12-30-2013, 09:36 PM
It had been a long time since Jacques had set foot on CCD territory. As a lad, he had gotten to tag along with the old CEO and his crew during a few of their past business trips, but generally speaking members of Légion Première were often seen as possible terror threats by the various CCD law-enforcement agencies.
There once was a time when someone like himself wouldn't even be allowed into the ancient holy city, but as with so much else, that had changed under CCD jurisdiction, although one look at the news clearly illustrated that that change was not well received by some. Of course, fanatics would use anything as an excuse. That was one thing that hadn't changed about the Middle East. No shortage of fanatics and crazies.
Years spent in northern Africa had acclimatized him well to what he would encounter in the former Middle East, and as such his fine suit didn't have the deep sweat stains of most foreign businessmen. An impressive feat, considering the staff car of Légion Première, a refurbished and lovingly maintained 1941 Citroën Traction Avant, in a stylish (and heat absorbing) black, did not have air conditioning.
The car and it's pair of escort vehicles (unimaginative black SUVs) all sporting Moroccan license plates, pulled up to and were soon cleared into the CCD military base. It was an unusual place to have to go to fill out the proper paperwork, but in light of the local climate, it was less of a surprise. The military was playing a slightly more direct role in issuing work permits to private security companies. And Jacques needed those permits before he could finalize a pair of very lucrative contracts.
The three vehicles pulled to a stop, and Jacques swung his own door open and stepped out, adjusting the military-style collar of his white suit jacket, which was left casually unbuttoned. Eight men piled out of the two SUVs, each casually dressed but sporting older model Landwarriors and all with less then subtle body armour and chest rigs, with ballistic helmets and masks left on their seats. Their weapons were stored at the base check point's lockup for the time being, to be retrieved on their way back out.
"Kit down men, we shall be here a few hours."
Jacques walked over to the SUVs, but half way there turned on a heel and returned to his car, after one of the armoured men tossed him two bottles of cold water.
"Don't worry about us, Sir. We have A/C."
Provost Boipelo even went so far as to cup his hands and blow into them as if to try and warm them up. The men shared a laugh but shrugged out of their vests and armour anyway, before they were waved off to a nearby shaded area where they could wait.
Part way back to his staff car, he was joined by another one of his men who had been riding with him. A clerk, the man knew his numbers and how to do paperwork and administration well, making him an obvious choice to ride shotgun on this meeting. "Well, Caporal Ime, this should be very dry I fear. Here is to hoping you live up to your name, yes?"
The young clerk glanced at Jacques then smiled and nodded, tucking a briefcase under his arm and accepted one of the water bottles, "Of course, Sir. Patience is my virtue."
Jacques nodded and the two followed a junior CCD officer who had come out to meet them.
---
Three hours later, Jacques and Caporal Emi were led into the officer's mess, which was doubling as a VIP lounge. They were still being led around by the same junior officer, a man who seemed less then pleased with having been tasked with 'babysitting' civilians.
"Sous-Lieutenant Zhenya. Would you happen to know where a man can find a good cup of tea around here?"
Jacques glanced at his watch; the very one he had won in a poker game a few years ago, and probably worth more then the 2nd-Lieutenant earned in a year, and shared a nod with Caporal Emi. 1600hrs was a traditional time for tea and a snack.
The young Russian man managed to hold back any unprofessional displays of emotion, then indicated vaguely towards a coffee bar to one side of the mess, "There are tea bags and water there, sir. And it is 'Second Lieutenant,' not 'sous.'"
Jacques chuckled and gave the young man a clap on the shoulder, "Not everyone has given up the language of their birth, leytenant. And not all have embraced bagged tea."
He frowned at the cardboard boxes of generic store-bought teas that were provided, then glanced to Caporal Emi. "Luckily, we brought our own, yes?"
The African man smirked and set the briefcase down on a nearby table, and clicked it open to reveal a jar of proper black tea. "Unfortunately, Sir, I could not fit any proper cups. The Custody's demands of paperwork are quite extensive."
There once was a time when someone like himself wouldn't even be allowed into the ancient holy city, but as with so much else, that had changed under CCD jurisdiction, although one look at the news clearly illustrated that that change was not well received by some. Of course, fanatics would use anything as an excuse. That was one thing that hadn't changed about the Middle East. No shortage of fanatics and crazies.
Years spent in northern Africa had acclimatized him well to what he would encounter in the former Middle East, and as such his fine suit didn't have the deep sweat stains of most foreign businessmen. An impressive feat, considering the staff car of Légion Première, a refurbished and lovingly maintained 1941 Citroën Traction Avant, in a stylish (and heat absorbing) black, did not have air conditioning.
The car and it's pair of escort vehicles (unimaginative black SUVs) all sporting Moroccan license plates, pulled up to and were soon cleared into the CCD military base. It was an unusual place to have to go to fill out the proper paperwork, but in light of the local climate, it was less of a surprise. The military was playing a slightly more direct role in issuing work permits to private security companies. And Jacques needed those permits before he could finalize a pair of very lucrative contracts.
The three vehicles pulled to a stop, and Jacques swung his own door open and stepped out, adjusting the military-style collar of his white suit jacket, which was left casually unbuttoned. Eight men piled out of the two SUVs, each casually dressed but sporting older model Landwarriors and all with less then subtle body armour and chest rigs, with ballistic helmets and masks left on their seats. Their weapons were stored at the base check point's lockup for the time being, to be retrieved on their way back out.
"Kit down men, we shall be here a few hours."
Jacques walked over to the SUVs, but half way there turned on a heel and returned to his car, after one of the armoured men tossed him two bottles of cold water.
"Don't worry about us, Sir. We have A/C."
Provost Boipelo even went so far as to cup his hands and blow into them as if to try and warm them up. The men shared a laugh but shrugged out of their vests and armour anyway, before they were waved off to a nearby shaded area where they could wait.
Part way back to his staff car, he was joined by another one of his men who had been riding with him. A clerk, the man knew his numbers and how to do paperwork and administration well, making him an obvious choice to ride shotgun on this meeting. "Well, Caporal Ime, this should be very dry I fear. Here is to hoping you live up to your name, yes?"
The young clerk glanced at Jacques then smiled and nodded, tucking a briefcase under his arm and accepted one of the water bottles, "Of course, Sir. Patience is my virtue."
Jacques nodded and the two followed a junior CCD officer who had come out to meet them.
---
Three hours later, Jacques and Caporal Emi were led into the officer's mess, which was doubling as a VIP lounge. They were still being led around by the same junior officer, a man who seemed less then pleased with having been tasked with 'babysitting' civilians.
"Sous-Lieutenant Zhenya. Would you happen to know where a man can find a good cup of tea around here?"
Jacques glanced at his watch; the very one he had won in a poker game a few years ago, and probably worth more then the 2nd-Lieutenant earned in a year, and shared a nod with Caporal Emi. 1600hrs was a traditional time for tea and a snack.
The young Russian man managed to hold back any unprofessional displays of emotion, then indicated vaguely towards a coffee bar to one side of the mess, "There are tea bags and water there, sir. And it is 'Second Lieutenant,' not 'sous.'"
Jacques chuckled and gave the young man a clap on the shoulder, "Not everyone has given up the language of their birth, leytenant. And not all have embraced bagged tea."
He frowned at the cardboard boxes of generic store-bought teas that were provided, then glanced to Caporal Emi. "Luckily, we brought our own, yes?"
The African man smirked and set the briefcase down on a nearby table, and clicked it open to reveal a jar of proper black tea. "Unfortunately, Sir, I could not fit any proper cups. The Custody's demands of paperwork are quite extensive."