Cold Chase (Semi-Closed; attn Floridian Coast)

[Transnapastain]

Recomended listening Paul Brady & The Forest Rangers - Gimmie Shelter (Rolling Stones cover)

Subrosa, Transnapastain

“Seems to me this couldn’t have worked out better.” Executer Hans Brandt said, walking back over to his desk, and setting several drinks down in front of his guests.

“I disagree, we could not have to worry about this at all.” Replied Lord Proctor Julian Harris., accepting the drink from Brandt, and taking a small sip from the crystal glass. “This really is good.” He said.

“Isn’t it? Ambassador Kholodov from Gulnera gets it for me. I had a sample sent over when their embassy was first established, and, I have to tell you, it’s some of the best whiskey I’ve ever had.”

“Yes, well, Hans, you’d be the expert on alcoholic drinks.” Harris replied, his tone of voice suggesting the statement wasn’t entirely intended as a compliment

Oblivious to the Lord Proctors underlying statement, Harris replied “Yes, I consider myself quite the connoisseur of fine alcohol.” He said, “Now, Julian, you’re right, of course, it would be better if we didn’t ever have to worry about Floridian Coast, but, we do, and its been nearly four and a half years since the incident, and we’ve had nothing but warm relations with them. Isn’t that right, James?”

James Schmidt, director of Transnapastain intelligence community, softly placed the crystal glass back on the desk. Unlike his companions, his contained only water. Schmidt rarely drank anything but bottled, filtered, and purified water. “We were lucky, as you all know. Had they not botched their interrogation, and killed Hughes, or if they had taken Simmins alive, this would have turned out very differently.” He sighed and continued “the Executer is right, though, Floridian Coast seems to have never implicated us in the assassination, and, better, initiated peaceful diplomatic contact with us after the fact. While I don’t think that information should be declassified within the next 150 thousand years, I believe we can breathe a little easier.”

“Did you just make a joke?” asked Brandt

“Did I?” asked Schmidt. It wasn’t clear; it was never clear, if Schmidt was genuinely oblivious of his joke, and complete devoid of humor, or if he was being deliberately difficult.

Brandt snorted and continued on “Anyways, the Protectorate is a non-factor now, since their disbandment after that fiasco in Brazul, their records have been purged, and I think most of the officers who could have leaked information have been silenced, by us or by nature.” He took another gulp from his glass “James?”

“As far as we know, yes….but…I’m not convinced.” Schmidt replied, which, was, if anything, a rare admission for him

“Why? Not that business with Culler, again?” asked Harris

Eric Culler had been the officer in charge of the Protectorates Foreign Action Service during the botched assassination in Floridian Coast. He had been relieved of his position and received a dishonorable discharge for his role in the assassination attempt, or, more to the point, his role in not preventing it. Disgruntled, Culler had been suspected of anti-government activity by the TNIS agents assigned to watch him and his family, and a termination order had been issued for him when it was clear the Floridian Coast didn’t suspect, or couldn’t prove, Transnapastain’s involvement in the assassination of Senator Bryce. TNIS agents set fire to his rural home, hoping to disguise the fire and Culler’s death, as accidental in nature. While no one had ever raised questions about the fire itself…

“We never found the body.” Said Schmidt. “I don’t think we got him, but, there’s been no trace of him since the fire.” Schmidt took another drink “It’s a loose end, and it worries me.”

“Its been so long, though, if he was going to make his move, he’d have done it. We’ve been involved with Floridian Coast for years, they’ve had an embassy in Subrosa since six months after the case was closed on the assassination. They’ve executed the people they found responsible,, and we’ve co-operated with them against international terrorism for years. Surely, there’s nothing Culler can do at this point.” Brandt said evenly

“We’ll see.” Said Schmidt “But I’m not convinced. We’re still looking for him, at any rate.”

“It’s a cold case, Schmidt, and a wild goose chase to boot, but, whatever you like, its your purgative to waste your departments considerable resources on a dead man. “ said Brandt “Though, if you’re going to waste them, maybe we should consider cutting funding….Theresa would love to see some more funds put into her pet education projects.” Said Brandt, after finishing off his whiskey, and sitting the glass down on the desk.

Schmidt, never one to rise to a bait, replied in an even tone “As you say, its my purgative.” Schmidt didn’t even address his threat to cut the intelligence community’s funding; it was as empty as the Executers glass.

“And speaking of Floridian Coast and terrorism, isn’t there a Directorate-wide anti-terror summit they’ll be attending? Isn’t it this week, in fact?” Asked Harris, attempting to change the subject.

“Yes, its actually a summit between us and the Floridian Coast, but, of course, we’ve invited our Directorate allies, Kaukoalstan, Nailiak, the Confederacy and Licana to attend. We’re supposed to be comparing the preparednessin amoung the attending nations against terrorist strikes, and, also swapping tips on how better to hunt own and subdue terrorist cells and suspects. In fact, It starts two days from now. When we’re down here, I’m going to catch a flight down to Auster and prepare for their arrival”

“I assume security will be tight?” asked Harris

“As tight as it needs to be. It’s not like the Directorate is plagued with terrorist groups. Not since the 1960’s has there been an terror attack inside Transnapastain….well unless you count that thing with Executer Simons and the Nailiakian terrorists.” Said Brandt

“Its not public record, so no we don’t” said Schmidt.

“Quite. Anyway,” Brandt continued ““Lighting Forces operatives from the FC will be on hand for their people, and we’ll have OPO officers and TNIS agents in the area, of course. The city police and county sheriff’s office is going to assist, naturally.” He looked at his computer monitor “Seems they’re bringing in a journalist to cover the conference, as well.”

“Well, then.” Said Harris, “sounds like everything there is in order suppose we let James catch his flight. I’ve got golf with the Friedman in an hour, and I don’t want to be late. “

Brandt laughed. “I never understood why people play golf…oh well, meeting adjourned then.”

Auster, Transnapastain
2 days later

Schmidt waited on the tarmac of the Auster International Airport for aircraft bearing the Floridian Coast markings to taxi to a stop. The climate in Auster was much more humid and balmy than Subrosa, where it was chilly and rainy most of the year; and chilly and snowy for the rest. He tugged at his black suit, wishing he didn’t have to wear such cumbersome attire in such oppressive heat. He would be glad to climb back into the limousines, and make use of the air conditioner.

“ATC says the plane ahs touched down, and should be arriving here momentarily.” The security chief, Senior Agent Eric Jennings said. He fanned himself with his hand “I wish we could do these things inside the terminal, where its not so damned hot, sir.”

“Yes, and being form up north, this must be worse for you than it is for me.” Replied Schmidt

“You better believe it sir.” He replied, and then pointed “Here comes the plane.” As if Schmidt couldn’t see the white personal jet rolling down the taxiway himself.

As the aircraft rolled to a stop, the band assembled for the Secretary of Sates arrival began playing their finest rendition of the Floridian Coast’s national anthem, a tune Schmidt had not heard before, and, as such, he had no way to tell if it was being preformed properly or not. He, Jennings and several other escorts approached the end of the carpet that had been rolled out, and waited for the passengers to disembark…

[The Floridian Coast]

Floridian International TV Broadcast

"Welcome back, the time is 8:24AM, and we are looking at high of 74 and low of 58 on this crisp autumn day. Partly cloudy weather in New Clearwater, and heavy rain to the south in Solaria as they are being brushed by the edge of tropical storm Vincent, which is not expected to regain strength. The Department of the Interior issued a statement that they do not expect any damage beyond some fallen trees, nonetheless, residents of Solaria in level 4 and 5 flood zones are still being asked to relocate for the next 36 hours as a precaution." The meteorologist finished his small report and said "Back to you, James."

The young anchor read flawlessly from his teleprompter. "Today the High Premier celebrates his 24th birthday. His election campaign was marked by questions about his young age and readiness for the job, though his 67% victory margin, a resurgent economy, the lowest crime rates in 50 years, and a comprehensive anti-terrorism agenda have led to record high approval ratings. 91% of Floridians have selected "Strongly Approve" or "Approve" in the most recent surveys. His birthday celebration will include a state dinner, and solemn remembrance of his late father, who sadly passed away early of an aneurysm nearly 5 years ago."

Video was shown on the station of a crowd cheering for their leader in the Capitol Square, a scene still haunting to many who remember seeing the assassination of his sister on live television. After 20 seconds of that, James read "We are now going to our correspondent Amber Myers, who is live in Auster, Transnapastain at 1:30PM local time, covering the Secretary of State's arrival for the counterterrorism summit."

Dressed in a smart casual combination of a blouse and skirt, Amber held a subtle smile through a few second's delay before she began.

"We are here in Transnapastain where Secretary of State Trenton has just departed from the plane. Our host's musicians played a beautiful rendition of 'Freedom Shine', as the Secretary made his way down the carpet. He is currently greeting a diplomat..." she paused, thinking 'Goddammit, why did no one tell me his name?', and then gracefully resumed without any show of nervousness "...and will attend the summit in just a few hours' time. He has recently spoken fiercely about the threat of Islamic extremists, who have taken the forefront of Homeland Defense's agenda after the full annihilation of the domestic terrorists Guiding Light. We expect this conference to last for a few days, as it is not set on a rigid timetable."

"Thank you, Amber. We will have to come back to you at the top of the next hour, as we have received breaking news regarding the wildfire control on the Northern Borders." The anchor replied, and a few seconds passed before her cameraman said "Clear."

Amber sighed with relief and took a seat at the table set up for press members. There was a large media presence of Transnapastain's own reporters. She felt the air was quite seasonal and comfortable enough. "Smoke?" one of her crew offered. "I told you, I don't do that anymore. Look at Mr. Secretary, he's already showing signs of..." her voice trailed off for a moment as she curiously watched the meeting some 50 yards away from her.

----------

Jack firmly shook hands with Schmidt, and a moment after coughed into the fold of his elbow a few times. "Forgive me, sir." he said with a wheezy voice "Emphysema. But I'm not a man to call in sick. Thank you very much for the warm reception, the music was especially well done."

[Transnapastain]

Schmidt shook Jack's hand firmly, and only smiled a knowing smile when the man's coughing fit ended. He leaned in close, and spoke softly, so even the reporters directional microphones would have a hard time hearing his words, "Its alright sir, I understand. Please, if there are any reasonable accommodation you would like, in light of your illness, we will be glad to provide them for you. The hotel you're staying in is already non-smoking, as is the convention center, so, hopefully, you're symptoms will not be aggravated by second hand smoke."

Louder, for the benefit of the camera, he said "I welcome you, sir, to the Theocratic Republic. I know it is not your first visit here, but you're as welcome here as any guests of the republic can be." he motioned, "This is Senior Agent Eric Jennings, and he's running security from our end."

Jennings offered his hand to Jack and smiled "Its a pleasure to meet you, sir, and an honor to work with you and your Lightning Force associates. Our agents have not but praise for your methods and efficiency."

If only you knew Schmidt thought to himself, that our agents and there's played a deadly game of cat and mouse not too long ago, and that a bit more efficiency, or luck on their part, or a bit less on ours, would have created a mess for us, you wouldn't be so quick to praise them. They aren't now, but they could well be the enemy at a moments notice.

He smiled. Jennings didn't know, only a handful of those still among the living knew the dark secret that had brought the Floridian Coast and Transnapastain close to war. Given that Jennings's remarks were quite appropriate for the situation.

"If you like, sir, we have a vehicle laid on that will take you o the hotel, so that you may settle in. There's a reception dinner planned for tonight, and the talks will beginning tomorrow morning." Schmidt said, gesturing towards the waiting vehicles.

---

One of the Transnapastaini security officers approached Amy. He smiled as he greeted her "Ma'am, welcome to Transnapastain. Before we can allow you to leave the premises, I must insist you come with me into the terminal, so we can inspect your luggage. I understand its a hassle, but I'm sure you understand the necessity." he smiled again, though it was clear his smile was professional, not friendly "After you clear security, we'll be glad to provide you with a ride to the hotel."

While he was polite, the tone of his voice clearly stated it was not a suggestion.

As they walked, he handed her and her crew ID cards on elastic lanyards. "Therese are press credentials, and will get you into the convention center, and the hotel you're staying in. Please ensure you have them with you at all times."

As they headed into the terminal, and to the security checkpoint, he asked "Do you have any questions, before we get started?"

---

"Her"

That was the first word the man had spoken since he and his partner had arrived at the airport. They had only been there a short while, arriving just before the Floridian aircraft was due to touch down. Lingering too long in an airport attracted attention, and these men could ill afford any run ins with the law.

"Are you sure, using her is risky." his partner replied. Both men were sitting in a small cafe, sipping cold drinks. Their chosen seats allowed them to view the incoming passengers, and their story, should they be ashed, that they were waiting for relatives to arrive from Port Sawyer would sound entirely plausible.

"Yes." The man spoke with a slight lisp, the source of the lisp was obvious, as part of his mouth was frozen in place, tugging his lips upward into what appeared to be a perpetual smirk. His eyes,m however, belayed any humor one might have seen on his face. Most of the right side of his face was covered with scar tissue and pock marks. Though no one could see it under his shirt, the mans body was heavily ravage, scarred and blistered. Those who knew him before his unfortunate accident Hah, that was no accident he thought, would not recognize him now, which was fine, for he wanted nothing more than to be out of their minds, it made his work easier. "We can not deliver the information ourselves, she, however, will have heir trust, and will suffer no repercussions."

"As you say." his accomplish remarked. "Shall I make the arrangements?"

"Yes, we know where shes staying. Deliver the message, you know when and where." the man said, standing up from his seat. Though none could see it, he winced at the pain that shot through him as he moved his battered body.

"Of course." the accomplice replied, also standing. "It shall be done."

[The Floridian Coast]

On the Road

The Secretary thanked the man and made his way to the vehicle. After the door was closed and the vehicle was off to the hotel, he popped a pill in his bag with him. He pulled out his wallet next and gazed at pictures of Aaron, Larissa, and Emily as children, when Alexander had first ascended to his seat as High Premier. Jack never had a family of his own, even being Secretary of State for two decades, he remembered the Bryce children calling him "Uncle Jack" most of his life.

Corban sat next to him, other Lightning Force agents in his detail took taxis. Corban gazed over at Jack looking very pensive, and asked bluntly "How long did they say you have left, sir?"

"Two months, give or take, from this point. They told me to hang up work a month ago, but I figure as long as I can be medicated, I may as well continue working, it's all I have. Should I retire to my penthouse and drink myself into oblivion?" Jack asked with a dark laugh.

"I probably would, if I were in your place. But you're a better man than I." Corban told him. Jack pulled an old nicotine patch off his arm and said "Corban, I'm alright with dying. We all do, some of us too soon, some like me, past our rightful dates. But I'm concerned about Aaron. He lost Larissa, his father, and, I don't want to sound like I matter all that much, but I don't know how it'll affect him, losing me too. Most of his family, and leading the nation at the same time."

Smiling, Corban replied "You know, sir, I was right at his side hunting down his sister's killers. He has the heart of a lion, and also the teeth of a lion, if you understand. In antiquity, world leaders were expected to be the greatest warriors, now they're expected to be the greatest politicians. Aaron is the last of his kind. And he still has Belle, he may have children of his own within a year or two."

Feeling regret for the first time in awhile, Jack sadly said "I wish I could be there to see them. Alexander's grandchildren." Corban continued "And Emily too, she looks out for him as much as he does for her."

"My successor. You'll be protecting the High Premier's younger sister for quite awhile, no doubt." Jack said.
"A 19 year old Secretary of State. The ambitions of the Bryce family never cease." Corban replied, and Jack told him "At least she learned from the best."


Terminal

"Just a request, that if you need to check Thomas' camera." she pointed to the guy part of her crew holding the most bags, "To do it by hand, as the scanners can damage the film."

They made their way into the terminal and manually inspected the camera as asked. A few of her crew were asked inconsequential questions by customs then lined up behind her.

Amber had her bags emptied out and searched through, and also a patdown, though nothing too invasive. She wondered if they were concerned about Floridians running drugs, as marijuana was legal and often brought to other nations. Security at home dealt with this to avoid too many problems because of it, if someone were caught with domestically legal drugs carried to a place where they were banned, the drugs were confiscated, though only repeat offenders were arrested.

She watched a security guard nod and say to his partner "Alright, she's clean." Amber brought back four different lattes in a drink holder from, one for her and one for her cameraman, tech support guy, and communications expert - she had easily memorized all three of their preferences from past travels, and was glad to be able to obtain all of them. As she placed her order and paid in the local currency which she had exchanged before the trip, she noticed two men staring at her from a few tables back. They didn't look to her like any kind of undercover security, probably just men who found her to be attractive. It didn't bother her, she traveled around with three men, though Thomas at least, was flamboyantly gay, and the other two didn't give her more than the minor sexual innuendo here and there.

Each of them took their coffee cup and they were escorted outside to a waiting limo. Nothing too fancy, but better than them expecting having to find their own taxis. "High security kind of pays off for us, I think." Amy told Thomas and Kevin, while Liam had already slipped on his iPod and dozed off for the ride. She put her press pass around her neck, figuring it easier to have it hanging there than to dig out of her pocket.

One Hour Later

After a brief security check at the hotel's lobby, Amber arrived in her 18th floor room. Her crew were a floor above her, sharing a suite. She had thrown her bag on the floor and didn't bother to look at the room, but just took some new clothes and went into the bathroom. Following a long shower, she stepped into the room again, dressed in clean clothes. She left her straight brunette hair hanging freely and still half wet, she was not working for the rest of the night and too tired to fix it up.

She flipped on the television and sat down on the bed, picking up a folded note. "Room service.", she thought, that it might have the phone number for ordering in to the hotel room. She knew the crew would go hit up all the bars, but she had no interest, and thought she would stay in.

As she opened it, she realized it was not a paper left by the hotel at all.

Amber Myers, Floridian National News, Foreign Affairs Correspondent.

Where were you on the 24th of February?
Do you want to know where I was?

Windsor's 24/7 Diner. 441 2nd avenue. 11PM, tonight.

The date was one she recognized immediately, though she knew the writer did not mean the date of this year. It was the day of the assassination of the Senator Larissa Bryce. One of those days that any Floridian can answer the question of "where were you when you heard the news?"

It unsettled her a little that the anonymous writer knew where she was staying. Perhaps it was easy to find out what hotel most of the foreign journalists were staying at, but the room number? And how did he get in? She took out her phone and briefly contemplated calling the police, but put it away.

She started thinking about the possibilities. Likely a Floridian citizen, probably staying abroad in Transnapastain for business, or retirement. Tried to contact her network and newspapers about a fantastic tale of being an inch from a bullet hitting him, or a heroic tale about tackling the gunman Lightning Force was chasing, she knew there were lots of people who enjoyed making up fascinating stories about that day for attention.

"Am I really going to waste my time on some lunatic again?" She asked herself, though curiosity was at the forefront of her personality, and she had already made up her mind, reasoning she had nothing else to do tonight.

Hours later, she entered a taxi with Thomas, who she had convinced to come along for her safety, just in case. She was certainly not going to hand the driver the note, and just read off the address to him, and the cab took off for a location 12 blocks away.

It occurred to her 11PM was a smart time for such a secretive meeting. Diners have a dinner rush, and then are almost completely empty until the bars close later in the night.

[Transnapastain]

Auster Convention Center
1742 hours

The Auster convention center was one of the more modern structures in the southern city. Large enough to hold thousands, it was continually in use for various fairs, art exhibits, and other cultural attracts or sporting events that never failed to attract visitor from all over the southern region of Transnapastain never failed to flock to. Though the area surrounding the city consisted of farms and vineyards, the cities main income was, and would likely remain so long as the climate held out, tourism. The center itself consisted of several convention halls, state of the art conference faculties, and an indoor arena which was capable of hosting a wide variety of sporting events. In addition, it contained one of the finer restaurants in Auster, The Four Winds, which offered catering services to any events. Due to the ready-made faculties, and the pleasant climate, Auster’s convention center was a shoe in for any intra-Directorate, or international conference.

Tonight, however, the parking lot, designed to accommodate more than 3,000 vehicles was nearly empty. Police cruisers and dark colored sedans formed a corridor in the lot to funnel the incoming dignitaries through. Meanwhile, more officers formed a perimeter encompassing the city blocks around the convention center. Though no one expected any sort of trouble, it was clear that everyone involved, from the private security firms guarding the building to the city police and sheriffs deputies to the Office of Public Order and Transnapastaini National Intelligence Service agents, that the security of the convention, and the dignitaries attending, was taken very seriously. The security was abundant, but not oppressive. Most officers performing patrol or sentry duties were plain clothed, showing only their credentials and, if one caught a glimpse under his suit or sport coat, a firearm. Uniformed officers manned the blockades and the other prominent security stations, such as the metal detectors at the entrance while other officers patrolled the area with K-9’s.

Schmidt had arrived earlier than any of the other dignitaries to inspect the security preparations, and found that all of the preparations were “satisfactory” in his words. Though, a remark like that from Director Schmidt might well be considered an emphatic “well done” by another, more emotionally capable person.

As he waited for the other attendees to arrive, he was in close conversation with a representative from the SIS in Kaukolastan, colloquially known as “the Agency” within the Directorate. The man, Sub-Director Ghast, was known to Schmidt, and may well be one of the only men in the world he would consider a friend. Seated in the small bar section of the Four Winds, Ghast was enjoying a class of one of Auster’s vineyards finest vintages, and equally enjoying showcasing his newest asset.

“A watch?” asked Schmidt, dubiously looking at the small silver disk the man held in his hand. The disk was embossed with the colors of the Directorate, gleaming silver covered with traces of sapphire blue. Schmidt suspected the sapphire blue was indeed sapphire, and was not the least surprised when Ghast confirmed his suspicions.

“But of course, Director.” Ghast replied, smiling. His smile had probably charmed as many people as the man’s record proclaimed he had killed in defense of his nation. “Of course, my glasses, or my PDA, or any number of other modern devices can tell me the time, that is, of course, not the point of the watch.”

“Then do tell me, what is the point of a time piece, as I understand it, the point is to keep time?” asked Schmidt

“Exactly!” declared Ghast. “This watch allows me to keep time, keep time in my pocket, you see?” he took a sip from his goblet, and continued, “and when I pull this device from my pocket and look at it, and then to the man standing before me…he knows exactly where he has failed. And that is worth more than a thousand words, don’t you think?”

“I do think that a fine sense of timing and punctuation is important, but I don’t believe it is ones place to lord over another as if he were master of time and creation.” replied Schmidt. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them, because he knew what the answer would be.

“But, are we not?” asked Ghast, “Truly, we have cured diseases and all but eliminated poverty in our nation. Even nature does not dare grow where it pleases, but where we allow it. If that does not entitle us to proclaim that we are masters of creation, then I do not know what does.“

“But we didn’t come here to discuss your delusions of grander.” Schmidt stated.

Ghast laughed politely “Delusions, I think not, but you have spoken truth; we did not come here to discuss the triumph of man over nature. “ he sipped from his glass, and then remarked. “Speaking of grander though, I was in Subrosa, the other day, you know, and I can’t help but note the crystal sky dome is still there.”

“And we thank you for that. Tell me Sub-Director, how does rope burn feel?” asked Schmidt

“Given the outcome of the operation, it felt like success.” Ghast replied evenly.

Schmidt set his fork down softly on his plate. “Brandt brought that incident up the other day, and I’ll tell you what I told him. It did not officially happen, therefore, it did not happen and it would be wise to not speak of it.”

“Ah, but you and I know different, James, old boy, we do indeed.” replied Ghast. Before Schmidt could remark that there was a difference between what one knows, and what one should speak of, as the Sub-Director should know perfectly well, Ghast hurried ahead, “Something else we both know is that something fishy went down four and a half years ago, All of a sudden Eric Culler disappears from the scene, money previously allocated to Protectorate projects suddenly dries up; projects we know were funding unsavory activates abroad, then a submarine from Salvacion departs without orders from Subrosa, or Taupron, and then the Ministry of the Interior gets a request from your government to flag certain foreign nations passports, detain them if necessary, and alert you at once.“. He snapped quiet as he ticked off each point, “Boom, boom, boom, just like that.” He smiled “and now, those particular foreigners are here in this very city, attending a counter-terrorism conference. Oh, the irony is delicious I admit, but, James, tell me, what did you do? What did Culler do, I’d ask him, but he seems his house had faulty electrical wire…in this day and age?”

Schmidt dabbed at an invisible stain from his chin with his napkin before replying. “You have the pieces, Sub-Director, you can figure it out, or, if you can’t, I know the Director can.”

“And perhaps he has, perhaps I already know. Confirmation, James, information is key, isn’t it?” replied Ghast

“As is retaining confidentiality, as you well know.” retorted Schmidt

“Ghast merely laughed and tipped his nearly empty goblet in Schmidt’s direction “Touché, old boy. Fine, have it your way.” He pulled the archaic time piece from his pocket and studied its face. Snapping it closed, he looked to Schmidt, and flashed his winning smile. “They should be arriving soon, perhaps we should present ourselves?”

Windsor’s 24/7 Diner
2255 hours

The man sat in the rearmost booth of the small greasy spoon diner, absently reading yesterday's newspaper. Though no one would realize it, his real attention was focused on the door. Several booths away, his accomplice and a third man sat in animated conversation, loudly discussing the results of a sporting event. Only someone with incredibly keen eyesight would have noticed the small lumps under the shirts. Even if they had, concealed carry was common in the Theocratic Republic, it would go unnoticed. They had arrived separately from the man, and would, if the reporter failed to show, leave separately too.

If the reporter had contacted the police, however, and the situation become untenable, the man was sure whoever sought to arrest them would notice the ominous lumps, they may well be the last thing they ever noticed.

---

As it happens, there was one such keenly observant man inside the diner that evening.

Samuel Preston sat at the counter minding his own business. He was a regular at Windsor’s, and had been for years. Though he was always polite, no one really knew much of anything about him. He seemed to be a nobody, a no-account man, in a no-account part of town, up to nothing of importance, biding his time in bars, brothels and diners across the city. He had just wandered in one day, and, would more than likely wander out one day, never to return. He was a vagrant, a drifter, and no one paid him any mind.

He had seen the two men come in shortly before, and pegged them for what they were. Muscle, but not the stupid type, he thought, and did his best to give tem the same curtsey the extended him, that being a complete lack of attention. In a long ago time, in a far away place, he had known, and dealt with such men on a regular basis. He found their character no more appealing now, then he did then.

Though, there are plenty of people who wouldn’t cry to find you dead in an alley he remembered

Luckily for me, I’m already dead.

Of reflex, he stealthily studied them, and determined their principal was the disfigured man in the back of the eatery. That man, too seemed familiar to him, but in a more personal way. Preston knew he knew him, from a long ago, better left alone, time of his life, but could not pinpoint the exact significance.

This could be interesting. Though he had the thought, it never showed on his face; nothing showed on his face unless he let it.

---

Shortly after the appointed time, the man watched the reporter come into the diner. She was not alone, as he suspected she might not be. He had deliberately worded his message to allow her that discretion, if she was smart enough to use it. He had no intention of harming her, provided she remained useful, and didn’t get too ambitious.

He motioned at an appropriate time to catch her eye, and, having done so, they moved towards him. Taking the sea across from him, she said, straight to the point. “I saw you, today, in the airport.”

“Perhaps you did, perhaps you’d do well to forget it.” He replied. His voice was raspy, and his breath was short, bespeaking of internal injuries underlying the more obviously ones on the surface.

“Why?” she asked, the ever present word on any journalists lips, the only question on their mind.

“Because its healthy for you.” He replied, “Do you want to hear what I have to say?”

“Would I be here otherwise?” she asked.

He glanced down at his paper, which concealed a small electronic device which resembled an electronic book reader. It was, in fact, an RF monitor. “You’re recording me, turn it off, now.”

She started at his statement, no doubt wondering how he knew. After he was sure she had deactivated her device he continued. “What I will tell you will shake you to your core. All of it is true, and can be proven. It will change your nations, and this ones, history. Do you want me to continue?”

Hotel Delphoria
2241 hours
Beep, beep beep

The sound was incessant, as all good alarms are, and it stirred Schmidt easily from his light sleep. He picked up the phone and looked at the caller ID. To anyone else, the number would have been private, to him, it told him it was the regional director for the OPO’s Auster division.

“Schmidt.” He answered briskly.

“Sir, Major Keller here, Office of Public Order, Auster Branch. Sir, we may have a situation.”

“Then maybe you should be explaining.” said Schmidt coldly, “as opposed to dramatizing. Also, explain to me why this couldn’t be handled in the typical chain of command?”

“Sir, at 2234 hours, local time, the Office of Public Order monitoring system made a 66.7% facial identity match to a subject on the most wanted list.” The agent replied, “The camera microphone was able to catch snippets of conversation, and obtained a voice analysis that matched the subjects by a mere 35.6%. He was in the company of two accomplices, identified as Marcus Townsend and Harry Kroger. Both former Protectorate Sword officers, dismissed with prejudice after the incidents in Brazul.”

“You’re surprised dissatisfied Protectorate officers are taking up with criminal elements? So let OPO handle it, why are you waking me up?”

“Sir…the facial match belonged to Eric Culler.” The agent said.

That statement snapped Schmidt awake, he forgot his annoyance with what he presumed to be an overzealous agent in a fury of rapid fire thoughts. “Where? Get on him, no local police, your men only, and make sure not a single man on the team is a Protectorate transfer.”

“Yes sir. OPO ran the tapes and followed him to this location,” a slight pause, “441 Second Ave, appears to be Windsor’s Diner.” The agent replied.

“I’m on my way, and I had better not get there first.“ Schmidt hung up the phone. As he rushed out the door, he called Special Agent Jennings. When the mans bleary voice rang in his ear, Schmidt wasted no time, as he entered the elevator, he said “Get two men, meet me in the lobby, bring weapons.”

Windsor’s 24/7 Diner
2307 hours

She simply nodded.

“Very well.” He said, continuing, he said “My name is Eric Culler, and you’ve never heard of me. I’m in a position to tell you the real story behind the assassination of Senator Bryce.”

“And how would you know?” she asked wearily, doubtless, she’d heard this line before.

Without using words to answer, the man tossed a plastic card onto the table. Amber picked it up and looked at it. It was an identification card, out of date, four and a half years out of date, to be exact. It proclaimed the man in the picture was Eric Culler, Director of Operations for the Protectorate Foreign Action Service. She compared the picture to the man before her. Though his appearance had been horrible marred, she could see that she was speaking to an older, disfigured version of the man in the picture

“I can tell you what happened, who did it, and who is responsible.” He said, extending his hand to reclaim the card

---

In a position to know… thought Preston, risking a glance over his shoulder to get a look at the disfigured man. Son of a bitch, that’s Eric Culler! Though he doubted he’d have ever recognized him without that statement, Preston had learned a long time ago, while leading a much different life, who to take disparate facts and forge them into an answer.

Eric Culler had been removed form his post just as the occupation of Brazul was heating up, and no one was ever quite sure why. His tribunal had been closed season, and the records sealed, or purged after completion. The only reason Preston knew any of this was by virtue of his posting at the time…

and now he’s trying to use this woman to further some shceme of his, I’m sure he thought

---

She handed it back to him “You can tell me anything, its not what you know, its what you can prove.”

“Indeed, and I can.” he asked. He placed a small media card in a protective plastic case on the table and slide it across to her “Take this, it has everything you need.”

“And what do I owe for your evidence?”Amber asked carefully, pocketing the media card

“A promise, simply, that you’ll deliver the evidence to the Floridian Embassy in Subrosa.” Culler waved a hand, forestalling her comment “you’ll never get close enough to give it to the Secretary of Sate, and, even if you do, there’s no guarantee he’ll make it out of the country alive, the Floridian embassy rather, is sovereign, and the information will be safe there.”

After considering for a moment or two, she began “Yes, I’ll meet you—“

---

Preston pegged the next two men who came in as easily as he’d pegged the muscle Agents, and they’re not here for chow. As the two plain clothed men entered the diner, Preston stood up from his stool and made his way away from the men towards the bathroom. Entering the alcove, he turned to witness what happened next…never had the weight on his own hip felt so reassuring.

---

“Eric Culler.” One of the two men said as they approached the table. Though it was phrased as a question, only a fool would have taken it in such a way.

“No, leave me alone, I’m an old man, trying to have a late dinner with my niece and her husband.” Culler said, without missing a beat.

“No, what you are is a lair, and under arrest.” The agent replied

“I have done nothing.” Replied Culler

“Bullshit, now, stand up and-“

Bang, bang

The sound of gun shots ripped though the diner. As the echoes faded, the screams more than filled the vacuum of silence. Amber found she was among those screaming. She thought the first shots had come from behind, though a look over her shoulder only showed her the corpses of two men, one pistol lay on the plate of half eaten pancakes in front of them, the others had clattered to the floor.

The… police officers? Amber wasn’t sure, also lay on the floor, bleeding, though one of them moaned in pain, signifying he was alive. Her contact, Culler, also appeared to be alive, slumped back against the booth , a gaping hole in his chest. Though he may be alive now, it did not seem likely to Amber he would be for much longer.

And that was when she realized that Tom and also fallen out of his seat onto the dirty tile floor. Slowly, almost numbly, she looked to see him spilled out of his chair, bleeding from a gaping hole in his head. Though she had seen violence before, in pictures, and even a few times on the job, when reporting on a grizzly car accident or murder, she had never experienced it first hand. She dropped her hands into her lap, and sat, tears rolling down her face.

---

As usual, the shooting was over in the blink of an eye.

Preston watched as the officers walked right past the muscle towards their target. Amateurs, he thought. He watched as the two back up men reached for their weapons, and fired, striking both agents in the flank, where their armor would be thinnest. He brought his own pistol up as another par of shots rang out, presumably fired by one of the agents, drilled Culler directly in the chest, sending him back against the wall briefly, before he gently slumped down in the booth. The second shot, obviously meant for Culler, found its mark in the back of the woman’s friend’s head. He toppled out of his seat and to the floor.

She was sitting in the booth, motionless, she had to have seen the carnage and she was reacting to it in a predictable way. Shock Preston thought, seeing her motionlessness for what it was. One of the muscle men stood up and started towards Amber. He was moving quickly, the muzzle of his hand gun slowly rising…

The last two shots where from his own .45. The two quick double taps found their mark, dropping both muscle men before they knew what had happened. As they crumpled to the floor, Preston rushed forward…

Leave her. the voice shouted in his mind She’s no one!

Not again! he declared….

---

Amber never knew how close she had come to dying.

She was sitting amidst the carnage, thinking that Tom could not be dead, that it was impossible, and that this was all a terrible nightmare, that she’d wake up any moment and—

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, she shrieked

“Stop that” a voice commanded.

She did

“Miss, we have to go. There’s bound to be more coming and they won’t ask questions. Whatever Culler gave you, he died for, they’ll kill you for it too, come on.”

Slowly, numbly, for reasons she never could, never would, quite understand, she did as the stranger asked, and rose from the booth. She carefully stepped over Tom’s corpse and exited with him, as if they had simply finished their meal and we’re going home after a long night.

In the distance, sirens wailed, and a light drizzle began to fall from the sky, not unlike tears falling to earth.

Windsor’s 24/7 Diner
2331 hours

Jennings skidded the black unmarked sedan to a stop outside the police tape that had already been strung up outside the dinner. As he, Schmidt and two other agents exited the car, a uniformed police officer approached them.

“Hey, now, what do you think you’re--” the sight of their badges was enough to send him scurrying away with a polite nod.

They walked through the various police and emergency equipment parked outside. As they attempted to enter, all four agents made way for a stretcher coming out the door. The man on it appeared to be in bad shape. After they had passed, the men entered the diner, Schmidt spoke up “Who’s in charge here?” he asked showing his TNIS credentials again.

A slender brown haired man in a much cheaper suit and tie than James’s spoke up, “I am, sir, Detective Rossie, Auster PD, homicide.

“What do you have for me detective?” asked Schmidt.

“Not much, yet, sir. No motive, witnesses are few, most of the wait staff was in the back, or took cover when the lead started to fly. We got several DOA’s, one agent, these two toughs,“ he said, jerking his thumb at the two muscle men, “some guy, and, the one interesting one… “ he said indicating a corpse inside of a booth, slumped against the wall.

Schmidt walked towards it, careful to not step on any of the bodes. He regarded the dead mans face, and nodded. “That’s Culler. DNA evidence will conform it, but I know.” He spoke, quieter, as if talking to the corpse “That fire didn’t leave you untouched after all did it? No. But now…what have you gone and done? What trouble have you caused, Culler….why couldn’t you just die when I needed you to?”

He straightened up and spoke to Senor Agent Jennings “Get some of our men and a tech team down here. Get with OPO and have them pull the tapes around the time of the shooting, see if anyone took off. Also, get one of our men to the hospital, I want him with that wounded agent, and asking him questions as soon as that man can talk. Don’t let him alone for a moment. “

Detective Rossie spoke up “Wait staff says there was a man, a regular, here around the time of the shooting, and a woman sitting with Culler, both are missing.”

“Regular got a name?” asked Jennings

“Yeah, staff says they known him as Jackson Free.” Replied Rossie, checking his notebook.

“Run it but that sounds fake to me. I need to see them. Get on it. We’ll be taking the scene over, Detective, good work. If you could have the PD hold the perimeter, we’ll take over here.”

“But sir, I-” Rossie began to protest

“Don’t do it, Detective. If I’m right, whatever happened here, you wont want to know, do you understand me?” Schmidt replied.

“Yes, sir, I do.” Sad Rossie, quickly ducking out of the diner.

Schmidt glanced back at Culler’s corpse, and shook his head “What did you do, and why did you do it?”

[The Floridian Coast]

Driving North

The car rolled down the freeway, Amber glanced at the spedometer, the man who had compelled her to go along with him was keeping a steady speed between 7 and 11 miles per hour over the speed limit. A concept known in the Floridian Coast as the "safe zone", where you could usually speed without attracting the attention of police. It felt to her that she was going far faster than that, her heart was pounding. She still hadn't said a word to the man yet, nor did he say anything, until she took out her cellphone.

"I wouldn't do that." the man told her without any expression. Before she could ask why, he said "You're either calling your coworkers, and thus marking them to die as well, or you're calling the police, and the people involved here are way above that bar. Cops are actually inconsequential now, I doubt those guys will even use them, they'll see them as too much of a hindrance."

Amber put away the phone, but regardless she replied "Maybe I was calling the Floridian Embassy, the number happens to be available to me." "Would they believe you?" he asked. She knew the answer.

The image of Thomas dead kept flashing into her mind, and she burst into tears again. The man behind the wheel seemed quite concerned with preserving her life, but not very interested in comforting her. The only comfort she thought was to make everything make sense - because right now, to her, it all seemed for nothing. She tried to question her savior with the voice of a journalist, though she knew the fear was evident in her voice.

"Who are you then? Some kind of agent?"

The man seemed to smirk and said "Not anymore, sweetheart. I'm not your story, that media card is your story." She sighed, and then asked "Do I at least get to know your name?"

"Jackson. Just Jackson, for now." he said to her. "I'm Amber." she said, and then on the subject of names, she tried to continue finding out more. "Culler, who is he?" "Who was he." Jackson corrected, and then said "Used to be important, royally fucked up something, and fell out of favor. His pretty face isn't an accident."

The shooting flashed back into her mind, and Amber lost control of her emotions again, now that they were out of the diner, reality was setting in and she was crying on and off between bouts of curiosity and intrigue. Jackson glanced over at her but said nothing. Preemptively defensive, Amber said "I'm not used to this you know. I didn't go the military academy, I didn't know anyone in Lightning Force, I never watched a friend die like that."

As they passed under a sign that read Subrosa 2163 miles, Jackson told her "Get used to it before it's too late." and reached under the seat and tossed her a pistol. She was shocked once again, "I don't even..." her voice trailed off as she took in a very harsh reality that people with means and motive wanted her dead - immediately.

[Transnapastain]

Fredrick’s Building
Office of Public Order Headquarters – Auster Branch
0026 hours

Schmidt had relocated from the crime scene to the OPO’s field office as soon as the TNIS evidence team arrived. He had left Jennings there to oversee the evidence collections and to ensure that security was maintained. He sat in a small conference room inside the Fredrick building, one of the several nearly-totally government owned structures in the city, and tried not to fall asleep. He drank what had to be some of the most vile coffee he had ever tasted. Had he not made it himself, with bottled water purchased from a vending machine, he was sure it would be even more vile.

While he waited, he used the terminal in the conference room to browse the vast justice database. Finding Culler, a disgraced Protectorate officer, in cohorts with two other former Protectorate men was fishy enough to pique Schmidt’s already considerable curiosity. After some digging, he found that a high number of former Protectorate members, of all ranks, were on the various OPO watch lists, mostly for anti-Transnapastaini leanings, or actions. Many of them had been arrested in connection with a variety of crimes, often times computer-related crimes, petty hacking, and the like, though none had been charged with terrorism, or even conspiracy to commit terrorism.

What he found interesting as the cross-contamination between these criminals. Several were arrested together, or seen together in public. Often, it was noted that several subjects were in close contact with one another, via electronic messages or phone calls, though nothing allowing for concrete charges had sparing from those communications.

But, the most interesting part was that…they had all been in contact with Culler in some form or another, directly or indirectly. A message from Culler might go to one person, and be passed from another, to another, but, they all originated from Culler.

He was up to something, no doubt something aimed at destabilizing Transnapastain. Schmidt though, as he took a drink from the paper cup holding the vile brown liquid. But they hadn’t done anything, or really planned much of anything. Further, Culler must have been hiding out, OPO ran his new face through the computer, and it only came up a handful of other times in the database in the last few years….but…now…he sticks his head out..why?

One thing Schmidt had noticed was one particular time he had stuck his neck out. It happened to be earlier today, at the Auster Airport. He and another man, identified as Gregory Stein, had been observed in a café around the same time the delegation from Floridian Coast had arrived. I was so close to him... Schmidt thought as he watched the video. As it advanced, it showed several Transnapastaini Transit Authority officers escorting a female and four males to security. Schmidt watched as they passed out of the cameras view, but Culler's eyes continue to follow the group.

“Now who were those people?” Schmidt thought as he accessed a different camera to get a better look at the group. As he watched, he ran checks to see if they’re identifies were in the computer. Sure enough all four subjects had been photographed in Transnapastain….but they did not appear in the citizen’s database. Rather, the information came back from the Office of Foreign Affairs and identified them as…

“Foreign journalists…I’ll be damned.” He said aloud

“Sir?” a female voice asked

He had been so wrapped up in his work, he hadn’t even heard the agent enter the room to give him an update, he whirled around on her, casing her to take a frightened step back.

“I’m sorry, do you have something for me?” he asked

“Yes sir, but…you seem to have found it yourself.” She replied

Puzzlement was a rare feeling for Schmidt, and he hated admitting it even more. “Explain?” he demanded.

By way of explanation, she pointed to the monitor behind him. “Her, that’s the girl the wait staff from Windsor’s mentioned, we have video of her leaving the diner in the company of another man.”

“Her?” He asked, pointing, “that woman was at the dinner?” asked Schmidt

“Yes, from what witnesses have said, she was the female seen speaking with Culler.” The agent replied

“Oh…that’s…not good.” He said “That woman is a reporter from the Floridian Coast, in town to cover the Anti-Terror summit tomorrow….today.“ he said, checking himself, he continued on “Who was the other man?”

“That’s the funny thing…” she replied, though Schmidt doubted her explanation was bound to be humorous, “The wait staff knows him, they said his name is Jackson Free, but that name doesn't come back to anything in LEADS, or anywhere in the justice database. It comes back in the DMV but….its a false identity, it doesn’t lead anywhere, no history, no credit, no anything, just a home address and a plate number. It came into existence about three and a half years ago, and it doesn’t go back any further.” She replied.

Schmidt held out his hand for the tablet she was holding. She handed it to him, and he studied the enhanced picture of the duet leaving the diner. As he did so, he felt a shudder run through him. “Today appears to be a day for ghosts.” He muttered

Again, the agent asked him in a confused voice what he was talking about

“Run his face through Graves Registry, or the TFIS database, if you can. “ said Schmidt, handing the tablet back to her, ‘though, I can tell you who he is, his name is Samuel Preston, he was a TFIS agent, and was supposed killed in action in Brazul…It seems we were mistaken.”

The agent seemed to have nothing to say to that.

“Put out an APB on his car, though I’m sure he’ll do something to spoof that soon. Officers should approached with caution, subject is armed, and has taken a hostage.” said Schmidt

“Sir, there is no evidence that he kidnapped this female in fact-“ the agent began to protest

Schmidt cut her off “Do as your told, Agent, it goes out as a kidnapping, no questions asked, do you understand.” He continued “I also need you to get everything you have on finding this man.“ he said, calling up an image of Gregory Stein, “He’s wanted for questioning in connection with Culler death, and possibly the abduction of the reporter. He has to be taken alive, do you understand?”

She nodded

“Good, now, when you have him, put him on ice and call me right away, I’ll send a TNIS integrator in to handle him, don’t talk to him, don’t tell him anything, simply black bag him and get him down here. You need to have this done an hour ago.”

“Sir.” She said, in acknowledgment and turned to leave the room.

When she was gone, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Jennings? Its Schmidt. Need you to get some men to-“ he read off the address listed in the computer for Samuel Preston’s home, “Search it very thoroughly, and then burn it down. “

When Jennings tired to question him “The home belongs to one Jackson Free, or, as we know him, Samuel Preston.”

“Preston, no way, he died in Brazul….sir “ said Jennings, belatedly tacking on the honorific title

“So we thought, but now…with the increase in criminal activity by former Protectorate members and now Preston showing up in the same dumpy diner as Culler…” he shuddered “and now he’s got that reporter from Floridian Coast, and there going somewhere, shes obviously with him of her own free will…we put it out as a kidnapping but that’s just so we don’t have to tell the FC diplomats here what’s what. They’ll ask inconvenient questions.”

“But, sir, Preston was one of ours, one of our best, do you really think…?” asked Jennings

“His last mission was a Protectorate op, and, it went south….or maybe we were supposed to think it went south.” Said Schmidt “Either way, we have to find him, and fast. “

He disconnected with Jennings, and walked into the hallway. Though it was late at night, the female agent he had tasked to do his bidding had taken him seriously when he had said Everything you have, it may well have been noon on a business day, as opposed to near 0100 hours in the morning. Good, that’s good for her and her career he thought as he walked down the hallway. At the end of the hallway, he passed an open office door, a young man in a well-fitting, if not overly expensive suit typing away at a computer. Schmidt rapped on the door jam with his knuckles.

“Yes, what do…you…want…” the man said, starting out snappy and ended in dumbfounded almost awe. He clearly recognized Schmidt, or his credentials at least. At any rate, Schmidt pointed at his desk,. “I need to use your phone…in fact, why don’t you go get a cup of coffee?”

“A once sir, any for you?” he asked, jumping from his chair.

“No, thank you, I’ll just be a moment.” He replied

After the man had left the office, he picked up the phone and dialed “Yes, connect me to the embassy of the Floridian Coast.” A pause. “Yes, My name is Directorate James Schmidt, Transnapastaini Intelligence, and I need you to relay a message to Jack Trenton…yes, he’ll want to know this right away. “.

Litton, Transnapastain
Aproxomently 100 miles north of Auster
0142 hours

Litton was a dumpy little down just off Interstate 68, which ran along the coast of the Bay of Auster, and was maybe 300 more miles from Marquet, the next major city. Litton wasn’t what you’d call a one-stop light town; not many of those left in the Republic these days, but was small enough that it didn’t receive any major attention, which is exactly what Sam wanted. Litton was small enough that only banks and major buildings would have networked surveillance cameras. Anything else would be local, and that would mean if the officers perusing them wanted to check the tapes, they’d have to do it on site, and not from their officers or cruisers.

After they had checked into a equally dumpty little motel, paying in cash, that was located on the opposite side of the town from the interstate. Sam parked his car in the back of the extremely dim lot. “Go on into the room, if you please.” He said, handing amber the keys, “Take the gun with you.”

Answer placed the unfamiliar object in her handbag, “It wont go off in there, will it?’ she asked

“Shouldn’t unless you’ve been fiddling with it, I gave it to you with the safety on “ he answered as he stepped out of the car.

She exited the car and said “Well, I haven’t been.” She sounded somewhat cranky, though that would be understandable after the events that had occurred

Not perturbed in the least, Sam replied with a shrug “Then it wont.” He closed the door and pointed towards the room. “I’ll be along.” He reassured her

Glumly, Amber headed for the room.

Sam, meanwhile, had chosen the darkest part of the poorly lit parking lot for a reason. The lot was sparsely populated, with only a few cars in it. He had deliberately parked next to one of those vehicles, and, as luck would have it, not only was the vehicle parked into the spot, putting its rear against the property line fence, but it was a model close marching his own vehicle. Thank God they never got around to requiring both front and rear plates. he thought as he deftly removed the plate from the vehicle, and swapped it with the one on his. With luck, that would fool records check by police officer if they ran his plate while on the road…so long as he wasn’t paying too much attention.

Deed done, he moved the vehicle to a different spot closer to his room, and then went inside. He noted that Amber had already decided to make use of the shower. The temperature in the room was already balmy from the warm, most coastal air, but the added moisture flowing from the crack under the door wasn’t helping cool things off. With a shrug, Sam turned on the air conditioner, and flopped down on the bed, which was when he noticed there was only one bed in the room. With a shrug, he got up and left the room. As he walked towards the service desk, he thought about her desire to immediately use the shower. Was it because she felt she actually needed cleaned, which would not be surprising, or was it something deeper. He recalled the first time he’d seen death first hand, and any time he’d carried out a particularly nasty assignment, though he did not like recalling those times, he remember feeling dirty afterward.

He wondered if she did too…

He obtained another pillow and some blankets from the desk, and carried them back to the room. When he came in, Amber had concluded her shower, but had not yet dressed, though, having covered herself in a large towel, she was unlikely to excite Sam with a showing of skin; not tha Sam was particular interested at the moment

“Something wrong?” he asked

“There’s blood on my clothing, I…I don’t want to put them back on…I don’t want to see them again.” She said, and he thought she was fixing to start crying again.

“Well, I have a large t-shirt in the car, that would cover you…but I don’t think I have any bottoms for you.” He considered “You’re right, though, you can’t wear anything with blood on it. I suppose I’ll have to run down to the store and get you something, what your size?”

She answered him and then asked “and I note there’s only one bed,, I’m thankful, but not that thankful” she said

He laughed and gestured towards the extra bedding he had obtained. “I’ve slept on harder surfaces, in colder place, a floor will be fine for me, take the bed. I’ll be back.” He started to leave, then paused. “I’ll knock like this” he said, demonstrating on the desk in the room, two quick, one hard, two more quick ”before I come in. If someone comes in here and doesn’t do that, I’d advise killing them.”

And with no other words than that, he left, closing the door softly behind him .

[The Floridian Coast]

"Well, Mr. Schmidt, I'm sure your nation's law enforcement agencies are more than capable. The man was in Jack's hotel room by invitation, despite needing to go to the summit in just a few hours' time, Jack did not want to leave unless he had to. Corban sat sternly on the couch, not saying a word to anyone, his pistol strapped to his side, but the Lightning Force veteran gave off a passive presence.

"Thank you for coming, I know it is either very late or very early. Considering our schedules, I would bet on the latter for each of us. Please, try this." He handed Schmidt a cup of coffee, it was Southern Floridian Premium, a domestic blend among the most expensive in the world.

"That is very good, much better than the piss water I had earlier." Schmidt told him, as he took a sip. "Mr. Trenton, we assure you our priority is the safe return of this young woman, and that this case is first priority right now."

Jack took his next sip of coffee with a small pill in hand. "This is a some kind of smoke quit drug, supposed to fry my brain's reward system's taste for nicotine. I'm due to take much more pertinent pills in an hour anyway, it is no problem I was awakened."

Looking at his Lightning Force agent, Jack said "Captain Cortez, this Ms. Myers, from our records, had a crew with her. Two men seventeen floors below. Please summon them to me immediately, perhaps they might know something." Many of the abroad Floridians relevant to the summit stayed at the same hotel. VIP's like Jack were hosted in the suites above the 30th floor, where higher security detail was provided. Lesser travelers such as journalists and some assistants and employees to VIP's were staying on the floors below.

Putting down his cup, Jack said "If she were someone like me, she'd have an embedded tracker. Unfortunately we can't just provide those for everyone. I do think, however, there is something we can do. There is a GPS application developed in my homeland very popular for travelers. Say a large family rents two different vans for the highway somewhere, and they don't want..." he coughed hard, and noticed blood on his hands. He calmly walked to the bathroom and turned on the sink with the door open, and continued speaking as he washed his hands "Say they don't want to worry what happens if one loses the other, or if they have kids going off somewhere. There are joint networks, I would bet these journalists have one, if her phone is on, we can find her with one of theirs. Not sophisticated, but a good start."

Schmidt glanced at one of his underlings standing nearby him. "Seems like a good idea. Are you well enough to attend the summit tomorrow, Mr. Trenton?" he asked. "Oh yes, I certainly shall be. I think I may stick more to the teleprompter than usual though, you understand."

"Of course." Schmidt said, and after another moment, Corban returned with two men next to him. They were not surprised, they had the TV on and were already concerned to hear about a shooting at the diner. Kevin was a bit tipsy, and despite his genuine concern, was not in the mood for talking at the moment. Liam was more enthusiastic "Mr. Secretary, it is an honor to meet you." Jack rolled his eyes and said "You know why I called you here?"

"Because Amber and Tom are missing?" Liam nervously asked.
"Amber is missing, Tom is dead." Jack said coldly.

Kevin chimed in with an "Oh fuck! Fucking Tom, really? Fuck!"
"Thank you for that brilliant assessment." Jack sarcastically shot back, and turned to Liam. "Did they tell you why they were going out there?"

Liam struggled to remember for a moment, and said "Uhhhhh... yeah. She said she was meeting a guy who she thought was some Floridian national abroad here. He wanted to talk to her about... uhh, not the summit, something else."

"2/24." Kevin said, having a spark of good memory amongst a night of drinking, and continued for Liam.
"Yeah, the assassination. Amber thought it was just another dumbass pathological liar. You know what we in the media say, every Floridian got a story about that day. Mos' of 'em are horseshit, to be quite frank.... Mr. Secretary." he said, adding a small tone of respect to the end of that statement.

Schmidt suddenly looked nervous for a fleeting second, Jack did not notice it, but Corban did.

"Anyway." said Liam, "she was pretty sure she was going to come away with nothing good, but she had nothing else to do. She took Tom with him in case it was a bullshit excuse for some crazy stalker, since she's kinda famous, being on national TV and all. But I don't think that has anything to do with her being kidnapped, right?"

Feeling the sudden urge to share what was on his inebriated mind, Kevin said "My bet is some shady drug lord wanted her to expose some cops in their ring who broke their end'a the bargain, and she refused, and thus..." Jack, now irritated, raised his voice for the first time "There are people in our country and this one who are far better suited to solving crimes than you. You can go now. Please hand over your cellphone." Turning to Liam, he said "You too, but I require your phone." Liam and Kevin reluctantly handed them over, and Jack said "Both of you will stay in your hotel room until told otherwise by Captain Cortez. Order meals in. Do not come up here again unless summoned. That is all, out."

The two men left the room, mumbling ideas to each other. Corban shut the door as Jack told Schmidt "I don't want to make any assumptions, but if the captor is a Floridian citizen as Amber apparently thought, we would then request extradition. Nonetheless, saving this girl's life is priority. Have your men see if you can bring up the group GPS on one of these two phones."

Schmidt nodded and said "A very good idea, if I may say so, did you work for your Homeland Defense in your past?"
Jack smiled and said "I am just a politician through and through, always have been. Still though, a human being." he laughed lightly and cringed at a burning in his throat, and then sat down. "While you're here, Mr. Schmidt, as I'm sure you have ample men to take care of this for you, would you like to discuss anything about the summit?"

"Actually, I have other matters I must attend to, and I'm afraid I must leave. Good day to you, we'll keep you updated." Schmidt said, and with that, he left with his men through the door.

Corban wasted no time saying to Jack only seconds after the door shut behind them "I do not trust that man."
"Why not?" Jack asked, curiously.
"Why would he not present to us surveillance footage when he obviously had the time and resources to? That, and I just know from experience as a Lightning Force agent, he looked nervous."

Jack sipped his coffee again and said "I am sure he is just concerned with avoiding any hint of scandal. It falls on him to keep relations between our nations thriving, and he is afraid a kidnapping and murder of our citizens may harm that, perhaps worried his bosses will chew him out for not responding better to this, that is all."

"Perhaps." Corban said with obvious doubt in his voice, and asked "Shall I call Homeland Defense?" Jack looked stunned, and asked "Is this a national security issue?"

"Not yet, sir." Corban replied ominously.


Litton

Amber heard the knock exactly as she was supposed to, and answered the door. She left the gun inside of the drawer. Jackson came inside and gave her a look of disapproval at her unwillingness to keep the weapon on her, and she did not miss that point.

"I'm not going to sleep well." She said to Jackson.
"You'll do well to try." he said, and handed her a bag. She looked inside and found jeans and a mid-cut top, and briefly gazed at them and nodded. "Satisfactory?" Jackson asked, and she said "Yeah, surprised you didn't try to put me in something skimpier. You're not gay, are you?"

Jackson smiled and said "A joke. Seems like you're starting to feel better." Amber sighed and said "It's a coping mechanism, or so I'm told." As Jackson poured himself a glass of water, she said to him "You were there and ready for that to happen. Are you running from someone too? Are you hoping that if you save my life that my government will grant you asylum?"

"Not that I don't like Floridian imported rums, but I can't fucking stand humidity like in your country." he said, deflecting the question. "You've been there?" she asked. "No. But I am serious, I was never a fan of Auster's climate either, I'll be glad to take a breath of the air in Subrosa, when we get there."

She sat down on her bed and told Jackson "It's alright you know, if you want something for doing this. People aren't selfless, I'm young but I'm not naive. Whatever you want is fine, I just like - I like knowing things, it's my job."

"Look where knowing things has gotten you so far." Jackson replied, and then said "I'm setting an early alarm. We'll pass on the continental breakfast, we have a timetable to keep."

"What timetable?" Amber asked. Jackson said bluntly "As fucking fast as humanly possible."

[Transnapastain]

Hotel Delphoria
0732 hours

Although he had not intended to visit Jack Trenton so late at night, or early in the morning, more accurately, he had received a page from his office that the Floridian had requested his presence. Though it cost him more sleep, he was glad to have abided. Now he had a tool that he doubted Preston was aware of. He had turned the phone over the technicians at the OPO building. Unfortunately, the architecture of the Floridian GPS system differed from the Directorate Standard software, and would take some time, “only a small amount of time, surely” the technetium had promised, to integrate.

More importantly, it confirmed his worst suspicions.

Almost unarguably, Culler had been the sender of the mysterious message Amber Myers was responding to. If it did indeed have to do with Senator Bryce’s assassination, and Eric Culler was involved, then there was only one possible motive. Eric Culler intended to provide officials from the Floridian Coast with some sort of evidence regarding the assassination.

And he must no be allowed to succeed.

Schmidt understood why he had not moved before. Culler was careful, even if he wasn’t clever. Schmidt had no idea how long it had taken for him to collect the data needed to prove Transnapastain’s involvement, further he wouldn’t simply mail the chip to the embassy, too much risk of it being intercepted, or the government refuting it. He wouldn’t dare bring it to them in person, they’d arrest him more likely than not once his involvement in the assassination was made clear.

No, using Ms. Myers made the most sense. She would be curious enough to bite, and carry the information back to her people. Even if they tried to suppress it, she was a journalist, and would find a way to make the information public, given the chance. There was clearly only one place they’d go to turn in that information…and if it reached there, it was as good as gone.

The last call he made before turning in was to his Deputy Director in Subrosa, Rebecca Feral. “Rebecca, “ he said simply, “I need you to have some eyes on the Floridian Embassy for the next few days. Be prepared to intercept a package if you receive the word.”

Though it was clear she was curious as to why, Rebecca was trained well enough to simply confirm her order, and ensure Schmidt it would be carried out. As she was a capable assistant, he had no doubt.

The real question, to Schmidt, was Preston’s involvement. Was Preston in league with Culler, Schmidt didn’t think so anymore. Ballistics from the shooting had come back earlier in the night, and had revealed that the two musclemen had been carrying 9x19mm AMP-3’s, which had been the sidearm of Protectorate Sword and Shield officers during their tenure. Amber’s partner, Tom, had been killed by shots from a .40 Directorate round, obviously belonging to the M-17 CSP carried by Agent Jared Fugate, who was now cooling on a metal slab in the morgue. Culler had been carrying an 10mm pistol of Kaukolastaini manufacture, though he’d never fired a shot…

But the two musclemen…had been killed by .45 Guardian rounds. .45 Guardian, developed by Guardian Arms, was a common civilian round, and so the fact that the only government agency to use .45 Guardian was Transnapastaini Intelligence didn’t really signify anything but….Schmidt had a hunch those shots were fired by Preston.

Regardless, the man hunt was on. They had done everything possible to keep the story about the kidnapping from the local media, to refrain from tipping their hand. No mention of the reported abduction, no mention of any one leaving the dinner not in a body bag, side from the OPO agent, who was recovering from his gunshot wounds. He had been interviewed by TNIS, and what corroborated the wait staffs story, but had added nothing to it.

Jennings had called him shortly after he left. Jennings reported that the house was clean, they had recovered no electronic data linking Samuel Preston AKA Jackson Free to Eric Culler. The only thing of worth they did find was several photographs hidden in the apartment of Preston with other legends in the special op community on various mission throughout the world. Obviously keepsakes that Preston had keep around, though why, Schmidt had no idea. Regardless, the only thing the excursion to the home had proven was that Jackson Free was, without a doubt, Samuel Preston, TFIS Agent, presumed KIA in San Abila, Brazul, three and a half years previously.

Until the GPS yielded results, Gregory Stein was apprehended, or Samuel Preston was located, Schmidt had nothing to do…side from the entire reason he was in the city in the first place. He had managed a few hours sleep before having to begin getting ready for the first day of the summit. As he straightened his tie in front of the bathroom mirror, he wondered if he could pass his duties off to one of the deputy directors in town for the summit.

No, not unless something comes up. It would be too obvious that there was something more going on here. he thought, and sighed as he shrugged on his suit jacket and set out towards the waiting limousine.

Auster Convention Center
0803 hours

Unlike the lower level attendees, or citizens who had been granted permission to obverse the summit, he passed through security much quicker than the average person. Aside from him, the only people who would have an easy time of it were the delegates and their bodyguards.

As such, Schmidt was in a possession to watch most of the attendees file into the room. He spoke quietly to Ghast when the man took his seat next to him. “Good morning, Sub-Director.”

“I’d say good morning to you too, James, but it doesn’t look as if this morning has been kind to you.” replied Ghast quietly.

“I didn’t sleep well.” Replied Schmidt

“Ah…gunfire keep you up? I didn’t think the Delphoria was that close to Windsor’s Diner.” Ghast remarked.

“Its not, as you well know, and no, it did not, I was apprised of the situation.” replied Schmidt

“My government tells me there’s more to the story.” Ghast asked, obviously trying to get information from Schmidt

“You’re government is convinced of it, even when its not true.” Schmidt said

“Ah, but isn’t that almost always the case. Or did you forget that security alerts are broadcast to all Directorate law enforcement agencies. A kidnapping of a foreign official. Even if she is simply a lowly reporter. That’s rather embarrassing, James.”

“If you say so.” Schmidt replied in the most noncommittal tone of voice he could muster.

“You know, of course, you need but ask the Agency for our assistance.” Gahst offered

“Thank you, but we’ll manage.”

“I hope so.” Replied Ghast

Before any further banter could occur, other delegates began to file into the room. Edwin Gregory from Nailiak, and William Bob Kingmen from the Confederacy took their seats with the other Directorate members, and polite small talk ensued until the delegate from Licana arrived. As the new kid, Licana was welcome within the Directorate, but not always treated with the same “old boy” status the original member states enjoyed. Regardless, more polite talk, almost superficial in nature, continued until the Jack Trenton and his entourage arrived. After pleasantries and proper greeting were exchanged

“Now that everyone is here.“ Schmidt said, which was in no way a remark on the timelessness of any other the other members, “I believe we can get down to business.”

[The Floridian Coast]

Auster Convention Center

As Jack looked over his opening statement for the conference, and took his seat next to various VIP's from other nations, some of them his opposite numbers as secretaries or foreign ministers, and some of them from a military background, Corban took his place around back with security officials. As a sign of good will and mutual trust, security from all nations were briefed together, the situation was assessed at safe, and Corban looked with approval on the perimeter and checkpoints.

At his side was a younger Lightning Force agent, an initiate named Ethan Trilsche, who was chatting with a Transnapastaini agent about trivial matters. Corban looked at him and said "Come, into position." The young man paused and said "And where are our positions, Captain?" Corban sighed and said "I will be near the stage, you will be near the north central door. I should not have to remind you."

Corban continued walking, and Ethan followed him, trying to keep up with his fast pace. He was certainly in shape to, but surprised with the captain's serious demeanor at an event marked as "green" on the threat scale. Corban lectured him on his apparent lack of appropriate demeanor "Given you graduated from the academy only two months ago, and being 18 and getting the choice of who to shadow for field experience, I'm surprised you chose me. Did none of your sergeants at the Academy warn you that I'm a hardass?"

Ethan cracked a smile and said "I chose you, Captain Cortez, because you're a national hero." Corban laughed, and said "You know, the media often forgets to mention I was wearing reinforced kevlar when the bastard shot me, a very superficial wound for my medal, my partner earned his though."

"Your partner, sir?"

"Lieutenant Dimitri Valenin. The assassin would have escaped if not for his quick thinking, he had a plan too bold to be sane, and it worked."

"Intentionally ramming the jetski in the boat." Ethan said with pride in knowing the deeper details about the incident not available to civilians.

"You've done your reading, initiate. But be assured, this job is harder than anything you've gone through in your training, even anti-breaking conditioning." Corban said, referring to the process in which a Lightning Force recruit must endure very real torture and refuse to give up an answer at all costs. "You're lucky to be with the Secretary and I, your first real mission will be your easiest, but you must stay alert, there is no such thing as safety, only attempts at safety and the various strengths of those attempts."

"I want to prove myself, Captain." Ethan said ambitiously.
"You'll have decades of your life to prove yourself. Right now, you do your obstensibly boring job as you're ordered." Corban said, and with that, he left to part ways as they each took up their own security points at the sector.

"Yes sir." Ethan muttered, and walked away. He thought about that kidnapped journalist he heard about, he wished he could go after her, and get his first kill on his belt. But for now, he was stuck at this summit, keeping tabs on the attendees as Jack was the star of their show.


Homeland Defense Building, New Clearwater

A spartan cell in a wing of the building, high up, marked as "Administrative Custody", held a man known as Hamid Assad. who had spent the last 4 years there. He had been sentenced to death a year prior, and was reading pages of a Qu'ran he was well versed in, when his door slammed open.

"Defense Chancellor Anders, here to break the capsule personally for my gas chamber?" he inquired with sarcasm. He was a hard man to break, and he was still defiant even in the face of imminent execution.

"I am just here to tell you that we picked up two of your associates outside of the Pueblo with materials for a bomb in hand, along with finding a train schedule in one of their homes."

The former Imam shut his Qu'ran and stood up and asked "Are you here to offer me an extension in exchange for information?" Anders laughed and said "On a cold day in hell. I'm just here to remind you one more time before you die, that it was all for nothing."

Hamid reacted with open anger, and said "And you have me executed for another 'attempt', not for actual blood on my hands.", now sounding very bitter. Anders looked at him curiously and said "Only because Lightning Force is faster than you could ever imagine. Your fate would have been the same either way. I'll be glad to be rid of you. Right now, Secretary Trenton is in Transnapastain, collaborating to snuff out whatever threat your kind still poses, but I assure you, the worldwide jihad's time is all but up." Anders nodded to the officer next to him to close the cell door once more.

Right before he did, however, Hamid sat down on his bed again and said "He lied to me, you know." Anders decided to indulge him and asked "Who lied to you?"

"The High Premier, or your Vice Chancellor at the time. Told me he'd let me go, if I gave him information to find his sister's murderer. I did, but I went from the frying pan to the fire. No honor."

Anders smirked at the notion and said "I'd have been happy if he just strangled you to death in your apartment like he wanted to, would have saved me worlds of time, you bastard. You probably aided Guiding Light for all I know."

"I told you before, we do not ally ourselves with Christians, you infidel. Oh sure, they asked, many times. Did your brillaint agency not even take into account that they were broke and had nothing beyond those ghettos? They begged us for funding for help, 'a union against the atheist swine', but even I have standards above them."

"Somehow I doubt that." Anders snapped back impatiently.

"And those foreigners you killed, hired guns? Please, half of Guiding Light lived off of welfare, how could they find professionals like that, do you know their prices? I do. And I hear you closed the case, how pathetic, you solved shit."

Anders had enough of the empty threats and taunts from the condemned terrorist, and said "Enjoy your last hour of life.", and slammed the door shut.

[Transnapastain]

On the round, northbound on I-68
0925 hours

“You doing alright?” Sam asked quietly

“I’m hungry.” Amber replied quietly. She was, in truth, starving. She had not eaten since the night before, when her and her crew….poor Tom... she thought absently…had had dinner in the hotel. She’d never managed to get any food at the diner and, as promised, Sam had made her skip the “continental” breakfast at the hotel.

“Alright. We’ll need gas soon, we’ll hit up an O’Conner’s.” said Sam amicably

“What the hell is an O’Conner’s?” she asked

“Fast food….burgers and the like. You all don’t have O’Conner’s in the FC?” he asked, seemingly awestruck

“No, we don’t.” she replied, though she realized it could compare to any number of fast food chains in her homeland. Some things are the same the world over. she thought.

“That’s sad….I can’t even begin to imagine growing up without ever having your parents take you to O’Conner’s for a kids mean; they come in a little box, with a cheeseburger, fries, and a drink, usually a toy too, call me Delightful Meals.” He replied, his voice taking on a slight, almost undetectable wistfulness

“What surprises me is the sentiment in your voice, I…no offense, but I didn’t think you had it in you.” Amber said. She really was surprised, and truly didn’t mean to offend.

She decided he must have known that, or didn’t care, because she shrugged, laughed and replied “I’m full of surprises.“ After that cryptic statement, there was silence.

They stopped for gas about an hour later. The place wasn’t really a town in its own right, she didn’t see any residential buildings, just row after row of commercial establishments. Gas stations, restraints, bars, shops, all lining the secondary streets surrounding what seemed to be a major highway interchange. They pulled into a gas station, and Sam got out, pausing halfway out of the car and said “O’Conner’s is over there.” He said, pointing to a blue and yellow building with two large colored domes on the roof. “If you can wait, we’ll go together, if not…only use cash.” With that, he headed inside to purchase gasoline.

Amber choose to wait. The had the little pistol, Sam (who she still thought of as Jack, as he’d told her no different) had told it her was a .25 caliber, in her pocket. The weight was always there, always reminding her. Even though she had it, she doubted she would use it on someone, or use it properly, and so she didn’t want to be caught alone.

After Sam returned to the car, and filled the tank, he walked to her side of the vehicle and opened the door. “Ready?” he asked

“Yes.” She said, and strode to the restaurant with him.

As they entered, she realized it was true some things stayed the same no matter where yo were in the world. The sights and smells were close to any she had seen in any fast food restaurant across the Floridian Coast. She ordered something called an Egg’o’Muffin, egg with cheese and bacon (she could have had sausage) on a muffin style bun. Sam, however, opted for lunch as opposed to breakfast, “Too late to e eating breakfast, and I never cared for it anyways.” His meal, aptly named the Conner Supreme, was a huge cheeseburger with just about anything you could imagine on it. He ordered both their meals too go, and they, drinks and food in hand, returned to the vehicle.

On the road again, Sam consumed his burger as fast, faster really, than Amber believed was humanly possible. He wasn’t a pig, he simply wasted no effort, aside from that which he needed to drive. When she commented on this, he laughed again

“I learned a long time ago that meals can be far and few between, and that you never know when they may be rudely interrupted by someone with more menace on his mind than selling you a vacuum cleaner.”

Amber’s curiosity got the better of her, “And you learned this era of wisdom doing what?”she asked

He smiled again, though when he caught his eye as he glanced over at her, she could see they were haunted, and his calm answered belayed the troubles they must have seen, for he simply replied “Misbehaving in far away places. “

[The Floridian Coast]

The roar of car engines on the busy but not jammed highway was often the only sound in Amber's ears whenever her talks with Jackson ran short. She had been keeping an eye out for a new sign with mile numbers on it, but so far had not caught sight of one. She figured Jackson knew the roads, and despite the awkwardness that was evident in their conversations, she still believed talking was a good thing, and her desire to find out new information had not been inhibited yet.

"Will we reach Subrosa tonight?" she asked. Jackson kept his eyes on the road and told her "If we went straight through, maybe 'tonight' as in the break of next dawn. We'll need to stop one more time, we'll have made fine time to get there tomorrow late afternoon."

Amber felt defensive again, still not quite knowing what to make of this man, and told him "You know, I'm perfectly capable of driving too." Jackson laughed and asked "Did I accuse you of lacking that ability?" Changing the subject, Amber asked "So do you have money? Maybe we should stop and buy a cheap laptop so I can find out what's on that card."

Jackson sighed at the notion and said, "No, I'm not rich, but you are impatient. And while we're on the subject, did you-" She interrupted him and asked a serious question, with a dramatic change in tone "Was Culler your friend?"

"No, he wasn't."
"I - I just wondered, because I just can't stop thinking about Tom. But you haven't said a word about Culler, and I just don't understand, you were there, but you, you didn't..." she couldn't think of exactly what she wanted to ask.

"It's not the first time I've watched someone die." Jackson said, something Amber already suspected.
"So you were a soldier then?" she asked.
"Something like that."

[Transnapastain]

Auster Convention Center
1131 hours

The applause slowing died down after Sub-Director Ghast concluded his remarks. The first day of the summit, the one open to the public, was really just for show, allowing the principal attendees to make nice with one another and demonstrate their solidarity on the issue of global terrorism, and their resolve to combat it on every front.

As such, nothing of importance world get done today.

Schmidt wasn’t even going to make a speech. It never was his way to try and be in the limelight, he left the public appearances to the folks in TNIS’s Media Quality Assurance department., and he had not been disappointed with the young Lieutenant Colonel from Air Fleet Strategic Reconnaissance Command who had presented earlier in the day, and the statement from the Deputy Director of Public Affairs from the Office of Public Order equally toed the party line.

He knew that Jack Trenton would have some words to say at some point, but wasn’t too terribly upset when an aide quietly entered the conference hall and strode up to him. Bending down, he whispered “Director, we have some information, you may want to come with me.”

“Of course.” Schmidt rose quietly from his chair and followed the young man from the conference hall. They traveled through the convention center to another, much smaller conference room. There, the aide picked up a phone, the conferences halls electronic security systems were nearly as good as the ones employed by the government; if they were, corporations wouldn’t be interested in using the faculties here, and handed the handset to Schmidt. Sketching a bow, he excused himself from the room.

Schmidt putt he receiver up to his ear and, after several rings, a voice answered “Operations.”

“This is Director Schmidt, I’m calling…”

The voice cut him off, politely asking “Please hold, sir, I’ll transfer your call.”

After several moments, another voice, this one belonging to a female he recognized as the agent from last night, or earlier this morning, depending on ones viewpoint, answered “Agent Mendez.”

“Agent, its Director Schmidt.” He said “I’m told you have some information for me.”

“Yes sir, the GPS software was synched into the system and…” she began

“Ad what, Agent?” Schmidt replied hastily

“Well, sir, we have them, a fix on their location, at any rate.” She finish

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.” He declared, and hung up, he hurried to find his driver.

Fredrick’s Building
Office of Public Order headquarters - Auster Branch
1147 hours

Schmidt rushed into the Operations Center and scanned the room for Agent Mendez. She was standing with several other agents near a tactical display panel, similar to the military's Combat Operations Asset Tracking Board, or COATS Board, showing an enlarged version of a map of Transnapastain. Blue glowing dots identified the position of OPO assets in the area, a blinking red dot traveling down Interstate 68 surely identified their quarry.

“Sir.” She greeting him briskly, “shall I bring you up to speed?”

“Please.” he said, and strode over to the tac board.

“At 1124 hours, we successfully brought the Floridian GPS systems into line with our own, and immediately began receiving data from a smart phone belonging to Amber Myers. The phone has been constantly updating its position since then, but its reporting its nearly out of battery life” she stated. “The positions seems to be accurate to within 150 meters, the rest of the guesswork is being done by computer, putting the marker in a logical spot. Right now, we have them headed northbound on I-68, just past Marquet.”

“We’ll need to hurry, then, what do we have in the area?” he asked

“Not much, that stretch of road is rather dead. We have refrained form informing the Mercer County Sherriff’s office, or the Marquette PD.” When Schmidt nodded his assent to that course of action, she continued. “I have a helicopter fueling at the airport. Our thought was to put a UH-90 in the air, and shadow the vehicle until we could get a road block set up somewhere in front of the vehicle.” Mendez concluded

“Alright, how long until that choppers airborne?” Asked Schmidt.

“Should be lifting any time now.” She replied. “I’ve got men from Marquet headed out to try and pass them and we’re closing the highway behind them, seems there was just a nasty accident on I-68…its blocking all Northbound lanes. “ she said with a sly smile.

I-68, northbound
1204 hours

As the car continued to travel down the highway, Sam had to fight to keep from allowing the monotony of the landscape to dull his awareness. This part of the nation, unlike most of it, as green and pleasant to the eye, as opposed to the brown scrub land or gray urban zones that dominated the nation due to wide spread development and economic pillaging.

A short time later, he thanked his determination to stay alert. “That’s trouble…” he declared.

“What is?” asked Amber, suddenly curious and worried at the same time.

“There’s a helicopter shadowing us. Its far off to our left, and above us…obviously, but its seen keeping pace with us for the last 3 miles. “ he replied

“What do we do about it?’ she asked. She had no idea how to lose a helicopter outside from hat she might have seen in a movie.

Regardless, she wasn’t surprised by his answer, and the clam voice he delivered it in. “We lose him, or try, anyhow.” He thought out load “It won’t be easy, not in this open country, I’ll have to think of something.” He thought again and said “No more talking, they could have a directional microphone on us.” Then, against his own advice, he said ‘Hi guys! Catch me if you can!”

He maintained his speed for the next half mile, when he saw a highway overpass coming up ahead of them. He tapped Amber on the leg, and then pointed, following that by him pantomiming a motion of turning the steering wheel very hard. She swallowed hard and nodded that she understood.

Sam knew he couldn’t reduce his speed before making he turn, so he’d have to stop hard and break turn as best he could. When they reached the proper place just before crossing under the overpass, he slammed on the breaks, and spun the car 180 degrees, as he intended, the vehicle came to a stop under the overpass. Slamming it into forward gear, the gunned the engine, coaxing all the power out of the machine that he could, and crossed the median., and began heading southbound.

“We have a couple moments before they realize that happen and reacquire us.” He said. The car barreled down the highway and took the first exit it came to, onto some superfluous country road named by the sign on the exit as PR-78. Sam turned left onto the country road, plotting his next move.

Fredrick’s Building
Office of Public Order headquarters - Auster Branch
1219 hours

“This is Buzzard 1-9, I’m…I’m pretty sure they spotted us.” The pilots voice cracked over the radio into the operations room.

“That’s clear, Buzzard, will update GPS position, plot an intercept course and reacquire the target visually.” The radio operator ordered into the headset, and typed on her terminal, sending the latest GPS burst co-ordinates o the UH-90

The pilot replied “Wilco, Buzzard 1-9, course plotted, TTI, 2 minute 30, out.”

“As long as that battery holds out, we have them.” Schmidt declared confidently

“Don’t jinx it, sir.” Mendez cautioned

“There’s no such thing as bad luck, Agent, just skill and proper planning.” He replied.

PR-78, eastbound
1228 hours

Same had pulled into a parking lot of a supermarket and parked the car. He snagged a spot among a cluster of vehicles. He shut off the engine and waited.

“Why are we stopped?” Amber asked, near-panic in her voice

“Because they’ll be looking for a moving car, somewhere on I-68, or on this road. There’s not a lot of traffic moving about, so we’ll be obvious. We’ll wait a bit, and see if an opportunity to steal a car doesn’t present itself.” He answered

“Oh.” Was the best Amber could come up with.

They sat in salience for a moment while Sam scanned the lot of a likely car to steal. His preparations were interrupted when he heard the unmistakable thump-thump-thump of rotor blades in the air. Craning his next upwards, he cursed

“Son of a bitch, that’s impossible. There’s no way they were able to turn that bird around and track…us….” His voice trailed of and he slowly turned his head to glare at Amber. A snippet of conversation, and a flash of memory came springing back to him. Her, sitting next to him in the car, and reaching for her….cell phone! he mind screamed at him

Fresh pangs of free sported in Amber’s heart. “W…what?”

“Your cell phone…is it on?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. He was sure he knew the answer. He couldn’t believe she was so stupid to…

No, this ones on your, buddy his inner voice told him, she’s not a spy, that was your lot on life, you should have thought of it. More than likely, you’ve just killed you both.

Amber pulled her phone from her handbag, and Sam’s heart sank when he saw it was obviously a newer model smart phone. ‘Yes, its nearly dead though.”

“Doesn’t matter, it has a GPS function does it?” he asked extending his hand for the phone.

“Yes but I haven’t….oh shit.” She said. “It’s a company phone, and everyone on my team has them, we can track one another by them if we get lost….oh no, they most have taken Tom's phone, or got one form the other guys, and used it to find us. What do we do?” she felt crushing defeat flow into her mind, then she brightened “I can turn it off, here!” she said, and reached for the phone.

“No, its too late, they have us, we have to lose them, and maybe this will help.” He said, dropping it into his lap., he started the car, and sped from the lot.

The chase was on

Fredrick’s Building
Office of Public Order headquarters - Auster Branch
1235 hours

“Buzzard 1-9, this is control, the signal has stopped in the Kilgore’s parking lot, do you have a visual?” the radio operator inquired

“Confirm, we see the target. He’s parked in the lot, looks like he’s trying to hide among the crowd.” The pilot replied

“They don’t know we’re tracking them.” Mendez said

Schmidt simply nodded

“Buzzard, hold station, and wait, agents are in route and will arrive in-“ the dispatcher began to give orders to the pilot

Before she could finish, the pilots’ voice came back over the radio, “Buzzard 1-9, control, emergency traffic, we spooked em, they’re running again!”

The chase was on

PR-78, Westbound
1238 hours

“What are we going to do?” asked Amber

“Stop talking.”. Replied Sam, Amber wasn’t sure if it was meant as a command, or an answer to her question. Regardless, she stopped talking.

Sam really didn’t know what to do. He had to break contact with the chopper before e could ditch the damned cell phone. Then he had to find a new vehicle, because his was sorely comprised. The country road was full of curves, and dips, but he was sure the terrain was heading steadily downward.

About a mile later, his suspicions was confirmed, and his luck changed

He spotted a sign proclaiming that they were approving the Ortega River Bridge. They had entered a valley, which was lush with thick trees and overgrowth. Which, obviously the tees were cleared back from the main road giving the pursing helicopter line of sight, he was sure some of the side roads would provide a canopy, and allow them to break contact. He turned right onto a nearly unmarked two-lane road, and followed it as it wound its way down towards the river.

Fredrick’s Building
Office of Public Order headquarters - Auster Branch
1243 hours

“Buzzard 1-9, we’ve lost sight with the contact, heavy tree cover.” The pilot reported

“Clear, Buzzard 1-9, parallel the river, go south, repeat south. We believe the target will also be running parcel to the river. “

“Lots of trees down there, control, could be dangerous for me to fly too low.” The pilot protested

“Comply with the directive, Buzzard 1-9, fly as low as you can, and parallel the river to acquire the target.” Mendez said, taking the radio microphone from the operator

After a brief pause, the pilot relied “Wilco. “

Unnamed Road, southbound
1247 hours

“Ok, we can talk again, they’ve lost sight of us.” Sam said

“Are we in the clear?” asked Amber.

“Not yet, no, we’ve got to get rid of this thing. “ he said holding up the phone.

“Just, like, toss it out the window.” she suggested

“May not work, they’ll comb this area, and if they spot this car, the game is up, no, we need some misdirection.” He said, and, shortly there after, found he was in luck

As they continued down the winding side road, they did, eventually, come parallel to the river. He could hear the chopper, but not see it, the trees in this area grew to close to the river to allow the chopper to come too long without risking clipping the rotor blades. However, as they drove, Sam spotted a sign for “Sammy’s Ferry’s”, seemingly, a business that ran ferry rides down the river, from here, to several spots along the river. Obviously geared towards travels from the Northern part of the country, Sam had no idea why anyone would want to park their car on a boat and ride it at the speed of dead-slow, but, he was more than happy to take them up on their offer now.

He whipped his car into the parking lot, and, with a quick “Stay here. “ to Amber, she dashed into the shop. As he approached he noticed one of the ferry’s was in the slip, its loading ramp down to accommodate several waiting vehicles, and it appeared they were nearly done loading.

As Sam entered the rickety shop, the elderly propitiator regarded him as he came in. “What’s the hurry, son?” he asked

“My wife, she really wants to ride the ferry, and I saw one as at the dock, we didn’t want to miss it” he replied

“No worries son, there’s a little more space, it’ll be 30 dollars.” The man said. He took the bills from Sam and placed the in the register. “Alright, just pull up to the dockside and wait, one of the crew will load the car. Meanwhile you can head down to the personal ramp and get aboard.”

“Thank you sir.” Sam said, and hurried from the store. He got back in the car and said to Amber. “We’re going to put the car on the ferry, but we’re not getting on.” He drive the car to the loading dock, and place her cell phone under the seat, so that the crewmember wouldn’t see it and “helpfully” return it to them.

After abandoning the car, he and Amber exited it, and, as innocently as they could, simply began walking back up the road towards PR-78. No one on the crew seemed to notice their departure. Overheard, Sam heard the pounding of the rotor blades subsiding.

“Well, we may have gotten clear, this time, but…I’ll tell you, that was much to close.” He said “Come on, we need to find a car and get out of here, If they send agents down this road to check out he ferry dock, they’re liable to see us, and detain us, and that would be bad.”

“What if that happens?” asked Amber

“That’s what the guns are for, though I'd prefer not to shoot anyone if we can help it.” He sad seriously.

They walked on in silence, carefully listening for the sound of approaching vehicles.

Fredrick’s Building
Office of Public Order headquarters - Auster Branch
1259 hours

“They appear to have boarded a ferry.” The radio operator said. “Buzzard doesn’t have them anymore, and was never able to visually reacquire the vehicle, but the GPS signal is on the river, moving slowly. Buzzard reports seeing a large ferry traveling own the river .”

“Re-direct agents in route to that dock. Find out what its first stop is! I want agents at that stop, we’ve got them!” Mendez said, giving orders to the radio operator, who, in turn dispatched them out the OPO units closing in on the position

Mendez smiled smugly at Schmidt “Impressed?” she asked

“No, not until we have him. “ Schmidt replied.

Hughs Landing, Transnapastain
13 miles south of Sammy’s Ferry’s
1331 hours

When the ferry docked at Hughes Landing, the passengers were amazed to see several black sedans and SUV’s waiting on the dock, and more amazed to see the armed and armored officers with “OPO” stenciled in silver on the back of their Kevlar armor. Mena armed with short M-12 carbines and SG-100 shotguns stormed aboard the boat as soon as the ramp was down. Some of them began moving passengers off of the ferry, and into the dock house, to have their identities verified, and be questioned concerning the other passengers. None of them would be allowed to leave until he agents had who they were looking for, or were damn sure they weren’t here at all.

Meanwhile, other agents over moved swiftly into the car hold. They arrived at a non-descript dark colored four door. The lead agent glanced at his PDA. “This is it, signals coming from right here.” He said, and used the buttstock of his M-12 to break the window.

After only 15 seconds of searching, the lead agent let out a loud curse, and stood up, holding a smart phone in his hand. The other agents looked at him, from him to the device in his hand, and then back to him. In short order, all of them looked down sheepishly, or found something else to occupy their gazes.

The lead agent keyed his radio and spoke. “OPO-1-1 to control…we’ve been had. “

[The Floridian Coast]

As they walked toward a rural and empty part of the road, Amber paused her pace and Jackson took a moment to notice, she had sat down in the grass, still and quiet. Jackson was annoyed, though he still was polite as he said "I'm sorry if you're tired, but we don't really have time for a break."

Amber looked despondent but somehow calm, but after a minute, she burst out with "It's fucking pointless! All of this!" She rose to her feet and paced around nervously, and whatever gratefulness she felt toward the man protecting her was weighed down by the overbearing realization of her situation.

"Almost getting shot, helicopters following us, Kevin and Liam are probably dead by now too, for what? For this goddamn media card?!" She took it out of her pocket and wanted to throw it far away, even going so far as to lift her arm to the motion, but she couldn't. Instead, she just continued voicing her desperation.

"If this thing about Senator Bryce is some kind of conspiracy, we're fucked no matter what! So what if we even get to the embassy, what's to say my government isn't in on it? Maybe they'll shoot me, or I'll wind up in some supermax prison, for something I don't even know what I did! I can't trust anyone." Tears streamed down her face, Jackson got closer to her but did not touch her. Instead, wanting to practically reassure her quickly so they could get moving, he said "I don't think your government would be in on the death of your High Premier's daughter, and I think if they had any idea they'd have Lightning Force agents on our trail too."

"Whatever, I don't know, could have been the National Marxist Party, some pricks in our military trying for a coup, your government, your church, some international bankers, hell if I know! What is this going to do other than get a lot of people killed? What if it starts a war, I don't want to be responsible for that, I don't want that on my conscience!"

Jackson put his hand on her shoulder and said "The only ones responsible for people getting killed are the killers. The people who started this, and the people who want to finish it on their terms. Don't concede to them their terms, let this end on yours. You can throw that media card on the ground if it pleases you, or you can take a lighter and burn it up, but that isn't going to turn back the clock, and that isn't going to save either of us. We have to follow through."

She wiped tears from her face and looked into the man's eyes and asked "What are you fighting for? I'm not asking as a journalist, I'm asking as a human being, please."

He sighed and told her "Right now, for survival. Yours, and mine. After this is over, maybe you'll be able to answer that question too. Now come on, we need to find a car." She followed him and they continued up the road.


Auster Convention Center

Applause rang out once again as Jack approached the podium. He cleared his throat before reaching the microphone and swallowed a cough suppressant, and took the stand.

"Greetings to all of you, delegates, officers, and civilians. I am Jack Trenton, Secretary of State of the Floridian Coast of the last 36 years. I would like to first thank, on behalf of the Floridian delegation, our hosts here in Transnapastain who have treated us as their own, and spared no effort in their hospitality towards us. I would next like to thank all of my Lightning Force agents, and all of the international security teams here for a great show of professionalism and dedication to all of our safety, and finally I thank everyone in attendance here for taking part in this great undertaking.

Terrorism, both domestic and foreign, religious and secular, far-right and far-left, all pose a threat to civilized people of the world. This being said, there can be no doubt that our enemies have names, they have ideologies, and they have plans. Extremist Islamism has been especially troubling. While my nation has in common with Transnapastain the good fortune to have avoided direct terrorist attacks on our soil by these radicals, we still are aware that our nationals face great risk travelling abroad, and our allies in the developing world wage a much longer battle that is far closer to home, because of the actions of global jihad and their affiliates.

In a civilized world, one should never have to fear death because of their religious beliefs, or lack thereof, and in a civilized world, the laws of the land are sovereign, and the actions of terrorists cannot shake the foundation we have built progress upon.

While I attend this conference, I shall present the Floridian 3-Point Plan for Counterterrorism, which first consists of improved intelligence and profiling, with attention still given to the civil rights of law abiding citizens. The second point consists of plans for direct prevention and response, based on the actions of our best Lightning Force agents and their testimonies. The third and final point lays out policy for stabilization throughout the worldwide community, and preemptively destroying the roots of terrorism, before these virulent and anti-human movements ever have a chance to spring to life again.

In addition to sharing our nation's best achievements, we gratefully hope to learn from everyone else present, and augment our counterterrorism initiatives with appropriate innovation, because here we stand, for the future of a peaceful world. Our goal is attainable, and infinitely more worth fighting for than anything extremist ideology. We stand with a sword in hand, so our children and grandchildren will not have to wield it. We stand, many people, from many cultures, with different politics and beliefs, as one, united in a noble cause, which we shall succeed in."

[Transnapastain]

Fredrick’s Building, Auster
1425 hours

After the attempt to capture Preston and Myers failed, Schmidt had intended to return to the summit. Though nothing important, or even very interesting, was going on, as far as he was concerned, he thought his absence might raise questions from the other delegates, and the last thing he wanted to do was answer inconvenient questions.

He had waited in the operations room for the preliminary reports from the interrogations. The proprietor from Sammy’s Ferry’s described Preston perfectly, though he claimed he never saw the woman. No one on the boat or the crew, save the crewmen who had loaded the car, remembered seeing Preston or Myers on the boat or, more importantly, remembered seeing them leave the parking lot.

As soon as it was clear that the duo had slipped through the dragnet, Mendez ordered the area around Sammy’s Ferry combed, and a request for police K-9’s to assist was issued. It took about half an hour for the closest K-9 officer to respond. When they did arrive, the dog was able to follow the scent easily, which lead the searchers along the road, then crossed into a field and finally ended in a farm house driveway. The homeowner was away when officers arrived, further complicating the search. The farmhouse address yielded no results in the DMV database, not surprising, a registration among farmers and other citizens in rural areas was lightly enforced, the local constabulary didn't see the need, everyone knew everyone out there. Schmidt vowed to ensure this defect was remedied immediately. While it was obvious that Preston had stolen a vehicle from the farmhouse, until the owner arrived home, officers wouldn’t be able to learn what type of car they were looking for. As soon as they obtained the information, it would be broadcast to police across the nation.

All of the lost time was causing Schmidt, usually the most passive and clam of people, to become impatient. However, there was some good news to dull the bad news.

The good news came in the form of Gregory Stein, who had been captured by OPO agents earlier in the day. When his arrest warrant was issued, his ID, as well as any known credit cards or bank account, were flagged. When Gregory used his credit card to purchase an airline ticket online, agents knew exactly when and where to intercept him.

Schmidt stood with Mendez on the opposite side of the mirrored glass, watching the interrogation to proceeded. Gregory was visibly nervous, sweat pouring from his nearly-bald head; though the bright spot lights in the room glaring down on him weren’t helping his perspiration situation.

When he spoke, his voice was dry and croaky. “I need water.” he declared

“I need answers.” replied the interrogator. Though Schmidt and Mendez couldn’t hear the distortion, the interrogator used electronics to modify his voice, eliminating the victims ability to identify him by voice, whereas the lights eliminated his ability to identify the agent by sight. Further, the electronics amplified the speakers voice, causing it to reverberate around the room, disorienting the subject, the goal being to make the subject feel small and powerless, causing him to believe the speaker was everywhere, and nowhere, all at once. “Give them to me, and maybe I’ll get you water.”

“I told you, I don’t-“ he began. His voice devolved into a scream as the lights in the integration room, and the observation room, dimmed briefly. Gregory convulsed in the chair as electricity coursed into his body. After only a moment, which much have felt like an eternity to Stein, the current stopped, and the voice spoke again “Why did Culler meet with the woman. We know you’re his associate, and that you accompanied him to the airport. We have the audio logs. We have all the electronic messages you’ve exchanged. We know you co-ordinate for Culler. We’ve got plenty to convict you for conspiracy to commit treason, and terrorism. If you’re lucky, you’ll be killed, but, I hear the plan is to send you to Telford.”

That visibly shook Stein even more. Telford Federal Prison was one of the hardest facilities in the nation; if not in the entire world. Men and women rarely returned form Telford, except in body bags, in addition to grueling physical labor in the mines, some of which we’re still burning from coal fires ignited by radioactive material buried there in the 1970’s, maternal removed from the abandoned Telford Nuclear Power Plant, rumors persisted that workers simply…vanished in the smoky mist that dominated the areas. If the were found again, it was said the bodies were mutilated and flayed, often crucified in the abandoned towns and villages doting the hellish landscape.

“I told you, I don’t know what Culler gave her, but, the note he had me deliver said something about 2/24, I’m sure it was a date. You have to believe me, I don’t know what he knew!” he plead, his voice nearly hysterical.

“What did he give to her?” asked the voice

“I’m not sure, it was…he had a media card, I suppose he gave her that, it must have had information on it, or something.” Stein said.

Schmidt looked at Mendez. “we have to recover that card, if it contains what I think it does, it would be…at best, embarrassing if the information escaped. I'll need to return to the confrence, now, keep me advised” Schmidt said, truning towards the door.

“At worst?” she asked

“It would be war.” Schmidt said over his shoulder ominously.


Carson, Transnapastain
2027 hours

Sam’s pulled his newly acquired vehicle into another non-descript gas station in another non-descript town. Though they were miles apart, Cason and Litton could have been twins, save that Litton was grassy, situated off I-68 on rolling plains, whereas Carson, situated off I-71, was built on the harder scrub that dominated most of the nation.

Regardless, it had fuel, food, and fleabag motels. After filling up the tank of the vehicle, an older model pickup, Sam turned to Amber and said, “We’re going to stop for the night again, but, I’ve been thinking…that card you’re carrying…we need more insurance on it.”

“What do you mean?” inquired Amber

“If its damaged, or destroyed, we’re done, and even if we get away, this entire thing will have been for nothing, because we’ll obviously need whatever’s on that card to prove what Culler claimed.” Said Sam as he pulled from the lot, looking for a motel. “If they learn we’re carrying the data electronicly, they may get desperate and try to destroy it using a miniature EMP device. I’m sure its shielded, but I don’t want to risk it. “

“What do you purpose to do about it?” Amber asked

“I know a guy, he’s a pro with computers. I was thinking we go see him and have some copies made, including a hard copy.” Said Sam

“Wont that be dangerous?” asked amber

“Sure, for him, and us, and its an extra day out of the way.” said Sam, bracing for an argument, though he wasn’t going to be dissuaded, he didn’t want to fight with Amber, not when both of their lives were on the line.

“Why do we need “a guy” to do that, anyways?” she asked “We get a computer at like a library or something, and print it, simple. That way, we don’t have to detour, and we don’t put anyone else at risk.” She said

“No. Chance are that cards got some sort of electronic safeguards on it to stop people from copying from it. For all we know, it could be a one-time use flash card. It plays once and destroys itself.” Sam countered “My guy can defeat those safeguards.”

“You just happen to know a guy who can defeat military level safeguards?” asked Amber

“Sure, I’ve met lots of interesting people over the years.” Sam offered evenly.

“While you were misbehaving?” asked amber with a slight smile

“Exactly. Let go find a pay phone, I'll make the call, and we'll head to a hotel. A hotel thats no where near whatever payphne I use."

Hotel Delphoria
2236 hours

The soft rapping on his hotel door made Schmidt look up in surprise. He had been reviewing some documents and trying to catch up on paperwork when the visitor came. He walked across the spacious hotel room and looked through the peephole. With a sly smile, he opened the door. “Ghast, what are you doing here?”

“Waiting to see if you’ll be kind enough to invite me in.” he said. Schmidt stepped back and waved Ghast into the room. “I assume we’re secure?”

“Of course.” Schmidt replied “Get you a drink?”

“No, thanks, I’m here on business.” Said Ghast, taking a seat on one of the plush couches. “We know you’ve got more troubles right now than a simple kidnapping, and, I saw the tapes, and I know who you’re chasing, and I know he didn’t kidnap that reporter. Not only is it clear on the tapes but, that was never his style, he was always the knight in shining armor.”

“How did you-?” Schmidt began to ask, and then stopped himself. It didn’t matter. The SIS had the best electronics available, and wasn’t above using them against their allies when they were curious. The Directorate had existed for centuries, and its member-states were as closely linked as any alliance, but they remained independent powers, and, as such, they watched each other. “Never mind. You know its Preston, then, so you know who we’re trying to track, and how hard it’ll be. We got a lucky break with the GPS on her phone, but, it didn’t pan out.”

“That’s the reason I’m here. We don’t know what you did, or why you’re trying so hard to hide it from everyone, especially the Floridian Coast authorities.. We have some good guesses, mind you, and some reliable data, but, what it is isn’t really relevant.” Ghast said “If its bad for you, chances are, its bad for all of us. Its in our interest to help you.”

“And how do you propose to help?” asked Schmidt

“Well, you need someone tracked, and, more than likely, you need someone killed.” said Ghast “We have an asset in country who is very good at such things.”

“Not…” Schmidt asked

“Yes, Him.” Ghast confirmed

“Shit.” said Schmidt, one of the very few times he used such profane language. “Why is he here?”

A ghost of a smile played over Ghast’s lips “He’s got a lot of terror experience.”

“Causing it!” Schmidt blurted out, a rare emotional outburst. “You only send him when someone has to be killed, and killed effectively.”

“Who better to catch a terrorist? Takes one to know one, and all that.” said Ghast. “Regardless, our foresight was most…fortuitous for you. He’s here, and he can end Samuel Preston. He can end the woman too, if it comes to that.”

“But we don’t know where he is.” Said Schmidt

“I think we do.” said Ghast “Argus intercepted an interesting phone conversation about 2045 hours this evening. From a pay phone in a little town called Carson. We ran the voice print against one we had of Preston, near-perfect match. I doubt they are still in Carson, but what does it matter? You can't just go door to door looking for them, and, besides, if we ambush them, there's a much better chance of sucsess than launching raids aginst every hotel, brothel, and rooming house in the city...if they aren't just sleeping in a car on the side of the road."

“You're right, ambushing them would be better, I assume you have a place in mind? Also, who was he talking to?"

“Now, see, that was the tricky part. When we tried to trace it, we kept hitting walls and barriers, the guy did not want to be found.” He offered a smirk “Of course, in the end, he was no match for our coding.”

Schmidt repeated himself

“One David J. Harrless, living in Cestra Heights. Go figure, he’s an electronics expert, or so our files say, I hear he’s even contracted with the government a time or two.” said Ghast “Anyways, they’re meeting him at an address in Cestra Heights tomorrow, 0700. “

“Yes, I know the man.” Said Schmidt “I’m going to assume you’ve already sent him.”

“Yes, he’s on his way to Cestra Heights now, and will be there in a couple of hours. I’m sure you can have agents meet him there, but they’ll need to bring him supplies”

“What does he need?” asked Schmidt

Ghast handed him a list

Schmidt stared at the list of requested equipment, expressing none of the shock he felt. “What are you planning to do?” asked Schmidt

Ghast’s ghost smile returned to his face “Eliminate the targets.”

[The Floridian Coast]

Auster Convention Center

While listening to other opening speeches, Jack felt a burning in his chest that was more painful than he'd known before. Still maintaining great politeness, he waited for the speaker to finish before excusing himself to the restrooms, where he planned to inject his intravenous medication and pop another painkiller. He gritted his teeth and tried not to look like he was suffering too much, and finally he was able to rise from his seat and make his way out back.

Corban took notice, and held his position, but after a few minutes, decided to check on him. Making his way around and knocking on the door, he called out to Jack "Mr. Secretary, are you alright?" He heard no reply, and after calling again, decided to come inside. Luckily he did not need to break down a door; Jack had left it unlocked. Corban saw Jack on the floor, still conscious and in a lot of pain, his needle beside him.

Kneeling down next to him, Jack said in a voice barely above a whisper "Corban, I need that injection, please." Wrapping his arm with the band Jack had on the sink, Corban plunged the needle into his vein. "You need to get to a hospital, Mr. Secretary, right now." He pulled out his radio and called for all Floridian security officials to assemble at his location.

"Corban, get me back home. I want to - I want to die on my own soil. I want to see Miss Emily and the High Premier, please, take me home. Agggghhhh!" He screamed out in pain.

Ethan and two others ran inside, with 2 members of the state department who had followed them. "Ethan! Tell Schmidt we need a helicopter right now, get him straight to the hospital." Jack's doctor also found his way inside, and the small bathroom was now very crowded.

"This is not good, Captain. He seems to be exhibiting signs of acute multiple system failure. I can tend to him but I don't have all the necessary supplies, we did not expect this so soon."

After a few more minutes of frantic exchange of information, Jack's doctor talked outside with a Transnapastaini on scene medic, who shared with him his thoughts. "We have the necessary supplies, and a 50% chance of saving him, but they're not available everywhere. St. Anthony's in Subrosa has what we need, if you take him in your jet, what kind is it?"

Corban yelled outside "Air Force 2, top of the line speed!" The medic said "If you can get him to St. Anthony's in 4 hours, 5 max, we can save his life." And added more honestly "For awhile, at least. I'll come with you on the plane. We should put him under anesthesia for now, and then a medically induced coma ASAP."

For quickest effect, the medic pulled the tubes from his kit and injected it in a vein in Jack's neck. "Mr. Secretary, you'll fall asleep in a minute." Jack ignored the doctor and grabbed Corban's arm.

"If I die" "You won't, not here, not now." Corban reassured him, but then let Jack continue "Tell Aaron, Larissa always told me how much she believed in him. Tell him he's made his father and I proud." Tears formed in Jack's eyes, for the first time, he felt afraid of death. "Tell him he honors his sister's memory every day, that I didn't just say it, but meant it, and..." The anesthesia took full effect and Jack's eyes closed. Despite knowing what happened, Corban still instinctively felt for a pulse, which was still there, but irregular.

The blades of a spinning helicopter were sounding off in the only empty place in the parking lot, and it would head straight to the Floridian jet at the airport which was being informed at the very moment to prepare for immediate takeoff.

Schmidt himself had come to check on things as Jack's stretcher was being loaded into the emergency medical helicopter. Corban yelled to the pilot to hold for a minute and jumped out, and told Schmidt very loudly over the blades' rotation's roar "Tell whoever it concerns, I speak on behalf of my High Premier right now - We want the very best. The best goddamn doctor you have, your best medicine. We'll send a blank check, save him!"

"I will call them and have them prepare, we will do the very most we can." Schmidt said, trying to not show his preoccupation to the Lightning Force agent who did not seem to like him very much. "Make damn sure!" Corban yelled, and he climbed back in, and the bird lifted off the ground.

Carson

Amber knocked on the door with the same knock Sam had instructed her to listen for before, and he opened it to let her in. "Where did you go off to? I told you that you should stay here." His voice didn't sound too judgmental, and Amber answered simply "Pharmacy. Over the counter sleep pills. I needed them."

Sam laughed and said "Those make it a bitch to wake up in the morning, you know." She smiled and said "I'll wake up just fine, between people trying to kill me and me dying to find out what's on that card, I'd be surprised to sleep even on these."

Still standing in the doorway, they heard the roar of a jet overhead. Sam didn't think much of it, planes pass over all the time, and they wouldn't use a jet to look for two people on the ground anyway, but Amber's paranoia got the best of her and she gazed at it.

"That's the Secretary's jet! I recognize it, I'm sure of it! Where is he - this is the opposite way of leaving the country."
Knowing the area, Sam said "Subrosa, most likely. And faster and lower than regulation."
"What if he's going to the Embassy?" Amber asked nervously, and then said more hopefully "Maybe that's good for us, they can't touch him, if we can get to him."
While Sam wanted to be reassuring, he also wanted to be pragmatic "It's public knowledge that he's sick. Don't underestimate how many ways a professional can kill and make it look damn good. We're not diverting from the path again, not unless we have to."

They shut the door and settled into the room, this one had two beds, and other nice things like a coffee pot, though no television, which Amber desperately wanted to find information from. She filled a glass with tap water and swallowed three of the generic brand sleep aids.

"My guy is willing to help, we'll be seeing him at 7AM, you'll see where when we get there." Sam told her. "Alright." Amber said, not really having much else to say. "He's good at a lot of things, not just computers, we'll be safer." Sam said to her. Before he got into his bed, Amber hugged him, her head against his neck, she stared blankly at the wall. She let go and said "Sorry." with no other words or explanation, and got into her bed, and closed her eyes.

[Transnapastain]

Cestra Heights
0641 hours

A light rain fell from the sky, more mist than droplets, soaking everything constantly and seemingly more effectively than a torrential downpour would have. The entire neighborhood, one of many poverty-stricken sections of the giant, sprawling city of Cestra Heights, was made up squat, ancient brownstone buildings. The areas was nearly devoid of life, and police presence was almost nil. The setting was the perfect place for a clandestine meeting

It was also the perfect place for an ambush

The position was well camouflaged by a low hung black tarp suspended on the roof of an apartment building. The Specialist lay under the tarp, though that did not keep the biting wind from blowing the freezing mists into his face. It didn’t phase him. He pulled the large caliber rifle’s stock snugly into his shoulder, and rechecked the range to the target. All was in order, he simply waited.

The spotter lay next to him under the tarp, shivering against the chilly rain and wind. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No.” the Specialist said

“What’s your name?” the spotter asked, suppressing a sneeze

“I don’t have a name, people have names, we are tools of the State, I have no illusions.”

Silence for a moment “Oh…kay.” The spotter replied, “but what should I call you?”

“Wolverine Four would do. Sir, would also be sufficient.” replied the Specialist.

The spotter had sort of gotten the impression he should call the sniper next to him “sir” as a matter of course. To offend him seemed to be one of the faster ways one could end his own life. The man had made no threatening moves, no violent gestures, and uttered no inflammatory words. Simple, proficient and professional, he had not spoken more than what was necessary until now.

Regardless, the spotter was nervous around him. Though he had no evidence to compound his fears, he was sure this man would just as soon kill him than speak with him.

The spotter pulled a small, silver cylinder form his pocket and begin to inspect it, turning it over in his hands gently.

“Stop playing with that.” The Specialist said without even removing his eye from the scope

“Why…sir?” the man asked, both speculation and trepidation.

“Because that is a micro-EMP device, not a toy.” The Specialist answered evenly.

“They said we should use it if we get close to the target.” The spotter replied

“I was at the briefing.” The Specialist answered, it was unclear if he was stating a fact, or doing so sarcastically

“Right, yeah, I know. I mean, I knew that.” The spotter said

“Stop talking.” The specialist said, his tone of voice never rising, never showing any anger, or fear, not inflecting any authority. Simple, flat, utterance.

Regardless, the spotter shut up.

“All call signs, this is Wolverine One, report status.” The commander running the four man team, and the teams electronics expert, were in an apartment located just under the sniper and spotter.

“Two clear, all monitoring equipment functional. Feed is live.”

“Three, in position, negative contact.” the spotter replied

“Four, clear.” the Specialist said simply.

“All call signs, this is One, current time is 0645 hours, synchronize. Operation is a go, repeat, operations begins.”

---

Sam and Amber arrived about 15 minutes before the meeting time. Sam said he wanted to get into the area and make sure it was clear before they committed to anything. “I don’t think he would set us up, but, at this point, I don’t think I have to tell you how careful we need to be.”

Amber simple nodded and stifled a yawn as she stepped out of the car. Sam had driven around the area a few times, and not located anything he thought was suspicious. As satisfied as he could be, he parked in the common lot of the appropriate brownstone apartment building, and he and Amber headed in.

The lobby was in complete disarray, the white floor brown, going on black, from improper maintenance and countless pairs of feet trampling on its surface. The pale blue tile walls, dull by themselves, were alive in violent clashes of colors from countless graffiti tags. The smell of stale urine and poverty was nearly enough to drive Amber from the building, and back out into the relatively fresh air.

“Come on, you’ll get used to it.” said Sam, as they approached the stairwell.

“There’s an….elevator…I think.” said Amber, pointing to the metal mesh cage that allowed entrance to the obviously rickety elevator.

“So there is, we’ll take the stairs.” said Sam

With a shrug, Amber followed

Silently, small eyes in a little black globe in the corner of the lobby tracked their movement.

---

“That’s them for sure.” Two said looking over his shoulder at One. The commander was standing near one of the windows, watching out into the parking lot of the building across the way. “Concur.”

He keyed his radio “Targets are confirmed by command to be inside the structure, heading up east stair well. Two will continue to update and track.” He paused “You are not cleared to fire before authorization is given.”

On the roof, the Specialist tracked the targets as they were called out, slowly moving the muzzle of the sinister looking rifle to and from as the quarry moved within the building…

---

“Targets have entered apartment seven-oh-four, repeat, seven-oh-four. I do not have eyes on the target any longer.” Two’s voice chimed in the Specialists ear.

The Specialist swung the rifle to the appropriate window, viewing through the scope, he had a view of the subjects inside.

“Four, confirm targets in seven-oh-four, eyes on.” He said simply.

He watched as the exchange began…

---

As they entered the room, Sam noted they were not alone. In addition to the contact, another man, dark skinned with a scar running down the side of his face, stood against the far wall. Though he was not displaying one, it was clear he was carrying a weapon, and was serving as a protector for the contact.

“I need a copy made of this.” Sam said, taking the media card from Amber.

“What’s on it?” asked the contact.

“Don’t know. I wouldn’t read it though, we’ve gotten some heat for having this.” Said Sam. “Lets get this done.”

“Alright, be just a second.”

The man inserted the card into his computer. After several moments of typing, and a mild bit of swearing, he exclaimed “Got it! Its printing now.”

In the corner of the apartment, a printer hummed to life.

---

One’s voice came over the radio. “Targets are all valid. Sniper, you are cleared to fire.”

The Specialist pulled the rifle more snugly into his shoulder and drew a bead on the first window. The target had walked past it to get the copy from the printer. When he returned, his body framed in the dark, smudgy glass, the Specialist slowly, methodically squeezed the trigger…

---

The contact grabbed the papers from the tray and brought them over, laying the media card on top

“Alright, here you-“

Before the contact could finish the statement, all hell broke lose.

The glass in the window sprayed into the room, sending tiny shards of glass whirling around. Sam brought his hands up to shield his face and Amber shrieked.. The contact’s body nearly completely disintegrated, and the unbound papers flew form his hands, joining the whirling glass in the room.

Forgetting about Amber, Sam lunged forward and deftly plucked the media card out of the air. Mission accomplished, he turned to see what had become of Amber.

The last thing that was heard was the deep, roaring boom from the rifle blast.

The bodyguard belated drew his firearm and shouted “Sniper!” Sam and Amber Started for the door…

---

“Target down, switching to thermal.” The Specialist stated

The activated the thermal optics on the scope, and was easily able to pick out the heat shape of the second subject in the room.

As methodically as the first, he squeezed the trigger…

---

As Sam and Amber were turning for the door, the wall behind the bodyguard blew in. As with the contact, the man didn’t slump to the ground so much as he was liquefied by the impact, chunks of his remains spraying forward across the room.

Sam and Amber darted into the hall, but where as Sam stopped to evaluate the situation, as there were no windows in the hallway to give the sniper a shot, Amber continued to run towards the stairs.

“Amber, wait!” he called, chasing after her.

---

“Targets are in the hallway, heading towards eastern stairwell.” Two stated

The Specialist did not acknowledge, but switched his thermal optics off and tracked through the building. Calculating, approximating, judging, he squeezed the trigger….

---

Sam caught up with Amber as they reached the stairwell door, he lunged at her, attempting to tackle her to the ground. He made contact with her slender form, and toppled her into the stairwell.

Chunks of brownstone sprayed into the stairwell, sending stone, tile and concrete fragments whirling inside. The bullet slammed into, and then through, the opposite wall, leaving the stairwell choked with dust and grit.

“How could he do that?!” Sam declared into the still air. There were no windows in the stairwell, nor in the hallway leading to it. Sam glanced around, franticly searching for an answer. His eyes fell on a black globe in the upper corner of the landing, silently glaring down at them.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled “Run!” he grabbed Ambers hand and drug her to her feet as another round bored into the building.

Sam and Amber franticly began descending the stairs.

---

“Targets are on the move, east stairwell, headed downing, passing 6, …passing 5, …passing 4…”

The Specialist listened to the run down, gauging his shots. He fired once, twice more, and reached for a magazine. The spotter handed it to him quickly, and the Specialist was reloaded in the blink of an eye. He fired again, twice more, a third time.

“Passing 3 …passing 2…. Targets are on the first floor, we are approaching the margin of error.” Two’s voice exclaimed over the radio.”

---

Sam and Amber dashed down the stairs, the massive rounds boring into the stairwell, sending chunks of concrete and tile spinning about. Several times, the tiles lacerated them, causing shallow cuts on their exposed skin. They continued to run, jumping down two or three steps at a time, the rounds continued to slam into the building, kicking up shrapnel and debris.

Finally they reached the lobby.

---

“This is One, targets are on ground level, finish this Four!” the commander exclaimed

“As ordered.” He replied, and dropped his sniper rifle. Reaching to his right, he brought up an equally impressive weapon, and racked the slide, sending the first of five projectiles into the breech. He brought it to his shoulder, and looked at the spotter. “Sorry about the gas leak.”

“What gas-?” the spotter began to ask when the Specialist fired.

Not as loud as the rifle, the projectile issued forth with a thump from the bullpupped grenade launcher, spiraling towards the first floor lobby windows. The round slammed into the lobby, followed by another, a third, then the forth

By this time….the fifth was an after thought.

---

When Sam and Amber broke out of the stairwell door, she began to run towards the lobby exit, towards the car.

“No!” Sam exclaimed and managed to grab her by her wrist “This way!” he said, tugging her towards a hallway leading to a fire exit.

As they began to run, a window on the first floor shattered...followed by a thundering roar as the thermobaric warhead detonated, sending out a massive concussion wave, shattering the rest of the windows, and sending Amber and Sam toppling forward. Sam flew forward, tumbling through the building, trying to cling to Amber

And then there was black.

---

“Four, cease fire, cease fire!” ordered One over the radio

“I have ceased fire, One, my weapon is dry.” The Specialist replied.

“Minimum use of force!” the man continued “We said minimum use of force required to subdue the targets.”

“If they aren't dead, sir, we didn't use enough force. Permission to sterilize the building, sir?"

"Negative! We've got enough goddamn- negative, agent, do not pursue."

"Sir, if they survived, they will be disoriented and rattled, bloodied. They will be easy prey.” The specialist said, drawing a suppressed machine pistol from his bag, eyes locked on the door of the brownstone.

"No go, Wolverine Four, stand down!" The commander's voice wavered slightly. "This has gone too far."

For a moment, the specialist froze, like a statue, in the misting rain, silhouetted by the burning apartment. He stared at the door, where part of the entry crashed down, smashing a fleeing resident. His gun hand flexed. He turned to the spotter, and spoke, "Always finish your work." His mouth turned slightly, but he tapped his radio. "Acknowledged. Pulling out."

---

Slowly, as if swimming up form the darkest depths of the ocean, consciousness returned to Sam. He had trouble catching his breath, as if here was little to no air in the surrounding area. He sat up and coughed wickedly as the black, acrid smoke stung his eyes.

“Amber?!” he half coughed, half yelled her name

He spotted her, not more than two feet from him, laying on the ground. He scrambled to her and rolled her onto her back. She wasn’t breathing

“No, no you don’t” he declared, and leaned down, placing his head on her chest. He could hear her heart beat faintly in her chest. Placing his hands on the chest, he pinched down, one, two, three four, five times, and them, lowering his head, he pressed his lips to hers, breathing into her. The fire continued to burn around them, consuming the building. He could hear glass shattering and timbers falling, it was clear the structure wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Come on!” he called “Come on!” Repeated the presses, he leaned in to breath into her again. She sputtered and coughed, her head coming up sharply, banging into his. He fell back onto his back and sat up again “You okay?” he yelled.

She sat up, and shook her head “I..I think so? What happened?”

“No time for that, this buildings coming down, come on!” he said, grabbing her hand. She grasped his firmly and they vacated the building through the fire escape, running through the cold, misty ran into the early morning light, as the sirens wailed in the distance, coming ever closer.

[The Floridian Coast]

St. Anthony's Hospital, Subrosa
0943 hours

"The fire department has stated this explosion was due to a prolonged propane leak. Police have also declared that this was likely a case of gross negligence and would be investigated. The fire is being put out and tenets have been evacuated, with a few still unaccounted for. We will have an update at the top of the hour."

The video footage of the burning building was from a distance, and did not provide adequate clarity, but Corban knew from plenty of experience with detonations that the official story was a lie. But why, he had no idea. This was the third time he felt suspicious about something going on - first, the sketchy details of Amber Myers' kidnapping. Second, the shrouded reports of a raid on a ferry by independent media; which he had searched through on the internet. And now, an explosion in an apartment building in Cestra Heights, that looked very well to be deliberate.

He sat in a chair, watching the television suspended off the wall of high up, private hospital room in which Jack Trenton laid unconscious in bed. The Secretary of State was on a ventilator, and various other tubes were inside of him, a state of the art monitoring system which Corban could read, with his basic medical knowledge as part of his Lightning Force training. Ethan Trilsche guarded the outside of the room, and opened a door for a Subrosan doctor who had been hired on short notice to care for Jack.

"Mr. Cortez." he said, nodding at Corban, who stood up and hit the remote button turning off the television.
"What's your prognosis?" Corban asked, and the doctor walked over towards Jack and gazed at him.
"We've successfully stabilized him, and managed to remove some tumors, though his late stage cancer remains, and they will grow back. We may have extended his life, somewhat, for now. This evening we shall bring him out of the coma, and after another day, we will see if he can breathe on his own. I'm afraid there is no chance of him attending to his duties in any capacity, I assume your state department has -"
"Ryan Weston, our Homeland Defense liaison, will continue the conference in Auster on behalf of our nation. How long will the secretary have to stay here?"
"He could potentially be fit for departure in 2 weeks, I'd advise 3 to be safe. However, we have contacted some specialists, who are willing to try some, ehr, unorthodox treatments."

Despite wishing to maintain politeness, Corban somewhat harshly said "Our Secretary of State is not a lab rat. He has Stage 4 cancer, we've accepted there is only so much -"

He was interrupted by the doctor who replied "You don't understand, there has already been extensive testing. One of my international colleagues has actually performed late stage cures in human subjects. I cannot promise a miracle, rather, it is the cutting edge of medical science."

"I will have to talk to the High Premier, I don't have authority to make long-term medical decisions for the secretary."
"You will talk to him personally?" the doctor asked, somewhat surprised, trying to imagine a security agent having a direct audience with the leader of his nation.
Corban laughed and said "We're actually personal friends, we go back some ways. And to answer your next question, yes, this is the only job I want."
The doctor replied "Well, I shall hear your reply when you get it. Good day to you." and exited the hospital room.

"Ethan! In here, now!" Corban called, and the young man came inside the room to hear his Captain's orders.
"I'm leaving for the Floridian Embassy. This room is in your hands, you know the authorized people who may enter, do not leave your position. I will return, I'm not sure when yet. There are matters I must attend to."
"Yes sir." Ethan replied, he knew better than to ask.

Floridian Embassy
1017 hours

Walking inside the Embassy, Corban could not help but notice the at least two different people watched his movements as he approached. He filed it in the back of his mind to remember, and decipher later on.

There were two security officials at a metal detector and scanner. Saying nothing, Corban, in uniform and holding his badge in the palm of his right hand, walked next to it as the Floridian embassy workers only looked on with curiosity. He had no need to identify himself or state his business, Floridian citizens knew that when a Lightning Force agent approaches, you stay out of his way, and only speak if spoken to.

A middle aged woman sat the the front desk of a mostly empty lobby. She was a Floridian as well, living abroad long term to work at the embassy, and she was of relatively low authority. "How may I help you, sir?" she asked, hoping to get an answer that might hint to his business, but Corban only said "I require the master key."

She said, timidly, as if it was only a polite request "I need to scan your badge, it's protocol." Corban rolled his eyes and reached over the desk, sliding it through the scanner himself, not wanting to waste time. His picture flashed up on the screen, with large text displaying "Active Captain", and smaller text reading "Information restricted to Access Level 8" She unlocked a drawer with a physical key, and then found and handed to Corban a card key. He took it and made his way through the elevator up to the third floor. While he had never been inside this embassy before, he knew every embassy had the same layout, which included an innocent enough looking room which Lightning Force agents could access to contact Homeland Defense's highest authorities.

Finding the door he was looking for, Corban scanned the card and then let it slam shut again behind him, as he flicked on a lightswitch and made his way to a computer. Logging in, and then entering a very long code which he knew through intense memorization, he saw the light of the webcam shine, and the screen in front of him changed from black to the view of a room.

"Defense Chancellor Anders." Corban said, acknowledging his ultimate boss and handler.
"Captain Cortez. You've entered first priority codes, what do you need?"
"The High Premier on video conference as soon as possible, I assume he is in his office at the Capitol Tower. Or is he preoccupied?"

Anders looked a little surprised to hear the request too, but answered "I don't believe he is busy at the moment, only reviewing some standard budgeting legislation. You know, normally I would not do this, it's only because I know he would want to hear from you."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll have a full debriefing for you when I return home, but I do have to circumvent the chain of command for now for the sake of time." Corban said, and Anders' screen went black again. Patiently waited for about 5 minutes, the view of Aaron and the large window of his Capitol Tower office began materializing on the screen.

"High Premier. Thank you for picking up." Corban said, and Aaron replied "First names, please. I'm alone, I've had enough formalities for one day." Smiling, Corban said "Aaron, Jack is recovering. The medical team here believes they can counter his cancer, and the head doctor suggested to me that full remission might be a possibility with a certain developing treatment."

After taking in that news, Aaron finally replied "I find that hard to believe. We've spared nothing in giving Jack the very best our own and international doctors have to offer, and he has certainly lived years past a normal man's due date for a disease like he has."

"I know. But given the circumstances, I don't think we have anything to lose. If this was portrayed to me as an effort to prolong Jack's life without enhancing the quality of it, I know he and you would refuse. Surgeon General Lansing, who was read the details, seems to believe it's plausible."

Aaron said "I'm not a medical expert, but I trust your judgment. I will wire to Transnapastain my permission for their medical teams to perform whatever procedure they feel would be best. I assume there is something else you needed to talk about though."

"Actually, yes. You've heard about Amber Myers?"
"Homeland Defense gave me a vague briefing."

Corban told Aaron "Believe me, we received just as vague of a briefing. I believe there are suspicious circumstances surrounding this. And," he sighed, knowing Aaron might be skeptical "a series of seemingly unrelated events has only furthered my desire for authorization to investigate the matter personally."

"You know, Corban, it's not as if I don't care about the welfare of one my citizens, but even in the worst case, that she was killed and the Transnapastaini government wants to cover up some kind of embarrassment over incompetence, isn't it better to just let it go? I'm not sure I want to cause tension with one of our most recently helpful allies, and trade partner, if you were caught breaking the law to go after this woman, which would need to do if they're locking you out of proper information." Aaron said, trying to be pragmatic in his leadership role, and prioritize properly.

"The thing is though, Aaron, it's more than that. Something big is going on. I don't know why Transnapastain's government is not being more helpful, I really know nothing of their higher leadership, but this Schmidt fellow, I swear to you, I read fear off of his face. Not fear of embarrassment, but legitimate fear. Whatever is going on is at the very least, a national security matter to them. It could very well be dissent and subversion in their own government. In which case, if you want to keep our ally, it would be a good idea to find out what is going on before those who would be honest with us are silenced."

Giving it some thought, Aaron finally said "Corban, you've always been my closest friend. You're my family, even, and I trust you wouldn't do anything that's going to damage our nation. Listen, I'm granting you full authorization, but you tread carefully. Do not kill anyone unless it's a matter of survival. If you have to engage any Transnapastani officials, do not use deadly force under any circumstances. Stunning only, and please don't even let it come to that. If you find this woman, bring her to the Embassy, and send her straight back here to Homeland Defense so we can figure out what's going on. I'm trusting you not to fuck this up. You're my best man, but this is an extraordinarily undesirable situation to perform clandestine activity in an allied nation."

"I understand. I won't fuck it up, you have my word." Corban said, and with that, the conference ended, goodbyes as a formality between men in their positions were simply wastes of time.

Making his way down to the security room, Corban took a sniper rifle and put it into a utility backpack, along with a few MRE's and all of his equipment which would not fit on his belt. Afterwards, he procured the keys to an unmarked and unremarkable car that belonged to the embassy, and exited through the gates, and began driving towards Cestra.


Cestra Heights

Amber and Sam were both beaten from the explosion, but managed to run on a surprisingly brisk stride, fueled by adrenaline and the will to survive that cancelled out the pain of their injuries temporarily. Through twisting alleys of slums, they ignored civilians altogether and continued moving, until they finally came to a warehouse in an empty part of the city that was covered in overgrowth, a place which had been untouched for years. Sam glanced around. He could not be certain that they had not been followed, but they needed to rest. Amber was close to collapsing, and even with Sam's great endurance, he was still only human and could not run forever.

He picked off a rusted chain locked and went through a door, windows allowed in some light to the building which clearly had no electricity or running water anymore. He paced around the room, looking at everything. Amber sat against the wall and eventually asked "What are you doing?"

"Scouting out exits, assessing how likely it is we can escape from here if we need to." Sam replied. "And?" Amber asked flatly, and Sam told her "I think we'll be alright, but I'm really hoping on the fact that we lost them." He asked her "Does it hurt to breathe?" She shook her head no, and he clarified "I wanted to make sure I didn't break your ribs, that can happen sometimes." She managed to laugh a little and said "I would have forgiven that, it would have probably been for the best."

Sam sat down next to her, against the dusty wall. "I know what happened there is not the work of, certain agencies here. They want things to look good, to be done subtly, by the book which doesn't officially exist. Whoever just attacked us was a hired gun, and I have a vague idea of who it might be. The good news is, that means they're getting desperate, and they really don't have a plan."

Amber asked "And what about that EMP thing, could the card have been destroyed already?" Sam took it out and held it and said "Luckily, no. One, I would have known if there was an EMP blast, the lights would have gone out, among other, worse effects. Second, they want to know what's on it too, destroying it is a last resort, and probably what they'll do if they get a location on us again, so we'll have to find our way to the embassy completely hidden. Of course, when we get there, to Subrosa, things are going to become very, very complicated. We'll worry about that when we have to."

Looking into his eyes, Amber just nodded to acknowledge she understood, and then after a moment of silence, she said something else to him "Jackson -", he interrupted her and said "Sam, my name's Sam. Not many people have called me that for awhile, but, you knowing isn't going to change anything now." She suspected originally he gave her a false name, but continued with what she wanted to say all the same "Sam, you saved my life, and - well you didn't have to, you had the card, and the fire was burning around you, with everyone trying to kill you outside. I just, I know you didn't have to."

Sam smiled a little bit and said "Amber, despite the fact you've no doubt deciphered I have a sketchy history, that doesn't change the fact that there are men like me who still have basic human decency. It's more than just getting the truth out to me, why I'm doing this."

She put her hand on his and asked him "So why are you doing this?"
He sighed and replied "When I used to have a legitimate line of work, somewhere else far away from here, there were things I believed in. Things like following orders, and unquestioned loyalty. And, certain events happened, and now I don't believe in those things anymore. I wasn't always rouge, I haven't spent my whole life like this." He paused and continued "Culler was not a good man, and did not have a noble agenda. I watched him try to use you, while you had no idea what was about to unfold. But I believe there is some good that can come out of all of this. If they're going this far to silence us, they too need to be exposed, or at least, we need to know for ourselves, someone needs to know what they're up against."

Tears formed once more in Amber's eyes, as she believed sincerely for the first time there was something more to Sam than him having an agenda too. "I promise you, if we make it out of this alive, I'll make it up to you. I'll make sure The Floridian Coast helps you, I won't let you die for this."

"Amber, don't get too attached to me. I may or may not die for this, but even if I don't, we'll have to part ways soon. We've gone through a lot, but once you get home you're going to see that it's just..." he trailed off and got back on subject of the mission. "Anyway, let's rest for half an hour, and then I'll get us a ride."

She put her arms around Sam and half-way laid down on him. Trying to say something to feel normal, Amber managed to say "I fucking hate this cold, damp weather. It's awful." Sam put his arms around her and held her very lightly. He knew she was probably just feeling like she needed him as a survival instinct, but wanted her to feel safe at the very least. "I kind of like it, though I prefer storms to this neverending mist." he said to her. She closed her eyes, despite having no intentions to sleep, and said "Yeah, I miss Floridian thunderstorms already."

[Transnapastain]

Subrosa, Transnapastain
1329 hours

Executer Brandt was furious, which, of course, meant he was also completely wasted

"Millions of credits in damages, do you hear me!" he thundered in his office, shouting at his computer monitor. "20 or more people dead, either from those God awful huge rounds he was firing, or from the....son of a bitch what was that thing?"

"It was an ABGL-26, Executer, a weapon of Transnapastaini manufacture. In fact, the company your formally owned and operated produces them." Director Kerrick, headman of Kaukolastan's intelligence community and titular head of the Kaukolastaini Republic, replied.

"I don't give a damn about that!" Brandt replied, "it killed scores of citizens and-"

"Can you even name one of them?" Kerrick asked.

"Excuse me?" Brandt asked, severe puzzlement creasing his face

"One of the dead? One of the men, women, or children who lived, and in all probability perished, in that apartment building. Can you name a single one of them?" Kerrick inquired.

Brandt faced worked for several moments; he opened his mouth to reply, closed it, opened it again, and then snapped his jaw shut.

"We, of course, appreciate your concerns." continued Kerrick, "But you asked for a killer and that's what you got. He followed the orders issued by your commander." a ghost of a smile played across his lips "and, for the record, he's none too happy your man didn't let him finish the job."

Brandt glared angerly at the monitor "Yea, well, for the record, fuck him, and fuck you too." and broke the connection.

"That was unwise, Executer." Nicholas Friedman, headman for the Office of Foreign Affairs spoke up

"I don't care. I'm not nearly drunk enough to deal with that man and his pretentiousness." Brandt grumbled, and staggered to the side board in his office Grabbing a fresh bottle of whiskey, he proceeded to decease his perceived deficit of intoxication.

With a sigh, Friedman showed himself out of the office

In the outer office, Deputy Director Feral waited for him. "Have you received any specific orders from James?" Friedman asked her

"No, sir. Nothing changed." she replied, falling into step with him as they exited the Executer's outer office. "Just to keep eyes on the Floridan Embassy, monitoring the comings and goings from it, and, if needed, intercept a target before it could reach the gate....if we could do it without being obvious."

"What preparations have you made?" he asked

"Well, we've started a bunch of road construction in the area, filling potholes, painting new lines and the like, which is obviously making traffic through the area a nightmare." she said, "More over, I've got people watching the gate, but they haven't report much in the way of interesting activity. That Lightning Force Agent, Cortez, the leader of the Protection detail for Trenton, was ID'd going into the embassy a while ago. They haven't seen him leave, but that doesn't mean anything, if he left in a vehicle with tint, we'd never know it."

"You've alerted uits in Springfield to be prepared?" he asked

"Of course, we think he'll pass through there on his way here...but...honestly, after this last bout of madness, he'll be crazy if he tries anymore detours." he paused "And we can't escalate this much more without being obvious...I mean, we could but an anti-tank missile into their car if we get a fix on them but...you try explaining that away as a backfire."

Friedman pursed his lips "And if they do link up with anyone else form the FC, we'll have to play with kiddie gloves, we can't afford to start killing their people."

Rebecca Feral simply shrugged "Diplomacy is your business, Director, not mine, I follow my orders." She paused, and then continued in low tones "Besides, if I understand even a tenth of whats on that data card, we'll be killing their people, and them ours, in droves, if that info makes it through,"

[The Floridian Coast]

"We need to go. I'll have to find us another car, and then we'll keep driving North." Sam told Amber, and helped her up to her feet. "Can you walk alright now?" he asked. "Yeah." she said to Sam, and then was thinking out loud to him "I really wish Lightning Force would help us, but they have no reason to if they just think - That's it! I have an idea!" she exclaimed happily. Sam looked at her curiously, expecting her to elaborate. "How well you can do a Floridian accent?" she asked him. Sam smiled and said "You can tell me if I'm pulling it out well enough." in his best voice for it, and Amber nodded and said "Yeah, that's perfect! We need to find a payphone. Actually, a cell phone too, we need both."

Finding a store that sold prepaid cellphones took 20 intense minutes of walking about in the open, but eventually they reached an electronics store and found what they needed. The clerk hardly noticed, he was used to selling prepaids to suspicious looking people, and didn't care, their money was as good as anyone's. After that, they found a payphone, and Amber smiled as she felt confident in her plan.

"You mind telling me what you're about to do?" Sam asked. Amber picked up the phone and said to him "You're a terrorist. FLI, Floridian Liberation Initiative, far-right group -" "Yeah, I've heard of them."

She began dialing, the nation's call number, the area code, Amber told Sam as she did that "They still think I was kidnapped."

"Hello?" A Floridian man's voice answered from a media building in New Clearwater.
"Mr. Parker. It's, it's me, A-Amber." she said, feigning extreme fear.
Her boss, the supervisor of the foreign reporting division, exclaimed "Amber! We've been told you've been kidnapped, where are you, are you safe?"
Sam glanced around to make sure they weren't being watched. It was still the early morning, and the large droves of unemployed and drug-addicts were mostly still asleep in their homes in this poor neighborhood. A vagrant and some legitimate workers passed by, but none took notice.
"No, I'm not, uhm, you, you need to tell me where Jack Trenton is. He - they want to know."
"Who wants to know?" Mr. Parker asked, and then pressed the phone to his chest and whispered to his assistant "Call the police, right now."
"FLI." Amber paused intentionally and then said whispering "The guy holding me is downstairs right now. Listen, they're going to kill the Secretary of State, he took me because he wanted to use my media credentials to get a bomb past security at the Auster conference, but he couldn't." She faked the sound of her sobbing as best as she could and said "Please, you need to tell me where is he is. They just blew up some cops in a building in Cestra. They're going to kill me, they have men at home who are going to kill my family if I don't find out for him, please tell me where he is - please! I don't want to die, I don't want to die!"

Amber was confident as she pleaded that the plan was brilliant. No reasonable person would expect someone to aid a terrorist in the assassination of the preeminent Floridian official, save for the High Premier himself, in exchange for the life of a civilian, even one they knew. But when a person believes they are about to die, they panic. Nodding at Sam, Amber pulled the phone away from her mouth and shrieked, not loud enough to attract the attention of people on the Cestra streets, but just loud enough for Parker to hear it.

Sam began acting as well, as best he could "Stupid girl, can you do nothing right?" she yelped out again to fake a reaction to him hitting her, and then Sam harshly yelled "Where did you get that phone?!" He then allowed for a moment to silence and then spoke into the payphone "Who am I speaking to?". His terrorist acting voice sounded even more authoritative than his normal one, and Mr. Parker was compelled to answer.

"Brian Parker, manager of Floridian International's foreign reporting division." he said, sounding scared. Sam envisioned the FLI persona and said "Well I will let you get back to 'managing' your commie, government sucking piece of shit TV network now. If you contact the police, you may just find that you cost this girl her life." and with that, he hung up.

"Do you have a knife?" Amber asked him, and Sam pulled an all purpose pocket knife from his pocket. She began carving a shape into the booth. "What is that?" Sam asked, it looked to be a silhouette of a dolphin, but with decorative letters inside of it. "That is my news network's symbol. Foreigners wouldn't recognize it, but I think if a Lightning Force agent comes, and they can trace the location of the call, they might be able to figure it out."

After, she began writing the number for the prepaid cell-phone as she read it off the sticker on back. "There, finished."

"Come on, Amber, we need to get the hell out of here." Sam said to her, and they began walking briskly, though not running, down the winding streets of Cestra Heights, looking for a convenient ride to steal.

Sam put his arm out to bring them to a halt, and he said to her quietly "Look, a drug deal, the car is running." Amber took notice of three men standing on a porch, having a vocally loud argument about a disputed price. "They might have guns." Amber noticed, and Sam replied "After everything we've been through, I think you can trust me to handle this just fine. Stay here and wait by the curb."

Jaywalking half-way across the street, Sam watched the drug dealers from his peripheral vision, who took notice of him for a brief second, always paranoid of cops, and then went back to their argument. Sam flung the door open and floored it, and drove down to the next intersection, where Amber jumped through and open passenger door and shut it, and they went off. The sound of gunshots rang out in the distance, but none of them hit the car. "I would guess they don't exactly have the ability to call the cops on us." Amber said, glad to be in a car again. "This is definitely not street legal." Sam said, looking over the interior of the modified car. "I think, we can go very fast if we have to. Let's go back to that warehouse, the overgrowth will make it easy to hide this car, and we can wait and see what happens, as your Lightning Force is going to come to Cestra Heights now before anywhere else."

[Transnapastain]

Cestra Heights, Transnapastain
1514 hours

Corbon was glad that he had chosen a vehicle from the motor pool at the embassy that didn’t have diplomatic plates. As he drive through the neighborhood in the poverty-stricken distract of Cestra Heights, he was sure that government or diplomatic plates may have attracted undue attention.

While en route to Cestra Heights, he had received a call from Homeland Security that Amber Myers had managed to give her captors the slip, at least momentarily, and contact her producer. Why she had not contacted the police he did not know, but, given his suspicions regarding the Transnapastaini authorities working the case….it was more than likely for the best. The caller had informed him she had confirmed that she had been kidnapped, and that the kidnappers were related to the right-wing extremist group FLI. Worse, they had intended to use her credentials to sneak explosives into the conference in an attempt to murder Jack Trenton. Sad to say that it was almost a stroke of luck he fell ill had had to be medivac’d to Subrosa. he thought glumly, sad that his friends illness could be viewed in way other than decidedly bad. The caller had also provided him with the telephone number that the call had been placed from, and an address. Corbon noted them, and added them to his list of places to investigate.

Given that the kidnappers motives were now clear, his directives regarding the Transnapastaini authorities had not changed, but a new since of urgency drove him to complete his mission. No longer was he merely a man suspicious of foreigners motive; though he did remain suspicious of the Transnapastaini law enforcement and intelligence agencies supposedly attempting to rescue Amber, but he was now also on a mission to protect his principals and good friends life.

While still en route, he had phoned Ethan to check his status. He felt better when the initiate agent informed him that all was clear and quiet in the hospital. Though Ethan had not breached his orders and allowed them to enter the room, he had learned that officers from Subrosa’s Capital District Police Department had been dispatched for overtime duty at the hospital, performing sentry duty at the entry to the room Jack was in, in addition to the ward entrance, and to the main entrances of the hospital.

Secure with the knowledge that Jack was in good condition, both physically and as it pertained to his security, Corbon entered the city limits of Cestra Heights.
He had first intended to investigate the site of the fire, but as stopped by a police officer at a road black about half a mile away.

The officer’s voice was firm and professional, but not in any way impolite. “I’m sorry sir, there was an explosion not too far from here, and the fire department hasn’t gotten all the hot spots yet. I’m afraid I can not let you pass.”

Corbon showed the man his Lightning Force credentials, along with his passport with Transnapastaini markings, indicating he was a member of an international security team, and a VIP.

“I’ll have to run your ID through the computer. ‘the officer said, holding his hand out for the credentials, which Corbon handed to him. The officer walked to his patrol car, and returned scant moments later, Corbon doubted he’d every brought a speeding violator their ID back so quickly. “I’m sorry to detain you, sir, I understand your time is valuable. I’m also sorry to inform you that these credentials are not sufficient to allow you access to the crime scene, you’re a long way from Auster, where you’re credentials originated, and, in my professional opinion, it would be dangerous for you to approach, should the gas leak not be contained, and a spark set it off, you could be injured, and that would be tragic. “He smiled “Not much to see anyways, whole place went up, these old buildings are like tinder boxes, you know?” His voice reassumed the professional tone “If you’ll be so kind as to do a U-and head back the way you came, sir?”

Realizing he would not be gaining access to the crime scene through official means, Corbon did as he was asked, and stopped several blocks away, out of sight of the police officer, and thought. Was it worth sneaking in on foot, he was sure he would have no trouble giving the local police guardians, and fire investigators the slip. No, I don’t think so. He finally decided, checking the address associated with the telephone umber, and putting the van in gear If anything, I can come back later tonight when they’ve cleared the scene.

As he maneuvered through the traffic choked highways of Cestra Heights, the sheer size of the city became apparent to him. Intellectually, he knew Transnapastain was home to billions of people, many times larger than his own nations not negligible population. The city appeared to have been built up and out, reaching high into the sky, as if built in layers. Highways were sometimes stacked for our five levels, or "decks", high. Glancing off the highways, he could see down into the dark depths of the city, and wandered how often the sunlight managed to reach those denizens. Not very often he decided, and was glad his homeland had not become the urban dystopia this place seemed to be.

His travels had him descending deeper and deeper into the city, and it became obvious that the lower one got into the city, the more seedy and shifty the area became. When he arrived at the listed address for the pay phone, he was very glad he was carrying his firearm. His orders precluded him from killing any Transnapastaini officials, and he was sure Aaron had not intended for him to harm any civilians, but, he was sure that he was justified in subduing a crazed junkie, or mugger if need be. Judging by the fact that he had not seen a police cruiser in about 45 minutes, he suspected he could kill the any mugger, and the police wouldn’t have cared in the slightest.

Parking the van, he stepped out and surveyed the area as he sauntered towards the pay phone, doing his best to match the locals in stature and demander. He avoided eye contact with any passersby, and keep to himself, as everyone else seemed to be doing. Across the street, several working girls were plying their ancient trade, and, several feet down from them, a scruffy man sat against a pock marked and graffiti tagged brick wall, listlessly consuming a beverage hidden from view in a brown paper sack. Gun fire rang out, Corbon judged it to be several blocks away, and not a threat. He had considered wiping the pay phone for prints, but the grime and filth covering it told him the effort would be wasted.

As he inspected the pay phone, something caught his eye. As he had suspected, the woodmen timbers forming the booth around the phone had been heavily damaged both by the weather and neglect, and by marauding graffiti artists, but, one symbol, a silhouette of a dolphin, but with decorative letters inside of it, caught his eye. He brushed his hand over it, and smiled. Under the symbol was a phone umber. He memorized it and returned to the van. As he walked back, several small figures, apparently attempting to steal his hubcaps, scurried away from it. Corbon became intimately positive he should not park his car in this area of Transnapastain….ever.

He drive up and away from the ghetto underbelly of Cestra Heights, and came to a stop in the parking lot of what appeared to be a fast food restaurant bearing the name “O’Conners”. Cobon decided he would try this O’Conners place for lunch as he dialed the number he had obtained form the phone booth.

Abandoned Warehouse
Cestra Heights, Transnapastain
1531 hours

Sam and Amber had returned to their fortress of refuse, as she had begun to refer to it. Sam had left her alone earlier and obtained some lunch for them, deli meet sandwiches pre-wrapped in plastic wrap, bags of chips and some water. After lunch, there as not much for them to do what wait for a phone call they weren’t sure was coming.

“What if they don’t call?’ she asked

He laughed softly “It was your plan, and not a bad one.” He thought “I suppose if they don’t contact us by tomorrow., we’ll head out, swing north and try to come into Subrosa from the west, they won’t expect that. “

“Alright.” She replied.

Several utterly uneventful hours rolled by as they waited. An uneasy, but not unusual silence filled the warehouse. When the cell phone did ring, ti startled Amber out of a light doze. She scrambled to answer it, flipping it open. “Hello?”

“Amber Myers? Do you recognize my voice?” the caller asked

“I..of course I do, Captain Cortez.” She stammered. She hadn’t exactly expect that the Lightning Force agent who came to her rescue would also be one of her homelands greatest heroes.

“Good, are you safe, where are you, how have you kept this phone concealed from your captors?” he asked, and continued on “Also, how many are there? Are they armed? With what?”

“Yes sir, I'm fine and well, and...safe. Sir, if you’ll listen, I have some explaining to do, but, I should be done in person.” Amber said “There’s more than meets the eye here, as I think you know, come see us, I’m going to hand you off to my accomplice, who will guide you here.”

Sam took the phone, and, after obtaining Corbon’s location, gave him directions to get him to the warehouse. After confirming he was en route and knew the way, Sam broke the connection.

He handed the phone back to Amber “Well, here he comes, for better or for ill, here he comes…”

[The Floridian Coast]

Opening the door, Corban first locked eyes on Sam, who was cautiously watching, though had his weapon holstered at his side rather than drawn. "Amber Myers. Forgive me but I don't have time for formalities, so I'll get straight to business, who is this man?" He asked her, while looking at Sam, who stared back, like two predators crossing paths.

"He's not FLI. He's Transnapastaini, and he's been helping me." She said, now feeling very nervous about the implications of calling in a false threat on the life of the Secretary of State. "Helping you how?" Corban asked.

Amber took a step back and said "I'm so sorry, so sorry I lied to you. But it was the only way you'd come. There was never any threat on the Secretary's life, not that I know of, nothing from FLI. But we needed Lightning Force here, it was the only thing I could think of." She expected to be berated, or maybe even arrested, but Corban kept a calm demeanor.

"I don't take threats to those I protect lightly, and I certainly don't appreciate being baited into a mission without knowing what I'm getting into." Corban replied very seriously, but then added "But I understand, I suppose, you were kidnapped, afraid your captors were still after you -" He was interrupted by Amber who said "I was never kidnapped. This is a lot more than just me."

Corban felt irritated, more than anything. Not at Amber, and not for being mislead, but general irritation at not knowing things, though the suspicions he had about Transnapastain's government shot back to the forefront of his mind. "Go on." he said.

Taking a deep breath, Amber said "I went to a diner to meet a man who claimed to have had a story about 2/24." "I know that much." Corban said as a matter of fact, and let her continue.

"When I got there, a man named Culler gave me a media card, he insisted it was of enormous significant, and said something like 'it will change my nation and yours forever.' And then, government agents came to arrest him, there was a shootout, and Sam here saved me. I went with him willingly, he never kidnapped me."

She went on to tell the story of the next two days, in as much detail as she could remember. Sam stood quietly with his arms folded, paying close attention but not inclined to speak. Amber concluded her testimony, telling Corban about her plan to bring him to her.

Everything pieced together in Corban's mind. Every suspicion he had, every piece of chatter he had picked up on, every inconsistency he thought of with her story on the drive over, and what it could really mean. "The media card, you still have it?" Sam pulled it out of his pocket and spoke his first words to Corban "It's safe, though I suspect an EMP attack is still a possibility, if you have equipment for protecting it, that might be a fine idea." Corban started for the door again and said "Doesn't matter, I'm about to read it."

Sam and Amber followed him out to his car as he pulled a briefcase from the trunk, containing a laptop. "It might be a read once and destruct." Sam advised Corban, "We still aren't sure." Corban said, as they walked back inside the warehouse, "That's what cameras are for, I can mount an external one to capture everything on the screen."

He began setting up, it only took him a moment to mount a camera as he said he would, and log in to his computer. "I might need to call an associate for help cracking this." he said, and Sam told him "It's copy-protected, but was designed for being read, the man who gave this to Amber wanted it to come to light." The media card was processed and a multimedia document was opened, containing text and pictures, and a few dozen pages.

Page 3

The Protectorate views the Eco-Socialist Federation of the Floridian Coast to be a hostile nation towards spread of faith, and a dangerous international influence towards growing atheism. Infiltrated operatives will continue reports...

-------------

Page 6

Aid provided to Floridian Christian ministry Guiding Light, in hopes that their actions may continue. This group has been classified by government as domestic terrorists in response to their open resistance towards mass conscription of the poor, and sentencing based on dissenting ideology to labor camps...

---------

Page 14

Destabilization action recommended in order to allow wider resistance towards the atheistic, collectivist government by grassroots religious rights groups, and diminishment of the international godless influence...

----------

Page 15

Assassination of high profile government officials found to be an ideal measure for destabilization. Ideal targets include Defense Chancellor Anders, Secretary of State Jack Trenton, and High Premier Alexander Bryce. Final target would provide for maximum destabilization if killed...

------

Page 19

Attempt on High Premier's life deemed functionally impossible, considering further options...

------

Page 25

Senator Larissa Bryce, daughter of the High Premier, found to be a practical target. It is believed the effect of such a death will be similar to death of her father upon the nation. Target frequently tours the nation rallying support for her family's Democratic Socialist Party...

-------

Page 31

Political rally in New Clearwater, to occur on the date of 2/24 of this year, deemed to be ideal for elimination of target...

-----

Page 46

Mission successful. One agent KIA, the other is en route for escape. High risk danger of potential capture of contact...

--------

Page 47

Extraction failure, agent KIA. Contact in custody, it is unknown whether or not he has broken...


Page 54

Official orders given to cease and desist all operations within the Floridian Coast. Heavy backlash from administration, which is now probing our operations in close detail...


Page 83

...Protectorate to be disbanded. Anyone currently reading this file should destroy it immediately.


Corban's hands shook as he closed out the file. Amber and Sam read too, none of them had said a word.

"Larissa." Corban spoke her name with a great sadness in his voice, so far preempting his rage. "I had no idea." Amber said sincerely, she was breathing heavier now, it was clear to her why there had been people who had tried so hard to silence them.

Turning his attention to Sam, Corban placed his right hand on his gun, but did not draw it, though he was intentionally making the statement that it was at his ready. "And what part of all this were you? Surely you had some idea about this, as you've risked your life to protect it."

Sam shook his head and said "This has nothing to do with me. I protected this card, and Amber, because I believed both were important, for reasons which I now understand. That is all."

"Why should I trust you?" Corban asked, and then with a raising voice "Because it's clear to me that I can't trust anyone in this fucking country. Everyone has lied to us. They have a counter-terrorism summit with us, they secure trade contracts with us, they offer state of the art treatment for the Secretary like an act of friendship, with this, this hanging over their heads. Everyone fucking lied to us!" He slammed his fist against the wall, Amber stood off to the side, feeling very scared, not of Corban, just of the implications.

Keeping a calm demeanor, Sam said to Corban "I'm not lying, I have no reason to." "Can you prove that?" Corban shot back, with a look on his face making it obvious that he might draw his gun and shoot the man point blank any second.

"Actually, yes, I was in Brazul while this transpired. While I can't claim to have never done work alongside the Protectorate, and I wouldn't deny that, the organization had something much bigger on its place with the fiasco that turned out to be the intervention there. Honestly, given everything that went on there, I'm shocked they wasted their efforts with such a mindless murder, while I was - out there, watching friends die every day. And if I had any loyalty to them then, it's long gone. Just like the Protectorate is." Sam told Corban, who acknowledged that he believed his statement, but said back to him "I want names. Starting with this Culler, where is he?"

"Dead." Sam replied in a flat tone. He added "Culler was the man responsible for making sure the Protectorate didn't do things like this. He faced a court martial for his failure of duty and received a dishonorable discharge. The government here tried to kill him, for this, among other reasons, but he survived long enough to give this to Amber."

"Why?" Corban asked harshly, "Surely he knew if your government didn't end him, mine would."
"I assume he had an agenda that would be served by instigating a war." Sam replied.

"What about the rest of them?" Corban asked, and he began reading off names he remembered from the file.
"All dead. Everyone is dead." Sam said, trying to sound comforting, in a twisted way.
"Bullshit!" Corban shouted back, "I will fucking shoot Julian Harris if I have to, I want whoever was responsible for this, the highest level!"

Sam said to him "Mr. Cortez, you're a reasonable man. Please understand, from your own position in Lightning Force, you know how this works. You killed the assassins and contacts. The government killed the handlers. A lot of the rest involved moved on to Brazul and died there. Some died of natural causes. Culler was the last, and the only thing not dead is this secret. Believe me, I know the feeling of bloodlust."

Corban walked across the room, putting some distance between him and Sam, who he had no intentions of harming, but still felt anger towards "YOU KNOW NOTHING! Nothing about what Larissa meant to me! If you knew how it felt, if you knew I loved her, if you knew I was supposed to have a family with her, you don't know, you're just hoping to avert the consequences of this atrocity!"

While Sam had a thick skin, he was starting to feel impatient, and yelled back "Are you out of your mind?! Would I have driven Amber across the country with this card in my pocket if I wanted to avoid the consequences of a secret? Believe me, I knew from the start, with how hard they tried to kill us, that this went way beyond a scandal. I knew this risked war, even. I'm not a shill for my government, I'm not a law abiding citizen, surely you realize this!"

Sitting down against the dusty wall, Corban looked back at Amber and said, now calming down "You're a reporter. I suppose you know the Bryce family and I have had more than a professional relationship." "That was the speculation." Amber replied. He sighed. "Aaron has always been my closest friend, and Larissa and I loved each other. Aaron, the High Premier, if he knew this, if he knew this..."

Twirling his gun in his hand, just as a preoccupation, he said to both of them "The High Premier would not let this go. There's no way. And I don't know... I don't think, anything can come out of this good. His sister, it won't matter to him if everyone involved is already gone, he would turn cities into glass over finding out about this. I can't just - I can't."

Thoughts rushed through Amber's head as she thought of all of the coming possibilities. Corban looked her in the eyes and said to her "Ms. Myers, I'm going to get you to the embassy, and then you're going home to New Clearwater. But I need time, I need time to figure out what needs to be done about this. I know breaking this story would carve your name into history, I know you've come so far. But you need to understand, Larissa - Senator Bryce, she meant more to me than anyone. I need to be able to trust you. It's a matter of more peoples' lives than you could imagine."

Amber said "There are things more important than fame. You've come here, and I've done my job. It's in your hands, Captain Cortez. There is no Floridian I'd rather put this on than you, and you can trust me."

Turning to Sam, Corban said to him "As for you, I don't really have any idea who you are or why you've done all this. But you've protected Amber, and it's because of you I know the truth now. So I'm just going to say to you - go on and good luck, Lightning Force isn't going to pursue you."

He gestured toward Amber and said "Come on." "No!" she shouted in protest. Corban turned back around and Amber said "Sam saved me, he deserves better than being left to fend for himself. You want me to be quiet about this, fine, but only if he comes to the embassy. I'm not leaving him now. I'm not."

Not particularly caring if Sam lived or died, but seeing Amber's insistence, he said "Fine, come with us too. You have done a lot for us, maybe some arrangement can be made with Secretary Trenton for protection. Once you both are at the embassy, you'll be safe, and I will speak with him about this. He's not in the best health, but I'm going to put this in his hands."

"Well let's going." Sam said. Corban grabbed his laptop and the card, and began taking it out to his car. "We'll leave in 5, I'm calling in the rest of the security team in Auster. They already have a helicopter provided by Homeland Defense, ever since we received the threat on Jack's life. They'll catch up to us and shadow us into Subrosa, to make sure nothing goes wrong."

He walked out the door, and Amber and Sam were left alone inside for a minute. "I think we might make it out of this." she said, being sincerely optimistic for the second time since she thought of her plan earlier. "Our luck has certainly improved." Sam said, concurring. Amber hugged him tightly for the second time in her life, as she did, Sam said "You don't have to say sorry again." They both laughed for a moment, though Amber felt the weight of her emotions again, and said quietly to Sam "Please don't leave. Please come back with me, at least until whatever happens, because of this, happens." "Amber-" Sam said her name, not quite sure what he was about to say to her, but she continued "I need you. I don't mean I need you to protect me, I know we're safe now. I just mean, I need you. Nothing else makes sense to me. My best friend died, it feels like everything I thought I knew was a lie. You're the only one who has been there."

[Transnapastain]

Kirkland, Transnapastain, Suburb of Subrosa
1856 hours

“Thank you, office, you have a good day, as well.” Corbon said through gritted teeth as the police office handed him a citation. As the officer walked back towards his cruiser, he crumpled the carbon copy of the paper, and tossed it into the discarded O’Conner’s bag he and his passengers had been using for trash.

They had been stopped by police officers every step of the way back from Cestra Hegihts and Corbon now regretted the lack of diplomatic plates on the van. When they’d hit the first toll booth coming out of Cestra Heights, he knew that the Transnapastaini authorities were going to knew he was there, and, worse, that he had Sam and Amber with him. During the traffic stops, the van had been searched twice…His Lightning force credentials had covered the sniper rifle, and ammunition in the vehicle, in addition to the two passengers. While the Transnapastaini authorities would could have easily issued warrants for both Sam and Amber, they had not, fearing, Corbon assumed, any incidents or actions seen as hindrances to Sam, Amber, and Corbon’s progress back to the embassy would belay the story they had previously told. Further, as a foreign law enforcement agent lawfully performing his duties abroad, Transnapastain recognized the right for that officer to arrest a subject, even a Transnapastaini citizen, who had committed against a citizen of his nation. As such, they had no right to demand that Sam be turned over to them, and had no ability to apprehend Amber, lest they cause an international incident.

That did not, however, stop them from impeding their progress in other way The police had stopped him several times for the most minor of violations, assured clear distance, speeding (2 miles over), vehicle in improper condition (due to a dent in the rear quarter panel). They had cited him for a noise violation, claiming the exhaust from the vehicle was too loud, and that the muffler was not working properly, and, strangest off all, had citied him for having his rear license plate block by a metal tow hitch installed on the van…wielded in place. There was absolute nothing Corbon could have done about that one, even were he inclined to do so….when he expressed that to the officer, the man simply shrugged, handed him the ticket, and walked back to his patrol vehicle.

After the most recent ticket, this one for having no license plate light (even though the sun was only just beginning to sink below the horizon), Corbon brought the van onto the expressway leading into Subrosa. They got into the city unmolested by law enforcement, and Corbon dared to think they were home free.

Just as he finished that thought, he exited from the highway, and turned onto a surface street heading in the direction of the embassy when he had to slam on his breaks to avoid rear ending the car in front of him. He groaned as he observed the bumper to bumper traffic ahead of him, sitting in complete gridlock. Ahead, Corbon could see construction workers filling pt holes and painting lines, moving at a pace a snail would have found dizzyingly fast.

“Oh for the love of…” he started to complain, then sighed and eased himself back in the seat….it was going to be a long drive…

Office of the Executer
Subrosa, Transnapastain

Things were not going the way Executer Brandt had planned. When things started going south Brandt started getting loaded

If his current state of intoxication is any indication…we’re going to start a nuclear war. Nicholas Friedman thought as he sat in the Executer’s office with several other high ranking individuals. James Schmidt had flown back from Auster when he heard of the explosion in Cestra Heigths, and had brought Sub-Director Ghast from Kaukolastan with him. Rebecca Feral, his deputy director, sat with them, along with Friedman, and several other members the armed forces and intelligence community.

Brandt had staunchly objected to Ghast’s involvement in the meeting, partly because he was still fuming at Director Kerrick, and partly because he still wanted to play his hand close toh is chest. After some arguing, and several undiplomatic outbursts from the Executer, Schmidt had convinced him that, if the information triggered a war, they would need the support of their Kaukoalstaini allies…and that, if they were to be asked to fight on Transnapastain’s behalf…they needed to know why they were fighting. Begrudgingly, Executer released the files to Ghast, including information on the Protectorates subversions efforts in the Floridian Coast four and a half years prior, the details of the botched assassination, the measures used to cover up the failure, and purge the service, and then the world, of those responsible. In addition, the files pertaining to the more recently series of events was made beholden to him.

After browsing them briefly, he whistled softly and spoke “I’ll need to forward these to Corrsingard.” He said

Brandt grunted and waved a hand.“What are our options?” he asked, his voice sounding bleary.

“We don’t have many.” Friedman replied “According to James, we’ve delayed them more than I think is diplomatically acceptable.” He paused “We can’t arrest Sam, because the Lightning Force agent wouldn’t allow it, ad due to the International LEO Act we signed with the FC, he’s got a right to hold a prisoner accused of a crime against a citizen of his jurisdiction...” Feral began to ask a question, but Friedman cut her off before she could continue. “No, it doesn’t matter that his credentials were for Auster, it’s a national thing. That would be a semantical point that, if the roles were reversed, we’d scoff at. We can’t detain Amber, seeing as we portrayed her as a victim, and she’s now in safe hands.”

“Lets kill them.” Said Brandt, “and make it look like an accident.”

“Too late for that, there’s not enough time to get the pieces in play.” Schmidt said, dismissively.

“Why not?” Brandt demanded, his voice slurring from the amount of whiskey he had…and was continuing, to put away. “Lets just. I don’t know, blow it up with a rocket-”

“-Or a shaped charge under a man hole” Ghast interrupted, “We know from expedience that works.”

“-and then, I don’t know, it was an accident, or a terror attack, or smoething.” Brandt concluded.

“An accident?” asked Schmidt. Though it was rare he used sarcasm to illustrate his point, and even more rare for him to become enraged, he was doing one and very, very close to the other when he spoke, “Yes, there was accidently a HEAT charge under a manhole in our capital city that just managed to accidently go off when their van rolled over it…or, better yet, we just accident managed to launch an anti-tank rocket at their van as they passed by. There hasn’t been a terrorist attack in this nation in over forty year…and you want to try and get them to believe that the first one in decades is aimed at them, and not us?”

Brandt had no reply but to sniff indignant at James, not comprehending why he had shot down his obvious brilliant plan. “What can we do?”

Schmidt steeled himself before he gave his answer, with a sigh, he said “Nothing, there’s no way we can stop them now.”

Ghast spoke up “We do have an asset in play still, so there is hope.” He said, stippling his fingers, “He is still here, and can easily make it look like multiple car accident, or, he could easily eliminate them, and never be found.”

“No!” Brant and Schmidt said at the same time, Schmidt speaking in a simple, toneless voice, Brandt, In stark contrast, nearly shrieking at the top of his lungs. Brandt continued before Schmidt could “That crazy mother fucker is still in my country!?". He was irate, to the point of almost having the aneurysm several government officials hoped was headed his way. He jumped to his feet leaning over his desk, stabbing his finger at Ghast repeatedly “No, in fact, fuck no. Call Kerrick and tell him to get that sociopathic, murdering son of a bitch out of my nation, at once, Do you hear me Ghast, at once!”

Ghast simply nodded his head “As you say, though I must wonder your majesty-“ Ghast’s voice was dripping with sarcasm “if you might wish to wait until tomorrow, when your had will be slightly clearer?”

“No, I said, at once, and I meant at once!” Brandt roared.

“As you say.” Ghast said, inclining his head. Brandt seemed unable to comprehend the slight Ghast had given him by failing to use his honorific title.

Freidman piped up “Then lets focus on damage control, as opposed to damage aversion.”

Feral laughed bitterly, “Their High Premier was that woman’s sister, and that agent brining those two in was her lover by all indications….we’ll be lucky if they don’t just launch a nuclear strike.” She said, obviously intended not to be taken totally serious

Schmidt, as he usually did, reacted to her statement as if she were serious “Actually, we’d be lucky if they did that, MADAE would make short work of the missiles, and the Air Fleet would be able to intercept any strategic bombers, and, with that, we would be free to respond in kind.”

“Anyway,” Feral said, “I suggest we simply…and as quietly as we can, upgrade our defense standing. Call it war games, or something, but I think we should get some troops mobilized for defense. I don’t think we should activate any obvious offensive assets.” She glanced had Brandt, who appeared to be sleeping on his desk, she jerked a thumb a him “Fucking seriously?”

“Times coming.” Schmidt said quietly “I’ll do what I usually do when I have to forge his signature, you call Harris and let him know what’s going on.”

The meeting broke up directly after, leaving Executer Brandt alone, sleeping it off on the top of his desk.

Floridian Coast Embassy
Subrosa, Transnapastain
2201 hours

“Finally.” Corbon said as the van passed through the gate into the compound. While he felt nothing but relief that the drive was over and the mission complete success, Sam and Amber felt safety like they had never know since the ordeal began.

As the trio exited the van and stretched, Sam said to Amber “I can’t believe we made it.”

Corbon stiffened and asked “Did you doubt my sincerity, or my ability?” his eyes narrowed in suspicion

“Nope, sure didn’t.” Sam said, unperturbed. “I was more referring to the 2 days we survived without anyone’s help. Your arrival as timely, and surely saved us a lot of time, possibly even our lives, and it surely isn’t unappreciated.”

Corbon grunted in response as the trio headed in tthe embassy, approaching the desk, Corbon showed his badge to the prim, young female on duty there.

“Wake up the ambassador.” He ordered “He’s going to want to hear what we have to say,”

[The Floridian Coast]

Floridian Embassy, Subrosa

The rest of the Lightning Force agents, about a dozen, had taken domestic flights from Auster to Subrosa, having a limited amount of personal aircraft available to them. To save time, on Captain Cortez's orders, they left their weaponry at the hotels with a few lower ranked Floridian security agents, to skip the process of checking and verifying them. Their flights arrived an hour shy of Corban himself, and they had orders to immediately report to the Floridian Embassy.

Ryan Weston, no doubt, was annoyed that his entire security team had left him behind, and second, he felt an impending nervousness - he was the current head speaker at the CT conference, and if Lightning Force abandoned security at the conference, he knew something biblical must be happening. The rest of the Floridian delegation was assured that Transnapastain's security team would provide them with more than adequate attention, though there were already mass rumors of a cancellation. The few people there, Weston included, who worked for Homeland Defense in higher ranks, received a security status updated to Orange. It was at Blue, the lowest risk colour code, just hours before.

At the embassy, Ambassador to Transnapastain Stephen Hern, had gotten a rude awakening from his sleep in his suite, by Lightning Force agents pounding on his door. Worse yet, even after briefing, he still wasn't quite sure for what he was awakened.

"We are on full lockdown. No one will leave. Captain Cortez is the only person to be allowed to leave or to come back inside of here. This is non-negotiable. No Floridian tourists, no one from the Auster delegation, no one. Absolutely no one. Security has been given assignments by us to positions, each of them will hold an SMG-12-A." An agent told Stephen, would pulled his glasses from his nightstand and adjusted his vision to the bright lights. "What the hell is going on?!" he asked, voicing his discontent.

"That's classified." the agent replied. "Classified? I'm a goddamn level A state department official!" he shouted. The agent turned to leave and said "By Captain Cortez's orders, the current events are classified to all but level A Homeland Defense officials, and the Capitol Tower."

After an hour of every possible security measure, which was admittedly weaker than he preferred, Corban was content. But he was a realistic person - it's an embassy, not a military base. There were no SAM rockets mounted, no SAW guns available, just every Floridian Lightning Force agent with an SMG, and a camera system.

"Remember my orders, no one except me enters or leaves." Corban repeated to the two men at the gate.
"If you bring back someone with you?" one man asked, not unreasonably.
"Only if I bring the Secretary, which will not happen, he is too sick to leave his bed. Otherwise, if someone is with me, you should assume he has a gun to my back and shoot him." Corban replied, and then left in a car with diplomatic plates to St. Anthony's hospital.
"Is he joking?" one of the agents asked, and the other responded "I haven't seen that look on his face since... he's not joking."


30 minutes later, St. Anthony's

"Corban, Ethan told me you had left on state business." Jack said, and then coughed hard for a minute. "Don't get the wrong idea, these treatments have made me much better, that's actually the first fit since noon."

Turning to his subordinate, Corban said coldly "Ethan, leave." The young agent nodded and said "Leave, where sir?"
"Go home, I'm signing off that you've passed initiate field experience."
Ethan looked surprised, and almost offended, and protested "But sir, I didn't do anything."
Corban replied "You followed my orders and kept the Secretary safe. That means you've done your duty more than adequately. I told you, it's not all about shooting and espionage, sometimes it's about being a part of something bigger than you. Go."
Nodding, and then saluting, Ethan left his tired post and decided he would just take a taxi to the airport.

"That's a long break. You are even more compassionate than I previously thought." Jack said, grinning. Corban sat down in a chair next to his bed, and said "Mr. Secretary, a lot has happened since you were brought here, this is not going to be easy for me to share."

"Go on, I just got an extension on my life, I can take a little bad news." Jack said, trying to maintain optimism despite him imagining the bad news was more than he was ready for.
"Do you remember, sir, right around the time you signed diplomatic accords with this country, we had received covert intelligence that they were disbanding a paramilitary state church group called The Protectorate?"
Jack nodded, and Corban continued, taking a deep breath.

"The Protectorate organized Larissa's murder. Guiding Light were only used to shelter the agents, they did not organize it. The dead agents were both Transnapastaini nationals, the man we interrogated probably was as well."

Jack said nothing for a very long time. Corban knew that his mind was as sharp as ever, but that such a revelation would bring even the healthiest person to silence. Finally, Jack said "I don't think it is safe for us to be here, then."

Corban put his hand down on Jack's bed and stood up, saying "There's no more risk to us, they can't touch as now, though they tried like to hell to keep it quiet, would have gladly killed Amber Myers."
Looking at Corban, Jack asked "So their agents took her, and you got her back?"
"No, she ran with a rogue Transnapastaini agent, who protected her, until I found them."
"Rogue?" Jack asked curiously.
"I'd assume so, he was trying to save her while everyone else was trying to kill her."

Jack forced himself to stand, moving his legs to the side of the bed and then pushing up on the railing. Corban tried to stop him, but he did anyway. "I assume you came here to take me back to New Clearwater before the bombings start."

"The High Premier doesn't know." Corban said.
"Who does know?" Jack asked.
"Myers, the rouge, you, and I. No one else yet. I wanted to tell you first because -"

Interrupting him, Jack knew exactly what Corban would say "Because you wanted me to talk you out of telling anyone else." Corban nodded, and for the first time through the whole ordeal, for the first time since Larissa's state funeral, tears formed in his eyes. "Jack, I wanted revenge so badly. I wasn't even going to escort Myers to the embassy, I was going to take the sniper rifle the trunk and start killing people. But, there's no one left."

"No one?" Jack asked.
"Culler, the man who gave the Myers the media card, he was the top dog. The rogue told me something; something I had double checked en route, most of the Protectorate died in Brazul, the rest died under suspicious circumstance. Pre-accord intelligence told us The Protectorate worked without government supervision. While I can't say I'm happy that their government spent so much effort trying to murder one of our citizens, I don't think, I don't think anyone's left to kill anymore." Corban explained.

"It's sounds like you've already made your choice." Jack observed.
"It's not my choice, Mr. Secretary. I follow your orders."
"It is your choice. You loved Larissa with all your heart, you were hers and she was yours. You helped kill the assassins, and now you've helped uncover the truth. Larissa may have been my... niece, I would regard her as, but, you're the one who must decide what justice for her means."

Corban paced, as he did when he was upset. "How can I live with keeping that from the High Premier? After all we've been through, I've never betrayed his trust. This is treason."

Jack was fully on his feet now, and put his hand on Corban's shoulder. "No, Corban, treason is working against the good of our country, for personal gain. But you, you are going to sacrifice your own virtue for the greater good of your country, that's the opposite of treason. It is what Larissa would have done."

"Because we couldn't win a war?" Corban asked.
"Because we shouldn't. Our soldiers belong at home, with their families. And Transnapastain's belong with theirs. Nothing will come out of this being exposed but more killing, and not one drop of blood will make anyone anything but worse for it."

After a silence, Jack asked "Do you still smoke?" Corban felt the question was non sequitar in extremes, but answered "Yeah, half pack a day. And I don't give a shit how much better you are, I'm not letting you have one ."

"That's not what I meant, Corban, you know what I meant." And he did. Corban walked into the hospital bathroom and put a thick glove on his left hand. He held the media card over the sink, and flicked his lighter in the other hand, holding the flame below. After 30 seconds and whisps of smoke emanating from it, he crushed it between his fingers into two pieces, turned on the sink, and let them flow down the drain.


One hour later, Floridian Embassy

Entering again alone, as he told his agents he would, Corban made his way up to Amber's room, next to Sam's in the residence on the second floor, and knocked on the door. Amber answered, having taken a shower and dressed in new clothes, she looked significantly better. "Captain Cortez. What can I do for you?" she asked.

Corban took a seat after shutting the door. "The information which you obtained is in the hands of Homeland Defense. Anyone, still alive, who was involved in this assassination, will be liquidated by Lightning Force. It will not be declassified." he said sternly. Amber did not know what to say, Corban continued "I appreciate all you have done. I wish we could openly award you for it, but this is not possible. Instead, when you return home, you will be given a Civilian Silverheart Medal for extraordinary courage in service of your homeland. This will be under the pretext of helping stop FLI activity. Luckily for you, you don't even have to lie. There were many arrests made at home, and many potential attacks we didn't know about averted. I expect after what you've been through, the network will promote you, if you still desire your job. If not, you have basic income for life, as all Floridians, and since the network is state owned, resigning will entitle you to a full pension."

Amber's eyes showed she was not interested in money or prestige anymore. Corban continued talking "You can report the news, you can go to med school and become a doctor, you can join the army, you can start a bar, or you can take the money and live out the rest of your life at resort spas. I don't give a fuck what you do. But this story, it's gone. And I'm not going to threaten what would happen if you spoke about it, because no one would believe you. And we both know that. Do you accept these terms?"

"I accept. But, I want asylum for Sam, and protection. Everything else, I suppose I can trust Homeland Defense to make good on what I've discovered, and I'll go back to normal. Whatever the fuck that is, I don't know anymore." Amber replied.

"I don't know either." Corban said, and got up to leave. "Consider Sam a citizen. That doesn't mean you keep him, that isn't up to me or anyone, not even up to the High Premier, only one person who can make that choice." Corban said, echoing Jack's sentiment. "Was I really that obvious?" Amber asked, feeling embarrassed of all things after all she'd been through.

Laughing, Corban said "Probably not, I'm trained to detect peoples' emotional connections." and with that, he left. No sooner was Corban half way down the hallway, Amber stood up and walked into Sam's room. He too, had showered and eaten, though he didn't seem relaxed, maybe, Amber thought, at peace.

"I assume Captain Cortez just told you the same thing he told me." Sam said, sitting on the edge of his bed. Amber sat down next to him. "Did he tell you that my government is going to protect you, if you want it?" Sam replied "I don't exactly want it, or more accurately, need it. I can handle myself just fine. But then again, I have no place to go, no one to go back to, and the Floridian city-states seem to offer a nicer life than me blending in with the Cestra underbelly forever. So I guess I'll have to find an apartment. Dull task, after the last two days."

Amber leaned on him and put her arms around him and asked "Can I find you one close to mine? It's a good neighborhood."
"How close?" Sam asked, taking her hand.
"Depends." Amber said enigmatically.
"On what?" he asked.
"On what you want." she said, and then moved closer to him and kissed him. They closed their eyes, and then separated slowly, Amber glad that it didn't feel awkward as she feared.

Amber laid down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "You want to stay the night again, the first night you have the choice? I guess I don't snore loudly as I feared." Sam joked with her. Amber smiled and said "I think this would be the first night I'd have the clarity to take notice."

"We probably will have an early flight out of here tomorrow." Sam said, observantly.
"I sleep on planes just fine." Amber replied, and closed her eyes as Sam laid down next to her.