The letters rolled down the screen, green and bright in the dim artificial backlighting of the computer room, far below Armenian land. The operator watched closely, knowing what they would tell him; the most important information in his organisation’s history. For nearly three millennia the Aegis Helle had searched and searched, and now, finally, after all these years, they were close. Close enough to almost taste the gold.
The operator called over his superior, a military man. The emblems on his epaulettes showed him to be a ranking colonel. He peered down at the screen, eyes scanning the various numbers that had settled into place around the monitor. He said nothing, but clapped the operator on the shoulder, a gesture of gratitude, of success. The colonel pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and dialled in a number. The signal would be transmitted to a receiver in the roof of the chamber, from which it would travel through wires up to the surface, then via the regular communication networks to its final destination. The phone rang several times before it was picked up.
“Grigorian?” said a voice.
“Grigorian,” confirmed the colonel. “The package is headed to Oxford.”
“I will send some of my men to intercept it. Your assistance is appreciated, Colonel Grigorian.” The man on the other end hung up the phone. Colonel Grigorian left the underground chamber, the operator still glued to his screen. He knew what to do.
Levon Sarafian hung up the phone, a broad smile playing across his features. He had waited his whole life, as had his father before him, his father before him, back through the ages, watching empires rise and fall as they waited for their golden moment, a moment which seemed destined never to come. Now, all of a sudden, the glorious day had arrived upon which his fate would be completed, and the task of his family fulfilled. It could not have come at a better time.
Every generation of the Sarafian family had begotten sons, Levon being the eldest of his siblings. Now, at sixty-three years old, he was well past the right age, and with three brothers dead, young and childless, the family name would die with him, and so would their crusade. Three thousand years of searching gone to waste, all because Levon had never found a wife. But no longer. The package had been located, and now all Levon had to do was send some men to pick it up. No mistakes. He would send his best agents. He gestured to his assistant, a pretty young woman, Diro.
“Call Karapetyan,” he ordered. “Have him bring three of his best to me.” Diro shook her fringe out of her eyes – it had got too long recently, Sarafian had noticed – and picked up the desk telephone. She flicked through the rolodex, quickly hitting upon the right name. A cellphone number was all the card had on it but for two letters: G.K. Gabriel Karapetyan, the feared hitman, the man the Armenian mob called on when they needed someone eliminated. He would get it done and make sure the world knew. Armenian retribution was often swift, and always fatal. He was smart, too. Part of what made Karapetyan so deadly was that he was not on the radar of any of the world’s major policing authorities, though that was not to say he had never been caught, merely that Sarafian’s organisation had global reach.
Diro dialled in the number. It was answered almost immediately.
“I need Karapetyan,” she declared. “I speak for the Aegis Helle.” The phone was rapidly passed over to the right man.
“This is Karapetyan,” came a chilling voice. A shiver ran up Diro’s spine at the sound, made stronger by the knowledge that this man had committed well over a hundred murders across the world.
“Sarafian wishes you to bring three of your best men to him. He has a task for you.” Karapetyan did not bother to reply, simply hung up. She knew he would be there, though. Karapetyan was not a great lover of words. It seemed he preferred to speak through his actions.
“Diro?” called Sarafian from the office room. “Did you speak to Karapetyan?”
“He’ll be here as soon as he can be,” she replied, nerves making her voice crack. Sarafian heard the tremor and rose to his feet, a look of mild concern passing over his features. He made his way over to where Diro sat, and raised a hand, brushing her hair away from her delicate, youthful face.
“You have nothing to fear from Karapetyan, my dear,” he said, his tone calm and soothing. “He is a dangerous man, yes, but he would not dare to anger me. He knows how much he would stand to lose.” Diro did not look to have taken too much comfort from his words, so Sarafian continued, unperturbed. “You are always safe with me,” he added, and smiled down at her. She looked up at his rugged, weather-beaten face and smiled back. He would have made an excellent father, she thought to herself. Maybe he still will, one day.
“I’m far too old for that, my dear,” said Sarafian, breaking into her thoughts. He had always had an uncanny knack of being able to tell exactly what she was thinking. That was part of why she enjoyed working for the old man so much. The two of them seemed to almost share a mind, like father and daughter, but closer than lovers. Sarafian let his hand slide down to her shoulder, solid and comforting, just for a moment before he turned away, back to his study. There was work to be done.
Here come the Armenians!
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Posted 04 March 2009 - 08:44 PM
Here's something I wrote today. It's got an awesome overall plot, but you don't get to know what it is yet. I'm not entirely certain of my first few pages as of yet, so bear in mind this is nothing more than a first draft I cobbled together. Anyway, enjoy. By the way, it's not actually called 'Here come the Armenians!' I just don't want to give anything away as of yet.
I hope I am a good enough writer that some day dwarves kill me and drink my blood for wisdom.
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