Nueve Italia
29-05-2007, 23:51
The first chapter is here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=525525&highlight=Nueve+italia) if you would like to brush up on the story so far.
~ It was going to be hard to pull off, but somehow, someway, Palaccino would ensure the ploy’s success. His life depended on it: if his defection was found out, Guiseppe would be convicted of treason and sentenced to death for Betrayal of the State. Harsh, but Nitalians had already learnt the horrors of treason, and they were not ready to accept another blow such as the one that fell on Isola D’Argenta.
Guiseppe was just leaving a benefit dinner for the construction of a series of new hospitals in Graffine, Cítta Santo, and Razzul when his convertible pulled up. It was still rather early in the night, so Palaccino had to excuse himself with an illness to get out of sight of Antonio, who had been generally concerned for the former general’s well-being. Upon seeing that, Guiseppe’s stomach started to actually feel like it clenched: guilt was slowly eating him away inside, as if a disease that he was trying to hide from the light. The night was cold, unusually freezing for summer in Nueve Italia, and it seemed fitting for the dark deed about to be committed.
Slowly climbing in to the car, the traitorous Senator jumped slightly when he saw something move in the front of the car. It was the agent that was to extract him and bring him to Nueve Argenta, whose name escaped him at the moment. He was too flustered, too paranoid: sweat rained down on his brow making him feel as if he were drowning. When the car pulled away and finally touched its wheels on a country road, ten minutes away from the city, Palaccino thought he could breathe again. After about another five minutes, the car pulled into an abandoned driveway covered by willow trees on either side. The cloudy sky blocked out all light, and Guiseppe felt a chill run down his spine: he was expecting his death with every single second that passed by. His right hand would not stop shaking, and the fear of being caught was beginning to manifest itself as he stepped out of the car and his kneecaps touched as his legs quaked uncontrollably.
The man in the passenger seat popped the door quickly and strode to the trunk, making a quick gesture to the driver. A second later, a click and the back door sprung open. Palaccino took out a cigarette, the light from it being almost the only illumination in the area, and took a long drag, trying to calm his nerves as the man dragged a large, zipped-bag out of the trunk. In it was a body that was, as the King of Nueve Argenta put it, “donated” by a soldier. When the corpse was drawn from the bag, Guiseppe remarked with morbid humor that he was surprised the body looked so fresh, and was shut up promptly when the man declared that that’s because it was fresh. The dead man, oblivious to the conversation for obvious reasons, was dressed in the exact same tuxedo that Senator Palaccino had, and he was placed, after a bit of a struggle, in the backseat of the convertible. The car was left running, and the low hum of the engine was the only sound to contrast the howling wind as the evil actions took place below the night sky.
“ Now,” the un-named man began, “ you’ve read the report?”
Palaccino nodded his head, and could not help but wonder how he didn’t notice before how high-pitched the agent’s voice was: it would have been quite hilarious in a different situation, but now, it only served to put the Senator more at unease. The man hopped in the back of the car, and motioned for Guiseppe to follow.
“ Then you’ll understand why I have to do this then,”
What happened next was too fast for Guiseppe’s frazzled mind to register: the man had been reaching into his coat pocket while he was talking, but the Senator hadn’t noticed. In a flash, the agent’s arms slipped over the driver’s head, pulled themselves over one-another, and tightened back. Watching in silent horror, Palaccino saw the driver struggle, kick, grab and claw at his neck, and try to get out of the open-top car. Upon looking closer, what appeared to be a gleam of metal wire was tightening around the chauffer’s neck, causing his eyes to bulge and his face to take the hue of a radish. Within a few more minutes of struggling, the driver ceased to resist. What shocked Guiseppe most, however, was the cold, heartless precision with which the agent did his job: his face never flinched, his eyes didn’t even blink. The only movement he had at all was his arms slowly pulling farther apart, tugging the garrote until it completely closed the driver’s windpipe. Still, Palaccino shook it off. He had seen worse atrocities up close, but he had surprised himself that after seeing the murder he was actually much calmer. As far as he was concerned, that was one less witness who could have betrayed him. He gave out a single, half-hearted guffaw. Someone who could have betrayed a traitor … how ironic, he thought.
However, he had no time to ponder on that thought, as the agent had moved the driver’s body into the passenger seat and was handing Guiseppe a small, cylindrical metal object. He spoke in a quick, hushed whisper, making the Senator strain to hear him through his own panicked thoughts that had come returned with a vengeance.
“ This is the remote detonator for a plastic explosive placed on the gas tank of the car. About twenty or so miles down this road is a sharp, left turn overlooking a cliff. Before you reach that turn, set the car on cruise control, jump out, and set off the bomb right before the car goes off the road.”
Palaccino nodded quickly, the sweat beginning to pour from his neck hairs down onto his palms. He held out his hands, palms up, and the remote was dropped onto his slippery skin. Quickly wrapping his fingers around it, he stuffed it in his coat pocket and then stepped towards the car. Hesitating, he turned around slowly, his face completely flushed as he queried the man in charge.
“ Where are you going?” his meek voice tried to probe into the thoughts of the other.
“ There’s another car parked in a barn up this driveway: I’ll go get it, and then I’ll come and get you after you are ‘killed’,” he chuckled. Goosebumps rose on the Senator’s arm as he thought of everything that could go wrong. What if he did end up dead? What if this agent was actually out to kill him? Palaccino had been the biggest enemy of Nueve Argenta ever since it was formed, denouncing it as “ the sole enemy of the Nitalian Race.” Surely, the King of the Nargentans wasn’t going to want his greatest adversary working for him, right? Was this all just an elaborate ploy to have him removed? Maybe that was it: all of the King’s talk of vengeance and a great plan to punish Nueve Italia, maybe it started with Palaccino’s own death. As one of the most experienced generals of Nueve Italia, and the Senator of Defense, wouldn’t his death would be a great blow to the national security of the country?
He shook his head eccentrically from side to side, trying to whip such thoughts out of his head, and slowly slid his hand over the door handle. With a silent click, the black side of the newly-christened hearse opened, and the leather seat creaked as Palaccino sat himself gravely behind the wheel. He gave a slight nod to the murderer, who raised his hand in a mock, two-finger salute. He flicked his wrist so that his finger pointed at Guiseppe, and then took off up the driveway. The Senator put the car in drive, backed up, and then set his tires on the darkened road; His headlights barely pierced the dark …
The road ahead was barren and flanked on both side by dying willows. Guiseppe shivered as the convertible let the cold night air grip his ears, fingers, and other extremities, but his knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel: there was no going back now.
Traitor … the word rang in his mind, struck by a hollow bell that refused to be silenced.
Traitor … he had turned his back on the Republic, on his friends, on Antonio, on his fellow Senators.
Traitor … he tightened his grip even more, his right foot closing to the ground ever so slowly.
Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes. The force was so strong that were he not wearing a seat belt, Palaccino would have been flung into the steering wheel. Screeching tires and white smoke shattered the calm night as finally Guiseppe let his hands slide down onto his lap. Up ahead was the cliff where he was to dispose of the car. The dead driver’s body was in the passenger’s seat and the soldier’s was in the rear, safely buckled in as well. The Senator closed his eyes, trying to clear his head from the swirl of emotions that gathered like a maelstrom, but all he saw through his eyelids was an image of his son: the son the Holy Imperial Republic had ripped away from him.
The car inched forward, the speedometer creeping up at first and then hurdling over the last few gaps: 10, 15, 20, 35 miles per hour. He flicked the cruise control switch and grabbed the detonator from his coat pocket. Guiseppe unbuckled himself and slid the car into the left lane by the grass where he could jump out. Closing his eyes tightly for a second until they watered, he opened them and leapt from the car. He hit the soft green and rolled for a few feet, but was able to get up just in time to flick the red switch on the destructive device in his palm. Before passing out, he saw the red-orange flame, the car flipping over the cliff, and then the gas tank erupting after the initial bomb. He imagined he heard another car coming from behind him as his head hit the ground and his eyelids touched.
Traitor … ~
~ It was going to be hard to pull off, but somehow, someway, Palaccino would ensure the ploy’s success. His life depended on it: if his defection was found out, Guiseppe would be convicted of treason and sentenced to death for Betrayal of the State. Harsh, but Nitalians had already learnt the horrors of treason, and they were not ready to accept another blow such as the one that fell on Isola D’Argenta.
Guiseppe was just leaving a benefit dinner for the construction of a series of new hospitals in Graffine, Cítta Santo, and Razzul when his convertible pulled up. It was still rather early in the night, so Palaccino had to excuse himself with an illness to get out of sight of Antonio, who had been generally concerned for the former general’s well-being. Upon seeing that, Guiseppe’s stomach started to actually feel like it clenched: guilt was slowly eating him away inside, as if a disease that he was trying to hide from the light. The night was cold, unusually freezing for summer in Nueve Italia, and it seemed fitting for the dark deed about to be committed.
Slowly climbing in to the car, the traitorous Senator jumped slightly when he saw something move in the front of the car. It was the agent that was to extract him and bring him to Nueve Argenta, whose name escaped him at the moment. He was too flustered, too paranoid: sweat rained down on his brow making him feel as if he were drowning. When the car pulled away and finally touched its wheels on a country road, ten minutes away from the city, Palaccino thought he could breathe again. After about another five minutes, the car pulled into an abandoned driveway covered by willow trees on either side. The cloudy sky blocked out all light, and Guiseppe felt a chill run down his spine: he was expecting his death with every single second that passed by. His right hand would not stop shaking, and the fear of being caught was beginning to manifest itself as he stepped out of the car and his kneecaps touched as his legs quaked uncontrollably.
The man in the passenger seat popped the door quickly and strode to the trunk, making a quick gesture to the driver. A second later, a click and the back door sprung open. Palaccino took out a cigarette, the light from it being almost the only illumination in the area, and took a long drag, trying to calm his nerves as the man dragged a large, zipped-bag out of the trunk. In it was a body that was, as the King of Nueve Argenta put it, “donated” by a soldier. When the corpse was drawn from the bag, Guiseppe remarked with morbid humor that he was surprised the body looked so fresh, and was shut up promptly when the man declared that that’s because it was fresh. The dead man, oblivious to the conversation for obvious reasons, was dressed in the exact same tuxedo that Senator Palaccino had, and he was placed, after a bit of a struggle, in the backseat of the convertible. The car was left running, and the low hum of the engine was the only sound to contrast the howling wind as the evil actions took place below the night sky.
“ Now,” the un-named man began, “ you’ve read the report?”
Palaccino nodded his head, and could not help but wonder how he didn’t notice before how high-pitched the agent’s voice was: it would have been quite hilarious in a different situation, but now, it only served to put the Senator more at unease. The man hopped in the back of the car, and motioned for Guiseppe to follow.
“ Then you’ll understand why I have to do this then,”
What happened next was too fast for Guiseppe’s frazzled mind to register: the man had been reaching into his coat pocket while he was talking, but the Senator hadn’t noticed. In a flash, the agent’s arms slipped over the driver’s head, pulled themselves over one-another, and tightened back. Watching in silent horror, Palaccino saw the driver struggle, kick, grab and claw at his neck, and try to get out of the open-top car. Upon looking closer, what appeared to be a gleam of metal wire was tightening around the chauffer’s neck, causing his eyes to bulge and his face to take the hue of a radish. Within a few more minutes of struggling, the driver ceased to resist. What shocked Guiseppe most, however, was the cold, heartless precision with which the agent did his job: his face never flinched, his eyes didn’t even blink. The only movement he had at all was his arms slowly pulling farther apart, tugging the garrote until it completely closed the driver’s windpipe. Still, Palaccino shook it off. He had seen worse atrocities up close, but he had surprised himself that after seeing the murder he was actually much calmer. As far as he was concerned, that was one less witness who could have betrayed him. He gave out a single, half-hearted guffaw. Someone who could have betrayed a traitor … how ironic, he thought.
However, he had no time to ponder on that thought, as the agent had moved the driver’s body into the passenger seat and was handing Guiseppe a small, cylindrical metal object. He spoke in a quick, hushed whisper, making the Senator strain to hear him through his own panicked thoughts that had come returned with a vengeance.
“ This is the remote detonator for a plastic explosive placed on the gas tank of the car. About twenty or so miles down this road is a sharp, left turn overlooking a cliff. Before you reach that turn, set the car on cruise control, jump out, and set off the bomb right before the car goes off the road.”
Palaccino nodded quickly, the sweat beginning to pour from his neck hairs down onto his palms. He held out his hands, palms up, and the remote was dropped onto his slippery skin. Quickly wrapping his fingers around it, he stuffed it in his coat pocket and then stepped towards the car. Hesitating, he turned around slowly, his face completely flushed as he queried the man in charge.
“ Where are you going?” his meek voice tried to probe into the thoughts of the other.
“ There’s another car parked in a barn up this driveway: I’ll go get it, and then I’ll come and get you after you are ‘killed’,” he chuckled. Goosebumps rose on the Senator’s arm as he thought of everything that could go wrong. What if he did end up dead? What if this agent was actually out to kill him? Palaccino had been the biggest enemy of Nueve Argenta ever since it was formed, denouncing it as “ the sole enemy of the Nitalian Race.” Surely, the King of the Nargentans wasn’t going to want his greatest adversary working for him, right? Was this all just an elaborate ploy to have him removed? Maybe that was it: all of the King’s talk of vengeance and a great plan to punish Nueve Italia, maybe it started with Palaccino’s own death. As one of the most experienced generals of Nueve Italia, and the Senator of Defense, wouldn’t his death would be a great blow to the national security of the country?
He shook his head eccentrically from side to side, trying to whip such thoughts out of his head, and slowly slid his hand over the door handle. With a silent click, the black side of the newly-christened hearse opened, and the leather seat creaked as Palaccino sat himself gravely behind the wheel. He gave a slight nod to the murderer, who raised his hand in a mock, two-finger salute. He flicked his wrist so that his finger pointed at Guiseppe, and then took off up the driveway. The Senator put the car in drive, backed up, and then set his tires on the darkened road; His headlights barely pierced the dark …
The road ahead was barren and flanked on both side by dying willows. Guiseppe shivered as the convertible let the cold night air grip his ears, fingers, and other extremities, but his knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel: there was no going back now.
Traitor … the word rang in his mind, struck by a hollow bell that refused to be silenced.
Traitor … he had turned his back on the Republic, on his friends, on Antonio, on his fellow Senators.
Traitor … he tightened his grip even more, his right foot closing to the ground ever so slowly.
Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes. The force was so strong that were he not wearing a seat belt, Palaccino would have been flung into the steering wheel. Screeching tires and white smoke shattered the calm night as finally Guiseppe let his hands slide down onto his lap. Up ahead was the cliff where he was to dispose of the car. The dead driver’s body was in the passenger’s seat and the soldier’s was in the rear, safely buckled in as well. The Senator closed his eyes, trying to clear his head from the swirl of emotions that gathered like a maelstrom, but all he saw through his eyelids was an image of his son: the son the Holy Imperial Republic had ripped away from him.
The car inched forward, the speedometer creeping up at first and then hurdling over the last few gaps: 10, 15, 20, 35 miles per hour. He flicked the cruise control switch and grabbed the detonator from his coat pocket. Guiseppe unbuckled himself and slid the car into the left lane by the grass where he could jump out. Closing his eyes tightly for a second until they watered, he opened them and leapt from the car. He hit the soft green and rolled for a few feet, but was able to get up just in time to flick the red switch on the destructive device in his palm. Before passing out, he saw the red-orange flame, the car flipping over the cliff, and then the gas tank erupting after the initial bomb. He imagined he heard another car coming from behind him as his head hit the ground and his eyelids touched.
Traitor … ~