dumbledore
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jul 29, 2003
- Messages
- 226
- Points
- 16
Your phone wakes you, and you swat it automatically, thinking it's the alarm.
Only when it doesn't stop do you roll over to inspect it: UNKNOWN CALLER.
Who would be phoning at this time? You cancel the call and roll over, trying to get back to sleep.
The phone goes again, and this time you pick up.
"Hello?" you say, still half asleep, your head pounding.
"If you want to see your wife again, you'll listen to me very carefully–"
The grogginess, the sleepiness, the aching eyes and pounding head all go in a flash. You hold your breath, mind firing at a million miles an hour. It's got to be some kind of joke. A trick.
"Are you listening?"
"What? Er – I'm – I'm listening."
"Meet me by the corner of Oldburn Junkyard in thirty minutes. Come alone."
The line dies. You hold your phone there, still reeling. Maybe you're still asleep. Maybe it's all a dream. A sudden idea strikes you, and you call your wife's phone, but it's not on. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Could he have been telling the truth?
You should have stayed at home. Phoned in sick. You didn't have to be here. There are other bodyguards, other officers, other people who could do this. If you stayed at home, you could have looked out for her.
You roll out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Your gun's in the bedside cabinet; you grab it, checking it over. With your senses heightened, you can hear the deafening silence through the rest of the hotel corridor. It's 4:55 am. The whole place is probably deserted.
In a few hours you'd have to be up anyway, on protection duty, but somehow the thought of that makes everything worse.
You slip into your clothes and walk quietly down the corridor, down the stairs, and out into the cool early morning air. The sky's clear, the dark blue melting into morning. You flip open Google Maps on your phone and head off towards the junkyard. It only takes ten minutes to get there.
As soon as you leap the fence, there's movement ahead. Two men getting out of a black car. One of them's got a revolver. You eye him, weighing your options. Maybe he'll be fast, but you reckon you're quicker. You could take them both, probably, if it came to it.
"You're late," says a voice. The voice from the phone.
"Traffic," you reply.
Somewhere nearby, a bird sings its early-morning wake-up call.
"Care to explain why you've dragged me all the way out here?"
"I need you to do something for me."
"Could have just asked."
"I am asking. Nicely. This is me asking nicely."
He waves a hand. The car door opens again, and a woman falls out, bag over her head, still in her nightdress. You'd recognize her anywhere.
"Claire..." you start to say, but the guy holds his hand up.
"She's not been harmed. And she'll stay unharmed as long as you listen to me. You clear?"
You stare at him, finger on the trigger. It would be so easy. Maybe you'd get hit, maybe not. But what about Claire? Can you risk it? Gritting your teeth, you say, "I understand. What do you want me to do?"
"You're in town for a state visit, correct?"
"That's right," you say.
"The Royals ... they have a lot of sway when it comes to business. Your client, she wears a dress, the dress sells out. Worldwide. That's a lot of money to be made, right there, if you know how to make it."
"I'm not sure I understand..."
He steps closer, spits on the ground. "Just so happens, I've bought myself a little side business. You convince Kate Middleton to wear my dress, to say how great it is, to say where she got it? I'll be able to retire tomorrow."
You stare at him, dumfounded. Claire struggles to get free, and someone grabs her, shoves her back in the car. You go to step towards her, but beside you a gun clicks.
"Don't hurt her!" you yell.
"I already told you, she's fine. As long as you do as I ask."
"But that's ridiculous. The Duchess won't wear any old clothes. Why – why the hell would she listen to me in the first place?"
"That's your problem. Figure it out, if you want to see your wife again. Her speech is at six thirty this evening. You have until then. I want her wearing my dress and mentioning my business on the podium. I'll send you the details – keep your eyes on your phone."
And with that, the man whistles, backs into the car, and drives off. You stand there, breathing heavily, clouds of mist drifting on the cold air. What the hell just happened? It's an impossible situation. There's no way out. No good one, anyway. How the hell are you going to get time alone with the Duchess to even talk about it, let alone convince her at all? You're just one guard among many.
But you've got to...
Somehow, you've got to do it.
A text flashes up. A photo of a green dress. The name of the shop.
Okay, let's think about this. You've got three and a half hours before the Royal party will be waking up. Then it's a full day of touring the town, meeting and greeting the public – lunch in the Michelin starred restaurant on top of the tower – more visits, before the dinner tonight.
Realistically, that leaves a couple of windows to somehow find a way to talk to her, to try and convince her. What you say – that's a whole different matter. First, you've got to secure that conversation, and it's not going to be easy.
You could meet her first thing in the morning. Stand guard outside her hotel room, and talk to her before breakfast.
Or maybe ... Maybe you could find a way to make sure you're driving her for the morning events.
Two chances to talk to her, without anyone else there. If she refused to wear the dress – well ... Then you'd have to think on your feet.
<form method="post" action="http://poll.pollcode.com/72584284"><div style="background-color:#EEEEEE;padding:2px;width:175px;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;color:#000000;"><div style="padding:2px 0px 4px 2px;"><strong>What do you want to do?</strong></div><input type="radio" name="answer" value="1" id="answer725842841" style="float:left;" /><label for="answer725842841" style="float:left;width:150px;">Try to talk to her in her hotel room</label><div style="clear:both;height:2px;"></div><input type="radio" name="answer" value="2" id="answer725842842" style="float:left;" /><label for="answer725842842" style="float:left;width:150px;">Try to become her driver, and talk to her in the car</label><div style="clear:both;height:2px;"></div><div align="center" style="padding:3px;"><input type="submit" value=" Vote ">*<input type="submit" name="view" value=" View "></div><div align="right" style="font-size:10px">pollcode.com <a href="http://pollcode.com/">free polls</a></div></div></form>
Only when it doesn't stop do you roll over to inspect it: UNKNOWN CALLER.
Who would be phoning at this time? You cancel the call and roll over, trying to get back to sleep.
The phone goes again, and this time you pick up.
"Hello?" you say, still half asleep, your head pounding.
"If you want to see your wife again, you'll listen to me very carefully–"
The grogginess, the sleepiness, the aching eyes and pounding head all go in a flash. You hold your breath, mind firing at a million miles an hour. It's got to be some kind of joke. A trick.
"Are you listening?"
"What? Er – I'm – I'm listening."
"Meet me by the corner of Oldburn Junkyard in thirty minutes. Come alone."
The line dies. You hold your phone there, still reeling. Maybe you're still asleep. Maybe it's all a dream. A sudden idea strikes you, and you call your wife's phone, but it's not on. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Could he have been telling the truth?
You should have stayed at home. Phoned in sick. You didn't have to be here. There are other bodyguards, other officers, other people who could do this. If you stayed at home, you could have looked out for her.
You roll out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Your gun's in the bedside cabinet; you grab it, checking it over. With your senses heightened, you can hear the deafening silence through the rest of the hotel corridor. It's 4:55 am. The whole place is probably deserted.
In a few hours you'd have to be up anyway, on protection duty, but somehow the thought of that makes everything worse.
You slip into your clothes and walk quietly down the corridor, down the stairs, and out into the cool early morning air. The sky's clear, the dark blue melting into morning. You flip open Google Maps on your phone and head off towards the junkyard. It only takes ten minutes to get there.
As soon as you leap the fence, there's movement ahead. Two men getting out of a black car. One of them's got a revolver. You eye him, weighing your options. Maybe he'll be fast, but you reckon you're quicker. You could take them both, probably, if it came to it.
"You're late," says a voice. The voice from the phone.
"Traffic," you reply.
Somewhere nearby, a bird sings its early-morning wake-up call.
"Care to explain why you've dragged me all the way out here?"
"I need you to do something for me."
"Could have just asked."
"I am asking. Nicely. This is me asking nicely."
He waves a hand. The car door opens again, and a woman falls out, bag over her head, still in her nightdress. You'd recognize her anywhere.
"Claire..." you start to say, but the guy holds his hand up.
"She's not been harmed. And she'll stay unharmed as long as you listen to me. You clear?"
You stare at him, finger on the trigger. It would be so easy. Maybe you'd get hit, maybe not. But what about Claire? Can you risk it? Gritting your teeth, you say, "I understand. What do you want me to do?"
"You're in town for a state visit, correct?"
"That's right," you say.
"The Royals ... they have a lot of sway when it comes to business. Your client, she wears a dress, the dress sells out. Worldwide. That's a lot of money to be made, right there, if you know how to make it."
"I'm not sure I understand..."
He steps closer, spits on the ground. "Just so happens, I've bought myself a little side business. You convince Kate Middleton to wear my dress, to say how great it is, to say where she got it? I'll be able to retire tomorrow."
You stare at him, dumfounded. Claire struggles to get free, and someone grabs her, shoves her back in the car. You go to step towards her, but beside you a gun clicks.
"Don't hurt her!" you yell.
"I already told you, she's fine. As long as you do as I ask."
"But that's ridiculous. The Duchess won't wear any old clothes. Why – why the hell would she listen to me in the first place?"
"That's your problem. Figure it out, if you want to see your wife again. Her speech is at six thirty this evening. You have until then. I want her wearing my dress and mentioning my business on the podium. I'll send you the details – keep your eyes on your phone."
And with that, the man whistles, backs into the car, and drives off. You stand there, breathing heavily, clouds of mist drifting on the cold air. What the hell just happened? It's an impossible situation. There's no way out. No good one, anyway. How the hell are you going to get time alone with the Duchess to even talk about it, let alone convince her at all? You're just one guard among many.
But you've got to...
Somehow, you've got to do it.
A text flashes up. A photo of a green dress. The name of the shop.
Okay, let's think about this. You've got three and a half hours before the Royal party will be waking up. Then it's a full day of touring the town, meeting and greeting the public – lunch in the Michelin starred restaurant on top of the tower – more visits, before the dinner tonight.
Realistically, that leaves a couple of windows to somehow find a way to talk to her, to try and convince her. What you say – that's a whole different matter. First, you've got to secure that conversation, and it's not going to be easy.
You could meet her first thing in the morning. Stand guard outside her hotel room, and talk to her before breakfast.
Or maybe ... Maybe you could find a way to make sure you're driving her for the morning events.
Two chances to talk to her, without anyone else there. If she refused to wear the dress – well ... Then you'd have to think on your feet.
<form method="post" action="http://poll.pollcode.com/72584284"><div style="background-color:#EEEEEE;padding:2px;width:175px;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;color:#000000;"><div style="padding:2px 0px 4px 2px;"><strong>What do you want to do?</strong></div><input type="radio" name="answer" value="1" id="answer725842841" style="float:left;" /><label for="answer725842841" style="float:left;width:150px;">Try to talk to her in her hotel room</label><div style="clear:both;height:2px;"></div><input type="radio" name="answer" value="2" id="answer725842842" style="float:left;" /><label for="answer725842842" style="float:left;width:150px;">Try to become her driver, and talk to her in the car</label><div style="clear:both;height:2px;"></div><div align="center" style="padding:3px;"><input type="submit" value=" Vote ">*<input type="submit" name="view" value=" View "></div><div align="right" style="font-size:10px">pollcode.com <a href="http://pollcode.com/">free polls</a></div></div></form>
