Post by ♠ Christopher Oswald on May 22, 2010 16:28:02 GMT
Country: London, United Kingdom
Current Time: 20: 15
Weather Conditions: Cold, damp, winter evening.
The heels of the Second Lieutenant’s boots struck the concrete pavement with a steady beat. His walking cane was held tightly in his right hand, and it swung with his arm, with every step he took. His peaked cap was placed squarely upon his head, covering his swept back black hair. He’d even trimmed the corners of his moustache before leaving the house.
He’d need to take the 59 bus down to Baker Street, take three different tubes to North Ruislip, the 102 bus to Charlton Square, and then it was a five minute walk to the Soviet Embassy. He then needed to get passed the guards, enter the kitchen through the toilet windows, and break some poor communist’s nose. Then hide his uniform in a satchel, tucked away in the ‘locked’ cupboard, second from the left. Hide the unconscious body, then make his way through the crowded party room and towards the coats. Then quickly slip the German pistol and documents into Colonel Vladimir Ivanov’s jacket, proceed upstairs, silently liquidate the ambassador, move back downstairs, get changed, and leave. Then stay overnight in the Charlton Arms Hotel. Oswald checked his watch. It would take about two hours if he worked efficiently.
In the distance, at the end of the quiet side street, he could just make out the bus station. The building looked like a warehouse, with rows of vehicles parked around it. The small slights of light emitted from the headlights of the routemaster buses could just be seen. Few cars were around these days, with petrol quite so highly priced, therefore people used public transport like never before.
The officer neared the large, black building. More people began to pass him: mother’s with rowdy children; drunkards who should have been fighting for their country; soldier’s smoking and swearing. What was British society turning into?
Oswald entered into the building itself. It was of Victorian design, stinking, and filthy. The ceiling was ten metres above the stone floor, with wrought iron beams that had been painted turquoise, but were now rusting and chipping away. The red brick walls were flaking and the mortar was missing between many of the stones. The tall windows, covered in blast tape, were cracked, dirty or both. A grey bearded tramp sat by the door on a threadbare blanket, begging.
“Spare a penny for a man down on his luck?” he asked hoarsely, as his and Oswald’s eyes met. He held out a cupped hand, hopefully, smiling and showing a mouth lacking most of its teeth. Oswald took one look at him, before spitting in the man’s hand.
Current Time: 20: 15
Weather Conditions: Cold, damp, winter evening.
The heels of the Second Lieutenant’s boots struck the concrete pavement with a steady beat. His walking cane was held tightly in his right hand, and it swung with his arm, with every step he took. His peaked cap was placed squarely upon his head, covering his swept back black hair. He’d even trimmed the corners of his moustache before leaving the house.
He’d need to take the 59 bus down to Baker Street, take three different tubes to North Ruislip, the 102 bus to Charlton Square, and then it was a five minute walk to the Soviet Embassy. He then needed to get passed the guards, enter the kitchen through the toilet windows, and break some poor communist’s nose. Then hide his uniform in a satchel, tucked away in the ‘locked’ cupboard, second from the left. Hide the unconscious body, then make his way through the crowded party room and towards the coats. Then quickly slip the German pistol and documents into Colonel Vladimir Ivanov’s jacket, proceed upstairs, silently liquidate the ambassador, move back downstairs, get changed, and leave. Then stay overnight in the Charlton Arms Hotel. Oswald checked his watch. It would take about two hours if he worked efficiently.
In the distance, at the end of the quiet side street, he could just make out the bus station. The building looked like a warehouse, with rows of vehicles parked around it. The small slights of light emitted from the headlights of the routemaster buses could just be seen. Few cars were around these days, with petrol quite so highly priced, therefore people used public transport like never before.
The officer neared the large, black building. More people began to pass him: mother’s with rowdy children; drunkards who should have been fighting for their country; soldier’s smoking and swearing. What was British society turning into?
Oswald entered into the building itself. It was of Victorian design, stinking, and filthy. The ceiling was ten metres above the stone floor, with wrought iron beams that had been painted turquoise, but were now rusting and chipping away. The red brick walls were flaking and the mortar was missing between many of the stones. The tall windows, covered in blast tape, were cracked, dirty or both. A grey bearded tramp sat by the door on a threadbare blanket, begging.
“Spare a penny for a man down on his luck?” he asked hoarsely, as his and Oswald’s eyes met. He held out a cupped hand, hopefully, smiling and showing a mouth lacking most of its teeth. Oswald took one look at him, before spitting in the man’s hand.
