Men behind the shadows [1980's]

[Letonna]

"...Yeah I wouldn't worry about the 22-F forms, I'm going to fill them all out tomorrow, get them down to central processing. And as for the 33-R's, Daniel in accounting said he would see where those strange numbers came from, alright?"

A tall blond man was talking to another man. His hair was cut short, slicked back. The setting sun shined low through the window, casting a blood orange color in the room. The two pointed to various spread sheets and charts. They both wore business suits with maroon armbands, embezzled with the Ministry of Finance crest.
The two finished talking. As the other left, the tall blond man sat in his chair behind his desk. He put on a pair of reading glasses and began filling out a thick stack of papers. Outside his door, other office staff and ministry officials put on coats, grabbed brief cases, and filed out.

In no more than 10 minutes, the office was empty, and was dead silent. Finishing up his stack of forms, he paper clipped them and put them in an 'out' bin on his desk. He began to reach down to grab a briefcase near his leg when he saw a black figure fly by his office door. He froze in fear, staring at the entrance.

Not hearing or seeing anything, he reached down again to grab it. When he leaned back up, He saw a smiling man standing in his doorway. He was in a well tailored suit with an overcoat, holding a brown briefcase.

"Pardon the intrusion, but there was no secretary to show me in." He said.

"I'm sorry, but we closed at 5, you'll have to come back tomorrow if you have questions about your taxes."

"I'm not here about my taxes, I'm here to see you, Berin Jamford."

Berin got a cold siver in his spine.

"I'm sorry, but my office hours still end at five. You can set up an appointment tomorrow between the hours of 8 an-"

The man took a few steps forward, outstretched a hand, and put on a  warm inviting grin.

"I'm Gamon by the way, a pleasure."

Berin didn't return the hand shake, he just stared at the man with a nervous look.

"Why are you here?"

Gamon took a seat across from Berin, helping himself to a mint from a bowl. Once seated, he pointed to a family photo.

"Cute family." He said while swirling the mint around in his mouth.

"Thanks." Berin said, uncomfortably.

"Well, let's talk business shall we? I'm here to have a little talk with you about some naughty things you've done Berin. Upon digging through every form you've filled out in the past 6 years, I've found a few interesting things."

Berin's face went pale.

"Over the years, it seems very incrementally small amounts of funds have gone missing. Cents really. Just vanishing. Poof! Now this isn't necessarily illegal -YET-, it could be you're not very good at math, unless the form is approved by a separate department and declared official. A two party job. Janice in accounting right?"

Gamon reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled some Polaroid pictures.

"She hasn't been to work the past two days right? I hope she's alright." He said while sliding the pictures across the desk.

Berin picked up the pictures, but gasped and threw them back down on his desk, placing a hand over his mouth.

"What...What is this?!"

"It's the unfortunate fate of a stamp collector and book club member who decided to betray her country. The Ministry of finance has always been a difficult ministry to regulate. How can you trust men, men you don't even know, with your hard earned money? You can't. And the result is a bloated institution full of corruption and greed run by crooks and gamblers."

"Who.. who are you? What agency are you part of?"

Gamon leaned in close to the desk and to Berin, whispering.

"I'm many men. I'm above agency's, ministries, and laws. Even boarders. I come from a group of scholars, writers, lovers, good Samaritans, doctors, citizens, teachers, sons, daughters, little grandmothers. We right wrongs and set examples. And Berin, you are a wrong needing to be righted, and an example needing to be set."

Berin was breathing heavily, terrified.

"I...I'm protected under law. Innocent until proven guilty, right? I deserve a fair trial!"

Gamon places his brief case on his lap, opening it. Berin stared in horror as he heard clicking of metal.

"Where did the money go?"

"I..I don't know. It was just an account. I was just told to make drops into the account every week."

"Who told you to do that?"

"It was an anonymous letter. I got it at work one day. It gave me instructions, and said as long as I did it, my family wouldn't be hurt. It said if I told anyone I would be shot along with my family."

Gamon looked up from the brief case, and stared long into the eyes of Berin.

"Write down the account number."

Berin frantically grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled down the number, then handed it to Gamon.

"Do you have anything else you want to tell me?"

Berin nervously shook his head. Gamon shrugged.
 
"I was hoping you would beg like a pig, but I suppose that just means I can get home just that much quicker."

Gamon pulled a pistol with a silencer on it out from the briefcase, and pointed it at Berin. Berin ducked just as Gamon fired, getting him in his left arm.  He fell to the floor, and struggled to get up as Gamon walked to the other side of the desk.

"No, please no, I have a fam-"

Gamon fired the rest of the magazine into the begging Berin. Setting the gun on the desk, he wiped some blood off the phone on the desk, and picked it up. Dialing the number to the nearest police station, he waited for someone to pick up.

"Hello, I'm a janitor at the Ministry of Finance, and I'd like to report some strange noises I heard. Yes, they came from the 3rd floor. They kinda sounded like gun shots, but it could also be doors slamming, I'm not sure. I'd hurry over, there could be Ministry secrets they are getting into. Ok, thanks, bye."

Hanging up the phone, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a small business card, placing it next the body. The card was oyster shell white, with a royal crest and ID number and just the name 'Gamon.'
Humming a big band tune, he walked back in front of his desk, picked up his brief case, adjusted his tie, and made his way for the stairs.

Taking a maintenance exit into an alley, he walked to the bustling sidewalk, and merged with people walking on the streets. Stopping at a pay phone, he picked it and dialed a number he had memorized.

"It's me. Yeah it's done. I got an account number, but not much else. Have the police keep the death under wraps for a few hours, I don't want to raise any alarms with anyone before I get a change to track down the account. I'll be at Tango tomorrow with what I find out."

Slamming down the phone, he reached into a pocket to grab a wrinkled pack of cigarettes. Fishing one out, he lit it, then merged back into the crowd lumbering it's way down the side walk.

[Letonna]

A gristly sound of a pondering hand against 4 day stubble was all that could be heard on the streets at this hour. Gamon checked his watch, and adjusted his hat. He walked down the orange district of Letonnasburg. An infamous section of the city where, if one were to procure any sins of man, that would be where to find it. He passed some women of the night outside an underground club.

The orange district was often labeled a cancerous sore of the glorious Letonnasburg by new and rising politicians, however more senior politicians and elite call it ‘merely a squeaky joint in the smooth running Imperial machine.” Gamon knew all their dirty secrets. It was the only place one could reliably acquire illicit substances and even more illicit women. The Ministry of Internal Affairs looked the other way, typically because many of their own weekend in it’s greasy clutches.

Gamon stopped outside a door with pink florescent bulbs blinking around it. The bouncer gave him a dirty look. Reaching in his pocket, he handed him two 100 Let Bills. Stepping inside, Gamon hung his hat on a hook rack by the door. Smooth jazz played through the thick smoky air. Entering a large room with a bar and small stage, he walked to the bar.

   “Von Yeulmir.” Gamon said with a hint of irritability.

   “Who’s asking?” The bartender shot back.

   “The barrel of a gun or 200 Let, depending on who you choose to talk to.”

The bartender stuck his hand out, and Gamon threw two 100 Let bills in it.

   “The suite.”

Gamon straightened his tie. He pulled back a heavy curtain of beads on the far side of the big room, leading into a small hallway. A red light and a caustic aroma of zuavka emanated from the door. Gamon pulled back his overcoat and made sure the safety was off on his pistols.  At the end of a hallway, he pulled back another curtain of beads, and saw 4 older Letonese men, with a party of young, scantily clad women, some looking as young as 18. They noticed him standing at the door.

“What?! Where’s the drinks?! It’s been like 10 minutes!” An old, white haired Letonese man yelled.

“Cheif Finance Officer Delrin Von Yeulmir, Rank 6. I need to ask you some questions. “

“What? What is the MIA doing questioning me at this hour?! I swear I’m only here to see some old friends.” He said said, gesturing to the other old Letonese men sitting on the red fuzzy sofa.

“I’m not MIA. I need you to explain why you authorized clearance of Ministry money in and out of this account without the consent of Minister Teumouwer.”

Gamon handed him a sheet of paper with transactions dating back months on it.
“What?! How’d you get this?! Was it you who killed Ber-”

“I take that as a yes then.”

The young women and other men had a unsettled look on their faces as they detected the situation going in an uncomfortable direction.

“Wha-What? So what? What does it matter? The money was going to some undercover agents if you must know. That’s why it was so shady. You know the Ministry of Justice is looking for you? I’d be runnin’ if I were you boy.”

“I appreciate the warning, but I run from no one because no one knows to chase me. Those funds didn’t go to any agents. If I had a use for money, I’d have all I ever wanted. No, that money was going somewhere else. I warn you sir, I’m not one to be tempted or baited. You will tell me now, or you’ll know the full extent of the dark side of the Empire.”

Delrin had a horrified look on his face. He grabbed the piece of paper Gamon had given him and write down an address and a phone number.

“It’s a revolution cell in Ingsfaulm. You’ll know them as the Eagle’s Plight. They spread revolutionary supplies and messages to the disenfranchised in western Letonna.”

“And by disenfranchised you mean Neustrians, and by Supplies you mean propaganda and weapons.”

Gamon spit on the ground next to the man. He turned around and hung his head low. He fished out his pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, but threw them on the ground upon discovering they were empty.
   
   “Fuckin-.....Anyone got a smoke?” He said.

One of the old men reached into a pocket and produced a small box of Imperial Menthol's, and handed him one. Gamon lighted it, savoring the sensation.

   “I always liked Imperials, they’re expensive, but they don’t have all the filler they put in the common folks cigarette.”

Gamon took another half minute to enjoy the cigarette, all while the men and women of the room exchanged hidden fearful glances.

Gamon put the cigarette in his mouth, freeing his right hand, and with a casual fluid motion reached on his right side and pulled his Imperial N-43 pistol and began firing wildly at the group of people.

 First fell Delrin, and soon after the other Letonese men as well as a few of the women. The rest of the group cowered on the ground, begging for mercy. Gamon reached into an inside pocket and pulled some medium sized wire cutters. He walked to the gas heater on the wall, cutting the copper tube channeling the propane to it. He then walked to the door, threw his cigarette on the floor near the heater, then wend down the hallway once more.

An angry bouncer was running towards him, but with a swift motion of his arm, a single round knocked him down. Gamon walked up to the bar. The bartender had his arms up and shook with nervousness.

   “After I leave, call the cops. Give them my card.” He said, sliding a oyster shell white business card to the man.

He adjusted his coat, grabbed his hat from the wall, and began to make his way down the dark wet streets of the red district.