Author's Note: Hi! If you're reading this, I already have a reason to thank you, because something about my summary drew you towards this story, and although there are millions of bajillions of other fan fictions you could be reading right now, you decided to click on this one. I do hope you stick around.

This story took a crazy amount of work, love, patience, research, blood, sweat, tears, and sleep deprivation. It's funny, you never really understand the lonely, thankless work of an author until you become one yourself.

Now, I don't mean to make any promises. But I can tell you I tried my darndest to write a kick ass Tintin story, the way he should be written, with action, mystery, a bit of bad luck, a lot of good luck, fighting, globe-trotting, pompous villains, explosions, humour, daring feats of bravery. And oh yeah, a little romance. But don't let that fool you. This is no dreamy-eyed romp, nor fantasy of a frustrated teenager. (Not saying the latter doesn't happen sometimes, though, I'm telling you.)

This is, at its core, an adventure story. And, after all, isn't love the greatest adventure of all? Maybe you'll agree with me, maybe you won't. The only way to find out is to read on.


CHAPTER ONE

BUENOS AIRES

August 31st, 1944

IT SEEMS AS IF many stories pull the curtains open to a sinister setting; underneath a violent storm cloud or in some deserted alleyway on the shady side of town, to hint at trouble stirring in the plot ahead. And so it may seem strange that, in such a pleasant city as Buenos Aires, a character could walk among its sunny streets with altogether dark intentions.

It was a crowded market through which Nolan Macarthur strode, slipping between the shoppers in agile determination. The sun sank in the weight of the sky, a ball of melted butter dripping down the necks of those who braved the midday crowds for some under-priced vegetables or squealing livestock at the auction block. Shimmering heat waves danced above the cobblestone, the air made even thicker by the swarm of bodies, their laughter and bartering, a cloud of voices above the canvas covered stands.

None in that crowd could've sensed the plans brewing in Mr. Macarthur's mind. Hardly anyone even noticed him, stranger though he was, and that was just how he liked it. He kept his hat tilted down over his eyes and his trench coat wrapped around his shoulders, despite the heat burning the back of his neck.

His destination was fixed on his horizon, stride quick and purposeful, mind abuzz. Heading to a meeting as important as this one, Macarthur had to ready himself for as much sweet-talking and manipulation it would take to get what he wanted. He wanted an answer. He wanted a 'yes'.

Suddenly, he let out a grunt, as something small and all-too decisive in its stride walked right into him.

"Oh," said the other person in the shaken way one does when he's been stirred from his own world. The young man brushed his blue shirt as he stepped back and offered up a brief smile. "I beg your pardon."

Macarthur grunted again and pushed past him. Oblivious young fool, he thought. Better check my pockets…Damn pickpockets'll try anything these days… He pushed his hands into his coat and felt for his worn leather wallet. Satisfied that it was still there, he put the incident out of his mind and pressed on. Focus, Macarthur, focus.

Tintin watched the stranger as he melted into the crowd beyond, and frowned. An odd man, he thought. How can he possibly be dressed like that in this heat? And some manners. Must be late for something. Those kind of people always are.

He turned, gave a minute shrug, and took only two steps before hearing a sharp bark from the dog at his feet.

"What is it, Snowy?" Tintin stopped and peered at the ground where the dog was sniffing. A small white paper lay there, bright against the dirty grey cobblestone.

"Hello, what's this?" As he picked it up, Tintin caught a whiff of the unmistakable musky scent of the stranger's cologne, the man he had just run into.

He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe it fell out of his pocket." He unfolded the paper and considered the scrawled writing inside.

STSCAEE ERUALSM EAPDATA NNEOSAP CERRONA UNMICOC EEECHCH NLROOHE

8X7 VERT.

"It's in code!" Tintin smiled. "How curious…" He was about to make a comment on the strange pattern the words were following when he caught Snowy's disapproving gaze. He sighed.

"I know, I've got work to do. But there's plenty of time to write my story, don't worry. I have a few days, and anyway, I don't see any developments in the political state of Argentina at the moment, do you?" Tintin gestured towards the happy citizens around them.

"This won't take long, anyway, it's a rather simple code..." He turned his attention back to the paper and murmured to himself as he walked on through the crowd, Snowy following. Tintin made himself comfortable on a small wooden bench at the street corner and shut the world out completely, a useful talent he'd acquired from years of working in the bullpen, and hanging around the Captain. Snowy hopped up next to him and huffed, knowing it could be any amount of time before he got a scrap of attention from his master again.

An hour later, there wasn't much progress. Tintin ran his fingers through his hair, scanning the scribbles in his notebook, then turning to the note. Neither offered even a glimmer of an answer. He groaned.

"Snowy, this is driving me crazy. It doesn't appear to be a very complicated code. My mind must be melting in this sun…" Tintin stood up, shaking his head as if to clear the fog of heat.

"I think some food would do us both good." He stretched and tucked the note and notebook back into his pocket. Snowy leapt off the bench and followed his master back into the marketplace, at the height of its busiest time of day. Tintin stopped in front of a small fruit stand, attracted to the scent and the lack of a line. The old man standing behind the counter turned around. A map of wrinkles graced his coffee-coloured skin, and his cheeks folded up under the weight of his smile.

"Good afternoon, my boy. And what can I get for you?" he asked in Spanish, but Tintin could tell right away that he was an American underneath the careful accent.

"Ah, I'll have a taza de fruta, with pineapple, grapes, and mango, please," said Tintin in English, hoping he wasn't being too presumptuous. He scanned the mouth-watering display, and realised how hungry he really was. He added, "And I'll pay a centavo for an extra tangerine if you have one."

"I'll throw that in for you free of charge. You look as if you could use some extra strength. Sun gettin' to you?" the man asked, setting about scooping up chopped fruit from tubs sitting in ice. How he kept that ice from turning to lukewarm mush was lost on Tintin.

"Am I that obvious? Yes, I admit I didn't think ahead. I'm getting terribly sun burned." He handed the man his coin and took the fruit. Snowy gave an indignant whine.

"Oh sorry, Snowy. You must be starving too," Tintin said. The old man leaned over and smiled at the dog, then reached underneath his counter and pulled out half a sandwich. He tossed it to Snowy, who caught it in his mouth with a happy jump.

"Thank you, sir. For the fruit, and for your sandwich." Tintin chuckled as he took the extra tangerine.

The man waved a hand. "Oh, it's nothing. I have a little friend of my own, and I keep bones for him during these long hot market days. He must be off exploring the streets. Allow me to introduce myself. Jim Martin." He stuck out his weathered hand. Tintin shook it and said, "Tintin, Ace reporter."

"Ah, a reporter! Are you here reporting, or on vacation?" Jim asked.

"Actually, I do have a story on the political unrest here in Argentina's capital. Do you happen to know anything about it?" Tintin asked.

"No, I only moved here from Virginia not too long ago, and I haven't kept up on politics much, I'm afraid," said Jim.

"Quite all right," Tintin said, finishing off his fruit cup. He felt the old man's eyes studying him.

"Tell me, my boy, what troubles you? You've got a worry stirrin' underneath your brow."

Tintin shook his head. "Oh, it's nothing really, I just…well, I bumped into a man earlier and he dropped a coded note. I like puzzles, and I'd say I'm good at them, but this one is stumping me. I won't get a moment's rest until I figure it out."

"Hmm. Determined, are you? May I see the note?" Jim held out a hand and Tintin gave it over. The man took out a pair of spectacles from the breast pocket of his plaid shirt and studied the note for some time.

Finally he chuckled and said, "Why, this is one of the codes we used in the war! Not for official messages, of course, just for notes between me and my friends. Yes, yes, it's a box code."

"A box code?"

"Mmhmm, see, if you put these strings of letters in vertical lines next to each other, in an eight letter by seven letter configuration, it will come together to make a message in the shape of a box." Jim handed the note back to Tintin.

"Oh, I see! Here, I'll try it…" He followed the directions in his notebook and held up the results for the man to see.

SEENCUEN

TRANENEL

SUPERMER

CADORICO

ALASOCHO

ESTANOCH

EMAPACHE

"Mm, yes. There you are." Jim nodded.

"But it still doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, only it's written in Spanish," Jim pointed out. "Can you read Spanish, boy?"

"Oh. Yes. Er. You find…no, meet…in the supermarket rich…rich supermarket. Okay, you meet in the rich supermarket at eight tonight…raccoon? Must be a code word. The question is; which supermarket? The rich supermarket…there must be hundreds in this city!" said Tintin.

"Well, there's only one I know of around here. Supermercado Rico. Just down the street apiece, two blocks in that direction, you'll find it. An odd little place, doesn't sell much, I don't see how it keeps in business. They sure do get plenty of customers, though; odd, shifty-eyed folk. Carrying packages and such. Looks to me, boy, like a gang hideout. I'd be careful around there, and don't trust anybody who comes in or out. Nothing but trouble, gangs are. Nothing but trouble." Jim shook his head. "If I were you, I would leave this alone. You could get into a heap of danger on the wrong side of a gang."

"Yes." Tintin nodded knowingly. "Well, I appreciate your advice, but I have a hunch about this, and I must follow it. I'm a reporter! My curiosity always gets the better of me." Tintin gave him a wry smile. "I'll be careful, though," he added.

"Alright. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Tintin." Jim smiled and shook his hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Martin. Your advice was most helpful. I just might work you into my story somehow," Tintin said. "Adios!"

"Adios!" Jim waved to the young reporter as he set off down the street towards the Supermercado Rico, Snowy trotting close behind.


It's me again. :) What did you think? Please let me know in that cool little box down there. I want to hear your opinion. Yes, that's right, you. And Happy New Year! *blows party horn and throws confetti* Hope 2013 is luckier than it sounds. I also hope you stay tuned for Chapter Two! :)