Vrijpoort
Establishing Nation
Regeringshuis | Government House
Senior Minister's Office
Northeastern Vrijpoort on the harbour
The car door slammed. Yisrael Habibi, head of the VeDi (Veiligheidsdienst/Security Service), Nedernesia's intelligence agency, began walking up the marble steps into Government House. He hadn't slept in nearly two days and his shabbat on Saturday had been disturbed by the urgency of the legal case on everyone's plate. The so-called 'Gang of Five'. What a fucking mess, damned goyim*, he thought.
Habibi's portly figure waddled slowly up the steps and he was soon met by Jeroen Hoefnaggels, head of Nedernesian Signals Directorate, a spry, 30-something gentleman who loathed leaving his agency's offices for any reason. His agency had requested the use of the Defense of the State Act 1984 to detain the five Engellkin and when he received the 'request' to visit the Senior Minister, he told his agency that he might not be coming back. Despite that, he felt strangely calm.
Another car arrived and out stepped Mordechai Schlomo, High Barrister of the Crown Prosecution Office. He didn't look so calm. In fact, he was perspiring profusely. Habibi turned back from further up the steps and saw his Jewish comrade sweating.
'Shalom shalom, Mordechai! You're schvitzing like a pig! Relax!'
Schlomo gestured with his right hand in a downward swatting motion, 'I'm fine. Fine! Leave me be, you old Jew.'
Jeroen rolled his eyes. Whenever the directors came together Yisrael and Mordechai always ended up bickering and complaining. Kvetching, they called it. It was annoying, that's what they should call it.
An RCMP car had arrived and out stepped a slim, dark-skinned woman in full police uniform dress. Shaz Paruk, Chief Officer of the Royal Commonwealth Mounted Police (RCMP). Her deep brown eyes with a gold glint, long black, silky hair and good looks typically made the men shut up their banter.
Lastly a military SUV produced High Commander of the Royal Nedernesian Expeditionary Force, Francois de le Coeur. Also in full military dress uniform, the dark green going well with his silver gray hair, he kept a blank poker face and nodded to the others as he sprung up the steps to Government House.
Inside the sleek marble entrance hall of Government House with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the harbour, the five began walking towards the Senior Minister's quarter. Coming from their destination was a tall man dressed in an immaculate Tiburan-style suit with two assistants in tow. He looked angry, his face pink and his assistants seemed nervous. The trio nodded to the government directors as they passed.
Shaz Paruk of the RCMP looked back at the man. She had caught his eye long enough to know that she wouldn't mind a piece of that.
'Was that Daan Vermeulen?' she asked the men as they neared the entrance to the Senior Minister's quarters.
Yisrael Habibi nodded, 'Indeed. Daan Vermeulen, CEO of KLM Airways. He looks pretty pissed.' Yisrael was about to make some supposedly funny comment that probably only Mordechai would appreciate, but the group was greeted by an assistant.
'Good morning. The Senior Minister will see you now.' He led them into the ornately decorated office of the Senior Minister. A large dark wood table stood before the windows overlooking the skyline and harbour. Government House sat atop a small hill providing breathtaking views of the city. White leather sofas and chairs encircled a glass coffee table. A fireplace, unused in summer of course, dominated the back wall. Portraits of previous Senior Ministers donned the walls. The late morning sun was shining brightly.
Senior Minister Bas Duinman, a tall black man who's grandparents had been born in the Dune Sea and emigrated to Nedernesia to open a convenience store, was leaning over his desk facing the group with both hands atop the table. He looked upset. Clearly his meeting with the KLM Airways CEO hadn't gone well. The group saluted and waited.
Duinman slowly drew in a deep breath as if preparing to calm himself down before speaking. He stood up straight and motioned with his hand for the group to sit down. They did so.
'Does someone want to explain to me how a simple detainment operation turned into AN ABSOLUTE FUCKING DISASTER!!??'
*Yiddish for non-Jews
Senior Minister's Office
Northeastern Vrijpoort on the harbour
The car door slammed. Yisrael Habibi, head of the VeDi (Veiligheidsdienst/Security Service), Nedernesia's intelligence agency, began walking up the marble steps into Government House. He hadn't slept in nearly two days and his shabbat on Saturday had been disturbed by the urgency of the legal case on everyone's plate. The so-called 'Gang of Five'. What a fucking mess, damned goyim*, he thought.
Habibi's portly figure waddled slowly up the steps and he was soon met by Jeroen Hoefnaggels, head of Nedernesian Signals Directorate, a spry, 30-something gentleman who loathed leaving his agency's offices for any reason. His agency had requested the use of the Defense of the State Act 1984 to detain the five Engellkin and when he received the 'request' to visit the Senior Minister, he told his agency that he might not be coming back. Despite that, he felt strangely calm.
Another car arrived and out stepped Mordechai Schlomo, High Barrister of the Crown Prosecution Office. He didn't look so calm. In fact, he was perspiring profusely. Habibi turned back from further up the steps and saw his Jewish comrade sweating.
'Shalom shalom, Mordechai! You're schvitzing like a pig! Relax!'
Schlomo gestured with his right hand in a downward swatting motion, 'I'm fine. Fine! Leave me be, you old Jew.'
Jeroen rolled his eyes. Whenever the directors came together Yisrael and Mordechai always ended up bickering and complaining. Kvetching, they called it. It was annoying, that's what they should call it.
An RCMP car had arrived and out stepped a slim, dark-skinned woman in full police uniform dress. Shaz Paruk, Chief Officer of the Royal Commonwealth Mounted Police (RCMP). Her deep brown eyes with a gold glint, long black, silky hair and good looks typically made the men shut up their banter.
Lastly a military SUV produced High Commander of the Royal Nedernesian Expeditionary Force, Francois de le Coeur. Also in full military dress uniform, the dark green going well with his silver gray hair, he kept a blank poker face and nodded to the others as he sprung up the steps to Government House.
Inside the sleek marble entrance hall of Government House with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the harbour, the five began walking towards the Senior Minister's quarter. Coming from their destination was a tall man dressed in an immaculate Tiburan-style suit with two assistants in tow. He looked angry, his face pink and his assistants seemed nervous. The trio nodded to the government directors as they passed.
Shaz Paruk of the RCMP looked back at the man. She had caught his eye long enough to know that she wouldn't mind a piece of that.
'Was that Daan Vermeulen?' she asked the men as they neared the entrance to the Senior Minister's quarters.
Yisrael Habibi nodded, 'Indeed. Daan Vermeulen, CEO of KLM Airways. He looks pretty pissed.' Yisrael was about to make some supposedly funny comment that probably only Mordechai would appreciate, but the group was greeted by an assistant.
'Good morning. The Senior Minister will see you now.' He led them into the ornately decorated office of the Senior Minister. A large dark wood table stood before the windows overlooking the skyline and harbour. Government House sat atop a small hill providing breathtaking views of the city. White leather sofas and chairs encircled a glass coffee table. A fireplace, unused in summer of course, dominated the back wall. Portraits of previous Senior Ministers donned the walls. The late morning sun was shining brightly.
Senior Minister Bas Duinman, a tall black man who's grandparents had been born in the Dune Sea and emigrated to Nedernesia to open a convenience store, was leaning over his desk facing the group with both hands atop the table. He looked upset. Clearly his meeting with the KLM Airways CEO hadn't gone well. The group saluted and waited.
Duinman slowly drew in a deep breath as if preparing to calm himself down before speaking. He stood up straight and motioned with his hand for the group to sit down. They did so.
'Does someone want to explain to me how a simple detainment operation turned into AN ABSOLUTE FUCKING DISASTER!!??'
*Yiddish for non-Jews