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+----- Thread: Operation Hidden Cobra (/thread-873.html)
Operation Hidden Cobra - Nentsia - 02-18-2019
Operation Hidden Cobra
Nykoping, Nyland
David Kamminga looked up at the sign as his station was approaching. A female voice announced it on the speaker. As the metro came to a standstill and the doors opened, Kamminga jumped from his seat and walked out of the crowded metro. He was barely three meters out of it, when he suddenly turned around and walked back inside as the doors closed. He walked all the way to the back of to the cabin, sat down, and looked if he saw any familiar faces or clothes. The metro continued, and two stations later, Kamminga jumped to another line. Eventually he arrived at the Nykoping Airport, without having been followed.
He wasn’t necessarily expecting to be followed, but as cultural attaché of the Batavian embassy in Nyland, he wasn’t counting on it. Kamminga checked his watch. There was still time, fifteen minutes. When it was time, entered the parking garage attached to the airport, where a contact of Kamminga had parked his car the evening before. The keys he had left behind under a seat in the cinema, during a movie both men had coincidentally attended. During the break, the contact left the room to buy a snack, while Kamminga dropped his glasses. While reaching to pick them up, he simultaneously picked up the keys beneath the chair next to him. As such, Kamminga was now in possession of the car keys.
Once Kamminga unlocked the car in the garage, suddenly two men and a woman started to approach him fast. They came from all directions. They wore large sunglasses to cover half their faces, and had some luggage with them, but by their handling it was surely empty. When they stood in front of Kamminga, they stopped and stared at him.
‘I once saw a King Cobra in my yard,’ Kamminga said to them bluntly.
‘But in your youth, they called you a Monocled cobra, because of your glasses,’ replied the skinny looking man.
‘At least it wasn’t a Spitting cobra,’ said the woman.
‘And you can swim like a Banded Water Cobra’, mumbled the third.
Kamminga opened the car. ‘Let’s go then.’ The four of them got inside and the car left the garage. After a one-hour drive they arrived at a hotel. They had booked three rooms. The woman checked in together with the youngest looking man among them. She played the key role, that of a Batavian student with an activist past. In fact, that much was true about her. She had come to Nyland to attend a lecture on human rights hosted by Nykoping University. One of the speakers would be Aphiwe Mbizo, a Batavian in exile.
The girl, Ariana de Jongh, had no clue in what she was involved in. All she was told was to be herself. Janco Buys was pretending to be her boyfriend accompanying her on this trip. He was simultaneously also her baby-sitter. Ariana’s real boyfriend was being detained in a Batavian prison.
While Janco and Ariana stayed at the hotel, Kamminga and the third man, Rynold Kuiper, went outside, back to the car. Kamminga carried with him a diplomatic briefcase, containing $41,000 in cash.
They spent the rest of the day visiting bars and restaurants, then a casino, only to head down into the Severyanian immigrant neighbourhoods by the evening. Kamminga and Kuiper entered a shady night club, where members only were allowed by the bouncer at the door. Kamminga was a member. Inside the dark club, crowds were dancing on the floor and on the balconies, while barely dressed women were dancing within cages to entertain the crowds. The smell of cigarettes, sweat and alcohol immediately penetrated their noses, as they tried to claw their way through the numerous bodies hypnotized by a combination of music, alcohol, MDMA or cocaine.
Kamminga and Kuiper walked all the way towards the back end of the club, where there was a door leading to a stairs. A bouncer was standing on guard in front of the door, keeping an eye on the dancing crowds – making sure no one laid even a finger on the girls.
The bouncer looked annoyed at Kamminga as he approached him. Kamminga had the look of an accountant, with his greying, wavy hair, his big glasses, thin lips, squinting eyes and generally decent – if boring – clothes. He seemed a bit out of place in this setting. ‘I have an appointment with your boss, Boris. Head of Security of this place.’
The bouncer, somewhat surprised, reached for his phone and began to text frantically on it. Eventually, after a few minutes, the door behind the bouncer swung open. A trained MMA figher stood in the door opening, with a shiny bald head that reflected the colourful lights of the club. The muscular, stern looking hooligan looked down to see who was at the door for him. He told the bouncer to search Kamminga and Kuiper for any concealed weapons and then nodded to them to follow him upstairs.