This story is part of "Project 1947", which is part of the Basilicus project.

Cooperative: This story is coordinated by Laveaux. It is open to any new writers with characters alive during the year 1947. The coordinator asks that any writers that do join the story, complete a character description in accordance with this article. Note that writers can only write for their characters, the coordinator will write for all other characters and events. Use the talk page if you have questions or suggestions.

There are no current writers.

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 4:58 pm

The winter night is overcast over the city of London. Deep charcoal washes blackness like soiled feathers. Cold and wet hair sits over the city cloaking windows with ice, frost, and snow from a recent fall. The darkness is still, despite the festivities reaching their New Years Eve climax. The millions left homeless from the war have little to celebrate, and those that managed to survive have little to celebrate with. The holiday marks another year of destitution, poverty, and struggle.

One of the only places seeming to ignore the devastation of London, the pubs and clubs at Kensington Market have opened doors, patrons pouring out with booze of all kinds, and lights lining the snow-colored street. Shouts and hollers echo through the streets as the New Year turns. The drunk and celebrated fall into the streets like collapsing buildings. Jazz trickles through the air while merchants and women work the crowd.

Benecio Villarreal del So�ador stumbled into the lively parts of the city quite by accident. Accompanied only by his backpack and dressed in denim and cotton, he had only recently tied up his hair with a bandanna and cracked open imported taquila.

Like pinche piss in this ciudad...

Its flavor wrenched through his throat, but having been long ago inebriated it didn't bother him as much. Casting faded black eyes into the crowd of Kensington Market it only now occurred to him that it was New Years.

Another year and Alice no closer to being found.

The thought drove a spike deep inside and in response he threw the tequila onto the ground. Stumbling forward he marched into the nearest pub to refill.

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 7:00 pm

Benecio was probably harder on the eyes than he thought, and staggering much more than he thought too. Nonetheless, even the war had brought many people of many different nationalites to the this island, a mexican will always stand out.

The drunken sod probably didn't even notice he was being followed, but perhaps heard the talk behind him.

"He's dead, I say, I'll wager the rest of the nights drinks on it." One voice said.

"Then I am seeing a ghost, you arse, I tell you that is him. You saw him once, I've seen him a dozen or more times, though I doubt he would remember me...because I suppose I never spoke to him. But it's him."

There was silence for a bit, "I don't know if I want to approach him though, probably armed...violent folks across the pond."

The first voice chimed in, "Fine, go talk with him."

Soon, Benecio found he was walking abreast to someone he did not know, "Villarreal? That you bloke?" He asked of Benecio. "Oh, he's piss drunk." He shot back to the other fellow. "C'mon fellow, speak up is it--"

The smoke from the man's cigarettes made it hard for Benecio to breathe, and the cherry of the cigarette bobbing up and down with every word was enough to make Benecio dizzy. Soon, his legs felt like jello, and the world started to blink out.

"Ah, hell, he is going down, give me a hand."

"But where we gonna take 'em."

"Just shut up and we'll--"

That would be the last thing that Benecio would hear for awhile.

Well, he wasn't fully awake yet, but he knew he was laying some place he had never been before. Still couldn't quite open his eyes. A mixture of booze of and cigarette scents filled the air, and it was hard to tell what was Benecio's and it what wasn't.

Finally, he could open his eyes.

He was in a fair-sized flat, lying on a rather neat bed, a bed lamp was dimly light next him, but that still pist his eyes off. Then came that feeling that one wasn't alone in a room, and as he sat up. A rather youngish looking man, just passing boyhood watched him wide-eyed.


  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 7:19 pm

Benecio had no idea how far he'd gone until he passed out. The world swimming into a darkened haze of insobriety. Taquila clenching his lungs and cutting off his vision. The world spun around him and wrapped his mind in a velvet nausea until he collapsed into darkness.

It was not the first time he'd passed out. A frequent occurence, in fact. The world seemed intolerable without the numbness of his native drink. Sobriety brought memories. Bombshells. Blood. The wrenching of his heart.

She had an innocent smile but murderer's eyes. Delicate brown hair and fair skin, but sharp features. Never soft. Never was she soft.

Distantly serene perhaps. If not completely detached.

That was why he loved her.

Light burned onto his mind searing his subconsciousness. Easing into reality like he was being pulled through aching mud, he managed to open his eyes. Squinting and flinching from the light, he looked at the unfamiliar face.

The world spun once again, now that he had his bearing. Holding vomit down and closing his eyes in response to pounding dehydration he remained still for a moment.

It was not the first time he awoke in a place unfamiliar.

Keeping his eyes closed he responded only to the familiar sound of his surname.


Saying more may have released the nausea onto the floor.

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 9:21 pm

As soon as the young man, had heard the answer, he ran off, and apparently sprinted up some stairs, not taking any precautions to be quiet.

"That's great, yes, if you could just jump from stair to stair, that would be great." Said a groggy english accented voice to his left. "Righto, so...where am I?" He was clearly talking to himself.

Next were much slower, and thankfully quiet steps, coming down the stairs.

If Benecio could focus his eyes, he could see it was a rather tall, American Marine, dressed to the nine in his Class A's. He carried a coffee cup and a muffin.

He sat next to Benecio on a bedside chair and looked at him only breifly while he unwrapped the muffin. Setting the two food items on the stand by the lamp.

"Benecio? You want the lamp on or off? Anyways, eat that and drink that. It would be nice if you were sober. It would also be nice if you could tell us what Alice is doing. She's off the reservation so to speak--drink the coffee."

The other man that was also clearly drunk, stuck his head up, "Can I have some coffee."

"Shut the hell up ya, red."

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 9:48 pm

The Mexican scowled at the intruding voice in his pounding skull. Taking only the quickest glances before shutting his eyes, he absorbed the man.

American. Marine.

Was the war over?

Where was he? When was he?

The echo of the word "Benecio" entered his mind.

"Me llamo So�ador. . . they don't call me Benecio."

They did in the military. He'd lost the name So�ador when he left Mexico. Confused on the time, the date and the place, he could do nothing but accept the coffee and mutter "gracious" through a groan.

He perked up at her name. It rolled off the man's lips so matter-of-factly. The American had no concept ... no idea.

"... we were to marry ..." he said, struggling to pull English from his memory.

The world caught up and the booze left with it. His eyes snapped open. Rage overcame him as he realized the situation. This man knew what happened. The Americans had her!

He threw the coffee against the wall and stood, stumbling to a fighting stance.

"Give her to me!"

Without a pause he added, "Give her to me, pinche gringo! Ahora!"

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 10:22 pm

The American hardly moved when Benecio went into his rage, in fact, he seemed to be waiting for something.

Nobody, has her So�ador. Brace yourself, buddy, you about to empty your stomach."

It was only seconds later, that Benecio would do exactly that. The sick smell of booze and stomach acid rushed into the room. The thought of poision might have came into Benecio's mind, but it was the coffee some additive to make one empty there stomach.

The marine walked up behind Benecio and coughed, and then spoke in Spanish, "No one has her," he repeated, "but the british goverment is rather interested in where and what she is doing, all by herself. Two teams, we are part of one: locate and relay. The other one, will do the first, but not the second my friend. You understand?"

The marine lit a cigarette and wondered across the room, "I don't know a damn thing about her, and hardly anything about you. I was lent to the British goverment to find her, that's what I do, and that's all I do. So, if you want your misses back, I think you should calm down, and start telling me everything, up until last contact."

"We don't want to fail on this, if we do, Team Juilette gets there chance. And that isn't the military alphabet, that's Shakespear. Ever read it? Juliette doesn't turn out to well in the end."

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Thu Mar 24, 2005 6:04 pm

The nature of his rage was quickly overcome by the onslaught of vomit. Hearing only remnants of the Marine's words before he began heaving onto the floor, he caught only the necessary remark. They didn't have her. He'd overreacted. Two years of nipping at the governments like an annoying dog, turning into blind corners, and finding nothing but redirection culminated into rage at nothing. Anger at only the idea of resolution.

Resolution was then handed to him. In military terms. The verbiage ringing instinctively in his drunken mind. The structure of the military engrains itself into ones mental cavity like a rash under skin and no amount of scratching helps. It would always be there.

Talk of missions and directives snapped that core of training inside Benecio and he sat up straight, listening carefully, absorbing the words in his dislodged state.

Forgetting that the man was speaking Spanish, he continued in broken English out of habit, "The governments do not care. I've spoken to them and talked and talked.... why does England care about this?"

The question was rhetorical.

"Alicia. It was before the war at Normandy. She was sent on orders of England to re... como se dice...reconnaissance. The whole team was gone and the governments, all of the governments, said nothing. Absolumente nada. I have looked for her ever since."

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Thu Mar 24, 2005 10:05 pm

The marine listened to Benecio and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the small table, "Well," He said patiently working on match after match, "you're honest. I was rather hoping so."

The marine sat forward on his chair, his forearms ontop of his this thighs, "Mmm, my name is Steven Andes." He exhaled slowly through his nose. "And I really don't think the goverments care about Alice--sure you know that. They care more about what she's doing, and who might percieve it in the name of England. That make more sense, now? If she is AWOL--absent without leave--just left. Then, hell, she might think the war is not even over--depending how deep she is, and where she is."

"Tell her type of work, a signature of hers, and I might be able to tell you if she has been picked up on."

He sat back and enjoyed his cigarette for a moment, "Oh, sorry about the vomit, but I have this crazy idea, things might be easier if you are sober."

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Thu Mar 24, 2005 10:40 pm

His head still swam, but the vomit released toxins that were about to go to work. The spinning slowed and only pounds echoed through his head. The pounding would not stop until he had some water.

He began to orient himself, focusing on the marine and hearing his words. Calm, but stern. He'd acted like a fool. But not a stupid one. Something far worst, a desperate one.

He snapped his fingers toward the Marine, gesturing to his cigarette.

"Por favor", he said and rubbed his fingers together.

Running his hand through greasy unwashed hair he realized that has appearance must have been pathetic. He collected his thoughts, ran through old memories and ignored the onslaught of obssessive pain that seeped into his consciousness.

"She was dirty, you know," he said in English, "did murders for the government. We all did. It was ... eh... black operations. She used the same method the whole crew did and the governments know this."

He waited for a cigarrette before proceeding.

"When we had a target, we'd set them up in a public place... a cantina... or parque. If we cannot get a clear shot we take them up close with a knife. Either way, we leave the target as if he is sleeping, you see? It is public so that the enemy gets the message.

"She always left lipstick. On the cheek... the shirt. Somewhere."

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Sat Mar 26, 2005 6:25 pm

Steven handed Benecio a cigarette, and light it for him. Then, he finally turned his attention towards the other fellow in the room, also drunk, but not nearly as drunk as Benecio still was.

Steven took off the constricting outer coat of his uniform, but didn't stop there, he went down right to his undershirt. He streched a little, and then reached down into his pocket and pulled out a picture. He walked over to him slowly, and probably for the first time, Benecio would notice the man was restrained.

"You saw you saw Alice Weeks, Peter? And doing her job?"

The man on the bed propped his head up, "Yes, I did."

Steven pushed the picture into the mans face, "This woman, you saw, this woman, Alice Weeks."

"Yep, like I said, I saw her."

Steven flashed the picture to Benecio, "Is this Alice?"

The picture was faded, but it was clearly not Alice, at least not his Alice, in fact, this woman looked more Italian than anything else.

Before Benecio could answer, he pulled the picture away, and looked at the man tied to the bed, pulling out a pocket knife.

He started cutting the restraints of the man.

"See, I told you I was telling the truth."

The man stood he was of average size, a bit pale, but probably understandable.

"Sorry, bub, that isn't Alice."

With an almost scary speed, Steven took the mans arm by the elbow, and shoved it up the mans back, there was a loud crack, and a grunt from the man.

"I think you broke my arm."

"Stop fussing, it's not broke. I promised you I wouldn't break it." He guided the man around the room, pushing him into the moonlight that was drifting through the window.

Then without warning, Steven threw the man out the closed window. By the sound of the yell they must have been three stories up.

Steven walked towards the window, and shook his head, "That's a damn mess. I'll be cleaning that glass up forever."

"C'mon Benecio, let get a drink, and try figure this out."

Steve led Benecio down a flight of stairs and into the streets, just across the street was a small but packed pub.

"So, the man that Ray, the guy that fell out the window saw, was killed with a pistol close up. Powered burns on his forehead, no lipstick, and not the same face."

Steven led them into a non-desript club, and sat at a barstool, patting at the one next to him. "But, the lipstick lead, I have heard two of, one...all the way in Cairo, and one in Paris. Think she would prefer one to the other."

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Sun Mar 27, 2005 12:10 am

Benecio watched passively, enjoying the smoke and admiring the work of the marine. Fury began welling up inside at the prospect that this man knew Alice but was quickly put out by viewing the photograph.

Although surprised at the sudden defenestration of the other drunk man, he was also numb to the act. Not quite alert enough to digest the action and emotionless enough to not react, he simply allowed the American to do his job.

He calmly accompanied his new associate into the pub and muttered only "Is that an Americana way of questioning?"

Taking a seat next to Steven he gave the question a thought, taking a deep drag of the cigarette.

"Cairo. She would go their first. She spoke of Egypt and hated France."


"Her last mission was in France. Normandy."

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Mon Mar 28, 2005 10:01 pm

Steven nodded as he listened to Benecio, "Lot of peoples last mission was in Normandy. My brother, an old school mate--" he shook his head, "we all got our stories."

He laughed suddenly, "Well, the questioning was done. I was just never properly trained on what to do afterwards."

The marine ordered a beer, though he only sipped on it lightly, "She didn't like France, well, I'm starting to like her already."

Behind them a drunk buch of hooligans started to make some comments just loud enough to be heard, about the 'Yankee'.

"Yes, yank, ever so sorry, that we didn't send you an invitation earlier. Completely our fault and how rude of us, English gents."

Steven smirked slightly to Benecio before just shaking his head.

"If it would have taken you lasses any longer to take your skirt off, I'd be speaking German right now."

"Is that a thanks?" Steven he asked Benecio.

Finally one walked up behind Steven, and grabbed his shoulder and shooke it, somewhat brashly, "Hey listen, to me."

With a sigh, Steven put down his beer, then quickly grabbed the arm on his shoulder, and sprung up and twisted it over. The drunk could only react by going with the twist and falling to the ground.

Then the the situation got a slightly out of hand. As a mug whizzed between Benecio and Steven.

Steven quickly left the man on the ground, and went to the man tossing the mug. The drunken Englishmen took a broadswing, to broad and slow for the sober marine who almost plucked it out of the air, before head-butting the poor bastard, then giving him stout kick to the midsection.

As he did a peice of paper drifted like a lift onto the pub floor.

The first man that Steven quickly dispatched had grabbed a glass was heading for Steven glass raised to strike.

During that time, some random man, with a darker complexion picked it up and looked at it, probably hoping it was some money. But then he smiled, "Ah, Josephine. Beautiful woman."

However, the picture that laid on the ground for just breif second was spotted by Benecio.


  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Thu Mar 31, 2005 1:12 pm

Benecio was humored by the American's banter. The last few years in England made him crazy. There was none of the American frankness here, no honesty. People hid emotions and intentions like it were a family fortune. In Mexico, there was never a doubt on what someone was thinking. No arbitrary politeness, obsolete customs or silly prejudices. Sitting with an American at last was a breath of fresh air.

He decided to finally involved himself after the mug was thrown. He could use a good brawl to put his spirit back into check, if it were temporary. He was about to dispatch an oncoming Brit with a right hook, but then noticed the photograph.

He then changed his target from the Brit to the dark haired man. A solid punch to his nose followed up with tackling force, shoving his knee into the man's gut. After pinned, his questions would start.

"How do you know this woman??"

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Sat Apr 02, 2005 8:00 pm

A knee in the gut wouldn�t be the best way to get answers out of this fellow. Now, that Benecio was close enough to the olive-hued skin of the man, who could see the man was older, not elderly by any means, but aging.

Though he did raise his head from the floor, and try to gasp something, �Pah-- �purt.� He struggled to get out, it didn�t make much since.

Then there was the matter of the first man, which Steven had introduced to the floor, his glass now went from being ready to strike, to shattering over the marines head. There was a moment Steven had looked dumbfounded, mixed with a look in his eyes which almost screamed to the room �How dare you?� Instinctively the marine, cocked a blind elbow back behind him, and it hit the aggressive Englishmen square in the nose, sending him spiraling away, holding his face.

Steven light touched the back of his head where he had been struck and cringed slightly, �Son of a bitch, now I am probably going to have to kick all you�ah damn.�

It was then in which Steven was bowled over by four burly men, knocking him to the floor, though doing nothing more than that. When finally they had a good grip on him, they picked him up and tossed him out into the street.

The man with the dark complexion was about to try speak again, when the same four men made there way back, and smothered both of them. Three of them restrained Benecio and tossed him unceremoniously onto his tailbone into the street next to Steven, while the other man was a little easier on the aging fellow, just giving him a stern shove into the street.

�Thanks for having my back, in there, I owe you one.� Steven said sitting up still assessing his wound, though his tone was actually sardonic.

The man who said he spotted Alice, simply straightened his clothes, though he made no move to escape, �Passports, I help certain people, attain them�nine in her case, nine in nine days. Now, can I leave, or would you like to ask more questions? I can lay myself down this time if you prefer, though I could do without the knee.�

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Tue Apr 05, 2005 12:20 pm

Benecio took the ejection in stride, trying not to physically grimace when colliding with the sidewalk. He stood, gathering his wits and escalating to sobriety. He knew he was getting sober because suddenly the depression sunk in. The dark head of loneliness peered up from the clouds of liquor and he began to remember.

She would often laugh at times when she shouldn't. Mi amor...

Benecio laughed. For Alice. She would have cracked up at the sight of him. He accepted the marine's tone, although he didn't feel it necessary to explain anything. He didn't have the man's back for one reason alone and that reason was still standing before him.

Listening to the man, he calculated the ramifications. Was she running from something?

Allowing his laugh to proceed he clasped a friendly hand on the olive-skinned man's shoulder.

"I owe this man tequila," he jabbed the marine with his elbow, "Quieres tequila? We will talk over British piss water."

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Fri Apr 15, 2005 11:19 pm

"Come, come, it is odd, but I somehow came across a bottle tequila a few days ago. I do not drink it, so I do not know why it is at my house." The link to Alice said as he made his way down the street, a bit of a limp in his walk. "My name is Rashidi, I brought my wife with me here to England with fear that of getting caught up on the African front, and instead, I took us right into the Third Reich's cross hairs. Come, along, my wife will patch your american friend up, she is an excellent nurse."

Rashidi took them to a flat, which was not far away, and could be seen from one of the windows where Benecio was first taken--if he could remember that.

"Thanks," Steven said, "but we don't want to be a burden, you are being a great help already."

"Oh, I will be asking you a favor too." He said with a smug smile.

Going up a small flight of stairs he led them to inside his humble abode, it wasn't large, but then, it seemed it was just him and his wife. He went to a closed door that was across the main room of the flat, and tapped on the door.

"Nathifa," He said through the door, "I am sorry to wake you darling, but there is man in need of some slight medical attention."

"You can have a seat in the kitchen." He said to Steven, and then turned to Benecio, "You come with me, I have a small study, where I do my work."

Rashidi led him to a door that was on the same wall as his bedroom, but at the other end of the flat, he opened it and it was seemingly just a closet but he bent down, and removed a discolored panel of the wall, making a crawl space. Going through there was a very cramped hideaway, only big enough for a desk and a chair, and little more. Benecio would need to stand just there would be enough room. It was however, well-lit, from a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

"I keep a list of the work I have done, it can be my only leverage to keep what I do a secret--keep those I help from talking."

He reached into the a drawer and pulled out a bottle of tequilia, an average priced bottle nothing special about it.

"She was here about a week ago, as I said, don't know how she heard about me. Nine passports she wanted, not that it takes me long to do now, I have gotten quite the hang of it. Only odd part was she wanted them made in a certain order, and she demanded she get to pick the names. I don't know...there is no way she could use all of them in time anyways."

He opened a book on the desk, and pointed to a large entry. "There, these are what she wanted."

He showed Bencio the entry:

     Josephine to France
     Ophelia to Denmark
     Anna to the United States
     Niolette to Egypt
     Ophelia to Germany
     Francine to Austrialia
     Anna to Canada
     Rachel to Russia
     Christine to Mexico

"I don't know if this helps, but you can keep the bottle."

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Mon Apr 18, 2005 3:41 pm

The weight of sobriety was now fully on the shoulders of Benecio. His mind picked up each painful detail of their walk into the home. He could sense the smells and sounds of the city around him, the perpetual stagnating sewage beneath the streets, the uncollected garbage from the night, his own night of drukenness.

He followed the strange man into the office. All the colors and sounds pounding his dehydrated mind into sickness. Stabilizing his stature, he gratefully took the tequila and washed his stomach with the soothing nectar.

Hair of the dog that bit you.

The words in the man's book deflected before finally settling into his mind.

She is running. But from what?

He cocked his head.

France, Denmark, US, Egypt, Germany, Australia, Canada, Russia . . . Mexico.

It had only been one week. She must have been in Paris. And no, she wasn't running. She was collecting. Mexico was her final destination, where she assumed Benecio would be.

Taking a moment to commit the names and places to memory, Benecio smiled at the man.

"I owe you a great debt. What is this favor you ask?"

He passed the tequila to him.

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Sat Apr 30, 2005 11:44 am

Rashidi raised a finger as if to interject, "I want to tell you something friend, a poin that it is very simple to understand. My passports can be used safely for only three weeks to one month at the most. It is why I am surprised she bought so many. Some who wish to cover their trails, they buy three or four, but nine is I have not heard of, except for a few families of three."

Rashidi, sniffed, the tequila, and gave a small cringe, then continued to speak, "I have certain friends that will over look things for a bit, however, at the end of the month, they are checked over, and the bad passports get weeded out. So, each passport is only good for at the most one month. I am always willing to try to make arrangement, but Josephine did not ask for any."

Not long after Rashidi had explained to Benecio how the passports are cycled through, uneven sounding steps made there way towards the little hidden workshop. It was Steven gingerly holding cold compress to his head, "Your wife is good nurse...I think. I can honesntly say I didn't feel a thing beyond the pain I was already in. She gave me a few pills for that." He produced one of the forementioned pills and placed it in his mouth, and sipped on a coffee cup, "No offense, by any means, but I'm afriad I'm not to big on this coffee-tea hybrid."

Rashidi nodded, as if he expected so much, and waved the bottle of tequila at Steven for a trade, which they gladly did. "Ah, yes, here we go." The marine took a long pull off the bottle. His eye had a little twitch to it as he finished his chug. He looked at the bottle with a little curosity. "I think there is something behind this label." He took out a pocket knife, and cut around a bulging square, that Benecio probably wondered why hadn't detected it.

As cut open the label and pulled free what looked to be a light folded piece of paper, wrinkled now, from Steven's large chug.

Steven opened it, and open his eyes wide and held it away from him, underneath the light.

The olived-skinned man started to interject, as to make sure he wasn't forgotten, "The favor I ask, is that you watch over my flat for a few nights--if you could, there are people snooping around my building, once they broke into my home."

"Is that what happened to your wife's eye?" Steven asked flatly.

"Yes, she came home a little to early one day."

"I think I can take care of that, why don't you are wife stay at hotel for now though." Steven ignored the piece of paper for a moment, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. A large bunch of bills, several of which he gave to Rashidi. "At least for your trouble." Steven, then as if remembering the note as an after thought. "Oh, yes, sorry Benecio, this is for you." He said handing the small piece of paper to the Mexican.

Steven waivered a bit, and decided to do away with compress on his head as he leaned over the table, looking over the ledger, he tilted his head, and finally spoke, "Who is Joan?

Raashidi looked at Steven, and shook his head, "Pardon?"

Steven shook his head, and then brashly put his hand over the ledger, covering everything but the first letter of everyone of Alice's aliases. What stuck out practically slapped Benecio in the face:




The crumpled not Bencio recieved read as follows:

B.V.D.S There is a difference between being rescued or being in need of a little help. You know I do not need rescuing, but I would like some help. I hate my countrymen, like only one other could. A.W

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Thu May 05, 2005 4:39 pm

The spent Mexican hung onto his new colleague's words, absorbing them. Nine countries in one month. It sounded more like a military strategy then a mere cat and mouse game. There were exchanges being made. Contacts prearranged at each location. A broad range of backgrounds and affinities. Could it be she was assembling a crew?

He thought it over and after the tequila was refused he pulled more and passed it onto the American. Relaxing in complacent thought he was jarred by the acronym of the aliases.

...a notorious female enemy of England...?

It was the note that sealed it.

She is declaring war on the United Kingdom.

The Black Ops in him kept his mouth shut, even though these two men could be trusted. He hardly acknowledge their end of the bargain except to simply not go anywhere.

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Wed May 11, 2005 12:56 am

Steve was not done, he picked up the book and walked out of the hidden closet area and into the living room, "Mmm...Eddie Polanski, a fellow I worked with more hate for the Nazis then ten men combined, helps that he is jewish and orginally from Poland. Also, fluent in french, and could dig skeltons out of a saints closet. Going to France to, wow, what a coincidence. Seems she is gathering..."

Steven trailed off as he looked out the window, as before, they were close to the bar, which was also close to the flat where Benecio awoke.

The din of New Years celebration could still be heard, but so could the closing of three car doors, and when Steven could see no car until the doors where closed, it was driving with it's lights out.

Steven cocked his head, waved Benecio to come to the him, he whispered in spanish, "Those are hitmen, if I have ever seen them." Obvious why he now choose to speak in spanish, though the reasons would be understood soon enough.

He gave a quick look out the windows, to the building he took Benecio, "Rashidi, do you have a gun?"

"Yes, but I--"

"Good, don't think about using it." He turned to Benecio. "I have a feeling you are armed, but if not, use Rashidi's."

Rashidi had already, returned from his workspace with a pistol.

"This seem odd, but I have to leave, but I'll be keeping an eye on you, so to speak. Leave this door slightly open when I leave. Rashidi, take your wife and get into your work space--lock yourselves in tight. Benecio, go into there bedroom, leave the door cracked ...then there be a signal. You'll have just a second to do what you do, two more after that, before I can help again."

With those quick and simple instructions, Steven left the flat with a burst of speed.

The marine took another door out into the streets, the man ran as if hell was chasing him, not franticly, but with blinding speed and great grace.

As Benecio took his position, Steven meanwhile was bounding up stairs three at a time.

Steven, was indeed a marine, it was obvious when he wanted it too be, but yet there was something more to him. What type of marine is sent to find a missing English black ops agent?

Meanwhile, Benecio could hear heavy footsteps, one by one three men in heavy coats slowly came through the door, though just standing there looking around. They spotted the open door.

It was hard to tell what came next, a large boom or its result.

The first of the three men did not even have a chance, his head looking as if it exploded, the second two men instinctively turned towards the direction of the sound, of sniper rifle and broken glass there backs to Benecio.

A signal if there ever was one.

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Fri May 27, 2005 8:42 am

Edward Polanski. Even in his slight inebriation, Benecio took a brief moment to commit the name to memory. Undoubtedly he would need to know him later. The Mexican's dark eyes spiked at Steven as he spoke his thoughts outloud.

Don't say what you are thinking...

Relieved the American didn't vocally disclose Alice's likely motive, he relaxed for a moment only until he learned there were hitmen outside. Indeed Benecio did have two revolvers, but he took Rashidi's gun anyway. There was no use in wasting his ammo, or revealing the nature of his armament.

Waiting for the signal, Benecio's old life came rushing back. It was all too familiar and one he'd so completely pushed into his subconscious. Kissing his rosary, he pulled out another pistol. He always worked better double-fisted.

Not hesitating, war instincts taking over, and familiarity from dozens of Black Ops missions, Benecio took flight. Taking a sidways charge, he extend his primary hand forward and then left his left hand back. Running this way allowed for the sniper behind him to still take aim without danger of hitting his back. A worst case scenario would strike his shoulder rather harmlessly.

He fired both weapons, aiming both of them at one target at a time. One pistol aimed high, the other low. His expectation was that a good shot would land in the target's head, but if not the secondary shot would at least knock the target over. Three blasts on one target and then three on the other. Six seconds and then he would withdraw his charge pivoting against a wall to avoid a reactionary attack.

  • Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Fri Jun 17, 2005 8:47 am

Before the man with the fragmented head hit the floor Benecio had come clear of his cover.

Steven had his crosshair trained on the other two men as they looked almost directly at him--it would have made a nice photo oppurtunity--but he held fast on the trigger, knowing that Benecio was 'danger close' and had the element of surprise.

Benecio, however, would be the only one to appreciate his surprise, as the only time there was for reaction for the remaining two thugs was a slight turn of the shoulders by the first one Benecio took aim at.

That man would never even get to lay eyes on the one that would hand him his demise, as three bullets entered his back, but only one of the three fired at his head made contact, hitting him just above the ear as he had his profile facing Benecio.

As that thug dropped to the groud, the second had almost fully turned around, in fact he reacted fast enough to even be able to start to raise his own pistol, but thats the all the farther he would get, as three bullets went into his torso, none of those shots truly lethal, but two of the shots aimed at his head found their home in the man's forehead, the third bullet entering the wall, as it was fired as the man already dropping.

Benecio again took cover, but there would be no need that he could see. There was complete silence from Rashidi and his wife, or at least, the sounds of the bullets were still too loud for Benecio to hear them.

Soon, the all that was left of the violent storm was the eerie calm that remain afterwards, and a ringing in Benecio's ears. Oddly it was a ringing at intervals.

Well, actually it wasn't so odd, it was the phone.

It didn't cease to ring, and the silence of gunfire, and the long wait eventually lead to Rashidi poking his head out from his spot of safety.

"Should I answer the phone?" He said looking at Benecio. "I--I am going to answer it." Rashidi picked up the reciever and put it too his ear. He then turned to Benecio. "Um, it is for you."

He handed the phone to Benecio, and before he could even put the phone to his ear, the loud earpiece let it be known who it wasy was, "Heeeey, Benecio!" It was Steven. "Way to let loose some rounds, but don't worry, after the war, if there is a surplus of anything it's bullets. I think it's time you got out of there, and tell Rashidi to get himself and his wife out of there too. Sorry, to leave you there, but you said you weren't armed. Tsk.Tsk. So I thought one of us wouldn't be a good match, and I don't know if you know how to use a nice long gun--mmm, this is great, Adam, did you make this sandwhich--" Steven could be heard munching on something. "Benecio, you want a sandwhich? Anyways, get on out of there, I am at the place you woke up from your stupor at--remember just across from the bar, I'm only about a hundred yards away. Are you sure you don't want a sandwhich, this is really good. Well, if you don't remember, just a hundred yards north, by the bar...or pub, whatever they are called. Just look for the marine with telescopic rifle looking out the window that should be it.

  • Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Mon Jun 20, 2005 3:27 pm

Taking only a few seconds to ensure his foes were down, Benecio came out from his defensive posture keeping both pistols trained on the three men as he approached. Ignoring the ringing for long enough to check the victims with his foot, he nodded to Rashidi.

Listening to the marine's light-hearted banter on the otherside did little to raise his mood. He only grunted and returned the receiver to their host.

"Find a safe place for your wife, friend. Do not return."

Benecio inspected the men for their wallets ammo and weapons. Taking what he could he gave Rashidi a firm handshake and his wife a half hug. In the next moment he was down the street and into the marine's headquarters. After he safely arrived, he inspected any findings from the goons.

Still in battle mode, it would be a good hour before he descended into thoughts and reactions from the bloody encounter.

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