500 miles west of Las Cruces
A damp day, terribly damp. Moisture everywhere. Through the thick canopy barely any sunlight came down on the jungle floor. In this area of Republica del Sur, in the Ongana Crater, a most dense and virtually inpenetrable part of the greater Maleeza Jungle, the basin was one of the lowest points on the earth. A massive crater caused by a meteorite around 100,000 years ago - the area is supposedly scattered with ancient temples of unknown origin that have never been explored and only exist in fable and myth. Explorers who claim to have seen them speak of miraculous edifices, solid granite structures with pavement, towering pyramids and large statues of gruesome bloodthirsty gods. The camp itself was built near a small open space close to the center of the crater, where a caldera lake had formed over the course of thousands of years. It remained under the safe green cover of dense layers of leaves, canopy and vines. It hasn't rained for days, which came as a relief to the men and women who occupied the camp. It was within the perimeter of the government troops - but that was no guarantee nothing would happen. Many workers were armed to the teeth and a local militia patrolled the rainforest. To kill invaders or to find someone who pays more than us. Cash was worthless in the Republic, so we had to resort to other means of payment. Gold, foreign currency and tools were the most common items for barter. Security was extra tight today because a major shipment was expected. A major shipment of gold bullion from Danzig. The dealmaker was in the camp to arrange a smooth transaction. He had the merchandise, all he wanted was payment. And a planeticket out of here.
Several strangers resided within the pallisade walls of the camp. The volcanic activity of old in the area has yielded some interesting diamond findings and many geologists are aching to find more. None of the gems are allowed to leave the country; president DeNavén has declared it illegal and, more importantly, not many dare to touch raw Republica del Sur diamonds. Soaked in blood, used to pay for weapons and ammunition to fight rebels. One man in particular, a stranger, drew the attention of the workers in the camp. To get into the camp, one had to take a rather dangerous road down the steep slopes of the crater; the road didn't allow much traffic and it was guarded by several remote outposts that acted like ambushes for unwelcome guests. The Dealmaker was, in a way, an unwelcome guest. His air of snobbery and style didn't go along well with other inhabitants of the camp. He didn't come from the Republic, but from that faraway citystate on the invisible borderline of the Long Sea and the Vostok Sea. His name was Frank Beauregard. Toying with a bulky gold twenty thaler piece in his left hand, cigarette and a glass of liquor in his right, he kept watching a clock in his shack. Almost 3 in the afternoon, goddamnit, they're supposed to be here in thirty minutes and its a one hour drive from the entrance to camp! What is taking them so long? Patience, patience, patience.
Until then...! A radio message, spoken by a grainy voice delivering important news. A truck with several men, unarmed, as arranged, has passed the first outpost. All required markings as agreed in Danzig were present on the vehicle. Outpost number 2 would halt and inspect the vehicle. They'd read that site in twenty minutes. Patience. Another cigarette. Frank noticed the ashtray, crammed with cigarette butts, sighed for a moment but lit up regardless. One more drink and then he'd drive with a small detachment of guards to the rendez-vous point from whence they'd travel to the camp together. He poured himself another glass and waited for a radio message. Nothing yet. A small walk around the shack, more cigarettes, and around fifteen minutes later Outpost number 2 announced the truck had arrived - no bombs, no hidden weapons, no unknown names. And the money was there. Unmarked bills. Thalers from Franken. Crisp clean. One hundred million in cash. A truckload. Stacked neatly. And even the paperwork is sound. In Spanish, he rallied several workers to retrieve the ore from the safety deposit box buried deeply in an old mine shaft. Fiftyfive pounds of raw ore, highest grade and one of the purest samples mined. It was kept in a lead storage container on the bottom of the 'safety deposit box' in the mineshaft, where most of the locally mined ore goes once its mined miles away from the camp. Processing takes place even further away. But, somehow, a processed piece of ore made it back to the camp. It's a crazy country, Frank thought when he received word he could get his hands on it. And now, he'd get one hundred million thalers for it. Not a bad day I'd say. Getting it out of the country is easy as long as you know the channels. Due to coastal piracy - mostly carried out by rogue elements within the navy - not many foreigners have the nerve to come close to Republica del Sur's shore. Save for one ship. The captain of the ship, Bellian - a corrupt former commodore of the Republica del Sur navy - was given `special permission' to throw down the anchor for two weeks. Only a few days, if everything went according to plan, would be needed to pull off this job. Quick and painless.
A damp day, terribly damp. Moisture everywhere. Through the thick canopy barely any sunlight came down on the jungle floor. In this area of Republica del Sur, in the Ongana Crater, a most dense and virtually inpenetrable part of the greater Maleeza Jungle, the basin was one of the lowest points on the earth. A massive crater caused by a meteorite around 100,000 years ago - the area is supposedly scattered with ancient temples of unknown origin that have never been explored and only exist in fable and myth. Explorers who claim to have seen them speak of miraculous edifices, solid granite structures with pavement, towering pyramids and large statues of gruesome bloodthirsty gods. The camp itself was built near a small open space close to the center of the crater, where a caldera lake had formed over the course of thousands of years. It remained under the safe green cover of dense layers of leaves, canopy and vines. It hasn't rained for days, which came as a relief to the men and women who occupied the camp. It was within the perimeter of the government troops - but that was no guarantee nothing would happen. Many workers were armed to the teeth and a local militia patrolled the rainforest. To kill invaders or to find someone who pays more than us. Cash was worthless in the Republic, so we had to resort to other means of payment. Gold, foreign currency and tools were the most common items for barter. Security was extra tight today because a major shipment was expected. A major shipment of gold bullion from Danzig. The dealmaker was in the camp to arrange a smooth transaction. He had the merchandise, all he wanted was payment. And a planeticket out of here.
Several strangers resided within the pallisade walls of the camp. The volcanic activity of old in the area has yielded some interesting diamond findings and many geologists are aching to find more. None of the gems are allowed to leave the country; president DeNavén has declared it illegal and, more importantly, not many dare to touch raw Republica del Sur diamonds. Soaked in blood, used to pay for weapons and ammunition to fight rebels. One man in particular, a stranger, drew the attention of the workers in the camp. To get into the camp, one had to take a rather dangerous road down the steep slopes of the crater; the road didn't allow much traffic and it was guarded by several remote outposts that acted like ambushes for unwelcome guests. The Dealmaker was, in a way, an unwelcome guest. His air of snobbery and style didn't go along well with other inhabitants of the camp. He didn't come from the Republic, but from that faraway citystate on the invisible borderline of the Long Sea and the Vostok Sea. His name was Frank Beauregard. Toying with a bulky gold twenty thaler piece in his left hand, cigarette and a glass of liquor in his right, he kept watching a clock in his shack. Almost 3 in the afternoon, goddamnit, they're supposed to be here in thirty minutes and its a one hour drive from the entrance to camp! What is taking them so long? Patience, patience, patience.
Until then...! A radio message, spoken by a grainy voice delivering important news. A truck with several men, unarmed, as arranged, has passed the first outpost. All required markings as agreed in Danzig were present on the vehicle. Outpost number 2 would halt and inspect the vehicle. They'd read that site in twenty minutes. Patience. Another cigarette. Frank noticed the ashtray, crammed with cigarette butts, sighed for a moment but lit up regardless. One more drink and then he'd drive with a small detachment of guards to the rendez-vous point from whence they'd travel to the camp together. He poured himself another glass and waited for a radio message. Nothing yet. A small walk around the shack, more cigarettes, and around fifteen minutes later Outpost number 2 announced the truck had arrived - no bombs, no hidden weapons, no unknown names. And the money was there. Unmarked bills. Thalers from Franken. Crisp clean. One hundred million in cash. A truckload. Stacked neatly. And even the paperwork is sound. In Spanish, he rallied several workers to retrieve the ore from the safety deposit box buried deeply in an old mine shaft. Fiftyfive pounds of raw ore, highest grade and one of the purest samples mined. It was kept in a lead storage container on the bottom of the 'safety deposit box' in the mineshaft, where most of the locally mined ore goes once its mined miles away from the camp. Processing takes place even further away. But, somehow, a processed piece of ore made it back to the camp. It's a crazy country, Frank thought when he received word he could get his hands on it. And now, he'd get one hundred million thalers for it. Not a bad day I'd say. Getting it out of the country is easy as long as you know the channels. Due to coastal piracy - mostly carried out by rogue elements within the navy - not many foreigners have the nerve to come close to Republica del Sur's shore. Save for one ship. The captain of the ship, Bellian - a corrupt former commodore of the Republica del Sur navy - was given `special permission' to throw down the anchor for two weeks. Only a few days, if everything went according to plan, would be needed to pull off this job. Quick and painless.