NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: Sign-up, OOC and info= http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=575865)

~ ~ ~

Morrdun, Morridane Commonwealth, 1968

Watch Inspector Artemis Stormwell sighed and stabbed out his cigertte as the grey-coated Watchman glanced over his papers before handing them back and allowing him to drive through the factory complex's entrance. There had been a break-in here last night, so he been told, some research material had been taken and since it was on his 'patch' the job was his to investigate. It was likely to be a long and boring task he mused, though at least it was slightly better than being chased and/or shot at by a bunch of thugs.

He took his time parking his automobile before strolling over to the compound's main building and the crime scene, passing more grey-coated Watchmen who had rifles slung across their shoulders. Though he noted that a truck bearing the War Department's markings was parked outside the building's main entrance, the gunshots that sounded from within the building confirmed the Deathwatch was already here doing a thorugh search as per protocol. He adsent mindedly patted his pistol and spare clips before entering the building.

Columbia Region, South American Empire (25 years before Mokan Unification)

"Nino, listen up, for someday, all of this will be yours."

A young boy stood on the roof of the large hacienda looking out to the few fields that were close enough to see. Inside workers were taking care of the opiates and keeping them clean of insects and other vermin. Next to the small boy a large deeply Hispanic man stood. Wearing a white suit with a gold necklace that held a eagle across his chest, no doubt worth a small fortune.

"But papa, what is all this?"

"This, my dear Antonio, is the Montana family future, we will become some of the most powerful people in the Empire. All because of this."

With that the man bent over, and pulled out a small back of white powder for his son to see.

"This....is cocaine"

Tagging and bagging a bump.
Writer's block, first posts are teh pain.

Anyways... A link to pass hte time as I thik of something good to write here. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=13517169)
http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=9808854

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” shouted a portly looking Logistics Sergeant holding a rifle above his head, “Before you get on the aircraft, remove the magazine from the rifle and thread the pull through into the barrel. You will not be let onto the aircraft if the flight crew CANNOT see the end of the pull through.”

The troops scuffling past him towards the airpark were barely awake, let alone listening. They were from the 1st Armoured Division, mostly a mix of guys from the 43rd Infantry Brigade who were in the last few days of their 6 month tour of duty in Brent. The Brigade, who was stationed in the rural zones, had been fairly badly shot up during the last few weeks and everyone was glad to be going home. There was a certain amount of apathy visible, the tiredness produced an almost Zombie like expression on their faces.

It turned out the flight crew didn’t really care about the state of the weapons as they filed into the back of the cargo plane. They were already late and the aircraft commander had to pick his kids up from school when they got back to Hampcourt.

As the plane started down the runway, Major Rivers peered out of one of the portholes. He smiled as the plane juddered into the air and he bid goodbye to Brent with a sneered.

The men of the 43rd were going home, back to normality.

"Green acres" farm: A fatal error
It was a dirty job, but it paid the bills.
Budget-cuts and public oversight of all military contractors under the direct employ had forced many PMCs to go 'underground' without proper funding.

This resaulted in the government side-stepping the issue with the biggest unwritten loophole ever. Thus ensuring a steady cash-flow.

They brought their most trusted commanders, and told them to become NOC Generals for a 'rogue' PMC organization, using political undesirables as brainwashed cannon-fodder to test new tactics, weapons, and occassionally de-stabalize some allies so they could rush in with their regular military and be a hero.

There were two big catches:
1- They would recieve absolutely NO FUNDING
2- They would be hunted like dogs by their own countrymen

To fund themselves, they had to essentially become a highly militant mafia, peddling drugs, smuggling goods and information to highest bidders, and doing the dirty work for their enemies when they were willing to pay for it.

This lead to why they had a farm, in the middle of nowhere, making opium, and a nearby brewery fermenting and processing various fungi and synthisising LSD. Recently, it was found that they could make the fungus "self-brewing" for a time in the human bloodstream, at least until the immune-system killed the "infection", but by then, a steady supply off immuno-suppressant drugs usually used to prevent rejection of organ transplants, could extend the high, and within 12 hours of not taking the suppressant, the fungi would die, the hallucinations would fade, and the trace of LSD in the bloodstream would decompose in less time it would take to find it...

They were ready for their first shipment...

Pier 42: Distribution
Agent "Hans" was nervous, sure, he smuggled goods and made dead-man drops before, but this time, something was different, this time, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

In his hand was a briefcase, containing 500,000 'doses' of concentrated self-generating, self-suppressing hallucigenic compounds, waitiong to be cut, processed and their first night on the unsuspecting ghettoes.

These compounds however, weren't supposed to be served 'mixed', rather, they wre supposed to set-up a lab, make fixed and mueasured increents, then distribute the by-products. However, the first batch never comes with instructions, and undoubtedly, some fool would inject the whole cocktail into their bloodstream and OD on the nastiest trip ever caused by "runaway production of LSD and other narcotics".

He wondered why a "Montana" would want so many labs peddling this stuff simultaniously...

Meanwhile at Bosco's Bar and Grill:
"Agent Grant", the CO of the outfit, had finished filing a theoretical report on a new chemical-biological weapon they had developed and tested on a few of the POWs they recieved for "weapons testing", as well as having just finished publishing an internal MSDS for their new "drug", to be run through a private file through the Central Hurtian Intellegence Agency, as a cheaper alternative to "the truth drug" and when applied as a long duration painkiller that rivaled morphine in potency.

There however, were noted side effects with overdoses and saturation of the stuff, usually begining with extreme tranquillity, but eventually resualting in a nightmarish 'trip', followed by violent behavior 'in self defense', and ultimately, an insatiable and irrational hunger.

It was also known to impair motor-functions and higher thought processes, but that was a given. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmSCh5ZkMqk)
OOC: and now you know why monster AI+movement (no running/jumping) in Doom and Doom II was shit. Even though every Human on Phoboes was a fucking space-marine, they moved and shot like drunk slugs in CQB (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8yc5bnOrSc). "Rip and tear".

Pier 42: Distribution

Jose Cabron was undoubtedly Mr. Montana's right hand man, after all, who else had introduced him to the current Mrs. Montana? Exactly, sometimes Jose wondered why he even bothered with Mr. Montana, after all, he could easily run the business without Montana, and without Montana, much more money could come in...

He also wondered why Montana joked about Jose's ego...

The man wore a white suit, straight out of the 70's, complete with bell bottoms and a gold necklace. In his hand was a suitcase with the previous agreed amount of cash, all in 20s. Next to him was one of those Mokan Bodygaurds, yeah the ones who managed to see all the action of their bloody civil wars and lived to tell about it. He was armed with the state of the art, something or another.

Quietly he thought to himself about the directions Montana gave him, something about take the drugs to the main lab, checked and processed, which probably meant cheapened up, or mixed. Well hell, why sell cheapened merchandise when you make a killing selling the stuff straight?

Just take a little off the top, mix up the rest back into the normal bottles, return the goods to the Montana plant, and sell the pure shit he stole...

what could possibly go wrong?

OOC: Hopefully you know how to make a dead-drop transfer...

Hans was at his pre-arranged location, set down his briefcase exactly as planned, and then went to mingle with the local dockhands and make sure nobody was paying too much attention to the cases...

Later:
He returned, both cases were now present, he picked up one, and using the prescribed combination/code, unlocked the case to reveal the money. He then promptly re-sealed it and was on his way, he really didn't want to be around if anyone opened the other case.

He also noticed he was being followed by a rather large and possably well-armed goon... Maybe as "secuity" in the event of a double-cross.

To set the fellow at ease, he stopped by a public rest-stop, lots of people/witnesses, and decided to greet the man as if he were an old friend.

In the distance, both groups were undoubtedly under observation by both the authorities (though they aren't sure what to look for, and Hans acts as a nice decoy), and a unit from "Snake's team", the Agent's code-name was somewhat of an in-joke, with their un-offical logo being a man hiding in a box...

*Tick* *Tick* *Tick*

Major Rivers starred at the clock from behind his desk, glancing between it and the papers laid out in front of him. It had been a long day shifting pointless busy work from the in tray to the out tray, mostly just personnel reports and risk assessments. He glanced at golf clubs propped up in the corner of the office... God he hated golf.

The Colonel dropped in during the morning, breezing past as he left for the weekend, he pointed out that Major should do the same. Most of the troops had already bomb burst for the weekend, leaving only tire marks out of the gate.

He’d been meaning to take his wife, Janet, away for the weekend like he promised when he got back from Brent. It’s amazing how draining boredom is, the monotony of Garrison life, it was hard to get excited about anything. Maybe it is time to get away for a few days.

Ever since his Battalion of The Royal Winstock Rifles got back from Brent it had been much of the same. Sure, when they first got back everyone disappeared to the 4 corners of the earth. The week following everyone was sharing weird and wonderful stories about beaches and strippers but they soon ran out. All what was left was briefings, cleaning, revision and maintenance of equipment.

The Major spent a lot of time dealing with the local police, mostly bailing out soldiers from the local police station, dragging them back to the barracks and starting the long winded process of an official reprimand.

It was nothing the officers weren’t expecting though, those that had done it before warned everyone that there would be problems readjusting to normal life. What the officers were feeling didn’t even start to cover what the soldiers themselves were going through. Going from a self regulating existence within a warzone back to the regimental day to day life of Garrison duties led to guys lashing out at night. What everyone needed, although no one would admit it, was another war.

Jose was walking out of the restroom with his new case in his hands. Once he had made the pick up he quickly met back up with his bodyguard and decided to go find place where we could confirm the package. The public restroom would have to work. We went in and locked himself in a stall, and soon unlocked the case, and opened it. Thousands of little vials looked up at him and he pulled one out to look at it.

"Its beautiful" he said to himself in spanish, but then quickly heard someone walk into the restroom. So he put the vial back into the case and quickly closed it. Only to walk out and stumble into the crowd.

Only to see a man approach him...

"Oh Hey amigo! been a while has it not!"

He held out his hand to shake the man who approached him.

OOC:
Oh... :$
I kinda meant rest-stop as in an enclosed park bench for those waiting for a bus or something...
Restroom works though...

...

My goon isn't facing your goon, is he?
Deal with teh crazy however you wish, just don't make a scene.
And keep in mind, that fellow could be a cop, and likely is.

But I'll be nice...

IC:
The strange man then shook the hand of an grizzled elderly lady that had been standing near-motionless for the past day and a half as she mumbled out a meek yet undoubtedly profane response.

They then bustled towards a limo, something was said about how one should never run away from home like that...

OOC: ohh sorry, I horribly misread your post.

edit soon

OOC: meh he is going crazy...also I need a buyer

IC:

Soon enough Jose was back to the car watching something happening in the sky, maybe he was having a minor flashback from the LSD he did before he got here. Either way he signaled to his body guard/butterfly that he was having a flashback and needed to get home.

Jose quickly stopped tailing the man and soon enough was driving them to the next stop. The first buyers were already in position at the first airfield to purchase the small cut off the top.

In the back of the limo he opened up the first case and opened up a second case, quickly transferring about 500 samples to the second. Then closed it up again....

"Good god, what a flashback, dude, like really, you should be here man!"

"Mr. Cabron, maybe I should make the transfer, you just sit in the back and enjoy yourself, I will say you are demonstrating the product if you look well."

The driver looked back ahead at the airport. something didn't feel right, but what was it?

OOC: I guess I can be a buyer.

IC:

William Dolan tugged nervously at his tie. The transaction that was about to take place violated practically every rule that was laid down by Chug's parent company. Having once worked for them, Dolan knew the punishments for breaking the rules, especially as grossly as he was.

But times have become desperate. Sales were falling at an unprecedented rate, marketing campaigns were a complete flop, and R&D had grinded to a halt. Dolan knew that his company would have its plug pulled if it didn't get the buyers hooked again. Resorting to illegal drugs was scraping the bottom of the barrel, but if it worked, he could find a more legitimate means to keep his buyers.

Dolan glanced around the airport before checking his watch. He had taken extreme pains to make sure no one from either Chug or its parent company would find out where he was or what he was about to purchase. The duplicate plane tickets, fake IDs, fake passports - Dolan cleared it all from his mind uneasily. If everything went according to plan, no one would need to know anything about it.

Dolan straightened his tie again. He checked that the suitcase was still next to him. There were so many things that could go wrong at any given moment, but Dolan took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on simply getting the drugs and having them added to the latest batch of Chug. He tried to occupy the next few minutes by thinking of new marketing schemes for the drug-mixed Chug, but he couldn't stop himself from checking his watch every few seconds.

Edmund paced back and forth along the cold floor, a nervous tic that he'd developed over the course of his lifetime. OIS (Office of Investigation Services) had recently busted several breweries down in Avalon. No one in "The Way" knew how they had found them, but Big Boss suspected a rat, all the more reason why Edmund didn't trust the new guy in his crew.

He'd been at the brewery for severally months, however something wasn't right about the guy. Unlike the rest of his men who were constantly trying to get a taste of the merchandise, Wolfgang or "Wolf" as everyone seemed to call him, never even tried to touch the stuff. He had nothing against the man for being a straight shooter but all the goons Big Boss had brought him lately had either been alcoholics or just plain idiots.

It was becoming harder and harder to find good help in "The Way" these days, especially since the beginning of the government crackdown on his little business. Either Edmund had gotten lucky with Wolfgang or something was up. With this on his mind he stopped his pacing and headed towards his office.

It wasn't anything special; windows surrounded the whole box shaped room allowing anyone nosy enough to have a clear view. A desk was stationed more a less in the middle of the room with several stacks of documents and letters he hadn't yet filled yet. To the right sat several empty filing cabinets that he was too lazy to use in order to solve his filing problem and his crappy chair sat in the corner where he last left it along with the even crappier guest chairs.

Edmund opened the office door and grabbed his chair from the corner. Now seated in the uncomfortable old leather he reached down with a key and unlocked the compartment under his desk. The compartment reveled a fully loaded Colt Python with a 4-inch barrel. After a quick glance around he grabbed the weapon and placed it in his detective style gun harness.

Edmund quickly hailed one of his pathetic excuses for a worker that passed by his office. "You needed me sir?" the pathetic worker asked. Edmund stared at the man with a look of disgust, "Yes, could you bring Wolfgang down here to my office?" The worker gave him a blank stare, "Do you know who I'm talking about? Wolfga-" he stopped himself mid sentence, "I mean Wolf. I need him here."

The correction seemed to turn on a light bulb in the workers head. He quickly ran off to find Wolfgang, or so Edmund hopped. A few minutes later a tall, Dark Brown haired man carefully stepped foot into the office. Edmund was looking over some documents; he didn't realize Wolfgang was even there until he heard the loud creaking of one of his guest chairs.

"Ahh, Wolfgang! Its good to see you!" suspicion and confusion filled Wolfgang's green eyes; Edmund had never been this nice to him. "I'm doing fine sir.....uhh could you tell me what this is all about?" A scary smile seemed to infect Edmund's face, "Straight to the point I see, I like that." There was a slight pause as he picked up a sheet of paper.

"I received this letter from Big Boss himself not to long ago. In it he tolled me about a big bust down in Avalon done by the Feds just recently." Wolfgang tensed up a little, "Really? You think there finally catching on to us?"
"Seems like it." Edmund cocked his head toward Wolfgang, "He also warned me about a possible rat in are mix." Wolfgang shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "Is that right?" Edmund smiled again. He could see that his collages Caucasian skin was starting to turn red. "Indeed Wolfgang, these are very serious times for The Way. Its hard to trust anyone these days."

There was an awkward silence for a few moments as Wolfgang cleared his throat, "Are you accusing me of something sir?" Edward picked his words very carefully, "I have my suspicions. There have been a few details I find....how should I say? Troubling?" Wolfgang didn't speak. He was looking around the office in a rapid pace, almost like he was expecting something to happen.

It was at that moment Edmund noticed something outside the breweries sparsely distributed windows. Several shadows seemed to move back and forth across the outside scenery. Edmund's pupils suddenly became huge. He immediately went for his side arm, however Wolfgang beat him to the punch. He found himself starring down the barrel of a M1911 pistol.

"OIS, you are under arrest for the manufacture and distribution of an illegal substance." Anger filled the veins of Edmund's face; he wanted to kill the man right then and there. "YOU BASTARD!!" Wolfgang seemed amused, he almost even laughed. "Just doing my job Edmund, nothing personal."
"Yeah? Well so am I" Windows all around the Brewery started to shatter as tear gas shot into the building.

The noise caught Wolfgang off guard for a moment, just what Edmund needed. Paper flew everywhere as Edmund flung his stacks of documents at the recently discovered agent. With his enemy momentarily blinded he picked up the bottom of his desk and flipped it up towards Wolfgang. The desk fell straight onto his feet, causing him to yelp with pain.

With his adversary trying to pick up the desk Edmund sprinted out of the office, gun in hand. His eyes immediately began to burn; the Tear Gas had practically filled the building already. Voices seemed to echo in every direction as AOS (Armed Offenders Squad) officers busted into the building, yelling all sorts of commands. Edmund frantically searched around for a safe exit until he saw the metal staircase leading up towards the railing above. With AOS closing in, he quickly clambered up the stairs toward safety.

Below he could hear someone yelling his name, "Edmund! Stop! Stop or I'll shoot!" He looked down below, quickly spotting Wolfgang aiming up towards him. "You rat! You fucking rat! I knew you couldn't be trusted you asshole!" Wolfgang didn't move, "Say whatever you want, just drop the gun!"
"Fuck you!" Edmund raised his Colt Python and shot two rounds in quick succession towards him. Wolfgang dove for cover as the bullets zoomed past him, just barely missing.

Edmund took his chance and sprinted towards the roof exit at the end of the railing. Below him Wolfgang opened fire, sending several rounds up towards him. Sparks flew everywhere as the bullets impacted into the metal railing, just missing there target. With bullets flying, Edmund continued to run towards the door just a few yards away now.

Just before he was about to slam threw the door, one bullet hit its mark. The round jammed itself into the back of his shoulder, causing him to loose his balance and drop his weapon. The door swung open as he flopped down in the entrance face first. Sunlight beamed onto his face, the warmth motivated him to get up and keep moving. Outside on the roof it was a dead end.

Below him there was nowhere to safely jump down to without breaking a leg. His only possible option was the river at the right end of the roof. He could survive the dive; his only problem is that this time of year its usually freezing cold and the raging waters might get the best of him. Before he had time to decide, Wolfgang slammed open the door behind him.

He slowly walked towards Edmund with his gun fixed squarely on him. "Its over! Drop any weapons you still have and put your hands on your head!" Edmund glanced back at the river, he had no choice. "Hands on your head! Now Edmund!" Slowly, Edmund turned around to face the river. He carefully placed his hands up and then on his head. He then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

A heartbeat later he snapped them open and took his leap. Water instantly consumed his body as he splashed into the freezing cold river. Up above, Wolfgang ran toward the edge and looked on as the rushing water took Edmund away. He quickly raised his weapon and opened fire. Bullets whizzed by and splashed all around Edmund as he dove under for safety.

Down below the bubbly lines of bullets crisscrossed everywhere around him, he couldn't believe how determined Wolfgang was. After several more rounds, Wolfgang finally ceased fire. Anger and Frustration exploded out of him as his prize flouted out of sight. Several AOS officers arrived on the roof, responding to the sound of gunshots. "Agent Hathaway are you alright? We heard rounds fired." Wolfgang scratched his head, "Yes I'm fine, but the target was lost."

OOC: I guess I can be a buyer.

IC:

William Dolan tugged nervously at his tie. The transaction that was about to take place violated practically every rule that was laid down by Chug's parent company. Having once worked for them, Dolan knew the punishments for breaking the rules, especially as grossly as he was.

But times have become desperate. Sales were falling at an unprecedented rate, marketing campaigns were a complete flop, and R&D had grinded to a halt. Dolan knew that his company would have its plug pulled if it didn't get the buyers hooked again. Resorting to illegal drugs was scraping the bottom of the barrel, but if it worked, he could find a more legitimate means to keep his buyers.

Dolan glanced around the airport before checking his watch. He had taken extreme pains to make sure no one from either Chug or its parent company would find out where he was or what he was about to purchase. The duplicate plane tickets, fake IDs, fake passports - Dolan cleared it all from his mind uneasily. If everything went according to plan, no one would need to know anything about it.

Dolan straightened his tie again. He checked that the suitcase was still next to him. There were so many things that could go wrong at any given moment, but Dolan took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on simply getting the drugs and having them added to the latest batch of Chug. He tried to occupy the next few minutes by thinking of new marketing schemes for the drug-mixed Chug, but he couldn't stop himself from checking his watch every few seconds.

The limo pulled up to the airport and quickly got through the checkpoints with the VIP pass and soon enough they were ready to get out of the vehicle and make the deal.

"Mr. Cabron, are you ok?"

The VIP was sitting in the back chewing on his watch looking up at him...

"The sky is Lucy and diamonds are glass"

"Be good."

The driver/bodguard got out of the front seat with and straighten his tie. Then walked back to the tail end and opened the door and grabbed the second case. Walked back away and closed the door, and turned over to the customers.


They looked like they were desperate, and while they probably considered Montana and his family scum, they needed his help. So he walked up to the men and began to speak business,

"Greetings I am Mr. Rojo, I take it you are interested in our product."

The limo pulled up to the airport and quickly got through the checkpoints with the VIP pass and soon enough they were ready to get out of the vehicle and make the deal.

"Mr. Cabron, are you ok?"

The VIP was sitting in the back chewing on his watch looking up at him...

"The sky is Lucy and diamonds are glass"

"Be good."

The driver/bodguard got out of the front seat with and straighten his tie. Then walked back to the tail end and opened the door and grabbed the second case. Walked back away and closed the door, and turned over to the customers.


They looked like they were desperate, and while they probably considered Montana and his family scum, they needed his help. So he walked up to the men and began to speak business,

"Greetings I am Mr. Rojo, I take it you are interested in our product."

Dolan noticed a man in a white suit heading towards him holding a suitcase. He straightened his tie one last time and picked up his suitcase as the man took the last few steps. He took a deep breath and tried to convince himself that he was doing what was necessary.

Upon hearing "Mr. Rojo"'s introduction, Dolan replied,

"I am. Can I see a sample before we proceed with the transaction, Mr. Rojo?"

"Seeing the sample will not do it justice, for it does not look at all appealing, besides, secuirty around here does not have our best interest at heart."
Mr. Rojo said pointing to small camera hidden in a corner, but pulled out the suitcase to show it and set it down in on a small table nearby them."This late in the deal i would suggest we trust each other, you can check in when you get in the plane, and if you are not convinced of its quality, Mr. Cabron will take care of it."

"Alright," replied Dolan, "But perhaps it would be safer for the both of us if we simply proceed with the transaction now and never see each other again. I have faith that the product is genuine and you can be assured the money is good as well."

Dolan placed the briefcase he was carrying on the same table as the goods.

"The full payment is in this briefcase," said Dolan, tapping the briefcase twice, "All cash, as requested. So how do you want to proceed from here?"

OOC: classes are a pain, so to speed things up...

IC:

"I suggest that I take your case right now, set both down under a table, excuse myself to the restroom, come back on my cellphone, take the money case, and walk out of the airport apologizing for my sudden need to leave."

With those words Mr. Rojo lead them to a small coffee shop where he placed both cases under a table and ordered a small coffee and offered to buy his customers a drink.

"Excuse me, but I will be back in a minute."

Dolan nodded at Mr. Rojo and took a seat at the coffee shop, ordering a small black coffee as well. A couple of minutes later, the coffee arrived and Dolan took them both, placing one on the opposite side of the table before taking a sip from his.

Dolan sighed in relief after his first sip. The deed was almost done - despite having just went against many of the things he believed in, he would save people's livelihoods, their families, their homes. This one time, the end justified the means.

Dolan took another sip of coffee and awaited Mr. Rojo's return.

Mr.Rojo returned after a minute or two and looked back towards his car, El Jefe was making a lot of movements in the back of the car, that couldn't be good. He decided it was time to get back out there.

"Gentlemen, I am afraid I have to cut this meeting short. I bid you good luck in your endeavors and here is my card if you need anything."

He handed them a small business card that had a name and email address on it, nothing more, very simplistic in design. Then he grabbed the money case and turned away quickly towards the car. Hopefully the boss wasn't having horrid flashbacks.

Dolan took the business card, glancing at it briefly before putting it in his wallet. He nodded at Mr. Rojo as he left and stood up. Dolan tossed a few bills on the table and walked away with the case full of drugs, leaving his rapidly cooling coffee behind.

Dolan walked briskly to an exit terminal. He passed through security undisturbed, having given the guards a tidy sum when he had flown in. He boarded his flight after showing his flight ticket to the attendent. It was under a false name, but the picture was his and he was waved through.

After taking his seat, Dolan sighed. He had two more flights to take after this one, having decided to criss-cross the country before returning to the bottling plant, just to make sure no one was tailing him. The plane took off without incident and cruised along to its destination.

Almost there, Dolan thought to himself as he laid back in his seat with the suitcase next to him, Almost there.