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Intelligence Kommissar Nikolai Kuznetsov checked his watch. Along the bezel was an inscription in Cyrillic characters: "For Honorable Service to the People's Confederacy of Volkolev, the Primacy Party, and the Spirit of all Comrades of the Revolution." He was very proud of that watch, but now, he was just interested in the time. From his Residence to HQ was a 10 minute drive. From HQ to the People's Museum of Oriental and Occidental History was another 20 minute drive. But the call came in 45 minutes ago. It could already be too late.
He tilted his head forward and called out something to his driver, although he knew that the black limousine was going as fast as it could. The car moved like an eel through traffic, and neighborhoods flashed past in the windows as the limo hurtled through the city, but the vehicle could not travel through time. He would just have to be patient.
He leaned back into the seat, and rubbed his temples with his fingers wearily. Nikolai went back over what he knew. Tonight was a gala celebrating the signing of the Treaty of Maritime Trade. Earlier today the Union of the Crescent and Saber signed the most lucrative trade treaty to date with the Volkolev Confederacy. The Union was a newly formed combine of over a dozen Middle Eastern states. Despite their state of perpetual unrest, alternating between civil war and uneasy peace, their resources, trade and alliance were seen to be crucial to geopolitics, and Volkolev seemed to have earned a major victory with this trade agreement. Tomorrow at dawn hundreds of Volkolev freighters from all over the Confederacy would begin steaming along new shipping lanes to the dozens of newly opened ports in the Union. Simply put, tonight was a victory lap after a major win.
He sighed, and checked his watch again. 46 minutes. He reached over into his briefcase, and pulled out his earpiece. It was a small, nude colored model that fit into the inner ear and would provide a constant audio link to any aspect of the Volkolev Intelligence Network Nikolai tapped into. He synced the device to his phone, and listened for 15 seconds to the audio feed of security already present at the banquet. They were giving updates of their chief's inbound status, oblivious to the fact that he was listening in on their radios from across town. All seemed fine, so far, but he needed to be there himself... He checked his watch again, and fiddled with lapel pin. It was a small shield bearing the symbol of the party and the revolution, a scarlet hand. It also served as a microphone linked to this comm. For a brief moment, his mind wandered, and he smiled inwardly, despite his unease. He was proud to wear the pin, proud to support the Party and the Revolution, and to be their instrument. No one foresaw his rapid rise through the ranks of the intelligence apparatus, and he wasn't going to let down his comrades tonight. He knew he wouldn't. He knew he couldn't.
What Nikolai also knew was that 46 minutes ago, a Volkolev listening station intercepted a coded transmission. The sources were scrambled, but the frequency used confirmed they were American-European Alliance Intelligence. The transmission was 5 seconds long, and consisted of a single spoken word: Tamora. That word was cross-referenced across the VIN, and came back with a single hit: 2 weeks ago during a Secret Police interrogation at a border crossing.
Nikolai reached into his briefcase, and pulled out his tablet. Linking into the VIN, he brought up the interrogation file, looking it over for the third time since leaving HQ:
+ SUBJECT IDENTIFICATION NUMBER: 3441-900009
+ GROUNDS FOR DETAINMENT: SUBJECT ATTEMPTED TO CROSS BORDER AT CROSSING A76 WITH COUNTERFEIT PASSPORT AND TRAVEL DOCUMENTATION
+ LEGAL REPRESENTATION EXEMPTION: SUSPECTED ESPIONAGE
+ RESPONSE TO INTERROGATION: NEGATIVE
+ RESPONSE TO ADVANCED INTERROGATION: POSITIVE
+ CONFESSION GAINED: POSITIVE - ESPIONAGE, POSITIVE - SMUGGLING
+ RECOMMEND DETENTION PROCESSING: N/A
+ RECOMMEND SUBJECT RELEASE: N/A
+ SUBJECT STATUS: DECEASED
Nikolai tapped on the associated video, and a grainy shot from the interrogation room camera filled his screen. The subject was a woman, barely more than a girl. She was naked, and strapped to a metal chair. The girl was covered in scrapes, cuts and bruises, and the video apparently came in mid-interrogation. Wires stretched from her to a small instrument, about the size of a microwave, located on a table next to the interrogator. The interrogator would ask a question, and any hesitation would lead to him turning a knob on the device. The lights in the room would flicker, and the device would hum. The subject would thrash and scream in the chair. The interrogator moved through a series of questions, and the subject eventually admitted to smuggling and espionage activities. The final piece of information she offered was that she was assigned to transport an unknown passenger across the border the day after the treaty was signed. After that she claimed she knew no more, and began to beg for the interrogator to stop. The machine was switched on again, and again, and the girl continued to scream she didn't know anymore. A longer interval with the machine followed (Nikolai counter over 20 seconds, much longer than the protocols directed), and the girl eventually broke down, sobbing, and speaking incoherently. One word however was repeated over and over, interrupted only by her screams and gags as the machine flipped on and off: Tamora. Eventually, the screams stopped. The screen went black, and the video ended.
Nikolai placed the tablet back in his briefcase. Something was in play, he knew it. The analysts had noticed an uptick in internet chatter involving tonight's gala, and the signal couldn't be a coincidence. That woman at the border was supposed to smuggle someone out tomorrow, and that someone must be at the gala tonight. Nikolai suspected an assassin, or some sort of sabotage or intelligence theft. Unfortunately, the guest list was long, there were too many possible targets. Over a hundred high ranking Party members, plus almost a dozen ambassadors and other dignitaries from Union countries. Not to mention their guests and companions, who could be just as easily be targets.
Nikolai glanced at his watch one more time. 50 minutes. Thinking of companions, it made him remember that he had one of his own. He looked over to his left, catching her eyes for the first time that night. She looked young, extraordinarily young. She was petite, and had the body only a youthful athlete could posses. More muscle than curves. Her long black dress was slit up the side, but Nikolai knew that it was not to tease her date, it was so she could quickly draw a small firearm strapped to her garter. How she hid it, Nikolai didn't know, but it impressed him. She was a recent graduate of the intelligence academy, and this was likely her first assignment. He understood why he needed these young recently-cadets: unassuming enough to be a possible young family member he is escorting (and thus boring and forgettable), or young enough to be unsurprising if he needed to leave quickly (a little less boring, but still forgettable), they allowed him to be present at functions, without drawing attention to the fact that he was intelligence. The Party seemed to like it this way. Intelligence was always ever-present, but never obvious. He made a very small smile at her, and thankfully, she didn't smile back. It meant she knew her job. She wasn't a date, she wasn't a body guard. She was simply another set of eyes. She would speak only her rehearsed stories, and obey commands. She was an operator, just like anyone else.
Finally, the limo began to slow down, pulling in front of the massive old building. The large glass dome, which Nikolai knew to be the central exhibit hall, was lit up, and colored light leaking out of the museum seemed to illuminate the entire block. Nikolai hardly noticed, he was barking orders and requesting status updates into his comm as soon as he saw the building. He had a job to do, tonight he had to catch a spy, and possibly a killer. And they had an hour head start.
He tilted his head forward and called out something to his driver, although he knew that the black limousine was going as fast as it could. The car moved like an eel through traffic, and neighborhoods flashed past in the windows as the limo hurtled through the city, but the vehicle could not travel through time. He would just have to be patient.
He leaned back into the seat, and rubbed his temples with his fingers wearily. Nikolai went back over what he knew. Tonight was a gala celebrating the signing of the Treaty of Maritime Trade. Earlier today the Union of the Crescent and Saber signed the most lucrative trade treaty to date with the Volkolev Confederacy. The Union was a newly formed combine of over a dozen Middle Eastern states. Despite their state of perpetual unrest, alternating between civil war and uneasy peace, their resources, trade and alliance were seen to be crucial to geopolitics, and Volkolev seemed to have earned a major victory with this trade agreement. Tomorrow at dawn hundreds of Volkolev freighters from all over the Confederacy would begin steaming along new shipping lanes to the dozens of newly opened ports in the Union. Simply put, tonight was a victory lap after a major win.
He sighed, and checked his watch again. 46 minutes. He reached over into his briefcase, and pulled out his earpiece. It was a small, nude colored model that fit into the inner ear and would provide a constant audio link to any aspect of the Volkolev Intelligence Network Nikolai tapped into. He synced the device to his phone, and listened for 15 seconds to the audio feed of security already present at the banquet. They were giving updates of their chief's inbound status, oblivious to the fact that he was listening in on their radios from across town. All seemed fine, so far, but he needed to be there himself... He checked his watch again, and fiddled with lapel pin. It was a small shield bearing the symbol of the party and the revolution, a scarlet hand. It also served as a microphone linked to this comm. For a brief moment, his mind wandered, and he smiled inwardly, despite his unease. He was proud to wear the pin, proud to support the Party and the Revolution, and to be their instrument. No one foresaw his rapid rise through the ranks of the intelligence apparatus, and he wasn't going to let down his comrades tonight. He knew he wouldn't. He knew he couldn't.
What Nikolai also knew was that 46 minutes ago, a Volkolev listening station intercepted a coded transmission. The sources were scrambled, but the frequency used confirmed they were American-European Alliance Intelligence. The transmission was 5 seconds long, and consisted of a single spoken word: Tamora. That word was cross-referenced across the VIN, and came back with a single hit: 2 weeks ago during a Secret Police interrogation at a border crossing.
Nikolai reached into his briefcase, and pulled out his tablet. Linking into the VIN, he brought up the interrogation file, looking it over for the third time since leaving HQ:
+ SUBJECT IDENTIFICATION NUMBER: 3441-900009
+ GROUNDS FOR DETAINMENT: SUBJECT ATTEMPTED TO CROSS BORDER AT CROSSING A76 WITH COUNTERFEIT PASSPORT AND TRAVEL DOCUMENTATION
+ LEGAL REPRESENTATION EXEMPTION: SUSPECTED ESPIONAGE
+ RESPONSE TO INTERROGATION: NEGATIVE
+ RESPONSE TO ADVANCED INTERROGATION: POSITIVE
+ CONFESSION GAINED: POSITIVE - ESPIONAGE, POSITIVE - SMUGGLING
+ RECOMMEND DETENTION PROCESSING: N/A
+ RECOMMEND SUBJECT RELEASE: N/A
+ SUBJECT STATUS: DECEASED
Nikolai tapped on the associated video, and a grainy shot from the interrogation room camera filled his screen. The subject was a woman, barely more than a girl. She was naked, and strapped to a metal chair. The girl was covered in scrapes, cuts and bruises, and the video apparently came in mid-interrogation. Wires stretched from her to a small instrument, about the size of a microwave, located on a table next to the interrogator. The interrogator would ask a question, and any hesitation would lead to him turning a knob on the device. The lights in the room would flicker, and the device would hum. The subject would thrash and scream in the chair. The interrogator moved through a series of questions, and the subject eventually admitted to smuggling and espionage activities. The final piece of information she offered was that she was assigned to transport an unknown passenger across the border the day after the treaty was signed. After that she claimed she knew no more, and began to beg for the interrogator to stop. The machine was switched on again, and again, and the girl continued to scream she didn't know anymore. A longer interval with the machine followed (Nikolai counter over 20 seconds, much longer than the protocols directed), and the girl eventually broke down, sobbing, and speaking incoherently. One word however was repeated over and over, interrupted only by her screams and gags as the machine flipped on and off: Tamora. Eventually, the screams stopped. The screen went black, and the video ended.
Nikolai placed the tablet back in his briefcase. Something was in play, he knew it. The analysts had noticed an uptick in internet chatter involving tonight's gala, and the signal couldn't be a coincidence. That woman at the border was supposed to smuggle someone out tomorrow, and that someone must be at the gala tonight. Nikolai suspected an assassin, or some sort of sabotage or intelligence theft. Unfortunately, the guest list was long, there were too many possible targets. Over a hundred high ranking Party members, plus almost a dozen ambassadors and other dignitaries from Union countries. Not to mention their guests and companions, who could be just as easily be targets.
Nikolai glanced at his watch one more time. 50 minutes. Thinking of companions, it made him remember that he had one of his own. He looked over to his left, catching her eyes for the first time that night. She looked young, extraordinarily young. She was petite, and had the body only a youthful athlete could posses. More muscle than curves. Her long black dress was slit up the side, but Nikolai knew that it was not to tease her date, it was so she could quickly draw a small firearm strapped to her garter. How she hid it, Nikolai didn't know, but it impressed him. She was a recent graduate of the intelligence academy, and this was likely her first assignment. He understood why he needed these young recently-cadets: unassuming enough to be a possible young family member he is escorting (and thus boring and forgettable), or young enough to be unsurprising if he needed to leave quickly (a little less boring, but still forgettable), they allowed him to be present at functions, without drawing attention to the fact that he was intelligence. The Party seemed to like it this way. Intelligence was always ever-present, but never obvious. He made a very small smile at her, and thankfully, she didn't smile back. It meant she knew her job. She wasn't a date, she wasn't a body guard. She was simply another set of eyes. She would speak only her rehearsed stories, and obey commands. She was an operator, just like anyone else.
Finally, the limo began to slow down, pulling in front of the massive old building. The large glass dome, which Nikolai knew to be the central exhibit hall, was lit up, and colored light leaking out of the museum seemed to illuminate the entire block. Nikolai hardly noticed, he was barking orders and requesting status updates into his comm as soon as he saw the building. He had a job to do, tonight he had to catch a spy, and possibly a killer. And they had an hour head start.