Underestimated [Closed]

[Western Confederation]

OOC: This is chapter 2 of the Predetermined trilogy.

^{ODF Headquarters
Codrington
Northern Torchland
February 2016}

The notorious ODF leader Franco Valema found himself in a relaxing atmosphere in his otherwise busy life. His beautiful wife prepared him for a shave with Occidentian folklore music playing elegantly in the background. He peeked at his 60'' television, which portrayed an anchor of a business news network - "Markets roiled in the beginning of this year, now Provisa, Franklin, Romula and Loweport show signs of a correction. Hudson Angelo buying a huge stake in Constance Bank."

He quickly switched channels on his remote control as he got to a kids program depicting Mr. Monopoly showing kids how to spend money wisely. He released a quick smirk, not too much to hurt himself in the process of shaving, but then continued zapping to channel 11, Staten Torchland News, which came to be known as a conservative media outlet headquartered in the Staten quarter of Palmerston. It showed SIA agent Benjamin Ross loaded with a constant stream of press questions - one of which was a STN reporter, "What can you tell us about the victims?" he queried.

Franco frantically stood up with a creamy Santa Claus beard before upping the volume to near-max listening what the SIA agent had to say. "Well the identities of these individuals are being kept confidential at this time whilst we make sure their friends and families are notified, but it appears that one of the victims was the primary target of Fratini's actions today."

"Confidential my ass!" He then sat back down in his seat muting the sound and cocking to his right where his companion Fabriccio Alecante stood. "They must think we are idiots, we know exactly what is going on. I can't believe there are people in this world that can believe this crap. They are killing innocent Occidentians for some kind of misplaced market state, or some kind of genocidal Rodarian self-centered republic! You know what, let them believe what they want to believe. The Republic of Occidentia is a fact and it is something I will die fighting for if necessary. Now, how is our weapon stock doing Fabio?" - Fabriccio looked into Franco's fiery eyes before answering in a calm tone, not willing to add fuel to the fire with someone taking daily medical supplements for his high blood pressure. "It's on schedule sir."

"Perfect." Franco replied back as he got his left cheek shaven by a barber razor, before looking at the television once more. This time it was a report about Eaglelander Iron Lady Demou; "What lesser action can there be? Our saying 'he who plays with the feces gets eaten by the hens' is an adequate response, I am afraid." Looking at this in particular he had trouble suppressing his laughter, but did so because his wife started to get irritated - and if there was something he was scared of it had to be feisty Occidentian women or any other woman from the Tinian March.

Zooming out, the scenery outside near the spot where Douglas was killed a month ago, was now a working machine. Warehouses loaded with barrels and boxes filled with equipment and advanced weaponry such as the Emmerian M18. Near them were ODF guards and mobs clad in uniforms and trenchcoats respectively - exchanging briefcases filled with money, altogether with huge chunks of narcotics some of which have close connections to the south. The true definition of a black market. Fabbricio Alecante looked down the necklaces he stole from Douglas' dead corpse before disposing the body near the Santa Maria Quarter. He came to realize they underestimated us.

[Rodarion]

Drenova, Carnaro region, State of Torchland
February 2016

---

The anger was reaching boiling point, the fury grinding its way to the surface above rationality and mercy. Many had begun to question the legitimacy of the United Carnaro Front's efforts for a negotiated settlement to the referendum question. Although the movement in itself was not dividing into factions, ideas and proposals for how to achieve reunification were beginning to cause rifts. It had been three weeks since the UCF formally proposed simple negotiations with the government about securing a date for a referendum, rather than being rejected outright, the entire effort was completely ignored by every level of government - not a single reply, unofficially or officially, be it through email, letter or even spoken word.

Across Carnaro some elements took to the streets to make clear their frustration, using graffiti and street art, slogans such as "Vogliamo fuori" (we want out), "la Patria è la libertà" (the fatherland is freedom) and "la scheda o il fucile" (the ballot or the bullet) could be found in every major town and city in the region, some believed that students were organising themselves into 'graffiti brigades' due to the sheer amount springing up across urban Carnaro, but at the end of the day it wasn't getting the government's attention.

The Circolo di Riunificazione had just arrived when news of the shooting in Unity broke, inside the dusty and mouldy smelling cellar, the thirteen leaders sat around the rotten wooden table listening to bodyguards smartphone. As they muttered amongst themselves about the tragedy, the consequences and the possible retribution by the government and their Belfrasian masters, he arrived.

Standing at 6'3 he was exceptionally tall for a southern Rodarian. Although looking exceptionally unassuming, more akin to a mid-level bank worker in a dull grey suit, the new arrival was far from average. Despite his need for glasses and his balding head, Gino Carcaterra was one of the Inter-Services Intelligence's (ISI) best "Active Measures" officers they ever had. He had spent two weeks in Bogoria before armed gunmen began seizing administration buildings across the Catholic South, inside the ISI, he was known as the "man who caused the Bogorian affair". Carcaterra's deployment to Carnaro was authorised by the Pope himself according to a memo sent to Carcaterra prior to his ten hour car journey through Caicova to Drenova. At 37 years old, he had experience in field and had also had the joy of teaching political warfare at the National Defence Academy in Romula between 2003 and 2008.

Tapping on the minifridge it took close to 3 minutes before the entire Circolo turned around to look at their new guest.

"Bounasera Campangi" Carcaterra bellowed with a wide grin on his tanned face.

"Who the hell are you?" Achile Starace shouted out.

"Well singore, I am the man sent by the man in Romula to help you in our cause.. er.. Alessandro Farinacci was informed of who I was?" Carcaterra replied.

"Oh yes, the ISI agent" Starace sat back down, calming his nerves.

"We don't need a spy" Cinzio Scoli spoke up, pushing her glasses down her nose.

"I am not a spy madam, I am an officer of the Active Measures office. I am here to help you get what you want" he smiled.

"Officer of what?" Peter Stevens shouted out - the half-breed.

"Active Measures, is political warfare Mr Stevens. I am here to get you what you want" Carcaterra lost his smile, his entire demenour changed from that of a charming albeit average looking guy to one of pure serious determination.

"A referendum?" Stevens replied.

"Yes but no, what you all want, is reunification with the fatherland, right?" he asked, rhetorically of course.

"Obviously, we're the Circle of Reunification" Starace sharply replied.

"Well, I am here to make sure you get that, with or without a referendum. At the moment you're not getting either because you're all so dedicated to getting a referendum the proper decent way. Writing letters and sending emails is all well and good when its about a pipeline or a new motorway, but you want to break away from this foul place and return to your brethren. You need to really consider how far you're all willing to go to achieve that" Carcaterra spoke, his voice toneless, his seriously as hard as steel.

The circle looked around at each other, not sure how to take this man's suggestion.

"Of course we're willing to go the entire way" Starace replied, Farinacci nodded, Augusto Turati (head of the Brigade of Revolutionary Action) hummed in agreement.

"Well, violence maybe the only way. I will not lie to you, some in this foul country's government want that, so they can discredit you all and so on and so on. I recommend you begin organising rallies and protest marches as soon as possible" Carcaterra stood firm, these people were soft.

"But the government might reply" Scoli replied, apprehension ringing in her voice.

"After three weeks, they're not" Carcaterra gave her a dark look, she shuddered at his gaze.

"I agree, we're not getting anywhere being this naive" Pietro Cavallero finally entered the fray, as head of the United Carnaro Front he was the most powerful individual in political terms in the room, this was the man Carcaterra had to focus on for now.

"I've already spoken to the Front's executive committee and we all agree that we need to be more vocal, for our sake and to show the world that we're being ignored and democracy is being trampled upon" he continued.
"What support can we expected from the fatherland?" Starace enquired.

"Well I can't possibly know the thoughts of the Holy Father or the Consul, but I can say that you will get financial help, obviously the fatherland can't become involved in the political process, but should this foul country collapse into war, then of course expect the full support the Bogorians received - the good Bogorians anyway" Caracaterra weakened his stern posure and regained his smile.

"What about the Occidentians? We're already seeing the primitivi conduct very cheap tricks as a means of discrediting us" Farinacci spat, his entire body convulsed with hatred.

"I wouldn't worry about the Occidentians for now, they're irrelevant at this early stage. I am not sure what they would gain by trying to discredit you all or your cause, since they quiet possibly want the same thing. But know that the fatherland will deal with them directly if the need arises" Carcaterra gave a somewhat comforting feeling, shifting his weight from one leg to another he was growing tired of this petty discussion.

"Ah yes, before I finish, you should know that the Fatherland is taking precautions should the government and their masters pounce on you when you begin protesting. In about an hour, around 100 or 150 Ordice veterans from Bogoria will be arriving in Carnaro, these are the men who went in first during the very early stages of the Bogorian war and helped stopped the government there, so be certain they can do the same" Carcaterra grinned, whilst exchanging a look with Farinacci, he would need to address him, Starace and Turati seperately at some juncture, to prepare them for possible war.
"We are in agreement then?" Cavallero asked the Circolo. All twelve others nodded in agreement - protests would begin as soon as possible.

Rasdeglia, Eastern Carnaro - Torchland

---

Mario Ravelli zipped up his combat trousers after taking a much needed leak among the cypress trees that lined the inter-border highway between Torchland and Rodarion. The convoy was set to park 4 kilometers east of the border at the village of Madesimo, then the group would cross the border through the woods in groups of ten. Their weapons had been transported to Rasdeglia on the Torchlander side, two days prior, they just had to get themselves across the border. Due to the business-like organisation of Torchland's border security, its professionalism and dedication was somewhat more lacking than during the time of the Confederation. Even so, above their heads two Papal Army UAVs were patrolling, checking the ground for heat signatures. Further east in the depths of Caicova province, the 2° Order Group - one of three that secured victory in Bogoria was recalling its troops for field exercises - history was slowly repeating itself.

Ravelli and his "Cella" (Cell; in reality a term used to identify a group of highly trained troopers tasked with various behind-enemy lines ops and of course Active Measures); the 153 men currently awaiting to cross into the next maelstrom had been the first group to cross into Bogoria when its war began in November 2014. These men had commanded Bogorian rebels and fought hand-to-hand themselves, these men were the best of the Ordice and were well respected by the Papal Army, Defence Corps and the ISI, as such following the success of Bogoria, the Active Measures force was placed into a transcendant position, it would receive assistance, training and weapons from all branches of the Papal Armed Forces and be subordinate to the ISI when the conditions called for such. As a result, Ravelli and his 152 comrades were at this time, the most important soldiers the Papal Federation could field.

Within a Cella, is a series of Squadra, made up of between 5 and 10 men. Ravelli was charged with leading Squadra Leoni (Lion Squad), his four men were with him during the initial insertion into Bogoria. Pietro Marcano, Matteo Carillo, Lorenzo Andreini and Caio Bassani were his brothers in both arms and emotion, these five men would be the first to cross into Torchland and the last to leave if it was a success, if they and the fatherland failed - they weren't expected nor wanted to return - victory or martyrdom is the only option for the Order of the Cross.

An officer from the Papal Defence Corps was walking around the large congregation of men with a clipboard of all things, quaint wasn't the word.

"Ravelli, you're first. Good luck and God be with you" the officer smiled, Ravelli nodded and his Squadra rose to their feet, in a mixture of civilian clothing and military gear. The six men then departed deep into the woods to cross the border.

"Squadra One, you have a clear path directly west" a voice crackled from Ravelli's earpiece.

"Copy that control, moving out - radio silence this end" he replied.

"This should be fun" Carillo laughed.

"Any chance to shoot up some Belfrasians is a good thing" Bassani replied to him, without a hint of excitment. His cousin who was in the Rodarian Airborne Landing Forces, was almost run down by a Parmenio tank, no one appreciated what the Belfrasians did in Bogoria - denying the Papal Federation the entirety of Bogoria.

"Well let's hope it doesn't come to that, we're here just to advise the militias and if needs be to conduct some ops, but you never know we may be home within a few week without firing a shot" Ravelli retorted sharply, although he craved the excitment of war, he didn't appreciate the costs it demanded. Slowly they began to walk through the foliage under clear moonlight, the faint blue illuminating the ground. The sounds coming from the snapping of twigs and leaves beneath their boots and the calls of evening birds. With just over an hours walk they had a fair trek, but driving right up to the border was never a smart move, yet with mini-UAVs keeping vigilant watch over the border, they should make it safely to Rasdeglia without issue... God willing.

With the border just over two kilometers away, they could run the rest of the way to Rasdeglia, but for now they had to keep a steady pace. The issue wasn't that they were scared of being caught, it was the boredom of the walk, since there was to be not talking and complete radio silence, they only had their imaginations to keep them going and the sights around them, not that they could see much apart from trees and bushes.
30 minutes in they had no choice but to pick up the pace.

"Squadra One, this is control. You have six targets inbound from the north, estimated time till interception, fifteen minutes" the voice crackled into Ravelli's ear once more.

"Copy that control" he replied quietly, clenching his fist above his head, he and his five brethren suddenly began to sprint towards the border. Having been trained by Special Force Archangel, they could take the strain of running the distance, all they could hope for was to reach a safe spot out of sight before the border guards could catch them crossing into Torchland illegally.
Charging through the trees and foliage they had no option but to keep pushing onwards, the lights of the border road peering through the leaves. To defend themselves if need be, they only had a 9mm pistol and one magazine, but shooting up six border guards wasn't an option.

"Squadra One, this is control over" the voice returned.

"Go ahead control" Ravelli panted a reply.

"Be advised, we are causing a distraction. Explosion one click north of your position" the voice informed Ravelli's ear, completely without emotion, despite the fact that the larger UAV of the pair above them, was about to drop a 50kg bomb into the middle of a forest.

"Copy that control, pressing on, out" Ravelli replied, still pushing himself as hard as he could towards the otherside of the border road. As Marco tripped on a root, barely regaining his balance, the entire ground and foliage shook as a bright orange light to their north erupted into life, billowing out a great boom that seemed to echo for miles and miles. Despite the explosion, the team didn't lose momentum, they continued pushing as fast they could towards the border.

"Squadra One this is control, six targets have stopped, keep current pace and you will reach target destination without confrontation, out" the voice crackled once more.

"Copy that" Ravelli struggled to reply, still pushing himslef towards the border line. Within five minutes they reached the border line, they could see the six Torchlanders congregated under a lamp post trying to get a view of where the explosion happened. Completely oblivious to the six men legging it across the tarcmac road into the bushes and trees on the Torchlander side.. they had made it. But now they had to make it to Rasdeglia and start the real hard work.

[Belfras]

House of Parliament,
Isn Deslen,
The Kingdom of Belfras.

At the heart of Isn Deslen, that vast and old capital that once sat the center of the civilized world, sits the Parliament building. The place where, for hundreds of years, people had met to decide the fate of the nation and it's laws. It is under those prestigious and old halls, buried in that concrete and dirt and under those subway lines and waterways sat the Prime Minister. Aaron Sentar and his cabinet had convened in a room that, while having no official name, was known fondly as the war room. The place that had once protected the previous governments during the height of the cold war had now become a place where Sentar's stress would culminate entirely. The room, bland in nature and set in purpose, was quiet except for the Secretary of State, Luciana Phillips. She was relaying missives from the Papal Federation that the exercises had nothing to do with Torchland. By the way she spoke and quoted the ambassador who had delivered the message it was clear that she was as convinced by the words as Sentar was. That was, to say, not in the slightest.

"Finally the ambassador wanted to assure us that the Papal Federation would like an expedited and agreeable resolution to the situation in Torchland." Phillips was finishing, giving Sentar a chance to respond with a wry look about him.

"You mean they want us to capitulate once again?" Sentar summarized, getting a small snicker of laugh from the other cabinet members and the entourages they had each brought. "Of the bullshit that's flowed from that government and it's pope, this is arguably the largest steaming pile of shit they've created so far this year. I've spoken with Chairman Walker who, as you all may agree with, has come to the educated belief that this is a direct intimidation tactic as seen previously used by the Papal government. They want Carnaro and Walker's government is denying them this prize."

Anthony Ford, that auburn haired ex-military man who had been alongside Sentar in the elections all the way spoke next. For Sentar, his word carried more weight than the other ministers for his military past and his position as the defence secretary. "Sir, simply put we can't trust the Rodarians. They're proficient liars and they're following the same stream of events now as happened in Bogoria. They're a nation of propagandists who ignore the facts as they appear to everybody else. They like to paint the Torchlanders and us as criminals when they forget that until two years ago they had death camps active within their country."

The next to speak at the table was Jack Pitchman, the deputy Prime Minister. "Here is what we know, sir. Last year the people of Bogoria suddenly, without any prelude, began protesting for independence. It was a known fact from the start that they would vote to enter the Papal Federation as soon as they were independent. What we know is that at some point the Papal Army sent special forces in to help the rebels train and to cause chaos within the country. Simply put, they create the justification they felt they should use to invade the country. They're doing the same thing now. The people in Carnaro were peaceful until suddenly they weren't. They wanted things quickly with unreasonable demands. Things are escalating with the rhetoric from the pope being almost identical to how it was in Bogoria. What we will see next are special forces from Rodarion entering Torchland to reenact the exact same line of events as happened in Bogoria. We will see things get violent until the Papal Federation can use another weak justification to act. Now, Admiral Wellington has information from our intelligence sources in the country."

"Thank you, sir." The Admiral spoke as he rose from his seat to speak with a handful of documents ready. "Given our beliefs of occurrences in the lead up to the Bogorian invasion by the Papal Federation we have begun observation flights over the area of Carnaro and the border of it to the Papal Federation itself. Nothing major on most fronts to be honest, sir. Theirs two or three smuggling routes off the main road that are heavily used and normal traffic that's lightening up with the military exercises by the Papal Army. However, we did get.. This." He paused to show a small clip of when a plane overflew an area. Nothing was really of note except for when a fireball erupted in the middle of nowhere. "That was dropped onto the target, which we suspect was either some form of badger or a rabbit. We have nothing to tie it together, sir, but we're operating under the belief that the Papal Federation is smuggling special forces into Carnaro like they did for southern Bogoria. This may be a part of that operation or a test of possible insurgent devices."

The next to stand was a Colonel. Sentar knew the man from before he ran for office and, he realized, the man looked more weary than he ever had previously. "Well, we've run the numbers sir. It's all bad news, I'm afraid. If we follow what's become something of a standard operating protocol of the Papal Army.. They will operate these independent exercises until such a time as these special forces cause enough chaos that they can try to play hero and invade. I'm not sure why they think it works, but it's what they do. Given their victories last year and the rhetoric we're getting, it's a certainty. They have what's the equivalent of two Army divisions that can enter the country and take the majority of Carnaro before our closest division can mobilize and enter the country altogether. I'm sure they're aware of the defence agreement we have with the country, but frankly sir once they have created the environment they're looking for they wont care."

"So." Aaron spoke finally, that deathly silence put at rest. "What we're in agreement is that the Papal Federation is actively using subversive means in the lead up to an overt attempt to take over Carnaro? Good." He paused after everybody nodded for a moment. His mind flashed to the Nos Callis attacks and he couldn't resist a shudder. "It will be our imperative that the Papal Federation will under no circumstances be allowed to gain control of Carnaro or any part of our former allies territories. The Central Defence Initiative was the primary advocate for the Bogoria matter, but this is an entirely different issue. This is something that directly conflicts with the interests of His Majesty and any invasion by the Papal Federation will be in conflict with the defence agreement we have with Torchland. To this point, any invasion made by the Papal Federation into Torchland will be treated as an invasion into the sovereign territory of His Majesty and acted upon such accordingly. Mister Ford, I would very much appreciate a full report on our military capabilities for staging an intervention in Torchland if necessary. A division will be given a stand to for transfer into Bogoria and a bi-lateral operation between the Royal Intelligence Agency and the Myrmidon Special Operations Group will commence to root out any insurgency in Carnaro and identify any Rodarian influence. Due to the nature of this, a vote will be needed."

Hours later, when the actions he had spoken of were already starting to take shape Sentar could only sit at his desk with a drink. As he sipped at the bitter substance and hissed lightly as it burned his throat he wasn't sure if he was to be happy or sad that he won the vote.

---

Little Rock Army Base,
Torchland.

In that time when Torchland was but a part of a larger country, the massive sprawling base of Little Rock - Ironically named to be sure - made sense. It's massive rows of barracks and expansive parking bays was suitable for the types of units it housed at the time. That heavy and almost throaty noise of approaching helicopter blades may have been the first heavy-lift helicopters arriving ever since the garrison was disbanded. The Hercules helicopters - Belfrasian built versions of the Emmerian Chinook - crept over the horizon toward the base. As they slowly lowered themselves down onto the tarmac of the Army Base's native airfield they were not alone. Black SUVs, police vehicles, and personnel with the uniforms of State Security were all around for them. The base that had been all but abandoned was suddenly coming back to life with power being restored to many of it's buildings that had once stood empty for a long period of time.

Those who disembarked the heavy helicopters after they had landed all wore uniforms in green and black tigerstripe. Their black equipment vests and backpacks were in keeping with the camouflage and one of the State Security officers had to pause when he saw the masks most of them wore. Whilst two or three wore no masks, the rest had balaclavas with a skull decorated on the front. The one of the group without a balaclava walked up to the group near the SUVs and spoke aloud, having to speak over that drumming of the Hercules helicopters.

"I'm Commander Grimes with the Special Operations Group." A pause had to occur as he peered over himself at the helicopters, who had finally wound down enough that they weren't causing a huge noise. "You've got myself and my boys along with these chaps-" he paused to pat the back of one of the men they had. As opposed to the operators, they were clad in standard Belfrasian uniforms with red berets sporting rather large feathers. "They're Royal Engineers that'll be inspecting the site before we take ownership. They'll like a tour if possible." The group chatted little, truth be told. After Grimes had spoken several guards were brought about to escort the Royal Engineers around and when the operators had all mounted into the SUVS the lot were driven away and toward their actual operations facility.

"I'm instructed by Chairman Walker to pass on to you the highest of welcomes he can afford." One of the individuals in a suit spoke over to Grimes, who was sat in the back with a laptop updating items as needed. "We have a facility already set up and we should be able to host your special forces helicopters, vehicles, and equipment as necessary."

"Excellent." Grimes replied, frowning briefly before turning his head briefly. "Mick, we're going to need to reconnect to the satellite when we're on the new base, so don't let me forget. As for Chairman Walker, sir?" his attention was back onto that nameless suit sitting in the front of the vehicle. "I'm here on His Majesties business, so I'm unaware of our interests between ourselves at this time. But I do accept that welcome and hope that our partnership here is profitable. I understand our RIA colleagues are already on site?" His only pause this time came when he got an affirmation from the guy he was speaking to. "Top man. Right. Mick, I'm noting for the log that Operation Repulse has begun at six twenty-five local time. All personnel have landed safely. Let's get cracking. Give me the run down on the dossiers of the first ones we'll pick up."

[New Belhavia]

Unity, Torchland
February 2016

---

The loud, sudden, rubbery thumps of the airliner touching down on black asphalt jolted Asher Berkowitz awake. Groggy and grumbling, he rubbed the place in between his eyes where his nose met his skull, trying to encourage his sleepy eyes to stay open. A pleasant-sounding noise chimed twice, and then the ambient background was inundated with the clanging of released seat belts, inane shuffling, overhead bins being opened, and ever-increasingly murmurs from fellow travelers.

"Welcome to Unity International Airport," the youngest of the female airline attendants intoned cheerfully. "The local time is 4:55pm. Welcome to the Western Market States. The State of Torchland is pleased by your visit and patronage. On behalf of Imperial Continental Airways, we hope you enjoyed your flight."

Always do, Berkowitz repeated to himself. It helps when one flies first class. Imperial Belhavian Intelligence was not one to be frugal with the luxuries it showered on its employees, but in this case Berkowitz's cover fit the expense. He posed as Aaron Richman, a nephew of Gedalia Richman, CEO of Goldman, Black, and Richman Group, a major globetrotting hedge fund.

Although he was already a religious Jew, Berkowitz easily slid into the profile of a Belhavian visiting the former Western States, now renamed as the "Western Market States." He was of medium height and build, wore an expensive business suit and traditional tie of cool colors and old-fashioned patterns, and had a clipped black velvet kippa sitting prominently on the crown of his head. Anecdotally, Berkowitz had found - supported by some internal agency studies - that most goyim, including foreign intelligence operatives - instinctively saw the religious garb and subconsciously gave the person a benign, innocent impression and moved on.

In regions where there were at least a decent population of Jews, this allowed IBI agents to go about largely unmolested unless otherwise compromised or suspicious-seeming.

Why reinvent the wheel when the tactic works so well to begin with?

After a prolonged twenty-minute delay getting off the crowded plane and retrieving his roll-on suit case, he stepped up to the customs and border control post. A stern and bored-looking man in a crisp black-and-red uniform which boasted a prominent "Globo Corp" logo on his left breast pocket looked up as Berkowitz smartly walked up and offered his passport. A few of his fellow corporate military colleagues, holding assault rifles and wearing personal body armor and SWAT-style helmets, patrolled casually throughout the customs area.

"Aaron Richman?" The border guard said officiously, coldly eying Berkowitz up and down. His eyes flickered to hover on his black velvet kippah for an extended heartbeat, then back to the passport.

"Yes, that's me." Berkowitz replied calmly, offering the man a pleasant thin-lipped smile.

His neutral frown staying static, the guard asked, "Reason for your visit?"

"Business."

"What type of business?"

"Finance. I'm here to investigate the market for financial services on behalf of my employer, Goldman, Black, and Richman Group, in southeast Torchland."

The other's eyes blinked and his expression warmed, indicating he recognized the name of the global Belhavian financial giant.

"Carnaro?" The guard questioned incredulously. The IBI agent nodded.

He then snorted. "Good luck, Mr. Richman. Don't count on any luck down in that cesspool. Bunch of murderous rebel-rousers if there ever was any. I highly doubt they bank with a firm such as yours, at any rate."

Berkowitz grinned. "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that," the other said contemptuously. He stamped the passport. "Move along now."

Berkowitz pocketed his passport and blended out of sight into the bustling airport crowd.

Downtown Palmerston

Berkowitz stepped into the lobby elevator with a well-garnished bell hop, and the doors closed as the elevator ascended. From the outside, the nondescript office building in downtown Palmerston looked like any other normal office building. Lawyers' and accountants' offices occupied most of its fifteen stories. On the eighth floor, however, the level was officially leased to a "Goldstein Financial" holding company whose website boasted "a stunning array of personal and corporate financial services."

In reality, the eighth floor was the outpost of a small IBI base. The bell hop, a plainclothes local security man on IBI payroll, inserted a bland-looking keycard when the elevator hit the eighth floor. The doors opened, and he gestured. Berkowitz nodded and entered. Still playing to its financial fascade, the elevators opened to a spacious and well-adorned office lobby. Directly ahead, a good-looking but modestly dressed "secretary" sat behind a long reception desk. To his right, a small built-in fountain strayed forward gentle streams of waters into a receiving pond. To his left, a panel of floor-to-ceiling open-styled windows sat attended to by a set of comfortable chairs and a coffee table.

Berkowitz went straight to the "secretary."

"Mr. Richman?" She asked politely.

"Yes, ma'am."

"How was your flight?"

"Largely stable, a bit turbulent over Rodarion," he grinned more broadly. "Still, I think overall just fine."

Nodding at the correct code phrase, her demeanor relaxed a bit and her tone became crisper. "Agent Asher Berkowitz, welcome to the Palmerstone IBI outpost. Mr. Fischer is expecting you. Please go through those doors," she gestured to his right.

"Thank you." He turned and entered the uniform-looking oak-paneled office door, opening up into a large, windowless office space cluttered with cubicles and support beams. A black-clad guard, wearing an emblazed Pyrion Group logo and shouldering an MP-5 assault rifle, gently stopped him with an out-raised hand. Putting a finger in his ear com, evidently getting confirmation from the secretary, he nodded and let him through.

He picked his way through the open space, noting intelligence analysts, hackers, cybersecurity specialists, and others going about their duties. As he walked by one auxiliary room, he saw briefly two more uniformed Pyrion operatives playing with game-style controllers - drone operators he realized.

He entered another hallway, passed a female staffer, and entered another office, this one with an external view vis-à-vis the lobby fascade. Allan Fischer, assistant station chief for the IBI's operations in the Western Market States, looked up from his computer and waved him in.

"Asher Berkowitz, welcome to Palmerston," he said gregariously, shaking hands.

"Thank you, sir."

"Safe travels?"

"Baruch Hashem [Thank G-d]."

"Good, good." Fischer stood taller than most Jews, his hair lighter than the standard dark brown. He had pale gray eyes. It was indicative of his ethnic Western Jewish heritage. His family had come to Belhavia after the Western Civil War, and while he was a full born-and-bred Belhavian, his family had continued on his ethnic Western Jewish traditions and customs. Since he was familiar intimately with Westerner culture and practice, he was the ideal candidate for the IBI to install in a senior position in the former Western States.

The Western States posting had been considered a dead-end posting for years, however, since 2009 with the creation of the RCO it had picked up new agents and resources. This escalated during the Bogorian crisis. With feelings in Provisa believing Rodarion might repeat the Bogoria strategy into Torchland, the IBI's WMS assignment suddenly was the envious ambition of numerous up-and-coming agents. While the IBI maintained its chief operations in the WMS in Franklin, South Lake, it had recently opened an "outpost" here in Torchland, considered the new "frontline" in the CDI-RCO New Cold War.

"You aware of your mission?"

"Yes, sir. Investigate events on the ground as to the source of these recent ethnoreligious tensions and ensure that if there is Rodarian provocation behind them, to document and thwart it."

Fischer nodded confidently. "You have full use of my outpost's resources and personnel, as per Director DeWeese's imperative. I took the initiative of informing our local RIA friends to your presence. Considering your mission and goals, I thought it best to leave the ISI out of the loop on this affair."

"Very good, sir." Berkowitz answered. "I'm ready to get to work."

Fischer laughed and gave him a fatherly wink. "All in good time, Asher." He took out two liquor glass cups and poured a bit of a sweet Tarsan kosher liqueur.

They clinked glasses. "L'Chaim [To Life!]."

Unity, Torchland

"Carnaro is and shall remain a part of Torchland! G-d bless the Market State of Torchland!"

The men around the table hummed a collective "Yes!" in reply. Joshua Goldwasser nodded at the agreement from his fellows. Around the boardroom-styled office sat an impressive collection of wealthy Belhavians - all ethnic Western Jews. Most had been raised with a cultural and ideological attachment to the idea of the Western States, and they, to a one, supported strongly the existence of the market states to the exclusion of ethnoreligious separatists.

"Norm, what does our latest polling show?" Goldwasser asked one of his fellows. The other, a prominent telecommunications mogul, produced a vanilla folder.

"So far, our minimal radio and print ads in local Carnaro-area newspapers and radio stations have gained us 2-4 points in the anti-unification direction. Current polls suggest a 58/60 to 38/40 split towards the pro-unification movement."

"Fucking religious socialists," sneered another, a senior banking executive on the Provisa Stock Exchange. There was a murmur of approval.

"We all know that the Romulan Catholic Church's 'religious' opposition to the Market State model has no foundation in G-d's law." Goldwasser stated with smooth confidence and purity of deep conviction. "Then again, they do believe in Yoshka as their prophet." A hint of condescension graced his lips.

The other business types erupted into laughter.

"We'll need to up our ad numbers and intensity when Walker gives in and gives these separatist idiots their referendum," said another, a transportation industry leader.

"Agreed," Goldwasser intoned on behalf of the others. "Tuvia?" He turned to a man standing to his left, partly in shadow.

Tuvia Kaplan, a mid-level Belhavian political strategist, stepped forward. The only non-business executive in the room, he had been hired for a hefty sum to run the daily operations of the moguls' efforts.

"Gentlemen," Kaplan said theatrically, pausing for effect, "Give me $5 million in advertising dollars and authorization to make public ad purchases on cable and network TV, and I'll get you those numbers when the campaign kicks off."

"And with that," Goldwasser concluded, "I conclude the first meeting of the Super Political Action Committee 'Coalition for a United Torchland.'"

The room gave him a standing ovation.