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Unfortunately, it is unlikely that I will be able to update for the rest of this month. My internet has been used up for this month so I have to wait until the 1st of September before I can spend any amount of time on here to post and upload screenshots to avoid getting slapped with heavy fines. God, I wish we had unlimited internet like the states.
 
Unfortunately, it is unlikely that I will be able to update for the rest of this month. My internet has been used up for this month so I have to wait until the 1st of September before I can spend any amount of time on here to post and upload screenshots to avoid getting slapped with heavy fines. God, I wish we had unlimited internet like the states.

Like in the states? More like the rest of the western world :D.
 
I'm not limited either, and I live in Manitoba. Who is your provider?
 
I think it might actually be a limit imposed only within Ontario. That's just a guess though.
I get my internet through the wonder works of Cogeco.

I may be able to get out an update today.
 
Brief Leave from Occupational Duty in the Balkans
2nd Air Assault Brigade (On Leave)
07:35 Madrid Time
March 11 2004


Colonel Adam Templer stood in Atocha Station, rather uncomfortably, in simple civilian clothes. A burgundy t-shirt and dark jeans were a far cry from his usual dress, especially that of the last few months.

He had never heard about this station, but then, it was unusual enough for him to have heard about much around Europe. Sure, he knew all the big places, all the fancy palaces and imperial relics from ages past. Any knowledgeable person knew of those. It was these gems though, the small, the unknown and the widely underrated stations, shops, streets and monuments that always surprised him. A New Colonel in an Old Station in the New Europe he thought.

atocha_station.jpg

The walls were a combination of sandy and red brick set about to form diamond mosaics along the walls that curved in a rather concave fashion to move the glass above them. The clear glass ceiling arched out over the lobby and floor, rows of steel tracing out shadows over the floor below and the people going about their business within. It seemed as if they scarcely noticed the giant patch of greenery in the center of the Main Floor. Most of them he guessed, knew exactly where they were going and did it often enough to have no trouble. His own luck, and that of his dearly beloved Rachel, and unborn child, however was not as good.

The reminded him. It was not Colonel Templer now. It never would be with his family. Colonel Templer was not someone that he wanted them to see. No, Adam Templer would surely suffice - though the duplicity was accompanied with the invariably difficult transitional period. Going back to work, he began either too lax or too harsh with his men, always trying to find the balance he had before. Coming home, he was too distant, or too confrontational and more often than not, an unfortunate mix that his wife did not deserve.

He hated the transition period.

His wife, for her part an American immigrant was still tucked underneath his arm which, being taller as he was, easily extended out over her shoulders. Her dirty blonde hair turned with her head as she looked to face him. He continued looking up at the train times. Paris, Berlin, Barcelona, Milan, Lisbon, London, the list dragged on. From the corner of his eye he saw her smiling.

"Need help?" she asked. He turned to face her and, looking her up briefly, a smile washed over his face. She was in a black and red stenciled top that flowed over her pregnant stomach, and was wearing a radiant orange skirt that went well with the tan she had picked up on several of her recent trips down to Spain to co-ordinate with the various Consulates in the major cities some of the possible shifts, and then actual shifts that accompanied a European President in the Foreign Policy department. Her hair hung down around her neck like the softest of silk robes, brushed over to one side and straightened. He always preferred her hair straight, lovely though he would always insist it was. She had done it this morning. A good hour with the hair straightener that had, for some reason, cooled a few times. No doubt they would pick up another. The delay however was of concern. Normally, they would have been ready to depart for Lisbon a half hour early, but not today.

"I never did acquire your comfort with Spanish." he said, looking into her piercing blue eyes. He saw that beautiful spark. The spark that held his gaze and wouldn't let go of him.

"You never had too." she glanced up at the list of trains and their departure times. For all Adam knew though, they could easily be arrival times. "Of course, it was a part of my school's curriculum. You missed that." her eyes came back to him and her smile grew wider.

It was true. English and French had been the staple in Canada and Arabic had eaten up most of his university years. German had followed as a move to Europe was discussed and then became a reality. By comparison, Rachel was fluent in English, Spanish, Arabic, Latin and Russian. A smattering of Spanish and German had been exchanged between the two, and Adam had tried his hand at Latin. It never stuck.

"We can just make the next train. If we head to the platform now, we could be there with time to spare." she said. "We could even check that our baggage arrived ahead of us."

He stared at her and smiled wider. He couldn't tell her how happy he was to see her again. It seemed like an age had gone by, though in reality it was only five months by his count. Five months, almost to the day. Another month after this weekend in Spain and Portugal had to be served in the field but then, then he would be back for Six months before the possibility of another deployment raised its head.

"What?" she asked with her ever present smile.

"It's wonderful to see you again." He said before pulling her close to him in a long absent hug. "I love you." he said.

"And I love you." She closed he eyes and tightened her hug. The long absence did neither of them good.

The pair wrapped their arms round each other in the station that had quite possibly gone some time without seeing one such display of affection, busy and full as it was with businessmen traveling about Europe and Spain. For a moment, Adam wasn't sure if he felt the Baby kick while they hugged one another.

It may very well have passed unnoticed by many people. One man in particular, did not notice it as he ran past the pair, knocking into Adam as he ran towards the stairs.

Half enraged, Colonel Templer raised his head and shouted after the young man running down the stairs just a little bit ahead of them. "What the hell is-" he began.

Rachel grabbed his arm and pulled him back to face her. "Oh no you don't." she said as she pulled him and kissed him, wrapped her arms round his head as he held her waist. His troubles were gone in those moments. No one else was around. They weren't in a crowded train station on their way to meet God knows who for some sort of military parade in Lisbon. They weren't anywhere. It was just him and her, and nothing around them mattered. Nothing.

"Come on, let's go catch the train." she said smiling. Adam was back. Regular, family, perfectly civilian Adam. As they locked hands and headed towards and then down the stairs to the train, Adam couldn't shake the feeling that there was something odd about the man who had bumped into them. He had only seen the back of him by the time he turned. Just a man with average build, tanned skin and dark frizzy hair in a sort of pathetic afro, the kind that looked like frizzy hair was jumping to escape his head in all directions, but just couldn't make it very far. That, and a worn old mahogany backpack that looked like it was falling apart.

"Did you notice anything odd about that guy who bumped into us?" he asked her as they stood on the escalator, traveling down to the platforms. She thought for a moment as he looked into her eyes.

"He smelled kind of funny. Almost like a farmer, I think."

"And how many farmer's have you smelled before?" he joked with her.

"Shut up" she chuckled and pushed him onwards and off the escalator. The pair headed out onto the platform now.

"I think he was muttering something in Arabic too."

"Was he now? Well milady, please translate." he said in a rather posh English voice, indulging her love of languages and history.

"I couldn't make it out. Why?" she asked as they boarded their train. An electronic messaging system protruding from a wall space above them told him all he needed to know in clear blue lettering as it cycled to French. Departing 0740 via Lisbon.

Adam wrapped his arm round her, wondering why he was concerned. He smiled cautiously.

"Nothing. Just a feeling." he concluded, kissing her forehead and pulling her into him.
 
Judging by the date, very bad things are about to happen.
 
Neither the day nor the place I would like to be.
 
Ok, I'm doing 2 + 2 = 4 here, and I don't like the direction this is going.....
There's a bad type of 'boom' in the air

Booms tend to have a bad effect on someone.

Judging by the date, very bad things are about to happen.

But will they be as bad, or worse than in our timeline?

Ah yes, I forgot this particular boom....

Will have to wait for what I had in mind, I suppose.

That is coming.

Time to lay down a middle-eastern smack down?

*cough* North African *cough* ... ahem

Neither the day nor the place I would like to be.

Me neither.

Now, shall I update on the two lovers who have just reunited, or should I update someone else ... Could I even be that cruel?
 

European Intelligence Bureau
Operation Myrmidon - Christopher Liberius (Recurring Character)
07:30 Moscow Time
11 March 2004

kgb-dnsc8601094.jpg

Christopher Liberius pulled the small timer from his suits inner pocket. He had timed it to the second countless times before and now he was just waiting in his office. He looked around the room as his mind slowly faded from his surroundings as he listened to the ticking of the countdown. The papers scattered around his desk mulled into nothing but a blur, hardly intelligible from the Atlas, or the Keyboard, the Globe, or the files strewn about his grotesque, black desk. Being an accountant had surely come with more than its fair share of paper work. Being an accountant for the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service had come only with a good deal of hassle. The quaint view in the window behind him, looking out over a growing Moscow, was hardly a comfort.

First he had had to come up with his new identity, which was easy enough. An old Soviet loyalist from the days of the Invasion of Afghanistan. Mikhail Dukovny had been used by him before, so the basics were sound. All he had to do then was change a few records in the governmant databases, alter a few university transcripts and then, with many hours of reading on Russian economics and accounting, he had been born anew. Twice anew in fact, if he was counting his transformation to Mikhail Dukovny again, before all of his changes. Of course though, those simple changes were not enough to convince the Service that he could be trusted. It had been a long time since September, and guiding a few small arms firms out of debt and into profits had been a good test. With a few bribes, he had got better contracts. Eventually, and this was only a few months before hand, he had even been hired by the company that had co-financed the Oil Rig he blew up - to save them from bankruptcy.

Life had a funny way of bringing the past back to people, and Christopher agreed to do so. As much to pay off his debt to them, as it was to secure good karma and a friendly company for his retirement. Hell, the amount of people he had brought out of the red and into the black, he was surprised he hadn't done this before. Still, it was enticing retirement opportunity.

After those experiences though, it came down to the most basic of means to get hooked up with the Foreign Intelligence Service. It was widely known in Europe that the organization was bulky, over enlarged and outdated. With a few suggestions his friends in EIB had helped him form, he had got to work with his accountant skills and put together a brief plan to trim down and then make the Service more capable. For whatever reason his superiors agreed to the plan, he wasn't sure. All he knew, was that he had never expected that making the enemy stronger would be worth access to their account information. What his superiors wanted, no doubt, scared them shitless.

The final click of the timer was louder than the others, and dragged him from his memories. The guard was changing. Christopher stood from his leather chair, it slowly rising upright from its laid back position behind him. He opened the door of his office, the lettering of - "Mikhail Dukovny, Senior Accountant" showering him with praise on the way out. The door shut behind him as he walked through the rows of workers in their cubicles, busy like bees in their hive. He smoothed his red tie as he walked closer to the far side of the room. The rather podgy guard, with plain brown eyes and a bald head nodded to Christopher as he stood before the door to the stairwell.

Looking up at the red electronic panel above the door, Christopher could see the door was locked.

"Going out Mr. Dukovny?" the man asked in a thick accent, his rather gutteral tone had always been a slight nuisance.

"There are some files I have to get from upstairs. If you don't mind." Christopher said impatiently, gesturing at the door in front of him.

"Of course, Sir." the man said. For moment, Christopher tried to remember his name, but changed his mind. The man toyed with something behind the desk that let off what might best be described as a blaring, monotone notice and the signal was now a neon green. No doubt it could be heard by the whole miserable floor.

Christopher grabbed the door handle and pulled it open as he heard the door of a nearby room open. The guards were right on schedule. He pulled the door closed behind before dashing up the stair well, up and around the steps he went. One floor, two floors, three floors. By the fourth floor, he was just on schedule.

"Nikolai, open the door." he called out to the microphone on the door in front of him. "It's Mikhail, I need to get some files for my report." He waited for a response that didn't come. "Nikolai, this is urgent, if I don't get those files then you can tell the Head of Intelligence why the Foreign Service is wasting money." he said, blurting out his impatience.

The same blaring noise as the one below him was his response. Calming himself and straightening out the gray jacket and his red tie, he pushed the door open and walked inside.

"Thank you Nikol-" he began.

"Mikhail Dukovny." A woman on the other side said. "It is good to finally meet you. I have heard a great deal about your abilities as an accountant. No doubt you are treasured asset to the Service."

Christopher did his best to adapt to the new situation. Looking to his left he saw the woman was standing with Nikolai beside her in his plain guards uniform. Why the Service had left such average looking men in charge of Security was beyond him. Their very uniforms looked like the sterotypical guard from countless American films. Chances are, he guessed, they were just as useless.

"Why thank you, Ms.?" he asked, noticing the absent ring from finger. It was odd though. It almost looked like there had been one there for a long time. One that was missing now.

"Ms. Ivanova." she said, extending her hand to shake his own. Her satin black hair draped down around her neck as he grasped her hand. Red nails, he noticed. Doing his best to seem discrete, he made a note of her figure. Her body was curvy, but only slightly. She was fit, most likely a runner from what he could tell. Her arms were toned and her skin was smooth. A bit of cleavage was showing from her suit. The black coat and skirt was accented by a white shirt, with some of the buttons left undone and the halves pulled slightly apart. Enough to show some skin, but still look sophisticated. He could just make out the necklace that hung around her neck, though it was well concealed.

"Viktoria Ivanova." she added, sizing him up as they relinquished hands.

"What brings you up here, Ms. Ivanova?" he asked. Who was she? Why was she here? Nobody just walked into the Financial Center without clearance? Was his cover blown? Had anyone followed him? What was she doing here? Stop.

"I was just checking one of our accounts. I had been told that you had replaced a lot of the materials used on deployment to some less effective materials."

"Slightly less effective, if I may. The cost-benefit ratio did not justify the extra rubles spent on materials that could be substitued with other materials that together, pack a bigger punch, but are fare more cost effective."

"A messier punch, you mean. I can understand the change of the explosives on most assignments, but some of the recomendations you made were a little unnerving."

"Ms. Ivanova, I'm not told the targets. I'm told the money spent on them, and the materials purchased. My job is to save money. I am an accountant."

"Accountant? You sound like you're Jewish." Nikolai laughed. Christopher looked at him emotionless while he watched Viktoria's reaction.

"Nikolai I think I can show myself out when my work's done." Viktoria said, her head slightly turned to the left, but not looking at him. Christopher watched her eyes hang on the floor while he opened his mouth to speak, but then decided against it. Hurrying over to his station, Nikolai brushed past her and left the pair alone.

"You sound only half like an accountant." she said, her tone far more grave by now.

"And the other half?" he asked.

"The other half sounds like the Foreign Service." she smirked. He smiled back.

"Which account was it that interested you?" he asked, hoping to get what information he could. If it was important enough for her to come down here, it might just be what his superiors wanted.

"Just one of our black accounts." she paused momentarily. "Do you have clearance?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Enough." he answered.

"Well, let's just say it's been a pet project of mine. Projecting power through indirect means are something of a specialty for me." she said with a wry smile.

"I've always preffered the direct approach." he said returning the gesture. She continued smiling at him.

"Well, Mr. Dukovny. I hope you find what you're looking for." she began.

"I think I already have." he interrupted. She looked away momentarily and then back at him with her deep chocolate brown eyes, traced with a spider web of hazel streaks.

"Perhaps we'll meet again." she said, her smile fading as she check her watch.

"Life has a way of bringing things back." he said.

"Not in my experience." she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, maybe this time you're wrong."

"That would be a first. But then again, the way they talk about you, it would be a first for you too." she said finally. "Now, I really must be going. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Dukovny." she said hurrying off and past him.

"The pleasure was all mine." he said under his breath as she walked out of ear shot. He turned to carry on ahead, to look through the files and grab the one he was looking for. Operation Red Cave. A black account.

After a few minutes of searching, he quickly found it. Looking through the files in the folder, he saw a good deal of information. This was one of those accounts where his recommendation had changed it. More cost effective and, at the same time, more deadly. Cycling through the pages he found financial records of bribes, a two way flight, separated by a few months into Moscow and then back to Rabat. The exact records though were massive. Shipping and production costs of Industrial nails, the purchase of steel scraps and the much loved and widely renowned C-4. All 50 kg of it. There was also a list of financial donations to various Islamic organizations, and payment to a few different families.

All of it added up to one thing. Bad news.