NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: The banquet will take place tomorrow night (PST). Just RP when you get here. You can only post in this RP if you were invited in the Invite topic - http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=367924.

IC

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The Prime Minister, fresh off last night's election victory and his subsequent reinstitution to a third term as the leader of Pacitalia, was busy making sure everything in the principal ballroom was decorated in preparation for the PMB. Advisors buzzed around, designers nervously hung up the decoraziones and the Prime Minister's closest advisor, his First Deputy PM, Nikos Karagounis, was busy briefing him on the day's events as well as on what would transpire the following night at the banquet.

"As you know, Sir, delegates from Roach-Busters, Sarzonia, Anubisyrria, Holy Paradise, Mangoia, Sora Lovers, Pentova, The Great Sixth Reich, Kelssek and Neo-Soviet Russia are attending," Karagounis stated.

"Indeed," replied the PM, still jubilant in his election victory. "And we've got their flight plans under control?"

"Yes, sir," Karagounis answered. "All of their planes will be landed under heavy security and diplomatic status watch with priority transportation methods to be religiously followed. All of the craft land at Isolamunicipa within five hours of each other."

"You make sure none of these leaders have any threat against them whatsoever," the PM enunciated clearly. "That's the last thing I want, and these relationships are too good for us to look like we haven't got the balls to provide security for honourable guests that definitely deserve everything we can put towards their safety."

"Of course, sir."

"After they land at TII, what is your plan for getting them here?"

"Super-protective limousines will bring them to the PMR in a protective-motorcade movement, sir."

"Sounds great. Thank you, Nikos."

"Of course, sir."

The Prime Minister went back to his solitary ponderance. He was just grateful that he had found love in his new girlfriend, Starr Williams, who had recently immigrated to Pacitalia from Hamptonshire. He was glad because the former First Lady, Ariana Paltrioni (widow of former PM Francisco Paltrioni) had passed away of heart failure the past week, and although extremely sad, had left him dateless. He was thinking about proposing to Starr, it seemed they were already a perfect fit and had almost everything in common.

Vivo Per Lei by renowned Pacitalian opera singer Andrea Bocelli was playing on the speakers while the designers and civil servants worked to get the ballroom into a perfect state of near-regal beauty. It was nearing eleven o'clock, he needed to get to bed and get some rest in preparation for the big day. He remembered there was still the usual pre-sleep briefing by the Cabinet Ministers, thus he wouldn't get to bed until at least midnight.

He sighed, stood up and loudly said, "Excuse me. Scusi." The workers, designers and advisors, busy talking excitedly and hanging up the decorations, stopped, hushed and stared at the Prime Minister, riveted. He truly radiated kind maturity and power, even more so as he stood there before his loyal supporters, friends and advisors for the first time post-election.

"Thank you all for your help this evening. I am excited about what the finished product will be, but I really should be heading off to the cambero nocturno and then to bed. Buona sera."

He swiftly exited the room, followed by the cabinet ministers. The workers returned to their excited chatter and productive work.

Bump!

There was a screech as the plane's tires touched down on the runway, releasing a small plume of smoke. A second plume followed as the nose wheel touched, then the roar of the thrust reversers kicked in. Joseph Sutter, President of the Federation of Kelssek, watched out the window as the plane slowed and turned onto the taxiway, slowly making its way to the airport's VIP complex.

"Wow, this is some security, sir." said one of the aides.

It looked like the entire city's police force and an army division had been turned out. All of them were carrying the kind of weaponry that demanded they be taken seriously.

The president and his entourage were pretty absorbed in the all of what seemed to be some rather paranoid security measures compared to what they were used to, but that wasn't really all that bad; after all it did mean Pacitalia took them very seriously.

Finally the plane came to a stop and they disembarked.

Vasiliou Bandanaris, the PM's Int'l. Relations Minister, politely pushed his way through the throng of security towards the President of Kelssek.

The first guest to arrive, he mused. Wonderful.

Bandanaris wanted things to go smoothly because the PM had telephoned him and said his job was in danger. Lately Bandanaris had been caught smoking pot in the bathroom at the Prado, insulting other members in the cabinet and in the House of Parliament and just generally not giving 100% to the job. International Relations was a tough job with so many nations in the world, and the Prime Minister felt that Bandanaris was the best man for the job.

But probably not anymore, he thought.

He was scared to lose his job. At least he would still be a Member of the Pacitalian Parliament, having been re-elected Wednesday to a stunning majority in the general national election.

Bandanaris reached the end of the throng and emerged to see the President of Kelssek descending the stairs of the private plane. He moved forward and shook hands.

"Good afternoon, Signore President Sutter. On behalf of the government and people of La Repubblica di Pacitalia, I welcome you and thank you for attending this year's banquet," Bandanaris said in his usual confident tenor.

Sarzonian President Mike Sarzo adjusted his tie for the eighth time in the past 20 minutes. He stared intently into the mirror in the private bathroom on Sarzonia One looking for any bump, any stain, anything that would be less than perfect. He studied his hair to see if a single strand were out of place. To say Sarzo was nervous would be to illustrate the literary concept of litotes.

"We'll be landing soon," came the voice just outside the bathroom door, interrupting the Sarzonian leader's thoughts.

Guess that's as good as I'll ever look, he thought.

"What do you think, Jay?"

Secret service agent Jay Tyler looked him over from head to toe. Sarzo managed to pull some major strings to have someone with so little experience in the secret service on this assignment. Of course Sarzo was the President, but he usually allowed the service to determine its own personnel matters. This time was a little bit different.

"You look great, Mr. Pres--- er, Mike," Tyler responded with a wry smile. Around other secret service agents and in formal settings, he was used to calling Sarzo by his formal title. He still had to get used to the idea that he could call the President by his first name.

"Thanks," Sarzo said halfheartedly. Tyler looked at Sarzo and realized that he was still nervous.

"C'mon Mike, you'll be fine. You always have been."

"It's just," Sarzo said, his voice trailing and a look of concern mixed with frustration creeped onto his countenance.

"I know," Tyler said. He inched closer to Sarzo and wrapped his arms around him in a hug that resonated with its reassurance.

"I'm pretty sure that's not in the manual," Sarzo said. Both men laughed. At least Sarzo's sense of humor wasn't completely lost.

"Control tower, this is Sarzonia One, request permission to land, over," the pilot said, interrupting the moment for the two men.

"Sarzonia One, this is control tower. Permission to land granted, over."

As the plane landed along the tarmac, Sarzo began to think about the events that led to his first appearance in public with a date. He decided that now was as good a time as any to start being more than just a workaholic and start being a little more human. Even if the tabloids would have a field day with it.

Sarzonia One stopped on the tarmac behind the Kelssek delegation. Stairs were pushed to the plane's doorway and the wheels locked. Bandanaris noticed and moved towards the new arrival.

The Learjet 75 descended gracefully from the bright blue sky, and gently touched down on the principal runway of the Isolamunicipa airport. The sleek, shiny machine, decorated in the national Anubisyrrian colours (blue, green, and yellow) slowed and taxied to its designated gate, careful to not disturb its important passengers. As it neared its arrival zone, the Duzchama (pronounced Doot-ch-zahma) of Anubisyrria entered the cockpit to thank his pilots for the excellent flight. He glanced up toward the airport and his jaw dropped.
There must have been over a hundred armed troops standing in perfect lines on either side of the doorway, their uniforms smartly donned and weapons glistening menacingly.
"So much security," Duzchama Travis Schwantje remarked, in awe of Pacitalia's efforts to insure safety of its visitors. He felt a slight tinge of fear of this might that met his eyes, but it was quickly washed away as he downed the last of the ginger ale in his glass. Straightening up. he adjusted his tie and went toward the rear to collect his fiancée, Princess Adelina of the royal Wong family. He called her name and she emerged from behind the curtains separatign the compartments of the Learjet.
Once again his jaw dropped. Wearing a beautiful silk gown of a robin's egg blue colour, she had the air of a goddess about her. The Duzchama found himself at a loss for words and he marvelled at the sight. He had never seen a more beautiful thing in his lifetime.
"Wow," he stated, obviously at a complete loss for words, "You look amazing." He kissed her tenderly on the lips and then, spinning around, took her arm in his and proceeded to the door of the jet, which the co-pilot was just opening. The couple stepped out and were forced to squint under the bright Pacitalian sun. Cameras were flashing as they stepped down off the plane and proceeded toward the building between the lines of formidable troops. Schwantje noticed a figure standing smartly at the entrance to the door. He recognized the man as Vasiliou Bandanaris, the Pacitalian International Relations Minister. Though slightly disappointed that PM Ell could not be here, as Schwantje and Ell were good friends, he understood the security risk and greeted Bandanaris warmly.
"Gvendadius, Minister." He gave the traditional Anubisyrrian greeting, and grapsed Bandanaris's hand in a firm handshake, "I don't believe you have met my fiancée, Princess Adelina Wong." Adelina stepped forward and greeted the minister with the warm smile she was loved for...

The handshake ended and Bandanaris turned to the Princess.

"Pleased to meet you, Your Royal Highness," Bandanaris replied. He took the hand of Princess Adelina of Anubisyrria and gave it a customary kiss.

He continued, "On behalf of the government and people of La Repubblica di Pacitalia, I welcome you and thank you for attending this year's banquet. Any delegation from Anubisyrria is always welcome."

Bandanaris shook the Duzchama's hand again. "Always a pleasure, Signore Duzchama," Bandanaris said warmly. "I sense you are wondering where the Prime Minister is. He regrets not being able to meet you personally on the tarmac but he was called into an emergency cabinet meeting about the GLNP."

The Duzchama stared in confusion.

"My apologies, Signore. The GLNP is the separatist terrorism organization from the Northeast. We're working hard to stamp it out."

Duzchama Schwantje nodded his understanding.

"Anyway, Signore, the Prime Minister would be honoured if you could meet him in the Central Hall before proceeding to your room at the PMR. Please come with me."

He signalled for the couple to follow him to a nearby limousine.

"Thank you very much. Shall we?" said Sutter, indicating the waiting limousine.

They began walking.

"Very tough security you've got here." the first lady commented.

"Of course, Signora," replied Bandanaris. The first couples of Sarzonia and Kelssek were in tow heading for their respective limousines. "Only the best for Pacitalia's friends."

Bandanaris stopped at a limo marked "4". He opened the door and motioned for President Sarzo and Secret Service Agent Tyler to climb in. "Enjoy your ride and we'll see you at the PMR." He shut the door, rapped the roof of the car twice and the limo began to steadily accelerate into the civilian parking area and out onto the Espressisola/A-212.

Bandanaris motioned for the First Couple from Kelssek to follow him one more limo to the one marked "3". He opened the door to the back and again motioned to enter. "As I just said, we'll see you at the PMR. Thank you for coming to this event, it means a lot to the Prime Minister."

And with that, Limousines 3 and 4 were on their way to the PMR on the mainland.

Night began to descend on the beautiful island of Isola Oestatimiocato, the largest of the four municipal islands and home to the Isolamunicipa Airport, Timiocato's third-largest and oldest (though it was redone in 2000) international air terminal.

A cool Pacific breeze began to play through the narrow cutouts of the rocky island. The breeze fell through onto the flatter area where the airport lay and began to whisker past the face of Vasiliou Bandanaris.

Six delegates and their guests were yet to arrive. Bandanaris was getting impatient, he had been sitting at TII for 10 hours waiting, and only four delegations had yet arrived. Roach-Busters, Neo-Soviet Russia, The Great Sixth Reich, Sora Lovers, Mangoia and Holy Paradise were yet to even report to the air terminal that they were close.

Sighing heavily and shivering a bit though it was still 25*C outside, Bandanaris headed inside the terminal to grab a soda and get his jacket from the coat check. It was obviously going to be a long night at this rate. He wondered what the PM was doing.

Probably heading off to bed after the cambero nocturno and all," he thought. Man, those goons have it so lucky. I don't see them out here waiting around for delegates to arrive.

Most of the security guards and military troops herded to protect the delegates were now standing around, smoking and drinking sodas. It wasn't until a delegate arrived that they would need to stand at attention.

Jesucristo, what disobedience, Bandanaris thought. It never used to be like that.

He had half a mind to go over to the sergeant and tell him to straighten up his men, but he glanced over and saw him smoking and drinking a Coke as well.

Damn, might as well not bother, he mused.

The limousine was painted a gloss black colour, and was flanked by several vehicles no doubt containing military troops and important officials. Duzchama Schwantje and the Princess strode toward their awaiting transportation and the chauffeur opened the rear door and with a gracious smile, directed them into the limousine.

The procession manouvered its way through the bustling streets of Timiocato slowy, deliberately, as if to show off its important passengers who could not be seen through the heavily tinted windows. Inside, Schwantje and his fiancée were having an animated conversation about the upcoming banquet and who they would meet and who they would like to meet.

After about an hour's time, the limousine slowed to a stop and the engine disengaged. They had arrived. Smiling once more, the chauffeur opened the door and moments later Duzchama Schwantje stepped out. The air had slightly cooled from how it was at the airport, and the hairs on the back of Schwantje's neck raised slighty in discomfort. Ignoring this, Schwantje turned around and offered his hand to Princess Adelina, who emerged from the black vehicle forthwith.

Momentarily glancing around them, they took in the vast number of media reporters filming and photographing their arrival. The Duzchama bent over to whisper into his fiancée's ear, then grasped her hand and they proceeded toward the grand building in front of them.

The Duzchama wasa eagerly looking forward to talking with Prime Minister Ell, as they had not contacted each other in recent months as a result of the momentary crisis in Khata and Anubisyrria's almost-involvement in that affair...

The silence was raped by the blaring sound of helicopter propellers buffeting the air. In the sky, like a great, majestic phoenix from an old legend, flew the Roach-Busters Air Force One, surrounded by over one-hundred military helicopters which were armed to the teeth. Air Force One submerged in a thick, powdery, pillowy cloud like a cotton ball, emerging out of the end of it and entering Pacitalian territory. The pilot checked the radar, and confirmed that Pacitalia was below them.
"President J.L., we will be landing in twenty minutes," came the announcement over the intercom.

A man approached Bandanaris and tapped him on the shoulder. Bandanaris had been staring into space for the last hour -- the Fanta had mellowed him out. He was startled by the sudden poke on his left shoulder blade. Bandanaris whirled around in alarm but relieved, noticed it was just the chief Air Traffic Controller, Marcus Petrivescu.

Petrivescu smiled. "Good evening, Signore Minister. How are you?"

Bandanaris breathed into calm himself. "Great, Marcus, yourself?"

Marcus sighed. "Ah, fine. Just came out to get some air. Gets a little warm and stuffy in that control tower, especially after ten hours."

Bandanaris grinned. "Yes, I understand. Especially with the sun beaming in there."

Marcus laughed. "Yeah, it's not in a very good spot."

Bandanaris replied: "So, is there anything you need to tell me?"

Marcus straightened up. "As a matter fact, sir, there is. We've just received word that the delegation from Roach-Busters will be landing in twenty minutes."

Bandanaris smiled again. "Thank you, that's excellent."

Marcus smiled back. "Don't mention it, sir. If you need any of us ATCs you know where to find us. I should go."

Marcus turned on his heel and walked briskly back towards the ATC complex. Bandanaris smiled and turned back to watching the runway and the sunset in the background. Pacitalia was famous for unbelievably gorgeous sunsets, tonight was no exception.

Wow, he thought to himself. Now, there's the respect I was looking for. Those military goons could learn a lesson from Petrivescu.

He glanced over and noticed the bench was now vacant - it had been taken up by two security team leaders playing cards, for the last three hours. Bandanaris moved over and sat down. What a relief it was to relieve the pressure on his aching feet.

Ahhhhh, that's good, he mused.

Maybe tonight wasn't going to be as long after all...

Roach-Busters Air Force One descended to the ground and skidded across the runway, screeching to a halt. The helicopters followed suit. A moment later, President J.L. and Thiensiri, flanked by dozens of extremely tall, rugged, battle-hardened, iron-willed troops wearing impenetrable germ suits and toting submachine guns, stepped out of the plane as a long, black, sleek, meticulously polished limo glided across the asphalt and stopped in front of him. The chauffer stepped out, bowed slightly and said in an urbane voice carrying a vaguely French lilt, "Mr. President, Thiensiri, the conference awaits."
They entered the limo and it sped off to the conference.
The helicopters ascended into the air and turned around to head back to the Invincible Military Regime of Roach-Busters.

J.L. and Thiensiri were separated from the driver by a thick window of the type that you could see and hear through one side, but not the other. They could see and hear the driver perfectly; however, he could not see or hear them.
President J.L. picked up his walkie talkie. "Driver?"
"Yes, Mr. President?"
"Please tell them we'll be a little late. And try to drive as slowly as possible."
"Yes, sir."
J.L. clicked it off and turned to Thiensiri. He gave her the eye. She giggled.
Before they knew it, they were at the conference.

The limo shook slightly when the driver ran over a

bump

The limo pulled up to the conference. President J.L. and Thiensiri, surrounded by their bodyguards, entered the building. It was deserted.
Where the hell is everybody? J.L. wondered.
Crickets chirped loudly in the background.

Suddenly, the door to the front of the Prime Minister's Residence opened and a relatively tall, confident man walked out, followed by another tall man in a suit.

"Hello, Mr. President! How are you?"

It was the Prime Minister of Pacitalia, dressed sharply in a black pinstripe suit, shiny black shoes, blue shirt and cloud-grey tie. Ell walked down the marble steps briskly, the cool breeze subsiding very quickly. The sun was still up to the west, shadowed slightly by Isola Oestatimiocato.

As he approached the gates the gatemaster pressed the button and the black iron gate swung open. Ell smiled and offered his hand to the President.

"Fantastic that you could come, Mr. President. Welcome to Pacitalia."

Ell turned to the First Lady. "And a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Theveenugul." He took the First Lady's hand and kissed it.

Ell shivered a bit and rubbed his hands together. "Getting a little chilly out here, would you two like to come inside where it's warm?"

He noticed the confused looks on the two guests' faces as they searched around. He chuckled.

"You don't have to worry about the press. They're not allowed to come near the Prime Minister's Residence, it's the law."

Suddenly, the door to the front of the Prime Minister's Residence opened and a relatively tall, confident man walked out, followed by another tall man in a suit.

"Hello, Mr. President! How are you?"

It was the Prime Minister of Pacitalia, dressed sharply in a black pinstripe suit, shiny black shoes, blue shirt and cloud-grey tie. Ell walked down the marble steps briskly, the cool breeze subsiding very quickly. The sun was still up to the west, shadowed slightly by Isola Oestatimiocato.

As he approached the gates the gatemaster pressed the button and the black iron gate swung open. Ell smiled and offered his hand to the President.

"Fantastic that you could come, Mr. President. Welcome to Pacitalia."

Ell turned to the First Lady. "And a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Theveenugul." He took the First Lady's hand and kissed it.

Ell shivered a bit and rubbed his hands together. "Getting a little chilly out here, would you two like to come inside where it's warm?"

He noticed the confused looks on the two guests' faces as they searched around. He chuckled.

"You don't have to worry about the press. They're not allowed to come near the Prime Minister's Residence, it's the law."

President J.L. gracefully accepted Ell's hand and gave it a firm, manly, vigorous shake. "Thank you for your hospitality, sir," he said. "I look forward to toasting your good health during the banquet."

"Anytime, Mr. President," Ell said. "For now, I am a little tied up with some briefings, but you may feel free to look around the residence. This should only take a few minutes. Then we'll get you settled into your room."

Ell smiled at the couple, turned, waved and walked into the nearest room and closed the door.

(OOC: Have to go for a little while. I'll be back by 6:00 pm central time at the latest)

OOC: That's okay, RB, I gotta do homework anyway. ;)

Driving down the road, brace for the bump

President J.L. rubbed his stomach, smiling. "I can't wait for the banquet to start," he said eagerly.

The Prime Minister had just emerged from the briefing and heard the Roach-Busters President's remark.

"Wow... it's not until tomorrow night and you're already dreaming of the food," Ell remarked, smiling. He chuckled and said, "No matter, tonight's dinner will be delicious as well. It'll probably be you, the First Lady here, myself and my girlfriend along with the Duzchama and his fiancée, and the Presidents from Kelssek and Sarzonia and their guests. I hope you like pasta, veal and soup. The food here is absolutely wonderful."

"Do you have fettuccine alredo?" J.L. asked. He was so famished he was nearly salivating.

"Why, as a matter of fact, I think you're in luck. Excuse me for a second, I'll get my secretary," Ell said.

He opened a door near the couple from Roach-Busters and called, "Augustina?"

An alto voice replied, "Yes, Mr. Prime Minister, sir?"

"Could you fetch Roberto for me, please?" Ell inquired.

"Right away, sir." With that, the three could hear tapping as Augustina's high heels clomped happily on the marble floors. A door opened distantly and the three heard voices.

The door shut and two sets of feet rapidly walked back to the door where the PM was standing.

"Here you are, sir," replied the secretary, Augustina.

"Thank you," the PM replied. To President J.L. and Thiensiri he said, "My honoured guests, I would like you to meet our executive chef here at the Prime Ministerial Residence, Roberto Caravaggio. Roberto, may I introduce the President of Roach-Busters and his wife, First Lady Thiensiri Theveenugul."

Roberto held out a hand. "Pleased to meet you."

President J.L. smiled warmly and shook Roberto's hand. "The pleasure is mine, sir," he said. "This ravishing young lady sitting next to me is my wife, Thiensiri."

"The President here would like to know if Fettuccine Alfredo is on the menu tonight," Ell said in his confident, relaxed tenor.

"No, it unfortunately is not. However, I would be more than happy to make some for your guest, Mr. Prime Minister," Roberto replied.

"That sounds fantastic," PM Ell replied.

"Anything special you'd like me to add to the fettuccine? Or would you just like it plain and simple?" Roberto turned and asked the President. "Anything for the lady?"

"Yes, could you please add shrimp to the fettuccine?" J.L. asked politely. "And may I have an A&W cream soda to drink?" He turned to his wife. "What would you like, my dear?"
"I'll just have a salad," she said shyly.

"Of course, sir. However, we have a premium brand of cream soda brewed in the mountains of Pacitalia that you may be interested in trying," Roberto reported, smiling. He bowed and turned to the First Lady, "As for your request, madam, a salad will be no trouble. May I inquire as to what kind of salad you would like to indulge in this evening?"

"Of course, sir. However, we have a premium brand of cream soda brewed in the mountains of Pacitalia that you may be interested in trying," Roberto reported, smiling. He bowed and turned to the First Lady, "As for your request, madam, a salad will be no trouble. May I inquire as to what kind of salad you would like to indulge in this evening?"

"I would be delighted to try it," J.L. said, nodding curtly to Roberto. "Thank you."

Thiensiri giggled, blushed, and replied bashfully, "I'll have a caeser salad."

(OOC: I have to go do something real quick. I'll be back in 2-5 minutes)

"Thank you all for the honour," Roberto said. "Dinner will be served within the next hour. In the meantime, please feel free to head to the banquet hall and have a glass of wine or mineral water and some antipasti."

Roberto exited back through the door.

"Well, now that that's in order, let me show you to your room," the PM replied. "I understand your luggage has already been placed in there. However, since you're starving, Mr. President, would you rather head to the banquet hall for a drink and a light snack first?"

"Yes, please," J.L. said. "A snack would be great."

"Certainly, my friend," Ell chuckled and began to lead them to the banquet room.

On their left, Leireggia Capherà hung peacefully on the wall. Ell stopped in front of the painting of the woman lying on a stone pedestal naked in front of a peaceful brook, and began to explain.

"This painting has been in my family for generations. It was painted in the 1500s by one of this country's greatest ambassadors of art, Paolo dello Serrano," the PM clarified. "Many say it rivals the work of Da Vinci and Monet. I'd certainly agree, it's always been my favourite. And in case you were curious, Leireggia Capherà means Princess of Freedom in Pacitalian."

President J.L. quickly turned away from the painting. "Er, I'm sorry," he said ruefully. "It is indeed a sublime work of art, but I cannot permit myself to witness any nude women except for my lovely wife. I hope you understand."

"Of course, sir," the PM nodded humbly. "I certainly understand. Here we are!"

The three reached the banquet hall where the decorations were still up. The Prime Minister had not seen them since two nights before. He smiled as he took in the grandeur of the set-up. At the middle table, bruschetta, prosciutto, frutta and acqua minerale were laid out on the table formally and evenly. Plates, forks and napkins lay neatly at the end of the table.

"You will eat like a king while here, my friend. Enjoy," the PM chuckled.

President J.L.'s eyes bulged profusely and his stomach bellowed like an enraged tiger at the sight of the food.

Thiensiri gently elbowed him and giggled. "Dear, remember, we're honored guests, be sure to behave yourself," she said sweetly, cuddling against him.

The limo came to a stop and disgorged the delegation. The President, holding his wife's hand and flanked by an aide, stepped out into the night. A security officer, or a doorman, it was hard to tell which, ushered them towards the imposing main door, which was open.

A woman approached the Prime Minister and tapped him on the shoulder. He was very involved in a conversation with the President of Roach-Busters on SEATO and when interrupted, turned around to look who had asked for his attention. It was Augustina, his secretary.

"My apologies, sir, but your guests from Kelssek have just arrived out front," she said brightly.

"Thank you, Augustina," Ell replied. "Would you like to join me in greeting the delegation from Kelssek? Or would you rather stay here and wait a minute?"

They shook hands.

"Thank you very much, Prime Minister, we're honoured to be your guests tonight." said the President, smiling warmly.

"This is my wife, Linda." he said. They shook hands as well.

"Very nice to meet you, Prime Minister." Linda Sutter said.

President J.L. extended his hand to the President of Kelssek to shake. "I'm President J.L., it's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, be assured. Welcome to Pacitalia," the Prime Minister replied. "It's getting a little chilly outside, should we go inside? Then again, you probably don't mind this cold, you're used to it, Mr. Sutter." He winked at the President of Kelssek and chuckled.

The Prime Minister was looking around, and then asked, "What happened to the Sarzonian limo?"

He turned to shake the proffered hand. "Nice to meet you too, sir," Sutter greeted the Roach-Busters president. They walked into the building.

"Well, shall we head inside? The bruschetta is waiting," Ell chuckled.

"Driver, where are we?" Duzchama Schwantje asked,turning back towards the limousine and tapping the passenger side window, "I was under the impression that the media was not permitted on the PM's residence."

"Sir, I belive we are where we should b-" the driver broke off suddenly, checked his GPS map, and a look of surprise and horror came over his face,

"Oh my god Signore! Forgive me please! We not where we should be! Oh no! Please forgive me sir!" The driver obviously didnt speak english very well and was extremely distressed that he had led his important passengers to the wrong household.

"Oh for the love of Pete," Schwantje exclaimed, "Get us out of here!" He grabbed his fiancée and quickly guided her back into the limo. The convoy sped away with haste, showing the driver's newfound nervousness."

"What is going on, Travis?" the Princess asked, fustrated.

"Sorry about that honey, the incompetent driver took us to the wrong house. I think i'm gonna have a word with Ell about him. Honestly, you'd think that a driver for the government would know how to read a GPS map." Schwantje raged.

"Ok, calm down Travis," Adelina rubbed his back reassuringly, "I'm sure it was a completely honest mistake and he seems very sorry about it." Schwantje smiled, breathed deeply, and his rage abated. He smiled and turned to Adelina.

"I love you." he said and kissed her gently. She returned his kiss and slowly worked her arms around him and gently kneaded his back.

Breaking the embrace momentarily, Schwantje tapped the driver's window and it rolled down.

"All is forgiven, my friend," he patted the driver's shoulder, "You can slow down now." The limo was exceeding the speed limit through the busy city. Schwantje withdrew his arm as the driver gave his reply in a mysterious voice that chilled the Duzchama to the bone.

"We'll see who forgives who, Mr. Duzchama, soon..." and the window snapped shut and the limo accelerated even more...

bump

The black limo screamed down Via LaGradoni, up and down the slight hills of the city and onto the R6 highway. After 10 minutes of crazy driving, the limo sped onto and superpowered its way up the 24-lane A1 superhighway (Pacitalia's longest and busiest) along the western harbours of Timiocato. It darted precariously through narrow spaces and drove up on the shoulder to avoid having to slow down. For the most part, it was going almost 160km/h, 40 over the speed limit.

The driver kept looking back at his precious cargo.

What a coup!, he thought. The leader of Anubisyrria and his wife-to-be. I will get a million douros hard currency, they'll move me to Central Operations and I will become head of the 6th Faction in two months.

He patted himself on the shoulder and continued driving. He passed two cars and noticed plenty of open space in front of him on the open. The driver, whose name was Terence Lopez de Santiago, was a major player in the GLNP, a terrorist group in the north of Pacitalia. The space was tempting, he slammed on the accelerator and the speedometer reached 180.

"Sí, esta un problema grande por una administración de Capitalisto," Terence chuckled. "¡Buena suerte, bastardos!" Good luck, bastards!

The limo passed the main port road and the enormous R4/A1 interchange, connecting the superhighway to Timiocato's major inner-city freeway. They were already 30km from the hijack spot but not even halfway out of the city.

Victory to the Mestizos is near!, he thought to himself, smiling. The gas tank was still full and nobody could catch him before he got to the transfer point. He noticed he was slowing down to 170, and promptly floored it, reaching 200.

He heard muffled rapping and yelling from the backseat. He switched on the microphone. "Shut up, you traitorous bastards! Shut up!"

He lowered the window a bit and took out a knockout gas grenade. He took out the pin, chucked it in the back and raised the window again. The rapping and yelling stopped ten seconds later.

Forty minutes later, they were out of the city - about 15km north of TSR airport. The driver pulled into a rest stop parking lot, but instead of stopping, drove past onto a gravel road and headed towards an adjacent RV/large vehicle storage lot. He parked, locked the doors, opened the door of the back to make sure the Duzchama and his fiancee were unconscious (which they were) and went over to the payphone. Inserting 15 fouta, he called a special secure number and waited. A series of clicks and beeps told him his call was being routed through a secure satellite server. After twenty seconds, a ring began. After five rings, a man with a deep voice picked up.

"Did you get them?" he said in Spanish.

"Yes, sir. They're knocked out in the back seat of the limo."

"Good work. Change vehicles and get here as soon as you can. Wait until it's really dark. I know the sun is still just barely up."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for letting me do this."

He hung up and headed back to the limo.

(OOC: RB, Sarzonia and Kelssek - you guys and myself, we have no idea this is happening yet)

Sarzo's limo finally pulled up and Sarzo grimaced as he stepped out.

"Traffic jam," Sarzo said with a sullen, apologetic look on his face. Tyler stepped out slowly, looking uncomfortable in the lightly pressed black tuxedo he was wearing.

"We made it," Tyler said with a slight smile. Sarzo looked into Tyler's eyes and smiled. Now it was his turn to be reassuring.

"Please inform the Prime Minister we have arrived," Sarzo said. He and Tyler began their slow walk toward the banquet hall, looking for a friendly face.

"Of course, Mr. President. Please follow me," said the doorman. He pressed a set of keys on the computer keyboard and the doors went into non-emergency lockdown formation. He led the two men into the Prime Minister's Residence and through a confusing network of hallways until they reached the Banquet Hall.

He knocked once as was customary, then pulled back the brass cylinder weight and turned the door handle to enter the banquet hall.

The four present leaders and their dates (excluding the PM's, who was at home) were sitting around the wooden round table consuming mineral water, soda and wine and eating antipasti. The Prime Minister of Pacitalia glanced over at the entering persons. He stood up immediately.

"Ah, President Sarzo! Welcome! How are you doing?" the PM replied jovially. He briskly walked over to the three men and added, "Thank you, Albertino, you may go."

The PM offered his hand.

Sarzo shook the Prime Minister's hand gratefully.

"We're starved," Taylor said. Sarzo shot him a quick glance but then smirked.

"This is Jay," Sarzo said, motioning toward the secret service agent for him and the Prime Minister to shake hands. They did so.

"We're pleased to be here," Taylor said.

"Yes," Sarzo concurred.

Duzchama Schwantje stirred groggily and came out of his gas-induced sleep. He peered around the inside of the limo and looked over at his fiancée, who was still under the effects of the knockout grenade. Schwantje massaged the spot on his forhead where the grenade had hit him when the driver carelessly tossed it into the back.

"Where are we?" Schwantje pondered, glancing out the tinted windows and recognizing nothing. They appeared to be in some sort of RV storage lot, a perfect location for a hostage taking. The Duzchama fumbled with the handle on the door, but it had been secured and locked from the outside. Probably a padlock. Schwantje thought as he tried shoving his weight against the door, which did not yield.

"You might not want to do that, Mr. Duzchama," he heard a voice and turned to face it. It was their abductor, returning to his seat at the wheel, "I've placed a C4 explosive on the outside of each door, and it will explode the minute the door is opened, unless the charge is deactivated from the outside first."

"Who are you?" Schwantje demanded sharply, "What do you want with us?"

"My name is Terrence Lopez de Santiago," he replied, a strong italian accent corroding the words as they were expelled, "and you and your wife-to-be are now the property of the GLNP terrorist organization."

"Us? We aren't even part of your country, why us?" Schwantje always liked to get to the bottom of problems quickly, and he had a practised technique of this which he executed perfectly.

"Yes! This is MY country!" Schwantje had obviously struck a nerve in his captor, "Those damn capitalist bastards and their arrogant-ass Prime Minister think they can take over OUR lands, force our people into hard labour, and drive us into the North! That, Mr. Schwantje, is why we want you. You are a close friend of PM Ell and I am sure he would not want to risk your well-being, especially on this important evening after his re-election. Your fiancée is simply here because you are here. She is part of the bargain."

"Bargain?" The Duzchama pressed Terrence for more information.

"Yes, dammit. Let me spell it out for you slowly, you capitalist pig. You - are - our - hostage. We - want - our - lands - and - our - way - of - life - back. You - are - our - tool." A creul smile played upon Santiago's features as he said it.

"Don't assume anything, Mr. Santiago." Schwantje said calmly, unclenching his fist that had begun to bunch up during his captor's oratory torture. The Duzchama had experienced hostage situations before, having been enlisted in the Anubisyrrian Special Forces for several years. He had never, though, been the hostage himself. He leaned back in his seat and slowly relaxed, knowing he would have to hide all weaknesses from his captors so as to not present a weapon to be used against him...

"A pleasure to finally meet you both," the PM smiled back. "Would you care for something to eat or drink? Please, be my guest and have a seat at the round table. Mingle with the other guests and..."

An advisor had opened the door and began frantically snapping his fingers to get the Prime Minister's attention. When he got it, he did the "come-here" gesture and mouthed the words and then held up the red Urgent card.

"...I'll be right back, my advisor needs me for something important."

He bowed customarily and walked over to his advisor.

"What is it, Demetrius?" the PM said questioningly.

"Come out here for a second, sir." The PM stepped out of the banquet hall and Demetrius shut the door and pushed in the brass cylinder to secure the door. He turned to the PM with a solemn, grim expression. PM Ell could sense what exactly was wrong right away, like a sixth sense.

"Has something happened to one of our guests?" Ell asked in fluent, pure Pacitalian.

"Not just one, two. The Duzchama and his fiancee were kidnapped on their way to the banquet by the GLNP."

Ell stood there for a second, taking it all in. His face turned from the normal Pacitalian almond-butter brown to a pale white to an angry, ruddy red. He was visibly convulsive with rage.

Forcing himself to calm down and be rational and respectful to an advisor that wasn't to blame, he replied in English: "H-how did they do it exactly?"

"We're not exactly sure, yet, sir..." (Ell gave him a look) "...but we do know that the real driver accidentally took the couple to the wrong place where media were coincidentally assembled. The driver appears to have been kicked out of the car by one of the GLNP terrorists who happened to be at the scene as well; he called the police about five minutes after the incident. A black limo was spotted by about sixty people heading north on the A-1 at immensely high speeds and was last seen at an Acis gas station about 10 minutes north of TSR."

Ell said, "I see where you're going with this. You think the real driver was somehow involved, seeing as two coincidences are highly unlikely to happen together, in the same place."

Demetrius replied, "Exactly, sir. Some of the media reporters there told the police in a witness report that the two men's facial features were similar - we're guessing brothers or cousins on that one."

"But you think only the hijacker is GLNP," Ell asked.

"Yeah, that's what we think, sir."

"Did the reporters say anything else to the police?" Ell inquired.

"Yes, one from PNN and her cameraman said they heard the driver profusely apologizing to the passengers because he had accidentally taken them to the wrong area. They said he seemed genuinely sorry."

"Basta. How do they think they can get away with this?" Ell replied, back in Pacitalian. "This is terrible. What do you have on them?"

"Nothing at the moment, we're still trying to locate the limo using the unremovable GPS locator under the dashboard. It seems to be malfunctioning, but technicians in the Blue Room are trying to contact and fix it."

"Good stuff. When you find them, we'll mobilize 100 of the SAFD. This is extremely important, Demetrius."

"Of course, sir," Demetrius replied earnestly.

Ell walked over to an adjacent door. He pressed in the typical brass cylinder to remove the weight off the door handle, took a key out of his pocket, inserted it in the lock, turned it and turned the door handle. He undid the latch on the other opaque French door and opened the two to their maximum width. A gigantic black box took up the entire closet-like area behind the doors. Sliding open a little plastic judas, he took a keycard with three six-digit numbers and a barcode on it out of his left pocket and scanned the keycard. He typed the second number sequence on the keypad and waited five seconds. A green light appeared and he took out a magnetic card out of his pocket and scanned it. The light flashed green and the enormous black object whirred. A window opened and the command "Optoverification required" flashed on the little LCD screen.

Ell put his eye up to the remote influx lumination scanner and waited for the laser to scan his retina and iris for verification. A ding signified that his characteristic slate-green eyes were accepted; the enormous black object began moving backward in the closet, stopping about two metres back. Along the right side of the closet an airlock-like door began to open with a small room past it. The two men entered and a laser protection grid appeared behind them, warding off any exterior threats.

Prime Minister Ell moved straight to the grey phone and dialed the Pacitalian Director of Special Domestic Defence. Agrazio Dagorapakis, the PDSDD, replied after three rings.

"Kalinichta, Prime Minister," he noted jovially.

"Kalinichta, my friend. I have a serious situation on my hands," the PM replied calmly.

"Oh, dear. What is it?" Dagorapakis asked, concerned.

"The leader of Anubisyrria and his fiancee have been kidnapped by a GLNP terrorist and have been taken to an undisclosed location. I give permission to mobilize one hundred men of Special Attack Force Delta, but not until my advisor Demetrius Colporatos tells me the terrorist and the hostages have been located and confirmed. Then I will call again and give the official confirmatory permission."

"Yes, sir. I'll make a note of it right away. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

The Prime Minister hung up and sighed, reflecting for a minute. Demetrius put his hand on the PM's shoulder and said, "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"No, thanks, Demetrius, you've done way more than your job description tonight. Thank you."

"The pleasure is always mine, sir. That's why I'm here."

The PM smiled at Demetrius. "You may go. Remember to get me when you hear of anything."

"Of course, sir."

Demetrius applied his magnetic card to a swiper sensor on the wall and the laser grid disappeared. He left quickly and five seconds later the grid reformed.

We will catch them, the PM thought, angered. This will be their last gasp for attention. I will smother them like the ugly dogs they are. Hang on, Duzchama. You'll be safe soon.

With that, the Prime Minister repeated Demetrius' actions, pressed the second sequence on the keypad again and shut and locked the French doors.

He stopped outside the banquet doors and sighed. He took a deep breath, put a smile back on his face and entered the hall again.

Oblivious to the more nefarious hijacking taking place simultaenously, President Sutter was in the process of hijacking a goblet of wine from a waiter's tray when the Sarzonians entered.

"Hello, President Sarzo, I'm Joseph Sutter from Kelssek," he said, "good evening." He switched the glass of wine to his left hand and held out his right.

"Well, hello Joseph," Sarzo said, oblivious to the more urgent matters happening around him. He eagerly shook Sutter's hand. When he finished, he motioned over to Tyler.

"This is Jay, my secret service agent and companion for this special occasion."

"Nice to meet you," Tyler said, shaking Sutter's hand.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Sarzo and Tyler walked over to President J.L. of Roach-Busters.

"Hey, J.L., good to see you again! Thiesen, nice to see you too."

"Likewise," the two Roach-Busters said in unison. Sarzo motioned over to Tyler.

"This is Jay. He's my guest for these proceedings." Tyler smiled and extended his hand.

Terrence Lopez de Santiago turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Checking the road momtarily, he pulled the limo out into the road and accelerated down the highway in the direction of the safe house which he was under orders to bring the hostages to. The quick acceleration jolted the passengers in the back seats and Princess Adelina stirred and awoke.

"Huh?" she stated, glancing around, "where are we?"

"I don't know, honey," the Duzchama responded, "all i know is that we're being held hostage by the GLNP and they want the Pacitalian government to surrender the lands they supposedly took from these people."

"And we're stuck in the middle, why?" Adelina had learned her fiancé's speaking technique and knew how to counter it and squeeze information out of him.

"They know that we're close friends with PM Ell, and they think he'll bow to their wishes to protect us," Schwantje glanced forward at Santiago, who was focused on the road at the moment, and lowered his voice to almost a whisper, "but I know the PM well, and knowing him, he's already working out a plan to get us out of here. In the meantime though, any ideas on how we can try to help our situation?"

"Can't we just force down one of the doors?" Adelina suggested, having not heard Santiago's warning before.

"He said that they were wired with C4 and it would blow if the door was forced open with out deactivating the charge first." the Duzchama gestured toward their captor, who suddenly took his gaze off the road and looked at the GPS unit on the console. They heard him curse loudly.

"Mierda!" Santiago cried, "those bastards are trying to track us through the GPS unit!" He removed one of his hands from the wheel and frantically attempted to pull the GPS unit off the console, but it wouldnt budge. He then took both hands and heaved with all his strength - which was considerable - but still to no avail. The unit was bolted in solidly, it wouldnt come off. Santiago heard a car horn and turned his gaze swiftly back to the road. During his attempt to remove the GPS, the limo had drifted onto the opposite side of the road, and Santiago frantically grabbed the wheel and swerved sharply. Unfortunately, the limo was going too fast for optimum traction, and it began to skid, its rear end sliding perpendicular to the road. Fighting for control, he turned the wheel in the opposite direction, but the vehicle had already turned 90 degrees, and was out of control. Glancing to his left, he saw a sharp curve and past it a dropoff and he gunned the engine in a desperate attempt to break the skid. But the road was slippery from the previous night's rain and although it did slow down, the limousine crashed through the road barrier and tumbled down the incline.

It didnt make it very far, though, as it soon struck a tree at the car's middle and lay still, its tires smoking from the stress of the skid and its engine softly clicking as it cooled down...

Driving rather slowly, an older man noticed smoke rising from below the dropoff along the eastbound B-195. That was the highway that branched off the A1 northeast towards the A10. He stopped on the side of the road and got out, expecting to see smoke from a brushfire. He was going to report that, but when he saw a mangled limo hanging by the smallest piece of metal on a wild orange tree, he was surprised.

"Brastati!" he yelled. "Una limozzina è arrestato! Aiuti!"

He ran over to the little strip mall across the street and dashed into a café.

"Signore!" he told the cook in Pacitalian. "I need to borrow your phone - something awful has happened!"

"What?" said the cook.

"A limousine has crashed and is suspended on an old orange tree across the street! Didn't you hear the commotion?!"

"Yes, we all did, my friend, but we didn't think it was anything like you said," replied the cook. "Did you see any survivors?"

"No, I didn't."

"The phone's on the wall over there."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it," the cook replied with a smile. He turned to face the back of the restaurant, bent over a little and yelled through the small food-passing opening into the kitchen. "Benito!"

He waited for a reply, but it didn't come.

"Benito! Andiamo, where are you?"

The cook opened the swinging door to the kitchen and started speaking, "I'm going to fire you if you don't stop play-- oh, shit."

He backed out through the swinging door with his hands up, and mouthed to the driver, "Call the police!"

Another man came out with a younger boy with a ripped, greasy shirt.

"This is your Benito, isn't it? Make any move, and he dies." Santiago kept his gun trained on Benito's temple and turned his head over to the driver. Reacting like a cobra, he moved the gun and shot the phone out of the driver's hands, destroying it. Santiago's lips curled into a smile.

"Now, we don't want that, do we?" he questioned. Turning back to Benito and the lightly-patronized cafe, he put his gun back on Benito's temple. "If anyone goes near that limo outside, I will blow it up. I will also kill this Pacitalian bastard. COMPRENDE?!"

He took Benito by the scruff, but too forcefully and Benito's shirt ripped completely off. Benito began to shiver in fear and cold. The GLNP terrorist roughly pushed the teenager out the door, keeping his gun trained in the restaurant. He moved quickly. He kicked Benito in the back of the knee and shot him in the leg to keep him from moving. "Get out of my sight, you scum."

Santiago moved back over to the limo and carefully inched his way down the three metres to the damaged vehicle. The fire in the engine had stopped and he couldn't smell any gas. He took a device out of his pocket, pressed the number three and the C4 explosive on the back left door was deactivated. He unhooked the wires from around the door but kept the detonator lodged in for quick "disposal". Opening the door, he saw that the two were breathing and stirring.

He pulled and armed another knockout grenade, tossed it in and shut the door. He waited twenty seconds, took out the keyring from the limo, pressed a button on the remote keyless entry pad and the sunroof in the back opened, letting out all the stun gas. He waited another five, then cautiously opened the door. The car began to slide off the tree. First, he grabbed the Duzchama's fiancee and dragged her out of the car, over her husband-to-be and up onto the moderately-steep hill. He moved back down to the car and grabbed the Duzchama.

Using his immense strength, he heaved the Duzchama up just below where the Anubisyrrian leader's fiancee lay. Santiago was too absorbed with regaining his breath after heaving two unconscious persons up a steep hill to see that the Princess had taken a small half-litre bottle of champagne from the limo fridge and slowly removed it from under her fancy dress. Luckily for Santiago, he saw the glint of the bottle reflect in his watch, felt the movement of loose rock on the ground and saw the shadow of the Princess rise over him, and he quickly turned, grabbed the "weapon" and smashed it over the Princess' head, rendering her immobile for at least a couple of hours. "I'll deal with you later, perra."

The Anubisyrrian leader was still unconscious.

=========
MEANWHILE BACK AT THE PMR, 100km south
=========

"It is with regret that I must tell you all the leader of Anubisyrria and his fiancee have been kidnapped by the GLNP and have been taken to an undisclosed location. My advisors are working on it now. Until then, the banquet must be postponed. I apologize for this. You may stay here as long as you like, or you may request to head back to your country, in which we'll be more than happy to provide security for you to get back safely."

"Bastards!" yelled President J.L. "What are you going to do?"

"We've got 100 of the SAFD on their tails."

"Sounds good," agreed President Sutter.

"I agree," said President Sarzo, with an additional nod from S3A Tyler.

"I must leave now," the PM said. "I apologize."

He swiftly exited the banquet hall, leaving the other three leaders to bask in the unfortunate anti-glory of a kidnapping.

He turned to go down the hallway and Demetrius met him halfway. "Sir, good news! We found the car! It's on eastbound B-195 about 32km east of the A1 interchange."

The PM sensed there was something else: "But... they're not in it, right?"

"Correct. But they're not far. GPS tracking picked up three humans walking about 20 metres from the side of the EB B-195, 2km east of the crash site."

"Take me as close as you can, and arm me. The bastard is going to feel it, oh, yes, he's going to feel it."

The Prime Minister recalled back twenty years before when the Duzchama and he had served together in the Anubisyrrian-Pacitalian Joint Special Forces Task Group (APEG). He knew his training would come into handy again someday. He just could feel it.

=======
BACK ON THE B-195
=======

The Duzchama had woken to find his fiancee superunconscious. He was enraged, but didn't show it. That would only give the bastard a way to weaken me, he thought. He continued carrying the frail-looking princess in his arms. He was getting extremely tired, he forgot how long they had been walking. Suddenly a car began wildly honking, almost like a sequence and pulled over. He saw Santiago smiling.

"Come on, you bastard," he yelled at the Duzchama. "Get in the f---ing car."

"All right," he said. Duzchama Schwantje started gingerly placing his fiancee on the backseat of the car but when he was halfway Santiago kicked him in the ass with a big boot and Schwantje ended up on top of the Princess.

Santiago smiled a sick smile. "Maybe when she wakes, you can give us a little show, eh, Mr. Big Shot Capitalist Pig?" He laughed evilly and the driver, who also looked Spanish, laughed too.

Santiago slammed the door of the backseat shut and climbed in the front. He locked the doors, turned around and aimed his gun at the couple. "If you attempt to escape, you know what will happen."

The car screeched away up the B-195 towards the safe point.

(OOC: Did the banquet itself start yet?)

OOC: It was supposed to start tonight but because of the events...

(OOC: Did you see my thread where I executed a guy for insulting the First Lady?)

Sarzo and Tyler have asked to return home to Sarzonia until such time as the hostage situation resolves itself.

"We feel for those who have been captured by these cowardly ruffians, but we must ensure the safety of the rest of those in attendance at this banquet," Sarzo said.

And I was just about to eat some delicious food, too, Sarzo thought with a grimace. Some world leaders have all the luck.

Demetrius had returned to the banquet hall after seeing the PM off.

"Of course, Mr. President. We can take you back to the airport tonight, or you can sleep here and get a fresh start in the morning."

"Well then, I guess I'll be going home too. We'll stay for dinner though, that menu looks too good to be going to waste." said President Sutter.

The car was speeding along the highway relentlessly, as the traffic was very sparse and what cars were just encountered the terrorists just swerved by. The Duzchama had managed to get his fiancée awake and he was making sure she was all right.

"Travis, I'm scared," the princess whispered softly, "What's going to happen to us?"

"I don't know," he replied, drawing her close and holding her in his arms tenderly, "they'll probably try to get in contact with Ell once we reach the safe house, then use us as bait to force him to give them what they want."

"And if he doesnt give them it?" The Duzchama sighed; he had been dreading this question.

"I'm not going to lie to you. They will most likely torture us until he gives in." Adelina whimpered softly and pressed her head aginst his chest.

"I don't want to die..." She began to cry softly, tears streaming down her face.

"Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you," Travis summoned all his courage as he spoke the words, "I'll let then take my life before they even touch you. I'm the one they want as a bargaining tool, remember?" This didnt prove to help the situation, as the princess clung to him even harder than before.

"I love you, Travis, and I don't want you to die. Promise me that you wont." Travis breathed deeply as he responded,

"I promise. I will hold onto life with an iron grip. And my love for you will keep me alive." They kissed tenderly, and it felt to both of them like that moment would last for an eternity...

Suddenly they heard a click and the side door opened swiftly.

"Get out. We're here." A voice sternly ordered them. They were hustled out of the car and rope was bound aroudn their hands. Then, AKM muzzles trained on their heads and chests, they were martialled along into the safe house which loomed before them, a horrific symbol of the pain and death that awaited them...

The Duzchama and the Princess were marched into a small room in the basement of the safe house, cuffed, and tied into small wooden chairs. Glancing around, Schwantje noticed several movie cameras and filming equipment. They'll probably want to send Ell a film of us begging for our lives he thought, cursing his captors under his breath. After the terrorists had imprisoned them in the basement, they had left, but now the door squeaked open and Santiago strode confidently into the dark chamber, flanked by several of his henchman, all armed with assault rifles.

"It is time, Mr. Duzchama," he smiled cruely, "to see how brave you truly are." Stepping to the side, he revealed a small man behind him, who couldn't have been more than 5 feet tall.

"This is Ramon Machado. He will be...leading the interrogation," Santiago paused to think of the correct words to outline the situation his prisoners were in, "Ramon is the protegé of the late Dr. Klaus Trebek." Trebek had been a torture expert during the Anubisyrrian Revolution, and was widely infamous as possibly the most dangerous man alive.

"How will any of this force Ell to see your view?" Duzchama Schwantje questioned, "He doesnt even know what's going on?" Inside, though, he already knew the answer to his question.

"Isn't it obvious?" Santiago said. gesturing towards the movie equipment. Schwantje's guess was correct; they were going to film the torture and anguish and then force Ell to hand over their land.

"You'll never win this, you bastards," Adelina spoke for the first time, "You'll all be captured and shot to hell!" She spat on Santiago's feet, and his guards shifted their hands over the safety catches of their weapons.

"Calm down, lads." Terrence waved his hand casually at his guards, "We'll see how feisty they are after this....treatment." And smirking with an evil grin on his face, he turned and strode out of the room, his guards follwing him.

"Fidelo, you stay behind just outside the door," came the command as the terrorists left the room, and it closed swiftly behind them, leaving only the prisoners and Muchado behind...

FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY

Ramon stepped forward.

"Well, hello, Travis," Ramon smirked, spitting at the Duzchama's feet.

"That's Duzchama Schwantje to you, you horse-faced dumkof," replied Schwantje.

"Now, now, now, I'm in control now. It's not nice to say things like that, you know. I could do some serious damage to your child-bearing abilities if you continue," Ramon chuckled. The rest of the GLNP terrorists smirked and some began to laugh as well.

"SILENCIO!" Ramon spat at the others. They quieted immediately. "If they blink, kill them."

He exited briskly into the next room and shut the door. Promptly, two guards moved forward, pistols drawn, and aimed them at the couple's foreheads. Twenty seconds later, Ramon returned.

Ramon placed a large black plastic case on the rickety wooden table next to Princess Adelina. He opened it and like a book, began to turn the "pages" of the case (actually foam sections holding weapons) until he found a sharp metal rod.

"Dame el soplete de soldar, ahora," he said quietly, and a guard removed himself from the room. He returned quickly with a blowtorch and gas canister.

Ramon hummed a Mozart concerto while he superheated the metal rod. After about half a minute, Ramon turned off the blowtorch and examined the rod. It was just barely glowing red, signifying its extremely high temperature. Ramon moved over to Adelina, still humming the concerto. He forced Adelina onto her backside but she tried to refuse. Ramon dropped the rod and punched her hard on the nose, twice. She retreated and cowered. Two guards came over to hold her down. Ramon ripped her dress and panties off and stared, hungrily, almost salivating.

"Keep your dirty communist eyes away from my fiancee," Schwantje growled. He began to lunge but was roped to the chair and couldn't move.

Ramon snorted. "Idiota." He turned back to Adelina. Ramon bent down and picked up the gleaming-hot rod. Carefully, he picked up the cool end (now with potholders on) and examined it to make sure it was still very hot.

Moving slowly and delicately, he pressed the hot rod firmly into her buttocks. Steam and smoke hissed angrily away from the burning flesh. Adelina screamed so loudly that two windows broke. Ramon dropped the rod onto the floor again, forced her back over and slapped her, hard.

"You'll be replacing those windows, yourself," Ramon said, gently. He caressed Adelina's face with grubby, dirty hands and kissed her on the lips. Adelina was fiercely trying to resist, glancing at her fiancee with pleading looks. She began to cry.

"Weak bitch," Ramon snorted. "You'll be crying even harder after I use the rod again."

"NO!" Adelina and Duzchama Schwantje cried in unison.

"BASTANTE!" Ramon screamed. He plunged the rod back onto her buttocks, pressing firmly, watching the flesh burn. Dark angry red marks began to appear.

"My men are hungry for real love," Ramon noted, smiling. "They'll take good care of her." Ramon laughed evilly, and the others joined in. All five of the guards gazed at her naked body, hungrily, anticipating the moment. The two beside Ramon picked her up by the arms and forced her into the next room.

"You dirty bastard," Schwantje gasped. "You're awful."

"No shit, you dumbass. Way to figure that one out," Ramon retorted sarcastically. "As for you..." Ramon punched Schwantje on the nose multiple times. The other three guards joined in, punching and kicking Schwantje until he was unconscious.

"The liberation will succeed," Ramon said to himself, grinning.

The scream of a woman began to erupt from the adjacent room, accompanied by male grunting and the occasional crash.

(OOC: I know that's gross, but hey, these guys will do anything to get their point across.)

For Mature Audiences Only

Ramon glanced towards the door, and smiling, nodded at the guards.

"Yes, you can go join in, you whorish monkeys," he growled at them, and they gleamed with happiness and scuttled off up the stairs. Moments later, the sound of gunfire rattled through the walls. Distracted, Ramon turned around and Schwantje chose that moment to act. Throwing his body weight plus the chair into Ramon, he knocked the poker out of his hands, and it dropped with a clang to the stone floor. Quickly, the Duzchama fell back in the chair onto the poker and wriggled himself till the hot end seared the ropes on his hands, and he pulled himself free.

"Hey! Basterda!" Schwanjte heard a voice and the cocking of a pistol. He froze, then slowly raised his head and saw Ramon Machado pointing a 9mm Glock at his forehead. Schwantje's eyes rapidly darted around in their sockets, searching for a way out of this situation. He judged the distance between him and Machaco to be just short of 3 meters. He knew he couldnt move that far in time to disarm him, so he scanned around for additional options, whilst slowly raising his hands above his head as he was directed to do.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you, Anubisyrrian shit! You're gonna suffer way more than that bitch of yours just did!" Schwantje's eyes moved over toward the door where muffled screams could still be heard and bloody rage filled his heart, and he leapt face first at Machado, who's eyes went as wide as dinner plates as he pulled the trigger of the pistol. Unfortunately for him, he had neglected to check the safety catch on the weapon, and it clicked uselessly as the Duzchama slammed into him, knocking the gun out of his hands, and it went clattering off into a corner. Schwantje brought his fist across Ramon's face in a hard right hook that knocked his glasses askew and broke the left lens, as well as his nose.

Schwantje stood up and backed away from his opponent, who was momentarily dazed from the punch. Schwantje seized a knife from the desk next to the wall and cut his leg bonds, freeing him entirely. Now ready to fight fairly, he glanced over to where Ramon was clambering to his feet, though he seemed somewhat unsteady, as though he was drunk.

"You basterda! Learn to fight like a man, not break my glasses so I can't see!" Just then, the door to the basement burst open and smoke wisped inwards, concealing the tall, dark figure stepping into the frame. Slowly it cleared, and Prime Minister Ell appeared, leaning against the door frame, an M16A2 assault dangling from his shoulder, and a ES C90 Sub-Machine Gun in his right hand. Quickly he tossed the SMG to Schwanjte, who caught it was ease. He smiled with glee as he turned the weapon over in his hands.

"You want your glasses back, you commie f--k? Here" He swung the SMG in a rapid movement and struck Machado in the temple and he crumpled in a heap in the floor, blood spewing from the wound. Turning upwards to face Ell, who was smiling after that scene of revenge, Schwantje said,

"What took you so long?"

"Well, you know me ,pal." The PM responded, "There's all the legal issues, and I had to sign some forms, etc etc...you know. Oh yes, and there was also something I had to take care of..THE BANQUET that you so kindly didnt attend." He winked jokingly at the Duzchama, and the two were reminded of their days in the APJTF.

"All right ,you," Schwantje strode past the PM through the door into the main room of the safe house, where a terrorist was still concious and he was holding a Desert Eagle .50 calibre pistol to the Princess's head.

"Drop your gun, or your bitch gets one in her pretty little face," he threatened, but it was shortlived as Adelina kicked out fiercly into the man's crotch and he doubled over from the pain, as she wore high heels that were considerably sharp. Schwantje carefully grabbed his fiancée as she stumbled into him, still in pain from her ordeal. He raised his SMG and pointed it at the man's head. Then, thinking of a better idea, he slowly lowered the weapon until its stubby barell pointed menacingly at the man's privates.

"No...please...signor," he pleaded

"We have a law in my country," Schwantje informed the man, now doubling over to protect his genitalia, "that sex offenders are to be "cut off" from ever in the future committing henious crimes such as these. In your case, a knife is unavailable, so i shall take the next best thing." He clubbed the man in the chin with the butt of the SMG, then swung it around fluidly and fired a short burst , the 5.7 bullets ripping through his flesh gruesomely, though not killing him, just causing excruciating pain. Turning back to PM Ell, who had brought Machado up from the basement, Schwantje said gruffly,

"Let's get out of here, Tim." He grabbed the disemboweled terrorist from the ground and shoved him ahead, still pointing the C90 at him...

Viewer Discretion is Advised (not as bad as the last two)

OOC: We will start the banquet when we get back. It'll be a couple of weeks to let the wounds heal, though. After that, we'll do what was intended - to meet, have fun and interact with each other.

IC
The APJTF or Anubisyrrian-Pacitalian Joint Task Force was a cooperative agency run by the governments of the two nations. The equal share of responsibility was supported by the fact that the agency was directed by two men - one from Anubisyrria and one from Pacitalia. It was often referred to as the Super-CIA because it employed almost 500,000 people in Anubisyrria and Pacitalia. However, only about 2,000 of those were trained for constant use/action, but trained well. Most of the action was combat; little espionage was involved, as that was left to the PCIC and AIA.

The Prime Minister and the Duzchama had gone through the Constant Action Training Program in the 1980s. They had emerged as skilled, powerful agents of the JTF in 1989, serving for four years before retiring. Both went into political life almost immediately, with PM Ell winning District 37 (Mandragora - Southeast) in the General Elections of 1993 to become an MPP in the House of Parliament. The Duzchama was Mayor of the Anubisyrrian capital, Anubiaré, before becoming the nation's head of state and government.

Now, here they were, using their old, embedded task force skills to get the Duzchama and his fiancee out of harm's way. SAFD agents were standing by about 50m away ready to take down any remaining GLNP terrorists.

The Duzchama said, "Let's get out of here, Tim."

He was hoisting a manhood-less terrorist; the Prime Minister was holding up a lethargic, disoriented and disarmed Ramon Machado.

"Sounds good to me," Ell replied. "We can leave them here."

Ell pushed Ramon against a wall hard and Ramon slumped to the ground. He walked over to a table and picked up a Heckler & Koch MP5K submachine gun. Fluidly, he walked over to Ramon and slapped him hard on the face twice to wake him up.

"W-what?? You'll never get anything out of me," Ramon said. He tried to spit but his mouth was dry, nothing came out.

"Where is Santiago," Ell said, almost hissing. He grabbed Ramon by the hair and yanked hard on every word. "Tell. me. or. you. will. end. up. like. your. friend. over. there."

Ramon said, "I-in the basement. Please d--". He was cut off as Ell sharply brought down the MP5K on Ramon's temple, knocking him dead. Or unconscious. It was hard to tell at the moment and Ell wasn't about to check his pulse.

"Stay up here, I'll be right back," he said to the Duzchama and a nod of acknowledgement was the response. He took off his rather clompy shoes and descended down the plywood staircase, silent as a ghost.

Regrettably, due to recent actions taken by Pacitalia's government, we must respectfully decline your invitation to a second banquet. We would, however, once again be happy to visit your nation once your human rights situation is normalised. We send our apologies.

Regrettably, due to recent actions taken by Pacitalia's government, we must respectfully decline your invitation to a second banquet. We would, however, once again be happy to visit your nation once your human rights situation is normalised. We send our apologies.

We understand your position but would like to note that the situation you are referring to has already been corrected and relations with the people affected have become strong again.

OOC: Whoops, from the last few pages it looked like it was still going on. Sorry about that. We'll be back. Though to save me the trouble of making two posts, I should point out that the last guy wasn't tabling a UN resolution, it was a resolution his own Parliament passed.