The fog rolled in not long after the sun rose on the eastern horizon. There, along the cold, unusually calm waters of the south dock about two dozen boats, ranging from small yachts to sailboats, bobbed up and down with the waves as they came in from the ocean. The fog came in from the ocean, swept past the boats, over the docks and piers, across the beach, and inland, bathing the entire region in a cool, moist, creepy cloak of air. It was autumn and fog in the morning was as common in autumn as snow was in the winter or sun during the summer or rain during the spring. The four seasons of Earth affected Layarteb's every corner and every region, some more so. In this particular region, summers were hot, humid but breezy, autumn was foggy, wet, and chilly, spring was rainy but pleasurable, and winter was undoubtedly stormy, harassing, and brutal.
This morning a man, wearing a long, leather coat hobbled down the dock, turned when it turned, and walked where it lead him. He walked with a gain and the old man was scared visibly on his face where one of his eyes had been removed, surgically during a torture session years earlier. A glass eye adorned the socket now but it was more for others than for him. Speaking to a man with one eye was a bit uncomfortable for most people and so the glass eye, though obviously noticeable, seemed to make things easier for his conversations. The loss of that eye though eliminated any depth perception and this old man, who had once been able to fire ten rounds out of a pistol through the center, ten ring on the bulls-eye from one hundred feet every time, was now just a courier, of sorts, so to speak.
The man with the cane walked up to a small yacht that was sitting docked at berth eleven and the yacht was invisible, at first, covered by the fog. Yet, as he got closer to it, the yacht began to material and then its gang plank and then a pair of armed guards, dressed in black, holding submachine guns. Both of them were about his size but younger, uninjured, not weathered by time, war, and duty. They watched him approach and though they did not aim their weapons at him, they immediately focused their attention on the approaching, old man who still tucked a pistol inside of his coat. He had told his driver to keep the submachine gun that they had brought with them and use it in case a "situation" arose, not that he expected any to arise. This was a meeting with an old friend, a long time friend who had supplied him and his organization with more than their fair share of goods. The old man, a foreigner who was born elsewhere, rather than on Layartebian soil, was distinctly Slavic in appearance and these two guards were entirely Layartebian in appearance.
"Stop right there," one of the guards said, his voice authoritative and though it was not loud, it certainly carried in the silence of the dock. The yacht bobbed up and down behind them and they eyed the old foreigner who stopped in his tracks. "Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes I do," the old foreigner spoke, his voice accented as if his first language was Russian and not English. His English was still understandable and clear but it was definitely this man's second language. "I am here for a meeting with Elipsis."
"Hold on a moment," the guard spoke into a transmitter that was in the palm of his hand. He whispered and the old foreigner didn't hear what he said. "Come here and put your arms up, are you carrying any weapons?"
"A pistol," the old foreigner approached and did as he was instructed with the one guard patted him down, the other watching intently, remaining professional, his finger hovering near the trigger, his gaze fixed right on the old foreigner being searched. The guard found the pistol and removed it. "Is this a problem?"
"No, it is not." The guard handed him back the pistol and stepped aside. "Elipsis is waiting for you."
"Thank you," the old foreigner said as he stepped up to the gangplank and ascended its mild incline onto the deck of the small yacht, which bobbed underneath his unsteady feet. Я ненавижу лодки. [I hate boats.] He thought to himself as he held onto the side of the cabin's exterior wall just to keep himself steady. He walked slowly, slower than he had on the dock, having great difficulty with the bobbing boat. Though the boat itself was in calm waters, the waves were enough to make an old foreigner who needed a cane to walk have a workout just walking in a straight line. When he finally came to another set of guards, both of them dressed in the same way, carrying the same equipment, holding the same weapons, he was sweating.
"Please, enter," one of the guards said as he opened the door and stepped to the side. "You're expected."
"Thank you," the old foreigner kept his manners despite the arduous ordeal that walking had been for him and though he wanted to be short and yell that he hated boats, meetings on boats, the motion of boats, and even the appearance of boats, he kept his poise. An old man of war and of politics, he was a dignified gentleman at all times, even if in his heyday he had been a ruthless killer who wouldn't think twice about speaking both his mind and his heart to whomever stood in his path.
"Валентин, мой старый друг, пожалуйста имейте место. Я могу получить Вас напиток?" [Valentin, my old friend, please have a seat. Can I get you a drink?]
"Конечно Вы, Вы знаете, что я презираю лодки, может исправить?" [Of course you can, you know I despise boats, correct?]
"Ю знает, что я презираю водку?" [You know I despise vodka?] From the shadows of a corner, another man emerged. He was as old as Valentin but he moved much better. Like Valentin, he had been a man, a soldier, and a ruthless killer of both war and politics. Yet, unlike Valentin, his fortunes had been better. Whereas Valentin suffered for duty and for his truths, this man benefited from luck, skill, and opportunity. The two men were equals though, Valentin brought down physically by his years in service to the state and this other man mentally by his years away from his family.
He crossed the room, handed the glass of cold vodka to Valentin, and sat down on the couch across from the old foreigner. "К нам Валентин?" [To us Valentin?]
"To you by friend, to you." Valentin responded in English and the two men took a swig of their cold vodka. "Do you know why I am here this morning?"
"I trust it isn't for another request? Our last one was so soon."
"My dear Andrew it is more than that."
"Is it now? I am all ears." Andrew leaned back and loosened his tie. Valentin removed his coat and the two men sat in the closed, warm, cozy cabin. "What is it I can get your organization?"
"We need to acquire body armor, the newest kind; we need to acquire guided rockets, for taking out tanks; we need to acquire flame throwers, the kind from the old days; and we need to acquire laser designation systems."
"That is an usual order for your organization, is it not? It seems those are nothing you cannot buy on the black market."
"We can but we need discretion in our purchase and we're willing to pay for it as I am sure you will have to acquire these through third parties." The men had more of the vodka and sat in silence for a moment.
"It is not a question of my obtaining these things for you but I must ask you, why do you all of a sudden need such things. Since when have you become a combat organization?"
"Andrew, you know these are questions I do not wish to answer."
"How long do we go back Valentin?"
"Forty years? Fifty years?" Again, silence while the two men drank.
"We served in foxholes together, have we not?"
"We have," Valentin pushed his cane to the side and relaxed a little, finally feeling his knee again. Shrapnel from a grenade had been lodged in his knee for the better part of twenty years now and it was just one of the seven reasons he needed a cane.
"Then why must you need this? Please let me know; let me be wise counsel to you Valentin. Since when has your group become a combat force? You have never needed such heavy weaponry before. What is it that you gentlemen are planning? It cannot be wise."
"Andrew you do not know the status of our organization anymore. There have been some changes and I am afraid that we have splintered. The younger men and women, the zealous ones, the foolish ones have gone their separate ways and now they have stoked the fire and kicked the hornet's nest of a larger and more powerful organization, a militia that prides itself not on helping the people it protects but on torturing anyone to confess in six hours or less.
"I am afraid that now they have gotten themselves into trouble and they have become prisoners of war. We don't believe any more than fifteen are left alive but as they are young ones, it is our duty to protect them, to bring them out, and to rescue them. We wish to assault the militia's headquarters, where they are being kept. That is why we need these weapons and we need them tomorrow. Can you help us? Can you help me Andrew?" Silence again filled the air as the small yacht bobbed up and down in the waves. Valentin felt himself grow slightly queasy but he downed another gulp of vodka and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply.
"You aren't going to be seasick are you?"
"No, no I am fine."
"You ask much and not that I cannot do it, I can, and I will but I must caution you away from this act. Preservers of the ancient secrets of your land you have always been. Why the sudden change?"
"These young ones have found ancient texts of revolt and drew inspiration from them. A local militia one settlement away encroached upon us at that time; really, it was coincidence at best. These young ones, inspired, would not stand it and for three days, we argued in our council chambers about how to act. I proposed nothing. The militia far outweighed us and they had left us well alone, ignored our library, and continued on their way. The young ones believed that it was just a start to abuse and mistreatment. Some case might have been like that four hundred years ago but not today. The militia was lost; they wouldn't dare do it again.
"So the young ones, not listening to reason, separated, and went to avenge what they saw as an affront to our organization. They believe that they are doing it out of pride and honor. When has pride ever been good for our lands?"
"Never Valentin, never." Silence came again and more drinking as both men finished their glasses. "Another?"
"If you would please," Valentin held out the empty glass and Andrew stood, retrieved it, and returned to the dark corner, where the bar was, and where he refilled both of the glasses. He returned, handed it to Valentin, sat down, and neither of the two men said a word as they continued to drink. "You know the outcome of this, don't you?"
"Yes Valentin, I am afraid I do. It does not bode well for you."
"Why is that, don't you have confidence in us? It isn't as if I shall be leading the fight," Valentin laughed. "What I think I would be cut down before I drew my weapon.
"Yes that is true you must be agile to pull off something like that."
"Others will lead this and they will bring about the safe return of our young ones."
"And what of the library if the worst should happen and you are all lost?"
"We have contingency plans in place." Valentin took another sip of his vodka and Andrew shifted himself so that he could be more comfortable.
"That is good to hear. You know, one day, I want to see this library that I have so heavily funded."
"Within it are the greatest secrets of my land."
"That is what I suspect. I would hope so; I have paid your organization a lot of money for it."
"Yes you have and we are most pleased. Who would have thought that after my wounds, I would become a librarian? All of the evil we did in the world and yet a librarian is my fate?"
"Well it isn't necessarily your fate, just what you are doing now Valentin, just what you are doing now."
"That may be but I do not believe I am long for this world anymore. Another couple of winters and I shall be done with this."
"Don't say that my friend, don't say that." Silence again while they had another drink. There was a knock on the door and Andrew rose. "Excuse me," he said as he walked to the door and opened it just a crack. A guard stood in front of him. "Yes?" The guard whispered something and Valentin tried to hear him but he couldn't. Andrew closed the door soon enough, returned to his seat, and sat comfortably but Valentin noticed that there was something slightly uneasy about him. "I'm sorry about that, it seems that harbor patrol is driving around here."
"Is that a call for concern?"
"Not at all."
"Good then, so you will help us?"
"I will Valentin, I will but I warn you one last time, you are about to go down the longest road to nowhere."
"Good, tomorrow morning I will be at my warehouse for pickup. Is that enough time?"
"You haven't said how many of these things you need." Valentin pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over to Andrew. It was written in Russian but Andrew could read Russian so it wasn't an issue. "Tomorrow morning it is."
"Thank you Andrew." Valentin finished his vodka, stood, and walked to the door. Andrew beat him there and opened the door for him. He allowed Valentin to walk out of the door first and then followed behind him, shutting the door. They shook hands but Andrew held on for just a moment. "Is something wrong Andrew?"
"No but if you will, please come here. I want to show you something, follow me." Andrew led him to the aft of the small yacht. Since it was docked bow first, the aft was facing the ocean.
Standing there, Andrew watched as Valentin came by, somewhat clumsily. "What is it you wish to show me?"
"There, I have renamed her." Andrew pointed up to the name above and as Valentin looked at the name, his eyes began to well up in tears. "After your daughter my friend," Andrew said. Valentin braced himself on his cane and then, in an instant, slumped over forward, and slammed face first onto the deck of the yacht. Andrew stood behind him, didn't budge, and then, calmly, lowered the suppressed pistol that he had used to shoot Valentin in the back of the head. It was over in a moment and Valentin was lying dead on the deck of the boat. Two of the guards appeared a moment later with his driver, who was equally as dead. "Goodbye Valentin," Andrew said. A guard dragged a tarp over the bodies and within minutes, the yacht was backing out of its berth for sea.
Part VII