South Prioza- L’Iutol
This cover was Senya Funda, social security number 321-323-8-7824, black hair and deep navy blue eyes as typical Ozians look, and her complexion was fairer than most, for what she explains as Myrorian ancestry. However, the real Senya had maroon eyes, and instead of having Myrorian ancestry she just stayed inside too long due to work. This new assignment was a big break in her career at STIA, the Ozian intelligence agency. She was excited about this new cover about three months ago when she first assumed it, but now the job consumed her and dumped her as feces in a cesspool somewhere. Despite some pressure from her superiors, she decided not to become a mole of the target she was supposed to infiltrate, a Staii direship sponsored weapons and drug cartel. Instead she became competition, and she did so well for herself that she was noticed, receiving one of the famous “Let’s Chat” messages from her competition. Staii did one of two things with small times like her, integrated them or killed them. In reality she was flipping a coin here.
To the surprise of Senya, they let her choose the spot for the meeting. Instead of an area full of the most activity, she chose a wine bar by the beach with more subtle activity. Of the tourists the ones who were the most likely to understand any words that might be said were the people who listed on their resumes that they were strongly proficient in Ozian because they could order a beer with no trouble. Senya realized after sitting herself down at a table overlooking the white sandy beach of Prioza that her town outfit of a white blouse, jeans, and thick-rimmed glasses greatly contrasted with the tourists and other clients who looked ready to go to the beach.
The sun was as bright as ever with clear skies all around. It was a great day for relaxing and swimming for many tourists. As she waited for her informant she took more notes on the clients of the wine bar. Two tables from her, a couple and their three children, candidly speaking the subtle accent of Myrorian Inglish, were experiencing their first “legitimate” Ozian cuisine. Senya couldn’t help but smirk when one of the children tried the flat bread, his voice yelping an “EW!” after he spat it out onto his plate. A waitress came over with an ashtray and a menu, then spoke cheerfully in Ozian to her, “Welcome to Zelde’s! What will you have this afternoon?”
Senya responded in almost too natural Inglish, “some table wine and a plate of Zimmel please (a multi-olive mash with vegetables).”
The waitress made an even faker smile and responded in broken Inglish “Naturally friend.”
Senya removed a short rectangular zuavka cigar from her blouse pocket, then scratched herself a light with complimentary restaurant matches. The Myrorian family took notice of this as thick blue smoke rose up to through the ceiling of purposefully neglected roof boards. She sighed when she discovered that the cigar was too dry, and so put her mouth generously around the cigar so that her mouth tasted more of the sweet zuavka leaf to try to counteract its dry unpleasantness.
Another woman, obviously of Ozian descent, brushed by her in cargo shorts, a black tanktop, and a fish tattoo reaching across her shoulders. She took a seat at Senay’s table, her maroon eyes staring at her the whole time with dirty Ozian spilling out of her mouth, “Since ya look like those lost and innocent Christian women over-sucking phallic objects trying to get more than a 5 second orgasm. You must have a dry cigar, do not worry. I brought two," when she looked in her pockets she only pulled out one, "just kidding, only one."
“Oh well... How’d you know to look for me?”
"You’ve got a pretty mainland accent there, and I saw a mug shot of you before I got here, Senya Funda. Such a common name, and no matronymic. You’re a bastard child aren’t you? Your mother dumped her mistake on your father?” She chuckled something but noticed that Senya only seemed to roll her eye at her. The woman collected herself after some awkward chuckling and remarked, “Sorry. I’m Derya Burcula Sidik.”
“Ni-“
The waitress barged in with a bottle of wine and a glass with a plate of the olive mash, bread, and vegetables. She put down the glass as Senay was about to speak and poured one glass for her. “Here’s your wine and zimmel miss, “ then she noticed her new company, “Oh! You never said you were going to be accompanied by others. I’ll get an extra glass for your table wine.”
“Th-“
Now Derya interuped her, “So I’m going to make this simple, you have three choices, step out, join, or die. I’d recommend join, because we need some people like you.”
Senya blinked, was undercover work usually this easy? “I-…”
“Three hundred fifty untaxed g’s a year with travel expenses paid. You also have private health insurance, gym membership, and a great opportunity to open yourself culturally in a new country. Also you will have to learn a new language. Any questions?”
“Do I get to keep my life too?”
She snickered, “for now.”
Senya made a forced smile, then took a large gulp of her wine, “I see, what exactly am I doing?”
“We’re pursuing an old market that may have reopened.”
“Quit being vague, what for?”
Derya tapped her cheek, “Not entirely sure, but I believe it’s mostly arms, food, and medicine. I’m sure you’ll find other opportunities.”
Derya kept an unblinking gaze at Senya who arched her eyebrows, “And this is for…?”
“The Letonna black markets. My boss is convinced that another rebel uprising will consume the country again. We’ve lost contact with several of our old partners, and your job is to reestablish contacts and conduct business in the region.”
Senya tapped off a long ash from her cigar, “And if I refuse?”
“Look girlie, you’re small time. You sold some submachine guns to some punks and gave them some better deals than we did. You don’t understand the politics of doing such things, and you’re probably in the mindset that this market is competitive. It’s not. We rule this island’s streets and cops, and you don’t. We may not kill you, but you could get thrown in jail for a very long time. Besides, if you do a good job, maybe my boss will let you work somewhere less shitty.”
Senya sighed, establishing more of her ruse, “anyone specific I should be finding?”
The Myrorian family got up to escape the cloud of zuavka smoke. Derya answered her question, “since when do we differentiate which guns go to which gangs? They demand, we supply.”
Senya raised her eyebrows and took a deep puff of her zuavka to calm her nerves. After a moment of silence she asked, “When do I start?”
“Today,” Derya pushed a manila envelope to her, “Don’t worry about your lease, we already took care of it.”
The phrase ‘took care of it’ always made an unsettling feeling for Senya, and she wouldn’t be surprised if the landlord had a blue and purple face when she turned in her keys.
Derya rose up and dumped the rest of her portion of wine down without a wince, “Be at the West Docks at 10pm. Wear something comfortable.”
Senya sighed watching her leave. She finished off her glass of wine and fished out cash for the bill. She stood up and watched the shore from the bar while finishing off her cigar, then muttered, “I’ll miss you.” She tossed away the cigar then and glared at where it landed, "Fuck you."
