Consequences

[Jumping Choya]

Well, this will be my second story on the boards. My first was a first person narrative of Egypt that I'm sure everyone was quite bored with. I hope to do better with this one.

This story did not actually occur. I wrote the first two chapters ahead of time, leaving the names of countries open, hoping that a situation would develop that would fit with this. But alas, nothing developed. So, I'm making this up as I go along. I haven't yet decided all of the countries or the world geography (I am certain, however, that it won't correspond with the real world).

All comments are appreciated, and I would also like to thank WTE_OzWolf for "Odyssey of a Hero". I borrowed little snippets of names from your story, because I don't really know any Roman names. If you mind, just tell me and I'll change them.

So, with no further delay, here is Chapter 1:

[Jumping Choya]

Silo #18, 6 miles south of Veil
Jeremy Williams excused himself and got up from his post. His coworker nodded and went back to reading his book. Work in the silo was lonely and uneventful. Jeremy spent his days doing nothing, primarily, because his work was launching nuclear missiles, and the day he would truly earn his pay would be a sad day indeed. It was something he often contemplated. He figured he would not survive should that day come. Neither would his counterparts wherever his missiles struck. But, like all things that aren’t up to the individual, nuclear war was in the murky back of his mind, where such thoughts swirled around to be drawn from during idle and boring times. Jeremy didn’t consider himself philosophical, but he was able to keep himself company having debates in his mind over any manner of topics.

Jeremy walked past the coffee room and out into the large cavern where the nuclear missiles sat, pointed upwards towards the silo doors which would only open once, if ever. Jeremy wondered for a second if intercontinental ballistic missiles had feelings and wanted to be set free to decimate cities in exotic places around the world, but shook the thought off. “Save it for later, Jermy,” he muttered to himself. He took a quick look around the cavern. No maintenance workers were present. Neither were any scientists, security guards, visiting generals, or anybody else who might find occasion to be in the missile cavern. Jeremy was alone.

Jeremy was tall and somewhat handsome, which was a shame for the ladies, seeing that he was holed up for the better part of the day. Or so his coworkers joked. Jeremy was widely known as a joker, a thinker, a technician, a computer enthusiast, an avid photographer, and an all around good guy. He was also a spy for America. This last detail was not so well known.

Jeremy took advantage of Rome’s notoriously lax security in its missile silos. Marines armed to their teeth guarded the outside, but the inside might as well have been a day care center for all the security it had. While a frontal assault by enemy forces would most certainly fail, all it took was several years of good work and feigned patriotism to get on the inside. There were no guards patrolling, no security cameras, and nothing else to prevent Jeremy from casually strolling on in.

He took out his new digital camera and took a few dozen photos of Rome’s new ICBMs. The technology for such missiles had been known for quite some time, but no missiles had been built until recently. The rivalry between America and Rome had heated up, and now each country was racing to create the largest and most powerful nuclear arsenal. Rome’s new missiles could reach anywhere in the world. On top of the missiles sat a ten-megaton warhead, capable of vaporizing the better part of any large city. America was interested in these weapons, and had called upon Jeremy to provide some photos of them, and hopefully some technical information.

Jeremy walked back into the launch room. His coworker glanced up at him.

”Damn coffee machine was turned off, and you know how long it takes to get started again,” Jeremy said as he sat back down at his post. His coworker nodded and went back to reading his novel.

[Jumping Choya]

At six o’clock Jeremy was leaving the silo. The guard at the entrance took note of the camera bag slung over Jeremy’s shoulder.

“Gonna take some more of your famous photos, eh?” he asked with a smile.

“Yeah. I need to add to my collection of the Apennines.”

The guard waved him on. Soon Jeremy would be on the subway in seat 27a. There he would eject the memory disk from his camera and tape it to the underside of the seat. Later, another agent whom he had never met in person would sit in the same seat and retrieve the disk. From there on was a mystery to Jeremy, but he figured that it would somehow make its way to the CIA in America, where the photos would be analyzed by a number of America’s experts. Jeremy would be taking the subway at ten, but first he was going to dine with his good friend Cornelius Vivaet. His parents had given him a true Roman name; many other families had adopted English and American names in recent generations, somewhat to the dismay of old, nostalgic patriots.

Cornelius was already sitting down by the time Jeremy arrived.

”How’re you doing, Jermy? They treating you good in that pit you work in?” was Cornelius’ warm greeting. The two exchanged pleasantries and then went into the normal conversations that good friends have.

“Hey, that camera of yours new?” Cornelius asked.

“Yeah, but the damn LCD is broken. I’m going to have to send it back and get a new one,” Jeremy said as he handed the camera to his friend. The LCD did not, in fact, come damaged, but instead had been purposefully sabotaged by Jeremy to prevent curious friends from viewing the pictures on his camera. He didn’t need it anyway; the camera also had a viewfinder, and Jeremy didn’t feel compelled to look over his pictures of the missiles to see how pretty they looked.

Cornelius turned the camera over in his hands, marveling at the film-free camera. “So, where do the pictures get stored on one of these things?” he asked. Cornelius’ knowledge of technological gizmos was only a shadow of Jeremy’s, and he often went to him with computer questions.

“On this memory card,” Jeremy answered, and ejected the thin cartridge. “Cute, isn’t it?” he joked, and handed it to Cornelius so he could do some more marveling.

Cornelius held the card in his hand for a few seconds. He then put the small card into his pocket and stood up. Jeremy’s jaw dropped a little and he stared confusedly at Cornelius in the wake of the unexpected moves.

“Mr. Williams, you are under arrest for espionage and treason. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…” Cornelius had pulled a pistol from his jacket and was pointing it at Jeremy. Men at five other nearby tables had done the same. “You will now come with us,” and he motioned for Jeremy to stand up and put his hands behind his head. Jeremy did so. Cornelius’ voice hissed in his ear. “Don’t make any trouble now, Jermy, because I’d sure hate to shoot you, you traitorous son of a b**ch.”

The procession of counterintelligence officers led John outside the restaurant and into a dark car with heavily tinted windows. A crowd had followed them out of the restaurant and was joined by more people on the street. Cornelius shut the car door and the crowd watched as the caravan of black cars drove down the street and around the corner.

That would be the last the public ever saw of Jeremy Williams. They would, however, see plenty of the aftermath.

[Metaliturtle]

hey, nice hangs at the end, maybe fewer large words in a row "procession of counterintelligence officers" etc. otherwise, I'd give it a 7 on a 1-10 scale 10 being the best, but some of my storys, including CGW i'd put at a 3, so don't worry about it, it's good.

[Sovy Kurosei]

LOL, a pretty interesting story.

Heh, compared to mine, mine would be a 1 on a 1 to 10 scale

[Jumping Choya]

The Emperor’s Royal Office in the Royal Palace, Rome

“Your Excellency, we have arrested the suspected spy. He should be undergoing interrogation as we speak,” said Marcus Trinitus, head of the counterintelligence division of the Roman Intelligence Agency.

“Spy, eh?” Caeser looked up from the pistol he was polishing. Had he forgotten this, too?

“The spy for America in Silo #18…” Marcus began to explain.

“Oh yes! I got it now. So, we smoked him out of his hiding place! Good, good, nothing like a good interrogation report to liven the day. All methods will be used to extract information from him, right?” Caeser’s face lit up hopefully.

“Well, yes, but you know how the Americans treat their spies. They give them as little information as possible to work on, and there are probably at least a dozen other men involved after Williams who would be damn near impossible to track down…he wouldn’t find out anything we don’t already know,” Marcus explained, again. Why was it that he always had to explain things to this man?

“Oh, well damn,” Caeser grumbled, and looked disappointed. Not for long, however; soon his smile returned and he began to recollect some fond memories that only vaguely related to the subject at hand. “You know, it’s like hunting for gophers in the palace lawn, right? They’re there the whole time, you just can’t see them! Well, the trick is…” and he prattled on.

Marcus sat back in his chair and nodded thoughtfully from time to time. Julius Caeser IV, the 72-year-old emperor of Rome. He was primarily responsible for modern Rome’s wealth and power. Through cunning plans and conquests he led, Rome had turned into a world power in decades. A great man, no doubt about it, but…he was past his mental prime. His mind had deteriorated, and instead of a national leader, he came across as a nutty hick who belonged in a shack with no electricity or running water. That was why his Chief of Staff generally made most of the speeches these days…there was simply no telling what Caeser might do. Some moments he would be fine, others he would be a kook, and still others he would be a ruthless dictator.

“So that,” Caeser pounded his fist on the table for emphasis, “is how to catch yourself a gopher!”

“Indeed, fail-proof,” Marcus said, smiling and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was greatly relieved when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” called the emperor.

“Your Excellency, here are the reports on the American navy exercises being conducted in the West Ocean,” said the Chief of Military, Exti Vivictus. He slid a folder across the oak desk. In it were satellite photographs, intelligence reports, and an analysis of the mission.

“As you can see, it seems to be another one of their routine training exercises. Full carrier group, drone flights, and old ships for them to send to the bottom.”

Caeser just nodded, looking through the papers he had been given. When he had finished, he stood and turned to look out the window. Marcus and Exti exchanged nervous glances. That was what the old Emperor always did before he gave a speech to whatever unlucky cabinet member was in his office. Caeser gazed at the palace grounds, cleared his throat, and turned back to the two men.

“Son, I’d like to believe you, but things just don’t feel right. It’s the same feeling I got back in the Greek campaign of ’66 just before they started swarming all over the damn place…we drove them back, of course, but you know all that already. It’s a puzzle, and the picture I’m getting isn’t the one printed on the box. This spy activity, and now these so-called exercises…they’re about 50 miles closer to our shores than normal, if I’m correct. I think those Americans are up to something.”

General Vivictus, through an unspoken agreement, spoke first, “With all due respect, your Excellency, I believe you are mistaken. While it is true that the American naval exercises are a few miles closer than before, there have been no aggressive approaches. Their planes have stayed over international waters – no probing or harassment of our planes. Also, their search radars on their AEGIS cruisers have remained on a low power level, appropriate to the size of their exercise. Finally, this is the furthest deployment they have right now. If they were to try to, uh, invade us, they would need a far larger surface force to deploy ground troops. It would also be preceded by a more vigorous training course for their army. No such thing has occurred. Additionally, their British allies would also be more active. They are not.” Exti cleared his throat to signal that he was done.

“And their espionage activities are typical. We are attempting similar missions against them, as it has been for the past few years,” Marcus said, finishing up their gentle lecture.

Caeser eyed them both for a second. “Well…okay, I suppose you’re right,” and with that he sighed and gave a disappointed look past them, focusing somewhere in the distance beyond the wall.

Exti and Marcus took this to mean that they were dismissed. They stood up, shook hands with the emperor, whose thoughts still seemed to be elsewhere, and left the room. The two shared a troubled look in the hallway, and then headed towards their offices in opposite directions.

[Jumping Choya]

The Oval Office in the White House, Washington D.C.

“So, we won’t be getting our pictures of the Roman Titan-class ICBMs?” Lincoln asked, looking a little crestfallen.

“It doesn’t appear so. While Rome hasn’t made it public or said anything over diplomatic channels, I think that our agent has been discovered. There are some reports of an interesting arrest in Veil, and it seems to be more than your typical police-catch-a-robber deal,” said Thomas Simmons. He was the one who usually debriefed the President on intelligence operations. At least, those that the CIA deemed suitable for the President to know.

“And you think it was our guy?”

“That’s what the news reports indicate. Oh well, better luck next time, right?” Thomas’ attitude was that if something didn’t go right the first time, don’t worry about it and try again. A somewhat reckless attitude for something as important as foreign espionage, the President thought, but Tommy was a good advisor nonetheless.

An hour later, Lincoln was putting on his fancy suit in preparation for the night’s State of the Union address. He would cover the typical domestic and worldly topics. His speechwriters had put in some good parts about Rome.

“Caeser might not be too happy about it,” Lincoln chuckled. Everything he did seemed to make the old nut unhappy, prompting a phone call from the dictator to the President. Caeser probably didn’t know that Lincoln recorded the calls and later played them in Cabinet meetings for laughs.

It was such a shame, Lincoln thought, that despite Caesar’s oddities, he was a competent and powerful ruler of a country that had to be taken very seriously. Otherwise, the situation might have been funny.

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So, those are tonight's installments. All comments are appreciated.

Coming up, I'll introduce poor Bismarck, maybe a few other characters (yet to be decided). And after that, how about we get to some action?

Oh, by the way: although Caeser may seem crazy, I'd be careful not to underestimate him!