Trying to get business done is harder than it looks

[Elben]

OOC: Picked up from

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. @Bergenheim

The offices of KSB, Midweis, Bergenheim

The priest wasn't sure what he had done wrong as he was escorted down into a sub-basement. He looked around at his surroundings with a shake of the head; taking a seat in the bland room that had only a table and a chair, he reached into his coat and pulled out his breviary to read while he waited.

Some kind of misunderstanding, no doubt... He crossed himself and started praying.

Later...

Asked for his credentials, the priest placidly produced his diplomatic passport and offered a contact number. "Everything should be in order, yes. I hope there is no problem." Whatever these Bergenheimers were up to, he was determined to maintain his own dignity. After all, he was a man of the cloth. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

 

[Bergenheim]

The police frowned at the diplomatic credentials, looked at each other. "This may be above our pay grade..." they muttered. "Just sit tight, I'm going to pass this one up the chain..."

At the Financial District Constabulary Headquarters, the Stationhauptmeister took a very unusual call from one of his Polizeimeisters.
"A Preist? don't waste my time you slackers. What do you mean contact number?"

He grumbled, and reluctantly took the number. "Fine, sit on him. What did he want again? You're shitting me? Diplomatic credentials? What the hell?"

This was surely above his pay-grade as well. With a deep and weary sigh, the fat 'hauptmeister picked up the phone again, and speed-dialled his boss at Central Command...

At the Central Police Headquarters, the Erster Polizei Kommissar was just finishing up a delicious liquid lunch with his other cronies and officers, when the phone rang, and his secretary told him some lowly 'hauptmeister was trying to put through a priority call.

"Oh fine, let the fat idiot's call through." He said with unusual good humour.
"Ah, Bucher, my old friend! What can Central do for your boys down in the FD? A Preist? haha! A fine joke. Wait...you're serious?"

Five minutes later, the Kommissar poured himself another glass of schnapps. This was above his pay grade. With reluctance, he told his secretary to put him through to the National Police Committee...

Feeling the phone buzzing in his pocket, National Police Committee Superintendent Conan Edogan politely excused himself from an important security briefing with the Border Guard and the Air Force. Something about needing to keep the Eiffellanders out in a way that seemed firm to outsiders, but was actually very loose for the Eiffel. This sort of idiotic, tricky posturing gave Edogan a headache. He'd arrested the Eiffelandian Ambassador only a few hours ago, and was now told to let him back in under a different visa? It was not possible.

"Ah, Strelnicki! Im so glad you called. How's things in the Central Office? Busy chasing schnapps, I'm sure." he quipped sardonically. "Whats this? A Preist? With diplomatic papers? What does he want?"

Edogan sighed. "This is clearly a matter for the National Intelligence Agency. More's the pity. I don't know why they exist either, but...damnit, I'm busy. I'll call them. You go back to catching criminal bottles of schnapps and drinking them."

He hung up, and then passed the call on to the head of the NIA, an organisation so small and irrelevant that it was often forgotten that Bergenheim even had one.

Two hours later, just as the priest was getting bored of his fifth hand of cards with the bored Constables watching over him, a harried looking man in a suit came along. "There's two people up front with a car waiting. They're from the National Intelligence Agency."

"Who?" asked one of the more clueless constables.

"The spy dudes. I mean...fuck it. You know what I mean."

He shrugged. "Well, father, it was nice playing Peanuckle with you, but it seems like this case is now out of our hands. I hope you find what you want up there."

Another car ride and an hour later, the Preist was finally sat in the office of the head of the NIA. "You wanted to contact the Black Hand. You realise this is a federal offence in Bergenheim? And you tried to do it via a legal firm? Oh, father, I don't know what your superiors were thinking..."

The head of the NIA chuckled, and went for a bottle of brandy. "Do you drink, father? Well, now. Obviously officially we will have to send you back on a plane, but..." he poured himself a snifter. "If his holiness truly wants a hundred truly dangerous men to help him out with something..."

The head of the NIA reached into one of his locked drawers, clicked a button inside, and opened up a sub-drawer with in, and withdrew an old, worn bible, inside of which was a tattered old black leather glove.

He placed both on the desk.

"What does His Holiness want with the Black Hand?"

 

[Elben]

The priest had played cards all day with the police (letting criminals run free, shame!) and now after more sitting during the drive, he was in the office of the director of some alphabet soup agency. This time, his chair was much more comfortable and he settled himself. At the offer of brandy, he nodded and accepted a snifter of his own (of course priests drink, every day!) and took a drink.

"Very nice, thank you." He set aside the snifter and went on to answer the question, "As you are no doubt aware as the head of a secret service, Eiffelland is at war." The priest shook his head at this sad state of affairs and then went on, "His Holiness seeks the services of faithful, loyal sons of the Church in lieu of Eiffellanders who are busy with their own affairs. And..." The priest leaned forward, implying something more confidential, "There may come a time when His Holiness may need to remove himself from a belligerent state. The Black Hand is not necessarily what we seek, but certainly it is a benchmark of what we want, highly skilled individuals capable of defending the Pope against all sorts."