"So, I gotta ask, what's with the bandana?" Piper asked, nursing a beer as cold as Dugout Inn could make it.
"It's a long story." Allen responded lightheartedly.
The day prior, Allen had been given permission from Desdemona to take a leave of absence from the Railroad. Contrary to the ideal, Allen had priorities beyond being "The Operative."
"I am actually curious about this myself," Curie added, "You have had it for as long as I have known you."
"Longer," Deacon piped up, "Near as I can figure, he came out of the vault with the damn thing."
"Not quite." Allen shrugged. "There's a safe in my home, the best money can buy, it had this -" he held up the bandana, "A knife, a 9MM, and a few other keepsakes."
"You have keepsakes?" Piper asked, sounding more surprised than needed.
"Don't sound so shocked," Allen said defensively, "I'm practical, not dead inside."
"So, why's a skull bandana worth getting sentimental over?" Deacon asked, trying to return the conversation to the original point.
Allen returned the bandana to his pocket, "Like I said, a long story. The short version is that this was a part of my cover ID once upon a time."
"So, why'd you'd keep it?" Deacon prodded, draining the last of his beer, "There are probably easier keepsakes to keep, or more useful."
"Probably," Allen admitted, "But again, long story. I learned a valuable lesson wearing this bandana."
"Which was?" Curie asked.
"People change," Allen said, "Sometimes a moral compass goes from a something pure to a fucking roulette wheel, sometimes their loyalties change or disappear entirely, others..." Allen gestured to himself, "Sometimes the fire in others die, they lose the will to fight, go from wanting to bring peace to the world to just wanting peace of mind. Sometimes they settle down, get married and start thinking about kids."
Deacon knew better than to pry. "That does sound like a long story," he said, clasping Allen on the shoulder. "Anyway, I'm bushed. Gonna go hit the hay." He stood up and made his way to the room they had rented there at the inn.
Curie wasn't versed well enough to understand that a lot went unsaid.
"People do change, monsieur, but sometimes for the better." She yawned before continuing, "Unfortunately, my changes require sleep. Dormez bien."
She, too, made her way to the rented room, which left Piper and Allen, sitting side by side at the bar.
"I suppose it would be too much to hope that that answer satisfied you?" Allen said quietly.
"It would," Piper confirmed with a nod, "But I'll drop it if you ask me to."
Allen downed the rest of drink, slamming it onto the bar with relieved sigh "Ah, fuck it," he relented, "I'm drunk enough."
Piper did her best to conceal her grin.
"Have you heard of the Czech Republic?"
"No," Piper shook her head "were they important to the war?"
"Not really," he shrugged, "Ya see…"
To some of the world, the war prior to the bombs falling was giant dick waving contest between America and China and was decidedly "not my business."
For a while, places like Amsterdam, Rio de Janeiro, and Dublin were seen as sanctuary from the war.
You could go there and the war would become this far away thing, but with that safety came its own dangers.
Because, you see, these places became Nexuses for tradecraft. Spies on the run, spies on the hunt, spies in deep cover. Throw a rock from a tall building in Zurich and you've thrown it over at least one spy's head.
Now, on the whole, spies were pretty good at keeping their covert ops...well covert. After all, the CIA and KGB both had a vested interest in keeping Istanbul standing.
Until Prague.
On September 5th 2073, Prague was the center of a battle, as far as the rest of the world knew, the various gun runners, drug cartels, slave traders, and terrorist factions had for some reason picked Prague as a good place to hash it out.
The balance of power in the world's black market was shifted dramatically, most control fell into the hands of one group. The American media referred to them as "Reapers," due to the trademark black skull bandanas of their foot soldiers. However, Agent Marks preferred the title "Ferryman," granted by the Greeks.
For the rest of the world, Prague symbolized the day that nowhere was safe. You were either safe from the war, or lived in fear of the criminal class.
But for the KGB, CIA, and any intelligence outfit worth their salt, Prague represented something so much more:
The day the CIA almost fell, the day the Reds almost gained the upper hand. But rather than bring an end to the intelligence war, the CIA rose, more powerful than ever.