Denil Dreaming

[Flo]

DENIL DREAMING
Espionage in the Florinthian capital
Some listening as you read

Denil, Florinthus
Vintyr 20, 1586

Alan stretched his arms out as he looked over the article. He was a reporter for a small political news agency in Wilmington and was in Denil to take in the festivities of the election and comment on it. He had spent most of the day out in the streets talking to various voters and other officials but in the evening he had arrived at his favorite café to write his column on the election. He had just gotten the results and he could hear people cheering in the streets as the announcements made their rounds. This part of Denil was considered a Centrist stronghold, and so many in the area were surely pleased with the results.

Alan put the finishing touches on the column before sending it to the editor, who would look it over before posting it the following morning. Alan looked up at a television over the counter to see the smiling face of the new Prime Minister, Andre Gouhlaman -- the leader of the Centrists. In all his days, Alan had never anticipated he would see a black man in the Prime Ministers seat. Being black himself, it was a strange feeling. He felt pride, though he himself had little to do with it. He had voted for the liberals, in fact. Still, this man did have a way of inspiring even a cynic like Alan. Another six years of Centrists. He wasn't sure he could totally stomach it.

As he began packing his things he heard the door open. A grim looking character in a black turtleneck entered the room. He was bearded, and had a stern look on his face. As he approached the counter, he rapped the table a few times. The clerk looked at the man, surprised, and whispered something quietly. The grim man did the same, his green eyes glaring at the clerk.

Within moments the clerk was going from table to table, asking everyone to leave. The café was closing early. Alan didn't have a problem with that, as he was leaving anyway, but... maybe it was his journalists instinct. There was something about the grim man that intrigued him. He had to know more. As he approached to ask him a question the clerk grabbed him with some force. "No sir, you have to leave now. Don't bother with that man." The grim man turned and Alan was shocked to find the man looking at him oddly. There was a slight smile on his face. It made Alan uncomfortable.

"It's no trouble. I'll just be going then." Alan's eyes could barely leave the grim man's piercing gaze as he walked out of the café.

Still intrigued, Alan waited across the street, to see if the man left. He was being discreet, leaning against the wall. Inside the café, the lights were low. He couldn't hear much, but there was some shouting. Suddenly, Alan heard the sound of a gunshot from within the café. He ducked as the door opened, and the grim man, rubbing his arm as though sore, exited the building quietly. He approached the street, where a large black SUV approached. He hailed it, got inside, and was off.

Alan was shaken, but didn't have the nerve to stay. There had been enough excitement for one night, as he ducked into a nearby alley to leave. He couldn't shake the feeling he had witnessed something he should not have.

[Flo]

Denil, Florinthus
Vintyr 21, 1586

It was raining. A cold and shivery sort of rain that soaked into the skin and pierced the heart with its icy tendrils. The type of rain that would much rather be snow, but chooses instead to take a much more uncomfortable and dreary form. It was the sort of day best spent indoors and under a blanket.

Agents Reese and Cassidy didn't have a choice, however, as there were more pressing matters at hand. They were hot on the trail of a shadowy individual who they were convinced was some sort of foreign agent at work in the capital. At first, it was rather difficult to track him, as he seemed a consummate professional, leaving faint traces, if any at all. This time, however, there was a smoking gun -- literally.

While the café clerk might have been just an ordinary type to most in the community, he was positively ID-ed to be Harim Al-Jasa, a known fence and black market dealer that the Florinthian intelligence community had been keeping an eye on for a few years now. His exact location hadn't been known outside of his footprint mostly revolving around Denil. He was an immigrant from Wadiyah, and his entrance into the country was one of the unfortunate problems with the Federations relatively lax immigration policy.

Notes from his office under the café (it turns out his status as cashier-clerk was in fact just a simple cover, he in fact owned the store under a false name) would prove invaluable in uncovering and unraveling the black market in Denil, but it still left little reason why.

The man who killed Al-Jasa had seemingly killed someone who could only be assumed to be a close associate. Why? That was what Reese and Cassidy were to find out, if they were ever going to hope to catch this man before he did something more drastic. They began their investigation of the scene in earnest, glad to be out of the rain.