[IC] Projection

[POOPHEAD189]

The star.

Starlight was the only light. He ran, feet beating across the sandy plain. He wore a strange set of clothing, and his alien shoes bounced across the red sand. What was he running from? What was he running to? He did not know for certain. The faint light from the night sky illuminated a darkness choked path, then, all a sudden. He arrived at the mouth of a cave.

There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Glancing down at his sides, he noticed the weapon strapped to his leg. It was like nothing he'd ever seen, but with a strange familiarity, he was certain that it was a weapon. With this weapon in hand, he ventured forth. In a cave with no light, it was apparently perfectly visible. His way forward illuminated by a blue glow, emanated from what appeared to be a star. But then the foes came. He raised his weapon to defend himself, but it did little to stop the horde. When all else failed, he fell to the ground, arms shielding his eyes from a terrible demise.

The demise would not come. For a blue robed figure emerged from the glow. He, or she, or it drove his foes back with sheer radiating presence. Was he meeting a god? Was the meeting his God? He did not understand, because all he could make out of the figure was a blank mask.

Gasp!

"Ding!"

"Scheisse!"

Stephan Burkhart woke up in a lurch. Light shone past the blinds of his apartment windows. Sunlight from a bright morning lit the compact suite in warm aura. He sat forward on his single bed, rubbing his eyes awake from the peculiar, yet hauntingly close, dream. He never experienced anything this exotic, this vivid. Yet in the back of his mind, the place where doctors and psychologists discovered all sorts of neural wonders, he felt he had been through it before.

"Ding ding!"

"God damn it, stop; I'm awake." Stephan pounded the alarm switch on his rusty clock. The thing reluctantly stopped after a few rattles. It stopped completely, time and alarm. Stephan cursed silently, for he would have to get this rust-bucket fixed sooner or later. Finding his trusty Weiss timepiece on the same nightstand, he read out 7:30 am. Right on time for the appointment at 9 am. He had forty-five minutes to get ready, then forty-five more for transit. As the morning clean-up finished in thirty minutes, Stephan pondered on his choice for breakfast. He should be cooking, but he simply did not have the energy to do so. Despite making sure to sleep on time, his sleep felt nothing remotely rejuvenating. Perhaps he should stop reading those worthless fantasy books before bedtime, and then he might actually avoid nightmares. However, he could not hold himself back from finishing that chapter of Solveig the Shield-Maiden. Despite its complete butchering of Norse history, the intense action meant Stephan had to see the shield-maiden saving her bard friend from the ancient ruins.

Well, at least Stephan pledged to not binge read Sagax the Runner after this.

Putting on the cleanest set of shirt and pants, Stephan decided on picking up pastry and coffee from the local eatery. To be fair, the variety of breakfast items had declined dramatically compared to 1914. Several rounds of rationing came, each more severe than its predecessor, and none went away. Ham was not offered until lunch, milk serving halved and even butter vanished from the pastries. Sugar and cream were in short supply as well, but Stephan always preferred black coffee. He made the average small talks with the old woman behind the counter. Stephan felt sorry for her. Her husband passed just as Stephan settled down, and her son was pronounced missing in action in Galicia, more than a year ago. Some people said that it was better to hear close ones killed than missing, for the former allowed the mourner closure, and did not prolong the torture of false hope.

Thankfully, Stephan's few friends and family were safe and sound. His former university mate, the now Captain Paskar of the artillery regiments, was just recently decorated for meritorious action in the Italian Alps. According to official sources, Paskar dialed in accurate counter-battery fire during an Italian barrage, succeeded in suppressing enemy fire support and ultimately contributed to halting an offensive. At least that's what the government said. To be fair, he would certainly expect reality to be less pleasing than that. He knew because he worked in the censoring department before. The truth was unappetizing for public consumption, and to be fair, a little propaganda served well as sugar and cream in the information coffee.

Still, Stephan remained faithful to his unsweetened drink.

Now arriving at the intelligence building with just fifteen minutes to spare. Stephan made his way to the meeting room. It was on the second floor, where a mixture of large offices and small conference rooms nested within the public information section. He typically went to the finance and logistic department on floor four, so even within the same building, he was a stranger where he strode. He counted the room numbers as he walked, 203, 204, he counted a few more until he bumped into a brunette woman.

"Uh, sorry." Stephan stammered.

"No worries." The woman responded in a what was clearly a Hungarian accent. In her high heels and dress hat, she stood slightly taller than Stephan. She gave him a small smile and readjusted her folders. "Are you lost?"

"Uh, no." Stephan blurted out. However, as he quickly glanced away from the woman to hide his embarrassed face he found the doors now had no numbering. "Actually, I, uh, need to see Hahn Schwarz. Do you know where he is?"

"Ah, you are here for the 9 AM meeting." The woman blinked. Offering that smile again, she gestured to a few doors down the hall. "This way. I am Adina Tividar, by the way, secretary to Mr. Schwarz." She offered a handshake as she walked.

"Stephan Burkhart." He returned the shake, somewhat shakily as he weakly grasped Adina's hand. "P-pleasure to meet you." He stuttered, cursing himself for his insecurity already showing.

"You as well." Adina casually returned the gesture. She opened a small, unassuming door, which was only wide enough for one person to pass through. Beyond the door was a room much larger than the door hinted. There was oval table roughly the size of family dinner table, five plush chairs surrounded it, an alcove over a closed off fireplace, where several books and display cases stood. There was a mirror and thin, narrow window; Stephan wondered if the mirror was really a one-way mirror.

"Herr Schwarz? Your guest is here." Adina spoke the man sitting behind the table. Standing up, Hahn Schwarz revealed himself to be someone of Stephan's stature. That brought a hidden sense of relief to Stephan, who felt at least physically even with his superior. However, this man was clearly old, probably in his forties, or maybe even the fifties. His hair was a salt and pepper transition from blond to gray, and his skin are wrinkled but not quite fully creased yet.

"Right, Adina, and who may this be?" Schwarz examined the newcomer in his office. As Adina was about to introduce, Schwarz went first with an approving nod. "Stephan Burkhart. I know you." He said. "We might have not worked together before, but I believe we both contributed to the downfall of General Panagopoulos."

"I remember." Stephan recalled the disinformation he spread about one Greek general. "What happened to him, sir?"

"He has resigned to take care of his divorce." Schwarz grinned. "Thanks to you bringing his true character to light, his family now realizes how deplorable of a husband and father he is."

"That's, well, an interesting development, sir." Stephan replied. He wasn't really sure if that was what they hoped to achieve. Sure, the general got distracted from military duty. But ruining his family live, was it necessary? What did it really accomplish?

"Indeed." Schwarz agreed. "Take a seat." He pointed to one of the four chairs closer to the door. "And Adina, you can leave the files over there."

While Adina set down papers for his superior to skim, Stephan took the time to scan the display above the fireplace. There were several photographs, presumably family or friends, judging by their context of recreational clothing and leisurely environments. There was also a stand with a revolver, an old single action model.

"That's all, Adina." Schwarz broke the silence. With that, his secretary left quietly. "American Colt Single Action Army," He spoke again when the door closed. Breaking Stephan out of his thoughts, he pointed the displayed revolver. "The gun that won the west." He said in English.

"How did you get it, sir?"

"Won it from a buffalo hunt in New Mexico." Schwarz told. "The Americans know how to tame the wildness, that's everything from barbecue to revolvers; to bad they are our enemies now."

Within minutes, two other had made their way into the office. There was a large man with a patty-shaped face, complete with a memorable mustache. Another was a lithe woman that looked like northern European nobility, her hair almost red in color. They shook hands with Schwarz and sat to either sides of Stephan.

"Only water for us." Schwarz started. "Sorry, but the latest rationing applies to government employees as well." With that, he brought forth a pitcher of water and filled his cup with it. "No smoking too, there's a gas pipe right beneath where we stand and some idiot nearly blew everyone up last month." Seemed obvious enough with the lack of ashtray around.

"I hope you all had no problem traveling to Vienna." Schwarz sat down and addressed everyone. "I'm sure you have been introduced to the intelligence community, and your presences here mean a vital problem is at hand."

"First, let me introduce myself. My name is Hahn Schwarz, your handler for this mission." Turning to Stephan, he flipped open a folder. "This is Stephan Burkhart, a colleague of mine here in the Austrian Intelligence Service. He is a valuable asset when it comes to finance and mathematics."

Going to the either sides, he went through the large man next. "Eshref Nafiz Bey, your service in the Ottoman Army is impressive indeed. My counterparts in Constantinople had personally recommended you, and I believe your tactical expertise will be of great importance. Hoşgeldiniz."

"I hope I said that correctly." Schawrz added. "Learning Turkish wasn't easy for me."

Next was the copper-haired woman. "Miss Evelyn Grey, I have to say how sorry it is to hear the suffering of your Irish compatriots. Truly, the English crown is no lion oppressing it's own people; they are no honorable than stray cats. Still, you have made the right choice coming to our German allies; we won't betray your trust like England did."

After all three, Schwarz motioned to the last, empty chair. "A fourth supposed to join your mission, a French linguist disenfranchised with his country's lies. However, if the German code breakers are correct, he would have been executed thirty minutes ago in Paris."

"Now, as you know, our Entente enemies have made several advances in the past months." Schwarz produced an English newspaper from another folder. Passing it quickly through everyone, he translated an exert to German. "Just look at this: 'Egyptian Expeditionary Force captures vital fort in Jordan; elite Sikh sniper kills five, including a two headshots with one bullet and unaimed kill jumping down from fortress wall, while spinning 360 degrees. Hero's action rewarded with airstrike.' This makes me sick." He glanced up from the newspaper. "Get it, Sikh?"

"You should be a comedian, sir." Stephan quipped.

"Too bad my jokes can't compare to the Viennese Short Sword." Schwarz immediately shot back. Stephan's face flushed red, humiliated that one entertainer's tasteless humor continued to propagate through its audiences, therefore, continued to ruin his reputation.

"Anyhow, our problem is what the Italians call Compound 90." Schwarz shuffled around his folders once more. "This type of gas suppose to be so lethal that between the initial exposure and death, the average human being can't even put on a gas mask in time. Suffice to say, it can change the battles in the Alps." Laying out a map of the Mediterranean on the table, he tapped his pen at the southernmost tip of Spain. "Our contact in Gibraltar says that kind of shipping likely goes through there. Coincidentally, a big Allied fundraising gala also happens in Gibraltar, five days from now."

"We suspect Compound 90 may be a topic at the gala, or at the very least, someone attending will have some sort of knowledge regarding it." Pulling the map back, Schwarz switched it for several smaller papers; tickets. "You three all speak English, and this is why we asked you to infiltrate this event, find as much information as possible and report back to me. My secretary and I will travel with you to Zurich, where you will telegram back to. If the compound is at Gibraltar, you may attempt to mark or even destroy it."

Hahn Schwarz went to a drawer behind him, where he retrieved two gas masks. "I didn't see specific mention of chemical warfare on any of your files. I know Mr. Burkhart is trained with gas masks as part of our civil defense program, so these are for you two." He pushed the masks to Eshref and Evelyn, identical to the one in Stephan's apartment. "Now, if all else fails, dumping the gas canisters in the sea will hamper the enemy. With that said, I'd rather we release it in an unpopulated area. There's enough controversy on gas as it is, so I wouldn't use them on the locals unless absolutely necessary."

Stephan pondered what his mission handler really meant. They were given some fuzzy protocols, and were they operating with loose interpretations? "So we can release the compound if we have to?" He questioned.

"Only if it's life and death for you." Schwarz answered. "The best scenario is either obtaining the shipping manifest, which allows our air force to conduct raiding once Compound 90 reaches it's destination, or you can seize the gas containers. You will be provided a vehicle to transport it out, and speaking of transportation," he brought everyone's attention back to the tickets, "these are train tickets from Vienna to Seville. We are departing this afternoon, and it will take you a total four days to reach Seville, once there, a car will be waiting at Acosta's garage. Drive the rest to Gibraltar."

"Sir," Stephan came up with another question, "I don't think Gibraltar allows people to simply drive over their border."

"What an astute observation." Schwarz shot him a disapproving look that wordless spoke sei geduldig. From the ticket folder came passports and fake identification papers. "I have already booked in your disguises. For you, Mr. Burkhart, you will be a Swiss investor sponsoring your English friends' war. Better get comfortable with warbond salesmen."

"Mister Nafiz, believe it or not, there are Turks wishing for their empire to become a British mandate. Your fake character is a representative from the Ottoman Anglophile Society, and you will be one of the keynote speakers during the event. I've written out the speech for you, or you can improvise." Turning to Evelyn, he pulled out what appeared to entertainment poster. "Miss Grey, congratulations, you are going to be a musical sensation five days from now. Emily Roberts is a recently discovered singing prodigy from small town England, she, you, will perform the royal anthem to start off the evening. I sincere hope the Germans are right about your voice."

"You won't attempt the mission alone. Our man at Gibraltar is known as the 'Almond Dealer', don't ask for his real name, because he used so many pseudonyms that he probably forgot his own birth name. The information on Compound 90 came from him, and he will accompany you to the gala. Find him at Fairwind Condominiums, everything important I will hand out here, but he has everything else to make the mission smoother. You know, extra tools and money, that sort of thing."

The rest would be technical instructions. Stephan heard most of them before. The standard telegram procedures, callsigns, legality and how to use gas masks. Stephan gradually zoned out, staring outside the narrow window to see thick clouds rolling over Vienna. It seemed ominous after the earlier clear sky. His eyes drifted to the photo of a young man in uniform; was this Hahn's son? Maybe his nephew or something? Those uniforms were older ones, sky blue with red piping, almost from the last century before field gray and steel helmets took over. Finally, Stephan's mind wandered back to his own clothing, he could have been a soldier just like that, but how fate expressed itself never made sense to Stephan. Oh, on the issue of clothing, he should hurry back home to pack. Evelyn and Eshref probably already had their suitcases ready getting here.

"And that's all I have to say. Any questions, agents?" Schwarz's words snapped Stephan back to reality. He realized his face in the mirror portrayed complete absentmindedness. Shifting uncomfortably in what should be comfortable seats, Stephan downed half of his water in an attempt to clear his head. No, he had no question to ask. What he should do was talking to his partners, get to know them, it would be a refreshing change than having the briefing drone on. After that, perhaps he could squeeze in another chapter of Solveig; the battle against the brass centurion should be most exciting.

[Peik]

Frau Leppling woke up at 6 AM that day. As was her custom, she washed her face, dressed herself in modest yet comfortable clothing, and woke her seventeen year old daughter up for her to do the same before moving to the kitchen of the house to start working on breakfast. Before she pulled the door behind her, she reminded her daughter to wake up the lodgers at the requested times, and afterwards, she started to brew coffee. In fifteen minutes, Johann from the pastry would leave off her daily order of a dozen croissants, and she would proceed to have a quick breakfast alongside her daughter, Theresa, before beginning to prepare for the day.

Her daughter looked at one of the ledgers on the reception table to check up on the notes of the day, before looking at the mirror to make some minor adjustments to her blonde hair. She gave the mirror a toothy smile (although the way her mouth was, it was hard for her to smile and not bare all of her teeth anyway) before going upstairs to wake up the lodgers who had requested to be waken up at half past 6 the day earlier. Herr Krauss, Herr Feldwald, and a Herr 'Nafizbei'. She let a quiet chuckle as she thought about the name for a moment. She guessed that he was the Turk that her mother had mentioned the day earlier.

Nafiz woke up at 6 AM that day. As was his custom, he washed his face, took off his nightcap, and rolled up the sleeves of his striped pajamas before sitting down on the table to start cleaning his revolver with a makeshift cleaning rod made out of a pencil and a string dipped in grease. In fifteen minutes, Theresa, the meaty, toothy daughter of the landlady would knock on the door, and afterwards he would proceed to dress up, prepare his suitcase, arm himself, and then get downstairs for breakfast alongside the other lodgers before leaving the lodging house.

As usual, the knocking at Nafiz' door came right after he had finished loading five cartridges into his Gasser revolver, leaving a chamber empty, as was his custom. He got up from his seat, cocked the hammer of his revolver, gripped it in his left hand and opened the door with the right, barrel pointing at the doorframe behind the door. As usual, it was not a foreign spy that had come to visit him, but instead the large blonde. He pointed the barrel of his revolver down.

''Herr Nafizbei, it is half past six. You had noted to be woken up at this hour. Breakfast should be ready in thirty minutes,'' Theresa said, leaning on the frame of the door, hanging her torso down in a way that revealed her cleavage. ''Nafiz,'' the large man replied, eyes squinting at her face, and Theresa corrected herself after a moment of being caught off-guard. ''Do you want anything else, sir?'' She asked suggestively, and was replied by a curt no, with a moment of courtesy given for her to leave before the door shut.

Breakfast was quiet and simple. The lodgers were too mentally exhausted to be able to partake in small talk, and most of them either retreated to the grim news that awaited them in the newspapers or went to work afterwards. Nafiz had two breadrolls which he converted to beef on weck sandwiches with the resources available - those being some pickled cucumbers and a small slice of roast beef, a gift from Theresa, if the girl's chuckling upon Nafiz' inspection of the meat with the fork was supposed to be any implication. The Austrians weren't happy about the rationing, it seemed, but for a man who had subsisted on nothing more than small amounts of shoe jerky and grape juice for a week in Gallipoli, the breakfast was more than one could ask for.

The walk to the rendevzous was rather uneventful. Nafiz took the opportunity to sightsee on his way, for Vienna was quite a city. It was not as beautiful as Istanbul (then again, no city was as beautiful as Istanbul, so it was not a fair comparison), but the architecture was still pleasant to the eyes. The people of Vienna also seemed to have fairer looks, which intrigued but also alienated Nafiz, who was by all accounts used to the malnourished, sunken, rickety and sunstruck figures that populated his weary Empire.

At the designated building, Nafiz almost felt a tinge of excitement and nervousness, but instead of feeling things, he instead moved to action by asking for a 'Herr Schwarz'. After the first receptionist he asked mentioned that there were at least three people called 'Herr Schwarz' employed in the building, Nafiz first felt like slapping the man, but remembered that this was Europe, and instead simply leaned over the desk and mentioned that he was called here for a meeting.

''Oh, you're-oh. Herr Schwarz should be awaiting you at the second floor, the Public Information department.''

Nafiz left for the second floor without thanking the receptionist, and upon reaching the second floor after some annoying flights of stairs, he was greeted by a young woman with a funny hat. Nafiz still wasn't very used to the dressing customs of the women here in Europe, admittedly, but such fashions had already begun to spread even in Istanbul. Maybe he was just old fashioned. ''Herr Nafiz? We've been expecting you,'' she mentioned casually, as she offered her hand for a shake. ''Adina Tividar, secretary to Herr Schwarz.''

Nafiz squeezed the woman's hand tight as he shook her hand, although his muscles instinctively relaxed upon seeing her startle from the pressure. ''Yes,'' he replied, solely for affirmation, before asking for directions. To his delight, the woman escorted him to the meeting room, before quietly opening the door and leading him inside, to a cozy room. Immediately striking his attention, aside from the two gnomes, was the American revolver on display. He remembered that the Americans were fighting against them. He made a mental note about the possibility of this Herr Schwarz being an enemy spy as the older gnome in the room offered his hand to Nafiz.

''Hahn Schwarz,'' the man said, and Nafiz felt a tinge of disappointment in having such an unassuming looking man as his superior. He shook the man's hand silently before sitting to the left of the younger gnome. He eyed the man with an evaluating glance, and after a moment's worth of thinking, decided that the man was likely to be worthless. He eyed the copper-haired woman that entered afterwards with a much more inquisitive glance, before questioning the possibility of her also being an enemy spy. Such a woman at such a job was obviously not to be trusted.

Nafiz sat quietly and listened to Herr Schwarz and reevaluated his colleagues as the man skimmed through their folders out loud, only breaking his silence to reply ''Hoşbulduk'' to Schwarz' greeting in his native tongue, as a gesture of goodwill. He simply nodded in affirmation to the man's question about whether he said it correctly or not, and after hearing of the woman's file as well, he felt content in the fact that he was, as usual, right - his field of expertise in mathematics and finance proved that this Stephan fellow was worthless, and he knew better than to trust anyone even tangentially related to the British Isles. Adding the good looks and gender only made his opinion on 'Miss Grey' more concrete.

He did pay any more attention than was necessary to the briefing. Admittedly, he was not used to chemical warfare, neither was he happy about having to pose as a member of the Anglophile Society (he wasn't too happy about the way the man had worded it either - it seemed to him that the man wanted to insult his intelligence and/or knowledge on matters concerning his own very country), so all in all, he wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the job. But a job was a job, even if it were a ploy to get him away from purging the state of enemies, and as the man said, he was handpicked for it. He mentally repeated to himself the instructions on gas mask usage as Schwarz asked whether they had any questions or not. ''No,'' Nafiz replied, before taking a sip of water. This was going to be interesting.

[MacabreFox]

Vienna, Austria

---

Only the night before last, Evelyn Grey had arrived in transit to Vienna as her missive dictated, but she was not alone on the journey. A German soldier under Seppel Traugott’s command had been assigned to her, to ensure her safety, and her arrival in the city. After all, it would do her no good were she to disappear before even arriving. The thought of escape hung heavy on her mind, as it always had now since being captured by the Germans. She kept the anger and resentment she held towards them inside, all she had to do was survive. Survive this mission, survive the war, and she could leave home for England. That’s all she desired. She felt restless in the company of Josef, and yet, she couldn't blame him. He knew nothing of the hell she had seen. In her mind's eye, as soon as he returned to the front-line, his likelihood of survival decreased significantly. Josef was a young man, perhaps no more than twenty-three, and he was full of ideas. She had treated him for an infected tooth only a month and a half ago. While she remained at Klaus' side, the other German soldier she had saved, only because she had to, Josef followed her around like a lost puppy, as if smitten with her mere presence. To him, she must have been a damsel in distress. A rescued British nurse that pledged her hatred for her home country, and felt a deep connection to her German heritage could work wonders on a young impressionable mind.

For the duration of the train ride, one of which took nearly a week, traveling from France to Austria, Josef tried his best to be a good host. After all, as Evelyn came to understand it, Josef was Traugott's personal errand boy. She had watched him in the camps fetching him papers, arranging meetings with other military officials, bringing him meals, and so forth. So, to amuse him, she entertained him with his desire to better his English. They discussed all manners of subjects, from the war so far, to love, politics, their favorite foods, and most commonly, German art and literature, in which Evelyn was well-versed due to her upbringing.

When the train pulled into the station, Josef retrieved their bags, as kindly as any gentleman ought to, and escorted her to a hotel down the street from the intelligence building. She had to admit, the architectural designs of the building put to shame even London’s greatest buildings. There was an air about the city, one that kept her in awe, an aura of wonder and sophistication. Perhaps it was the sense of nostalgia that the city evoked. A large majority of famous people had originated here, Marie Antoinette, and even, most importantly, Ludwig van Beethoven and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Truly impressive. The citizens of this beautiful city ought to carry with them a deep sense of pride, or so she thought. As they checked into the hotel, Evelyn felt transported in time, not only did the exterior of the building convey a grandiose beauty in the architectural structure, but so did the interior. With room keys in hand, Josef led her to a room next to his, she would be given privacy as a woman, but he would keep a close eye on her. Or as he politely put it, 'to ensure your safety'. After handing over her suitcase, he reminded her when they would take lunch and dinner later in the day.

After lunch that day, Evelyn and Josef set off through city, as he insisted that she had to see the sights before she left for her mission. She followed him around in silence, only responding to his comments and questions when prompted. However, when he brought her to St. Stephen’s Cathedral, her demeanor changed. This young man, despite being the enemy, was actually doing her a nice favor in trying to make her feel welcome and at ease, and here she was acting as she were better than him. When they returned to the hotel for dinner, Josef, himself, was surprised that Evelyn had become more engaged in their conversation, to which they spent the rest of the evening by the fireside discussing the war, famous German literature, and more importantly family. She kept the questions directed on him, and gave him little chance to ask about her in nature. He didn't seem to notice for he chattered on like a jay bird in the spring time.

When morning came for her to report to the intelligence building in the morning, Josef accompanied her as far as the doorway, insisting that when she returned for her things at the hotel, he would be gone, returning to Traugott’s command as soon as possible She thanked him for being so kind to her, and even placed a warm kiss upon his cheek, leaving the young lad beaming with a smile as she headed into the building. At first, she stood inside the lobby gazing around until a woman behind a desk asked if she needed help.

“Ja bitte. Ich habe ein treffen mit Herr Hahn Schwarz.” Yes please. I have a meeting with Herr Hahn Schwarz. Evelyn said with ease in German, to her, speaking German was as natural as speaking English. The woman at the desk gave her directions to the meeting room, on the second floor, the public information sector. As she climbed the stairs, the sound of her heels clicking against the stone floor echoed through the lobby before she emerged onto the second floor. There another woman, this time with an exceptionally fashionable hat, and brunette hair greeted her.

“Ms. Grey?” The woman asked.

“Yes?”

“I am Adina Tidivar, Herr Schwarz has been expecting you. You're right on time, as the others have just arrived.” She rose to her feet, and gestured with her hand the way which she should go. Together, the two women strode in matched unison down the hallway until they reached Herr Schwarz office. As she showed her in, Adina left shortly after, leaving Evelyn to take her seat alongside, what seemed to her, a Turkish man, and a man of Austrian descent. When Herr Schwarz introduced each of them to one another, and made a particular remark about her making the right choice in joining the German side of the war, she simply nodded, there was nothing for her to say, and she wanted to keep it that way, gave her the chance of making herself look less like a fool, and raising suspicions or questions.

She listened on in silence, contemplating the details of the mission and the task that they were given. The thought of locating the gas troubled her, as if they were exposed to it, it would mean death, and her goal, of course, was to stay alive. She eyed the gas mask with some degree of suspicion and retrieved it with a sour smile. Evelyn regarded her partners each with a side glance, Stephan Burkhart, as she came to know him, was rather malnourished, and a bit shorter than the standard Austrian men she had seen strolling about the city. She presumed that his scrawny figure came from the tight rations in the region. As for Nafiz, he possessed a more rounded figure than Stephan, perhaps a hint at some type of military association? Admittingly, he did have an impressive moustache for a man his age, to which she also presumed that he was older than her by several years. Amongst the two of them, she felt like an outcast what with her British nationality. When the time came for questions, she glanced at the entertainment poster on Herr Schwarz desk.

“Yes sir, only one.” She leaned forward in her chair, and tapped the poster with her finger. “What am I to wear for the event? I have nothing in my possession that is presentable for such a task. I can purchase the necessary attire if needed, unless of course, it is already been arranged.”

[POOPHEAD189]

"I have arranged the funds." Schwarz answered. Opening a suitcase at his feet, he took out a bundle of cash. "Adina will accompany you for any required purchases, I'm sure she'll help you find whatever you need." Indeed, as Stephan Burkhart and Eshref Nafiz had left, Schwarz's secretary would stick by Evelyn Grey until they boarded the train.

In the mean time, Stephan hustled back to his apartment and packed up his belongings. Besides the basic clothing and mission equipment, he had taken to buying a Spanish phrase book. Didn't seem like anyone in his group spoke Spanish, and it could be trouble while in transit. If everything goes according to plan, then all they have to do is present Schwarz's slip to an auto garage. Of course, no mission ever went through like that. It was with this thought in mind that Stephan begrudgingly left any German literature behind. He had heard of an agent being executed solely for possessing a German book. Thankfully, he bought the English edition of Solveig while abroad, which was originally to keep his reading sharp. Another novel of the series, Jorwen the Red Bear, was also with him in the English publication (there wasn't a German translation yet). Thirty minutes was enough of a window to finish the next chapter of Solveig, and suffice to say, Stephan's all worked up in anticipation of the shield-maiden reacting to her boyfriend's gift.

Suppose he'll have ample time for reading on the train. Arriving at station approximately 2:30 PM, the train left at 3. It was a Swiss sleeping coach, replacing the more luxurious French lines prior to 1914. He had to share a cabin with Eshref Nafiz, a double bunk and drawers separated from the walkway by only a sliding door. Similar arrangement was made for Adina and Evelyn. Schwarz, being the slick bastard he was, had his own first class room.

They spent the first night gathered around a reserved dinner table, rehashing critical steps of the plan. Being in Austrian, and later in German-speaking Swiss territories, they were able to converse in German without arousing suspicion. Of course, speaking his native tongue was easy since Stephan's birth. Adina talked with an ever present Hungarian accent, sometimes over-correcting herself to sound Austrian. The English woman spoke with surprising fluency, albeit Berlin rather than Vienna. The Turkish mustache man, who could technically understood the fine details, wasn't so fast on the slangs; it seemed like Mr. Nafiz spent considerable efforts studying, but not immersing, in the language.

Because pulling out guns and gas masks around dinning was considered rude, Schwarz took several demonstrations to his private cabin. Somehow, Stephan found himself in wider space with four others in Schwarz's room, than being stuck with Eshref Nafiz in his bunk hole. The first thing to double check were guns. Stephan really did not need to explain his standard intelligence issued kit, and when he did, he told the others that his Frommer Stop took 9mm cartridges. Going through Evelyn Grey's revolver, Schwarz wasn't particularly impressed with it's lack of modernness, but relented on a classic German production. Finaly, there was Nafiz's vintage gun bag.

"Martini-Henry?" The handler raised his eyebrows. "How did you even find a cut-down rust-bucket like that? And tell me you brought the ammo, because our man in the field sure won't have any."

Another concern brought up was driving. Eshref, again, got the short stick from Schwarz. He shook his head hearing the Turk never having significant motor vehicle operations during all of his army career. In his defense, Stephan knew the Ottoman forces never got motorized in the first place. Heck, even the Germans and Brits, the industrial leaders of Europe, couldn't weaponize land vehicles until that monstrous tank thing rolled onto the Somme. At this point, Schwarz's "well, that's unfortunate" felt more like putting down Nafiz than anything constructive. Maybe their boss felt his stubby goatees were under threat against some fine Turkish fur.

So it was decided that Evelyn, who actually drove rickety ambulances through war zones, should take the wheel on this one. This was not wise to Stephan. Seriously, who would let an ex-British subject control their own means of transportation? "Sir," Stephan raised his hand, "I can take over if the lady doesn't wish to." He did not want to look at Evelyn while saying that, so Stephan kept his eyes trained on Schwarz.

"I think the lady will be fine." Schwarz dismissed. "Is that right, Miss Grey?"

Third topic was secrecy. For the sake of not attracting attention, everyone was to speak strictly English once they exit Switzerland. Hahn Schwarz did half of his briefing in English just to drive the point home. Stephan had to give Schwarz his due. For all his outward unpleasantness, he managed a fine Southern US accent when it counted. "When won't you accompany us?" Stephan asked, feeling like he was the only one with a modicum of curiosity. "You know, sir, you'd have no problem talking your way through anything."

"Well," Schwarz started, then he paused. "Someone got to anchor the operation. I need to be there, Switzerland," he pointed to the snow-peaked Alps basked in dusk light, "to monitor important channels." Turning to tug down the blinds, Schwarz pulled out a small bottle of golden liquor from his drawer. Damn bastard didn't even bother to share; Stephan liked to imagine Mr. Handler was drinking hot urine.

"You don't need to worry about me." Schwarz resumed after a long drag. "What you do need to worry about, however, is sending the proper telegram." A code book was passed over by Adina. "This is the address and the channel is here." Their handler marked one particular page. "These are the cipher; never send me anything unencrypted. Mr. Burkhart; see to it." Of course, the book was given to the man with actual number crunching capabilities.

"And one last thing," Schwarz reminded. From his coat pocket came a sleek, gilded business card.

"Gunther Ansel?"

"Yours truly; auto enthusiast. Also known as Acosta's best friend."

Adina immediately grabbed the agents' attentions upon exiting the briefing. Schwarz was safely locked inside his room, no doubt having the night of his life with that alcohol and some strange squeaky noises. Their Hungarian secretary led them back to the dinning car, where the last round of late snacks were being served. Puzzled by Adina going to the lavatory immediately, Stephan decided to eat first and ask later; no way he could resist fruited biscuits.

When no sign of Adina persisted after two minutes, Burkhart chose to break the awkward silence. "So, nice wea-" He stopped himself mid speech, realizing how painfully mediocre the conversation almost went. "Uh, Miss Grey. Your German was very fluent, for an Irish lady." Stephan played with his biscuit nervously, unwillingly grinding crumbs onto the tablecloth. "Have you lived, perhaps studied in Germany? I have spent time in England, Bath; it was quite a time to travel back then."

Enough time went by just for Evelyn to answer, followed right after by Adina returning to her seat. "Sorry. I had to, you know." She shrugged towards washrooms. "Anyways, listen." She leaned closer into the table. "Mr. Schwarz had been acting furcsa recently. He had been drinking, wondering and exchanging communiques with unknown sources. It was like he changed persons since his brother was killed and his son went missing."

"I'm saying you should only contact him, us, when it is absolutely safe to do so." Adina feigned interest in her tea when a group of drunks slurred danque mêméx past her. "Don't give out precise locations; you've never heard this from anyone."

"So, lady Evelyn." Adina brusquely switched conversations. "Does Ireland still have its own nobility? And you sing? Have heard of Irish Blood, by Ada Jones?" It would be as if the group only ever talked about casual topics.

The first night was uneventful, and so was the second day. By the middle of day two, their trains have transferred over Zurich, which dropped off Hahn Schwarz and Adina Tividar for their grand Swiss telegraph adventure. The agents themselves boarded another Swiss train, a mostly French speaking one, for Toulouse. Now only the three of them, Stephan grumbled at still bunking with the Turk man. Not that he had anything against Eshref, but just the fact that the entire room tend to smell like Anatolian meatsticks all throughout the night.

Within the privacy of their room, Stephan could converse freely in German, which should a blessing for Nafiz as well, given his English was even less effective. Evelyn was also invited to discuss some finer details, which drew questionable stares about why a red-headed noblewoman would enter a narrow cabin with an Austrian midget and the middle eastern meathead. Important topics like the exact route from Seville to Gibraltar was discussed, in addition to rehearsing their roles. Mission-unrelated discussions were had as well. Stephan, for one, cherished the chance to show off his fantasy novels with someone other than senile grandmothers.

"You've got to read Jorwen the Red-Bear!" Stephan recommended the book like a book salesman. "It's just pure action next chapter; mercenaries versus snow demon lackeys! Sevine the Huntress and Marcel the Prude are real delights; I hope they don't perish."

The world outside was far less delightful than luxury trains and escape novels. France was a country at war; it's scenery painted just as such. Despite not traveling through battlegrounds, there splayed visibly derelict farm houses and towns. One ville the train stopped in was like a ghost town. Few frequented the streets, as if they were ghouls in their miseries. The sky was clear blue, yet, the air was anything but clear. As steam cleared from the train engine, a group of limping soldiers stared blankly at the passengers. These men, mostly young under layers of mud and blood, stood from a whole world away; many missed significant pieces of their body.

"I heard there was a great desertion last year," Stephan remarked, "lots of French soldiers gave up and ran away." He wanted to rehash patriotic propaganda; "a complete rout!" or "we showed them!" But looking at the hollow faces staring into oblivion, he could not bring himself to say a single thing.

Trains would change again a day later; now a Spanish carrier with a significantly different flair. During the last night on the French train, Stephan asked about the Sinai and Palestine campaign. In was curious to hear Nafiz describe desert warfare. "How was it possible for this Indian, the Sikh, to kill two targets with one bullet? While jumping off a citadel, spinning and not aiming? Did he actually shout get wrecked as it all happened?" The question was referring to the British-Egyptian newspaper Schwarz read out back in Vienna.

En route to Seville was another neutral country. Unlike Switzerland, Spain had its own woes outside of the war. A fever devastated the country, claiming unseen amounts of lives since the Black Death many centuries ago. Sanitation posters hung everywhere, from public train cars to the stations, it was clear the severity of this flu forced Spanish authorities to take things very seriously. Passengers coughing a little too often were escorted off to quarantine, and those deemed healthy were handed masks to prevent infections. Compared to the military grade gas masks he was issued, Stephan couldn't help but laugh at the flimsy paper.

The agents did not catch any flu, though that didn't prevent them from catching the attention of railroad authorities. A grim cadre of inspectors pinned our agents down in the train. As the flutter of dull coats swept towards him, Stephan was confronted with a sudden urge to seek the urinal. Bottoming out on two cups of orange juice, a bowl of cereal filled milk and a large cup of coffee wasn't the best idea, in hindsight. So when the inspectors begun questioning in a language he had no clue about, Stephan had even less clue as to how he could answer them. Showing them his ticket was apparently insufficient. Digging out the Spanish phrasebook only resulted in it being slapped out of his hands. At that point, Stephan began to fear the people ahead of him were Allied spy hunters. No way they could figure who he was this fast? Or could they? If they have, then they're simply toying with him...

Thankfully, the situation was defused by Grey and Nafiz. Their Spanish was just as non-existent as Stephan's. Yet for some odd reason, a series of gestures, pleads, the occasional threats and the frequent awkward dictionary recital managed to get the agents back on track. Suppose calmer heads tend to break through more often, or at the very least, not having a near-exploding bladder made things a lot easier.

Right on time; Seville appeared towards the end of the second day through Spain. Finding and reaching Acosta's garage was easy, but, Acosta was not there. Running the garage was a woman. Based on her limited English, she was either the wife or cousin of Acosta, or both. In contrast to elaborately dressed clowns fighting bulls, which Stephan saw plenty of posters depicting (and someone actually herding oxen through the streets), good old fashioned "family love" seemed almost normal in this part of Europe. For some reason, it was also normal for the absent Spaniard to spend weeks in Valencia. "Flying", that's what Acosta's cousin-wife told them. She had a brochure to back it up. By the looks of it, Acosta was charting airmail routes to Tunis.

All that mattered was getting the damn car. Showing the business card did not fully convince their contact. Instead, the Spanish woman insisted on some more than generous "tips". Thirty Pounds had to be forked over between the three of them, and she remained reluctant. Enough was enough. Stephan figured she either cough up the vehicle or was a con, or worse, trying to dupe out a money trail for potential foes. Hell, did she even know Schwartz? She said "they friended in potato catching, mountain dew and dog tings"; sounds like she's simply blurting out every English word she could muster

Eventually, Mrs. Acosta(?) handed over the car with Eshref's "persuation". The car was a 1916 Ford Model T, the Tudor sedan model with two rows of seats and a convertible, semi-rigid roof. Riding it to Gibraltar was fast and smooth. To her credit, Ms. Grey was an excellent driver. Though that didn't stop Stephan from requesting the wheel. What was originally concern for his safety and Evelyn's reliability gradually changed to wanting to try out this slick automobile. Cruising through the Spanish countryside brought a sense of thrill, it was the freedom and speed he never experienced while chauffeuring officials through Vienna. As he rolled up his sleeves to feel the refreshing wind on his arms, Stephan made a mental mote to take a road trip when the war is over.

The last night before Gibraltar was spent in a rustic lodge, somewhere in south-western Spain. This village was close enough to their destination that less than three hours of driving remained. On the gala day, the Ford Model T rolled up to Gibraltar checkpoint near noon. They were back to a wartime country. Sandbags, barbed wires, and even a machine gun guarded the road. Khaki clad men filtered foot and vehicular traffic with rifle in hand; a pair of them came alongside Stephan, Eshref and Evelyn.

"Identifications and destination." The soldier ordered.

[Peik]

Nafiz, while not exactly happy to bunk with Stephan, was not disappointed that he did not get to bunk with Adina or Evelyn either - such a thing would be improper and inappropriate, not to mention that they, being women, had a bonus to backstabbing and various other sorts of treachery. While he had thought of taking the top bunk, the inconvenience of having to go up and down the ladder, combined with his physique, convinced him against this. The Austrian man was little - easier for him to do so.

He hadn't said much during the briefings. There wasn't much for him to say, either - here, in this land of strangers, it felt as if his opinion did not matter, and he could feel judgemental gazes staring at him whenever he put his hard-earned German to use. He did not have the ability to explain himself as elonquently as he could in his native Turkish, and even if he did, things often did not work the way as they worked in his homeland. These giaours worked their spying in a way that Nafiz would have originally found unnecessarily subtle, but nowadays viewed with begrudging respect.

Even when the slick German had criticized his choice in firearms, Nafiz had managed to keep silent. He would have shown the man a good response for his critique by loading a round into the gun and shooting it in front of his face before he could even say 'Aufwiedersehen', but his superiors back at the Supreme Porte were already anxious about him. He knew very well he was sent here to be away from where the real battle was being fought, and to, hopefully, get rid of himself, and he was going to show them all why they were wrong. He was Eşref Nafiz, son of Naci. He was not to be the laughing stock of those who hadn't even seen the faces of the enemies they were fighting.

Despite it all, Nafiz had left the briefing fairly content. It was nothing he had not been expecting, and it was likely thanks to his previous expectations that he had managed to keep his calm and not end up roaring back at Schwarz. What he had not expected was the woman being selected as the designated driver, however - Nafiz had thought that honor would have gone to the Austrian pygmy, who seemed to be consoling himself with pastry. He had smiled slightly underneath his mustache as the Hungarian woman voiced her concerns about their handler. Perhaps the man would have to be shown the glory of the 'Martin' after all.

---

While the woman named Evelyn made Nafiz feel wary, he could not help but be amused by Stephan. He did not see him as an equal, nor did he have any respect as a colleague for the little man, but there was something childish about the man, a residue of immaturity that stuck. Nafiz did not tolerate Stephan much, and mostly ignored him, but when he did listen to him he felt humored, as if he were listening to a small boy, which, occasionally, can cause a few stray chuckles.

Sometimes, Nafiz would entertain the Austrian's questions with answers as opposed to silence. The day before they had moved to the Spanish Train, Stephan had actually asked a question that had made the Albanian answer with more than a one-word reply or a grumble. Nafiz had peeked out slightly from his bunk and given an inquisitive look at the man.

''You are a numbers man, and you should know the idiom, 'hit two birds with one stone'. This Indian likely took a shot at a trench from the side. You see, when trench is attacked, men usually assume the same formation to have uniform line of fire. Shoot from side, and you can pierce not one, but two, maybe three men. I have seen this happen many times. I have seen no citadel in Sinai, however. British love to lie. It is their national pastime, so it is likely propaganda.''

He had smirked underneath his mustache, and, feeling talkative, continued.

''Lying British. Reminds me, one time in Gallipoli, as our foes retreated, we had made our way down to a trench, but stopped going further when we had seen men in uniforms. They did not move, however. We had a good shooter, Muhsin, and he took aim and fired at one of them, and his target's head burst, but rest still did not move. We were surprised, I took some of my men and stormed downhill. The British had dressed up grape sacks in uniforms, propped them up, put helmets on them to run away safely. Had many grapes that day.''

He had chuckled afterwards, in remembrance of harder, but simpler times.

---

What had once been Andalusia was now going through tough times, almost as tough as Nafiz' own Empire's. Death and pestilence loomed over every spot of the country - the trains, and the stations, were either standing underneath the shadow of fear of the disease, or had fallen with one foot in the grave. As horrible as the situation was, Nafiz could not help but feel a familiarity and a kinship with the prevalence of suffering around them, which was an unfortunate but also elating change from the relative opulence, at least in comparison to his homeland, of the other European countries he had been through.

Perhaps it was this kinship that had helped Nafiz to convince the railroad inspectors to let them go free. Admittedly, he had not said much, for he did not know a word of Spanish, and most of the attempts to talk had been made by the British woman, but he liked to believe that his reading of the railroad inspectors' gestures, and his body language, had helped them. It was not like he would admit the entirety of the glory to the woman.

He had undoubtedly taken the limelight during the meeting with the cousin-wife of the Acosta man they had been seeking, however. The Spanish woman, somewhat short, dark haired, dark eyed and dark skinned, looked admittedly average - but to Nafiz, her rather bold nature gave her a rather exotic allure. This did not change the fact that she looked ugly to Nafiz, however, and he muffled his kiss to the back of her hand with his mustache, which would later receive a thorough cleaning, as he explained to her that a lady as fine as she should not be so expectant of those who were in her hands.

The surprisingly gentle approach had worked, and Nafiz had enjoyed his reward of riding shotgun alongside the driver, and enjoying the breeze with almost childish enthusiasm. Had this been a simple international trip rather than an important mission, he would've undoubtedly requested a try at the wheel, but for now, he had to tolerate the cold English woman at the wheel. He was certain he'd do a better job if given the opportunity, but, he had to tame his brashness. For now, watching from the front seat was enough.

When asked for his identification papers, Nafiz complied obediently. ''For sure, my British compatriots would not see no breach in the security,'' he mused as he offered his papers, with an incredibly pretentious and posh accent that would no doubt be harmful to anyone who spoke proper English - a perfect cover for his role as a pretentious anglophile.

[MacabreFox]

After the meeting with Schwarz, Adina and Evelyn ventured out together to a local shoppe. While she initially found it difficult understanding the woman’s German through her Hungarian accent, the two managed to converse with ease after much patience. It took little time to find a dress in Evelyn’s size, a black dress suitable for the gala.

Remaining in her company, Evelyn kept a wary eye on her companion, always suspicious. For the most part, she made damn certain to keep her words in check after their excursion out on the town. Secretly, she allowed herself to admit that Vienna was indeed a beautiful city. One filled with history. A place she would never forget.
Once finished with packing, the two women made their way to the train station where they joined Stephen and Nafiz, arriving only five minutes later than the three amigos. She soon discovered that the men, that being Stephan and Eshref, shared a room across from Adina and her. She wasn’t overly surprised that Schwarz had made arrangements for a first class room. Evelyn claimed the top bunk, believing that if Adina, or any other unsavory folks tried to eliminate her, they wouldn’t do it while she slept soundly. Of course, that just came with her paranoia.

---

Discussing freely the important steps on the plan around a dining table, Evelyn became critically aware of the Turkish man’s speech. His German wasn’t bad, she’d give him that, but she restrained the need to correct him herself. After dinner, they gathered in Schwarz’ cabin, as displaying their inventory of weaponry would arouse suspicion from the innocent passengers around them. When she handed over her Mauser Zig-Zag, she could see the reluctant look in his eyes, to which she shrugged and commented quietly, “I never asked to wield a weapon, Mr. Schwarz, it was given to me by a German officer.” Suffice to say, at least she had plenty of cartridges, a question that arose when he glanced over Eshref’s weapon of choice.

Regardless of the concern for the potential lack of ammo over the Turkish man’s gun, they moved onto the subject of driving. For once, Evelyn had hoped that she wouldn’t be the one to drive. She thought back to the fields of battle where the other field nurses and her drove across the plains to retrieve the wounded. Truly, the numerous times they chanced the drive, she fretted inwardly over the idea of being struck by a shell, driving over a landmine, or being apprehended by the Germans. Which ironically, is how she found herself in this situation to begin with. Of course she kept that tidbit to herself.
As their handler delegated who would be in charge of driving once they arrived, Stephan made a rather irksome suggestion, one that left Evelyn biting her tongue. Did this Austrian think himself a better driver than her, just because she was a woman? To her delight, Schwarz chose her in the end to manage the driving.

“Yes of course, Mr. Schwarz.” She said with some degree of formality. “I’d rather drive on this mission, then take a chance with land mines any day.”

---

Adjourning from Schwarz’ first class cabin, Adina led them back to the dining car where the four of them gathered around a table. Just in time for the late evening snack, however, Adina immediately excused herself, leaving the three operatives alone for the first time since the meeting back in Vienna. She turned her gaze to the unfurling scenery just outside the window’s pane. There were far and few between villages now, and a steady rise of snow-capped mountains in the distance.
It was Stephan who quaffed the growing silence between them, wherein he commented on her fluency in German, going further to inquire if she had the opportunity to study in Germany. Coincidentally, she found it highly intriguing that Mr. Burkhart had actually travelled to Bath. She made a mental note to inquire on the subject later on. “Unfortunately no, the chance to study in such a place would be an opportunity of a lifetime. You see, my grandfather, my father’s father, brought his family to England. It was through my father’s insistence that I learn the language. He encouraged me to study German literature, and to speak with him as much as possible in his tongue. To say the least, it has come in handy, or so I think.” Just then, the familiar figure of Adina returned to the dining car, where she joined them at the table, modestly suggesting that she had excused herself in need of the loo.

To her surprise, one which she kept hidden through a mask of indifference, Adina hinted at the curious behaviour exhibited by their handler, of which Evelyn said not a word. After all, her prerogative was survive and return home. Though, were this Mr. Hahn Schwarz behaviour to turn, she would do damn well to make sure she didn’t forget this. The Hungarian woman conveyed the message that should they need to contact them, they do so from a safe location. A group of men sauntered past their table, the smell of liquor struck her with a grimace. Hadn’t they any common sense on how to compose themselves in public? Plus the comment of danque mêméx puzzled her. Was this some type of insult? She brushed it aside as Adina proceeded to capture her attention, something of which she began to wish hadn’t happened. She wanted nothing more than to keep to herself, yet she answered the question as politely and without attitude as one could allow.

“Please, there is no need to call me lady, Evelyn or Miss Grey is just fine.” She began with a terse smile, “It depends on who you ask, in regards to Irish nobility. Originally, yes, there were indeed Irish nobility, though there were three ways to inherit or obtain that title. As for my ability to sing, I assure you, I am rather qualified.” When Adina mentioned the song by songstress Ada Jones, she lifted her eyebrows in acknowledgement, “Yes, I am quite aware of the song. I believe Ms. Jones now resides in the United States.”

---

By the middle of the second day, they bade farewell to Adina and Hahn, and they boarded a transfer train, one that seemingly spoke French, bound for Toulouse. After settling in her room, one of which she now shared solely with herself, much to her delight, she went across the hall to check in with her companions. There was much to discuss. Once inside, they reverted to German for comfort.
On a peculiar note, Stephan revealed to them that he delved into reading fantasy novels, of such, he pulled out a book that bore an English title, Jorwen the Red-Bear. “If I find I have nothing else to do, Mr. Burkhart, I’ll take you up on the suggestion of reading it.” After all, a female character with the name of Sevine the Huntress certainly sounded intriguing.
For the rest of the evening, she attended dinner, but primarily kept to herself. From the comfort of her lone cabin, she had the opportunity for once, to reflect quietly on the course of events. Her thoughts trailed back to that day on the battlefield, when they had received word to head out to retrieve the wounded. She frequented the images in her head, wondering if she had had the chance to run away, how far she would have made it, and where she would have gone thereafter. Quietly admitting defeat, Evelyn turned her attention once more to the French countryside. Evidence of the war dotted the landscape, from empty edifices, to the maimed soldiers. She figured that some of those men she could have treated at some point in time, as she did not limit her nursing capabilities to just the British, but often treated the wounded French.

On the last evening aboard the train, she let Stephan and Eshref control the conversation, reserving herself to poke at her food with a lack of appetite.

---

They changed trains again, this time, one that was full of Spanish speaking occupants, bound for Seville. From her understanding, as she had often read what newspapers she could on the front lines, Spain struggled with an influenza outbreak, one of which had taken a deadly toll on its citizen’s. The remainder of the day was uneventful, as they took their late lunch together inside the dining car, that was, until a cluster of railroad authorities descended on them. Evelyn restrained an agitated sigh, and kept her wits about her. An Austrian man, English woman, and Turkish man had drawn few stares until France, but now, they could not evade the curious gaze of the authorities.
Focusing their attention primarily on Stephan, they began to interrogate the poor man without much consideration. Eshref and Evelyn came to his aid, as she first began to plea in soft Italian. She knew the language was similar to that of Spanish, but eventually she resorted to speaking plain English for her own sake to avoid insult. Finally, either the authorities settled on them not being a threat, or they had other matters to attend to, they were left alone. She sighed in relief and sank back into her seat. Evelyn couldn’t wait for the end of the train ride now.

When the second day of traveling through Spain had come, Seville was visible on the horizon. On the upside of this situation that she found herself in, Evelyn relished in the idea that she had traveled more than anyone else in her family. From England to France, from France to Germany, from Germany to Austria, from Austria through the Swiss Alps, back through France again, and now into Spain. If she lived to tell the tale, her future offspring would be impressed at the adventuring their mother had accomplished.
The meeting with Acosta, or rather his wife, or perhaps cousin, or rather all of the above, of which Evelyn was uncertain of either, left her feeling a bit confused, and slightly angry at the notion of having to part with some of her own personal British pounds. Now, satisfied, and after some persuasion from Eshref, she passed the keys of a Model T over to them, to which Evelyn readily claimed. To be fair, she had a rocky start on getting the car going, but that was due to the fact that she had never driven a Model T before, only the field ambulances. Nevertheless, she soon settled into a smooth ride over the road to Gibraltar. She drove for the better part of two hours before she succumbed to Stephan’s insistence at letting him take the wheel. She had preferred Eshref sitting next to her in the passenger seat, he was a quiet companion, one that she favored. Regardless, once she was seated as comfortably as possible on the rear bench, she let her gaze wander out the window, trying to recall the lyrics to Irish Blood, she had no idea what song she would sing at the gala, but settled on the idea that she might as well perform that song.

When they stopped for the night, three hours away from Gibraltar, Evelyn was elated to see that their sleeping quarters at a rustic, and cozy lodge, was perfectly suitable than sleeping in a train car. Yet, as they made their way inside, there on the outside wall was a sanitation poster forewarning citizens on the symptoms, and precautions of influenza.
It was midday when they reached a checkpoint just outside of Gibraltar. Her heart began to beat in anxiety as soldiers in bland beige uniforms approached their car, requesting identification and their destination. She took a chance and opted out of announcing their destination, but handed over her British passport with a simple, “Here you are, gentlemen.” Now if only Stephan could keep his cool.

[POOPHEAD189]

The guard looked at Eshref Nafiz with the most puzzled expression. His face, half shaded by the oversized brim of his Brody helmet, betrayed the youthful inexperience behind his poor attempt at being stoic. His uniform was clearly too big for him, and the khaki was far too clean for any possible field use. He leaned down closer to Nafiz, unaware that his loosely slung Lee-Enfield rifle could easily be grabbed, and compared the oriental man's face to that of the passport photo. Clearly, he had not seen a visitor of this particular extraction, as most were either Spanish or from other parts of the British empire.

"Going to the gala, Mr. Safir?" The young guard's voice was a mix of suspicion and curiosity, all of them spoken with a hint of incomplete puberty. "You are from, uh, Arabia?"

"My cousin's out there, in the mid east, fighting the, um, auto men?" A small chuckle came as the passport was handed back to Eshref. "Guess what I got? Guard duty!"

When the same guard began inspecting Evelyn's papers, he was focused on complaining (and bragging) instead of actually doing his job. "They say I'm too young to fight, but I'm already past my seventeenth birthday last week!" He scanned Evelyn's passport and a spark lit up in his eyes. "I can haul thirty pounds of cargo all by myself! Do you see these muscle, m'lady?"

Already skittish, Stephan really couldn't stand this naive boy any longer. His own passport was approved without hassle (the only thing said to him was something about the flu and sanitation, as if he never washed his hands before), but the guard seemed to have some sort of fascination with Eshref (someone that could have possibly killed his cousin). The border crossing was an uncomfortable place of dust kicked up by horses, exhaust emitted by motor vehicles, and busy noises generated by both. Sandbag and barbed wire reinforced guard houses flanked both sides of the road into Gibraltar, with one of them sporting a water-cooled machine gun. Some travelers were let through easily, while a select few had to be thoroughly searched. Plus, a gruff looking sergeant was headed their way impatiently and had his hands gripped too tightly around his shotgun.

"Happy birthday!" Stephan blurted out. His fellow agents have made their own attempts to get them away, but Stephan had to try a different approach. "They are wrong, and if you let us through now, we'll put in a good word for you at the recruitment office."

"Really?" For the first time, the guard perked up with excitement. He straightened up his helmet and scrambled out of the car's way. "Enjoy your stay; just remember, no lollygagging!" He waved them by and made a crisp salute.

As they pulled away, Stephan let out a long and relieved breath, one that he held too long for his own good. In the distance, he could hear the sergeant berating the young soldier.

"You bloody idiot! You're supposed to search them for weapons! What if they are fecking spies!? This happens again and you're scrubbing toilets for the rest of the year."

Oh well, that kid should have known what he signed up for. But then again, Stephan didn't quite know what he signed up for either. Despite his worry, Stephan smiled faintly to himself, and silently prayed that this encounter won't come to bite them in the back.

---

Finding where the "Almond Dealer" lived was easy enough, but finding the man himself, was not so much so. Arriving in front of a dull brown and the most average looking apartment, in the south-western town area, only an hour and a few detours got in the agents' way. There was a surprising amount of motor traffic in Gibraltar, with a large portion being military trucks, and some private cars going in between. Horse-drawn carriages and cable cars further crowded the streets. Even though navigating through the city did not prove a significant hurdle to Evelyn's driving ability (and Stephan's map reading), it was nevertheless a claustrophobic experience on the peninsular city, where someone was always watching from the sidewalks or out of the tightly packed buildings.

Now securely parked, Stephan had just realized that they had no idea which suite their field contact resided in. For a minute, Stephan just stood, letting the cool sea breeze wash over him and listening to chirps that sounded more like small mammals instead of birds. There were five floors in the apartment, and each floor had ten suites.

"Well, should we just knock one by one?" Stephan asked, and was quickly shut down as expected. However, Stephan found a better idea in the form of an old woman walking out of the front entrance.

"Excuse me, ma'am." Stephan approached the granny without hesitation, figuring that she was the last person to do anything bad to him. "Do you know if there's anyone selling almonds around here?"

The old woman stared at him confusingly. She smoothed a wrinkle on her fluffy dress, as if an annoying bug had just landed there. "No." She said simply, and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Stephan jogged after her; somehow, this senior individual moved rather fast. "Why? My friends told me that there's a whole market for almond out here."

"How silly of them." The old lady scolded Stephan. She pointed to a nearby tree, where some animal jumped between the branches. It was where the chirps came from. "You must be from Britain, young man. Let me tell you, we don't leave nuts outside; the macaques would pick them off in a heartbeat."

Any attempt from Evelyn and Eshref to coerce information out of her was rebuffed by "get lost" and "sod off". "I don't have time for you tourists; I have to help my darlings at the Bristol Hotel get ready for their gala." With that, she sauntered away rather proudly.

"Ragged old hag." Stephan cursed when they were alone again, showing off some English swears he learned in England. Maybe they'll have to knock on every single door after all, suspicions be damned. The gala's happening in less than six hours, and there's no time to telegraph Schwarz for clarification. Eshref and Evelyn proposed some ideas, but none really stood out. Alternatively...

"Monkey see, monkey do." Stephan grinned. He noticed the very same Barbary macaque (or whatever Schwarz's travel brochure called them) the old woman mentioned leaping from overhanging tree branches to a third floor balcony. It was then followed by a second emerging from a well hidden bush, and a third. "They're after the almonds; the Almond dealer must be there! Second suite from the east, third floor. Let's go!"

Stephan ran up the stairs excited, thinking that he had just performed some expert detective work. He brushed pass a descending couple in the stairway, forgetting all about being discreet in the process. When he approached suite 302, Stephan reached out to knock, despite caution from his fellow agents. Nothing responded to the first knock, and silence continued on to the second, the third and the fourth. Checking his watch impatiently, Stephan realized that they had almost wasted twenty minutes since they arrived at the apartment. He placed his hand on the doorknob and gave it a twist just for the sake of trying. To Stephan's surprise, it actually unlocked.

"Strange, what can this mean?" He asked his companions; it was asked in a whisper and a few steps away from the door, so that whomever inside couldn't overhear.

"We have to get inside, no matter what." Stephan concluded from the others' responses.

Stephan spared fast glances down the hallway, and seeing no one else but the three of them, went to open the door. At the last second, a hasty warning from one of his partners reminded him to extract his pistol from its hidden holster. Nodding to thank them for the precaution, Stephan flicked off the pistol's safety, turned the knob, and entered suite 302 with gun muzzle sweeping over the immediate vicinity. What greeted Stephan was not the firefight he expected, but instead, a perfectly normal living room. An empty dinner table, orderly pillows arranged on an plain leather sofa and a cabinet full of neatly placed cups. The suite branched off to two sides, the kitchen and bedroom/bathroom. Stephan moved towards the kitchen, he also signaled for one person to search the bedroom, while the other would be securing the door behind them.

Taking the most quiet steps possible on the creaky wooden floorboard, Stephan's hold on his pistol was nervous and shaking. When he finally crested the threshold, he almost shot the first moving shape in front of his eyes. It was the monkeys, three of them rummaging through the kitchen drawers. There was no almond, but other food, such as canned ham and crackers, were being examined by the escaping monkeys. One of the fidgety bastards also held a kitchen knife.

"Faff off, little wankers." Stephan shooed the monkeys out of the window. They chirped in protest, but otherwise left with a handful of crackers. Out of the open window, the macaques bounded from balcony railing and onto the tree branches hanging above. As Stephan was busy looking outside, he failed to notice something on the ground, until he stepped on it.

"Kacke!" In his surprise, Stephan shrieked in German. There was a medium stature, Caucasian man (dressed in a nondescript gray suit) lying on the kitchen floor. A quick check found no pulse, and flipping him over revealed no wounds beside thick rope burns around the dead man's neck. The skin was cold, but the body did not smell decomposed; not yet. This man was dead for more than a few hours, though not many days.

"Ja, okay, what the fuck?" Stephan shook his head. His first reaction was to close the window and the blinds; the last thing he needed was some nosy local finding this death scene. Next, he called out to the others. Turns out there was nothing in the bedroom or bathroom either, though whoever searched there found scattered papers and clothing, signs of hasty packing. No suitcases, bags, money, weapon or other travel essentials were found in the bedroom. However, a few pages of notes were left there. Meanwhile, a nosy neighbor decided to knock, and had to be told off by the agent responsible for the door. When the suite was secured, Stephan told his partners to close off every window and curtain, and only had they done so did he finally reengaged the safety on his pistol.

"So, the monkeys are gone; no almond. But, um..." They gathered back in the living room; Stephan sat down on the sofa, wiping off a sheen of cold sweat that had covered his forehead. The air inside the apartment felt stale with the windows shut. "There's a corpse in kitchen." He whispered the last part.

"I found nothing on him besides his clothing. Nothing in his pockets, not even a wallet or a pocket watch." Stephan described, after the other two had a good look at the corpse. "Look, what if this is not our field contact? Schwarz didn't tell us what the 'almond dealer' looks like, but he is supposed to be someone smart. So, he's got to be smarter than getting killed in his own home, right?"