Garnet Clouds

[Gunnland]

DAY FOUR

Department of English
Sebastian Quintaine University
Southport-on-Sea
Canton of Western Crownland
Commonwealth of Cornavia

"The irony of your terrorist situation here, Rector Hayter, is that your Nordic extremists pretend to be influenced by pan-Nordic ideas: Aren, Suionian, as well as Oelarian. But..." Still slumping in his chair, Vandrare Vilhjálmsson raised a finger. Like many academics, it seemed as if only his eyes and hands were alive. "...as this conference should make very clear, the fetishization of Nordicness which you see in Franken, in Arendaal, in Suionia, and so on... septentrionalism... is the opposed by Sarkonism because of the influence of Christian religious universalism. You see?"

It was not certain that Hayter saw, but he acquitted himself well, realizing that most academics only talk about their own very narrow sub-specialties. Still, given the terrorism crisis, this conference did appear apropos.

Feargus Ulfsson smiled as he overheard the didactic Perseifur, altogether off in his own world. He remembered on the ferry from Gunnrsund, Vandrare Vilhjálmsson was confused into thinking Magnusson was Göran's patronymic middle name, not his last name. "Feargus Ulfsson, why doesn't this man put his proper surname on his papers? I know he sounds like a septentrionalist, and rightly should be ashamed, but is he some kind of terrorist?"

The irony, of course, which Fergus Ulfsson Gunnr did not realize, was that the real world was even more bizarre than Perseifur's imagination.

Gunnr's phone beeped once, and he looked down at his pocket. An unencrypted Campanile message from Jens Yvosson Halvbefaren? Madness!

Fergus Ulfsson -- Here's hoping the conference with V. V. Perseifur is going well. You have no doubt heard about Geijer. He will not be attending and is in hiding, for now, in Gunnrsund. The son of a bitch... old Yvo would have been proud!

Change of plans -- We will stand V. V. Perseifur for the Hólar council seat. Leak that to the CIS or DMI so they can make contact. Standish and Clark here should know to support the Sarconist right-wing and make good friends with V.V.P. while he is running in Hólar. if they haven't seen the Alvitrs' true colors already. You might remind them.

Since Geijer screwed his job -- literally -- it will fall on you to talk to the Cornavians. Remind them we are the bulwark against an EDF takeover. Start a conversation with them. What about inviting the LFS in to balance out the EDF, and present a Cornavian-Oelarian alliance as a "middle way"? That's the Sarconist way to do things. Should I write my friend Atreifur Tomasson Aethur at our mission in Oikawa?

Tell me where they stand. We can't afford to lose friends we should rightly have. Good luck. Until the Geitrae withers. -- J.Y.H.

It was uncharacteristically urgent-sounding from the typically calm Halvbefaren. Gunnr picked up on the reference to Yvo Feargusson Gunn. Well yes, Jens, he impregnated your mother out of wedlock and married another. But it didn't go so far as rape. Geijer had done something far worse than that, and he wondered how it would play out with the Alvitrs now. Is Jens Yvosson really so blinded by self-pity that he doesn't see how this could explode?

That was almost the most provocative thing in the e-mail. He wants Vandrare Vilhjálmsson to run for a council seat? He wants to make contact with the Oikawans? If Jens Yvosson toed the line between brilliance and insanity, then Atreifur Tomasson was entirely deranged. And these people plan to run a country! At least he wasn't some prick traitor like Chris Hjovarthursson Alvitr.

At least it wouldn't be so hard to contact the CIS. They had probably already intercepted the e-mail as it was.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY FOUR

Department of English
Sebastian Quintaine University
Southport-on-Sea
Canton of Western Crownland
Commonwealth of Cornavia

During the time that Lincoln Hayter had had the privilege of knowing Professor Göran Magnusson, the latter had clearly established himself as a man for whom missing a meeting was by the very least extremely rude, by the worst downright sanctimonious.

Magnusson was supposed to fly over from Farpoint to Southport-on-Sea on a Boreal Airways domestic flight on this very day, but clearly he had not done so without even cancelling the meet, something that Hayter knew the Professor would have done if he had been presented with an obstacle. So, where in the world was Göran Magnusson? Hayter had heard the news of the ongoing terrorist incident in Farpoint and that the level of security had been heightened throughout the country, and it was admittedly possible that he'd been caught in traffic at the airport.

"I hear that the Security Condition went to Red for the day and the rest of the week", Hayter mused as he eyed his two Oelarian discussion-partners, "And Göran was supposed to fly in from Farpoint aboard Boreal. Well, alas Cornavian efficiency has never been a trait of our transport system, so there might be an element of confusion related to this increase. Speaking of which..."

"Ultimately, the North has always been about man's greed and jealousy towards one another", the Rector of the Sebastian Quintaine University continued and reached to take a glass of water on his table to his right hand. He took a sip and continued, "Before oil was discovered in the Archipelago, the Sevets and the Nords fought over seal-hunting and reindeer-herding grounds, things such as that, but black gold changed all that. Of course, the natives of the Northern Archipelago wanted their share of the profits, and gained that, but an ever greater share went to the coffers of oil barons and corporations in the South, and their pull in this city brought in the politicians. This is how the original incarnation of the Northern Freedom Movement came to be, indeed in the University campus of Farpoint when left-wing anti-corporate idealism met the romanticizing of the North's own cultural tradition."

Joint Electronic Intelligence Center
Fort Westings
Langdon
Canton of Western Crownland
Commonwealth of Cornavia

The inconspicuous three-floor office building in the area of buildings that made up the headquarters complex of the General Staff of the Commonwealth Armed Forces in truth housed the core of Cornavian electronic intelligence-gathering, a fact that was concealed from the general public by officially listing the building as a logistical center. Not that it fooled anyone, and therefore the location and existence of the JEIC was something of a public secret in Cornavian intelligence circles.

Right now, in a subterranean level of the JEIC, specifically in a server room housing the core of the Commonwealth Intelligence Service fiber-optic surveillance and filtration software Daedalus a filtering algorithm suddenly picked up an unencrypted e-mail between a sender in Oelar and a recipient mobile device in the Greater Southport area. As the interception was based on several high-priority keywords recently entered into the system at the request of the Chief of Station in Oelar, the message was automatically forwarded to a junior operator, who in turn forwarded it to John Preston, the ranking officer of the OLR Desk of the Operations Directorate. Minutes afterwards, an encrypted cable went out to Colton Standish at the Cornavian embassy to Oelar while Preston directed the Greater Southport message recipient's operator to be contacted by JEIC for network tracing. Shrugging off the fact that said network tracing couldn't actually be done without a warrant under regular circumstances, he told them to cook up some shoddy excuse related to the ongoing separatist threat. Terrorism made for such passable stories, after all.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY FOUR

7 Trondheim Lane
Johnny's the Bar
Farpoint
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

Constable Ryan Reilly opened the door to the sleazy working-class bar, and allowed himself a slight smile as he felt the warm interior air upon entering from the street, followed in by his partner Constable Jana Lundberg. His smile soon changed into a barely concealed frown as he glanced around to look at the small bar's clientele of ten or so people, a couple of drunks here and there seated idly in their tables, and a slightly rowdier bunch of drunks who appeared to be relatively fine and well.

These kinds of places and these kinds of people were the part of the job that Reilly hated the most. Idle people drowning their sorrows with liquor supplied to them by merciless cutthroat profiteers, a visage of all that embodied a man's weakness. Of course, he had his own reasons for thinking that, and those reasons he'd never shared with anyone not already privy to them through familial ties. To a certain level the Cornavian culture was a manly one, and police officers happened to be a particularly manly subculture, and the thought of admitting weakness even by proxy was not one that he was fond of.

Constables Reilly and Lundberg occasionally showed up to the bars and restaurants on their patch, particularly if they lacked bouncers of their own, to see if there were any resident troublemakers around in need of being roughed up a bit. Some failure at life was glaring at him from a corner table, probably in recognition of an earlier encounter at this or some other local bar. Reilly reminded himself to ignore him in the face of more important concerns, and strode directly to the bar counter, Constable Lundberg trailing him.

The bartender was a thirty-something Uroduah immigrant, well on his way of both growing a beer belly and losing his hair, in addition to being a head's worth shorter than the 191cm bulk of Ryan Reilly, who casually laid his hands to the counter as Constable Lundberg joined him on his right side.

"Yesh, sires?", the bartender replied in heavily accented English, giving off a broad smile. Something there made Reilly tick off, though not knowing what exactly, he settled to taking his cell phone from a pouch on his equipment belt, selecting an image he'd saved from the car's data terminal and showing it to the bartender.

"Canton Constabulary, looking for this man. Serious bad guy, heavily armed and possibly seen in the vicinity."

The bartender's eyes seemed to flicker as if in recognition, and he glanced towards an opening seeming to lead to the back of the establishment. Then he nodded his head repeatedly and replied, "Minute ago here, went back when you come!"

Both Constables froze momentarily until the bartender pointed to the opening and they realized that he'd said to the back. Son of a bitch, Constable Ryan Reilly said to himself upon realizing that their perp had been here, and had gone to the back just a while ago. And unless he'd made an exit, the chances were that he'd still be here. Reilly reached for the microphone connected by a wire to a personal radio hanging from his equipment belt and pressed the talk button, at the same time unbuttoning the holster of his service pistol. A nod at Jana Lundberg prompted the blonde to draw hers. The Farpoint Canton Constabulary was one of the few major Cornavian police forces to issue firearms for its officers full-time, and for good reason given the separatist activity.

"Dispatch, Foxtrot Uniform Three-Seven here", he begun, realizing that he already held his .45-caliber handgun in his free hand, "Immediate backup needed at 7 Trondheim Lane, have a report on Nyslott seen inside Johnny's Bar at address, repeat, backup needed."

Then he turned towards a few of the attendants, who'd stared at them since the two Constables had entered the bar and said, "Stay back."

Adrenaline kicking in, Reilly put the microphone back to a pouch on his jacket breast, and trained the handgun at the doorway. He saw that Lundberg had done the same, as the bartender looked on distraughtly. He heard the dispatcher reply with an order to keep back and await for backup, but shrugged it off. Too late for that anyway.

Entering the back space and reminding himself to keep his calm, Reilly saw two doors to his left - one labelled "TOILET" - and one to the back. The latter, he realized, was wide open. Had the perp gone away? Moving the focus of his aim to the space between the latter door to the left and the one to the back, he gestured at Constable Lundberg to check the toilet. His female partner did so, and soon announced "clear" in a low voice. Reilly gestured again for Lundberg to move to the second door on the left, and she was about to open the door when a shout from the bar interrupted them.

"No, no go in! You need warrant!", Reilly heard, and glanced behind him to see the immigrant bartender wildly flailing about his hands at the entrance.

"Stay back!", Reilly shouted in response, and a second after that as Lundberg opened the door to the second room the bartender took off. Instantly reacting, Reilly shouted for Lundberg to cover him and went after him.

Alas, the man did not get very far, for in his wild dash towards the bar's main door he stumbled upon a bar stool and fell down violently to the stone floor. When he was getting up, he found Constable Ryan Reilly's sidearm pointing directly at his face.

* * *

During the commotion that had been going on inside the bar, Erik Nyslott had emerged from a hiding place behind a dumpster in the small parking lot adjacent to Johnny's Bar's back entrance and disappeared to the other side into Ferguson Road even as approaching sirens heralded the arrival of the back-up patrols undoubtedly called in by the two police officers who'd been terribly close to confronting the main terrorist suspect of the ongoing separatist hunt himself.

Instead, all that they'd found was an overly panicky bartender and the stash of illegally imported liquor he'd kept in the bar's store room and intended to sell off on the side while skipping the taxes. When this was discovered, the inbound reinforcements were either called off or diverted to search the vicinity, and Constable Reilly got a lot of odd looks from his superiors even if they couldn't exactly reprimand him for doing his job of catching criminals. Too bad that this time they'd been of the wrong kind.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY FOUR

Main Building
All-Cornavian Energy Oil Refinery Colton Ridge
Colton Ridge
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

Axel Thorstrup didn't like the way Erik Nyslott's grand scheme had turned out to be, particularly the part where the latter would "divert" the security forces away from their true target to allow the cell to conduct a strike. Not that Axel could say that the man hadn't done his part, and he certainly couldn't deny Erik Nyslott's role in turning what for too long had been a bunch of old romantics and random thugs into something at least vaguely resemblant of the way the movement had been back in the day.

Still, he couldn't shake away irritation over the fact that right now it was him and the others that were stuck at Colton Ridge with half of the Canton Constabulary having them surrounded, not to mention the Army Special Forces, while Erik was doing whatever he did up in Farpoint. He just hoped that Erik would do his promised part of getting them an escape route once the heat around him and them would calm down a bit.

Karl the skinhead had taken a bullet to the shoulder during their assault, in an area not covered by the bulletproof vest that he had been wearing, and Axel had forced a security officer with apparent medical training to keep his compatriot in at least some shape. And had emphasized the threat by noting that the man would be killed if anything would happen to Karl.

After they'd secured the dining hall and filtered those on a list given by Erik, they'd released all who were not on the list with the exception of a couple of security guards from the second-floor control room, and proceeded to hole themselves up into the second floor with the hostages. Too bad that they hadn't gotten the Cantonal Minister of Energy and some of the industry reps, being that they'd apparently been scheduled to arrive after the time when the cell had planned to make its assault. But still, they'd netted Aldridge and the others and would surely get what they wanted.

Axel Thorstrup woke up from his musings when he noticed one of the telephones in the control room suddenly erupt to ringing. The surrounding police had cut TV, Internet and telephone access to the building an hour ago or so. This must be the negotiator, then. He gazed at some of the hostages in the back of the room with plasti-cuffs in their hands, and picked up the phone.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY FOUR

6 Ferguson Street
Cantonal Emergency Center
The New Constabulary
Farpoint
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

"You've got to be shitting me", Major Liam Callum said in response to what had just been said by the commander of the CASF Immediate Action Unit in the other end of the video link, and Detective Chief Inspector Robert Simmons saw genuine shock manifest in the Military Intelligence officer's face more clearly than ever before. The expression was echoed in the faces of everyone else in the CEC's meeting room.

"Negatory, sir", the BDU-wearing Special Forces officer in the other end of the link in a mobile command post vehicle replied, "We confirmed receiving the demands just ten minutes ago, together with the list of hostages."

To use a more plebeian metaphor, they were in very, very deep shit right now. Christopher Aldridge, Chief Executive Officer for All-Cornavian Energy was right there at the refinery. As were three of his vice-CEOs, the ACE head of facility operations at Colton Ridge, Harland Inc. CEO Nathaniel Pierson and finally Jerome Kendall the ACE board member and Commonwealth Party M.P. Though Simmons's professional ethics told him not to focus on the guys with the political connections and a hefty amount of annual tax payments made, amidst that list he'd almost forgot the two security guards that were also among the hostages taken. Indeed, he felt a sting of regret at that.

"Tactical outlook?", Major Callum followed up.

"Police department and the Canton Constabulary are maintaining perimeter security and SRU North has established a cordon accompanied by sharpshooting positions around the main building, sir", the Special Forces officer continued, "We believe that the hostiles have occupied the security room and have access to cameras, with the exception of the perimeter, which is controlled from the gate guard post. Cameras controlled by the security room control access points to and in the main building, as well as main routes inside of the complex, gate guards provided us with maps of the security system so we know what we're dealing with."

"Captain Shepard."

A suit-wearing man with his back against the camera, viewing one of the monitors in the other end of the command post displaying a map of the main building, turned around and walked in towards the camera. Captain John Shepard looked notably out of place as the only plainclothes man in the trailer, which was filled with Special Forces and Special Response Unit members in black and dark blue BDUs respectively.

"Major?"

"Have the identities of those involved been ascertained aside from Nordisk Frihet involvement?"

"It's the Nyslott Cell, sir", Shepard replied with a nod. When the Captain continued, DCI Simmons thought that he saw a visible reaction on the major's face, "They entered as catering crew after forcing a regular catering employee to take them at gunpoint. Hold on...can we have the image on the link?"

Shepard turned to the SRU officer running communications in the command post, and he tapped the buttons on his computer's keyboard. At the Emergency Center, the screen split in two, a CCTV image of men in catering uniforms and carrying duffel bags at what apparently was the building's loading bay appearing. "That's his cell", CSS Officer Diane Adams remarked.

"Correct", Captain Shepard replied again.

"I want tactical options put out", Major Callum finally replied, "Stall for time, pretend that we're being compliant with the demands. And contact me upon further contact with the group leader. Farpoint Out."

We're never going to accede to these demands. The rest of All-Cornavian Energy management wasn't going to give up the fifty million Sovereigns they'd demanded for the safe return of the hostages, because doing so would set the precedent for every other nutjob out there for trying out the same, and Cabinet Chancellor Wainwright would not release Erik Stenberg from death row and the other twenty held Nordisk Frihet members from incarceration. Robert Simmons knew that, and there was little surprise. After all, the Commonwealth did not negotiate with terrorists.

"Colton Ridge out", Shepard replied, and gave another nod at the comms officer. The line went dead, the feed from the command post replaced by the standard Farpoint Canton Constabulary screensaver seal.

When the link closed down, Major Liam Callum turned back and again sat to the front of the table, the rest of the participants of the meeting waiting for the next move of the somewhat newly appointed head of Operation Chatham. In addition to DCI Simmons and Officer Adams, lower offices from their respective branches were also in attendance.

"Where are we on Nyslott and Magnusson?", Major Callum finally asked, breaking the brief moment of silence.

Erik Nyslott. The Nordic separatist cell leader had again managed to elude capture once again up in Farpoint. It was known that the man had Commonwealth Army training, and owing to the historical stance that in a conflict against a significantly larger opponent any soldier must be prepared to assume guerrilla operations in the event of conventional warfare failing, he would have received such guerilla and evasion training as well. And this made him a dangerous target.

Still, considering the stakes at play in Colton Ridge, Callum seemed oddly focused on catching the man. It would have been an error to underestimate the hazard posed by him, of course, but DCI Simmons regardless had a feeling that something was definitely up. And Magnusson? Magnusson was a big catch too, as intelligence indicated association with the original 1980s Nordisk Frihet and Charybdis had identified himself as a member of the group's controlling Army Council. Not that the Council amounted to a much these days when its active subordinates included only a few cells. And they didn't know what to do with him anyhow, given that the APB had been put out as a "person of interest" one on Callum's insistence, given the political connections and publicity the man enjoyed. The Major had reasoned that outing him as a sympathizer would give too much positive publicity for the separatists.

"Nyslott remains at large", DCI Simmons said in response, "But given the ongoing precautions it's safe to assume that he continues to be within the Greater Farpoint region. As for Magnusson, it seems that he's gone underground."

Big catches them both. Maybe the Major was just out for glory.

"I want them found", Major Callum replied, "Dismissed."

Nods and acknowledgements on behalf of the men and women gathered around the meeting table heralding an end to the proceedings, the men and women in the room began gathering their papers and filing out. Detective Chief Inspector Simmons got up, and to Callum's surprise blocked him as the Military Intelligence officer tried to exit.

Before doing what he did next, the Deputy Chief of the Anti-Terrorist Branch felt a sting telling him that what he was about to do could constitute one of the biggest mistakes of his career. However, he felt inclined to ignore such a sentiments. Someone else might have called it the spur of the moment, but DCI Simmons called it the consequence of a long stretch of disappointments and annoyances related his most recent assignment.

"I've had enough with this shit!"

"Excuse me?", Major Callum inquired with a questioning look on his face as he received the outburst from Simmons. "You should move as..."

"Not before you tell me exactly what is so important about Nyslott, and why you're even here anymore", Simmons replied without blinking an eye. "You know as well as I do that hostage situations are my turf, or at least the IAU's, not the Military Intelligence's!"

"The Chief Sec..."

"Bullshit!", Simmons growled, and behind the partly closed shutters of the meeting room's windows he saw heads turning in their direction, "Erik Nyslott and Göran Magnusson are both on the loose, we have major corporate leadership held hostage by their cell members, not to mention the fact that given the original objectives Operation Chatham has been a failure of epic proportions!"

Given how Simmons was fuming, Major Callum managed to remain oddly relaxed, retorting with a punctually calm tone, "The Chief Security Advisor has granted me control of the operation and I'll continue to exercise it. And considering your thoughts perhaps I should advise Walker to grant you a break from operational activity. Perhaps being with your family will help you focus your thoughts a bit, yes?"

"Bullshit!", Simmons shouted again. The bastard's trying to steal this from me by pulling rank.

He did move aside, but not before slamming in the glass door leading into the meeting room hard enough to make the glass break with an audible bang as the door closed. Major Callum barely managed to avoid the flying glass shards with a quick dodge, and a string of curses followed Deputy Chief Inspector Simmons as he rushed out of the Emergency Center.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY FIVE

G3 SAFEHOUSE, DESIGNATION "OPAL"
Undisclosed location
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

At first he'd felt complete bliss, but then when hours had went on that bliss had faded, being replaced with the most horrible sensations that Göran Magnusson had ever faced in his 58-year old life. The feeling of something inhuman crawling under his skin en masse, unstoppable sweating and a terrible, terrible fever. Not to mention the shadows, for he thought that the shadows in the dimly lit room were moving, and that the brick walls themselves were closing in to engulf him, and that terrible and alive shapes were waiting in the shadows to skin him and eat him alive.

When he screamed, shapes appeared in the room, the men in black again from the shadows. Men in black? Were they aliens? I have been abducted by the Greys! A light in the sky lit up, centering on Magnusson lying on his back. Are they operating on me? Do they want to control my mind? Or perhaps insert probes? Anal probes?

"Heeeeelp!", he shouted from the bottom of his lungs. But in space, no one can hear you scream. Yes, he must have indeed been in space. On an UFO, no less, abducted by the aliens. A close encounter of the third kind! Perhaps he could turn them in his favor, so that he could return to the Earth as a celebrated hero, a herald of a new dawn of peace and friendship between Earth and Aldebaran!

"Take me to your leader! I come in peace!"

The rest of his words were an unrecognizable garble as the shivers rocked him again, and his speech turned into expressions of pain as he felt the alien probes again beneath his skin. Then the second of the men in black - no, not men in black, but Greys, Greys from Aldebaran - turned to him holding a needle. More probes? Hopefully not anal ones.

More probes beneath his skin as the alien needle touched his arm, and he tried to break free and to fight back, but he couldn't. The light must have been a paralysis beam. But soon he felt that familiar bliss again, as if he'd been relieved from a terrible burden, he felt as if he was floating in the sky. Indeed, in space. Come fly with me, Greys!

The men in black asked him questions, and he gave answers. They wanted to know something about some council and about a man in a high castle, or was that a new castle? Was he an alien too? He knew the new castle man, remembered him well, and he also knew other names and places that were very familiar to him. And he let them out as well.

* * *

"What the fuck did you inject him with again?", the owner of the farmhouse above asked Lieutenants Liggett and Chesterfield when he walked back down the narrow stairs into the basement, cups of coffee in his hands. The two had just finished their interrogation of the prisoner, whose identity they hadn't told the farmer, and who was held in another room of the basement. Though the basement was insulated from noise for precisely this reason, that room wasn't insulated from the rest of the basement.

"Heroin", Lieutenant Liggett replied while lighting a smoke, "Not that I've seen anyone flip out that bad from that kind of a dose, must have been his age and the sleep dep."

"Heroin's supposed to be illegal, right?"

"So is storing military-grade weapons in your barn, especially when you do so for an organization that officially speaking doesn't even exist", Liggett pointed out dryly. "In any case, looks like we have a lot of work in our hands filtering the useful stuff from the mumbo-jumbo."

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY FIVE

56 Burton Street
Farpoint
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

Though the initial shock and the appropriate media attention for the ongoing hostage crisis in Colton Ridge had gone away, CNBC 24H still gave regular coverage of the scene in between regular news programs. Or rather, it gave regular coverage of the road block the police had set up a couple of kilometers away on the road leading into the refinery and endless inquiring of new information from the guarding police officers by a rather bored reporter on the scene. Not that Erik Nyslott cared, for all that mattered to him as that his revenge was now reaching fruition, even as he watched the events unfold in a TV from the Farpoint safehouse into which he'd managed to escape the law enforcement.

He knew that Axel was a loyal man of the movement, and would not hesitate to carry out the scheme which he'd devised to deliver their justice. Southport-on-Sea now had too much in play for them not to submit to their demands, too much at stake to risk the lives of the hostages when the said hostages included leaders of one of the country's biggest companies and a Member of Parliament. Erik had given precise instructions to Axel: Attain a release of the list of Nordisk Frihet prisoners he had given the man, together with fifteen million Sovereigns and a public denounciation of the activities of the Cornavian oil and gas industries in the North together with the start of an initiative of greater distribution of the oil profits.

His compatriots would be flown out in a helicopter to a plane waiting in the Greater Farpoint Regional Airport, which would take them somewhere very far away, after which they'd release the rest of the hostages. Everyone in their group had fake passports with which to disappear afterwards as celebrated heroes of the separatist cause.

Still, questions lingered in his head. Where had Professor Göran Magnusson gone? Either the Professor or an associate of his should have been there to pick him up, and a nagging suspicion told him that something was terribly, terribly wrong. And if Professor Magnusson had been captured, theoretically speaking he'd be the only one able to point him to the apartment where he was hiding right now, considering that contrary to those rented or bought by Nyslott Logistics he'd rented this one on a false identity. So indeed, Erik Nyslott thought that he was safe. Unfortunately, as Lieutenants Liggett and Chesterfield learned in the basement of a farm house away from Farpoint and would soon inform Major Liam Callum, the separatist cell leader was very, very wrong.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY FIVE

6 Ferguson Street
Headquarters of the Farpoint Anti-Terrorism Branch
The New Constabulary
Farpoint
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

"Neither I, or anyone else around here are in need of this shit right now", Deputy Constable-in-Chief Robin Walker nearly shouted and regarded Detective Chief Inspector Robert Simmons angrily. The latter, seated on one of the sofas in the Anti-Terrorism Branch director's twenty square-feet office, struggled against a deep desire to lash out at the former in the way he deserved. But considering the circumstances that had led to this point, it wouldn't have been the smartest of moves.

More like your next career move isn't in need of this shit. Everyone knew that DCI Thomas Pearce, head of the GSMP Public Security Wing, was going to be appointed as the new Secretary-in-Chief for the Ministry of Justice, and that Walker was one of the applicants to replace him. Appointment to the role was jointly decided by Justice and the City of Southport-on-Sea, so Robin Walker had to be a very, very good boy towards the capital to be appointed. And apparently, Major Callum and Military Intelligence held enough sway and political connections to make the man very worried of his future career prospects.

Simmons had to admit that his outburst in the Emergency Center meeting room had been a tad bit dumb in hindsight. But damn it, he'd have enough of Liam Callum's posturing around in here, and constantly working to sideline the Anti-Terrorism branch of the Nyslott investigation. Walker hadn't seen it or he just didn't care.

Sighing, Robert Simmons replied, "Damn it, Callum's gloryhounding is endangering the entire investigation. Colton Ridge and the fact that Nyslott's still at large should tell you as much. You and I both know that incidents like these should be our territory, and that the very reason the MoD's even involved to begin with is long past."

"It's out of my hands", Robin Walker replied with a sigh, "In any case, I've been told by Constable-in-Chief Svenson that you'll be given four weeks of a paid leave. After that, we'll see about your future in Cornavian law enforcement."

So, Major Callum had made good on his promise, and apparently held the sway to realize it as well. Was the Marine so vindictive, or was there a deeper play in sight here? Simmons would find out, for he already had an idea in mind on how to deal with this. Alas, he suspected that carrying out that particular idea would make the "slamming the door" incident back at the Emergency Center seem like the best idea in centuries.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY SIX

G3 SAFEHOUSE, DESIGNATION "OPAL"
Undisclosed location
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

Before he'd left his hopeless craphole of a farming village of Stanton Hill for the path that had taken him to voluntary Army enlistment and eventual enrollment with the Special Forces, Lieutenant Marcus Liggett had worked as a helper down at his family's farm. Being that the said farm had dealt with livestock, he'd many a times seen pigs in a certain point of their lives being led to the slaughterhouse, and he'd every time wondered just how such creatures with relatively little intellect could have an uncanny ability to realize their own impending demise.

Alas, Liggett couldn't help but think of such moments in the past when he watched Lieutenant Darren Chesterfield fill the syringe and administer its contents to the bound-up Göran Magnusson for the last time. Even in his drugged-up haze, it seemed that the old man had realized his impending demise, for this time the dose of heroin given by Lieutenant Chesterfield had been enough to induce a fatal paralysis of breathing in him. Liggett had been reminded of a particularly clichéd action movie when Major Liam Callum had informed him that the Professor had now outlived his usefulness upon disclosing his personal extent of awareness over the operations of Nordisk Frihet, even while his awareness of his ordeal made him a risk to everyone.

After that, his body would go away, while the official investigation currently being conducted into his disappearance could perhaps conclude that Professor Göran Magnusson had been murdered by Nordic separatists to prevent him from coming clean to the police with inside information he'd come across in relation to the ongoing terrorist threat. A well-known scholar with connections to the highest academic circles here and abroad, if exposed Göran Magnusson could have been too credible a supporter for Nordisk Frihet.

As he watched Magnusson die, Marcus Liggett reminded himself that in addition to being an absent-minded, eyeglass-wearing, pipe-smoking friendly university professor with a knack for Oelarian poetry, Göran Magnusson had been one of the founders of one of the most prominent terrorist groups in the history of the Commonwealth. A terrorist. The balaclava-wearing gunman or bombmaker could always pass on his responsibility to a higher level, but the one responsible for the ideology and the very strategy of terror had no reason to excuse himself. Lieutenant Liggett needed that reminder, for cold-blooded murder was a dirty business.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY SIX

Main Building
All-Cornavian Energy Oil Refinery Colton Ridge
Colton Ridge
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

"It's Tim here again", the voice in the other end of the telephone line said to Axel Thorstrup after the man in charge of the cell of Nordic separatists occupying Colton Ridge had picked up the phone in the security control room.

Tim probably wasn't his real name. The guy was probably a trained negotiator, and if he was with those Special Forces that Axel and the others had seen going about in the refinery area from the building's surveillance cameras, the man wasn't about to give out his real name. Still, whatever it was didn't really matter, as long as he acceded to their demands.

So far, Tim and his buddies had done just that. Not the part where he gave the cell fifty million Sovereigns and released twenty imprisoned comrades of theirs, but the parts where Axel had requested medical supplies for Karl and food and water for the rest of the group to be brought in. But with the siege having gone on for three days now, both Axel and the rest of the cell were getting sick and tired with the waiting. People would start to die unless the government came forward with the real deal.

"Good news for you", the voice of 'Tim' said, "We are agreeing to your conditions, but you're going to have to give something to us in exchange. Nate Pierson's not with the ACE, and neither are the two security guards, so maybe you might want to think about a gesture of good..."

"I don't think so, Tim", Axel cut the man off, "A helicopter, a plane, fifty million Sovereigns and liberty for our comrades or the hostages start dying."

He slammed the receiver into the phone unit and pressed the red button on the top to end the call. It was never so easy as it seemed with these people. Back in the day his ex-wife had said something about Axel desperately needing anger management therapy, and sure as hell at the moment he felt like being in need of such things. In fact, there was an overwhelming desire in him to mow down the bound and gagged hostages in the corner of the control room with the AR-85 that right now was slung on his back. Then again, that probably wouldn't have been very conductive to their overall goal. He'd also considered the possibility of doing that once they boarded the plane out of the country, but had dismissed the idea upon deciding that Erik wouldn't like that very much.

"What's up?", he heard a familiar voice and turned around to see Fjalar and Olof, both having turned away from their monitor-viewing towards him as they'd heard the visible agitation in Axel's voice.

"These fucks are playing us", Axel replied, and gave another glance to the bound-up forms of Aldridge, Deputy CEO Harding and Kendall in the room with them. They had resolved to gag the two after being tired of the Chief Executive Officer's pleas to let them go. If any of them needed to go for a leak, they seemed to be able to communicate that desire well enough by other means. And their expressions also served well enough to communicate what they felt upon hearing Axel break out to his rant. At least there was some measure of satisfaction to be had here. "I'm tired with their psychological games, damn it."

"The plan was supposed to work!", Olof shouted, and Axel Thorstrup rewarded him with a sigh. After all, it was never that simple.

"We're still getting out of this", Axel said, more unsure of himself than he'd wanted to admit. He hoped that the unnerviness he was increasingly getting didn't carry to the rest of his comrades through his voice. "One way or another, they can't just tu-"

He was cut off by the sound of a ringing phone. Tim was again on the line, this time with something that seemed like a gift from heaven.

"We're complying to your demands."

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY SIX

7 Visby Street
Farpoint
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

"I know that you've been visited beforehand, and that this must be a confusing time for you", Detective Chief Inspector Robert Simmons said to the mid-50s woman standing in the doorway of the two-floor rowhouse with his badge kept clearly visible, "But it would really help out if you'd let me have a look again."

Petra Magnusson sighed, and with a nod moved off the doorway to invite Simmons in. From what Simmons knew the Major Case Squad had already been here, as had the other investigators from the Anti-Terrorism Branch. And considering that the poor woman probably had no idea about what her husband had gotten himself into, and what kind of a man he truly was, policemen going through their house time upon time when her husband was nowhere to be seen must have been deeply stressful.

She hadn't said it out loud, but she'd probably been wondering why exactly all those policemen were busy going through the house instead of being out there looking for her husband. Alas, she might never find out why so many people were taking an interest in the sudden disappearance of Professor Göran Magnusson.

The most recent search by the Anti-Terrorist Branch officers under his command, a couple of days ago or so, had rendered very little tangible information that hadn't been in their knowledge beforehand. Then again, this time it was Simmons himself doing the searching as opposed to his subordinates, and with wholly different intent too. It was a good thing that Walker hadn't taken away his badge or his gun, being that neither Mrs. Magnusson or anyone else not part of the police would be aware that the Detective Chief Inspector was supposed to be on an obligatory leave. Since the beginning of the investigation, Robert Simmons had suspected that there was more to Erik Nyslott than met the eye, especially given how a highly-placed MoD official such as Major Callum and through him big players in Southport-on-Sea had become involved in Operation Chatham. Erik Nyslott wasn't just a retired logistics officer, and Simmons planned to find out just what he was in truth. And finding Professor Göran Magnusson would be the key to uncovering that.

"I'll put up cups of coffee for you and me", the Nordic woman said as Simmons walked in, leaving his shoes to the lobby of the two-floor rowhouse, "Do you need anything else?"

"No", Simmons replied after a moment of thought, "I just need to have a look around."

As he begun to scour the interior of the Magnusson couple's house, it occurred to Robert Simmons that given her husband's established reputation as a cop-hating leftist and his (to the general public unknown) ties with Nordisk Frihet, the woman was of an oddly pleasant type. Particularly given how his ATB officers had probably turned the entire house upside down during their search.

One and half hours later, Detective Chief Inspector Robert Simmons head reached the attic of the house, but gone nowhere in regards to finding anything that might theoretically be of use to him. In the end, this had all amounted to a waste of time. However, as the 188cm police officer crawled about in the cramped, stuff-filled attic, he accidentally stumbled upon some box and promptly fell over. He came headfirst against an interior wall, smashing his head right there, and after a moment of collecting his wits realized that the said interior wall had in fact been hollow. It was with elation that Simmons realized that he'd just come across to what the other investigators had been missing in their search. He begun to search for tools with which to pry open the plywood wall behind which was hidden the hidden compartment which Göran Magnusson had built into his small attic.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY SIX

All-Cornavian Energy Oil Refinery Colton Ridge
Colton Ridge
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

The Ashland-Carrington Model 250 was a nimble and reliable five-seater helicopter that for its properties had found extensive popularity with police and rescue services in Cornavia and elsewhere. Military success had not quite caught on, being that the Commonwealth Armed Forces preferred larger Wieser-made models. However, the type still had a certain military niche, for the Special Operations Command had for its agility identified the 250 as a suitable template for the MH-16 "Raven" Special Operations Helicopter.

Right now, Master Sergeant David "Goshawk" Bishop cursed all of the Cornavian windy winter in its minus ten degrees glory, perched on a platform to the side of one such aircraft - designation Scythe Six - as it made its way towards the Colton Ridge refinery in the tail of a larger Air Force Eurocopter Cougar. The winter bit him even under the balaclava, the tactical ballistic vest and the snow-white BDU he'd donned for the mission. The good side? Not one of those hostage-taking assholes were likely to go outside to have look on the roof in this weather.

"One hell of a way to spend the Christmas, innit?", Sergeant Joe "Osprey" Dillon said over the team's radio as the choppers flew over the first road block of policemen blocking the road to the refinery complex.

"Nine-millimeter presents headed their way", replied Sergeant Timothy "Sparrow" Hockley on the same frequency. Of course, all three men and the rest of the six-man entry team were in the very same chopper, but with the rotor and wind noise Goshawk was at trouble trying to hear his teammates' voices even over the headset.

"What Santa's little helpers we are", Goshawk said dryly, "Now shut it and get ready, we're almost there."

"Bravo, this is Alpha telling that you're on the general frequency, keep to the protocol."

"Bravo copies", Goshawk said with slight embarassment as the command post caught on to their banter. The silence on the frequency after that was noticeable, but soon enough their attention was on other things as the Raven banked towards the refinery's main building.

The plan, as it was agreed, was that the Cougar which was supposed to transport the hostage-takers and their quarry out of the refinery would fly to the front parking lot while at the same time the voice of its rotors would cover the noise the Special Forces team's chopper made on its way in. Indeed, during the time when the terrorists - or a half of them, as command anticipated - would move to the ground floor Goshawk and his team would fast-rope onto the roof and from there into the second floor where the security control room was. CCTV wasn't covering the roof being that the All-Cornavian Energy managers had anticipated burglars or environmentalists attempting to intrude in the ground floor as the likely security threats, not a Special Forces team landing into the roof. Snipers positioned among refinery infrastructure with a line of sight to the entrance would take care of the rest should the terrorists try and make a run for the chopper.

Osprey nudging at him told Goshawk that they were getting there, and just for security he made a final mental check for his gear. All there. They felt the helicopter slowing down as the Cougar continued on its way towards its designated landing spot.

"Bravo team", Goshawk said as he reached for the rope rack above their heads, to throw down the rope to the roof. "We're up, lock and load!"

As a matter of course, the Special Forces were often called up whenever there were anti-terrorist raids and such to be done which allowed the use of the Army under the Defense Conditions act. Therefore, no one in the team was completely green. However, one-man snatch and grab was completely different from hostage-rescue against several heavily armed bad guys. But everyone in the team had trained for this, and it was too late to back down anyway. We're Special Forces, First in, Last Out.

Master Sergeant Bishop wrapped his arms and legs around the rope and begun to slide down onto the roof.

* * *

"This is how this is going to work", Axel Thorstrup said to the gathered members of his cell after the rotor voices and a look at the parking lot cameras had told him that the helicopter had indeed showed up. Aside from Karl, that is, who was lying down wounded in the conference room where the rest of the hostages had been kept for the duration of the siege, "Fjalar and Olof will be up first with those two guards, the two bitches and that construction guy. When you'll reach the helo, we'll be coming out with Aldridge and the rest. Then it's to the airport for the plane."

"Why us first?", Olof asked.

Axel sighed, "So that we'll kill half of the hostages if they'll try and take you down, and vice versa if they'll try to take us down while we're on our way."

"I don't like this", Olof continued, clutching his AR-85, "Everyone keeps telling that the government doesn't negotiate with terrorists, but now..."

"Shut it, we're getting out of here alright, there's too much for them at stake."

At least Axel Thorstrup hoped so. In truth, he wasn't all that certain.

 

[Confederal Republics]

DAY SIX

All-Cornavian Energy Oil Refinery Colton Ridge
Colton Ridge
Canton of Farpoint
Commonwealth of Cornavia

Captain John Shepard held his breath as he watched the main screen to the back of the mobile command post vehicle, as camera feed from Sierra Four - a sniper-spotter team positioned to face the back of the building - showed the six men of the Bravo Team rappel along the side of the building towards a balcony in the second floor. Good thing that the ACE had decided to save in security costs, as the CCTV cameras only covered the first-floor walls and entrances of the building.

"The cell head said that the first group will be coming out now", said Canton Constabulary Lieutenant Thomas Sweeney, head of the negotiation team as both Shepard and Immediate Action unit head Captain Patrick Harris kept their eyes on the vehicle's set of screens. Shepard acknowledged the police Lieutenant with a nod.

The point man of Bravo Team had made his way to the balcony, and now proceed to move in on the room connected to it. One by one, the soldiers rappelled to the balcony and went in, until Bravo leader called in, "Bravo Team at Objective Bravo, proceeding to recon."

A lot hinged on the plan Captain Harris and his men had devised for the assault. Chief Executive Officer Aldridge, the rest of the ACE executives and M.P Harding were influential hostages, and them getting killed would rain all sorts of hell for Shepard and everyone else involved. Even considering the original object of Operation Chatham, the one that was known only to Major Callum and his team and the stakes involved, what went on here wasn't exactly far away from that in importance.

"Sierra One here", one of the sniper-spotter teams positioned to cover the entrance called in, "I have two tango and five hotel in sight on side one entrance."

"Sierra One and Two mark targets", Captain Harris replied over the radio.

"Sierra One on target."

"Sierra Two on target."

"Chief", Harris said to a non-commissioned officer busy studying schematics of the target building spread out on a large table, "Cut power to the main building on my mark."

* * *

Tara Aylesworth had always thought of herself as a hard, tough woman capable of holding her own in the manly world of corporate enterprise. Unfortunately, boardroom negotiations and dinner functions were a world a lot different from what she was facing right now, so it didn't help her a lot as she felt herself being pushed forward by one of the disguised terrorists past the front doors of the main building.

Amazing, really, how something such as this could be turned completely on its head in no less than three days. Hell, the stuff the service staff had put out for the inauguration was still in place. Three days, huh? Hopefully it would be ending now, one way or another. Did she even care anymore as to how it would be ending? The helicopter the terrorists had asked was up ahead.

The armed, disguised terrorists behind her constantly pushing her forward and occasionally nudging her with the gunbarrel made the steps - must have been no more than a hundred meters - seem like a million. Amidst the adrenaline and the panic, she barely noticed the whizzing noise that preceded the impact of a .338 rifle round into the head of the terrorist behind her. What she did notice, however, was the sound of his skull cracking over and the spatter of blood and brain matter that followed. Instinctively, she ducked or rather fell down and screamed, but the gag on her made the screams muffled and incomprehensible to everyone else.

From her position lying on her sound on the ground, Tara Aylesworth noticed and realized that both of the gunmen had been shot down. Over two hundred meters away from her position hidden amidst refinery structures, sniper teams Sierra One and Sierra Two registered confirmed kills.

* * *

In the security control room, Axel Thorstrup knew that something was wrong the moment the room's dim lights and the computer screens went dark. Unfortunately, because of the electricity being cut off moments before the snipers opened fire on the two terrorists on the ground, he never realized what was happening.

Axel had just turned to head towards the doorway when for a brief moment the door opened, and in the darkness he heard something being thrown in. Flash and blinding noise followed.

* * *

First in after the flashbang grenade exploded, Goshawk raised his 9mm submachine gun at the two gun-wielding shapes to the center of the room, firing a three-round burst at the upper chest of the man to the left. To his right, Sparrow did the same to the other man, and neither had the time to return fire.