NationStates Jolt Archive

Secret IC


Minister of Foreign Affairs Chong Moua's residence

Languorously reclining in a comfy armchair, a thick Cuban cigar cradled between his fingers, Chong Moua gazed across the meticulously polished coffee table, on which his feet were perched, at the guests sitting on the couch opposite him.

"Marshal Churchman is short-sighted. Dangerously short-sighted," Chong said, taking a brief puff.

Minister of Justice Chia Neng Lee nodded.

"Irondin must remain a pro-RB bulwark against communist expansionism. The Marshal's asinine refusal to ban leftist political parties in Irondin could prove catastrophic."

Lee did not reply, merely nodded.

"If a left-wing party were to seize power, not only would we lose a significant portion of our international trade, as well as strategically placed military bases, but Roach-Busterian prestige would suffer a crippling blow."

Lee spoke for the first time. "We cannot allow that to happen," he said brusquely.

Chong nodded, tipped ashes from his cigar into an ashtray. "Absolutely. Yet, the Marshal is a close, personal friend of the Imperator's. We cannot allow harm to befall him."

Lee agreed, albeit reluctantly. "Indeed," he said laconically.

"The removal of Marshal Churchman is not desirable, because, in addition to the reason I just cited, he is an important symbol of Irondinian unity. Moreover, his removal would create a massive power vacuum, creating a tumultuous, untenable climate ripe for communist revolution."

"So what should we do?" one of the guests asked. He was a tall, burly, ruddy-faced man, with curly black hair, a thin mustache, and vaguely Hispanic features. An ugly, gaping scar adorned his right cheek, inflicted years ago in a scuffle with a rival bounty hunter. Lieutenant Bravo was his professional name. His real name was unknown to everyone except him. He disclosed his identity and past to no one. Those who discovered his identity were swiftly killed, without remorse or hesitation. He was a dangerous man, with a fiery disposition. Yet, he was one of the best men in the world at his job. And he was utterly loyal, provided the monetary incentives were adequate.

"The Marshal must be...how should we put it...'enlightened,'" Moua said. "If he discovers communists for the brutes they really are, he will readily convert to the rightist cause, outlaw the Communist, Maoist, and Marxist-Leninist parties, and perhaps even renounce his perverse democratic ideals."

Lieutenant Bravo nodded. "I see. Please, continue."

Moua cleared his throat. "You and your men are to don the apparel, and assume the identities of, Irondinian communists. Then, you are to use any means, overt and covert, legal and illegal, to strike terror into the heart of Irondin, to incite violent revolution. Your goal is to make Irondin so unstable that the Marshal will have no choice but to outlaw all leftist parties. When he does so, the terrorism will cease immediately."

Lieutenant Bravo smiled, a handsome, radiant smile, one that did not betray his profession, or his cold and unfeeling heart. "Interesting. As much as I loathe Marxists, this job sounds formidable. I accept."

"Excellent. You will be allocated 25 billion dollars should you succeed, and each of your subordinates will receive an amount equal to a tenth of that."

Bravo squirmed slightly in his chair, with a shudder of sheer excitement. "You are a generous man, Mr. Moua," he said.

"Transportation, uniforms, and false passports will be provided to you. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor."

The two men stood, shook hands. Bravo bade Moua and Lee farewell with a silent, respectful salute, and, hoisting his rifle, left the room with his small band of men, to carry out their sinister assignment.

Bravo's phoney identification identified him as Mr. Michael Dollard, aged 57, white male, 6'3", 200 lb. He dyed his hair gray and wore thick glasses to match the fake photo. He wore a hideous green turtleneck sweater the color of iguana vomit, skin-tight beige jeans, and oversized, clown-like shoes. He looked absurd, which was exactly how he wanted it. None would look at him and suspect he was a bounty hunter. He hoped he could fool the officials in Irondin. He boarded the plane for Irondin, took his seat, and ordered a club soda. The plane took off.

Shaun still being in RB left Gregrly Velms in charge and it was a quiet day. Velms a Liberal who was elected to speaker of the Reichstag (Prime Minister) for his skill to unite people was just trying to get some sleep when he got a phone call.

“uhhh…huh… yes yes?” said a Sleepy Velms

“Sir we have been getting reports of some odd activates of some of the local communists as of late.” said a officer on the other link
“odd? How”
“well a group of them just seem to be preparing for something, we don’t know what.”
“ah big deal I just sitting in for Churchman while he is gone”
“ok sir”
Velms Hung up the phone and went back to sleep.

Secret IC


Under cover of darkness, Bravo and his cohorts stealthily, silently infiltrated the empty school. It was well after midnight. They visited each and every classroom, depositing explosives in each one. The explosives were set up so that, in the event a light switch was turned on, they would immediately detonate. When their work was done, they evacuated, hid in a nearby sewer, and waited. When the attack was over, they would leave behind communist propaganda, so as to deceive the police.

the first man to enter the school was the local janitor and sticking to his normal routeings of work he look in all the class rooms but before he turned on any of the class room lights he had to go use the bathroom and he walked in he turned on a light, saw a huge Hammer and Sickle and then heard huge explosions all around the school, lucky for him they never booby trapped the bathrooms.

"OH what the hell is all of this?" he said as he walked out of the bathroom and found the school gutted and a shit load communist parapnalia lieing about.

"THOSE fucken communist are trying to kill kids now!?" he yeled "DAMN THEM TO HELL!"

He found a message written in the blood of a toddler Bravo and his gang had killed the night before: WORKERS OF IRONDIN, UNITE! ARISE, THROW OFF YOUR SHACKLES, AND DEFEAT THE CAPITALIST IMPERIALIST SHAUN CHURCHMAN!!

pure anger and Hatede fill him as he read this but before he did anthinf stupid he first grabed his cell phone and called the polace to report what had happend.

Underground, the 'communists' beamed proudly, marveling at how resounding their success was. They eagerly anticipated their next attack.

Back in Roach-Busters, Chong Moua peered intently over the newspaper article describing, in graphic detail, the atrocity that had been committed. The photos were quite gruesome. Quite gruesome. He smiled thinly. He felt satisfied that he had hired the right person for the job.

Gregrly Velms was shocked and worried not just for Irondin but he also knew how bad it looked that as it looked the first time he ran the nation there was a communist Inseraction. He was in a meating with all the genarals for sugestens but they all said the same thing, shut down the communists, and with that Velms orded all communist parties banned and placed all known communists under house Arest.

I never thought it would succeed this quickly, or this easily, Moua thought, upon hearing the news. He wired Bravo his money, but ordered him to remain in Irondin and continue to stage occasional attacks, to "keep the pot boiling," because if things got too peaceful, the government would possibly lift the ban on the leftist parties.

Communists were split on what happend, some wanted to go right to the government and demand the bans lifted however most wanted to find who did this and bring the to justice then go get the bans lifted, the leader of the Marxist-Leninist party, Grant Fyllat, a former PI Set out to find out just who did this, and why because in his mind no communist would do this for any gain.

Bravo figured he'd wait about a week before staging his next attack. He debated whether his next target should be a church or a bank.

Grant Fyllat was looking at all the polece reports in the case. He was 100% that this was a set up due too his knoloage of Communium and the apperint stearotipcal way the propaganda was made, his first thoght that this was staged by the Eather the Nazi or Fashist parties of Irondin

Pineridge Oaks Orphanage

Pineridge Oaks Orphanage was once a grand and lofty mansion owned by narcisstic, excessively wealthy aristocrats, prior to the 'death' of Irondin, during which it was abandoned and succumbed to neglect, erosion by termites, and a general deterioration in living quality. It had since been cleaned out, patched up, and bought by a kindly old woman named Marilyn "Aunt Mammy" Ruth, and turned into an orphanage. Cute, chubby-cheeked, wide-eyed, utterly guileless and adorable kids scurried about in the orphanage, laughing, giggling, crashing toy trucks, playing "house," and sometimes getting into minor scuffles. The place was old, dusty, messy, but it was home, and everyone there loved it. Aunt Mammy was a childless widow, and had always had a soft spot for children. This soft spot was going to cost her her life.

That night, all was silent. As Irondin was lethally frigid all year round, there were no crickets to break the silence. Lieutenant Bravo and his boys were ready to strike again.

They reached the roof via grappling hooks, and poured kerosene down the chimney. They poured it down the sides of the mansion, onto the grass, onto the trees, and on every door and window leading outside. It was a laborious, painstaking, agonizing job that took many grueling hours. When it was done, they set the place alight and disappeared into the shadows.

Soon, the orphanage was an excruciatingly, piercingly brilliant beacon of flames, scorching and suffocating all within its fiery grasp.

"OK now I know for a damn fact that this is a setup" Grant Fyllat said "some one is trying to make us communists look so evil that Churchman would have no choice but to lock us down... DAMN I have to get there" Grant pick up his IMP-2 and is IRS-1 Just incase something got ugly while he was looking over the runes. He got there about 3 AM and looking over what the local officers found. "hmm, wow what shitty bombs, look homemade by someone who had no idea what he was doing... this however is less and less like this is homegroune, why would someone outside of Irondin care about Irondin Communists..."

"Gentlemen, I wish to congratulate on a job well done," Bravo said, addressing his followers.

There was light applause, which ended abruptly when he raised a finger.

"But don't get cocky. We have a long ways ahead of us. The Communist Party may be illegal now, but if things settle down, that may change. We have to keep the pot boiling. We have to dispel any and all possible suspicions that it is anyone other than the communists committing these atrocities. Therefore, tonight I propose we 'take care of,' the leaders of the Nazi and Fascist Parties."

Grant Was sudding the attacks and desided that the attacks were ment to make the communist look as bad as possible and thoght that perhaps it was the extremist right-wingers in the Reichstag to get rid of them one and for all when...

It was after midnight.

Telthith Hitler (assumed identity), leader of the Irondin Nazi Party, reclined in an armchair, his feet nestled into fluffy slippers with swastikas. He nursed a beer (German, of course) as he intently pored over a copy of Mein Kampf, a book he was enjoying profoundly. His slanted eyes, which were less than an inch apart (his parents had been siblings) glittered with tears, induced by a surge of powerful emotion. His walls were adorned with posters of concentration camp victims, Hitler addressing vast crowds of soldiers lined up in perfect formation, and anti-Semitic, anti-capitalist, and anti-communist slogans.

There was a knock at the door.

Puzzled, perturbed (who could it be, this late?) he rose to answer the door. He opened it, but not for long, as there was a ferocious blizzard ravaging the city just outside.

No one was there. He quickly slammed the door shut.

Shuddering, his teeth clattering, he hurried back to his armchair, and immediately threw a blanket over his scrawny, bare legs.

There was another knock.

Again, he went to answer it. Again, no one was there. He shrugged, returned to his chair and resumed reading.

For the third time, there was a knock at the door.

Infuriated, he stormed over to the door, bristling, and threw the door open, bellowing, "What the fuck is it?"

There was no reply, except for the howl of the wind.

He closed the door, sighed. May as well get a few more chapters d-

His thoughts were interrupted by an explosion: a gun shot. His living room window disintegrated on impact. He instinctively ducked, crawled into a fetal position, whimpering with fright.

He felt a strong hand clutch his shoulder, roughly drag him to his feet.

He saw a mustachioed, vaguely Hispanic-looking man, ruddy, burly, and in peak physical condition. The man's face was devoid of emotion, his eyes concealed by dark shades.

"Hello, fuck face," the man said.

Hitler stammered, "W-What do you want?"

The Hispanic man nodded. His assistants returned the nod, and proceeded to tie Hitler up, handcuff him, and tape his mouth shut.

"I want to kill you," the Hispanic man said calmly. "I am Lieutenant Bravo. Not that you will live long enough for it to matter."

Smiling coldly, Bravo took a soldering iron, and burned a hammer and sickle symbol into Hitler's forehead, as Hitler uttered a muffled, but extremely shrill and ear-splitting, scream of utter agony. The pain was so extreme that Hitler lost control of his bowels and bladder. His face was an ugly purplish hue, as thick beads of perspiration, and tears of fear, gushed down his face in torrents. Bravo's assistants laughed hysterically.

Then, Bravo's men smiled and unveiled a flag of the former U.S.S.R. Smiling, they sliced open Hitler's neck, prying deep, parting blood vessels and muscle, until they reached his larynx, which they shattered with a hammer. No longer would he be able to scream. With that done, they removed the tape from his mouth, then thrust the flagpole down his throat. He began to gag, saliva gurgling in his throat, as his face turned blue. Within moments, he was dead.

Bravo and his men then removed the flag pole and impaled it through Hitler's heart, laughing. When that was done, they vanished silently into the night, but not before spray-painting various Marxist slogans with red (of course) spray-paint on Hitler's wall.

Grant was reading the story on hitlers murder when two Irondin MPs spoted him

"YOU stop right there!"
"Shit" Grant said "not now!"
"you are comeing with US NOW!" Said the MPs

About 10 Mins later Grant was under intaragation in an Irondin Army camp outside Syslock.

"so why did you do it?" asked the MP Intaganting him.
"Do what?" grant replied
"you know damn well what you did!" Yelled the MP
"kill hitler? look I would be lieing if I said I would not go out and piss on his grave but do you think Im that stupid I would go out and kill him with all this shit going on right now?"
"look it what all your buddies have been up too"
"heheh its funny, if you guys had been doing even a little police work you would know that this is all a set up"
"Oh really well got any proof to back that up?"
"open your damn eyes you poor exuses for sacks of shit its all fake, and baddly faked at that!"
"Shut the fuck up you fucken Communist!"
"Look am I Charged with anthing? because if Im no I am still protacted by the Irondin rights and Freedoms am I not?"
"ehhh.... get the fuck out of here"

Grant walked out and set about continuing his investgation.

Via a sympathetic police informer (sympathetic enough to be bribed, anyway), Bravo learned that the communists "had their suspicions," but it was unknown which communists knew, or how much was known. Bravo was puzzled. Should he go after the communists? No, because his purpose was to frame them, so the party would be outlawed. Killing them wouldn't get rid of communism- after all, more would appear. Should he kill some fascists? If he did, then it would look too obvious, and everyone (not just the communists) would know it was a set-up. He figured the best thing to do would be to pit the fascists and communists against each other. Maybe he could disguise himself as a communist and rape a fascist's daughter...no, too messy, and it would leave incriminating evidence. He could always make crank phone calls between the communist and fascists' houses, but that would be amateurish. He figured his best bet would be to try and assassinate a fascist, and "accidentally" fail, then leave a trail of evidence pointing to the communists. Then, he could sit back, and watch the sparks fly.

After Being Released Grant got back right onto the the Trail, He was complaetly stumpted, who would be doing all of this, he thoght "not us, not the Nazis... perhaps it was the Fashists... the are gaineing the most from this... It HAS TO BE THEM!"

As Grant strolled the sidewalk, on his hunt for incriminating evidence, he heard a voice whisper: "Hey, Red. Hey, yeah, you. Red. C'mere."

Grant looked around, cautiously.

From the bushes emerged a shady-looking character (http://www.northernstars.ca/NSCollection/woods_donald.jpg), dressed conspicuously in a spiffy, expensive suit. The shady character nodded. "Name's Miles Moseley," he said.

"What do you want?" Grant asked.

"Listen, the government of Irondin has no great love of communism," Moseley said, "but they hate to see innocent people take the rap for crimes they didn't commit. A certain somebody high up in the chain of command- who wants to remain anonymous- hired me to prove your innocence. So what do you say? Interested in working with me?"

"HMM well Im always looking for help... what you got?" Grant said.

"Not much," Moseley admitted. "I have no leads yet. How about you? Any ideas?"

"well I suspect its the Fascists, all the hits done can been seem to benfit them in some way" Grant said

"We'll have to look into that, won't we?" Moseley said, puffing his cigar. "Do you know how to bug a phone?"

"bug a phone? I can bug a modem if I wanted to!" Grant said

"bug a phone? I can bug a modem if I wanted to!" Grant said

"Good, good. That'll save time. I have some bugs, in addition to a list of all the major Fascist Party members' addresses. We'll split the bugs between us, split up, and bug each of their phone lines. We'll get it done twice as quickly that way."

"All right sounds good" grand said. He took his bugs, got on his bike and Drove away.

Lieutenant Bravo was in his hide-out- an abandoned gym in a run-down building that had nearly burned down years ago- doing target practice, using live rats as his targets. He'd made 10 shots so far, only 2 had missed. Not bad.

"Lieutenant!"

He looked up, spat. "What is it, Marco?"

"Great news. Bastards don't suspect a thing. They think it's the fascists."

Bravo chuckled. "Excellent. Then, let's make them continue to think it's the fascists. Leave a present for Grant."

"A present?"

"Yes, leave a copy of Mussolini's autobiography on the doorstep, and write in the front, 'Don't fuck with the Fascists,' or something. Once that's done, I'll proceed to step two."

"Step two?"

"Yes, step two. Now go on and do as I told you to!"

Grant, after bugging all the known fascists in Syslock was relaxing at home when his doorbell rang.
"the hell?" grant thoght he walked and opened the door. He found a copy of of Mussolini's book on his door with a knife in it with the message "Dont be the next Victim to the Blackshirts"
Grant pulled out his Colt 1911 and shot all six shot into the book.

Grant's phone began to ring.

Grant fliped up his Phone "hello?"

{OOC: Irondin and I did this over IM. Bold text is his, non-bold is mine.}

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Grant?"

"Ya..."

"Mr. Grant, did you receive a package?"

"Perhaps..."

"That would be a 'yes,' or a 'no,' buddy."

"Yes, then."

"I see. What did you...what did you think?"

"Who the hell is this?"

"You answer my question, I'll answer yours."

"Well, I shot it."

"I hope you read the message first, you Red fuck."

"Well, I got one shot left. Guess who name is on now?"

"Look out the window, ass-hat."

Grant looked out the window. On the other side of the street was a battered, rusty car, over two decades old, barely functioning. The car suddenly exploded like kegs of dynamite, bursting into flames, causing pieces to fly everywhere.

"Well?"

"Hmmm, well, keep proving yourselves as the barbarians you guys are, that just helps the Red revoution."

"That'll be YOU next, if you fuck with us further, Mr. Grant. Do I make myself clear!?"

The line was dead.

"Cocksucker."

"Damn these guys arn't playing hear" Said Grant as he spun his Colt 1911 around his finger " I really need to do something quick, or more peaple are going to die!"

Back at Bravo's headquarters, Bravo was cleaning his rifles with a rifle cleaning rod. He had nothing better to do. He was at a loss for what to do next. Maybe he'd make a (purposely botched) attempt on Grant later, if the opportunity arose.

Grant desided that enufe was enufe. He went to the Fascists party HQ and confrounted them.

Donald Relavui stood before the podium, delivering heated tirades against capitalism, socialism, and communism, and emphasizing workers' rights, extreme nationalism, merger of state and corporate power, total control over every aspect of the peoples' lives, and the necessity of defeating "the globalist menace."

As he delivered his fiery, passionate, rousing speech- a speech which utterly transfixed his devoted, ultra-rightist audience- who constantly interrupted him with thunderous applause, stiff-fingered salutes, or cries of "Sieg Irondin! Sieg Relavui! Down with communism!"

Grant sneaked into the place easily enough- there were less than 40 people, in a town hall with a capacity to hold over 5,000. There were hundreds upon hundreds of empty chairs, and most of the fascists were in close proximity to Relavui, practically swarming him. Moreover, his speech was so loud it drowned out all other sounds. Grant was relieved to observe none of the fascists were armed.

Before he reached them, however, Relavui stole a glimpse of him, out of the corner of his eye, and jabbed a finger in his direction. "Him! He is not a party member! Grab him!"

A small band of fascists formed a circle around Grant; however, they kept their distance a bit, as they did not fancy the notion of being shot.

"ok you sons of bitchs your killing of the peaple has ended now! You!" as he pointed to Donald Relavui. "your comming with me for your crimes agesnt the peaple!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Relavui exclaimed, raising an inquiring eyebrow. His men exchanged glances, and burst out laughing.

Grant fired some shots into the air and said "You know DAMN well what I mean"

Relavui rolled his eyes. "Gah, more commie propaganda. What, you mean the people our great leader and spiritual heir, Benito Mussolini, allegedly killed? Listen. Asshole. That was about three quarters of a century ago. What the fuck about all the people you goddamn commies killed? What, 100,000,000 plus? So, I don't need any lip about people we allegedly killed. Go jack off to your copy of Das Kapital, you fucking pinko."

"how about the School, the orfanaage, or the nazi leader?! you god damn cocksucker" he yelled as he shot at Donald just missing his ear

Donald dove behind the podium, narrowly missing a second shot. One of the fascists rushed Grant, backhanded him across the face so hard he dropped the gun, and pinned him to the ground.

"What do you want? Why are you here?" Donald asked, pressing the gun against Grant's temple.

"to bring you to justice" And as he said that Grand kicked the Fascist off him, got his gun back and started the point at everone

Suddenly, the doors were thrown open, and over a dozen policemen stormed in, toting guns. "Freeze! Donald Relavui, you are under arrest!"

YES! Justice!" Grant yelled.

"Fuck you, asshole!" Donald shouted. "I hope you bleed shit and shit blood! Fucking money-burning, proletarian puddle of pigshit! I bet you set up this whole thing! Fucking commie!" Donald's face was blood red, sweat-soaked, every vein bulging. His eyes looked ready to pop out. As the police carried him away, one of the fascists whispered to the others, "Don't mourn. Organize."

Grant Quicky left left, knowing the cops would not like the fact he was shooting his gun, quickly got home and relaxed, knowing it was all over...

As soon as Grant got home, he saw the light on his answering machine beeping. He checked his messages, and heard the following: "Don't think this is the end, you Stalinist slut-fucker. One day, we will fucking murder you."

Grant checked the caller I.D. The call originated from the house of Gregory Fascesci, the treasurer of the Fascist Party.

"and when you do all be wating for you..." Grant thoght he then sat down and took a drink of some Russian Vodka and then when to bed

As he lay in bed, he felt something wet, squishy, alarmingly hot. He reached, tentatively, and felt a slimy mass: he turned on the lights, and gaped, stricken with horror, when he saw what it was. It was a human heart, freshly torn from a person's chest.

"Those basterds... Oh well let them dig there own grave" He said to himself as he got up and sat down on his chair in his liveing room.

At 2:00 A.M., Grant's phone began to ring.

"hello" Grant said.

"I lost my heart. Have you seen my heart?" Before Grant could reply, he heard maniacal- albeit amateurish, almost childish- cackling, and the person hung up.

Immediately afterwards, the doorbell rang.

Grant grabed his tax gun (IRS-1) and opens the door...

On the doorstep, Grant found a copy of Das Kapital, covered in blood.

Grant picked up the book "what a waste" he thoght as he tossed the book into the trash. He was tired of this but he knew he did all he was be able to do, the Fascists were going to jail and soon it would be over, he might even get a seat this time with the Fascist collapces.

"A blood-covered book? Fuck, what are you, a devil-worshipping teen gothic? How amateurish. How immature." Bravo smashed his fist into his subordinate's face, fracturing his nose and spraying mucus-tinged blood. The man screamed, clutching his wounded nose and crying in pain. "Shit, if you keep this crap up, they're going to think it's a damn kid doing this."

Grant, for the first time in a while was quite enjoying the news about The Fascists and the busting. He was unable to anthing but lauf as he saw Donald being halled off.

Bravo was flipping through channels. He had been watching a porn channel, but they were showing Deep Throat. "Seen it a hundred times," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He switched to a local news channel. The latest news bulletin hit him with a sudden, surging jolt of energy, and in a second, he went from being virtually comatose from boredom to wide awake. "...was arrested earlier today, after being linked to a recent spate of terrorist attacks..."

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" He was livid with rage, raving, berserk, ballistic. He pummeled the cough, flung the remote across the room, hammered the floor with his fist, all the while bellowing like a wounded animal. He seethed with anger, hissed through his teeth. His heart pounded rapidly. He had succeeded too well. His plan had been to instigate a war between the fascists and communists, or to pin the blame solely on Grant and his lackeys. Now, Grant was vindicated. Things were failing miserably. He had never failed before. And, he vowed, he would not fail now. If it killed him, he would make the mission a success.

Grant at the M-L party headquorters (Just reopened) was giveing what was basicly a victory speach after all that had happen.

"My friends we have Proven that the Fascists are the thugs they are and we have shown that we work for the peaple not working to kill the peaple now I think with the election comeing in 6 months we need to take 100 advantage of..." Grants phone rang and some how grant knew it was eargent.

"Grant, Moseley. Bad news. We have no evidence he was responsible for the attacks. Unfortunately, we have to release him. But we will keep a close eye on him."

"WHAT?! how can that be? if it was not him just who the hell was pulling this crap?"

"I dunno. But I'm sure as hell gonna try to find out. Feel up for a cruise tonight?"

"Ah... I guess, damn this was going to be a good day..." Grant hanged up and informed the croud of the bad news and left.

Grant found Moseley waiting outside.

"Any clues?"

"Nope I cant see who, the nazis are dead and if it was not the fascists I cant think of any one but....... Outside powers.... OH DAMN!"

"What?" Moseley asked.

"Who is the only Nation that has infulance in Irondin, and is so anti-communist it makes you sick to your stomic?"

Moseley raised an eyebrow. He struggled to hold in his laughter, but failed to do so. It escaped him in shrill, pig-like snorts. He laughed until his stomach hurt and tears slid down his face. "You don't think...?" he said.

"who else honistly, who else" Grant replied

"Roach-Busters? God, man, don't be an idiot. RB's one of this nation's closest allies. Why would they...?" Moseley left his sentence unfinished.

"well because they proiblt think they own Shaun and Irondin, and the fact there so damn arragent it would not suprice me in the least, now the question is who in the hell is the oprative here" Grant said

Moseley rolled his eyes. "Grant, tell me you're not serious," he said, exasperated. "RB's done some low things, but sponsoring a terrorist group - in one of its closest allies, no less - the very notion is too absurd to entertain even for a second."

"ok smart man, who is it? if its not any of the politcal parties or powers at be in Irondin...?" Grant said lighting a smoke

"Hell, it might be you," Moseley said, only half-joking.

Grant gave him the "your a dumb fuck" look

Moseley shrugged. "What? Hey, I'm not the dumb shit blowin' out these crackpot conspiracy theories. Sounds like you need a therapist, Mr. Grant, not a P.I. Good day."

Moseley stomped off, thoroughly steamed.

"hmmmm Moseley stop for one secaned" Grant yelled

Moseley had a short fuse, but he also regained his composure quickly. After ten steps, he had already calmed down almost completely. "Yeah, sorry for biting your head off like that, Grant," he said, walking back. "Buy you a drink?"

Grant pulled out his IMP-2 and said "Put your god damn hands up"

"Jesus! What's the big idea?" Moseley exclaimed.

"I cant beleave I did not see it untill now, you! you have been telling them where I live and hampring everthing now damn it why else would you find me first and offer to "Help" me. Now who is doing all of this?" Grant said

"What the fuck are you blaming me for!?" Moseley shouted. "Get that fucking gun out of my face, you bastard, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

"Bullshit! you do know now tell me!" Grant said as he cocked the gun

Moseley grinned sardonically. "Go ahead, shoot me. Then you'll really go to jail. Is that what you want?"

Three shots rang out, all missed. Grant smilled "if I shoot you, you will die, is that what you really want?"

Moseley showed no hint of fear whatsoever. "You're bluffing," he said.

"I would never bluff, if it would help the red revolution, but now I give you a choice, tell me all or die, very simple, dont you think?" Grant said

"Yeah, simple," Moseley muttered. "Here's what I know: not a bloody-damn thing. Satisfied?"

"Really now? do you?" Grant smacked Moseley in the head with his gun and knocked him out.

Moseley let out a muffled, feeble grunt, as he slumped to the asphalt, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, as his consciousness ebbed away. His fingers twitched ever so slightly, before falling limp. He was out cold.

Moseley found himself in Grants house tied up to a steel chair and grant standing over him haveing a smoke.

"Wh-Where..." Moseley blinked, shook his head until the disorientation and vertigo dissipated. Gradually, his hazy, pain-shrouded mind registered that he was awake, and he looked around, as his eyes slowly adjusted. His head throbbed like a son of a bitch. His voice slurred, the words barely audible, he asked, "Where...am I?"

"Moseley I want som MOTHERFUCKEN info. ok asshole? tell me EVERTHING!" Grant yelled.

Moseley's ears heard what Grant was saying, but his brain, overwhelmed with extreme pain, did not. "Huh?" he said, as if Grant were speaking another language.

"Moseley tell me ok, EVERTHING now ok?" Grand said more calmly.

Moseley breathed deeply, waited for his mind to clear. Finally, he said, "I know absolutely nothing. I'm sorry."

"well then tell me this, are you working for them?"

"No, absolutely not," Mosely said.

"ok then, we will see..." Grant when into the back room and grabed what looked like a needial.

"Listen, I swear on my mother's grave, I'm not lying," Moseley said. "Now please, let me go!"

"well we are about to find out, this here is Sodium pentathol I would not lie to you, its truth seram" Grant said as he injected the chemical into Moseley and then asked "so what do you know?"

Moseley's eyes became glazed, steady, vacant. "I...was being hired...by...Minister of Foreign Affairs...Chong...Moua."

"that bitch!" Grant said. "so are you his main agent here?"

"No...I was...I was hired...to distract you, so his main man...guy named Bravo...could finish the job..." Moseley explained.

"Bravo? never heard of him, did JL authise this mission?"

"No. In fact, the last thing Moua wanted was for J.L. to find out. He knew...he knew it would cost his career, or even his life, if J.L. found out."

"ok thats news... ok guess what your going to do? Tell J.L. about this hole thing, then after that..." grant thoght" your going to get the hell out of my site"

"Tell Papa? N-No, no way, he'll fucking kill me!" Moseley said, and burst into tears.

"PAPA?! damn hes got that place in a tighter grip then I thoght... well guess what? your damn lucky your pulling this shit in Irondin... Churchman got way to much mersy for fucks like you... he would never let you get killed..."

"Ha, but do you even have J.L.'s number, asshole?" Moseley said.

"you with dick in mouth Diseasy are going to tell me" as he injected more Seaum into Mosaly.

Moseley's mind completely succumbed to the serum, as what little remained of his self-control slipped away, and he blurted out J.L.'s private number.

"tisk tisk tisk, good help is so hard to find these days" Grant said as he phoned J.L. himself.

Please hold for Imperator J.L. I.

Grant heard a melodious, symphonic orchestra playing the RB anthem, as a choir chanted "All hail Papa J.L., praise be to his name!" over and over again, as if entranced.

Thirty seconds later, he heard a very deep, masculine voice: "J.L. here."

"hello, JL you dont know who I am but I am going to help you, Help Irondin and help get rid of some peaple with dick in mouth diseay in your government" Grant said

"What are you talking about?" J.L. asked. "Please excuse my brusqueness, but hurry it up, I'm getting a, uh...well, I'm quite busy."

Grant knew the tell tail sounds of "oral persration" and said "well I guess if you dont wana know who in your goverment is ording attacks on Irondin..."

Grant heard a muffled, "Just a minute, honey."

J.L. blazed, "What the fuck? Who? WHO!?" He was practically screaming.

"ah ah ahhh. you did not say the magic word!" Grant said with a huge smile.

"Tell me, you fucking ingrate! I can trace your location in seconds, and send B.A.D.G.E. agents to liquidate your ass," J.L. said.

"ohhhh im sorry JL but thats incorect! Johnny tell him what his Runner up price, Well Pat thats a big boa of my nuts that he can munch on as Churchman cloaes all realtion with your bitch ass" Grant said.

J.L. hung up.

If he wants to be serious, then he can call me back.

Grant phoned back "Ok enufe games, you want to know this."

"I sure do," J.L. said. He cleared his throat. "Please, fill me in."

"you no doute know the events haping in Irondin right now right?"

J.L.'s tone made his frown discernible. "Actually, I do not," he said, quite truthfully. "Enlighten me, please."

"hmm wow, well there is a group, under orders from peaple very high up in your government stageing terroist attacks on Irondin under the Guise of a communist upriseing."

J.L. said, "Just a moment," Googled the words Irondin and terrorism, and within seconds, hundreds of matches were found. He quickly scanned about a dozen of them. Most were authentic sources, including internationally acclaimed, award-winning newspapers. He picked up the phone. "Now, tell me everything you know."

"hmmm this can be a bit of Quid-pro-quo I need the real name of an agent named Bravo, tell me this and you will get all the info you need."

"Bravo?" J.L. thought, long and hard. The name did sound familiar. Wasn't that the man he had assassinate some of his childhood enemies? Yes. "I know him," J.L. said finally.

"well then inform me and all inform you."

"Real name is Fulgencio Trujillo Mora. Mid-thirties to early forties, Panamanian or Costa Rican. Former intelligence officer of Panama, fought as a mercenary in over 30 countries. Never married, no kids."

"ah "papa" you just made my day" Grant said. "now the dick name is Chong...Moua or something like that...."

"Ah, my Foreign Minister. Got proof he's involved?" J.L. said, ignoring Grant's rudeness.

"I got an agent of yours hear that has just implcated him." Grant said.

"Of mine? Who?" J.L. asked.

"Moseley was his name. dont be too mad at him, its not many peaple that can withstand Truth Seram" Grant said.

"Moseley? Who the hell is he?" J.L. exclaimed. "I don't know any 'Moseley.'"

Well who ever he works for, he has told me that Moua is ording this stuff and that "Bravo" is his op man here and if I was lieing, why would I know about "Bravo"?" Grant asked.

"I never said you were lying," J.L. said, with a hint of annoyance. "I'm just saying, I don't know who the hell 'Moseley' is. At any rate, I'll talk to Mr. Moua about this."

"ok then, well dont expect bravo to comeback by the way" Grant said, and then hung up.

J.L. checked the caller I.D., dialed the number, and said, "You damn well better return Bravo. Or I'll peel the flesh off your bones."

"oh look im pissing myself, look go back to your blowjob, this is big boys time ok?' grant said as he hung up and disconected the phone. "Ok" As he turned to mosely "where is his Headquaters?"

J.L. seethed with rage, shook his fist, but then reclined back in his chair, deciding this "Grant" bastard was not worth losing his temper over.

Back at Grant's place, Moseley, knowing further resistance was futile, told Grant the address.

Grant with this info took his IRS-1 and IMP-2 and desied to end this all, he got some fellow Marxist-Leninst and they were all armed and ready to attack. They got in and first tossed knock-out Grenades, then they put on there gas maskes and stomed the building.

Bravo was in the second floor, in his office, so he was unaffected by the gas. He did, however, hear faint, muffled coughing, and looked out his window, into the garage, where the bulk of his men were located. They lay there, writhing weakly, gasping, as they slowly drifted into unconsciousness. He saw that the Marxists were not only armed to the teeth, but, judging by their cynical, cold, calculating glares, were pissed off and completely unwilling to take shit. They meant business. His heart racing with tension, Bravo grabbed his sawed-off shotgun, knelt down, and waited for them to enter.

Grant, after looking in the first level, found no bravo, so he got up the the next level and said "Fulgencio Trujillo Mora, your Op has ended in failure, surrender now and save your life or fight and Surrender it."

Bravo knew defeat was imminent, but refused to cave in to the inevitable. He fought with the tenacity of a cornered beast and with the ferocity of a scorned tiger. Relentlessly, unceasingly, he fired shots at the invaders as they stormed in. Two men burst open, spraying blood and organs all over the place, collapsing in pools of crimson. Grant swerved to the side, dodging a blast which shattered a window. Bravo fired again, missing Grant but decapitating one of the Marxists. Blood gushed everywhere, soaking several of the headless henchman's remaining brethren. Bravo pointed, directly at Grant's face, and squeezed the trigger. Click.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped.

"You fought, your life is forfit" Grant said and then fired 3 shots, all missing. "however I am not heartless like you" and with that he knocked out Bravo and shackled him and then called the cops.

Chong Moua's residence

Moua had been tracing Bravo's every step via a computer chip he had installed on the outside of Bravo's suitcase. He watched, awestruck, infuriated, as he saw what was on his computer screen. He saw Bravo, unconscious, being hauled away, in handcuffs. He instantly grabbed the phone and dialed Lee's number. "Lee, bad news. Goddamn it, the whole thing failed! Bravo's been captured!"

As Lee fired off expletives, bristling with rage, B.A.D.G.E. agents monitored the whole call. Now they had the evidence they needed.

As painful as the realization was, J.L. now knew Grant had been right.

Grant got a MP3 confesion out of Mosely on the ground that he would not have to leave Irondin after he got out of jail, now There was only one man Grant needed to talk to.

Grant's cell phone began to ring.

"hmm... hello? this is Grant" Grant said.

"Mr. Grant, this is J.L. We've...well, we heard it from Moua and Lee themselves." J.L. filled Grant in. "Anyway, I feel I must repay you. Go visit the bank and check your account. You're in for a pleasant surprise."

Unbeknownst to Grant, J.L. had just wired one billion dollars to his account.

Grand Looked at his phone. "the hell" he said, but he when and checked his account and found it to be brimming with money, as soon as he saw this he knew it was going to be a red Christmas.

J.L. was devastated. Not since the death of Thiensiri had he been wracked by such powerful emotion. He felt as if a red hot stake were being driven through his gut. Tears cascaded down his face. His legs were rubbery, devoid of strength. His heart thudded so fast he thought it would explode. Inside, rage, sorrow, grief, and agony wrestled for control of his predominant emotional state. His mind felt like wood. Chong, and Chia...he'd known them since childhood. And they had done something this...this atrocious. He hung his head low, lost in his own grief, as he vaguely wondered what the hell he should do.

Churchman, who had just reterned from a vacation was quickly breffed and was informed that he had a meeting wating for him.

"Send him in" Churchman said

"Churchman, no doute you know what has happend?"

"yes, Grant, I dont belave this Damn it"

"So what are you going to do"

"Well lets just say Mosa will face Irondin justice"

"How is that?"

"Lets just say they will have a trip to Groznyj Grad..."

"hmm? Groznyj Grad?"

"just you see, grant just you see... Global..."

Shaun found a telegram on his desk. Inside, was a message: CALL J.L.

Shaun Quickly called JL

"JL what the fuck is going on around here?"

"Shaun...I've heard everything," J.L. said. "I want you to know that we have the men responsible in custody."

"oh they will be trust me they will be" Churchman said.

"My Ministers of Foreign Affairs and Public Order, Chong Moua and Chia Neng Lee, were responsible," J.L. explained.

"thank you" is all Churchman Said before he hung up.