[center][h1][Color=DF0101]Haakon J. Elvsgaard[/color][/h1]
[img]http://www.jerryjazzmusician.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/bix1.jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=DF0101]Location:[/color]Barracks[/center][hr]

Haakon wasn't under the impression that the driver was in a talking mood, and to him that was fine. He had many questions in his head that he needed answered, but with Josephine also giving him the impression of not wanting to talk, Haakon simply sat down and looked out of the window. She was smiling, a pretty smile that was for sure, but one he knew was one of a thoughtful Jo. She probably had just as many questions in her mind as he. He couldn't blame her, not after today's events. In the silence, Haakon pulled up his notepad and pencil. It was a fine blend of journalistic habit and his way of setting his thoughts straight. 

But then the thought struck him down; Was he allowed to write this down? 

While he hadn't signed the non-disclosure paper, he had agreed upon signing it and keeping any of this out of his publishments. Did that involve simply writing a few words on a piece of paper? One that surely no one would bother to look at, seen as it looked like just any old notepad. He looked up from his small storage of notes, ideas, dreams and leads, all contained within a few pieces of thin paper. No, he wasn't going to publish what he was about to write. And so he began to write a few words, all while the taxi drove ever closer to the barracks. 

[Color=DF0101]- Finn informasjon angående svimerker på fingeren. Reaksjon på fauna? Mat eller drikke?
- Bastet, såkalt egyptisk gud. Symbolsk?
- Finn måte å beklage til Frk. Tarek.
- VIKTIG: Finn på historie for avisen.[/color]

Soon the Rolls-Royce drove further on while the taxi stopped. Armed soldiers soon appeared in Haakon's line of sight, thankfully less violent-looking than the German ones he had met in Munich before. With the door open, Haakon let Josephine exit first before stepping out himself. With his suitcase in one hand, Haakon calmly allowed himself to be escorted past the gate, regardless of how odd it felt. While he knew it was part ceremonical, part ordered safety, he couldn't help but feel as if he was a criminal. Or famous, that was a better way of thinking of it. 

[Color=DF0101]"Been treated like this before, Jo? Surrounded by armed guards and such?"[/color]