* * *
Several days of unrest in the South Bolivian Republic finally led to a Council resolution the previous day declaring the former Plurinational State an enemy of the UMC. The sharp rise in martial demand sent a plethora of fresh calls for tenders through West Wing, and contract brokers in the Vanguard were on full alert, vying to secure the best deals with the PMCs. Commissioner Eastman had been drawing up the final clauses on one of the many bulk contracts that had gone through his office that day, when the door suddenly opened.
By the time he looked up, the entrant was already seated across from him.
“Martial Vartanian,” the commissioner greeted with a nod. “Welcome back.”
His reply to the greeting was a glare as grim a death.
“I need money.”
The commissioner’s eyes dilated. His hands slowly withdrew and the illuminated touchboard dissipated from the crystal surface of his desk.
“How much?”
He reached into his inner pockets, took out a folded piece of paper and laid it on the desk. The seal of the Commission Medical Branch was on the back.
The commissioner eyed the piece of paper with interest before leaning forward. He unfolded the paper, took a long look and gently laid it back down on the desk.
“That is a lot,” he said, frankly.
“I need it.”
“Very well … You know what you have to do.” Eastman straightened up in his seat. His hand disappeared beneath the desktop and when it reappeared, it was holding a thin, red file with the seal of the Vanguard on the front. “The contract just opened up,” he said, laying the file on the desk. “The assignment is in thirty days.”
“I need the money now,” he rumbled.
“We’ll request an advance from your PMC.”
Eastman’s eyes gazed over his laced fingers.
Saul turned his glare from the commissioner to the bright red file sitting on the desk. He knew that hard copies of martial contracts were kept in a separate room, which meant that he must have selected the assignment in advance.
He slowly picked up the file and opened it.
“The mission location,” said Eastman, “is one I believe you are familiar with…”
His eyes centred on a single word, in bold lettering, on the top of the page:
“KAMCHATKA”
C. 5: Day 743