Chapter 1
Mike Walker moved quickly through the bustling hallways, dabbing sweat from his forehead with an old faded handkerchief. He'd worked at Langley for three years now and still wondered if he'd ever get used to Virginia in the summer. The son of a hardcore survivalist, he'd spent most of his childhood in the wilderness of Alaska, and liked it cold. Pushing into his office a room the size of a shoebox he shared with two other men. Neither of whom was in their office yet. Mike wasn't surprised. One a big Irishman from New York was off due to a death in the family, and the other well. Mike didn't think too highly of William Starski's work ethic. Mike quickly settled himself into his office chair and bent over his typewriter, pulling a stack of papers out of his briefcase and set about finishing his report on the war in Iraq, For the Director of Central Intelligence or DCI. The DCI was the top spook in Langley, and one of the world's more prolific spymasters. Mike had worked for the CIA for a little over three years but he'd never met the man and was glad of that fact, the man had a reputation as a tough old bastard that was rumored to have the heads of more than one analyst who'd given him reports he didn't like mounted over his fireplace. Mike knew that the heads were probably a joke, but he was still glad he hadn't had a chance to find out first hand.
Just then he heard a knock at his door and raised his voice letting whoever was outside know they could come in, and he grabbed all the pages of his report and flipped the stack over. It wouldn't do to have some janitor see a classified report.
The Man who interred, however, wasn't a mere janitor, instead, he found himself looking up into the cold eyes of his boss a snotty-looking little pencil pusher named Edward Twiddlenut, much to Mike's surprise he had found out that that was in fact his honest to goodness Christian name, who despite his look was one of the greatest living analysts and a peerless expert on easter European politics. All that aside Mike had never liked him, the little man reminding him too much of the Nerds he'd teased in high school. Twiddlenut headed up the entire European wing of the Agencies analysts department. Of which Mike was a part, Middle-Eastern report on his desk notwithstanding.
"Well Mikey, seems you were right! I'd appreciate it if you didn't gloat too much." Mike was confused, he hated to have to ask the skinny man what he meant, the two have never liked each other much, but not having a choice he spoke up and asked: "Right about what, Ed ?"
Smiling the smaller man said, "Wow Mikey, I knew you were clueless but have you given up on reading the papers completely." With some effort, Micheal kept his irritation from showing on his face, and he stared blankly at his boss. "I've been busy with this Iraq thing all weekend, barely left this office sept' to sleep." Edward Twiddlenut looked slightly irritated that Mike hadn't risen to his prods. But quickly recovered and pushed on saying. "That report on Amestris, you were spot on." Suddenly Mike was excited jumping to his feet and asking when? "Yesterday, information is spotty, but as best as we can figure it that Mustang character you mentioned in your report is behind it. Leastways he's connected in some way or another.
Amestris was an oddity on the world stage a completely isolated hermit state in central Europe, Amestris had been incommunicado with the rest of the world for almost a thousand years. Dating back to the Crusades when some dispute over Science, or Religion. The records were spotty at best. Had led to them being excommunicated by the Holy See and excepting a few ill-fated military expeditions by various Holy Roman Kaisers, and one by Napoleon had maintained as little contact as possible with the outside world. With the exception of a short period during Hitler's rule in Germany when a small number of SS Officers and Scientists had been permitted to visit Amestris on a "Cultural Exchange" of sorts. However, when several high-ranking Nazi war criminals had attempted to flee across the border into Amestris they had been turned back at bayonet point by the Amestrian border guards. Who had stoically watched as the American soldiers chasing the German officers had prehended the monsters. One of the American officers who knew a little German had called across the border asking for a cigarette. An Amestrian officer with short hair and an eyepatch had reached across the border and offered the American a pack, saying his sweetheart had bought him more than he needed, and that he was trying to get rid of some.
Mike remembered smiling when he had read that story. The cigarette carton was the only Amestrian made item known to exist outside of the small nation, which had never heaven traded with its neighbors for anything. Implying the small country was somehow self-sufficient.
For years there had been small bits of information leaking out, mostly rumors, whispers of ethnic cleansings, child soldiers, and black magic. Not that Mike or anybody else outside of the tinfoil hat crowd hits father had belonged to put much stock in the latter. But over the past few years, things had been heating up over there with rumors of Russian paratroopers landing in the country, only to be slaughtered to a man by some unidentified weapon, an event that the Russian government had done their damnedest to cover up. Scattered reports of small groups of people in unknown military uniforms being spotted in the middle east believed to be making their way back and forth, on horseback, and camel between Amestris, and Xing an equally secretive state on the border of China and Kazakhstan. An odd letter received by the German Chancellor following reunification wishing the German people luck. Signed by the der Führer von Amesterreich. The Fuhrer of Amestris. The first official communication from Amestris in, well ever as far as anybody could tell. And most recently this report believed to have been leaked intentionally of a growing dissatisfaction within the military. Mike had gone out on a limb and authored a report suggesting that there was a strong possibility of a military coup in the hermit reich.
And judging what Edward Tiddlenut was saying, he'd been right. "Are the officers in charge? Or did…" Mike trailed off as he flipped through some notes on his desk. "Bradley maintain power?" King Bradly, was the name they had on file for the Amestrian Fuhrer, though as with everything to do with Amestris you had to take it with a grain of salt. Mike didn't think it was right for the simple reason that King Bradly didn't sound german, more like a New Orleans Jazz singer as one analyst had put it.
Twiddlenut shrugged saying, "right now you know more than just about anybody when it comes to that place." He sounded like was going to be sick admitting that his least favorite analyst knew more about a specific country in Europe than he did, And Mikel let himself revel in the feeling for a moment. "Well Edward, are you just here to pat me on back for a job well done, or was there something else?" Edward gave a sickly sweet smile, the type of smile that Mike knew meant he really screwed the pooch with that last comment. "The Director wants to see you, seems he liked the report and has some questions"
Thinking back to how just a few minutes ago he'd been thinking about how lucky he'd been to avoid meeting the big boss he felt his body go cold.
Well, he thought absently it's better than sweating in the Virginia heat.
The DCI was a large man with a bad leg in a civilian suit, despite that everything from the look on his face, to the way he held himself, spoke of the marine he'd been in his younger days. Until a tragic helicopter accident had cut his career short and almost put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. On his desk were a plate of what looked like homemade cookies, and a file labeled "The Prodigal Son of Europe- An overview of all we know about the Amestrian state, and possible future courses of action on behalf of them, and their people. - By MW" The report that had gotten him into this mess. "Good morning son, please sit down! I would stand, but I'm afraid my leg has been troubling me." The DCI's booming voice echoed throughout the office, as he gestured to the chair opposite his desk from him. "Cookie? My wife bakes them, but they're a little sweet for me." Mike nodded taking one and biting into it over his hand in order to catch any crumbs. The DCI was right that they were very sweet but pleasant enough Mike thought. As he thanked the DCI still sitting nervously. "Calm down boy, I don't bite… much" The DCI let out a deep throaty laugh, as he grabbed one of the cookies off of his plate, and took a large bite. "So let's get down to brass tacks, that report was halfway to being a damn fine piece of intel work" From the DCI who was infamous for being hard to please that was high praise indeed. "The title could use some work, too long-winded, but still…" He trailed off, as another man interred the room. Mike turned to look and saw a man he didn't recognize. "Ahh, Gerry! Glad you could make it, Mike do you know Prof. Gerald Konig?" Mike was something akin to starstruck and wondered briefly if he should bow. Professor Konig was a legend among the intelligence communities and the diplomatic services. The average person didn't know this but he had neatly prevented a war between the two Germanies right before reunification. A war that the average joe didn't even know had almost happened. And all parties involved tried hard to keep it that way. "By reputation sir, but we've never met" The DCI waved the professor into a chair next to Mike's laughing "I forgot, Mike here is a new fish, he wasn't around when you pulled that magic trick in Berlin. Doesn't remember how much that was pure luck, huh Gerry?" Konig smiled as well "True, might as well have been flipping coins at the end there." Konig spoke with a slight German accent. "I invited the professor and you here because you are my two best experts on Amestris." Looking to Professor Konig explained how Mike had written the report which accurately predicted the coup. "And, as for Gerry, well about twenty years ago we, or rather the state department tried to inter talks with the Amestrians about normalizing diplomatic relations. Nothing came of it, but Gerry spent a week in their capital Zental under strict guard. Nothing came of it, but he met with several top officials, even Bradley, their fuhrer." Mike was astounded he hadn't even heard a whisper of such meetings. Before he could stop himself he blurted out a question. "Was his name really King Bradley?" There was a momentary silence that was broken by Profession Konig saying that his name real had been King Bradley and that he had also found the name strange.
"Well, that brings to the point of this meeting, I want the two of you to head up a task force of analysts to look into this coup situation." The professor nodded and looked at Mike. Suddenly Mike got the inescapable feeling that Konig had already been briefed on this information. And that this was all some kind of test for Mike, though what kind of test had no idea. "Well, sir… How many people are we talking about in this task force?"
Smiling the DCI said
"The two of you, I don't have a lot of people I can spare for this you know."
And so we begin another story, and start down a new adventure! Going forwards I hope yinz enjoy this story, I know it ain't the most topical/popular show. But it was a bloody good show, and I reckon this'll. As for some of the crap I've written in the past, I am going to keep the stranger things stuff up because it was pretty far along, even if I won't finish it. But the shorter unfinished stuff has been deleted, consider it spring cleaning I suppose. With any luck, the next update should come in a day or two, but other than that I dunno when the next chapter after that will be up as I am in the middle of moving right now. Please comment with feedback, praise, rabid hatred, whatever you want! And remember no matter what. I hope you have a great day, and God bless yinz!