got company, and I'd bet my bottom dollar it's the Cheka..."

'Dad' swore as he saw the two vans. Quickly, he made his way downstairs to Victor's position. Realizing that his boss is most likely tense right now, he quietly knocked and said in a rising voice,

"Victor, it's me Alfred! What are your orders?"

OOC: I can edit DB. That is, 'Dad' doesn't want to arouse too much suspicion and...well...I don't know any good Dyellian names.

fuggin forums.

fuggin forums.

OOC: Dyelli Beybian names are anything you want them to be, heck I tend to just pull one out of the air when I'm writing.

Victor didn't turn around, "We've got to get the hell out of here now. There's a lot of them, and they've got automatic weapons."

Suddenly he turned, a wild look in his eye, "Fire escape. Now!"

He set off at a run towards the door onto the external staircase, "Just pray they don't look out the window when one of us is going past."

Another series of vehicles (these mainly made up of cars and a few Sport Utility Vehicles) pulled up to the barricaded and heavily fortified bank. In the middle of the caravan was a small black luxury sedan bearing the flag of Drakonia. Inside, two men were ending a conversation.

"I still don't like this." Brett Clark was the Emirate Humanitarian Organization's local representative.

"Doesn't change anything." Aimes Bruttius was an special agent of the Drakonian Intelligence Agency.

Despite the public release of information, Drakonia knew exactly what had happened to the foriegn aid money. An investigation was pending to see if it was a clerical error that had lost it, but even that was looking to see if the error was the Klatchians' fault. The information Drakonia had was clear, the money had never arrived.

And so, when several billion Kronors had shown up in Axe Weilding Maniacs, Brett Clark as representative of the Emirate Humanitarian Organization (which was handling the relief effort) was dispatched to recover it. Most of his entourage were hired bodyguards, or at least made to appear as hired bodyguards.

"No doubt, half of Klatch is out here trying to get this money for themselves," Brett stated the obvious.

"Doesn't change your job," Aimes Bruttius replied. "Those suffering need this money. It's your job to get it." The reminder was all that was needed. "And I, and my people are here to protect you and the money."

The other man mummbled something about "damned Drakonian arrogance," but before Aimes could reply he opened the door. "Lets get this over with." He stepped outside and was joined by a group of his hired bodyguards. They approached the bank offering identification to those guarding it.

A ways down the street in old broken down building a man was watching them. He was arabic and could have hailed from any number of Arab nations. In fact, he had the papers to show that he hailed from any number of Arab nations, but today he hailed from Al Anbar. He was looking out the window, but now he looked back to the other men with him. "Be ready, they've gone inside."

OOC: What is the general and most prevalent ethnicity (or ethnicities) of Klatch? Causasian, African, Asia, Arab, or something else entirely? Of which variety as well (i.e. Americanish, Europeanish, Japanesish, etc.), please. Thanks.

OOC: Dyelli Beybian names are anything you want them to be, heck I tend to just pull one out of the air when I'm writing.

Victor didn't turn around, "We've got to get the hell out of here now. There's a lot of them, and they've got automatic weapons."

Suddenly he turned, a wild look in his eye, "Fire escape. Now!"

He set off at a run towards the door onto the external staircase, "Just pray they don't look out the window when one of us is going past."

Alfred followed Victor down the fire escape, all the while pondering how to get the money from the bank. Various possibilities ran through his mind as he felt the bulge of his pistol in its vest holster pocket. It would be easy enough to kill Victor now amid the confusion, but I don't quite have everything in place yet. And I don't know where the rest of the team is.

OOC: Drak, depends most likely which part of the Klatch I would suppose. Since this is in AWM, I'll let DB field that question.

OOC: Dyelli Beybians are mostly Caucasian Eurpoeans of one form or another, mostly descended from Spaniards, Italians and English. There are also large groups of Arabs and small pockets of Jews and Africans. Up in the far North there are even a very very tiny population of Orcs and Goblins, although most Dyelli Beybians don't even realise they exist (remants of Gak Clan and Ashnak's Tribe). About the only people that would look out of place are Polynesians or Asians.
I'll assume for now being as AWM is deleted that their population was roughly of the same ethnic makeup as Dyelli Beybi being as they've shared a land border with as long as I can remember.

(IC)The crew from Cheka 1 had just begun to climb the stairs of the building, one or two grumbling that the lifts were broken and they were being forced to carry heavy machinery when a shout came from one of the Special Forces men who had been making sure the floors above were clear, "Sir...we've got something going on over by the bank that you might like to take a look at..."

"Fadi." Richard waved to the Arab who was standing in the corner chatting with one of the female operatives, "...Put that laptop down... and run up there and take a look at what's going on."

Fadi cleared the stairs two at a time, as he raced up towards the Gestapo agent, Richard meanwhile turned back to the rest of his team who had taken the oportunity to take a rest, "Come on, the rest of you lot, we need to get set up before we can plan anything. Get that gear up those stairs!"

-----------------

Fadi reached the top of the stairs, he was a fit man, he was forced to be as a Cheka operative, but he had lost count of how many stairs he had done. He was panting by the time he arrived next to a Gestapo agent, a tall bulky man with close cut black hair, he was not the same one who had called out before, Fadi had passed that man taking a cigarette break near the ground floor, "Out there." the man pointed out a broken window, down by the bank some vehicles had pulled up.

------------------

Victor slumped down, back against a the cold concrete of a building, "Well that was a close shave." he remarked to Alfred, "We're bloody lucky we didn't get caught."

"Not all so lucky." it was Maria's voice, Victor whirled to find her squatting not more than a foot to his right,

"Jesus Woman, you scared the life out of me...what did you mean by that?"

"You remember Sarah?"

"Course I do, Middle Eastern girl, field ops trained, had some limited skills with computers." he frowned, "Did they get her?"

Maria shrugged, "Not a clue. I did a head count and she's gone. Perhaps she's our mystery informant, no?"

Victor nodded, it certainly seemed to make sense, duck out in a moment of chaos and go and collect the loot for herself, "We need to keep a watch on that bank...and we can't use that building anymore."

He nodded towards the tall apartment block. There was another building in the way now, but everyone knew what he was talking about. In the background there was a gunshot, immediately followed by several others. AWM was coming apart at the seams, "And get the weapons distributed, we don't want any trouble from the locals."

(OOC) I'll let Vrak play the Customs Officials ;)

OOC: You mean the customs officials at the bank? Can do, unless another Klatchian wants to have fun with it. :)

Brett Clark, Aimes Bruttius, and their "hired" bodyguard entered the foyer to the bank. Looking around at all the Custom's Officials, Brett tried to decide who was in charge. Upon being unable to determine their leader, he spoke up. "I need to speak with whoever is in charge," Brett called out.

"Take me to your leader," Aimes Bruttius mummbled mockingly.

(OOC) I'll ask Alcona if they want to.

OOC:We...well AWM should be on it's way to being controlled by the Privy Council so...*evil laugh*

IC: The Klatchian Customs officals wore the small brass Hydra tag and seemed to be trying to stay in the shade. They were at best a mixed bag of individuals from various proviences of the Klatch. All were fairly well armed.

One of the older officals turned and yelled..."Marshall Merrimac, there's a bunch of wogs who want a word with you out here."

The man who immerged from behind the long wall of enclosed teller stalls was likely in his fifties. He had a few streaks of gray in his dark hair and wrinkles around the green eyes. He wore no uniform, just a white linen jacket, kaki pants and a blue silk dress shirt. Everything about him seemed to say wealth, even the long walking cane he carried under his arm.

"Good day gentlemen, I am Klatchian Marshall Merrimac on assigned duty to the Klatchian Customs Department. Now how may I be of assistence to you on this fine morning?"

The eyes were bright and filled with laughter.

Of course the small blue Hydra overlayed by a green dagger on his jacket ment nothing to the Drakonians. However, a Klatchian Marshall were more known for elliminating problems, than arresting them. They had become the one of the two arms of 'enforcement' for the Privy Council and the President.

***
Sarah looked out from the manager's office on the scene. Well there goes the money...I wonder if Victor knew about what was under the warehouse. Maybe he did, and didn't want the rest of us in on the cut...

Alfred echoed Maria's concerns about Sarah as he was taking the weapon offered to him.

"It does seem awfully suspicious to me that she wouldn't be here."

He cautiously looked around and then noticed something out of place.

"I say Victor," with a lowered voice, "Are those Drakonians?"


====

The hulking 6'6" Vrakian, going by the name of Tronk, stood with Marshall Merrimac uttered not a sound but cast a baleful eye at Aimes Bruttius' remarks. The Vrakian, who hailed from the extreme northern reaches resembled that of an Inuit, with glossy black hair and brown skin. His stoic demeanour and size put him out of place with the rest of the team, especially any Dyellians that were present since they were a more happy-go-lucky lot.

Tronk interlaced his fingers and casually popped a few nuckles, causing some mild irritation among his fellows. Then he began flexing his huge hands, which would seem more apt to carrying a harpoon or war club, rather than any kind of modern weapon.

OOC: Sorry for inserting Tronk in here. Just having some fun. :D As well, Alcona, use and develop Tronk however you please.

"Eh what?" Victor looked confused for a moment, having not noticed the precence of the Drakonians near the bank, "Could be." he conceded grugingly after looking at them, "Or they could be more Cheka."

Maria was looking a little nervous by this stage, they didn't have anything bigger than pistols, if it came to a straight out fight Team 17 would be severly undergunned, "Shouldn't we be getting inside?"

She nodded towards the entry of the building they were next to, it was a smaller building than the one they had been in previously, only two stories but with what must have once been a very attractive columned facade, "If the crowd in the apartment are Cheka then they'll have our photos."

"They are." Victor grumbled moodily, "I recognised one of the people out there, Zara Alwood, I use to serve in the I.S.E with her, she was one of the first ones on Herr Himmler's band wagon...power hungry b!%^*"

Victor seemed to have drifted off into his own private world, glancing moodily towards the bank, Maria tugged at his sleeve, "Inside?" she prompted.

Victor stood, and allowed her to all but pull him inside the building, "We need a plan, any ideas Alfred?"

OOC: See I'm keeping the thread friendly for minors!

Marshall Merrimac only looked at Tronk for a moment. The order was getting to be so worn that nothing need be said. Tronk just nodded and stopped cracking his knuckles.

Tronk for all his demeanor was a bit of an odd ball. In theory, he was supposed to be the personal accountant of the Olympian multimillionaire Merrimac. In reality, he was acting as Junior Marshall, accounts division. Usually getting sent to deal with city lowlifes who were just too stupid to know better and not worth enough (yet) to kill.

Merrimac had brought Tronk along to 'further his education' (haul his luggage and keep an eye on travel expenses). In point, Tronk was proving useful in keeping the local riff-raff at bay. Some how, even Maniacs avoided direct confrontations with Tronk.

Marshall Merrimac only looked at Tronk for a moment. The order was getting to be so worn that nothing need be said. Tronk just nodded and stopped cracking his knuckles.

Tronk for all his demeanor was a bit of an odd ball. In theory, he was supposed to be the personal accountant of the Olympian multimillionaire Merrimac. In reality, he was acting as Junior Marshall, accounts division. Usually getting sent to deal with city lowlifes who were just too stupid to know better and not worth enough (yet) to kill.

Merrimac had brought Tronk along to 'further his education' (haul his luggage and keep an eye on travel expenses). In point, Tronk was proving useful in keeping the local riff-raff at bay. Some how, even Maniacs avoided direct confrontations with Tronk.

"Watch and wait for now," advised Alfred, "Maybe the money will be moved with these new arrivals. That is, a convoy might be easier to hit than a bank."

His eyes narrowed a little but his voice was quizzical.

"Don't we have anyone inside the bank at all?"

Victor shook his head, "No. The idea was we wouldn't need anyone. In retrospect that was a mistake. But we aren't finished yet."

By now he was inside the foyer of the low two storied building. It looked...old to his eye, some form of Government building at some point in the history of AWM. Now of course the windows were smashed in, and a burned patch in the damp red carpet marked where soome local gang had lit a fire. Maria had gone up a flight of stairs and was talking in a low voice with the other 3 agents of the team.

--------------------

"I wish I knew what was going on in that damned bank." Richard muttered, "Those bloody cars have been there a while...you know it would be a whole lot easier if we could just bomb the damned place, but no" he put on a mocking voice, "The Government wants the money back in one piece."

He paused then turned around, "Zara."

A woman who had been snoozing on a pile of sacking in the corner sat up, "Sir?" she asked sleepily. She was without a shadow of a doubt highly attractive with shoulder length hair, a dark shade of blonde, framing a delicately featured face. She blinked, green eyes, very unusual in Dyelli Beybi, and coincidentally regarded as highly attractive. "Sir?" she repeated.

"You've had a look at National Buget figures, you know, the one's we're not supposed to haven't you."

She blinked again, "Yes." she said, sounding a little confused, "You did too, you were with me."

Richard gave her a wry smile, "And how much would you say our 6 Million missing Kronors is as a percentage."

Zara scratched her head and clicked her toungue. She seemed to be trying to work it out, but gave up, shaking her head and raising an eyebrow "I'm not a mathmetician, why don't you tell me?"

"0.001 percent or thereabouts." Richard announced proudly.

She gave him a brief smile, but remained with one eyebrow raised, "So you're saying..."

"...It's nothing to die for."

Zara gave him her most appalled look, "Please, I wasn't planning to in the first place... Wake me up if anything exciting happens."

Richard nodded to her. He lifted the pair of binoculars from around his neck back up to his eyes as he turned back to the window, "Still nothing." he grumbled to himself.

"Some street kids looking interested in our vans, Richard." it was the voice of Agent Stokes that echoed along the coridoor.

Richard didn't even turn for this one, "If any of them tries to nick one, get one of the Gestapo boys to pop them one. A few gunshots shouldn't raise much suspicion in this hellhole."

Victor shook his head, "No. The idea was we wouldn't need anyone. In retrospect that was a mistake. But we aren't finished yet."

By now he was inside the foyer of the low two storied building. It looked...old to his eye, some form of Government building at some point in the history of AWM. Now of course the windows were smashed in, and a burned patch in the damp red carpet marked where soome local gang had lit a fire. Maria had gone up a flight of stairs and was talking in a low voice with the other 3 agents of the team.


Alfred weighed Victor's words and noticed Maria leave while they were conversing. He drew closer to Victor and said in a conspiratorial whisper,

"I say, this money will get us all killed you know? Sarah is gone and now with the Cheka after us...I'm almost out of ideas. And we are outgunned. I sure hope you have some kind of brilliant plan, old chap."

"I am Aimes Bruttius." The older Drakonian introduced himself, inclining his head in the traditional Drakonian show of respect and greeting. "Local representative of the Emirate Humanitarian Organization." He emphasized the word "Emirate" to deliberately show that even though he was Drakonian he was representing the Emirate humanitarian interests. "I was coordinating the Humanitarian Aid going into our Drakonian Nuclear Holocaust Foundation."

The Emirate Humanitarian Organization was established to promote an massive humanitarian effort to the world. In Drakonian they had taken over all humanitarian aid operations and recieved a large ammount of the government budget. Across the Emirates and the entire world they operated many efforts to combat poverty, hunger, disaster relief, and the aftermath of War.

"I am here," Aimes continued. "Because we believe the foriegn aid money you recently seized was intended to be an aid payment for the Drakonian Nuclear Holocaust Foundation."

He was an aging man, dressed in a crisp black business suit. Looking to be over sixty years of age, his hair was almost entirely gray with only a few patchs still attempting to hold onto their dark brown and almost black color. His sky blue eyes and voice carried a sincerity and calmness that was mimiced by the way he moved and carried himself. He was well-exercised and even though his face seemed to have seen much his body was well-built, not having lost much with age.

"My associated here." Aimes indicated Mr. Clark. "Has our documentation of the missed payments." Clark presented a thick manilla folder to the Custom's Official. "Inside is clear documentation of all the payments from Axe Weilding Maniacs and the our communication regard the deficinies in payment. I believe they were looking into when the government collapsed."

Scattered between them and the vehicles, the "hired" bodyguards (really Drakonian Intelligence Agents assigned as a security) watch the area carefully. The lawless region had many threats, not the least of which the many groups looking to get the money for themselves. The bodyguards were a truly diverse group, with ethnicities ranging from Causasian to Arab to Caribbean. All were well-armed, with every bodyguard appearing to have at least two weapons. Small automatic Personal Defense Weapons were clear, as were handguns, and even the occasional short sword. They were ready for practicly anything.

OOC: Sorry for the late replies on everything, RL is super busy for me now. One college semester ended and another just began. I've barely been on the net in the last few days.

The Klatchian Marshall listened, his walking cane rocking back and forth like a pendulum.

"Ah, if you would let my Assistant review the paper work? Now am I to understand that this currency that we have seized was supposed to be picked up by your orginization at the warehouse?"

While the Marshal and the Drakonian were conversing, Tronk took the manila envelope and began to methodically go over the contents. He would occasionally grunt at the sections he personally agreed with and snort and give the foreigners a spiteful glance in sections that he didn't.

Tronk was not overly diplomatic, but then he didn't seem to care. However, he was attempting to learn from his mentor and was thankful to be seeing other parts of the world.

Victor shook his head, "No, Alfred, no plan. We have, however, got no real hope of survival without it. We're marked men...and women without the added protection money will buy. I wouldn't give us a week in any city in Klatch. We need to get the money...somehow, then we can get out of here."

He paused, considering his options, "I reckon our best plan is to ambush whoever tries to move the money from here."


-------------------------------

"Do you reckon we can blow those cars up?" it was Fadi, he pointed towards the Drakonian vehicles.

"Yes." Zara nodded, "That is, provided you want those guards in that building all over you."

She was seated on a stool in the corner reviewing a list of weapons available to the team, "We have in our vans, one Kornet E anti-tank missile, one M19 Benjian Model machine gun, six TI-Mk9 Anti-tank land mines...yeah, thats about it for the heavy stuff." she looked up at her fellow agent and smiled, "Enough in there?"

Fadi grinned back, "I'll be honest with you Zara, I've never had this much access to so much high powered weaponry, usually I'm not armed at all...it's very excited."

"Me neither." she confessed. The two agents burst out laughing, they were relatively both new to the job, and to the usually unarmed Cheka agents, it was like Christmas.

Victor shook his head, "No, Alfred, no plan. We have, however, got no real hope of survival without it. We're marked men...and women without the added protection money will buy. I wouldn't give us a week in any city in Klatch. We need to get the money...somehow, then we can get out of here."

He paused, considering his options, "I reckon our best plan is to ambush whoever tries to move the money from here."


"I agree Victor. But we need some heavier weaponry," replied Alfred.

"And where do we get that from?" Victor asked.

Trying his best to hide his irritation, Alfred replied,

“Well, perhaps we can pilfer some weapons from those Drakonians or whomever else happens to be in the bank. Surely, they must have an armoury somewhere. Or maybe there is an arms cache in this city that has been overlooked. Or we can always try to recruit some of the locals, but we are pressed for time I think.”

Victor nodded, "Indeed we are...but I feel the primary concern at this point should be to observe the Drakoinians...if they make off with the money, the last thing we want is to be on the other side of the city gathering weapons."

Victor nodded, "Indeed we are...but I feel the primary concern at this point should be to observe the Drakoinians...if they make off with the money, the last thing we want is to be on the other side of the city gathering weapons."

"Agreed Victor. I don't trust those Drakonians. But how can we stop them with what we've got?"

Alfred looked at his pistol to emphasize the point while wondering if he should just cut his losses and escape with the money Kevin already wired. Not yet. It will attract too much attention now. Let's see how things develop here he consoled himself.