Below is the beginning of our developing story. Included is the opening paragraphs to what may be become, hopefully, an on-going compilation of succeeding paragraphs leading to an interesting and creative story, constructed by all of you.
As you read the entries to date, consider building onto the preceeding paragraphs. The only thing we ask is that you try to keep some sort of theme going. Perhaps the theme could center around a mystery, a comedy, a tradgedy, a spy-type approach, etc.
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I will take the best paragraphs and add them to the beginning. Sounds like fun...and who knows...maybe a "best seller!"
So here goes:
Weather forecast: rain. That's the same report for
the past four days. Rain. Dismal. Dark. Totally miserable. During the daylight hours, even the hustle-bustle sounds of the city seemed muffled by the pounding echo of the rain. At nite, the noise of the usual summer critters fell silent to the rain.
Although the gods seemed to be cleansing the world with its never-ending showers and dampening the noise of life, Jenssen still carried out his daily ritual...leaving his rented apartment at 6:30 am, walking to the post office some three blocks away, retrieving his mail from the rental box, then returning. On his way back, he would stop at Cohen's newsstand and purchase a copy of the London Financial Times which he scanned the last page, and in his usual manner, circle one word with the silver pen he removed from his inside pocket. He then would fold the paper in half and drop it into the trash container at the corner.
Lars Jenssen, a slightly built fellow, standing five foot three inches....
...though slight of stature was brave of heart. He knew that buying the paper, circling the word and passing it on, was one of the most important things he could do for the Ministry. Was he being watched in person or by satellite? How was his piece in the grand scheme of things relevant? Was his sister Valerie in danger and for goodness sake when will all this be over?
Only time will tell. Should Jenssen continue with this mission or should he consider his family? This is a question that has been racking his mind for the past three weeks. Unlike his first mission when he was a young apprentice agent and his only thoughs were of God and Country. Life then was a grand play with little care of the danger that lay ahead during that first assignment.
But now that his sister has been inadvertently caught up in this, Lars has been wondering how far this can go and still keep his family safe. He has many decisions to make that could alter his life forever.
As Lars is thinking and contemplating this, his cell phone rings, "Hello", he hears only his own breathing, another "Hello"... still silence, then when he was just about to put the cell phone away, a voice that he recongnizes from the past is now speaking , if the voice is who he thinks it is, then a ghost has come back from the past..he listens in shocked amazement as.....
He begins to think back to his first assignment in the USSR. A rather
routine assignment that new agents must complete before moving
toward more demanding missions. His counterpart's every day
actions must be monitored and recorded. Along with several
rookie agents he begins his boring task.
Finally he locates his objective and begins to document his
actions. The route he takes. The meals he enjoys. The contacts
he makes and finally the pleasures he enjoys. This particular
day his counterpart, Igor, walks to his favorite coffee house and seats himself in
a chair that faces the door as if looking for someone. Suddenly
another menacing individual enters and procedes toward Igor. He
draws a gun and...
Lars in jolted back to reality and to the call on his cell phone when he hears the caller's voice say to him...
A voice he last heard on his first assignment. While observing
Igor he witnessed what he thought was an execution. Now hearing
his voice once again his brain goes into overdrive.
Calmly he asks, "What can I do for you, Igor?" The voice responds, "How are you?" Then a hideous laugh. "Surprised to hear from me! Do you think I'm calling from the grave. HA HA HA HA. No, my friend, you are the one who will be calling from the grave. Your
sister is here with me and the only way you will ever see her
again is if you follow these instructions to the letter." (More
hideous laughter).
Lars thoughts raced through his head. Kursten, his sister, with Igor! Impossible! She was killed in a skiing accident in Zurich three years ago. He made the funeral arrangements. He saw her body lying in the casket. He was the one who was called to identify the body!! How can this be? Is Igor that much of a fool that he didn't know about Kursten?
Lars was jolted back to reality by Igor's words, "First you must book a flight to Jamaica. Secondly, upon arrival, proceed to the Royal Jamaican Hotel and check into room 1212. You have been registered under the name of Peter Keller. There you will be contacted by Natasha who will give you futher instructions....."
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying Air Jamaica. We hope you have a pleasant and enjoyable stay here in Jamaica, and consider us again when traveling to Jamaica." The captain's words signaled the end of what had been a very uneventful flight despite all that has transpired since the tragic event of September 11.
"On behalf of the flight attendants, we also thank you for flying Air Jamaica and hope you'll return with us again. Please remain in your seats until the aircraft has come to a complete stop at the terminal and the captain has extinguished the seatbelt light", offered the stewardess. A few seconds later the plane had completely stopped. This was the worst part of flying thought Lars. Everyone now rising and trying to obtain their carry-ons and stuff... thinking that they could disembark any faster. Yet they still had to wait, some standing in the aisles, some standing at their seats, all waiting for the front of the plane to exit. Lars never took with him any carry-on, and always remained seated until the entire craft was nearly empty. It seemed the fastest way to disembark. He could then proceed without being impeded with the mob of people in front of him. Besides, by the time he reached the Baggage claim area, the conveyors would already have the baggage being presented. Once the plane had cleared, Lars rose and exited the plane, the center aisle cleared, making his travel to the terminal quite easy. Once at the terminal lobby, Lars proceeded to the Baggage claim area to retrieve his one-suiter bag. Lars always took his one-suiter. It always proved to be enough for him, sufficient to carry all that he needed.
Having retreived his suitcase, Lars proceeded to the terminal exit hoping to find a cab to take him to the Royal Jamaican. Upon exiting the terminal, Lars noticed a van with the words, "Royal Jamaican Hotel....Courtesy Van." Lars boarded the van, and sat in the rear of the vehicle. Two other passengers boarded the van, and five minutes later the van doors closed and was on its way to the hotel.
The trip to the hotel took exactly 35 minutes with very little to view from the tinted windows and little traffic to encounter. At last the van pulled up to the entrance of the hotel and the driver informed the passengers that he would unload their luggage and bring it to the desk for them. He then pointed the way to the Main desk. Lars approached the driver as the other two passengers went on their way into the hotel, and said that he would like to carry his own bag. "But, mon, it is no problum, sir. It is my duty, mon!" Begging off, Lars insisted, and gave the driver five dollars. The driver smiled, and nodded as he took the money.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Keller, we have your reservation, and everything is in order. Here is your key. Your room is 1212. If there is anything we can do for you, please do not hesitate to call the desk. We are here to service you at all hours", said the vivacious blonde clerk, whose name was Jennifer, as indicated by her name tag. "Thank you, kindly", uttered Lars. Lars proceeded to the elevators, waited for several seconds and boarded the elevator and pushed #12. As the doors just about closed, a hand reached in and the doors immediately opened, and in stepped a gentleman who Lars recognized as one of the passengers on the van. "Sorry, old chap", said the gentleman, "didn't want to miss another one." and pressed #14.
The elevator stopped and Lars bidded the other passenger a good-day and stepped out of the elevator. He waited momentarily as the elevator door closed and looked at the indicator...it stopped again at the 14th floor. Again Lars watched. The indicator stopped at #15, then back to #14. Lars proceeded to his room 1212. Taking the key from him jacket pocket, he turned to his left and right panning down the hallway assuring himself no one else was there. He entered his room.
It was a standard hotel room. Two twin beds, a bath and shower room, an armour which contained the TV and drawers for clothing, a telephone with computer access, a desk, and dresser bureau, a lamp on the desk, and a floor lamp by the soft high-backed chair and round table placed by the picture window. The view from the picture window overlooked the pool, and just beyong the pool was the beach scene, already clustered with the sunbathers. The room also had its own balcony, and upon stepping outside, Lars could hear the typical sound of calyso-style music coming from the pool area.
Lars returned inside and removed his jacket and unpacked his bag, and stored his "essentials" in the dresser. Normally, he would have left everything in his bag, it made for quick travel, but this was not a regular assignment his was on. He reached for the phone and called for room service. "Room service", was the response. "Yes, said Lars, "this is Room 1212, I would like a bottle of Stolychniya and club soda sent to my room." "Yes, sir, within 10 minutes, sir!" came the response.
Lars turned on the TV set, and searched for CNN. Aaron Brown was reporting about the latest events surrounding the US efforts in Afghanistan, when there was a knock on the door and a voice echoing, "Room service". Lars peered through the eye-hole, and assured that it was, opened the door, and allowing the servant to placed his order on the desk, handed him five dollars and signed the room charge. As he closed the door, the phone rang. Lars, startled for a momemt, walked over to the phone, and picked it up. "Mr. Keller, this is Jennifer from the front desk. There is a package here for you that has just arrived from FedEx, shall I have it sent up?" "Yes", said Lars, "please, if it is no trouble." "No trouble at all, sir" replied the clerk.
Having hung up the phone, Lars mixed himself a half of glass of vodka and soda. Presently, there came a knock on the door and announced, "A package for Mr. Keller." Lars went to the door, and there was a bellhop holding a small box addressed to Mr. Keller, % Royal Jamaican Hotel, Jamaica, Rm 1212. Lars tipped the bellhop, closed the door and latched it. He took the package to the bed, and examined it. There apparently was no evidence of the package having been tampered with. Assuring himself of this fact, he checked to see the labeling on the package. Yes, it was his handwriting. He withdrew a small pocket knife from his toilet accessories bag which he had unpacked earlier, and opened the package. Inside were two other packages. Taking out the larger one, he removed the wrapping which was made of thin sheets of lead-paper, similar to aluminun foil. Unwrapping it revealed his .22 Baretta special. His "honey" as he called it. From the smaller package, also wrapped with the lead-paper, he removed three small magazines, each fully loaded. He took one of the magazines and inserted into "honey" whereupon he set the chamber. Lars then retrieved the shoulder holster which he had earlier put in the dresser as he unpacked. He shouldered his holster and placed "honey" securely in it. The remaining magazines, he slipped into their respecitve sleeves of the holster on the opposite side. At last, Lars felt a bit more secure now that "honey" was close to him.
Lars had learned that traveling with his 'honey' became more and more difficult as airline security was beefed up. However, FedEx, seemed the surest way of transporting his "honey". Apparently, it hadn't failed him.
Feeling now more relaxed, Lars finished his drink as was about to enjoy another, when the phone rang.
[here's where you continue ]
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