NationStates Jolt Archive

The Presiden of Belfarc, Mitch Compton, stepped out onto the podium to address Belfarc and the rest of the world.
"Today, on September 20, an attack took place in the city of Roline. It is unknown at this point, but so far 357 dead have been accounted for. It began with the explosion of a commercial bus on Old Belfarc Road. Terrorists took to the streets and began slaughtering the innocent commuters of Roline. The origin of this attack is unknown. but we will find who did this, and bring justice to the dead. We will keep our people, and the rest of the world posted on this matter."

OOC: Do you need someone to be the terrorist? I have a rather nasty criminal sydnicate that could be the terrorists or a go-between for the actual terrorists. If you want me to be the terrorists, do you mind if I take a few liberty with the backstory?

OOC: Go right ahead.

OOC: Ok, but I can't start until tom. or Fri.

~Imperial Declaration~

The Grand Imperium of Risban condemns any and all acts of terrorism on civilian populi. The Grand Imperium offers the use of its special forces in tracking down those responsible for such monstrous and cowardly attacks. Having been hit several times by terrorists before, our forces have become quite adept at tracking down and exterminating the threats.

Our hopes are with the poor people of Belfarc.

~Alexander Perkins~
-Imperial Minister for Foreign Affairs-

Your forces are welcome. Send in your unit(s) into Roline. I will declare Marshall Law on the city. No one will get in or out besides yours or my men. We will work together on leads of any terrorist locations. They will be flushed out like rats. Shoot the cowards on sight.

Belfarc, check your telegrams

OOC: Let me know if I should change anything. I felt like writing this in a Christopher Nolan/Quentin Tarantino style, I hope you don't mind.

IC:

"What the hell happened?"

"Things fucked up."

"What the hell happened?"

"Things got messy."

"I want a better answer!"

The four men sat around the table.

One week ago

The ten men approached the warehouse. Each was of different backgrounds, heralding from many different nations, and none of them knew each other. But they did have a common love of money, and they were certain the job would be easy.

Casually leaning against the warehouse, wearing sunglasses, eyes covered by a cowboy hat and sunglasses, cigarette between his lips, stood their contact. THe only thing they knew about him was that he was Siapian.

"All right ladies, this will be brief. Everything you need is in the trunk of a car 'round back, all the dossiers and firepower. The only thing I have to tell you is that you have one week. One week, I'll be here, you bring me what I need, and you get ten million in bearer bonds from the 500 most reliable governments and corporations, plus a free ride outta here."

Present

"Let's go over this one more time. What hapened? Where did we go wrong?"

"Those explosives. They were way too powerful. Do you have his original instructions. Didn't he say 10 kilos?"

"You asshat! He said 2 kilos! And you were supposed to test it!"

"A week is no time! We had no time! This job was impossible!"

The door opened. "I'd say it was a rousing success. Your still alive. And you got the package, right?"

The operation-3 days ago

They had traced the Belfarcian officer for the last three days. The officer was traveling under an assumed name, but the dossier provided to them proved to have excellent intelligence. He was meeting a bald man who wore a grey trench coat. A parabolic dish microphone that had been pointed at the officer's house for the last five days told them that the exchange would be on a bus, in the middle of the city. No one would care to notice two men getting on at different stops and the same two men leaving at different stops with eachother's briefcases. And of course, no one noticed when someone replaced the man in the trenchcoat's briefcase with an identical one.

People did notice when the bus exploded. The entire bus was disintegrated, as was most of the traffic, the people walking on the streets around it, and the façade of three buildings on that street. People everywhere had pieces of metal buried in them.

It was nothing but an honest mistake, followed by bad luck. The one operative misread the directions in a rush to complete the job. And it just so happened that someone decided to point at him while he was trying to escape with the briefcase and shout "terrorist!"

There was nothing really terrorist-looking about him. He was a pretty indistinct man, except for the briefcase, which should not have aroused suspicion, but someone shouted terrorist. A mob of people had surrounded him, and to fend them off, his MP-9 came out. From the corner of his eye, he saw a police officer draw his gun. In one fluid motion, he drew a line of fire across the crowd, slaying the officer as well as at least five others. Soon police were everywhere, and his compatriates formed a circle around eachother, each firing pistols, submachine guns and assault rifles at the advancing police. It was a suicidal gesture, and three had fallen in under thirty seconds, so an HE grenade was lobbed at one advancing unit of police. The remaining seven sprinte to the opening, firing indiscriminantly at the crowds and the advancing police. The seven split-the man with the briefcase made it into an alley where he stashed a duffel bag. In ten minutes, he was wearing a business suit, and his beard had become a rough mustache. Two men dragged an old lady from her car, one was cut down by police fire, but the other got in the car and eluded the police, who later found the car ditched on a country road outside of the city, with no clues. Another two men stole a police car and drove it off a bridge into the river, breathing air from the tires, until the police had assumed them to be dead.

The man with the briefcase entered a a bank, and requested a safety deposit box...

Present

"Don't worry. it's safe."

"Good." The Siapian said.

"Should we go get it?"

"Nah. Let's just lay low for a bit, wait for the heat to cool off."

Present
Norman Manning was the head of the Belfarcan Secret Police. Ever since the shooting he had been called to Roline to try and straighten things out. He walked over to his temporary desk. His command post was in an office building on the same street on which the bus had exploded.

"Do we have any leads on these assholes yet?" he asked.

"All we found is that car on the country road. We'll send some units out there to try and find that one fucker." said his right-hand man, John Deesnopf.

"Alright, do that, and make sure to look around Roline, too. I'm sure there's a couple of those pricks hiding under our god damned noses."

Norman lit a cigarette. He picked up the newspaper and read the front page. The attack had made big headlines, and it was making the Secret Police look bad.

"And John," Norman added.

"Yeah?"

"Close the city, nothing gets in or out."

"You got it chief."

Deesnopf left the office. Mitch had known him for years, and knew that he would get the job done. A ping came from Norman's laptop. It was an e-mail from the lead CSI of this investigation, Darrel Talbert.

Norman read the message"
There were just about 10 kilos of C4 used on that bus yesterday. Our team studied the residue, and it looks like the bomb is of Belfarcan origin. The ballistics department said that the gunmen were using MP-9's, AK-47's, and Sig Sauers mostly. This looks like it might've been a mistake. I don't know why they would bring 10 kilos of explosives to blow up a bus. They must have had a set objective, something else planned in Roline. I suggest you keep everyone on high alert here, cause they'll be back to finish the job.

"Congratulations, you made the local coppers look like morons." The Siapian took a drag on his cigarrette.

"What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

"They shut down the city. Nothing is going in or out. If you go out right now, you'll get caught. There's food here, we got books, movie, I can get you newspapers and whatnot."

"How long do you expect us to live on instant noodles and cheap beer?"

"I did for four years."

"What?"

"It's called college. Listen, this is a big city. They'll keep it down for a little while, but if they do it for too long, they'll ruin their economy. Life needs to go on. The police will be flustered for a bit, but soon they'll find someone to pin it on. Meanwhile, I will be out working on arranging your exit. They've got nothing on me, so you don't need to worry. I'll be back in a couple of hours. Stay put."

He walked out despite the four men's violent protests.

Norman flipped on the news in his office. The same headlines were on all the major stations. None of them helped the Belfarcan Secret Police in their investigation. Instead, they made the Secret Police look like a joke. Carl Gilmore, Chief of the Roline Police Department (RPD), walked into the office.

"Good afternoon, Norman," he said "what the fuck are you doing with my city?!"

"We need to keep the shooters in Roline, Carl." Norman replied.

"So, you're essentially shutting down one of the biggest cities in Belfarc, and you don't know jack shit about these guys? No?"

"Essentially, yes."

"And you just assume that they're still in this city?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do."

"Norman, you're making my men and yours look like a bunch of fuckin' retards with their thumbs up their asses."

"Calm down, Carl. We're trying to find these guys."

"Find these guys?! What the hell are you talkin' about?! You don't know what motherfuckin' guys you're tryin' to find. Don't you think it might help to find whose god damned door we're knockin' on before we start knockin'?"

"Alright Carl, go take a couple hours off, then come back and we'll work on this together. After all, it is your city."

"Ok Norman, but I don't like this shit."

Carl stormed out and took his squadcar around the city. Norman had developed a feeling during the arguement, a feeling that Carl Gilmore was somehow involved with all of this.

Carl's cellphone rang. He answered it.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah I'll be right there."

OOC:That's the queue for a meeting between the cop and the gunmen.

The Siapian walked out of the warehouse. He had just left the payment and another nights' worth of food, and some ammo, and the instructions to come to the airport tomorrow. And in return, he got the key to the safe deposit box.

At the bank he took the box into the security booth, and took out a duffel bag. From the duffel bag he spread out a pile of papers. From the box, he pulled out several files marked 'confidential', some schematics for something called "Rapture", and a small, black lead box coated in foam. He quickly looked it over, opened a hidden compartment, took out two small corroded batteries and replaced them with fresh ones. Seems like they didn't damage it. Good. He thought. He quickly put these items into the duffel bag and the papers on the table into the box. The papers were records to over a thousand bank accounts all over the world which never existed. There were certificates of deposit and bearer bonds for banks and companies that had collapsed a long time ago. He closed the box and put it back in the vault.
He walked quickly from the bank and into a small phonebooth. He put a small mouthpiece over the receiver that would make his voice sound like static to anyone listening in. "I've got it. Meet me at the airport."

He then removed the mouthpiece and then called the police. "I would like to file an anonymous tip. Its about the terrorists..."

Another terrorist group, located and hidden in the Leocardian cities also claimed responsibility. The terrorist group, Black Dragons, is a 25,000 member team that is most wanted by the Leocardian National Security for it's notable organized crime of prostitution.


"We are Black Dragons, and we claim the reponsibility of committing the terrorist attack. We are 25,000 full of experienced men, and we hold an arsenal of 50,000 missiles, illegally smuggled past the Leocardian ports. Though you may attack us, but be sure to get by the Leocardian forces before you reach us!"

Carl hung up his cell phone. He immediately merged onto Hemington Road and followed it to the airport. Traffic had resumed throughout the city, and everything was slowly returning to normal. He turned into the airport parking lot and got out. There were the usual amount of cars there, which was suprising because the city was still on lockdown. His cell phone rang.
"The drop is in the men's room in the eastern wing of the airport." the staticky voice said.
Carl hung up and began making his way to the bathroom. He flashed his badge to the security guards and kept moving. Upon reaching the bathroom, he looked around for the drop. Success was finally found in one of the ceiling panels. Inside he found a note:

Good job on the bombing, Carl. The cops don't even know it's you. Just keep them off your trail.

"What the fuck?" he said to himself "I didn't bomb..."

The door swung open, and in came a SWAT team.

"Freeze! Hands up!" they shouted.

Carl dropped the note and dropped to the floor.

"Put your hands on your head," one of them said "What's this we have here?"

The SWAT officer read the note, and assumed that Carl was behind the bomb plot, just as the Siapians had planned. Carl had been betrayed, and would most likely be sentenced to death.

The SWAT team escorted Carl out of the airport. People clapped along the way. They drove him to a police station about three miles from the airport. Carl was in fact sentenced to death after a trial.

Norman Manning was sitting in his command post, talking on the phone with someone.

"Yes, Mr. Lee, I will replace your bus. Just give us a little time to round up the money. We've sort of got our hands tied here."

He hung up. Quincy Gartuno, head SWAT officer of Roline, walked in.

"Sir," he began "it looks like we've got this under wraps. It was Carl Gilmore."

"Gilmore?" Manning replied "Well, I believe it, but I'm not sure he was the only one, he obviously wasn't because we saw more than one man with our own eyes. Keep the city locked. What are they doing with Carl."

"They've sentenced him to death, sir."

"I want to talk with him before his execution, I'm sure he was set up, and would be glad to give us the names of his 'compadres'."

The Siapian smiled as the SWAT team dragged away Officer Gilmore. He finished what was his fourth double vodka and soda, stood up with a slight stagger. He wasn't sure that his idea would work, but it had and he was relieved. He staggered further into the airport, towards the charter flight terminal. "Can I help you sir?" asked the receptionist.

"I am with the Siapian Diplomatic Corps." He tried to appear as sober as possible. "Here is my passport." He pulled a small black passport--issued by all governments to members of their diplomatic legions. These passports signified the representative of a foreign government, and afforded them special comforts, as well as almost guaranteed extradition back to their home nation. The name on the passport was "J. Quentin Elliot".

Out on the tarmac, he was met by several other men in suits, standing in front of a Gulfstream V. Without words, he got onto the plane.

"Do you have it?"

He set down the duffel bag. "All in here."

"Good. I can see why those boys at SIN (Siapian Intelligence Network) said such good things about you. We're disappointed about the heavy civilian casualties, though. This was unintended, I realize, and it was caused by the incompetence of the mercenaries you hired along the way, but it is going to cost us to keep it quiet. We can either deduct these costs from your pay, or..."

"I'll take the 'or' option."

THe man smiled. "Good. We think that 'Rapture' was stolen by the same guy who stole that planeload of guns a while back. The theft of 'Rapture' was much larger than that, which leads us to think that perhaps the seller that your men wiped out isn't the only man here. I want you to find out if there are any other men who were involved in the theft and deal with them accordingly. Also, you need to clean up your mess."

"Understood."

He stood up and walked out of the plane, carrying an identical duffel bag. As the plane taxid onto the runway, he stumbled back into the building, mumbling something about a reassignment. In the airport washrrom, he sat in a stall, and changed contact lenses and put on a wig. His hair, which was a light blonde with blue eyes, was now a long, thin and black. His eyes were also now brown. He quickly applied a balm to his face, neck and arms, and al areas of skin that might be exposed, and soon he was tan, and in fact quite Mediterranean-looking. He practiced his French in his head as he walked out. He picked up a payphone and said, in a French accent. "I have a lead on the terrorists. They are hiding in a warehouse in..."

Norman's office phone rang. He instinctively answered it.

"Manning, here." he said.

"Norman, a man just called and said that there are terrorists hiding in a warehouse on 19th and Windsor." the secretary said.

"Alright, send a SWAT team over there to check it out. I'll go with them."

He hung up and got of the chair. He walked out of the office and into the elevator. There was no one else on it, and the music annoyed him. When the elevator finally reached the parking garage, he got into his car and drove out. He didn't turn the siren on, because he didn't want to attract any attention. Norman arrived at 19th and Windsor after ten minutes of driving. He drove into a parking garage across the street. Two SWAT teams were waiting for him. He got out of the car and got his flak-jacket from the trunk, and his MP-7. He walked over to the two teams.

"Alright boys, let's make this quick. We don't know much about this building, but we do have the floor plans." Norman began. "Our only entrance right now is the front door, which we plan to demo. We're then going to move in fast through this corridor. Shoot these fuckers to kill." They made their way to the warehouse...

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That sound. I swear I heard something!"

"Its probably just one of those damn trucks that comes in and out of the warehouse next door all the time."

"No. Its footsteps."

"Oh shit."

One of the men was sitting up on the second floor and he peered out a fan grate.

"We are completely surrounded! There going to blow in the door!"

"I'm giving myself up!"

"You bastard! Don't move!"

But the one man sprint for the door, while the other pulled out a 10mm USP and fired two shots at him. One went into his thigh--wounding him, but barely entering the femoral artery, and causing him to drop his gun. He would survive if the SWAT team got him to a doctor quickly. The other two realized how loud the report was, and quickly knocked over tables and boxes to create cover, as they readied their submachine guns. The man on the second floor bolted at the sound of the gunshot, and had broken out part of the roof and begun to crawl out.

Norman lead the way. One of the SWAT officers set off the charge, and the door flew inward. The team ran in with their MP-7's. They saw a terrorist on the ground. He was breathing. Norman went to aid him. Almost immediately, bullets hit the wall next to him. He took cover by the corner.

"Give me covering fire!" Norman yelled.

Two SWAT officers stuck their SMG's around the corner and sprayed the area with bullets. The MP-7 spat out a 40 round clip in about 6 seconds. Norman dragged the wounded man behind the wall.

"Jake, you take this guy to an ambulance, the rest of us will stay here." Norman said to a SWAT man.

Another SWAT man threw a flashbang around the corner. Norman and all of the others rushed the room. Norman seemed to show no mercy on the one man, even though he was incapacitated. He emptied an entire 40 round clip into him. The other man was taken into custody. Norman looked around. He noticed a part of the ceiling was broken in.

"Shit!" he said "We got a runner!"

"This is Sniper 2 to ground." a new voice said "I have a shot on the runner. Request permission to shoot."

"This is ground to Sniper 2." Norman replied "Neutralize the target. I repeat, we need him alive."

The sniper lined up the man in his crosshairs. He had made it about five rooftops over, and thought he had gotten away. The sniper took a shot and it hit the man in the leg. Simultaneously, Norman was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, determined to catch who he thought was the last man. He finally got within forty feet of the man. The wounded terrorist produced a revolver, put it to his own head, and managed to pull the trigger. Norman was dissapointed.

"This is ground to control, we need a coroner over here."

Norman returned to his command post. He typed a report of the action that had just occurred. There was just something in his mind that kept rising up. Two phone calls, and two easy takedowns. It didn't make sense. Terrorists such as these were supposed to be smarter than that. Norman manning was relieved to have captured the one man, but he wasn't quite ready to rest yet.

The Siapian sat in the cheap motel room, thinking while idly doodling. Those guys they caught are morons. Why did one blow his brains out? Must've been too proud to be taken alive He thought. One of those guys is dead, two are in hospital, one has a significantly increased chance of dying, but we'll see how that turns out. He stood up from his chair and lay on the bed. To find out who was selling Rapture, I need to see who was going to buy it. I don't have any access to the upper echelons of this government, nor do I have the resources. If I let the investigation continue, the buyer will undoubtedly come up. And then, since the grunts thought they were working for a Siapian, any Siapian in this country will probably be round up. If indeed there was more than one person involved in the theft of our nuclear secrets in this country. He looked at a French passport from his duffel bag. The picture was tan with long black hair, brown eyes. Looked exactly like him. The name was "Jean-Claude d'Marre".

Come to think of it, no matter what those idiots say on the stand, they'll probably be put to death anyway.

OOC: um...I meant that my guy would wait and see what you did with the terrorists. I wanted to see if the ones in hospital would survive and I wanted to see what would come of the interrogation and the trial. The terrorists, for future reference, aren't ideologically motivated, but are motivated for profit--the payoff the Siapian had delivered them. Send me a telegram or post here if you would prefer things to work out differently.

OOC: My bad, time for a redux.