Southport-on-Sea
Borough of Westridge
Cornavia
Harold Litton had made it a habit many years ago to swing by the post office on Andrew Street once a week and check his mailbox. Well, it wasn't actually his and there was usually nothing in it, especially in the last six or so months. Today was different. He could tell before unlocking the box that his planned end of summer holiday to the northern Cornavian islands would have to be cancelled. The letter had a return address handwritten on the back of the envelope for a P.O. box in Danzig. He stuffed it into his blazer pocket before continuing on his way back home.
His flat was nothing special. Small, but comfortable and right in the city centre. He also had a great view of the harbour. Litton turned on the coffee maker, set his briefcase down in the entry hall and kicked off his loafers as he made himself comfortable on his sofa. He stared at the unopened envelope lying on his coffee table. He didn't touch it until he had his coffee cup in his hand. Finally he opened it very cleanly with a letter opener and read the contents.
Southport-on-Sea
Airport
The author of the letter, which Agent Harold Litton was currently finishing, cleared customs with ease using an Arendaaler passport. He purchased the top three morning papers in the terminal before boarding the train to take him into the city of Southport, specifically the Borough of Oldtown. He was a man of a respectable age, yet still completely mobile. His grey hair was actually something that he was proud of and he always dressed impeccably. He carried only a brown soft leather attaché case and an old suitcase, not one of those ugly and newer types that had wheels. Despite his handsome salary he avoided unnecessary expenses, such as taking a taxi from the airport. And besides, he enjoyed travelling by train, whether it was for twenty minutes, such as today, or twenty hours.
His hotel, however, was not something that he personally was paying for. His secretary back in Vlaanderen had arranged that for him and, due to his rather high rank in the Veiligheidspolitie, he received more than adequate accommodations. A room with a view, within walking distance to all of the main places in Southport and a very modern feel to the building. Despite being in many ways a traditionalist, the handler indulged in expensive hotels that he himself never paid for.
He checked in using a Wieser passport and spoke German with the porter. His room, located on the tenth floor, pleased him after a long journey. His flight lasting over three hours, the handler wanted to do nothing more than undress and fall asleep. But it was only 3 in the afternoon and he still had not made contact. He ordered coffee and biscuits from room service and hopped in the shower while he waited.
Southport-on-Sea
Borough of Westridge
The two men arranged a late afternoon rendezvous in the Westridge Borough and decided upon a place other than their usual meeting spot. Agent Litton suggested Café Nyland. Feeling as though he could now make use of his expenditure privileges the handler took a taxi to Westridge from Oldtown. He did not feel like navigating the city's public transportation options and he hadn't been in Cornavia's capital for many months. After paying his fare he stepped out to see before him a modern and trendy looking café. At least it looked quiet.
Litton was sipping some iced coffee type drink that probably cost him double his bus fare to get here. He curtly acknowledged the arrival of the older gentleman who sat across from him by the window.
'Good to see you Andrik.' Litton said quietly in English as they shook hands as though they were any two friends or business partners having an after hours drink.
'You know better than to use my name in public, my friend.' Litton gave a small smile knowing that it was unlikely they were being watched or followed any way. At least not yet.
Andrik Voort was definitely the old-school type of intelligence worker. He had been recruited by the then Staatsveiligheid at the age of 24 and had slowly risen the ranks to become a handler of his own. His superb fieldwork, mostly in Arendaal and later Cornavia, made him an expert in terms of cultural and political knowledge. Yet because he still had not gotten used to the fact that he was no longer working for a communist paternal state, he often remained paranoid these days. More than usual.
He ordered a plain coffee and added the cream and sugar himself.
'You read the news so you know what's going on.' Andrik was pleased with Litton ever since they recruited him in 1994. Right in the midst of the chaos when Tyskreich went democratic. It had made it easy to get a reliable field agent and a native Cornavian at that undetected.
Litton was still rather curious. Since the elections in March and the end of communism in Batavië he hadn't been contacted and for a while he thought that his high-paying side work was over. He got into the routine of writing for the weekly magazine, his main career, and forgetting about his espionage activities. He still sent his monthly reports in and still checked the P.O. box on Andrew Street, but no word until now.
'The Claridge House Mole issue is definitely going to be the topic that every newspaper in Scandinavia and Germania will cover soon. The Cornavians want files and documents and Vlaanderen is probably going to hand them over to show them goodwill.' Andrik said this with distaste and sipped more coffee to cleanse his pallet.
'How does that involve you and I exactly?' asked Litton.
'SV...or Vepo rather, is by nature reluctant to comply. But the Prime Minister's Office sent in a formal request for certain documents today. 1980s stuff. Claridge House stuff. So I made those particular files disappear for a while.'
Litton almost choked on his frappé whatever drink upon hearing this. He saw the headline on the morning news that certain documents at Vepo archives could not be found today, but he had no idea that Andrik Voort was involved.
'What are you going to do?' Litton managed to ask.
Andrik finished his coffee and took out a few Cornavian Sovereign coins to cover both their bills.
'It's not what I'm going to do, dear boy, it's what you're going to do.' he slid a folded piece of note paper across the table. On it was scribbled an address in Northwood Borough.
'Go there and get our mole friend to meet me in Oldtown tomorrow. Make it clear that this isn't optional.'
Andrik left Café Nyland before Litton could ask any redundant or unnecessary questions of him and decided that today he would walk back to Oldtown and his hotel. There was still plenty of sunlight.
Borough of Westridge
Cornavia
Harold Litton had made it a habit many years ago to swing by the post office on Andrew Street once a week and check his mailbox. Well, it wasn't actually his and there was usually nothing in it, especially in the last six or so months. Today was different. He could tell before unlocking the box that his planned end of summer holiday to the northern Cornavian islands would have to be cancelled. The letter had a return address handwritten on the back of the envelope for a P.O. box in Danzig. He stuffed it into his blazer pocket before continuing on his way back home.
His flat was nothing special. Small, but comfortable and right in the city centre. He also had a great view of the harbour. Litton turned on the coffee maker, set his briefcase down in the entry hall and kicked off his loafers as he made himself comfortable on his sofa. He stared at the unopened envelope lying on his coffee table. He didn't touch it until he had his coffee cup in his hand. Finally he opened it very cleanly with a letter opener and read the contents.
Southport-on-Sea
Airport
The author of the letter, which Agent Harold Litton was currently finishing, cleared customs with ease using an Arendaaler passport. He purchased the top three morning papers in the terminal before boarding the train to take him into the city of Southport, specifically the Borough of Oldtown. He was a man of a respectable age, yet still completely mobile. His grey hair was actually something that he was proud of and he always dressed impeccably. He carried only a brown soft leather attaché case and an old suitcase, not one of those ugly and newer types that had wheels. Despite his handsome salary he avoided unnecessary expenses, such as taking a taxi from the airport. And besides, he enjoyed travelling by train, whether it was for twenty minutes, such as today, or twenty hours.
His hotel, however, was not something that he personally was paying for. His secretary back in Vlaanderen had arranged that for him and, due to his rather high rank in the Veiligheidspolitie, he received more than adequate accommodations. A room with a view, within walking distance to all of the main places in Southport and a very modern feel to the building. Despite being in many ways a traditionalist, the handler indulged in expensive hotels that he himself never paid for.
He checked in using a Wieser passport and spoke German with the porter. His room, located on the tenth floor, pleased him after a long journey. His flight lasting over three hours, the handler wanted to do nothing more than undress and fall asleep. But it was only 3 in the afternoon and he still had not made contact. He ordered coffee and biscuits from room service and hopped in the shower while he waited.
Southport-on-Sea
Borough of Westridge
The two men arranged a late afternoon rendezvous in the Westridge Borough and decided upon a place other than their usual meeting spot. Agent Litton suggested Café Nyland. Feeling as though he could now make use of his expenditure privileges the handler took a taxi to Westridge from Oldtown. He did not feel like navigating the city's public transportation options and he hadn't been in Cornavia's capital for many months. After paying his fare he stepped out to see before him a modern and trendy looking café. At least it looked quiet.
Litton was sipping some iced coffee type drink that probably cost him double his bus fare to get here. He curtly acknowledged the arrival of the older gentleman who sat across from him by the window.
'Good to see you Andrik.' Litton said quietly in English as they shook hands as though they were any two friends or business partners having an after hours drink.
'You know better than to use my name in public, my friend.' Litton gave a small smile knowing that it was unlikely they were being watched or followed any way. At least not yet.
Andrik Voort was definitely the old-school type of intelligence worker. He had been recruited by the then Staatsveiligheid at the age of 24 and had slowly risen the ranks to become a handler of his own. His superb fieldwork, mostly in Arendaal and later Cornavia, made him an expert in terms of cultural and political knowledge. Yet because he still had not gotten used to the fact that he was no longer working for a communist paternal state, he often remained paranoid these days. More than usual.
He ordered a plain coffee and added the cream and sugar himself.
'You read the news so you know what's going on.' Andrik was pleased with Litton ever since they recruited him in 1994. Right in the midst of the chaos when Tyskreich went democratic. It had made it easy to get a reliable field agent and a native Cornavian at that undetected.
Litton was still rather curious. Since the elections in March and the end of communism in Batavië he hadn't been contacted and for a while he thought that his high-paying side work was over. He got into the routine of writing for the weekly magazine, his main career, and forgetting about his espionage activities. He still sent his monthly reports in and still checked the P.O. box on Andrew Street, but no word until now.
'The Claridge House Mole issue is definitely going to be the topic that every newspaper in Scandinavia and Germania will cover soon. The Cornavians want files and documents and Vlaanderen is probably going to hand them over to show them goodwill.' Andrik said this with distaste and sipped more coffee to cleanse his pallet.
'How does that involve you and I exactly?' asked Litton.
'SV...or Vepo rather, is by nature reluctant to comply. But the Prime Minister's Office sent in a formal request for certain documents today. 1980s stuff. Claridge House stuff. So I made those particular files disappear for a while.'
Litton almost choked on his frappé whatever drink upon hearing this. He saw the headline on the morning news that certain documents at Vepo archives could not be found today, but he had no idea that Andrik Voort was involved.
'What are you going to do?' Litton managed to ask.
Andrik finished his coffee and took out a few Cornavian Sovereign coins to cover both their bills.
'It's not what I'm going to do, dear boy, it's what you're going to do.' he slid a folded piece of note paper across the table. On it was scribbled an address in Northwood Borough.
'Go there and get our mole friend to meet me in Oldtown tomorrow. Make it clear that this isn't optional.'
Andrik left Café Nyland before Litton could ask any redundant or unnecessary questions of him and decided that today he would walk back to Oldtown and his hotel. There was still plenty of sunlight.