PRIME NOIR
Tripoli, Syria
The motor yacht navigated briskly amongst the myriad small craft which littered Tripoli harbor. From tiny rowboats to huge, luxuroius sailing boats belonging to the princely families, the waterway was incredibly cluttered. To the point that "Amelia" had to plod her way forward at the lowest speed she could maintain without losing steerage.
The
Amelia was a rather large yacht, with plenty of space aboard and powerful engines - and, obviously, incredibly expensive. Still, it didn't quite stand out here, in one of the busiest harbors of the Mediterrenean, where every single government official was part of the obscenely rich royal family, and also owned at least one expensive boat. Their extravagance was only matched by their endemic corruption - which Srdjan Karic, currently a passenger aboard the
Amelia, would ruthlessly exploit.
"You know, it's interesting. These people are so affluent they do not know what to do with their money...and yet, so greedy that an additional ten million will buy you their soul.", Karic commented dryly, standing next to Abasi - who was manning the wheelhouse, carefully navigating in the harbor, trying not to crush one of the small boats.
"Personally, I think they lack direction. Men need a goal, a cause to fight for."
"So...when we win in our struggle, we may become like them? That's quite an interesting viewpoint..."
Abasi shrugged, "Complacency corrupts, boss."
"...and it takes character not to succumb.", Karic smiled, "So you were listening..."
Abasi smiled as well. He enjoyed this job, despite what he had to do. Remorse never factored much into his thinking, having been brought up in a land where famine and death was an everyday occurence. And for a former dirt-poor fisherman from Velaria, the money and luxury involved in working for Karic was simply unbeatable - not to mention their conversations, musings on human nature and morality.
Amelia docked, finally, and Karic put on his jacked and grabbed a bag he prepared long before they reached Damascus. His men assembled in the boat's main cabin one last time before they separated.
"This is where we part ways, boys. I am counting on you to bring this plan to fruition: don't fail me. Abasi will command your strike group while I'm away, and you will listen to him as you would to my direct orders. Understood?"
The men, hardened killers all, nodded. Nobody said a word: they all belonged to Karic's inner circle, and they all knew what he's done to those who failed him. Even as a fugitive, he was entirely capable of murdering a family, or "disappearing" a loved one.
Karic knew that, too. He smiled a wicked smile and disembarked with his personal entourage. Six well-dressed Arab men waited for him on the quay.
"Mr. Smith, welcome to Syria.", their leader said, "The Prince has arranged proper accomodations for you in Damascus, as per your request."
"Excellent. However, I will proceed there in vehicles I've arranged myself."
The arabs - obviously members of Syria's secret police - didn't seem happy about it. Still, their instructions were very clear: accomodate the Prince's guest, and ask no questions.
"Certainly, sir."
Karic nodded and turned back towards his boat for a second. He nodded to Abasi, and "Amelia" soon left the quay, heading out to sea. For some reason, Syrian patrol boats didn't bother it at all.
=======================
Khitan, Arkhangaj-Bulgan highway
The lonely woman rode in the back of a beat-up truck, sleeping despite the noise and constant bumps in the road's surface. She's been travelling this way for several days, since that fateful night when her home was set ablaze, and her entire life with it. She only barely escaped, saved by the fact she was not a Muslim, and so went to pray at a small Orthodox chapel on the nearby hill.
When she's heard the screams, it was already too late. The temple was well ablaze, and fires slowly spread around the village, casting an eerie glow at the ancient walls of the chapel. She understood immediately what must've happened, and huddled there, sobbing quietly, hoping the men who did this to all her friends and neighbors wouldn't find her.
When she came back to the village, all she'd found were charred remains. Especially horrible were the bodies of little children, charred and burned beyond recognition. She gave them a funeral, as best as she could, and then left the village. While she could've waited for the authorities to come investigate, she couldn't be sure when that would be, and besides - Katrin was not a legal immigrant. She'd get deported, back to the Border States, where her former, horrible life awaited her.
So she left the ruins, and walked towards the Arkhangaj-Bulgan highway. The road was in poor repair, but connected two large cities: Bulgan, a mining centre deep in the mainland, and Arkhangaj, a large port on Khitan's northern shore. From then on, she could hitchhike her way to a city...and perhaps figure out what to do next.
The truck Katrin was currently riding was an old one, barely kept together by years of patchwork repair jobs. She thought falling asleep in it would be a horrible, nigh-impossible task - but the hunger and tiredness took their toll, and she slipped into an uneasy sleep shortly after climbing onto the back.
And then, the dreams came again, more vivid than ever.
First, a concrete-lined room in a place and time she didn't know. A man kneeled on the blood-stained floor, his face swollen and cut from repeat beatings. Another stood above him with a baton, vigilant for any signs of his victims slipping into sleep - he'd hit him with the baton, in the groin and knees, to keep him from falling asleep.
"This can end...", she heard somebody say, "...just sign the confession."
The man babbled something incomprehensible, still defiant. His tormentor struck him again, several times.
"There's no point in resisting. Nobody will come to get you. Your friends abandoned you already."
The man spits out two teeth and raises his eyes. The horrible, crazy, bloodshot eyes of a man overcome with rage.
"I will spite you. That's enough for me.", he manages to say before the baton breaks his jaw.
She hears the mysterious voice laugh, "How long do you think you can resist? What will it gain you, but continued suffering?"
The man slumps to the ground, only to be brutally jerked to his feet. He is clearly barely standing, barely able to comprehend the world around him...and yet, still defiant.
"One day...", he spats, "...one day what you did to my family will happen to yours. And then you'll understand..."
The guard hits him again, and he finally succumbs. Repeated strikes do not have an effect - clearly, he is beyond help. A doctor rushes in, and examines him, before proclaiming, "He's still alive...but he needs rest."
"Leave him be. We will come back tomorrow."
The dream ceased abruptly, with Katrin waking up to a heavy hand covering her mouth. The jolts and roar of the old engine were gone, and she could smell sweat and hear heavy breathing in the darkness, as someone tried to tear off her jacket and blouse she wore below it. She tried to scream, and flailed about, but the man was much heavier and stronger than her, and he just tightened his hold.
Primal fear filled her body, as adrenaline rushed through the arteries. Suddendly, accompanied by her pounding heart, the panic and fear was flushed aside with an onrush of memories. The correct moves come back naturally: she reaches out with her free hand and jabs the assailant's eyes. As he screams in pain and exposes his groing, she delivers a swift kick there, and follows up with a double earclap. Without thinking, she hits his throat with a quick jab.
The man falls over and curls up, writhing in pain. Katrin grabs a random steel pipe from the truck's cargo and smashes his face in. Blood spills all over the back, as the man stops moving.
She stands there for a few moments, breathing heavily, watching the would-be rapist laying dead before her. She clutches her chest, feeling the ugly scars below them. For the first time in years, she remembers. She remembers it all.
If someone could look at her right then, he could see something change in her eyes, as the memory of that fateful day comes back. The explosion, the horrible, horrible pain, the darkness...and her sister, dead, in a pool of her own blood.
It takes her several moments to snap out of it. And, suddendly, resolve replaces resignation. She's no longer looking to "figure out what to do next". She knows perfectly well where she needs to go.
Damascus.
It was time to finish this - once and for all.
=======================
Tri-Cities Metropolitan Area
The hybrid boat, painted in regulation colors of the PeZookian Border Guard, quickly made its way across territorial waters, illuminated by the light of dawn. It made several stops along the coast near the Tri-Cities, dropping off two men every time. Each such group had a large backpack and was dressed in casual clothes, which would not stand out on the streets. Tourists from around the world were a common sight in the Tri-Cities all year round, owing to the warm climate, beautiful beaches and the sprawling Old Town - making the infiltration task so much easier.
As the undercover agents made their way towards the city, the boat took station near the planned parade route, slowly making its rounds, silhouetted by the rising sun. It wasn't bothered at all by any other patrol craft, who simply passed by, sometimes waving to the skipper.
He waved back, of course.
=======================
SSS Manlauve, Prime Yacht One
"Arrrrr! Avast, mateys! Hand over ye fair maiden or prepare to be boarded!", the Prime Minister cried, standing on the bow of his luxurious yacht, waving about an imaginary cutlass. A mortified assistant was trying to grab him and bring him down to the main deck - so far, unsuccesfully.
Queen Agatha smiled politely and waved from the deck of the destroyer
Burza, which had the honor of ferrying her to the Prime Minister's yacht. The captain, being a sensible man, banned digital cameras from the deck of his ship, in the vain hope that no photographs of the Prime Minister playing pirate would find their way to Internet video sites.
The destroyer lowered a small launch, which quickly made its way to the
Manlauve with the Queen, her daughter and the entire security detail. An SSS man helped her up onto the boat, while Shroom's assistants managed, somehow, to convince him to stop his pirate antics. In fact, he was looking quite dignified when he came down to greet the Queen on the rear deck.
"Your highness, welcome to the
Manlauve.", he said, bowed and kissed the Queen's hand, "I hope you enjoy your stay on board. I made sure not to bring any reporters, in fact. Damn journos."
"I appreciate that, Prime Minister. Allow me to introduce my daughter, Lena."
Shroom's face lit up with a HEUGE smile, "Well hello there! Hi there! Who's the cute one? Who's the cutie cutie one?"Both entourages stood there in embarassed silence as the Prime Minister entertained the youngest guest, before an assistant summoned the presence of mind to ask everyone to the great cabin for some refreshments. Relieved, everyone agreed and followed him downstairs, while commanders of both security details worked out their protection scheme.
"Arrr, Captain, plot a course that will keep a fair distance from those Shinran ships," Prime Minister Shroom whispered to the captain of the yacht as he passed by. Avoiding the Shinran vessels would protect Queen Agatha and Elena from the ravages of the
geostigma, Shroom reasoned. "And scurvy!"
The entire event, while informal, involved a lot of planning and resources, especially in light of the still-vivid assassination attempt on King Paul and then-premier Shady. The missile destroyer
Burza was designated to lead the tall ship parade, but it was there more than just for show: its helicopter was ready to launch at a moment's notice, carrying an elite team of Formoza commandoes. Swarms of Border Guard boats were tasked with keeping private yachts outside of the designated perimeter around the Prime Ministerial yacht, and a diesel submarine lurked nearby, listening for any signs of trouble. Plenty of people considered these measures overkill and a waste of money.
Others cursed them outright.
"The damn PeZookians must've brought half their fleet!", exclaimed a man dressed in a Border Guard uniform, lowering his binoculars, "Are you sure the real boat will honor their part of the deal?"
The boat's skipper - a very tall man with clear-cut Nordic features - nodded slowly from his station, "They'll come through allright.", he said.
The crew of the real Border Guards boat with the same tactical number was supposed to pick up a drug packet to smuggle into PeZookia, and met the
Amelia in the early morning. Abasi never said what would happen to these men, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out. This - and a stolen digital radio capable of reading encrypted frequencies - allowed the attack team to lazily circle around the perimeter of the Prime Minister's yacht. The skipper already tested the waters, making a few close passes, pretending to chase away nosy or careless sailboats. Nobody aboard batted an eyelash. The missile destroyer which worried them disappeared beyond the horizon, steaming toward its position in the parade line. The sea looked marvellous, dotted with hundreds of small boats which swarmed out of the harbor to watch the spectacle, and illuminated by the morning sun.
Soon, the cruise liner
Amistad, serving as the VIP viewing gallery, took its position as well. The parade would soon begin.Karic's attack team discreetly checked their weapons. If all went according to plan, they'd make their move soon.
Tri-Cities, Old Town
Not everything would go according to plan, however. The boat dropped off three two-man teams during the night, who were supposed to make their way into the city and install Rage gas canisters in several spots - thus, creating a distraction and slowing down any response the authorities could muster against the main attack team. One target was the popular Long Street, always crowded by tourists from all over the world. Another - the city centre, with its skyscrapers and hotels. The final target would be the civilian harbor, where thousands of people watched as majestic sailing ships left for their parade, and would stay for the concerts and happenings to follow.
The latter two teams accomplished their missions without a hitch, distributing their gas containers around trash bins and various nooks and crannies. The first team, composed of two veteran operatives named Tomas and Kola, was the first one to arrive at their target area, and the only one to encounter difficulties. As luck would have it, they left the suburban train in early morning hours, when few people were around. Even worse, local cafes and restaurants were closed, making it impossible to wait and blend into the crowds later.
After a short discussion, they decided to proceed towards the old town on foot, and spend time gawking at the majestic buildings there until enough people arrived to shield their activities from monitoring cameras and watchful eyes of police officers. It wasn't a very long walk from the train station, but even then, it was crawling with police. Municipial workers were cleaning the streets, and two mean walking around the nigh-empty town were sure to attract attention.
"We'll blow the operation...", Kola hissed when they first saw the impressive security measures, "...what do we do?"
Tomas thought quickly. They blundered into the situation, and turning and leaving would bring even more suspicion on them than usual. So, he did the only logical thing: approached one of the police patrols. "Excuse me...", he said in understandable, though accented english, "...we just got off the train from Canissia, but we got lost...we're looking for a youth hostel somewhere here. Could you please point us the right way?"
"Oh, certainly", the officer answered, politely, "You probably want the one on Holy Mary's Church Street. Go down Long Street, turn left and follow the signs."
"Thank you! Thank you very much!", Tomas answered and went back to his 'friend', "We'll check into the hostel and wait there."
They both left, walking quickly. The police officer who gave them their directions thought about it for a moment, before radioing in. "Dispatch, green seven. Have monitoring follow two tourists currently passing the Green Gate."
"Copy that."Satisfied, the cop caught up with his partner and resumed his patrol route.
Orena Voyvodship Police Command building, monitoring central, two hours later
The massive array of liquid crystal displays showed images from all around the city, illuminating the entire room with a sickly glow. No human could hope to follow every single screen, and none were expected to - extensive automation, including face-recognition software, sound analysis and gunfire sensors automatically brought the operator's attention to places were trouble was brewing. Some cameras were even hooked up to experimental software which could identify people fighting, traffic accidents or similar violent happenings. Still, decisions and analysis was still done by human operators - PeZookia's citizens would not have it any other way. It was hard enough to sell extensive surveillance in the main cities - automating it completely would never go through Parliament.
One of these human operators was now tracking two people reported by a police patrol a few hours ago. There wasn't much to it, really - the computer system took a really good look at both of them in the morning, with empty streets, and now just highlighted them in the crowds.
A supervisor came by, doing his usual morning rounds, "Anything happening?", he asked, leaning over the operator's console
"Nope. They're walking around, taking in the sights.", she answered, taking a sip of her coffee. The crowds on Long Street were immense, with people from all over the world pouring here - now that the tall ships were no longer open for visitors, being prepared for the race, tourists flocked to the magnificient old town.
"Why were they reported, anyway?"
"Oh, a patrol officer thought they were suspicious."
“Give them another hour and drop them from the system, then."
The operator nodded and put down her cup, when she noticed one of the men pull something out of his backpack and drop it into a trash bin.
"Huh?", she let out, promtping the supervisor to come back, "What's wrong?"
"I don't know...probably nothing. This guy dropped something into the trash bin here.", she pointed at the screen.
"Have a patrol check it out, just to be safe."
"Okay", she picked up her phone, "Monitoring to dispatch, I need a patrol to check a refuse bin on Long Street for a potential bomb threat."
The call was acknowledged, and quickly went out to one of several police patrols doing their rounds about Long Street. In fact, it was the same patrol which made the initial call. They quickly approached the bin in question and took a glance inside.
"Oh...shit!", the officer shouted out, seeing a menacing stainless steel canister with a release valve, "Get back! Get everyone back!", he shouted to his partner and immediately went on his radio, "Dispatch, green seven, we have a 10-65, possible poison gas canister. Requesting backup and sappers!"
"Copy that green seven. Be advised, suspects are moving away from the scene. Monitoring is tracking them on Piwna."
The cop looked around, trying to see the perps, but the crowds made it impossible, "Dispatch, green seven, I can't get to Piwna."
"Copy that, green seven, we'll move another patrol into position. Secure your immediate area."
Several more officers joined their colleagues and began herding people away from the bin. Meanwhile, Tomas and Kola, having noticed the commotion, decided to leave the area altogether and deploy their remaining canisters elsewhere. They had no idea they managed to arise suspicion, though, and were completely surprised when they rounded a corned and almost walked into four patrol officers.
"Stop!", the patrol's sergeant shouted, reaching for his gun. This had an opposite effect, though, with both men immediately turning around and ducking back inside the side street. The officers followed them, of course. The saboteurs ran fast, moving straight towards Long Street and its huge crowds, which were not evacuated yet.
"Police! Stop or I'll shoot!"Kola hesitated for a split-second upon hearing that, but Tomas didn't. In fact, he had a plan in mind, and ducked behind one of the buildings for a few seconds, pulling out a gas canister from his backpack.
"Kola! Get over here, for fuck's sake!" His friend joined him in the alleyway, "Hold your breath, man.", Tomas grinned, set the gas release to two seconds and tossed the canister out onto the street. He threw another into the crowd, and continued running down the alleyway. The officers pursuing them didn't even notice the canister at first, and it took a while for the gas to affect them. When it did, however, all hell broke loose.
The Manlauve
"Oooh! Ooooh! Magnificient! Exquisite! Marvellous! Incredibly incredulous!", Shroom exclaimed, looking at the majestic form of the
Virtue Of Courage, as it showed up on the distant horizon.
"With respect, Prime Minister, I don't think that's what the word means.", his nervous aide whispered, terrified of the opinion Queen Agatha would form about his employer.
Shroom just waved him off impatiently."Those masts! So rigid and proud and erect! Look at them stand strong against the currents!"
The Queen just smiled and nodded. Shroom's antics amused her, but she was far from being irritated. Besides, the sailing ships really were quite magnificient.
"Ga-ga!", Lena shouted and clapped her hands excitedly as the huge tall ship passed in front of the
Manlauve. She was sitting on the back of a tall BOR security guard, Andrzej, who volunteered to be her VIP viewing gallery for the event.
"Ga-ga indeed, young lady!", Shroom commented vigorously, "Oooh! This one's green!"
The tall ship parade continued. Giant after giant, the mighty sailing ships presented themselves, saluting the yacht each time. Shroom took a habit of waving to each one and saluting back, growing more excited with every minute, which brought his nervous aide to the brink of heart attack. He wondered how his boss, Alison, did it. All in all, however, the day was beautiful and most of the people - even the yacht's crew - lazed about, enjoying the show and nibbling appetizers from giant trays carried around by partially disrobed, muscled sailors. BOR officers tried very hard to pretend they were not disturbed by that, though. About halfway through the parade, a slight but significant change occured in the disposition of the security detail. It was instantly noticeable, as their stance shifted from 'semi-relaxed but aware' to 'nervous about something'.
That 'something' appeared to be a Border Guard patrol boat, moving fast towards the yacht, sirens blaring. It pulled alongside, and one of the men aboard tossed a rope to the yacht, which was picked up by a half-naked sailor-slash-waiter. The BOR commander was on his radio way before that happened, though. He read the tactical number and called in to confirm the boat's location and orders. As he awaited a response, his men stood between the boat's crew and the Queen.
"Sir!", the boat's skipper called out towards the yacht, "There's been a terror attack in the city! We've been ordered to evacuate the Queen!"
Two of his men came aboard the yacht, but were stopped by SSS bodyguards. "We've received no word of this. You'll have to wait for confirmation.", one of them said to the border guards. "There's no time! There may be a bomb on the boat, we have to take the Queen to safety!"
A quarrel erupted on the boat, with the new arrivals loudly protesting the need to do their duty, while SSS and BOR guards did theirs. It was broken by the BOR commander shouting something to his men, who suddendly grabbed the Queen, threw a heavy bulletproof vest over her and started running towards the great cabin. With that, all hell broke loose. An SSS man was shot in the chest by a 'border guard', who has just been confirmed to not be a border guard at all. Andrzej - the guard who held Lena up so that she could see the ships go by - now pulled out his own pistol and shot his commander in the back, while the speedboat's skipper hosed the upper superstructure with a kalashnikov, supressing the crew and SSS agents located there. Shroom was being dragged into the upper superstructure by him own security detail. The sole SSS man remaining on the rear deck managed to kill one of the attackers, before the crooked BOR guard shot him as well. Wasting no time, he handed Lena to the attackers.
"Good job, Andrzej!", the skipper said, "Now let's take out the queen.", he grinned and jumped to Shroom's yacht.
Lena was crying loudly now, terrified of the shooting and screams and the dead bodies. Nobody really tried to comfort her - instead, they shoved the baby below the speedboat's wheelhouse.
"We should get a move on, they'll be calling for help any minute now...", Andrzej said, helping the boat's skipper onto the yacht, "...they got a helicopter on standby and..."Andrzej was interrupted by another crewmember from the boat, "Skipper! There's a gunship coming in, fast!"
"Oh, goddammit!" True enough, a naval helicopter was flying fast towards the Prime Minister's yacht. Worse yet, SSS men in the superstructure began shooting from behind cover, peppering the boat and its crew. Another attacker keeled over, shot in the throat.
"Fuck this!", their leader cried, "Oleg! The satchel charge!" Oleg grabbed a satchel of explosives and threw it to his boss, before falling down, screaming and clutching a wound in his abdomen. Two others opened up on the superstructure, while the skipper ran over to the stairs leading down into the engine compartment.
"Let the bitch eat this...", he muttered and threw it in, "Get aboard! Now!", he said, turning around...only to see a half-dozen bodyguards storm out of the great cabin. The last thing he saw was a muzzle flash.
The Manlauve, Great Cabin
"Let me go! Let me go! My baby's out there, for fuck's sake!", the Queen screamed at the BOR guards holding her. Her remaining security detail was in the process of arming themselves with rifles stored onboard by the SSS.
"M'lady, stay here! Help is already on the way!"
"Fuck you! They've kidnapped Lena, you hear me?! Let me go! That's an order!" They didn't. Instead, BOR and SSS men formed an impromptu assault team, ready to take the deck by force if need be. They outnumbered the attackers, and surprise was lost. Soon, a swarm of reaction troops would descend on the location.
"Wait for it. The SSS men in the superstructure will supress them...", the BOR commander said to his men. Soon, a rapid exchange of fire confirmed his words, and he led his men towards the deck. Bullets whizzed by the security detail as they emerged, and they responded in kind. The leader shot one of the attackers, who was standing over the engine compartment, while his men, taking careful aim, opened fire on the speedboat. Lena's crying could somehow be heard over the shooting, and to everybody's horror, the boat began pulling away from the yacht.
A BOR bodyguard dropped to one knee, taking careful aim at the two outboard motors hanging off the speedboat's stern. Before he could fire, however, the satchel charge exploded, blasting the yacht apart in a giant fireball.
Result:
IT BEGINS!
