Hail Caesar

[zeeter]

"You say this guy is the best?" asked Hoover.

Jack Ryan didn't say anything. What could he say? He was mortified. For the past twenty minutes, Agent Sands sat in the interrogation room reading a girlie magazine while the attempted bomber sat and waited for him to finish. Hoover and Ryan watched through the window.

Finally, the suspect spoke. "I want a lawyer. I have rights."

Sands looked up from his magazine. He reached down beside him and tossed a notebook onto the table.

"No you don't. Here. Read this. This is the Patriot Act. Signed into law yesterday. I can hold you as long as I want to."

The suspect looked down at the notebook. "I won't talk to you without a lawyer."

"We're not talking," answered Sands. "I'm reading Hustler and you're supposed to be reading the Patriot Act, although I don't see to doing it. Now read up." He turned back to his magazine.

Hoover looked to Ryan. "What is he doing?"

"He's annoying the guy," answered Ryan. "Look at him. He was defiant when he was captured. Now he's getting scared. Sands is trying to annoy him so that he'll talk."

Thus far, though, he was only succeeding in annoying Hoover, thought Ryan.

"I don't read English," the suspect said.

Sands lifted his finger as if to say hold on for a second. Finally he laid the magazine open on the table and turned it around.

"Look at the body on this one. Isn't she hot? Do they have women like this in Carthage?" he asked.

The suspect looked down at the magazine for a moment, then remembered himself and returned to his defiant look.

When it became clear that the suspect wouldn't answer, Sands continued.

"I once met a woman like this in San Diego," he said. "She wouldn't give me the time of day. Imagine that. Now, I'm not a bad looking guy, right?" Sands waited a moment for an answer that he knew wouldn't come, then continued. "How come this woman wouldn't even talk to me?"

"Because you're a pig," interjected the suspect. Finally, thought Ryan. He was getting somewhere.

Sands chuckled. "Well, that may be true. Lots of women have called me that. Just last week I was in Mexico. They call me "gringo" there. Anyway, I was talking to a bunch of fellows in a bar. You know, telling war stories about my adventures in the CIA when this incredible looking woman comes in. "

Sands began grinning from ear to ear. "I bought her a drink and moved to sit next to her. Do you know what she said?" Sands hesitated for a moment. "She said 'get away from me you gringo pig.'" Sands let out a hearty laugh.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I guess I am a pig. But in Mexico I'm a 'gringo pig'. That's got to say something, huh?"

Sands was ammusing himeself, Ryan thought. He always did think that he was the life of the party. In reality, though, the man barely kept things together. He did his job as if walking a razor's edge. At any moment things could fall apart. And they did, several times. Never, though, did Sands lose his composure. He wasn't suprised by anything. At least on the outside. Ryan knew him well enough to see these changes in him. Right now he was just having fun.

"Plus I'm a good looking pig," Sands continued. "Way better looking than you."

The suspect merely sat in his chair silently. "Do you honestly think that you're wife would choose you again if I were standing next to you?"

"My wife would never marry an American," the suspect blurted out.

Good, Ryan thought. He's married. There's some leverage.

"She never met me, though," continued Sands. "Maybe I'd change her mind."

The suspect shot a look at Sands. "You Americans think that you are so special. You're nothing. Listen to yourself, talking about how good looking you are. Talking about taking my wife. Trying to get me to relax by looking at dirty pictures. I know what you're doing. You're trying to get me to make some sort of deal."

Sands just looked at the suspect. "Deal?" he said, finally. "I'm not offering you a deal. You tried to blow up a Bennigans. I LOVE Bennigans. Have you ever had their Monte Cristo sandwich? It's incredible."

The suspect didn't answer. "No?" asked Sands. He stood and walked over to the one-way mirror. Tapping on the glass, he shouted "Hey - get us two Monte Cristos from Bennigans!"

He turned back to the suspect. "Do you want fries or a veggie with that?" Silence. After a moment he turned back to the glass. "Both with fries."

"Is he serious?" asked Hoover.

Ryan thought for a moment. How much worse could this get? He was being embarrassed in front of his rival department's boss.

"You know, I could go for a Monte Cristo, too. How about you?"

Hoover looked back through the glass. "Yeah, why not?" he said finally.

Ryan turned to an aid and held up four fingers.

"Then why am I here?" asked the suspect.

"Because I am trying to annoy my boss, who is right on the other side of this glass," Sands answered, tapping on the glass again. "My boss, in turn, is trying to annoy the director of the FBI. Why? I don't know. Some Washington politics. I don't get involved in that stuff."

Hoover looked at Ryan, who could only look back and shrug his shoulders.

"Then how long will we be here?" asked the suspect.


"I'm going to keep you here either until my boss gets too annoyed at me, Hoover shoots me and my boss, and you to boot, or until you talk. Whichever comes first."

"I'm not saying a word to you about that without a lawyer."

Sands sat down and leaned close to the suspect - almost so that their faces touched. "Do you think that I need you to tell me who you are?" he asked. "You don't think that we have operatives all over Carthage? You think that your picture on CNN, FOX News, and MSNBC won't come up with something? And what about the reward? Ten million dollars for information regarding the bombings. You don't think someone will come forward?

"Maybe it will be your wife," Sands continued. "Maybe she'll come forward."

"My wife will never talk to you."

"No? I think she will. You see, eventually someone will tell us who you are, and we'll find your wife after that. We'll begin asking her questions about whom you've been associating with. What organization you're a part of. Where you got these wonderful explosives."

"She won't talk to you."

"You don't think so, huh?" answered Sands. "You don't think that we can get this information out of her? What about your kids. Do you have kids?"

The suspect sat quietly, but seemed startled. A big grin appeared on Sands' face. "You do have kids. How old are they? Old enough to talk with us? Either way, somebody in your family will talk."

"That's it," said Ryan.

Hoover looked at the CIA director. "That's what?"

"He's got him," Ryan replied.

 

[zeeter]

Santa Ana waited in a cell in Tenochitlan. Rats scurried about, along with roaches and other assorted bugs. He'd been caught just a few hours ago. It was someone within his own military who turned him in. One of his lieutenants.

What now? Some of his more trusted, higher ranking officers were aware of the general's plans. Would they follow through with them? If so, would they act more quickly now that he had been arrested?

Looking out the barred window of his cell, Santa Ana could see the harbor of Tenochitlan. The guns of the coastal fortress were impressive, and gave the impression of a nation of power. This betrayed the truth, though. Most of Mexico lay in poverty. Montezuma ran this country with an iron fist. Instead of offering the people the opportunity to run their own government, he placed his own people in positions of importance.

There was no due process. Courthouses did not exist. Police stations took the accused and processed them in their own special way. This was no way to live, but apparently it would continue.

"General Benitez to see you," one of his guards said. Benitez, thought Santa Ana. Who is he?

As he approached, Santa Ana saw a face that he thought he never would again. The man was dead, or so the stories went.

When the guards left, Benitez stood outside of the cell.

"I know you. I thought you were dead. My own men killed you."

It was El Mariachi. Years ago, Montezuma gave the order to have him and his family killed.

"You should not listen to your men, General. They tell you only what you want to hear."

"But I saw the wreckage. Nothing could survive."

Santa Ana watched as El Mariachi thought for a moment. "No," he said softly. "Nothing survived."

It was his family that he thought of. They were all killed during the blast. A moment of compassion overtook him. "I am sorry. I did not know. I did not reallize at the time the lengths at which El Presidente would go."

"Yet you gave the order," El Mariachi shot back.

What could he say? What do you say to a man who's family you killed? Santa Ana looked into the man's eyes. "I truly am sorry," was all that he could say.

"Lucky for you, I was not there at the time," said El Mariachi. "If so, I would not be here now."

"What are your intentions?" asked Santa Ana.

"We will meet with Huascar. You will lead the army against Montezuma's security detail."

"I can't do that. It will look as if we are taking over the government."

"We are."

Santa Ana was incredulous. "We cannot run an Inca led coup. The Aztecs of the north will not stand for it."

"You would be suprised what the Aztecs will stand for, general. Do you think that they like their lives inspected by the security force? Come. We leave now."

"Wait, one more thing..."

"General, I have met with Huascar. He is one of the most honorable men I have had the pleasure of meeting. He is the only reason why you are alive right now. He told me of you. He told me how you wanted change. I want to believe right now that you have found it in your heart to be a good man. That you will try to make up for the torment that you assisted in spreading throughout Mexico. You will run this coup. Should you die, better there than in front of a firing squad."

El Mariachi turned quickly toward the doorway where a guard had entered the room. Before a word could get out the guard was shot. Another guard entered and faced the same fate. This one held the keys to the cells.

Santa Ana waited while El Mariachi opened his cell. It starts now, he thought. All that he had been waiting for was beginning.

Outside his cell, Santa Ana picked up one of the guns from a fallen guard. El Mariachi took it from him. "You won't need that, General," he said.

The general watched as the gunman exited the holding cell area. Many in the guardroom were prepared, no doubt hearing the commotion. Shots rang out, but none seemed to hit El Mariachi. Was this some sort of magic? He was like the stories that had been told. Round after round was fired, and guard after guard fell. They fell from the stairway, from behind desks, and from the loft area. Not only did El Mariachi have a gift for eluding the bullets, but he had a sense for where the guards were and an uncanny ability to shoot them.

It made Santa Ana wonder what he would have done with the guard's gun. He felt somewhat silly now.

A guard jumped from the loft on top of El Mariachi. Another ran from behind a desk and tried to subdue him. As the second guard approached, El Mariachi flipped the guard on his back over his shoulder and into the rushing guard. Together they hit the floor, where the gunman wasted no time in putting an end to their lives.

He stood for a moment, holding his gun at arm's length, spinning around slowly. There were no more targets. All were dead.

"Come, General," El Mariachi shouted. The room smelled of gunpowder. Santa Ana could barely see the gunman through the smoke. As he stepped over the bodies to the exit, he realized that he should not have believed his soldiers. There was no way they could have ever killed this man.

-----------------------------------------------

 

[Volum]

I dont now why you bother working, you could live of writing!

 

[EQandcivfanatic]

wow, you've churned out a lot with these installments. It is still pretty good, though i detect an influence of movies on your more recent installment. (Once Upon a Time in Mexico)

 

[zeeter]

Theres a lot of movie influence throughout this whole thing. I tried not to plagiarize, though. Or if I did, I tried to make it as obvious as I could.

 

[EQandcivfanatic]

I'll say one thing though, it's hard to make a movie scene into a good story, and you've managed to do so on several occasions.

 

[zeeter]

EQ - what's fun is to take a character whom I liked in a movie, like Agent Sands, and write for him. I'll be introducing my favorite all-time movie character in a little while.

 

[Volum]

Theres been a while.

I want more, MORE I TELL YOU

 

[jalapeno_dude]

GIVE US MORE!

 

[Moss]

Originally posted by Volum
I dont now why you bother working, you could live of writing!

Living off of writing is harder than one thinks. Even if you are a great writer, you still need a very lucky break. Publishers are extremely picky, and it takes awhile to make a name for yourself.

 

[zeeter]

Marc Antony saw sunlight for the first time in eight days. As he emerged from the hatch the light almost blinded him as his eyes tried to adjust.

"Storm clouds to the North," he heard Captain D'Angelo say. "We can't stay up here for too long. Just long enough to replenish our breathers with fresh air."

Antony looked at the storm clouds for a few moments pondering what would happen to him. Would he be killed? Imprisoned? He had cost the lives of many Romans due to his miscalculations. Cleopatra was done with him; his usefulness having run out. There was only one place that he could go. The Northern Province could be a safe haven, despite the fighting that had occurred there.

"Captain, make your course for Caesaria," he said.

"No sir, I have orders. We head to Rome," replied D'Angelo.

That was the answer Antony had expected. "And what will happen there?"

"I don't know, sir. My orders were to pick you and two other men up."

Those two other men were dead now. From the efforts of Brianna, Antony still lived. What had happened to her? She refused to come aboard the submarine, claiming that there was unfinished business in Alexandria.

"Captain, let us speak frankly."

"Yes sir," replied the captain.

"If I go to Rome," Antony began, "I'll either be killed or thrown in some jail cell."

"That may be, sir."

"No, it is likely," replied Antony.

The captain looked at the Emperer. "Yes, sir. It is likely."

"Two men died rescuing me," Antony continued. "They gave their lives so that I could live."

"And many died because of your relationship with the Queen," the captain retorted. He was right, thought Antony. There was no excuse he could make to counter this.

"You are wise, Captain D'Angelo. But are you wise enough to do the right thing?"

"What are you suggesting, sir?" asked the captain. "I certainly cannot release you..."

Antony looked off to the horizon. The sun was setting in the West. It's orange glow provided little warmth on this chilly day. The wind crept into his bones. It reminded him of a day long ago, when Antony helped Trajan lead the expedition to the North. From those beginnings he had become a major factor in the world. Yet the sea was his home; it always had been.

"Have you ever done something, captain, and immediately wanted to take it back?"

"Of course, sir, but I hardly see the relevance..."

"You have a chance now to correct a wrongdoing. Cleopatra has the missiles that will strike down the world. Hannibal's people are hellbent on revenge and would rather die than see an American breathe. Our spies report that Mexico will soon fight for its independence. I can stop all of this. I can save millions of lives, if only given the chance. You can be a part of that, Captain. Have you ever wanted to be a hero? When you were a boy?

"Yes, sir."

"This is your chance, then. Take me to the North, Captain. I am not done on this world yet."

---------------------------------------------------

Rameses watched the ships on the horizon. They had tried to attack, but there were too many. He was right. In fact everyone was right. Octavian does not mess around. He goes for the throat, just as Caesar did. He had learned well. If the enemy attacks one of your cities you don't just fight back, you go for the throat. Alexandria was soon to be under siege by the Roman navy.

The Egyptian bombers had been struck down just after taking off. Roman fighters locked onto them as soon as they left the runway. No Egyptian ships could even approach the armada. Missile attacks had failed miserably. There was nothing left in the Egyptian arsenal.

The queen aproached. Rameses watched silently as she walked toward him.

"Your highness, you knew that Octavian would do this," he said.

"Yes, general, I did."

"And what will we do now?"

"We will fight," replied the queen.

"With what? We don't stand a chance against them." At that the queen shot Rameses a stern look. "I only speak honestly, your highness. Without air superiority we have little hope."

"We do not fight only here, General," replied Cleopatra. "There are other fronts."

"Yet this is our home. Take Egypt away and the other fights mean nothing."

"We will not have to fight here, Rameses. I have seen to that."

Rameses looked again at the horizon. Hundreds of ships waited there. "The ultimatum gave us until tomorrow morning to surrender."

"I have given Octavian my own ultimatum, General," the queen replied. "He will withdrawal by morning."

"Are you certain of this?" Rameses couldn't believe his ears. What could possibly force the Romans back?

"Yes. Octavian will have no choice. Either he withdrawals or thousands, if not millions of Romans will die."

The missiles, thought Rameses. "You cannot be serious, your highness. He'll retaliate ten-fold if you strike them with our nuclear arsenal. You may kill millions of Romans, but he'll just turn around and kill millions of Egyptians."

"No he won't, General," replied the queen. "I know Octavian. He has a weakness. Octavian's heart is too big for his position. He knows that a nuclear exchange will be fruitless. He cannot stand the loss of life. Any life - Roman or Egyptian or American. Right now our submarines are stationed off the Roman and American borders. I have given the launch codes and orders to strike at dawn if these ships here have not withdrawn." Cleopatra gestured to the Roman fleet.

"And if he calls your bluff?" asked Rameses.

The queen's response made the general's blood turn cold.

"It is not a bluff."

------------------------------------------------

 

[Volum]

Once again, this is damned good!

 

[Ruchelli]

Bravo!!!

Where does one find the time to come up with a masterpiece like this?

 

[EQandcivfanatic]

of course the more you write the more we want to complete this great epic. Always awaiting more.

 

[Padma]

It's the months between installments that is hard to bear ....

 

[zeeter]

Months? It's been about three weeks. Ok, ok. I'll try to get something done. Sorry for the delay, everybody.

 

[Volum]

YES three weeks is a long time if u sit and stear at the Stories and Tales forum and hit 'uppdate' every 10 seconds.

 

[Moss]

Originally posted by Volum
YES three weeks is a long time if u sit and stear at the Stories and Tales forum and hit 'uppdate' every 10 seconds.

I'd say get a life, but that would be cruel, and I feel almost the same way.

 

[Padma]

Originally posted by zeeter
Months? It's been about three weeks. Ok, ok. I'll try to get something done. Sorry for the delay, everybody.

I know, I know. (I forgot the smiley at the end of my earlier post. )

Anyway, I've been following this story for the two years you've been writing it, and it sure *feels* like months!

Let's just say we're "eagerly awaiting the next installment", okay?

 

[EQandcivfanatic]

he's been writing it two years? wow. It didnt feel that long