Chapter I
The Beach
Welsh: Ugh, are you still here?
Interviewer: Quite. Ms. Havenwood has ensured that every one of your adventures has been properly chronicled.
Welsh: I seriously have to talk with her about that.
Interviewer: And here I thought you were beginning to enjoy our little tête-à-têtes.
Welsh: ... like stickin’ a fork in me leg...
Interviewer: Pardon?
Welsh: Nothin’. So, what you want then so I can go back to bed...”
Interviewer: Whatever you would like to share, Ms. Nixon.
Welsh: Fine... let’s go with the Solomons then.
Interviewer: The king, and son of David?
Welsh: No, the islands in the South Pacific — but kickin’ over some biblical tomb might be pretty cool to tell, despite your sensitive sensibilities.
Interviewer: ... I am sure, Ms. Nixon.
Tuesday, 4 March – 11:03
Suuno Point Resort, Mbanaki Island, Solomon Islands
“Silk!” the redhead in the bikini yells over the crashing of the waves against the pale sand beach.
She is up to her thighs in the warm South Pacific surf, getting knocked to and fro by the incoming waves and resultant drag of the undertow.
“Hey Silk, come on in, the water’s awesome,” she tries again to get the attention of the darker-skinned woman lounging on a reclining beach comforter in the shade of a copse of palms. The darker woman’s hair is a strange pure white that matches her one-piece swimsuit, contrasting sharply with her smooth dark russet skin.
Getting no response from her friend up the beach, she clenches her teeth.
“Oi! You fuckin’ tart,” the red head swears. “Put down the fuckin’ computer and come out here, seriously — we’re ‘sposed to be vacationin’!”
Nearby, a vacationing mother minding her two children in the rolls of the Pacific surf gasps at the young woman’s choice of words.
The red head just snorts at her, and gives a nod to the oldest boy in the vacationing entourage — who is likely just breaching eight years of age. “He’s learnin’ way worse things to say in school, sugarplum. You can bet your ass on that.”
The mother gasps again with shocked dismay, and guides her two kids away from the rude woman with the deep carmine hair, and the swath of white bangs covering over her forehead and left eye.
Grumbling at being ignored, the young woman makes some adjustments to her bikini and climbs out of the surf. Coming clear of the water, some appreciative glances from other vacationing sorts are cast her way in regards to her firm, toned body under her pale flesh.
Despite all her time in sunny locations, her gentle pallor never seems to really darken to more than a light tan.
She hisses and curses more foul utterances when her bare feet touch the broiling sand. Hopping over the shade to avoid prolonged contact with the hot sand against her sensitive feet, the redhead yelps with discomfort at the heat. The other woman, ‘Silk,’ hisses with irritation at being splattered with dislodged water from her friend’s incoming bouncing.
“Honestly, Welsh,” Silk, or Sylvia as she is more properly known, hisses with irritation, trying to protect the book in her lap from any errant splatters of sea water.
With a shaking of her carmine hair, splatters of salt water are sent out in an arching shower, eliciting more angry hisses at the unwanted spray.
“You are such a dweeb, you know? We got this awesome beach, and all you can do is research.”
Sylvia takes up her white resort towel and dries off Welsh’s sea water shower from the old journal in her lap and the pad of paper scrawled with copious notes in English and Japanese.
“Oh, relax,” Welsh says. “That book’s been sitting in some cave for like, what, sixty years? I’m sure it can take a little bit of a bath.”
“We are not here to play,” Sylvia grumbles. “Just because our client is paying our expenses while staying at this resort while we finish this job does not mean you are free rein to frolic in the ocean and harrass the tourists.”
“So get it done already and we can jump back in the water.”
Sylvia looks up over her large sunglasses at her companion.
“That would be marvelous. I would not suppose you know Japanese? This journal is written in some form of short hand; and even if written properly, my kanji is not the best.”
Welsh snorts. “Oh, sure. I know lots of Japanese: sushi, karaoke, teriyaki, and me personal fave, sake.”
Sylvia sighs, and returns to studying the deteriorating journal.
“Fine. Wutevs,” Welsh says with a dismissive wave of her hand. She turns to brave the hot sand once more, with the promise of a cool dip in the Pacific ocean — when her friend’s phone chimes off behind her.
Sylvia answers it immediately when she sees the caller ID come up.
“Ohayo gozaimasu , Kurosawa-san,” Sylvia says into the phone.
Welsh decides to hang around a bit and listen in.
“Yes, Kurosawa-san. We have arrived, and the accomodations are perfect,” she says to the man on the other end of the line, then pauses as he speaks.
Sylvia nods, though he cannot see her.
“We have had some... setbacks due to the nature of the journal. The kanji is in a hand I do not recognize, and I suspect it is a form of shorthand... Yes...” she pauses again. “I am decyphering it now, but it is less inuitive than I would have originally thought. It would seem some elements of an older dialect have been included into the shorthand.”
Sylvia nods her head quickly, and lifts her hand as if to calm him.
“Kurosawa-san, please do not worry. I have four ciphers designed, and I am in the process of testing each of them on portions of the journal.”
Sylvia nods again. “Yes, I am certain I am close to breaking it — and I should have a location very soon.”
Sylvia waits as the man speaks into her ear.
“Yes, Kurosawa-san, I will keep you apprised of our progress.”
Sylvia gives a slight smile, but it is more instinctual than actual delight.
“Sayonara, Kurosawa-san,” she says before severing the connection. Her painted lips fall into a frown as she ponders the journal.
“Client in a piss,” Welsh says, studying her business partner.
Sylvia nods with a slight shrug.
“That is one way to put it. He seemed rather... eager... for us to exercise sudden haste in finding the acquisition’s location.”
Welsh snorts. “So, why dinnae he get his own people to deal with the shorthand instead of leaving it to an over-tall gaijin tomato in a one piece swimsuit and cleavage?”
Sylvia glances up at her friend with her use of the old slander dating way back to when they first met. Welsh likes to dredge up her 20’s slang time and again.
“That is the question, isn’t it? I could only guess at his personal motivations — and none of the scenarios are especially wonderful.”
“Boy donnae trust his own people likely — either meanin’ the shit we after is a boatload of bad news; or he’s paranoid as Hell. Either way, I think delivery should be a long duration dead drop on this one.”
“Hmm, quite,” Sylvia says, pursing her lips. “Plus, should a client call in a rush mid-operation and try to hurry the job...”
Welsh nods and chews her lower lip. “...typically means something just got fucked up, and they ain’t willin’ to admit to whatever shenanigans they are up to.”
“Quite, I think we should endeavour to close this job as quickly as we can.”
“Sure, Doll. Can I get back in the water now?”
Sylvia tilts her head and lifts an eyebrow. “Does you splashing in the waves at all speed up the conclusion of this acquisition?”
Welsh snorts, “no, but—...”
“No. And if there is additional complications I would think it prudent to rein in our indulgences for the time being.”
“Ugh, fuckin
’ sitting in the hotel room watching wierd ass Asian TV...”
Sylvia smiles slightly. “A somewhat better alternative than having one’s careless fingers cut off, yes? And I do not take this proposition lightly — as I am the one that will have to put up with you in that small room.”
MR. TYDINGS’ CASEFILE
by Zoomey
Look, I'm going to level with you, I'm living a lie.
That’s probably not news to you, most people are. Mine stretches a little deeper though.
The Consulate closed down. Simply not enough funding in the British budget to fund a department which lost half of its members annually to things that lurk beneath. Ms. May has taken it private, but I'm not sure that’s the correct path, I believe that infiltration/intergration is a better path.
I spent several months researching the more benign cults, checking for activity, and ensuring that each cult remained unaligned with 'the wrong forces'. Amusingly several investigations turned up Shadow cults. Fronts for corporations to carry out nefarious deeds, and experiment with magics outside of their remit. Note I say magics with a lower case m. Minor Occult dabblings to increase holdings, remove the competition, and generally make money. If a few Souls get stained along the way to wealth, wheres the harm in that?
I scuffed a few circles, muddied some water, and remained unnoticed, and the harm came to those that caused it. On the plus side, some from the other side will eat well tonight.
I've successfully hidden myself within all three factions now. I report directly to Highly placed members of both the Templars, and of the Illuminati. I'm working on my Dragon contacts at the moment. It surprises me that a simple obscuring spell has hidden my intentions from these three organisations, but as long as I carry out the tasks they assign me, they don't seem to realise that all I've done is change my name and my clothes. I've not even obscured my face.
Within the Templars I've reassumed my forces nickname of Tydo. I believe the Templars were aware of my background, I'm sure a few of the higher-ups were aware of 'The Consulate', and the work we carried out there.
The Americans were a little easier, and they Nicknamed me Zoomey, I think they were surprised at the speed at which I carried out the tasks assigned. I guess they're not used to new signings being disciplined and organised. Or able to handle an assault rifle without training I guess.
The Dragons took a similar approach. Though I don't think their use of the name Zumey was meant to be complimentary. I detected an element of Sarcasm every time they used it. However, you take what you're given and run with it.
After observation of the minor cults, I spotted a pattern. Some cults restricted themselves to a single path. Devoting themselves blindly to the teachings of one faction. Devoutly following the instructions of the Dragon, Templar or Illuminati. There were others though, who dipped their toes into more than one stream. Baptising themselves into each tributary whilst hiding this from the leaders of the factions themselves. Again some of these 'Cabals' had ill intentions, but I believe I've found one that simply exists to provide cover, and in some cases backup, to its members.
I've become inducted, and passed the various hazing rituals. Repeated false deaths at the hands of the Machine Tyrant seems to be a popular one.
Now I've new backup, its time to see if I can elevate myself within the Dragon. Though that said, there are certainly a few Cabal members I need to keep an eye on.
Thank you.
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