A/N: Apologies in advance for the mega-post; I had a LOT of thoughts/details I wanted to flesh out and explore, a lot of material to work with, and I struggled a little at the end trying to think of how I wanted to play it out. So...enjoy! ;D
Oh, at the end there I'm leaving it entirely up to you as to what he sees. RPs are interactive, so I kind of assumed you'd want him to find Adira again pretty quick. If anything needs changed/re-written, just shoot me a PM. ^^[/i]
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Ms. Security’s brow arched in apparent suspicion, and in that moment, with her hands folded casually over her stomach and her lips drawn into a skeptical, serious line, Ludwig couldn’t even make an educated guess as to how she felt about him. If she thought him a potential danger, why was her body-language so casual and relaxed, as though they were business partners discussing the day’s schedule over coffee? If she was fairly comfortable with him, why the air of skepticism?
“Bat Ami is good for now.” Whether it was simply her way or whether her line of work had conditioned her to maintain a calm and in-control façade at all times, she seemed unconcerned.
She was strong; he liked that. Strong
and good-looking.
And in a position of power.
It was all very… distracting. Not that anything short of a miracle could ever make him forget his mission, or the fact that every second he spent in this room was an extra second the terrorists would have to prepare and execute their attacks. He had to get out of here and back to business, and he had to do it as soon as he possibly could. Still, as inconvenient and detrimental to his cause as it was, he found that he didn’t mind nearly as much as he should have that Ms. Bat Ami had detained him. He should probably feel a little ashamed about that, but there were plenty of worse ways to be inconvenienced.
Bat Ami’s next words were surprising.
She had taken him back here because she was
looking for someone? An
important someone?
This was getting interesting. Ludwig set the mug down and locked eyes with her, excited curiosity burning beneath his irises.
She was speaking again now, and when she leaned in towards him he was overwhelmed with the feeling that what she was about to share with him was extremely important.
Anxious, he leaned in a little himself and listened carefully.
“However, as one would say, I'm not one to beat the bush around.”What? Ludwig blinked innocently, the serious expression he wore crumbling almost imperceptibly under mild amusement. He knew what she’d meant, but the Israeli had butchered the popular phrase. Unfamiliarity with his language, probably. She could speak German well enough, but her accent was on the thicker end of the spectrum and she tended to trip over the pronunciation of some words and use them oddly.
“I believe that's right…”It’s not, but that’s alright. “I can't help but shake the feeling that we've met before, Herr Schäfer…”Ludwig’s next breath hitched in his throat. She had that feeling
too?!
“I don't know where or how but I know you're not just a typical tourist. So who are you Herr Schäfer? Who are you really? And what exactly are you doing here in my country?”She was on to him.
For a brief moment his eyes lit up with surprise, but he quickly got a handle on himself and smothered it out of sight. Putting on his best pokerface, he swiftly went over the facts in his mind: Bat Ami was looking for someone important, she had detained him because of that, and she knew — or at least strongly suspected — that his alias was a phony, that he may have more that tourism in mind. Pretty impressive, considering he’d done nothing to tip her off. Even if the contents of his suitcase had been inspected by now the knowledge had yet to reach her.
That left only two possible scenarios: either she knew of his true mission and had received orders from her superiors to find and assist him, or she suspected him of supporting and aiding the terrorists. Given her somewhat….amiable…reactions towards him thus far he doubted it was the latter. Germans weren’t the usual suspects for aiding terrorists anyway — particularly the Hamas — and he couldn’t think of a single thing he’d done to send out a pro-terrorist vibe.
But wait! There was also the matter of them both feeling like they knew each other, that they’d met before…
She’d been staring him straight in the eye for the last several seconds now, her gaze as strong and unrelenting as his, her presence as commanding.
Could you be…Israel? It would make sense. A hell of a lot of sense. The spirit of Israel would naturally have access to top-secret knowledge concerning her own safety and the safety of her citizens. Chancellor Kohl had mentioned shared intelligence between his government and Israel’s, making it extremely likely that Israel’s boss had sent his nation after the terrorists as well, assuming she was fit for the task. Nations also tended to have an air of greatness hanging about them, a powerful aura which proto-nations were fine-tuned to pick up on but which true, recognized nations had a harder time detecting. And it stood to reason that they would both have the uncanny feeling of having met before if they actually
had. Ludwig didn’t remember ever meeting Israel face-to-face, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. If he had met her sometime within the first decade after World War II there was at least a fifty percent chance he wouldn’t remember it. Those had been some hellish years for him, both physically and mentally. He did vaguely remember signing some papers saying that he officially recognized her as a nation at one point, but he couldn’t recall whether she herself had presented the papers to him, what she’d looked like if she had, or even if he’d been West or East Germany at the time. As for Israel herself, she would have been a child back then. And like regular people, even nations that were in top mental health couldn’t remember
everything.
Bat Ami was Israel. Ludwig was almost certain of it. The facts, the circumstances, the location, and
especially their mutual feeling of having met before made it unlikely that she was anyone else.
But did she know he was Germany? Or did she think he was a merely a regular German secret agent?
Her eyes betrayed nothing. Her secrets guarded themselves.
Well, she already knew something was up: to continue with the clueless tourist charade would be an insult to her intelligence that would only serve to complicate things between the two of them and ultimately get him nowhere.
He was in the process of formulating a reply and a breath away from speaking when a blur of human motion outside the window and the near-simultaneous click of the door being opened completely derailed his train of thought.
It was Bat Ami’s partner.
Ludwig’s eyes traveled straight to the black suitcase he held. Odds were twenty to one it was his. Fortune didn’t like him enough to have let the Israeli pick up the wrong one by mistake. He stiffened as he watched the man carry it over to his superior, Bat Ami triumphantly announcing the find and tightening the noose around his neck with another statement that she wasn’t buying his alias. The suitcase was set near her feet, and she lashed out with one foot and pinned it to the floor as though she were afraid it was going to get up and run away.
“No worries Herr, You're not a prisoner, but you have to realize...due to the delicacy of this situation I need you to comply and answer my questions. Fair enough?” Maybe it was just his imagination, but the smile that followed didn’t seem quite as arrogant or condescending as it should have.
Ludwig nodded.
“Yes.” Happily, Martan took that as his cue to leave.
Now it was just the two of them alone in the room again.
Perfect.
Ludwig folded his hands nonchalantly around his mug of coffee, enjoying the heat of it against his skin.
“You’re right, Ms. Bat Ami,” he confessed calmly, hoping against the odds that he would come across as more suave and in-control than he felt,
“I’m not a tourist. I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” He pretended to study the tabletop as he tried to think of the best way to phrase what he wanted to say. After a few moments of pregnant silence he surrendered a clipped sigh.
“I’m actually-”All at once the door burst open again, and Martan came racing into the room as though he’d seen a ghost, stopping when he reached Bat Ami. He shot Ludwig a distrustful eye before turning his full attention to his fellow Israeli and rattling something off in Hebrew.
Whatever he said seemed to bother Bat Ami. She replied in a worried tone, and the fast-paced nature of the conversation made it clear that something important was going on. She moved her foot off the suitcase and stood up, continuing in rapid-fire Hebrew.
Ludwig quirked an eyebrow; this was frustrating. Damn language barrier.
Still, he could guess what it was about. They’d probably found some of the terrorists — or at least had a lead — and he was missing out on vital information. Either that or the first attack had already been carried out.
The whole exchange was very brief: Martan was saluting and running out the door only seconds after he’d barged in, joining a flood of Israeli troops who were rushing down the hall.
Bat Ami picked up Ludwig’s suitcase post-haste and set it in front of him.
“As I said before Herr. You're not a prisoner. However If I am right and you are the man I am looking for I am positive we'll be running into each other again real soon.” Oh, I am sure we will. Ludwig thought matter-of-factly,
Probably sooner than you think. Bat Ami turned and raced for the door. But rather than dash straight out of it she froze in threshold as though she had forgotten something. Turning swiftly, she regarded him one last time.
“Stay close Herr....and stay out of trouble.” Then with a wink she was on her way, the door shutting firmly behind her.
Ludwig blinked, taken aback.
She’d winked at him.
She’d actually
winked at him.
What did that mean? Could it be…could it be she liked him? Liked as in
liked?
His eyes lingering on the door, he swallowed awkwardly, deeply confused. He wanted it to be true — Ms. Bat Ami was good-looking, fit, focused, commanding, militaristic, and strong both mentally and physically, all
huge turn-ons in his book — but knowing his luck Israelis winked at each other all the time and it was nothing more than a friendly gesture that didn’t mean anything special. But deep down he knew he had no real reason to think that — Israel’s population was comprised mostly of Jews, and from everything he had learned about them over the decades they weren’t the type to laden their everyday social interactions with winking. In fact some of them seemed almost anti-social until one scratched under the surface. He was setting up barriers because it seemed too good to be true, and part of him knew it.
If Bat Ami was indeed flirting with him, he was definitely interested. Hell, he was interested even if she
wasn’t. And in either case this little terrorist situation was a golden opportunity for him to get closer to her, to build up rapport and trust through working alongside her.
Fortunately his suitcase showed no signs of tampering. Pulling it close, he entered in the 6-digit combination and opened it up. Rows of perfectly-folded new clothes met his eyes, all right where he’d left them. They served two purposes: to equip him for a variety of different situations and to serve as padding and the last layer of concealment for his pistole and the ammo for it, both of which were tucked away carefully beneath the folded fabric along with the blue folder containing the files, photographs, and details of his mission. He’d wanted to keep the paperwork close to his weapon in case all his safeguards failed and an Israeli guard managed to break in; far more forgivable to be caught with a firearm when on an official government-authorized mission to protect people, buildings, and cultural icons.
However, his suitcase harbored one last secret, one far harder for any self-respecting Israeli to overlook. Hidden deep inside in a secret compartment that was nigh invisible to anyone who didn’t already know where to look was his lucky dagger. He’d thrown it in almost at the last minute as a last-resort weapon, or to use in case intimidation and mild torture became necessary. They’d been through a lot together, him and that dagger. He’d slashed many an enemy throat with it, successfully thwarted and prevented numerous attacks. Apart from being a sharp, dependable weapon it was also conveniently-sized and very handy for all cutting needs. Whenever he had it with him his luck seemed to improve, though he couldn’t fathom how or why.
Yes, Ludwig was quite fond of his dagger.
Too bad it was an SS ceremonial dagger. Because of that he couldn’t dare take it out in public in his own lands where everything and anything even remotely Nazi was highly illegal and subject to fines, imprisonment, and a tarnished reputation for the person involved. That was the way it
should be, and he wholeheartedly supported those laws, but they did have a way of personally inconveniencing him sometimes, especially in regards to his private WWII collection. Since he couldn’t bear the thought of modifying or disfiguring his dagger to make it socially acceptable — and consequently less intimidating and possibly less lucky — he was forced to keep it hidden at all times, taking it out only when no one was around to see or when it didn’t matter who saw.
He knew, rationally, that taking it with him to
Israel of all places wasn’t the best idea. For as touchy as his people were about the whole Nazi subject the Jews had even
more reason to be touchy, to react with disgust, horror, and outrage. His confidence that no Israeli personnel would catch him with the dagger when his suitcase was so secure and the secret compartment so, well,
secret, had prompted him to go ahead and pack it even though he very easily could have found a less offensive dagger. He’d even prepared a semi-believable excuse for the one-in-a-thousand chance a guard
did happen to catch him with it, though objectively he knew he’d be branded a Neo Nazi terrorist and shot on the spot before he could get the first word out.
And he wouldn’t be able to blame the guard, really. He
wasn’t a Neo Nazi, but even without the aid of blatant Nazi symbols and stylizations he would have to forgive anyone who mistook him for one. He certainly did
look the part, being a German male who fit the Nazi racial ideal of golden-blonde hair, flawlessly blue eyes, and fair skin to a tee. More importantly, his inherent mannerisms and many aspects of his personality were
very Nazi-like, from his predatory stare and gait down to his fearsome neutral expression, usually harsh voice tones, and obsession with strictly enforcing the rules and doing everything by the book. So he looked like one
and he acted like one — yep, any Jew would definitely be shooting first and asking questions later over his soon-to-be-vanishing corpse if they caught him with an SS weapon.
But they never would. Aside from himself the only people who might possibly see it this mission were the terrorists, and he actually loved the idea of
them thinking he was a Neo Nazi.
No, he was far more worried about Israel finding out that he was Germany. If that happened he could kiss his chances of ever building up any form of a positive relationship with her goodbye. No way in Hell she didn’t know about his past; he wasn’t a Nazi anymore but as a nation he was so infamous for it that there was no way she was going to give him even two seconds to explain that he personally had
never harbored any hatred towards the Jews, that he had been
VERY against Hitler’s genocide and had tried desperately to talk him out of it, that he had in fact gone out of his way to protect innocent men, women, and children whenever he could, even from his fellow SS. She’d judge him before she even knew him, and even the staggering amount of money he’d already paid her in war reparations via his government over the decades would do preciously little to help his case. She’d have already jumped to all the wrong conclusions.
No, she can’t know I’m Germany. he decided with a touch of sadness as he reached under his shirts and wrapped his fingers around the grip of the black pistole,
That’ll be a deal-breaker. She won’t want to be around me. His free hand found the cartridges he’d packed nearby, and he deftly loaded his weapon. Once that was accomplished he stuffed the remaining cartridges firmly down his deep jeans-pockets and rolled the right leg of his jeans up as far as it would go. He had his dagger out of its scabbard and secured firmly in the strap around his leg in five seconds flat. As soon as he was done rolling his pant-leg back down he shut the suitcase, locked it, and hurriedly tossed it into a low cupboard where a few cleaning supplies were kept.
He’d almost made it to the door when he realized with a lurch of dread that something was definitely wrong.
His gun. The Israeli soldiers wouldn’t recognize him as an ally when he was dressed like a tourist, and he had no guarantee they wouldn’t simply shoot him on sight once they noticed he was armed and dangerous. For all they knew he could be a terrorist.
Scheiße! He hadn’t planned on springing into life-or-death action this early, hadn’t had the chance to clear himself with the highest authority or even get changed into something more protective and weapons-friendly. Frantic, he clicked the safety onto the pistole and tried to shove it down either of his pockets.
No use; they were too narrow and full to the brim with his wallet and extra cartridges. But they were the only pockets he had…
Damnit! Why the hell didn’t I choose more handgun-ready tourist clothes?! There was only one thing left to do.
Having no other choice, and desperately needing to get into action as soon as possible, he swallowed his pride and shoved the pistole down the right side of his pants, sandwiching it between his flesh and his underwear and pulling his black shirt over it.
This is so humiliating.No time to dwell on that, however — he’d intentionally waited a bit for Bat Ami and her people to become thoroughly embroiled in terrorist-hunting, and now they had about a 4-minute head-start on him.
Perfect. The hall was almost empty when he set foot in it: a lone soldier guarded one of the main doors, but he was wholly unconcerned with Ludwig and let the German pass by undisturbed without so much as word.
Boots flying over the floor, Ludwig retraced his steps. Encountering no resistance from either doors or people along the way he made it back to the luggage area within seconds.
No alarms were sounding, but the luggage carousels had all stopped, and there wasn’t a soul to be seen in the immediate vicinity. Judging by the abandoned bags, drink cups, and other paraphernalia laying around on the floor everyone had left in a hurry. Probably evacuated.
The sound of footsteps rushing over hard vinyl tiling made him jump. Instinct whirled him around instantly to face this new possible threat, his right hand diving for his gun but holding back just a bit.
A fully-armed Israeli troop froze in his stride and stared back at Ludwig, his face rampant with utter annoyance and disdain. He yelled something at him in Hebrew and gestured back over his shoulder with his rifle, making his orders and intent perfectly clear.
Fine. I’ll play. For now. His mouth set in a hard line, Ludwig gave a curt nod of compliance and jogged into the direction Commando Boy wanted him to go. However, his plans had absolutely nothing to do with joining the flock of terrified civilians whom he could hear talking in frightened, hurried voices just around the corner, and he slowed into a crawling walk the moment the Israeli zoomed past him. When he was satisfied that the man was far enough away he turned and ran after him.
His entrance into the ‘T’ of another corridor was hailed with the sharp report of a gunshot. Swiveling sharply to his left, he saw Commando Boy drop his rifle and cry out several meters in front of him, his wrist erupting in blood. At the end of the hall a man wearing a black mask opened fire again, prompting the injured soldier to drop to the floor and Ludwig to draw back into the safety of the adjacent hallway.
The moment he was safely out of the terrorist’s line of sight Ludwig withdrew his pistole from its embarrassing hiding place and charged back in, firing twice blindly as he ran in the approximate vicinity of where the man’s legs would be. But the terrorist was no longer there.
Well. He wouldn’t get very far. Ludwig took off at an almost full-tilt for the end of the hall, leaving Commando Boy to recover his rifle and do whatever he needed to do on his own. When he reached the end he noticed that the left opened up into a waiting terminal full of chairs but devoid of people. One of the two elevators was going; he ran over and assaulted the button a few times, but to no avail.
Unfazed, Ludwig’s eyes darted around the room, searching for a staircase. There had to be one here somewhere…
Yes!
To the immediate right. The blue-eyed nation turned and raced up the stairs, clearing them in inhuman time and coming to an abrupt halt when he reached the top.
“Bat Ami?”
