[b]Addis Ababa, Ethiopia[/b]

Spain's giant of an ambassador to the Pan-African empire, paced anxiously about his office, watching for his associate to return from the outside world.

Rogelio Martin was almost freakishly tall. Just a few inches shy of seven feet tall, Ambassador Martin was tall enough that he often found himself stooping through doorways. It was no coincidence that Spain's ambassador to Ethiopia was a giant. As early as 1971, during Miguel Tejero's first administration, the Spanish anticipated trouble with Ethiopia due their new and extensive border with the Empire after acquiring French Algeria. An impressive specimen was sought to serve as the new envoy to the sprawling African empire - one that would lend the impression that the Spanish were a powerful race that was not to be trifled with. Towering Rogelio Martin, a junior member of the Partido Conservador, fit the bill for that intimidating figure. He was whisked off to Addis Ababa where he had spent most of the last eight years.

Over the better part of a decade, he had been caught in several of the African nation's most trying moments. The assassination of Yohannes Iyasu, the Civil War and the associated unrest, the Rouge General's uprising, the attempt on Emperor Yaqob's life and the riots that followed. For a diplomat posted in the Ethiopian capital, each crisis had been more unsettling than the one before. About once a year or so, Ambassador Martin would fear for his life due to a crisis that had befallen his host nation.

But none approached the nightmare that had become the Spanish Invasion.

Spain had threatened Ethiopia once before. There had been a naval standoff in the Red Sea and brinksmanship on the part of the Spanish military. But nothing had come of that. Now, almost without warning, the Spanish Armada had come to Ethiopia and brushed aside her defenses. A Spanish army had already landed on Africa's shores - bloodied but intact. They would be coming for capital next, and barring divine intervention they would arrive soon.

Spain's embassy in Addis Ababa was an unremarkable affair, one of a hundred other narrow townhouses on a street in one of Addis' more affluent neighborhoods known as Embassy Row. Some nations, like the New People's China Embassy three blocks down, were like walled compounds. The Spanish embassy was quite small in contrast; an attractive, narrow building sandwiched between similar townhouses with area of just 1,500 square feet. From his window, from which a wicker flowerbox of red and yellow marigolds hung, Ambassador Martin watched familiar figure approach the door from the sidewalk - his arms wrapped around overflowing brown bags of groceries and his face blushing red from the African heat.

A pair of guards stood on either side of the door in the shade of an acacia tree. Recognizing him immediately as one of the three diplomats permanently assigned to the Spanish embassy, they allowed him through to the front door without a word. The Ethiopians had stepped up the police presence on Embassy Row as of late, but even so, the Spanish was one of the few embassies that had dedicated guards. Even when he had begun his tenure as the Ambassador to Ethiopia under the reign of Emperor Yohannes Iyasu, Spain had never been a particularly popular country as far as the Ethiopian people were concerned. With the events of the past two months, Ambassador Martin was in the running for the most hated man in Ethiopia after Alfonso Sotelo. Without the embassy's Republican Guard attache, Rogelio was convinced he would have already been hanged from a limb of the acacia tree outside - the Ethiopian police presence notwithstanding.

Even during the crisis in 1977, when Sotelo had threatened war with Ethiopia for the first time, Ambassador Martin didn't remember being afraid of going outside. But with open warfare between the Pan-African Empire and Spain, he didn't dare to show his face in public; Rogelio hadn't left the Embassy in two weeks. He had been sending Arturo, who knew enough French to pass for someone at the French Embassy, out to fetch groceries or run errands. Even for Arturo, even the most mundane of tasks had become dangerous work and Rogelio hardly enjoy being couped up inside indefinitely. But when black-suited effigies of Sotelo were being burned throughout the city, it was too dangerous for anyone connected to Sotelo's regime to be seen about in Addis.

No sooner than Arturo had set the crinkling bags full of groceries upon the lobby's desk, Rogelio had descended the claustrophobic staircase, wide-eyed and thirsty for news from the outside world. "Have you heard anything?" the Ambassador demanded.

"I saw a bunch of cars outside the chink embassy," Arturo reported, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. "Can't remember the last time I saw anyone parked there. Something's up."

"Do you think they're leaving the embassy?" Martin asked. Ever since news of the Battle at the Suez broke, countries had been recalling their diplomatic missions in Ethiopia back home. As news of each battle reached the press, a few more countries left Embassy Row. But most had remained, possibly because the Spanish Embassy seemed to be operating as if everything were normal. The other ambassadors and diplomats seemed to believe that if Addis Ababa were to be threatened, the Spanish Embassy would be among the first to know. When the Spanish started packing up - [i]that[/i] would be the moment to panic. Unfortunately for everyone still on Embassy Row, the Ambassador Martin knew just as much - or perhaps less - about the progression of the Spanish invasion as everyone else.

"I would have [i]loved[/i] to ask them, but I can imagine how that would have turned out."

"The Chinese know something we don't. That, or they're getting nervous."

"As if we're not nervous? Goddamn Ministry won't tell us to evacuate until our own Ejercito is shelling us."

"Maybe they will," the Ambassador suggested. "We're due for a call as it is. Let's just see what Madrid has to say."
_____________________________________

With Arturo at his post downstairs, Ambassador Martin punched in the ten-digit number that would put him through to Madrid with practiced speed. He put the phone to his ear and listened for a quarter of a minute as a staticky dial tone was heard. At last, the muted emptiness was cut out by a Castillian voice.

//Governmental directory. State your name and business,// the operator requested.

"Rogelio Martin," he responded, "with the Embassy in Addis Ababa. Put me through to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs."

//One moment, allow me to transfer your call.//

The dial tone once again droned softly in the Ambassador's ear as the operator "transferred" his call. Rogelio Martin knew that to be a lie. The Ministry had been put on the line immediately - Madrid was already all ears. Amidst the soft, staticky clicking heard over the dial tone, the real conversation had begun. [i]This[/i] was the reason the Spanish Embassy in Addis would remain open until the absolute last minute.

The Walinzi had likely been tapping the embassy's phone line for the past five years - and now with hostilities between Ethiopia and Spain, the empire's intelligence-gathering body had to be listening in on every call coming to and from Madrid. In order for sensitive information to be relayed, some guile had to be employed. With the Walinzi listening in on every word, secret messages between the embassy and Madrid had to be both audible to those who knew what to listen for, and silent to eavesdroppers.

The solution was Morse code. Ambassador Martin listened hard into the crackling dial tone and heard it. They were almost indistinguishable from the random clicks and chirps that could be heard over the phone. But for those who knew what to listen for, it was plain to hear. Alternating short and long clicks were being transmitted with a modified Morse key by Arturo in another room. Messages in morse code were transmitted under the Walinzi's nose directly to Spain's own intelligence apparatus - the Oficina de Inteligencia Militar. For not only was Arturo picking up food and supplies on his errand runs into the city; he carried at the bottom of his grocery bags coded messages from field agents collected from field agents across the African continent.

Three minutes elapsed before someone at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs picked up - conveniently when Arturo's static-disguised message terminated. //Ambassador Martin, a pleasure to hear from you, as always.//

"Equally so, Minister. I'm calling to determine if it is safe for us to remain in Addis Ababa for the time being, or if we should make preparations to evacuate." Rogelio cut to the reason for the call at once. This exchange was all just a show for the Walinzi. The Minister would tell them everything was fine for the time being in order to prevent the Ethiopians from anticipating a Spanish attack and summarily reinforcing the city. An actual call to evacuate would have come as a command in Morse during the "dead air" just before.

//No worries, Ambassador! I understand your concern, given the... difficult situation facing the embassy in Ethiopia. But I can assure you, it is my understanding that you and your personnel are quite safe for now. We will let you know if your safety is ever imperiled, but for now, I ask you to carry out your duties until relieved.// Rogelio and his counterpart gave their goodbyes before hanging up. Immediately, the Ambassador rushed downstairs to see what Arturo had transcribed from the Morse code.

"What did they actually say?" Ambassador Martin demanded, hovering high above Arturo as he transcribed Morse into letters on a notepad.

"We're not going anywhere," Arturo sighed, throwing a ballpoint down against the paper. There, Arturo had scrawled the Morse code orders he had heard among the background noise of the call: 'Remain until further notice'.