NationStates Jolt Archive

Bassalo

In the presidential palace in Bassalo, President John Muto is reviewing the current situation in Macante with his ministers.

“So, you’re saying there won’t be enough money in this year’s budget for my seafront palace?”

“I’m afraid not,” says the Cheif Minister, Basil Canuza, “We spent that money putting down the Nimzonian uprising in Limoes last month.”

“Bah, those ingrates,” grumbles Muto, “We take them in, offer them low-paying jobs and plenty of corrugated iron to build huts out of, and this is the thanks we get? I was looking forward to that palace. Send in the air force to shoot their shanty towns up a bit.”

While a lackey hurries off to pass the order on, the Cheif Minister moves on to the next issue, “What else… ah, there’s still the issue of the Pharoese. They’ve made their yearly payment on the lease, but they keep kidnapping people to work on their pyramid. Apparently, they get through workers rather quickly."

The president considers this for a moment, “Who are they kidnapping?”

“Mostly Stothites, Nimzonians, and the odd Platanese.”

“Well, we need their money,” Muto decides, “Let’s not make an issue of it until they take someone important. Anything else?”

Canuza shuffles his notes, “Hmmm… the army hasn’t filled its recruit quota this year. We still haven’t recovered from the losses we sustained in last year’s coup attempt.”

“Well, you know the drill,” says Muto dismissively, “Send out some chuckleheads from Balmaro to round up all the vagrant kids from the border towns. Now, how is my football team doing?”

“Another 15-0 win, Mr President.”

“Excellent.”

-----

OOC: This is the thread for the Atlanto-Pacifica region roleplay. Closed to members of the Atlanto-Pacifica region and their allies. This is mostly just a do-nothing post to set the scene, until I figure out what the issues are.

If you're interested in joining the Atlanto-Pacifica region, feel free to TG me.
http://www.nationstates.net/macante

Unmaltuzan

Quetezatle leader of the Marianas Incans was watching the government official wheezing his way up the one-hundred steps stairway to the receiving room. Quetezatle looked around at the gold and jade sculptures lining what once was an emperor’s throne room and sighed. The throne room was on top of an ancient meso-american pyramid. It was the centerpiece of this small city located right at the 10,000 foot level of the northern-most peak of the Marianas Alps. From the air, the city looked like a collection of children’s blocks strewn along the mountainside, mixed in with elaborate terraces. The city, Unmaltuzan was the capital of the Incan province of Texacae.

This bureaucrat was short and astoundingly ugly, which could only mean he was a very high official in the Guamanian run government of Marianas Diablo. The more arranged marriages, the uglier the children, the more connections, makes one more important and higher in the food chain. Jon Jon Tutu was certainly unattractive. One eye was higher then the other, his left ear was quite a bit bigger than the right, his nose was too small for his face, his hair grew in clumps. His teeth were remarkably straight but bore the grooves of a poor orthodontic adjustment.

Quetezatle hoped the stranger would get a bad case of altitude sickness, then perhaps they could sacrifice him to Zuanxta God of Blood Letting. But that was wishful thinking, this government discouraged, in fact outlawed human sacrifice. “Too bad” thought Quetezatle.

A personal visit by such a high ranking member of the ultra-conservative government did not bode well. The Incan leader sipped his hot chocolate marking the labored progress of Jon Jon. The poor man was gasping for air, his oddly bunched hair matted with perspiration. If he slipped and fell Quetezatle would claim that Zuanxta took him. “What brings this funny little man so far from the capital city Balute?” Quetezatle asked his Shaman Xantee.

Limoes/New Koenberg

Bjornolf Folkvadr got up from his hiding place, and watched the six Macante air force SF260s fly off into the sunset through his smashed up front window. He sighed, and picked up a broom, and began to sweep up the fallen glass, plaster, and broken furnishings that littered the floor of his restaurant. "Cap'n Folkvadr's Fish Grill" was the largest Nimzonian restaurant in town. He should be happy, he guessed, that he even had a restaurant, given the squalor that many of his compatriots lived in. It was just as well he had put funds aside for an emergency, although he had been unable to secure more than a few thousand shivs from the millions he had embezzled. It wasn't worth trying to get at the rest; by now, Nimzonia's currency was worth less than toilet paper.

He picked up the bullet-riddled body of an ex-customer, and dragged it out onto the street, where he left it in the gutter. He couldn't be bothered to drag it all the way to the mortuary. Not at his age. He wondered what the rebels had done this time, to rouse the anger of the government. He would have to have words with the Marshall next time he saw him. The retaliation raids from the air force were getting worse and worse.

He turned the sign on the restaurant door to 'Closed', and went off to the back room to look for a bottle of vodka that hadn't been smashed in the attack. It was disconcerting to think, that he had been shot at more times since retiring, than he had in his more than three decades of military service.

History
Macante

Here, for interest's sake, is a map of Macante:
http://www.photodump.com/direct/Fricasso/Macante_map1.jpg

The population is static at 26 million, and the capital is Bassalo.

The population is made up of a number of ethnic groups which are usually in competition with one another for influence:

Clavers (57%) control the government and military, and make up most of the urban population. They tend to be involved in business and organised crime, and any other organised exploits. They are short and mediterranean in appearance.

Stothites (22%) are nomadic shepherds and bandits, who mostly occupy the deserts and mountains. They are tall and dark haired, and tend to have big beards.

Nimzonians (12%) There are about 3 million Nimzonians in Macante, and are the most oppressed ethnic group, and also the most volotile. There are several Nimzonian rebel groups fighting the government at any given time. The city of Limoes is known colloquially as 'New Koenberg' because of all the Nimzonians living there, but the government is trying to suppress this.

Platanese (7%) have a large population and several plantations around the city of Darba. They tend to side with the Clavers, and have some representation in government and the armed forces.

Psyevdorusskiyans (1%) have a small community in Kutan. The psyevodorusskiyan mafia works with the platanese in exporting cocaine.

Pharoese (1%) lease a small area of land in the desert, where they are constructing a pyramid for their great leader King Tut, who was afraid that global warming might cause his Pyramigloo to melt in 100 years.

Marianas Diablo is located to the south of Macante, and shares the mountain range where all the rebels live

The population is static at 20 million, and the capital is Balute.

The population is made up of a number of ethnic groups which are usually in competition with one another for influence:

Guamianians (65%) control the government, and are widely dispersed. Family connections are the rule as are arranged marriages. Due to the fact that 90% of the marriages are arranged beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. They are dark skinned, short, and Polynesian in appearance.

Islanders (15%) are the earliest immigrant settlers of Marianas Diablo. They migrated from the Caribbean Islands long, long ago. Their culture consists of music, baseball, and the cultivation, sale, and use of G-weed. They are very dark-skinned and have wild un-combed hair.

Incans (11%) as far as anyone can tell these are the true natives of Marianas Diablo. They worship an evil deity who requires human sacrifice. This practice has all but been shut down except in the most remote mountain cities. The entire population lives in the Marianas Alps in cities carved out of the mountain tops. The cities are on the lee side of the Alpine range and “marvels of engineering terraces” on the rainy windward side provide all of the food and livestock needs of the Incans. The Incans are very short, stout, barrel-chested and short tempered.

MadderMikians (5%) have huge resort compounds usually on the best beaches and in the most pristine mountain areas. The original settlers were trying to escape the gun mad society of MadderMike but old habits are hard to break. These are the most heavily armed segment of the Marianas population and hold most of the top spots in the Marianas . They are tall, fair skinned and have begun to adopt the Clydebank tradition of wearing kilts. It seems you can hide even more weapons under a kilt.

Nimzonians (3%) There are about six hundred thousand Nimzonians in Marianas, and are scattered throughout the country. They have cornered the market in the brewing of a very heavy beer quickly gaining favor with the entire population.

Man Jayens (1%) have a tiny population centered on the northern rocky shoreline. They are mostly fishermen and vodka distillers. They are very blond, very pale skinned and an unusually high incidence of birth defects.

Lt. Commander Michan McAlister, the head of the Marianas Diablo Air Force, was meeting with San San Trukula, Assistant to the Vice Chancellor of the War Department of Marianas Diablo.

“You have to step up border patrols in the Texacae mountain passes, the Macanties are complaining that their Nimzonian rebels are getting arms from their compatriots here in Marianas Diablo.” San San directed Michan in his normal monotone.

Michan, rumored to be an expatriate MadderMikian carrier pilot, studied San San. He is ugly enough to be the Vice Chancellor himself. He thought. “My C-130s are doing daily patrols from Unmaltuzan to the coast. They are equipped with infra-red detectors and Vulcan mini-cannons.”

“I think your kind are providing arms”

“My kind?”

“You know the MadderMikians.” San San explained showing no change in emotion nor voice inflection.

Michan was positive that if arms were flowing into Macante from Marianas Diablo then the MadderMikian community was providing them. Each of those compounds had enough armament to support several companies. “If you would like I can step up patrols around the two MadderMikian Communities located in the Alps. But I am going to need some serious funding. There are only six C130s still flying. We need to purchase at least three more and get some more training for my pilots.”

Michan closely watched San San, he knew the Guamanian hated to spend the government’s money but for a change Michan had him cornered.

“Ok, I will put in the request. Step up those patrols I don’t want my uncle breathing down my neck.” San San’s uncle was the Minister of State and probably the second most powerful member of the Marianas Diablo government. “Stop those shipments. I don’t want the Macantans blaming us for their problems.”

Bassalo

In the presidential palace, John Muto was soaking in his luxurious bath, pondering the current issues in Macante.

He was getting worried. Latest reports suggested that the Nimzonian rebels were better equipped than ever, and this was not good news at all - many of the rebels were ex-military, much better trained than Macante troops, and battle hardened in the Nimzonian Civil War.

The most dangerous of the groups by far, was known as the 'Legion of the Crow'. Their agenda was the usual blather; blah blah blah Nimzonians blah blah equal representation blah blah blah. They were all former Nimzonian military and special forces; some of them had even served in the elite bodyguard of General Paulus Jaarinen himself. Their leader, the man known as 'The Marshall', was already achieving some kind of near-mythical status, a legend in his own lifetime. Worse, copycat rebels and warlords, some of whom weren't even Nimzonian, were now styling themselves 'Marshall'. It was getting difficult to tell who was responsible for what anymore.

"Have a bounty of 1 million USD put on the Marshall's head," he abruptly instructed his aide, who hated having to sit in the president's bathroom on the off chance he needed to conduct policy from the bath or the toilet or whatever. "Spread the word around the usual places. Dead or alive, and with sufficient proof of his identity." The aide stepped out to whisper the president's order to a lackey outside the door.

Muto settled down into his hot water. The 'sufficient proof' clause would no doubt get him out of having to pay up, but there were plenty of well-armed idiots in the region desperate enough to take it on anyway. Perhaps they might eliminate other important rebels in the process.

Mountain Vista Resort
Micca MacIntyre owner of the Mountain Vista Resort, eighty miles southeast of Unmaltuzan, was once again looking at the accounting records for the resort with his chief accountant Miguella MacMorgan. “If we don’t start bringing in more money we will have to delay our expansion.” He muttered around a thick Platanese cigar.

Miguella replied “We still have the “Leather man” proposal, sir.”

The proposal Miguella was referring to concerned a visit by an old friend of Micca’s long thought to be dead but who turned up here in the middle of nowhere. His proposal was selling arms to a group of people across the border in Macante. The old friend was Jim Frod, black sheep son of one of the most powerful families in MadderMike. She called him “Leather man” because of his skin. It had the color and appearance of burned leather, a condition Frod referred to as temporary. Although he did say it first showed up about six years ago.

Micca thought Jim was in jail somewhere in the north but, other than the leathery skin seemed to be fine. Jim somehow knew the rebel leader in Macante and with an uncanny ability Jim had managed to find funding to purchase the arms. All he needed was a place to stage the shipments and a way to get the equipment moved across the border.

“What was the name of that rebel leader?” asked Micca.

“General or Marshall or something like that.”

“Well we can certainly stage the stuff here but Jim will have to find the transportation method himself.”

Unmaltuzan

Jon Jon Tutu finally made it up to the throne room. He greeted Quetezatle and Xantee with his most polite growl and said “Get me a chair ingrate.”

Quetezatle wondered what this visit was about; he just hoped it had nothing to do with the flourishing Platanese drug trade. The drugs kept his population happy amidst squalor and stopped the demands to allow the Incans to move from the stone age customs into the 21st century. The additional money received from selling the excess drugs to the Guamainians in Balute helped fund the entire operation.

Normally any official discussion in Marianas Diablo would start out with trying to identify family connections or if everyone was known, then it turned to who was going to marry whom. But the Guamainian would never marry into the Incan society and so Jon Jon jumped into the matter at hand. “Que-te-zak-a-talle” he said butchering the leaders name, “you are probably wondering why such an esteemed member of the Marianas Diablo government would even bother to visit your stinking village.”

Balute

It was a long time since the man sitting in the Man Jayen-run Iceberg vodka bar had gone by the callsign 'Elder Whale'. Nowadays he went by the simple monicker 'Halvor'. Although his tuxedo was a little more shabby and worn than in the old days, and he wasn't always clean shaven or neatly groomed, he still had a certain sharpness to him; a look in his eye, perhaps, that suggested he had 'been there'.

"Vodka Martini, shtirred, not shaken," he said to the barkeep, when he got his attention. While the man made his drink, he sat back and looked around the bar. There were a few MadderMikians in, and this made his eyes narrow. He still blamed them for the downfall of his country, and found it galling that the Marshall was calling on him to work with them. If he had his way, it would be them that they were fighting, and not the Clavers. But, he was still loyal to the Marshall, even through all the disappointments and setbacks.

At the moment, Halvor was waiting for a contact to arrive, to drive him out to the Mountain Vista Resort, to discuss the so-called 'leather man proposal'. He wished he was back in Nimzonia, drinking real Nimzonian vodka. But those days were long gone.

Unmaltuzan

Quetezatle had listened to the prattle of Jon Jon long enough, “This idiot comes up here in the mountain jungles without a military escort and insults us to boot.” Quetezatle muses.

In the native tongue Quetezatle tells his assistant Xantee “It is time for Zuanxta’s Finger.”

With that being said Xantee draws an elaborately decorated obsidian knife from the folds of his robe. With a swiftness borne of years of practice Xantee carves a great hole in the hapless Jon Jon. With a large chunk of Jon Jon’s insides in his blood covered hand Xantee steps onto the high platform as Quetezatle shouts to the quickly assembling crowd “Zuanxta has been fed!”

The crowd roars with approval and the all-night celebration begins.

Balute

His Excellency The Most Honorable Grod Grod Marhane, Assistant to the Prime Minister is inquiring about his third cousin once removed Jon Jon Tutu. “That jerk went into the mountains alone?” he asked incredulously.

Jon Jon's personal secretary answers “I told him protocol demands he have an armed escort, but he said this was a simple matter that he could handle those heathens by himself.”

Grod Grod was saddened, for he too well knew the fate of anyone traveling to Texacae alone. The wildlife was dangerous enough but the natives were nothing but drug induced zombies. The only reason they didn’t wipe the Incans out was they had an uncanny knack for finding gold and investment quality emeralds. The two things other than coffee and bananas that provided income to the abysmally poor nation of Marianas Diablo.

Grod Grod sighed and made the arrangements to send 3 fully armed companies into Taxacae to find out what happened to Jon Jon. The fool was supposed to find out if the Incans has any insight into the shipment of arms into Macante.

Grod Grod would have to tell his sister’s cousin’s uncle that Jon Jon was missing and presumed dead. He made his way to the penthouse apartment of his Man Jayen mistress for some R&R before going home to his astoundly ugly wife.

Balute

Erikk Oaktreeson, a young naive Man Jayen immigrant was getting his first real chauffeuring job since getting his commercial driving license. The man who was hiring him was telling Erikk how to find his fare. This man had the air of very old money about him. His skin resembled a dried up mud puddle, dark brown, deeply cracked, and looked like it would turn to powder if touched.

The man continued; “He will have a speech impediment and he looks worn, but the demeanor of a man of extreme confidence. Be careful of him he knows everyone, and he has something on each person he knows. He could be a rich man just from blackmail but his inclination is elsewhere.” “His name is Halvor, don’t hold up one of those stupid signs just go into the tavern and look around. He will find you long before you spot him.”

“This is important,” the man stressed, “take him to Mountain Vista Resort and wait for him. I don’t care if it takes days.” With that he handed the man five hundred USD “For the gas and the room if necessary, and another five hundred when you safely return with Halvor.”

Erikk wondered if all chauffeuring jobs were so lucrative. After all five hundred dollars was almost one years earnings for his dad on the fishing boat.

Later that afternoon

Erikk walked into the Iceberg vodka bar his eyes slowly getting used to the darkness. The smell of good Platanese cigar smoke was everywhere. The bright neon sign proclaiming the availability of the “Nimzonian” heavy ale buzzing behind the bar attracted the young man’s attention. He didn’t see anyone matching the Leathery man’s description.

Balute
Halvor watched the young man enter, and sit at the bar. He had taken up a seat in the shadows, obscured by a couple of Guamanian bigwigs. Nobody would look in that direction twice, so he was well out of sight. He studied the man for a moment, before deciding it must be his driver. He finished off his martini.

"You musht be my chauffeur," he said, sliding up to Erikk, "Letsh get moving; important men are waiting for ush."

Texacae Mountains

The Legion of the Crow platoon led by Reuben Davidsson were well out of their usual territory. Reuben himself felt a little out of place; here he was, a naval aviator, leading a guerilla band in the mountains so far from home. Of course, home was now a dank cave shared by fifty other rebels.

"Alright, everyone, stay sharp. These Incans can't be trusted; take your eyes off them for a minute, and they'll sacrifice you to their crazy god."

The men gripped their AK-47s, and muttered oaths to Thor and Odin, and whatever gods they believed in. Reuben himself wished he didn't have to deal with the Incans, but the Marshall was adamant that they needed to establish contacts, no matter how unsavoury.

As they made their way cautiously down the mountain pass towards Unmaltuzan, they praid to their repsective deities that everything went smoothly.

Jungle near Unmaltuzan

Illyapta was leading his little band of Incan enforcers to meet with the small group of armed guerrilla warriors. These warriors had been spotted and tracked for about twenty-five miles through the jungle in one of the many passes leading to Unmaltuzan. Quetezatle had sent him to meet these people, Quetezatle had a way of knowing when a good business deal was coming down.

Normally the Incans would be armed with stone knives, flint tipped arrows with handmade bows. But Quetezatle considered these men dangerous. So he broke out the modern weaponry. Illyapta and his men had used the M4 rifles and the S&W 9mm many times before. They were well versed using these MadderMikian small arms.

To the jungle bred hunters the approaching war party was making enough noise to be noticed almost a half a mile away.

Illyapta stepped out in front of the leader, held up his hand, and in very broken Nimzonian said “I appear to you in peace. What is your purpose here stranger.”

Illyapta’s second in command was eyeing the small party trying to determine that if things went bad who he would sacrifice to Zuanxta.

Balute

Erikk was startled by the voice addressing him and even more startled by the fact that he never saw the man approach him.

"I..er..um am supposed to drive a man named Halvor to the Mountain Vista Resort. Is that you?" he said in an almost inaudible whisper.

Jungle near Unmaltuzan

Although the Nimzonian guerillas were an elite force unsurpassed in mountain and winter conditions, the jungle was something new to them. They were crack marksmen trained to spot and eliminate targets on the wide open vistas of arctic snow plains and fjords. The claustrophobic jungle was not to their liking, and more than a few of them were a little jumpy when the Incan war party appeared before them.

Reuben waved a hand at his men, to lower their weapons. "This isn't a Platanese standoff!" he hissed at them. "Where is Ice?"

"I am here." said a voice right behind him, making him jump.

Another guerilla, whose presence perhaps even the jungle-bred incans had not been aware of, appeared as if from out of nowhere, to stand beside Reuben. He was young, only nineteen or twenty years old, and strikingly good looking, standing exactly six feet tall, with blond hair and blue eyes. Strangely, though, his frosty demeanor made him almost as unattractive as the average Guamanian cabinet member. Ice was a new monicker, but he had had many nicknames. Almost all of them had been in reference to his cold demeanor. Unlike the sweating, nervous guerillas, he seemed completely unconcerned by their situation. Nobody knew if he even had a real name. He didn't seem to care. The other guerillas were uneasy around Ice; they preferred it when he was in the shadows and they were unaware of him.

"Translate for me," said Reuben. Ice nodded. Beginning to feel cold in Ice's presence, Reuben turned and smiled to Illyapta, and began to speak. Ice translated into polite, formal Incan. His treatment of the language was precise and technically flawless, although also somewhat soulless and mechanical. Then again, that was no different to how he spoke Nimzonian.

"I am Reuben Davidsson, of the Legion of the Crow. My men and I come in peace, to offer a business proposition to Quetezatle, leader of the Incans. May we speak to him?"


Balute

"Yesh," said Halvor, "I am Halvor." He missed being able to introduce himself as Whale, Elder Whale, but he had to move with the times. He had Erikk stop off at his hotel, a run-down 1-star dump, to pick up his bag. Once they were on the road, he became quite talkative, subtly steering the conversation along lines that would reveal information about his driver, while giving nothing away about himself. By the time they approached the resort, he had already determined that the chauffeur was indeed just a hired flunky who knew nothing and was no threat, so he had relaxed a little.

Texacae Mountains

Illyapta and several of his men were at first startled when Ice seemed to appear out of nowhere. As soon as he spoke murmurs of “Diablo” rippled around the Incan party. As Ice spoke Illyapta became convinced he was one of the many sons of Zuanxta who has come to check up on his minions.

Ice asked if they could visit with Quetezatle, Illyapta answered “Yes of course master, he will be most honored to have you visit our little village.

The Little village of Unmaltuzan was deceptively large holding almost three hundred thousand souls in the layers carved into the mountain and in the terraced farms and the lowland plantations.

Illyapta asked Ice if one of his men would be sacrificed tonight or should they use a native.

Illyapta sent a runner to Quetezatle to tell him the unbelivable news that a “Diablo” son of Zuanxta was coming to visit and only seemed to want to set up some sort of trade. Illyapta knew Quetezatle would be upset that Illyapta couldn’t give him more information.

Illyapta in his most formal Incan “We would be honored to welcome your war party to Unmaltuzan the necessary arrangements are being made.” And beckoned the party to follow him as he moved silently through the jungle.

Illyapta hoped there was enough time to clean up the “Devil’s Roost” and round up the requisite virgins.

On the road to the Mountain Vista Resort

Erikk was prattling on about his family, how the government was trying to shut down the dynamite fishing, the relative merits of the Nimzonian ale vs the Man Jayen vodka. He was impressed by how friendly this man was.

The road to the Mountain Vista Resort was one of the best roads in Marianas Diablo. Undoubtedly due to the massive bribes paid to the government by the MadderMikians. Erikk was talking about this to Halvor saying the rumor was that the MadderMikians used the Nimzonians to act as intermediaries as their normal methodology was of doing business was to bull ahead. In MadderMikian society this was ok but here things had to be done with some semblance of subtly.

Texacae Mountains

A normal person might have appeared disgusted or outraged at Illyapta's question, or tried to persuade him to sacrifice nobody. Ice simply weighed up the two alternatives. "Use a native," he said, flatly.

As they made their way towards Unmaltuzan, Reuben was getting suspicious of the way the Incans seemed to be reacting to Ice. He tugged nervously at his moustache, and asked Ice, "What's going on? What are they saying?"

Ice had worked in intelligence most of his life, and was well aware of the need for subtlety. He said to Reuben, "They have agreed to take us to Quetezatle."


On the road to the Mountain Vista Resort

Halvor let the garrulous young man prattle away. He kind of liked Erikk; it was sometimes nice to get away from people who always had concealed motives, and talk to someone real. He was at least happy that his country's legendary penchant for fraud and corruption was keeping his compatriots in work, even if it was as lackeys for the hated MadderMikians.

When the car pulled into the resort itself, he tipped Erikk with a crumpled twenty USD bill, which had been in his pocket since he was last in LETI. He looked around to see who would be coming to meet them.

Mountain Vista Resort

Erikk took the twenty dollar bill with astonishment. He got paid to do a job then got more money for doing it. Well as long as he was here and with new found wealth it was time to try some of that Nimzonian ale.

Miguella MacMorgan was walking down the carefully manicured garden to meet Halvor. The grounds looked immaculate, the air was crisp, and most of the MadderMikian guests were in the underground play areas. It was a stroke of genius on the owner, Micca MacIntyre’s part to build the catacombs under the estate. It turns out the MadderMikians preferred the underground to any outdoor activity. This in turn allowed the guests from other countries to enjoy the resort without worrying about getting shot.

Miguella was a second generation Marianas Diabloian but the MadderMikian culture was firmly ingrained into her being. She was a striking brunette, about 5’7” with a winsome smile and the fire of life shining brightly in her eyes. She spotted Halvor approaching and moved to meet him. “Good morning Mr Wha…..er Halvor. I trust your trip was uneventful. Please join me in the conservatory for some drinks. Micca will join us in a bit. He has selected a rare Nimzonian Vodka for us to enjoy while we wait.”

Texacae Mountains South of Unmaltuzan

The jungle eats everything in its path. Communication gear is highly susceptible to the heat and humidity and the rain tends to dampen the higher frequencies used for point to point communications. But in Texacae the drum is the long distance communication device of choice. Sure everyone can hear it but then again everyone can hear it.

As the party led by Illyapta moved closer to Unmaltuzan the pace of the drum beats increased. The sounds seemed to be coming from several directions at once.

Illyapta was happy, two sacrifices this week alone the Gods were sure to be smiling. His only worry was if the shaman Xantee could come up with the requisite number of virgins.

Unmaltuzan

Quetezatle was worried that if this was one of the Sons would the celebration be enough.

Texacae Mountains West of Unmaltuzan

The small force of Lt. Tom Tom Grubb was nearing the capital city of the Texacae Province to investigate the disappearance of Jon Jon Tutu. There were fifteen very green government militias, Sergeant Zam Zam Tonga and Tom Tom. Their radios were crackling the general communication channel fading in and out, the troops were trudging ahead mindless of making noise, they were bored having to march all the way from the small base far to the west.

“Stupid Indians, not building roads.” Private Stund muttered over and over. Then they heard the drums. Lt. Grubb held up his hand and stopped the column of men. “Something is brewing, this can’t be good.” He said to the Sergeant and to anyone who could overhear him. “Everyone on alert, these people live, work and play in the jungle, I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us.”

Mountain Vista Resort

Halvor raised an eyebrow as Miguella almost addressed him by his old codename. Most of the people who knew it were dead. He followed her to the conservatory, leaving the resort staff to take care of his bag. It didn't have anything important in it; his sidearm, and any important papers were always neatly hidden away in his tux. Even though it was looking a bit shabby, he still kept it for its hidden pockets, stab-proof material, and also because it was the most comfortable tuxedo he had ever owned. Well, been issued. He hadn't really owned anything since joining the secret service. In Nimzonia, the service owns you.

He put on a pleasant face to Miguella; these emigrant MadderMikians were at least more tolerable than the real thing. After a few generations, some of them even lost the thousand yard stare. "Ah, but of courshe, all Nimzhonian Vodkash are rare theshe daysh." he sighed for emphasis, "Ah, what a shad shtate of affairsh. I'm sure you can shee how important thish... 'Leather man proposhal' ish to my compatriotsh."


South of Unmaltuzan

The Nimzonian rebels were sweating profusely and tugging at their collars in the stifling humidity of the jungle. The sound of drums all around was making them even more nervous, and they gripped their rifles with white knuckles.

"What is all the drumming about?" said one man, abruptly. Immediately, the group of rebels began to murmur to one another.

Mountain Vista Resort

The vodka arrived as Miguella was telling Halvor about her research into the dark secret society of spies and spying. She explained that her grandfather was a diplomat in the MadderMikian foreign service. “I know you will find this hard to believe but he was always working for a peaceful solution to international problems.” She confided in him.

“He spent many years in the Indian Casino Operators first as a spy then later as an ambassador. He told me about many legendary spies working during that time.”

“I have spent a small fortune doing research on spies in the LETI region.” She smiled that beaming smile to punctuate the sentence.

“But enough about me how about yourself.” She started but looked up and saw Micca walking down the stairway. She stood up and introduced Micca to Mr. Halvor.

Micca welcomed Halvor to the Resort and then had the attendant pour some vodka mixed with tonic and a twist of lime. “Thank you Miguella, for keeping our guest company until I could meet him.” He said obviously dismissing her.

When she left he began. “Right to the point Halvor, I have reviewed the “Leatherman Proposal” and it seems to be fine. We can easily have the small arms shipped and staged here. Anything like shoulder mounted rockets will be a bit more difficult. We have gotten the Marianas Diablo government used to large shipments of small arms but the rockets and other things mentioned will take a bit more work.” Continuing he said “In my conversations with “Leatherman” I mentioned that transportation into Macante would require the cooperation of the Incans. As far as we can tell they cannot be bribed and have their own agenda. We have come to an agreement with them, they leave us alone and we respect their territory.”

He took a breath “As you know we as a people tend to bully or blast our way to our goals but these people do not fear but instead welcome death. It took a long time for each side to understand the other. I am not going to upset that balance. Your people will have to arrange for safe passage of this equipment.”

Mountain Vista Resort

Halvor smiled after Miguella as she left. He was getting a bit old to be chasing after young women, but as a secret agent, he still had an appreciation for the occasional pretty brunette. When Micca began to speak, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

When Micca finished, Halvor nodded his agreement, "Well, I trusht 'Leatherman' will take care of arrangementsh for getting the heavy shtuff pasht the Marianash authoritiesh. Ash for our part, we have already shent a delegation - well armed, of courshe - to come to an agreement with the Incansh. I have shent one of my besht men with them, to make sure it goesh shmoothly. We should hear back from them within the next few daysh." Halvor still liked to think of Ice as a protégé of his, even though the secret service had inherited him from Quisling fully trained. Halvor maintained that he had instructed Ice in the finer arts of subtlety and manipulation.

"Now, how doesh 'Leatherman' wish the paymentsh for theshe shipments to be handled?"


Slannak Desert, 300km north of Bassalo

King Tut watched in dismay as the latest attempt to build his pyramid sank into the sand. It was the third time it had happened. No matter how they laid the foundations, it never seemed enough, and when they were about a third of the way through, the desert would seem to swallow up his monument. Was Odin-Ra displeased with him? At this rate, Apep-Jormungand would swallow the sun before it was ever finished.

He called over Ptahtep, his loyal lackey, to discuss what should be done about it. Ptahtep, who had been investigating local cultures, suggested they speak to the Incans of Marianas Diablo. Their cities and pyramids were marvels of engineering.

King Tut decided he would visit in person, along with his entire retinue of retainers, bodyguards, and wives. A huge procession formed, led by a marching band, followed by two full companies of bodyguards, then in the rear came King Tut's mobile residence, hauled by a column of slaves. Men in ornate jackal-faced headdresses marched along the procession, whipping people at random. Slowly, the procession began the long trek south towards Texacae.

South of Unmaltuzan

A runner dashed up to Illyapta and whispered into his ear almost at the same time the drums stopped abruptly. Illyapta moved toward Ice and in a very quiet voice told him about the Government troops approaching Unmaltuzan. "They will be there in about one day. We have little time to celebrate and discuss business before your people have to be out of the village. These Government soldiers usually come to investigate people swallowed up by the jungle." He explained with a shrug.

He went on to explain in Incan the fire-breathing bird that usually comes with the Government troops.

OOC: More to come.

South of Unmaltuzan

Ice glanced at the other rebels, who were all nervous and jumpy, and nodded to Illyapta, "My intention was to conduct this business as quickly as possible."


OOC: More to come.
OOC: I'll wait for you to post, before making a big post of any sort.

Unmaltuzan

Quetezatle was worried the Government troops were closing in on one side and the Diablo was coming from the other. There would have to be a sacrifice for the Son. Xantee was having trouble coming up with the required virgins, this was banana harvest time.

He then came up with an idea. “Xantee do you still have the stuff we took off of the wonderful Government sacrifice?”

“Yes, but what good is it?” he rummaged through a box hidden behind a special panel in the stonework alter. “Here is his stuff.”

“Good, let me see.” Quetezatle found what he was looking for, a cell phone. The cell phone towers near Unmaltuzan usually fell down due to rust helped along by sulfuric acid. But this will have a GPS and might be on long enough to help Quetezatle.

“Have a runner take this to the jaguar’s nest and turn it on when he gets there.” Quetezatle told Xantee. The jaguars were fierce predators not overly concerned by humans. This should stall the Government troops long enough to hold the celebration.

Mountain Vista Resort

Micca gave Halvor the instructions on wiring money to his off-shore account. “Miguella will show you to your room, it is most dangerous to be out of the compound at night.”

Miguella appeared flouncing across the marble floored entrance to the bar, waltzing up to Halvor. Micca excused himself and exited through a guarded doorway.

Miguella quietly whispered to Halvor “Micca is completely trustworthy, beware his son, Mike. He is a throwback to the old MadderMikian ways. Not that I need to tell you something you can easily see for yourself.”

As she led Halvor to his quarters, a tall man loaded with all types of pistols and ammo belts headed into the bar. A permanent sneer decorated his face. He treated the wait staff with distain and kept playing with one of his many guns. Miguella merely nodded towards the man.

Erikk was in love, a tall blond barmaid had smiled at him and Cupid’s arrow stuck its mark.

Mountain Vista Resort

Halvor glanced back at the heavily armed man in passing, but he let Miguella lead him to his quarters. Normally at this stage in the proceedings, he would be looking for ways to sneak out of his room at night, and snoop around the place. This time, though, it probably wouldn't be necessary. It was a difficult habit to break out of, though, so he thought perhaps he might indulge it later by climbing out the window and going to the bar.

The other compulsion that was hard to break, but he felt justified in continuing with all these MadderMikians around, was to stuff some pillows under the blanket on the bed, and sleep in the chair in the darkest corner of the room, with his sidearm on the table next to him, along with a bottle of vodka.