Project Nox

Prologue

The sun was dropping hesitantly below the horizon, sending frantic reminders of the ending of the day to those who could still see its dying light. A few of these rays fell directly through a large, dimmed window, set about fourty stories above the cobblestone street below, showering a large, oak desk with its warmth. But an imposing figure cut these rays in half. A thin middle-aged man, with platinum blonde hair and a cigar between his fingers, leaned back in his armchair. Puffs of smoke drifted into the air as he inhaled the sickly fumes. Before him, two guards stood on opposite ends of a great door, standing firmly to attention, eyes centred, lest their leader accuse them of slacking. They did not even blink.

A voice came over a small intercom on the man's desk. He glanced lazily at the source of the noise as the voice spoke.

"My lord, er, Mr. Prime Minister sir, Mr. Aasen is here to see you," it said, thin and reedy.

The man did not immediately react, but took another puff from his cigar. In his own good time, he leaned forward, clicked a switch on the top of the receiver and sat back again, glancing up at the ceiling as if in exasperation.

"Send him in, Mr. Wetten," he said coldly, before flicking the switch off. It would not do for their conversation to be overheard.

Seconds later, the door swung slowly open, creaking ever so slightly. No man appeared to open it, but it swung gently on the hinges, as if it was automatic. In the open doorway appeared a figure, clothed in a black suit, with gelled black hair and a cold eye. He strode forward towards the desk, wordlessly taking a seat opposite from the Prime Minister. He did not speak immediately, but instead leaned back in the chair and gazed around, taking in the sight of the room.

He looked over the Prime Minister's shoulder, to where the sun was now almost hidden by the distant mountains of Norgeland. He eventually nodded, as if in approval, and turned his attention to the Prime Minister, who's face was now almost entirely enshadowed by the dim light coming from behind him.

"I must admit," said the newcomer, "that this room has received a makeover since I inhabited it."

The Prime Minister's expression remained neutral. "I expect a report, Ketill," he said flatly. "How goes it in Treningby?"

Ketill Aasen suddenly became very interested in his fingernails. He brushed some dirt from them, before sighing and flexing them stiffly.

"Mr. Prime Minister, sir," he began slowly, "I'm afraid that we do not quite have the manpower that we had quite hoped for. As I'm sure you understand, those best suited to the task are the hardest to find. They tend to be the heads of their various organizations. They're oftentimes not out on the field of work-"

The Prime Minister raised his hand, silencing Aasen.

"You disappoint me, Ketill," he said coldly. "I have reiterated many times that I expect the project to be completed by November's end, but you are so very far behind. Dig deeper, my friend. You might find that Stavanger is a better den of those you seek. They are thicker and more rampant there."

"Stavanger?" asked Aasen incredulously. "But, sir, Stavanger is thicker than thorns. It is impenetrable! They are too hidden to be found. We would lose more officers than we'd gain prisoners!"

The Prime Minister clicked his tongue. "Ketill, Ketill, Ketill," he chided. "Do you know nothing?"

Aasen looked taken aback. "My lord?" he asked in surprise. "My apologies if I'm missing anything, but I can think of nothing."

"You forget the greatest weapon you have on your side, which is also their greatest weakness," was the response.

Aasen looked confused, but he nodded slowly in acknowledgement. "What might it be?" he inquired in a low tone.

The Prime Minister leaned back in his chair and took another puff at his cigar. "Their greed, my friend," he said quietly. "Set the bait. They will come."

He reached forward and clicked the switch on his receiver. "Mr. Wetten, the guest is departing," he said tiredly. "Please see him to his escort." Before Mr. Wetten could reply, he flicked the switch again and looked Aasen deep in the eye.

"I put trust in you, Ketill," he said, his light tone contradicting the obvious threat in his words. "I expect you to come through. Two weeks. That is all you have. Then they shall depart, and we shall, perhaps, see our greatest chance in the works. That will be all."

Before Ketill could depart, the door swung open, and between the waiting exit and the cold look in the Prime Minister's eye, Ketill Aasen gulped and took the former. He rose slowly, and, with a little bow, turned on his heel and departed, relieved to have escaped the unsavoury discussion, but full of dismay at the direction it had taken. If he did not provide what he had promised... his life was undoubtedly forfeit.

He tapped the side of his head, and spoke into an unseen device.

"Frida?" he inquired, "have the officers ready. There's work to do."