NationStates Jolt Archive

Craig shifted his weight in the seat as he looked out the window at the pristine sky that surrounded him. It has been a long flight, many hours since his departure from The Reich and he was growing weary as the plane approached its final destination. Staring out at that nation below, he wondered if children were playing in yards and waving at the plane as if they believed he actually could see them and wave back, or if anyone noticed his plane in the sky above or if they cared the slightest.

He sighed as he buckled his safety belt…..the final descent was beginning. Shapes of buildings began to become more lucid as they made their quick approach toward their landing. He continued to watch as cars on highways slowly worked their way along on the bright summer day, their engines idling slowly as they waited for the traffic to move along, until all he saw was the runway beneath him. “What do I say to them? What is it going to be like to meet normal people,” he taught as the plane lowered the landing gear.

The plane shook slightly as the wheels touched the ground, and he patiently sat while the plane taxied to its rest. He knew that this was it…..there was no turning back now. There were times he hated being an ambassador, speaking for a nation whose politics is highly disagreed with, and this time…..this time was one of them. Advocating the necessity of dictatorships to people who down right hated them was going to be a difficult task he did not want to engage in. How could he pretend to like something and convince others that his government was right, especially when he hated his government?

As he left the plane, he grabbed his single carry one, a briefcase. He exited the plane, and with a rush, the hot dry summer heat hit him. The heat was not something he was used to, after living in a cold climate for quite an extensive period of time. He looked at his three piece suit and shook his head; once again he over dressed. Beginning to sweat and losing the ability to breathe normally, he loosened his tied and collar as he shifted his way through the crowds of people. He looked up at the signs, lost in the complex.

“Shit,” he murmured, forgetting to brush up on other languages. He knew how to speak English well and understood it, but there was another language here that he couldn’t understand. “Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed as he looked around confused.

He stood looking around frantically, this place unfamiliar to him. He did not know who was meeting him, but he was sure his foreign looks and confused mien would be an obvious give away that he was the ambassador to those who were supposed to meet him there.

Graham sighed, and looked at his watch as the roar of the engines of the huge jet coming in to land filled the morning skies. This should be the plane he thought to himself. He’d been waiting for over an hour, to avoid another fiasco like the one with Mr Sarzo, where unforeseeable traffic had caused them to be late to pick him up. This time he’d been instructed specifically to be early to ensure that he wouldn’t miss the ambassador’s flight.

The plane landed on the runway and turned towards him, a colossus in the morning glare. It moved slowly off the runway towards the terminal and stopped outside one of the tunnels, which extended towards the plane with a mechanical whirring noise. Graham waited for the diplomat to appear from the steps leading down from the tunnel, usually only for servicemen, but also used for special occasions. He leaned against the car, watching expectantly, a few minutes passed and still there was no sign of the diplomat. The stewards had been specifically informed of the diplomat on board, and instructions of what to do and where to take him.

He sighed, exasperated and headed to the terminal, locking the car behind him, it acknowledging it with a click and a flash of the lights. Once inside, he looked around the airport, which he was by now extremely familiar with. He spotted the man, wearing a three piece suit, by a sign directing people towards the various areas of the airport. He hurried over to him and spoke to him quickly, assuring him that he was Mr Pentephraxis’ driver, and if he’d be kind enough as to follow him to the car. There were plenty of apologies about the mix up as he led him outside towards the car.

He opened Craig’s door, letting him get seated comfortably, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in, sinking into the soft leather of the seat. The entire car was of the highest quality, wood and leather throughout, even a touch screen satnav system.

Taking a moment to regain his breath, Graham closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, then twisted the key in the ignition, the big Maser instantly coming to life quietly, a muted growling noise coming from the engine. The car pulled slowly away from the airport towards Lake Landing...

Sitting in the car quietly, his eyes drifted to the darkened windows. He stared out as they became to leave the airport; his eyes distant, looking out, but seeing nothing. His mind traveled back to his efforts in the war. He took the name of a man who was murdered by a pointblank shotgun blast to his mouth by the hands of the enemy Dante himself.

Craig’s eyes narrowed as he started out at nothing; his rage and fury consumed him. He hated The Dictatorship. He spent his entire life advocating for them to receive nothing in return. He spent half of his life in an unfathomable war only to be cast aside by the nation he served to protect. He hated his nation to no extent, but he could not stop serving it. He was loyal to his nation despite the overwhelming hatred he bore inside. His wife would have wanted him to stay with The Reich.

Even inside the cooled car, the heat was too warm for his standards. The Reich had a vast array of weather conditions. He cursed himself that he chose to pick the coldest place to live. Before he was aware of his slipping thoughts, his head hit the window…..he was fast asleep while his thoughts slowly faded into nothing.

This would be a good day, decided Soren, as he watched the sky. He smiled, thinking that probably at least half of the city wouldn’t agree with him. He took off his jacket, as the blessings of the sky should not be greeted with such restraint, but enjoyed and embraced like it deserves. Watching the rain as it begins to pour onto the darkened cobblestones, nibbling at them bit by bit, as they have done for hundred of years now, since this old road was first built, that was his favorite past time. He smiled, thinking of the shock a commoner would have when learning that the emperors favorite assassin spends his time watching the rain dripping of statues and feeling the wind whipping at his clothes.

`Mister Soren`, said a fearful voice. He turned around, facing the servant that interrupted him.

`I apologize mister Soren, the Emperor has called for you. `
Soren turned back and closed his eyes, feeling one last time the rain caressing his face. It was time to go, and so he opened his cold, blue eyes and entered back into the building.

He found the Emperor in his private quarters, going over some report and by the looks of it not very happy.

`Ah, yes Soren, come in. I have something for you to do. You can sit down if you wish. `

`I’d rather stand your majesty. `

`Very well, it’s the whole paranoia thing right? `, said the Emperor with a grin. `There is a situation that I need to be taken care off. The ISS has informed me that The Reich has been making efforts to find some allies. I will not allow this to happen, as it is my belief that The Dictatorship must remain isolated for the good of Calpe. Just the thought that one day we might have to put up with their appetite for war gives me cold shivers. Though we don’t stand down when it comes to war, we should do anything within our powers to stop it if we can. The Reich has sent a diplomat to Sanctaphrax to negotiate some sort of alliance, or so the ISS believes. You must stop him at all costs from finalizing these negotiations. I hope I made myself understood. `

`Yes, your majesty. It shall be done as ordered. `

`Very well, the ISS will give you the details. You may leave. `

As he left, Soren focused on the job at hand. He needed a new identity, money, and a contact inside the city to provide him with the weapon. The ISS should have all this at hand, and so he headed there to make the arrangements.

Graham looked over at the man, then sighed and poked him gently, making sure he was still alive and only sleeping. Once he was reassured, he put both hands back on the wheel and hummed gently to himself. He slotted a Beethoven disc into the disc-player with a slight whirr, then the disc started playing, some symphony or other, they all sounded the same to Graham. But he liked it, that was what was important. He turned the volume to a low setting, careful not to wake the ambassador.

He indicated left and turned into the lane, then leaving the motorway by the off-ramp, the car humming gently, with hints of a growl poking through every so often, despite the silencing the car had recieved. This was of course a heavily modified car, as befits the PM's own personal transport.

The car cruised into the city, entering streets lined with tall office buildings, glass and steel structures. A few cars behind an unmarked police car escorted the PMs car, for safety and security reasons. Through the city, various roads branched off from the main road, and it was one of these that Graham took, leading out of the city, to the outskirts, where houses seemed to take priority over tall apartment blocks.

Eventually they left the city completely, Lake Landing could be spotted, the lake surface glittering and sparkling invitingly. He pulled into a parking, and the police unmarked kept going past, satisfied that the delegate was safe. Graham tapped him on the shoulder, trying not to startle him.
"Mr..... Craig? We're here."

Soren watched around the huge airport as he left the customs area. The airport was huge, and he had some difficulty in finding his way around, though he was quite a traveller. A silent curse left his lips as he saw the signs written in a foreign language. He had to find the way on his own, and so he started to move around, learning the airport and where everything was. He made a point to know always in detail the places that he might need in a tight situation. Thirty minutes later he left the airport, ordering the first taxi that came in his way to take him to the city of Lake Landing.

As the taxi drove away his thoughts drifted to the job at hand. Though he didnt know much about him, he would soon find out. His first order of businnes is contacting the local ISS sleeper agents to get more information and some weapons, next to scout for possibilities of target termination and making the final plan, escape routes and extraction. One more time, as he did before so many. He sighed as he was starting to feel tired of this wandering life, always at the Emperor`s call, a silent and deadly shadow behind the throne, ready to strike at any enemy of the empire.

Andy Szcepanik lived alone in Lake Landing. The tall blonde had come to Sanctaphrax some time ago when the exchange programs were still open, and had found the climate, among other things, much more pleasurable than Gaeltach had been. And with the death of his wife, he felt no driving need to stay in his homeland. He needed a place to start over, and the timing, tragic as the incident had been, could not have been better.

He pulled a black Mazda RX8 into the drive and shut off the engine. 12 hour shifts were always a killer, especially when they were over such abnormal hours. The house, though empty, was always a welcome sight. Instead of reminding him of what he didn't have, it gave hope for things to come. Tiredly, he changed into a more casual set of clothes and collapsed on a couch to catch the news or sports - whichever was on. His cellphone and pager lay quietly on the coffee table beside an old magazine and a bowl of cereal. Nothing left to do now, but settle in for a nice restful day off.

Grant Haffner was running late. Traffic on the perimetre of Lake Landing was horrendous. Just like the Beltway my grandpa used to talk about, Haffner thought. He checked his watch and sighed with despair when he saw the time read 16:00. The flight takes off in a half an hour. I'm never going to make it.

Just then, the radio reporter broke in with some news that caused a strange sense of relief. Had he been in the terminal, it would have been bad news, but en route to the airport, it was good news indeed.

"Flight 1386 from Lake Landing to Portsmouth, Sarzonia is being delayed two hours. A spokeswoman from Incorporated Airlines said the fight is expected to take off at that time."

Good, I've got time. He changed the station, looking for a classic rock station and stopped when Guns 'N Roses "Sweet Child O' Mine" played. Damnit, why's it got to be the Sheryl Crow version? Ugh! His head slowly plummeted until it hit the wheel of the car, causing him to jump when the horn sounded.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he said, even though he knew the driver in front of him couldn't hear his apology. He saw the exit he needed to get to the airport in the near horizon, almost mocking him in the way a mirage would loom in front of a parched traveller in the Mojave.

"Oh, thank the saints," he said as he passed the reason for the backup. A car stalled in the left hand lane and much of the traffic was a bottleneck of passers by who just had to get a look. Now his car was moving at the brisk 100 km per hour speed limit and the exit was now within reach. His next challenge would be to figure out what to do with the extra two hours the flight delay had given him now that he was past the traffic tie-up, but he was happy to have that challenge instead of the travail of explaining to his boss-to-be, Sarzonia's Senior Vice President for External Affairs Mark Lorber, why he was late to his swearing in ceremony.

Craig, indeed startled from his sleep despite the driver’s precautions, quickly grasped at an invisible holster, grabbing for a weapon that was obviously not there. After a few seconds of foolish scrambling, he came to his senses…..the warm air of the cooled car, the kindly escort, his business attire….he was no longer in viciousness of war or the coldness of the battlefield. He was out of that atmosphere; an ambassador now….an ambassador to The Dictatorship….."Pleasant," he thought as he remembered the purpose of his trip to this nation.

Looking down at his shoes, he breathed in deeply and apologized nervously for his rude behavior, before he quickly tried to stammer out of the vehicle. Unsuccessful, his foot caught the floor of the car, and after a futile fight to gain his balance, his body lunged forward, landing on all fours.

"Shit," he murmured as he stood up quickly and brushed the dirt and wrinkles from his immaculate suit. "This is some first impression I am making," he muttered as he closed the door and began to walk away with great haste. Standing in the driveway, looking toward the building, he looked dumbfounded. Where was he to go from here?

"Sir, if you'd like to follow me, I'll show you to your room. You have ten hours to sleep, eat, or do whatever you wish, after that I will come to your room to show you to the conference room."

As they walked towards his room, Craigs briefcase in Grahams hand, they passed by the outdoor pool. Children splashing each other, screaming with laughter as the cold water hit them, adults relaxing by the poolside, some talking, others reading, some trying to take a nap, others still watching the action in the pool with envy.

They skirted round the pool and got to the room which would be Craigs. He placed the card against the scanner, which confirmed it as the right one, then he pushed open the door.

"We have four classes of rooms here. Junior Suite, Senior Suite, Master Suite and Presidential Suite, of which there is only two. The Presidential suites are known as the Pentephraxis Room and the Sarzo Room. This room is a Master Suite, with bathtub, TV with cable, balcony with a view over the lake, everything is made from wood, and there is even a private hot tub here. I hope you enjoy your stay, here is my number if you need anything, I'll be in the vicinity for the next few days anyway."

With that Graham departed, leaving Craig in the room with his briefcase.

"That is strange", Soren thought as he took the weapon in his hand.” My favorite sniper gun is the only one the guy has". He looked at it, smiled while caressing the curves of the gun, checked the aim, and then turned to the dealer. "I’ll take it", said Soren with a grin. He could already picture the termination, with him at half of kilometer away, and the guards surrounding the already dead body. One shot, that was all he ever needed to terminate his target, and he didn’t intend to miss right now. He stuffed the weapons in a bag and left the building, moving slowly and checking from behind his sun glasses every move on the street. He took a quick look at the houses nearby. No sign of cops, and he could smell them a mile away. He drove off with no rush, as the sun burned in the sky, and sighed, remembering the last mission he had in the desert. It seems he was too quick to say that he wouldn’t do any other mission in a warm country. As he parked in front of his motel room, he left the engine running, entered, picked up a second bag and left. He checked his watch, as the night was approaching, and so was the time to position himself.

He revised the plan as he drove towards the lake. He had to camouflage himself during the night to the position he chose before, five hundred yards from the hotel. The thought that someone might find him while camouflaged made him smile. It certainly wasn’t a possibility he would admit to easily. If it was one thing he was good at, then it was killing, unseen and unheard. Two kilometers away from the lake, he turned to a side road and briefly stopped the car. He took his night-vision goggles and as he started the car back on he closed the lights. Nobody would see him approach, and the car wasn’t one that would give him away. Five more minutes and he slowly parked the car in an abandoned barn, got off and continued on foot.

`Six hundred yards down the road, then one hundred yards to the right”, he thought. As he slowly moved towards the nest where he would wait for the next day, he felt the thrill of the hunt once again. The feeling he was not ashamed off, but he enjoyed instead, knowing that nothing would change him. He checked once more the surroundings as he arrived, making sure nobody followed, then he stood down, and couple of minutes later nobody would’ve been able to say that there was a man down on the ground, and a rifle next to him.

Craig took his briefcase and sat on the bed, absentmindedly forgetting that he had left it in the vehicle. Opening the briefcase he took out a black folder and pen. Clicking the pen top, the point revealed itself. He scribbled a few words that were stuck in his mind….ten hours to go.

Looking around, he found a large full body mirror. He stripped down to his boxers, the heat over taking him. Examining himself in the mirror, he fingered the scar that ran along his right side, when he was stabbed during the heat of battle. He grimaced with the painful reminder; a simple wound that nearly claimed his life.

The screams from laughing children splashing about in the pool brought him back to attention. He quickly searched his briefcase, which contained only two outfits, no swimming apparel. Angry at himself for not anticipating the heat; he plopped down on the bed and buried the back of his head into the pillows. He could always run out to store and buy something, couldn’t he?

Determined with a resolve to make the best of this little vacation, he hastily threw back on his suit sloppily, the buttons of his shirt half done and collar open. Grabbing his wallet, he left the room, hoping that he would not be so long. Without telling anywhere of his whereabouts, he left the building, intending on walking all the way to the nearest town, which would take quite a bit of time.

Graham strolled through the resort, taking his time, admiring the view. He was getting paid by the hour, and Mr Pentephraxis didn't need him for another hour. He walked slowly towards the beach, humming to himself.

He looked at the Tag Heuer on his wrist, and saw he was twenty minutes later than expected. "SHIT!"
He started sprinting like a madman towards his car, he'd be lucky to be on time, extremely lucky. As he passed, he saw Craig leaving his room and heading out of the resort. Changing direction, he headed for the man.

"Hey, need a lift into town? As long as you're not afraid of a little fast driving, I'm a bit late. I need to pick up Mr Pentephraxis from Lake Landing, so I can drop you off if you like."

He stood there nervously, playing with his fingers, looking at the watch again in the vain hope that maybe time had decided to stop for a while. Nope, no such luck.

Levia La’Doure stepped out of helicopter, her too high thin black heels clicked on the solid pavement below her feet as she turned around grasping a small black clutch and briefcase. The clicking of her heels continued in even intervals along the marble pathway that led toward a massive building that stretched its arms toward the sky, as if trying to the moon. The black glass sparkled blindingly with the brilliance of the sun looming above. She stopped at the base of the nearest mega beam, reaching inside her clutch for a small black phone, which she flipped open, anticipating a call.

"Late," she growled angrily. "Men……cannot send them to do anything right these days."

Throwing her phone back inside the clutch, she started forward. She stared forward as she walk, her hips swaying slightly with the motion; a tall woman with long blonde hair, neatly straightened and tied behind her head, came toward her. The woman wore a black business jacket over a burgundy blouse and a knee length, form fitting, black shirt, accessorized with black nylons and high thin black heels. The woman neared closer, a briefcase in her hand and clutch wedged between underneath her arm. As they were about to collide, the doors parted, and Levia entered the massive complex.

The crescent welcoming desk spread the entirety of vast circumference of the interior base. The only way past the desk was through a split in the middle that led to the elevators and lifts. Along the spreading of the desk sat many receptionists, dressed in business attire, and smiling pleasantly at those they were checking in. Soldiers were stationed no more then ten feet from each other across the immense bottom interior, while before the desk five soldiers stripped and searched two drunken teenagers who tried to enter the colossal complex. At the sight of Levia, the soldiers who were posted straightened their backs and tipped their caps forward with a nod of acknowledgement.

Without checking in, Levia proceeded through the parting of the desk, her heels clicking rhythmically off the pathway that was now paved in gold and lined in onyx. She turned left half way across the immense interior and entered an elevator that immediately zipped her up to the top floor of the colossal structure. With the doors parted, she grinned as silence spread across the chattering men with their "business." Looks of horror and disbelief crept slowly into each of their faces.

"You men and your politics," her deepened feminine voice sounded, causing a few men to quiver beneath her seductiveness.

"La’Doure," spoke the voice of one of the men within the room. "This nation is run by men, not women."

"So I have heard…." she sternly spoke as she rolled her eyes at their naïve attempts to segregate her from their meeting. "Next time I will remember to bring my penis. It just so happens that I left it at the strip club last night," she sardonically smiled back at them as she pushed herself between two seated buff men who looked up at her obviously confused and new to this political field. She placed her briefcase on the table and opened it before anyone could say a word.

"La’Doure, this is a private meeting. You cannot budge in here like this," spoke a man, who she assumed to be the only man in here with balls.

"May I remind you that you are within The Reich, and therefore, bound to the laws of that The Dictatorship has set forth? Mister Douglas you may be silent now," she spoke, orderly and in control. Her demeanor was of a practiced lawyer and an officer of the military, but her looks suggested she had another job on the side. She pulled out black folders which she distributed quickly, her heels clicking on the onyx floor beneath her, where they stopped at Douglas’s ergonomic chair. She handed him the folder and grinned with satisfaction that she had successfully silenced him.

"Now, men, let me enlighten you on our current situation. As you all know, Stadt des Meeres was just bombed in an aerial assault from an undetermined enemy," she spoke coldly, knowing that these men had heard nothing of the assault. At their looks of disbelief and confusion, she continued without letting a word in, "Or, maybe you do not know, because you were too busy sipping champagne and brandy and discussing whether or not you should change your national bird to the Robin or Pigeon? Blinded by your trivial 'national' matters, you happened to sit comfortably in your damn chairs that make you look like a bunch egotistical testosterone crazed buffoons, while the last remaining city within The Dictatorship has fallen under attack. Not only that, your nation did not respond to Protocol 6310, nor did they send in any assistance when a transmission went out……in English, you did not help when The Dictatorship cried out for help. In accordance with Order 674, your nation has failed the Code of The Reich and will be punished accordingly. You are all under arrest and your rights have been removed. The only right you have is to follow my orders from here on, or die, simple as that."

She took a momentary pause, as she captured the brilliance of the moment…..the baffled faces of terror as they began paging through the black folders that were filled with aerial shots of the destroyed city and statistic analysis of the estimated damage done.

She smiled as she continued briskly, "Now, what else you do not know is that The Dictatorship has sent an Ambassador to a foreign nation. Before your imprisonment, you are sentenced to locate this ambassador and offer him protection, in case the need be. We do not anticipate any complications among this international discussion, but we will see to it that nothing does occur."

The men muttered, confused and bewildered. Douglas was the first to respond, "What the fuck just happened?"

"Fuck? I suggest watching your tone with me," she said; her eyes borrowing into his. "For your child like mind I will simplify it for you. You 'fucked' up. You are going to be punished for it. Understood?"

"What is going on over there? When did this happen? What about the RQ? Mister Bortniansky? Lady Lux?"

"What is going on is a war. The assault was not long ago; you were given enough time to respond. The RQ is currently under Protocol and unable to locate the enemy forces, but the enemy is either still within the nation or managed to escape somehow, which is highly improbable. Mathias had been arrested for sexually assaulting a minor, and Lady Lux has been murdered. Anything else Mister Douglas?"

Silence filled the room, as the men stared at the pictures before their eyes…..so much had happened, yet, none of it they knew. They had been wrong; they were bound to protect The Reich however possible. There was no reason to have not known this information. However, before they could process all the information, a phone rang, breaking the silence.

Levia opened her clutch and removed the phone. "Just on time I see. Send them up."

Within moments, the elevator doors opened, and soldiers of The Reich military entered the room. Without hesitation, they arrested the men within the room, emptying the place in only a few minutes. Levia stayed behind, taking in the now empty and silent room as she sat within one of the black leather ergonomic chairs. She grinned, realizing how simple this would be.

Now…..to contact Craig.

Craig looked up from his walk, noticing that a ride had been offered to him. His mind raced and his thoughts of going swimming ended quickly.

"No, sorry sir, I changed my mind," he spoke quickly as he rushed back to his room. Entering his room, he closed to door quickly and slid down it with a sigh. He had a few more minutes until he was scheduled to call back to The Dictatorship and report in. Taking that time, he made his way to the bathroom, where he stripped out of his suit again and filled the rather nice tub with cool water. As the water filled rushed down, the forced cascade creating an almost serene atmosphere, he relieved himself and flushed the toilet before crawling to the tub, allowing the cool water to chill his sweaty body. The differences in temperature shocked him at first, his hair standing up, and his breath escaping quickly, but quickly the shock faded and the coolness refreshed him.

He rested his head back as his muscles relaxed and his body cooled. Closing his eyes, he thought back to a time where he had sex with a random woman that he had met at a bar.

Moments passed, minutes turning into hours, and Craig slowly stirred awake to the sound of cascading water. The sounds of screaming children had faded as well as the intensity of the heat. It did not take him long before he realized that he had fallen asleep. Panicking, he scrambled out of the bath, only to slip and land on the floor with a splash. He had left the water running, which had unfortunately overfilled the tub and flooded the room.

"Damn it," he yelled as he took a bottle of shampoo and hurtled it at the wall, managing to hit the mirror, breaking it. "Fuck!"

He noticed his suit lying in the flooded room; figures, he would not have thought to hang it up. Scooping up the wet suit, he sloshed into the other room, the water from the bathroom also seeping into this room. Cursing his luck, he threw his suit onto a table and grabbed looked around the room. The time showed that he had two hours before his conference, which he was thankful to have not been late for; however, he failed to report to The Dictatorship.

Too angry to care, he picked up the room phone and asked for a bottle of scotch to be delivered to his room. After hanging up the phone, he made his way back through water, which was at least ankle deep, and grabbed a towel, which he wrapped around his waist.

He sat in the chair waiting for the scotch to be brought to him, preparing what he would say to them about the flooded room.

Graham stood there for a moment, slightly surprised by the turn of events, then shrugged and headed to the car. The sound of squealing tires on the gravel could be heard, then the sound of an engine revving ridiculously high. Graham looked down at the gears, then cursed and switched from neutral into drive. The car responded immediately, catapulting him out of the parking lot and onto the main road, just before a car. The driver shook his head to himself.
“Guy’s got a Maserati, suddenly thinks he rules the fucking world.”
He pressed the horn once, then kept driving, the Maserati in front rapidly disappearing into the distance.

~

The waiter stood there with the tray, as another waiter put the bottle and glass on it. Once it was done, he started walking upstairs towards the ambassador’s room.

The entire hotel staff had been told about this man, sent here from a dictatorship nation, for talks with one of the worlds finest democracies. The reason behind the talks was anybody’s guess, and the PM’s office hadn’t been giving away many details.

He kept walking , then looked down and realised that there was a steady trickle of water running down the path, soaking his shoes and infiltrating into his socks. He looked towards the room and saw the number 31 on it, this was the ambassador’s room. He rolled his eyes and opened knocked on the door, opening it with his master key.

The moment he did so, a flood of water gushed out, onto the bottom of his trouser leg and completely drenching his shoes. He noticed the diplomat sitting in a chair, towel around his waist, looking pretty calm considering the room was completely flooded.

Heading into the bathroom, the waiter saw the bathtubs water still running. Also, the mirror appeared to be smashed, a bottle of shampoo lay on the floor next to it, the shampoo trickling out. He cocked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, just switched it off and headed back into the main room, looking at the man in a new, slightly confused light.

Placing the tray on a table, he asked, politely so as not to appear rude. “Will there be anything else, or is that it sir?” Courtesy was everything in this business, customer was always right, made doubly true because the customer was a politician.

Anything you’d like to ruin, destroy, flood, just let us know, we’ll give you the run of the fucking hotel, after all, you’re an ambassador. Bloody diplomatic immunity. Guess who’s clearing this up? It isn’t you that’s for sure, that’s right, good old me doing the work, and you get off free. he added to himself. How he hated ambassadors and politicians of all sorts, thought they ruled the fucking world.

Craig shifted his weight in the chair, looking deep into the waiter's expression.

"I….um….fell asleep while taking a bath. Jet lag….um….I'll clean in up after my conference and pay any damages," he spoke softly, dragging his "um's" and visualizing the damage he had just caused.

"Ah, look, I'm sorry," he said, suddenly irritated and ashamed of what had happened. He stood up quickly and grabbed the bottle of scotch, pouring himself a glass and drinking it quickly. "You may go," he said furious at himself; once again, he managed to screw something up.

Before the waiter left the room, he quickly called to them, "Sir, is it too much to ask for aspirin? I……have a……condition. Um…..can I just have some aspirin? I left it back home. Ha, you probably think we're real assholes back in The Dictatorship. Well, we are, most of us at least…..the rest just aren't as clumsy as I am. You should meet this lady in our region. They call her C9….I heard a lot about her. She's a bitch….I'm rambling again, aren't I?" he asked as he poured himself another drink, sitting back down, and taking this one more slowly then the first.

Realizing that he had been in just a towel, exposing his battle wounds, he quickly grabbed his suit jacket, stood up, and sloshed back toward the bed, slipping on his suit jacket, buttoning it so that it concealed his abdomen and chest.

"Forgive me sir," he said, sitting on the bed, resting his head inside his hands. "Only two more hours left….just two more," he thought to himself as his head began to throb.

The waiter looked at him, thoroughly confused. First he apologises, tells him he’ll clean up, then he orders him out, then he apologises again and asks for aspirin.
Guy must be messed in the head or something, aloud he said “That’ll be no problem sir, I’ll be right back with your aspirin.”

The waiter left, stopping off in the bathroom to wring his trousers out and dry his shoes as much as he could. He went back to the reception and brought some aspirin, then climbed the stairs back to the guys room.

Without a word, he deposited the aspirin on the table next to him, then got a glass of water and placed it by the aspirin.
“Will that be all for now sir? Or anything else you require?

I can understand why they sent this man over, probably anything to get him out of the country. Still don’t understand why we had to get stuck with him. At least he’ll be out of here soon.

Craig tried to murmur a light, "no thanks," but his head throbbing intensely and he could not think of whether he thought the words or had barely managed to whisper them. Trying to stand, his eyes tightly shut, he grasped his head in one hand and slowly moved forward, his arm extended to guide him.

He did not hear the waiter leave or respond after his supposed 'no thanks,' but then again, he could not hear anything other then the pounding of his own pulse, which sounded inside his head.

He moaned as he stumbled forward, his hand catching the edge of the table, searching for the aspirin. He felt weak; his knees beginning to tremble under his weight. No longer caring about the aspirin or the water he was sloshing through, he sat down on the wet carpet with just a few inches of water submerging and laid down, still clutching his head in his one hand and covering his eyes with his other arm.

The waiter slammed the tray down in the kitchen and headed over to the oven to warm himself up and fully dry off.

Before he noticed, he started nodding off slightly, the effects of the oven, the work and the bustle in the background combined to make him tired and sleepy. At some point he must have fallen asleep, because next thing he knew he was awoken by a commotion from out in the reception.

Cursing loudly, he got up and stumbled out of the kitchen towards the scene of the noise. The woman in reception nodded and pointed towards the waiter as soon as she saw him. The man standing there opposite her turned and followed her finger towards the waiter, who looked at the two blearily.

"Whats going on? What happened?"
"I'm staying in room 30, and there's water seeping into my room. When I went to investigate, I saw it was coming from 31, and the door is open there. The man inside seems to have passed out, in several inches of water. I've been informed that you saw him about an hour ago to take him aspirin."

The waiter cursed silently and sprinted off towards 31. Opening the door which the man in 30 had closed, he kneeled down by the man checking for a pulse. He shook him gently and called his name.

Every slight sound was incomprehensible to Craig. To him, it was just extremely loud noise that made his head pound and throb even more. He laid there for a while, unmoving, his head steadily growing worse when footsteps raced toward him, sounding like an elephant to his sound sensitive head.

He felt shaking and heard an incomprehensible booming inside his head, which made him wince and clenching his jaw tight as if his head were about to explode. When the noise stopped, he moaned again, keeping his eyes shielded with his arm.

Even his own moan was too painful for his head to bear, and he grimaced and clenched his jaw tighter as his headache intensified.

Within minutes the man from room 30 also entered the room to check up on him. Upon entering, he saw the waiter still desperately trying to revive him, to no avail. He kneeled down by the waiter and pinched Craigs nose, and when he opened his mouth, the stench of whiskey hit him.

Well well, someones been drinking....

He bent his mouth to Craigs, trying to ignore the smell of the scotch, and gave him CPR. When that failed, he told the waiter to go and get the on site doctor that the resort had. The waiter left in a rush, then the man spotted the aspirin on the table.

Quickly opening the box, he shook some into his hand. He pinched Craigs nose until he opened his mouth to breath, then placed the aspirins inside, followed by a small amount of water. He waited until Craig swallowed it then left the room, heading back into his.

Craig felt a chocking sensation, as if he were drowning, and swallowed immediately, fighting the urge to want to vomit. He felt better after swallowing; the feeling subsided as he lay there for quite sometime.

Almost twenty minutes passed, when the intense throbbing in his head began to dull. He could make out distinct sounds now, which still hurt if slightly too loud. He mustered up his strength, and sat up, feeling slightly dizzy and a hand grabbing his shoulder, supporting him. It took him a while summon the courage to remove his arm from his eyes and a moment longer for his eyes to adjust to the light. He noticed it was the waiter from before and groaned.

How long had he been out? What happened? Why was he so wet and feeling like he was starting to float? Where did his migraine go?

Weakly, he groaned, "I have a meeting today. Do you know what time it is? I mean….how much time do I have left to get ready?" he asked, assuming he had been out for about an hour at the least. Maybe he was already late, and that thought made his head throb just slightly.

"You still have about half an hour or so until the meeting, so get ready and if you feel alright then you can go. This by the way is our on site doctor, he'll be keeping an eye on you during your stay here. How do you feel at the moment?"

As he spoke, the waiter moved around, retrieving Craigs suit and looking at it.
"I'll just go and dry this for you, I'll be back to show you to the meeting in twenty minutes."

The waiter left and the doctor knelt by him, opening the front of his shirt he placed the stethoscope on his ears, then pressed it against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Slightly fast, but recovering quickly. Putting the material into his bag again, he stood up.

"Well, you've made a remarkable recovery. You should be alright to go the meeting. Just for precautions sake though, take this."

He slipped a button into Craigs hand then held up a small screen.

"I'll be able to see if you press this, and be with you ASAP. Only press it if you really need to. I'm going now, but let me know via that if there's a problem."

Pocketing the screen, he picked up his bag and left.

Craig slowly got to his feet when he was left alone. He felt shaky, his step wavering until he made it to the bed where he sat down again, breathing heavily from the exertion. He grabbed his briefcase and snapped it shut, pulling it off the bed slowly with his body.

He made his way back to the table and sat down, still undressed. Opening the briefcase again, he pulled out the uniform he had brought with him, staring at The Dictatorship emblem over the right chest of the jacket. He took the uniform and briefcase and slid out of the room slowly, careful to not push himself too much.

Once outside, he looked up and down the corridor, noticing that it was empty, for the moment, and began to dress. He did not want to get this uniform wet; it would look bad for him. Finishing dressing, he was sliding on the military jacket over his shirt when the waiter returned.

"I'm ready now," he said weakly still, holding his briefcase tightly and trying to muster a weak grin that faltered before its making.

The waiter groaned to himself as he looked at the cursed ambassador, now in his suit. Faking a smile, which took more effort than he'd have believed possible, he placed the suit which he'd dried back on the bed and smiled again.
"If you'd care to follow me, Mr Pentephraxis has just sent word, he'll arrive shortly. Please follow me."

Beckoning with his hand, the waiter helped Craig out towards the sun, and headed in the direction of the conference room.

Walking slowly as to not aggravate his condition, he followed the waiter out into the sunlight, where he immediately brought his arm to his eyes to shield them. The bright like made his head throb, where he tightened his grasp on the briefcase.

He took a deep breath, to steady himself as his step started to waver. "Sorry sir, I have a condition….I….didn't mean all that back in the room," he said, obviously embarrassed about the events that had passed.

Couple of hundred meters away, burried under his camouflage, Soren was with his full attention on the surrounding area. He checked it fast and saw no sign of intruders in the area. He switched back his atention to the target, as he moved, and waited for the right moment to terminate him.

`Ok Craig`, thought Soren to himself, `Let`s see if you can dodge bullets`.

He aligned the scope once more to keep the sight on the head as he moved, and pulled the triger. The bullet started his fast cruise towards the point where Craig was supposed to be and hit the target in the head, just as calculated.

He checked the sight on the victim and froze. He missed the target, killing the man next to Craig. Fast, he moved his rifle to see where Craig was located and only saw a beautifull redhead screaming as hard as she could, and the target running for shelter in the vicinity. He set the target once more, but Craig vanished before he took the shot.

`My first miss`, thought Soren in a state of almost shock. `He must`ve stopped for a second to look at that readhead and i killed the wrong guy. I gotta move out. They`ll be here any second.`

Soren covered with leafes the shape in the ground that his body left after hours of sitting there, and removed as much of the evidence as possible before leaving. He slowly moved away, crawling to a place where he couldnt be seen by the aproaching guards, then he started running silently through the forest. Couple of minutes later he was in his car, exiting on the highway. He stopped after ten miles into a forest, and burried his gun and clothes in a hole prepared before. Five minutes later he left, dressed as any civilian, and headed for the vacation house he chose as a hiding place.

This day sucks, having to play nursemaid to a stupid diplomat. I can't wait for it to be over.
His wish was granted, albeit not the way he'd probably wanted it to be. The bullet penetrated, a perfect hit to the temple. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, blood pouring from the wound.

One by one his systems started shutting down, and ten seconds later he was dead. His head was a mass of grey jelly, blood, red as.... well, blood.

As he fell, his head turned towards Craig, tilted slightly towards the side, as if asking him what was going on. Then he died.

Craig was shielding his eyes from the light, his head beginning to throb again, when a piercing pain shot through his head. He stopped for a moment, wincing terribly from the pain, when he heard the all too familiar sound of a rifle shot.

Removing his arm from his eyes, he looked to see the waiter that had accompanied him dead; his skull......remnants of a head. "Fuck," he yelled as he moved away from the dead man quickly, his battle field instincts coming back. "What the hell? Was that intended for me?"

He looked around quickly.....no possible suspect in sight. Wasting no time, he got inside of a building and collapsed to the ground, his body feeling oddly light, as if it were about to float against gravity. His breathing was rapid, the sweat dripping from his head. He tried to compose himself; wondering what the hell to do now. He was lost amid this unfamiliar foreign place, with the man who was supposed to escort him to the conference now dead.

After a while of sitting and trying to breathe normally, he got up and looked around, grabbing the arm of the first person who he saw and turning them to face him. "Wo bin ich?" he angrily cursed at the man, reverting back to his native tongue from the panicked state. When the man did not respond, he realized that the man could not understand him, "Where the hell am I?" he asked again in English.

The man extended a hand to the diplomat and helped him up. He looked in his late sixties, a crown of grey hair the only remaining hair, with a bald patch in the middle. He was tall, about 180 if you had to guess, but thin, incredibly so. His wiry frame was covered by an expensive suit. His face broke into a small smile.

"I believe you must be Craig? Nice to meet you, I am Cowlquape Pentephraxis, I've been informed you have a slight medical condition, would you care to come inside and sit down? You don't look so good."

As he spoke, he held one of Craigs shoulders to keep him steady, even though the diplomat must have weighed twice Cowlquapes weight. He clicked his fingers, and a bodyguard stepped over to assist, taking Craigs other shoulder.

Between them they helped get him into the conference room and seat him in one of the leather seats. Cowlquape sat down opposite him and motioned the guard outside, then sat there patiently, looking at him calmly.

"Would you like for me to call for the doctor again? He might give you some aspirin if you don't feel well?"

Craig looked at the man with a look of confusion spreading across his face. He might have just been shot at and this man was calm, acting like nothing had happened. One of his own people was just murdered and this man smiled.

He felt weak; the adrenaline rush from the gunshot settling down, his thinking becoming more lucid. Perhaps Mister Pentephraxis would not have known what had just conspired a few moments ago.

When offered aspirin, Craig nodded, his head feeling really light with the dull throbbing pain there. "Water too please," he muttered, feeling a bit nauseous. He tried opening his briefcase, but failed, quite a few times, before giving up and just resting his head in his hands.

"Sir, Mister Pentephraxis, when are we going to begin? I should use the restroom quick. I am not feeling too well," he murmured, barely audible.

"Down the hallway over there and second door on the left. Go now whilst I get the aspirin for you."

Stepping into the hallway whilst Craig left, he held a short conversation with the bodyguard, who went off to the reception in search of more aspirin. Moving back into the room, Cowlquape shuffled his papers and shook his head slowly at the train wreck that was this meeting up to this point.

He'd been fully briefed on everything that had happened to the diplomat since his arrival, and couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. Nobody had told him of the waiters death, but it wouldn't have helped had he known.

Craig quietly entered the room again and sat down opposite Cowlquape. Moments later the bodyguard came in and placed two aspirins and a glass of water next to him then left to take up his post just outside the door.

"Right then Mr Craig, shall we begin?"

Craig walked to the bathroom slowly to keep himself steady. Once inside the bathroom, he locked the door and rushed over to the toilet, hanging his head over the porcelain bowl. When he felt comfortable enough that he was not going to vomit after the dry heaving subsided, he walked over the sink and turned on the cold water.

He let the cold liquid rush through his fingers, embracing the feeling. Cupping his hands, he allowed them to fill with water before lowering his exhausted face into his hands; the cold fluid reviving his senses. He continued to dunk his face in his hands with fresh cold water for a few moments before shutting off the water and finding a towel to dry off his face and hands with. He stood looking in the mirror, checking his untidy appearance from the rush of moment after the waiter was killed.

"Great first impression asshole," he told his reflection as he straightened his collar and emblems. He ran his finger through his hair, straightening it, and pulled down on the sleeves of his uniform. The man staring back at him now appeared to be reassured, official looking, and confident if only in outward appearance. Craig wore the recognizable all black uniform of any high Dictatorship member, with the red diplomat emblem over his right chest. The white buttons of his uniform and white undershirt enhanced the black uniform. He sighed as he removed the white gloves from his shoulder and placed them on. He was ready for business.

He walked back quickly to the room and took his seat quietly, opening the briefcase and pulling out the needed materials and placing the briefcase on the floor beside his chair. He looked up, staring blankly into the eyes of this man who would negotiate and talk to for the next few moments, when the guard brought a glass of water and aspirin into the room. He took the aspirin and finished half the glass of water; more from exhaustion rather then washing down the pills.

"Mister Pentephraxis, as you know, I have been sent from The Dictatorship to discuss with you our foreign policies….."

Lub.....lub dub

He stopped for a moment, confusion spreading across his face, but ending quickly. "And I would like to inform you that I have been reviewing your national policies and laws; there are many differences our nations' have and these opposing views are predicted to create difficullll…"

Lub........lub dub

He stopped again for a moment, feeling rather hot and beginning to sweat again. "Sorry sir, do you mind if I remove my jacket? You live in such a hot nation compared to where I lived."

Cowlquape motioned with his hand for him to continue, then leaned back in his chair as he removed the jacket. The mans face appeared to be flushed, and on the whole he definitely didn't look good.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go to a doctor or hospital now, postpone the talks by a day or two? I have a free day.... the coming Wednesday. If you'd prefer, we can reschedule to then."

Cowlquape in the meantime fiddled with the buttons on his jacket and took it off, draping it over the back of the black leather chair. He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward slightly, as if examining Craig, then leaned back again.

Craig removed his jacket and gloves, setting them to his side. He opened a folder before him, his eyes blurring while looking at the fine print.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go to a doctor or hospital now, postpone the talks by a day or two? I have a free day.... the coming Wednesday. If you'd prefer, we can reschedule to then," Cowlquape suggested.

Craig lifted his view and looked to Mister Pentephraxis. Coldly, almost irritated, but still businesslike, he responded, "No. I will be fine. I just need a drink….that will be all."

He finished his glass of water, his stomach feeling in knots and his side hurting slightly. He looked back to the papers he had kept neatly scrawled notes on and the material that he had carefully gathered on the subject. He began again, his professional diplomacy showing, "From what I gather, your nation does not accept the alleged tyranny of mein Fuhrer over the entirety of the region. Also, Der Fuhrer's radical views and governing techniques have to been questioned. The iron fist that Der Fuhrer holds over the region and the rules imposed to deter criminals are questionable indeed, which is what I would first like to discuss."

He shifted through the papers, the titles and words blurring. He squinted to try to make them out, his head feeling detached and dizzy. "I have here a copy compiled of the points I would like to discuss. If you could…..just…..give….me…..a minute…..and I will….."

He started to breathe heavily. Gasping, as he began to sweat perfusively, "I….need….a glass….of water…. It's too hot…in….here…. Sorry….."

Cowlquape stared at the man for a moment, then leaned over the table and nudged the glass of water slightly closer to him with a slightly apprehensive look.

"Well, if you'd prefer to continue then, I guess that would be acceptable. Of course, we do not approve of the method of "government" that the Fuhrer operates, we have always prided ourselves on democracy, civil rights, human rights, and the like, whereas dictatorships tend to go against that.
However, that said.... Craig? CRAIG?"

Cowlquape looked over at Craig nervously, then nudged his reading glasses down onto his nose. The diplomat was slumped over on the table, his face red even though the air conditioning was working at full swing, and his body limp.

Cowlquape hurried out to talk to the guard, and motioned violently. He left to call the doctor, and Cowlquape went back in. He seated himself next to Craig and lifted the mans hand. Limp, it fell back. He anxiously checked for a pulse.

Mister Pentephraxis began to talk, but his words faded into a blur of nothing more then a steady ringing. Craig's vision became hazy; his eye lids feeling much too heavy to uphold. His heart was racing…..and it was a wonder to him that Cowlquape had not heard the heavy beating from where he was sitting. Sweat seeped out of him as he fought to maintain control over his body.

He felt weak, nauseous, with an odd tingling sensation running through his body. It was a numbing sensation that had started at his side and had steadily worked its way down to his toes and to his fingers. He felt his hands shaking, but could not feel the nervous reactions that were tied to shaking hands while his head felt light…..too light.

He felt tired as he fought against his all to keep his closing eyes open, but he had failed. Not long after he shut his eyes, his body slumped forward sending him into the nirvana that would be known as his death. As he laid there, his body slowly dying, his mind raced with fantastic visions…..a euphoric feeling better then any drug high spreading across his body. He felt lighter then air, higher then the sun, and freer then the wind.

The happenings inside the room would not have been known to him. Even if he had been rushed to a hospital or medical facility and treated, he would not live. Moreover, he was unaware of the outside world beyond his dreams…..dreams of a beautiful woman who he danced with in her long elegant gown around an enormous ball room; the crowd….happy; the nation….at peace…..

Haffner took off his suit jacket. He had a fairly routine morning and was getting ready to get a good night's sleep at the hotel in Lake Landing before his early afternoon flight back to Woodstock. His checkup on the Sarzonian embassy in Sanctaphrax was uneventful as it usually was. Sanctaphrax was one of the low maintenance embassy and consular office locations, which was why Lorber gave the assignment to Haffner. He could use the time to begin his holiday if he chose, but he decided instead to fly back to Woodstock.

"Aaah," he sighed in blissful relief as he slid off his loafers. Someone remind me never to buy shoes two sizes too small he thought to himself. He lay back on the comfortable, but firm bed in his hotel room and picked up the remote control for the digital television and turned on the tele. He figured he'd get a look at the World Cup qualification match and turn in for the night.

"The referee has signalled two minutes of stoppage time here in the second half as Sarzonia has built a three-nil lead on Tonissia in this World Cup XXIII qualification finale," the announcer said. "The Stars look well on their way to earning 40 points in qualification."

"Forty points? That's unreal," Haffner said. The analyst was beginning to launch into a flurry of statistics to illustrate Sarzonia's dominant performance in the World Cup, but before Haffner could hear it, the screen suddenly changed to that of a grim faced anchor.

"We interrupt our regularly scheduled broadcast to bring you this special news bulletin," the announcer intoned.

"Shit," Haffner snapped.

"A member of the government of Der Fuhrer Dyszel was found dead in," the announcer began. By now, Haffner's mind was racing. He didn't even register a word that was said about the possible causes of death or the announcements of either the Sanctaphraxian or Der Fuhrer Dyszel governments.

Murder, Haffner thought. So much for a routine visit. He picked up his mobile phone and punched the speed dial to call Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Mark Lorber. Nothing. He tried Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis. Nothing. Finally, he tried President Mike Sarzo. Even the Bat Phone didn't work.

"Something's going on," he said. "I don't have a bloody clue, but something is definitely not right."

He shook his head, sighed, and put the phone down, turned the tele off and set off on a fitful night of sleep.

Special Agent Szcepanik glanced again to the message on his pager which had pulled him from the middle of hot pursuit. Double homicide. Federal. At least it was a change of pace from the gruesome string of homicides he had been investigating for the past several days. Joint operations with the locals were never enjoyable, for more reasons than the subject matter.

Federal. His jurisdiction. At the precinct, someone had been whispering about the Guardians of Night. While he had dismissed the claim as nothing more than rumor, the importance and circumstance of the case was enough to merit his presence. Szcepanik was a cult specialist, an unfortunate circumstance which usually dragged him into the strangest and least desirable cases. But it was a living, and one at which he was proficient. As the light turned green, he pulled into the lot of the hotel where a manager was anxiously waiting to lead him to the scene. Szcepanik sighed and stepped out of the car, tucking a small note pad into the pocket of his long, cliched jacket.

"Son of a bitch," Levia yelled as she picked up her phone and threw it across the room, where it made contact with the wall and broke, falling to the ground in pieces.

"I am going to have his ass. Lousy no good ambassadors. Who the hell does he think he is?" she snapped as she grabbed her clutch and stormed out of her office toward to elevators. At the sight of her fury, people parted out of her way, knowing not to get in her way when she was angry. She stormed out of the building and hailed the first car that she saw, regardless of whether or not they were a Taxi or mother.

In this event, she happened to catch a father who was talking his daughter to piano lessons. Demanding, she slid into the seat beside the father and clicked the safety belt into place, "Take me to the airport immediately."

"Ma'am," the father began gently, until she looked at him sharply.

"I said now. That was not up for discussion," she snapped as she searched through her clutching finding another phone. She flipped it open as the father sighed and began to drive in the opposite direction of his daughter's piano lessons. Making a phone call, she dialed the numbers that lead to the Embassy of Sanctaphrax.

The phone rang as she impatiently pulled out a small pad of paper and clicky pen.

"If he wants to avoid me, then I will just have to hunt the little son of a bitch down. I bet he screwed this up.....I knew we should not have sent someone like him. Imcompetent bastard," she ranted as the phone continued to ring.

Snapping on a familiar pair of Neoprene gloves, Szcepanik forced himself to focus on the current case. Adaptability, remember? An officer escorted him past a growing pack of media hounds which seemed relatively well contained. Briefly he wondered how anyone managed to keep them away from the scene, but when important people were involved, desperation lent strength.

The first body was in the hallway, and the cause of death was obvious. As was the trajectory, revealing the sniper's probable location. The other body was the one that concerned him. Cause of death seemed to be some sort of arrest, but what caused it? He carefully photographed the scene and signed an autopsy order, penciling a note for drug and narcotics testing.

His pager buzzed angrily, demanding attention and he groaned at the message. Girl found. ID requested.

Moving out of the way, he pulled out a cell phone.

He was having that dream again. The dream he had after each hit, reliving the moments, taking the target in his sight, gently pulling the triger, and then leaving, fast and in perfect silence, erasing all traces of his presence there. Except, this was not a regular hit. He had failed for the first time, and now he was seeing the moments after the hit again, in his sleep.

A dream he would almost consider a nightmare, of him leaving the scene in a hurry, covering with leafes the traces of his body form left in the ground from the hour he spent there waiting....running fast and almost tripping of the dead branches that fell from the trees...reaching his car and leaving in a hurry, only to stop ten minutes later near a small area with trees densely packed together. He moved in his sleep as the memory of his run came to him, remembering as he fell down only meters away from the hole. Then a detail came to him... blood.

He woke up with a terrible headache, shaken up by the last moments of the interrupted dream. He tried to remember and go back, to see where was the blood coming from. Him, running....falling down and extending his arm to break the fall.....touching a small bush with thorns...and leaving some blood behind. He cursed worried and tried to remember what was after that ... he got up and couple of meters away there was the hole he made in advance to hide the weapons. He burried them there, and as he finished he stood up and looked around. Something white atracted his attention through the dense area of bushes around him, and as he leaned forward he saw a large building some twenty meters away.

`Damn it.`, he whispered with anger in his voice. He had done everything like an amateur. The worst job he had done since he begun working in this field. He had to leave this place, before his begginer mistakes caught up with him. He decided he should make the call, and so he went to the computer, and sent a message from an anonymous mail to his contact. The message was encrypted to seem something else, but the meaning for his contact was that he had to make for him a new identity and buy him a plane ticket out of the country. He had to be prepared.

When no one had answered the phone, Levia shut it angerily and threw it back inside her bag as she clicked her pen and put back her pad of paper. She sat patiently, her lips pressed tightly together as she reached the airport.

She paid the father for his hassle quickly and headed toward the private flights, where she ordered the next flight leaving to take her to Sanctaphrax. She boarded the plane and tossed her bag onto the seat next her, resting her head back onto the comfortable seat. A personal flight attendent brought her a glass of champagne, which she finished far too fast. She stared out at the window as the plane took off down the runway and The Reich grew smaller and smaller beneath her.

The clouds became a white abyss in which she succumbed to sleep by. The many hours it took to arrive in Santcaphrax were slept away, and as she awoke, she was surprised to find that they were approaching the nation and preparing for landing already. Looking in her bag, she searched for her phone, taking notice that she had not missed any calls.

Suppressing the rage building within her, she clicked her safety belt shut as the began their final descent without authorization. She would now take matters into her own hands.

Cowlquape listened as the phone rang, waiting for Lyn, his secretary, to answer it. Too late he realised she'd already gone home and he sprinted towards the desk, a surprising turn of pace for a relatively old man. He reached it moments too late and swore violently, then looked around furtively to make sure no one had heard him. Bloody media would make a story out of anything these days. Then again, that showed a lack of real stories, which was a good thing he supposed. He spent the next few hours trying to find any good in this situation, any good at all.... well, the guy who killed the waiter might still be at large, if tthey could catch him, that would be a real feather in his cap....

Levia's plane landed, with no one there to issue her anywhere. Her left eye beginning to twitch angerily as she paced back and forth. Stopping in front of a man, she looked to him, questioning his appearences with a cocked eyebrown.

"You sir, take me to the leader of your nation. And right now," she said, cursing beneath her breath that she was dealing with such a level of imcompetence.

If only he had answered his phone the first time, none of this would have been a problem.....

Szcepanik felt a headache coming on. Some damned idiot local cop had clued the media into this - the very thing he was trying to prevent - and that would only make the matter that much harder to investigate. Son of a bitch..

He left the scene quickly, leaving the local captain to flounder in the sea of cameras and microphones. An official would be there presently to deal with it, but he simply couldn't take anymore. The waitor was his only clue. He was beyond certain that this was connected. Forensics had already secured the area where they thought the shooter might have lain in wait, and sure enough, here was a light depression in the soft earth.

Szcepanik crouched and examined the ditch, looking for a hair, an eyelash, a shell casing, hell, anything. What he found, looked vaguely like a footprint.