Stupid Luck and Happenstance, Thread III
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- Start date
Part 143, Chapter 2576
Chapter Two Thousand Five hundred Seventy-Six
6th August 1976
Montreal, Canada
“I couldn’t imagine trying to do this with Allie if she was actually present” Marie Alexandra replied as she worked on a sketch of Alice with a photograph held to the page by the binder clip that was also holding the sketchbook open.
Beyond the problem of keeping Alice still for more than a few seconds, she would also be taking an active interest in whatever Marie would be doing and wanting to join in. That would make it difficult. The sketch was part of a larger project, a painting that Marie was planning on doing of Henriette and Alice as a gift to Henriette on her upcoming birthday. She had briefly considered venturing out as someone other than herself today, but Marie didn’t have any legends set up who would be keeping in character if they were seen working on a sketch pad. So, she was boring, easily recognizable Marie Alexandra von Mischner-Blackwood today as she was enjoying coffee and a charcuterie-board for tea in the Little Italy neighborhood of Montreal.
“That is why you had me sitting with a bag of potatoes on my lap in her place?” Henriette asked.
“Children and animals are impossible to work with” Marie said, “Everyone knows that and Polaroid to the rescue.”
Marie was tapping the photograph with the blunt end of her pencil to add emphasis, which Henriette found amusing.
“Are you still unwilling to talk about Sabastian?” Henriette asked, changing the subject, and souring the mood.
“It is not that I am unwilling, it’s just that I don’t want to upset you by saying the wrong thing” Marie said. How did she begin to describe the fractious nature of the Schultz family to someone who might not be inclined to believe it? Not just because so much of it seemed like exaggeration.
“How bad could it be?” Henriette asked.
“It’s not bad, not at all” Marie said, “Just hard to explain.”
Henriette gave Marie a quizzical look. Telling her about the banner that was hanging in the Naval Hall of the Imperial Military Museum that was the symbol of not just Tilo Schultz but the whole family because it was nearly identical to the one hung in honor of Johan Schultz years earlier by the Luftwaffe. A magpie on a field of vert, with the magpie being a symbol of wisdom, loyalty, and luck, but also of perfidy.
“You saw how Anna and Gretchen were bickering with each other right up until my grandmother decided to tell them her opinion of them?” Marie asked, “That is typical of them. There is a joke about how the fact that the Schultz family would rather fight with each other is the only thing that is preventing world conquest.”
“Sabastian doesn’t behave that way” Henriette said.
“Of course not” Marie said, because he doesn’t have a brother. The closest thing he had to that was Niko, but whenever a Richthofen and a Schultz worked together things got strange.
Washington D.C.
The stereotype was that the Canadians were always polite. However, that had sharp limits and getting caught with a truck full of guns and explosives on the wrong side of the border was how you got there. The Brigadier General who Nixon had just spoken on the phone with, the head of the secretive Canadian Counter Terrorism Unit who had been tasked with monitoring the highways into Montreal before and during the Olympics, was anything but polite. Telling Nixon directly that he needed to keep his trash on his side of the line. It seemed that assessment had the full backing of the Canadian Prime Minister.
The worst part was that Nixon recognized just who was who had been arrested in Canada and not that he would say so, but he was in reluctant agreement with the General. They were the same far-right morons who had been a plague on the United States for decades as either the Klan or whatever they were calling themselves this week. Malcontents who felt that the wrong side had won the Civil War, things had gone wrong just after the American Revolution with that whole freedom and justice for all thing, there was a functional Government at all, and that the United States had not walled itself off from rest of the world. The Olympic Summer Games represented everything about the world that they hated. Their plan had been a multistage bombing followed by shooting at the crowd and emergency personnel as they responded to create the most carnage and chaos. For a bunch of men who despised anyone they regarded as a foreigner, they were not above copying what had been done in other countries. In this case their plan was clearly based on the Berlin East Railway Station bombing committed by the Neo-Jacobins more than a decade earlier.
It probably would have been a good idea for them to learn what had happened to the Neo-Jacobins. The Canadian Army had been perfectly happy to show them that much. The other thing was that there was a very different approach to Human Rights and Justice north of the border. While there was talk of the Canadians having their own Bill of Rights, that was all it was, talk.
While Nixon’s legal advisors had told him that there was little danger of the Canadians taking them out and hanging them because Capital Punishment had been de facto abolished in 1962, that seemed rather thin. None of this was helped by Nixon’s first inclination to just let them rot, but this had happened during an election year, and he had a duty to the American people, even the ones who didn’t deserve that sort of consideration.
6th August 1976
Montreal, Canada
“I couldn’t imagine trying to do this with Allie if she was actually present” Marie Alexandra replied as she worked on a sketch of Alice with a photograph held to the page by the binder clip that was also holding the sketchbook open.
Beyond the problem of keeping Alice still for more than a few seconds, she would also be taking an active interest in whatever Marie would be doing and wanting to join in. That would make it difficult. The sketch was part of a larger project, a painting that Marie was planning on doing of Henriette and Alice as a gift to Henriette on her upcoming birthday. She had briefly considered venturing out as someone other than herself today, but Marie didn’t have any legends set up who would be keeping in character if they were seen working on a sketch pad. So, she was boring, easily recognizable Marie Alexandra von Mischner-Blackwood today as she was enjoying coffee and a charcuterie-board for tea in the Little Italy neighborhood of Montreal.
“That is why you had me sitting with a bag of potatoes on my lap in her place?” Henriette asked.
“Children and animals are impossible to work with” Marie said, “Everyone knows that and Polaroid to the rescue.”
Marie was tapping the photograph with the blunt end of her pencil to add emphasis, which Henriette found amusing.
“Are you still unwilling to talk about Sabastian?” Henriette asked, changing the subject, and souring the mood.
“It is not that I am unwilling, it’s just that I don’t want to upset you by saying the wrong thing” Marie said. How did she begin to describe the fractious nature of the Schultz family to someone who might not be inclined to believe it? Not just because so much of it seemed like exaggeration.
“How bad could it be?” Henriette asked.
“It’s not bad, not at all” Marie said, “Just hard to explain.”
Henriette gave Marie a quizzical look. Telling her about the banner that was hanging in the Naval Hall of the Imperial Military Museum that was the symbol of not just Tilo Schultz but the whole family because it was nearly identical to the one hung in honor of Johan Schultz years earlier by the Luftwaffe. A magpie on a field of vert, with the magpie being a symbol of wisdom, loyalty, and luck, but also of perfidy.
“You saw how Anna and Gretchen were bickering with each other right up until my grandmother decided to tell them her opinion of them?” Marie asked, “That is typical of them. There is a joke about how the fact that the Schultz family would rather fight with each other is the only thing that is preventing world conquest.”
“Sabastian doesn’t behave that way” Henriette said.
“Of course not” Marie said, because he doesn’t have a brother. The closest thing he had to that was Niko, but whenever a Richthofen and a Schultz worked together things got strange.
Washington D.C.
The stereotype was that the Canadians were always polite. However, that had sharp limits and getting caught with a truck full of guns and explosives on the wrong side of the border was how you got there. The Brigadier General who Nixon had just spoken on the phone with, the head of the secretive Canadian Counter Terrorism Unit who had been tasked with monitoring the highways into Montreal before and during the Olympics, was anything but polite. Telling Nixon directly that he needed to keep his trash on his side of the line. It seemed that assessment had the full backing of the Canadian Prime Minister.
The worst part was that Nixon recognized just who was who had been arrested in Canada and not that he would say so, but he was in reluctant agreement with the General. They were the same far-right morons who had been a plague on the United States for decades as either the Klan or whatever they were calling themselves this week. Malcontents who felt that the wrong side had won the Civil War, things had gone wrong just after the American Revolution with that whole freedom and justice for all thing, there was a functional Government at all, and that the United States had not walled itself off from rest of the world. The Olympic Summer Games represented everything about the world that they hated. Their plan had been a multistage bombing followed by shooting at the crowd and emergency personnel as they responded to create the most carnage and chaos. For a bunch of men who despised anyone they regarded as a foreigner, they were not above copying what had been done in other countries. In this case their plan was clearly based on the Berlin East Railway Station bombing committed by the Neo-Jacobins more than a decade earlier.
It probably would have been a good idea for them to learn what had happened to the Neo-Jacobins. The Canadian Army had been perfectly happy to show them that much. The other thing was that there was a very different approach to Human Rights and Justice north of the border. While there was talk of the Canadians having their own Bill of Rights, that was all it was, talk.
While Nixon’s legal advisors had told him that there was little danger of the Canadians taking them out and hanging them because Capital Punishment had been de facto abolished in 1962, that seemed rather thin. None of this was helped by Nixon’s first inclination to just let them rot, but this had happened during an election year, and he had a duty to the American people, even the ones who didn’t deserve that sort of consideration.
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The use of the magpie as described is actually quite common with few actually thinking about what it might mean.
Toon, Toon, Toon! Black and white army Whey Aye!
Toon, Toon, Toon! Geordies shout Whey Aye! Whey Aye!
Sung to the tune of the Out Here Brothers Boom, Boom, Boom
Toon, Toon, Toon! Geordies shout Whey Aye! Whey Aye!
Sung to the tune of the Out Here Brothers Boom, Boom, Boom
Oh yeah, the human rights declaration hasn't been pushed through the LoN. Which means there hasn't been pressure on everyone to adopt it.
Fun fact, that means the basic idea of 'rights' for many people across the world don't exist.
Hell, Rights of the Child was only signed in Australia in the 1990s.
That's going to create a very different world, that's for sure. So many rulings that were made regarding human rights, used the Declaration of Human Rights as a basis. As in, the countries would sign it and pledge to implement it, and the legal cases used this pledge as a basis for their legal challenges. Without it... that's going to be weird, that's for sure.
Fun fact, that means the basic idea of 'rights' for many people across the world don't exist.
Hell, Rights of the Child was only signed in Australia in the 1990s.
That's going to create a very different world, that's for sure. So many rulings that were made regarding human rights, used the Declaration of Human Rights as a basis. As in, the countries would sign it and pledge to implement it, and the legal cases used this pledge as a basis for their legal challenges. Without it... that's going to be weird, that's for sure.
It's funny because it's (mostly) true.
And things get... stranger... if a Mischner is thrown into the mix.
Hello Bert. It's a pleasure to meet you. Love the photos in the drawer.
Please let Andreas be tied up with these bigoted fools. Literally.
All to many people struggle to realise that other countries have their own laws and punishments for such. Until it's too late. In this case, Nixon is going to be faced with his political opposition, especially from the South, demanding that he "Get those poor innocent boys home"; and a media that joins in because of a) headlines and b) a mix of general ignorance, malice & laziness on the part of some journalists & their editors/producers/publishers. As for the Canadians, I'm sure Ellesmere Island would be a suitable place to put these foreign terrorists on ice.
There are so many stories of the Schultz Brothers that can be told about them, the most representative of them would be in the midst of the last great land battle of The Pacific War in Korea, Tilo and Jost fought each other, with Hans Mischner having to break it up.
The roots of the crimes that the clowns were planning to do at the Olympics began in the United States, and they are going to get a boatload of charges in Federal Court, Nixon can make a big deal out of asking the Canadian Government to extradite them and much to everyone's surprise the Canadians will agree to send them back to the United States, but it will only be after they serve their time in a Canadian prison.
The roots of the crimes that the clowns were planning to do at the Olympics began in the United States, and they are going to get a boatload of charges in Federal Court, Nixon can make a big deal out of asking the Canadian Government to extradite them and much to everyone's surprise the Canadians will agree to send them back to the United States, but it will only be after they serve their time in a Canadian prison.
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I suspect so. Which could make the next part even worse...
Or, worse...
Canada applies to extradite them to face any additional charges, they have not already been prosecuted for, I. E. Not the weapons or weapons trafficking charges, and are then sentenced in Canada on the understanding that onrease from Federal prison, they are released to the RCMP for transfer to Canada to serve their sentences from the Canadian charges before being released and deported back to the US.
I'll update this when I get home.
Except Andreas...
He does American time, then Canadian time, then he gets extradited to Germany by the BII...
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Canada has the clowns in their custody right now, and usually when more then one jurisdiction wants to prosecute someone, the jurisdiction that has the suspects gets the first bite of the apple, unless they are facing more serious charges somewhere else.
It looks like the Canadian charges are more serious then the American ones, so Canada should try them first, and maybe send them back to the United States afterwards if the US promises to make them serve out their Canadian sentences in full.
It looks like the Canadian charges are more serious then the American ones, so Canada should try them first, and maybe send them back to the United States afterwards if the US promises to make them serve out their Canadian sentences in full.
It was after I hit post I thought it would likely be closer to @ejpsan post.
Tried and sentenced in Canada, returned to America to be tried and sentenced then serve the appropriate time in their country of residence. In this case America in a Federal Penitentiary.
Except Andreas...
He gets handed over to the BII, returned to Germany to serve his Canadian and American sentences, followed by prosecution for his prior actions in Germany.
While I expect the Americans to serve their time concurrently, don't be surprised to find Andreas serving his sentences consecutively.
I don't know if this is a thing in Germany, but they could have a sealed arrest warrant out on Andreas.
If so, it is because they don't want him becoming aware of it and bolting for parts unknown.
I also don't know ITTL if Germany and the United States has an extradition treaty with each other, but if they don't and Andreas is picked up for any reason in the US, it would be very easy for the US to expel him as an "Undesirable Alien" and send him back to Germany on the first flight back to Germany.
If so, it is because they don't want him becoming aware of it and bolting for parts unknown.
I also don't know ITTL if Germany and the United States has an extradition treaty with each other, but if they don't and Andreas is picked up for any reason in the US, it would be very easy for the US to expel him as an "Undesirable Alien" and send him back to Germany on the first flight back to Germany.
He needs to be found, sooner or later.
Is there a Black Site prison somewhere? You know, like a "Diego Garcia" typo of place
Part 143, Chapter 2577
Chapter Two Thousand Five Hundred Seventy-Seven
12th August 1976
Belfast, Ireland
Having barely made it through Ohio State on an athletic scholarship and not quite good enough to go pro, Ed O’Neill had attended Law School driven by the horrifying thought of being the sort of sad sack lamenting his life having peaked while still playing ball in College or worse, Highschool, to anyone forced to listen. Seriously, no one on earth wanted to be that guy. He had discovered a real problem was that the career of a Lawyer was both exhausting and boring in equal turns though. Getting recruited by the Bureau had been one of the most welcome turns that his life had taken. They were actively looking for people who would not be hiding the little detail that being a third or fourth generation American didn’t make them any less loyal to the Kaiser and the wrong country. The result was something that Ed had seen in his class at Quantico. Recruits of Irish extraction were sought after, but there had been a large number of Blacks and Hispanics who suddenly had opportunities that would never have been available before. Ed had no idea just how far it would take him from home when he had been assigned to the Legal Attaché at the US Embassy in Dublin.
Never piss off the Gardai, remember that you have absolutely no authority anywhere in Ireland and that the Irish would remember any perceived insult until the end of time. Those were the rules that Ed had been told as soon as he had landed in Ireland. It was especially tricky for someone in Ed’s position. The Federal Bureau of Investigation was way out of its jurisdiction, so they needed the cooperation of Garda Síochána and the goodwill of people as they investigated cases with American interests involved. That was the reason for the rules and why Ed’s job was so ticklish. It was thought that because he was an Irish mutt from Ohio, Ed would have an easier time than many Americans. As he had already discovered, the truth was quite the opposite really. While maintaining stony silence in the face of Law Enforcement was a long-held tradition in Ireland and Ed had discovered that his name did not make him any friends. There was also the other occupational hazard in the form of the worst sort of scumbag in Dublin, those who were members of what had once been the Irish Republican Army but had turned to organized crime on both sides of the Atlantic, somehow being able to have the best legal representation in the form of Jack Kennedy.
It had been his tangling with Kennedy that had resulted in Ed getting sent north to Belfast to follow up on some sort of manure that Washington had cooked up. It seemed that Kennedy’s younger brother was a rising star in one of the major Irish political parties and their Justice Ministry had gotten involved. As if Ed needed more proof as to just how far the rot in Dublin went, he didn’t care if saying so was gaining him a reputation as a hothead.
Belfast though, it was an entirely different beast.
As they walked up the stairs of the apartment building that was on the sixth floor and had no elevator. Ed recalled the feeling of certain neighborhoods in Cleveland or Baltimore that he had been in where the people, the buildings and even the weather gave you the feeling that you didn’t belong there and would do anything to get rid of you. That was the feel that Ed had of Belfast as he and his partner, Thorley Grayson, who was twenty years older than Ed and through a series of unlikely events had been assigned to Ireland despite being the very picture of the White Anglo-Saxon Protestant Man from Upstate New York. He looked far more like someone who made business deals on a golf course rather than a Senior Special Agent of the FBI, that was both good and bad. Grayson seemed oblivious to the precarious situation that he and Ed had found themselves in. Walking to the end of a narrow hallway, Ed saw the address they were looking for. A steel door hung in a steel frame that was set in concrete. There was no room for a battering ram in the hallway, so nothing short of a cutting torch or explosives would make it through that door.
Grayson pounded on it with the flat of his knuckles, but where a wood door would seem ready to shake to pieces under that treatment, this only resulted in a dull thudding. A few minutes later there was the sound of several bolts being drawn and the door opened only a crack, which was only as far as the chain allowed, the occupant, a young woman with short dark hair and blue eyes peered out at them. Ed caught a glimpse of a spartan apartment, what would be expected of a University Student, which was what she was.
“Margret Morgan?” Grayson asked, holding his badge out so she could see it.
“Please don’t call me that” The woman replied in an annoyed tone that was obvious to Ed even when said with an Irish accent.
“Whatever you prefer to be called, we just have a few questions” Greyson said, and Ed figured that she was seconds from slamming the door in their face.
“What do your friends call you?” Ed asked.
“Anne” The woman replied, not taking her eyes off Greyson. It was obvious that while she didn’t trust either of them, it was Greyson who she regarded as a threat. He could also tell that everyone on this floor of the building was listening in. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if this conversation went badly.
“Okay, Anne” Ed said, “We understand that you worked at Malone’s Public House last summer, we just want to know about that.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Anne asked.
“Not much” Ed replied, “There have been questions about the Congressmen who met regularly in the banquet room there.”
“Oh” Anne said, “We were always told to keep at least an arm’s length from that lot.”
“Sure” Ed said sarcastically. For whatever reason, Washington wanted them to track down the women who had worked at the Irish themed restaurant in Boston and they all said the same things.
“Have you ever been to Berlin?” Greyson asked, probably out of impatience with what they had been getting.
“I wish” Anne replied, “I’ve heard it’s very posh.”
“Thank you, Miss Morgan” Ed said, “If you could…”
Ed was cut off by Greyson’s next question. “You understand that you are considered an American citizen, we have no record of you filing an income tax return?” He said, which resulted in the door being slammed and loudly bolted.
“Good one” Ed said to Greyson.
12th August 1976
Belfast, Ireland
Having barely made it through Ohio State on an athletic scholarship and not quite good enough to go pro, Ed O’Neill had attended Law School driven by the horrifying thought of being the sort of sad sack lamenting his life having peaked while still playing ball in College or worse, Highschool, to anyone forced to listen. Seriously, no one on earth wanted to be that guy. He had discovered a real problem was that the career of a Lawyer was both exhausting and boring in equal turns though. Getting recruited by the Bureau had been one of the most welcome turns that his life had taken. They were actively looking for people who would not be hiding the little detail that being a third or fourth generation American didn’t make them any less loyal to the Kaiser and the wrong country. The result was something that Ed had seen in his class at Quantico. Recruits of Irish extraction were sought after, but there had been a large number of Blacks and Hispanics who suddenly had opportunities that would never have been available before. Ed had no idea just how far it would take him from home when he had been assigned to the Legal Attaché at the US Embassy in Dublin.
Never piss off the Gardai, remember that you have absolutely no authority anywhere in Ireland and that the Irish would remember any perceived insult until the end of time. Those were the rules that Ed had been told as soon as he had landed in Ireland. It was especially tricky for someone in Ed’s position. The Federal Bureau of Investigation was way out of its jurisdiction, so they needed the cooperation of Garda Síochána and the goodwill of people as they investigated cases with American interests involved. That was the reason for the rules and why Ed’s job was so ticklish. It was thought that because he was an Irish mutt from Ohio, Ed would have an easier time than many Americans. As he had already discovered, the truth was quite the opposite really. While maintaining stony silence in the face of Law Enforcement was a long-held tradition in Ireland and Ed had discovered that his name did not make him any friends. There was also the other occupational hazard in the form of the worst sort of scumbag in Dublin, those who were members of what had once been the Irish Republican Army but had turned to organized crime on both sides of the Atlantic, somehow being able to have the best legal representation in the form of Jack Kennedy.
It had been his tangling with Kennedy that had resulted in Ed getting sent north to Belfast to follow up on some sort of manure that Washington had cooked up. It seemed that Kennedy’s younger brother was a rising star in one of the major Irish political parties and their Justice Ministry had gotten involved. As if Ed needed more proof as to just how far the rot in Dublin went, he didn’t care if saying so was gaining him a reputation as a hothead.
Belfast though, it was an entirely different beast.
As they walked up the stairs of the apartment building that was on the sixth floor and had no elevator. Ed recalled the feeling of certain neighborhoods in Cleveland or Baltimore that he had been in where the people, the buildings and even the weather gave you the feeling that you didn’t belong there and would do anything to get rid of you. That was the feel that Ed had of Belfast as he and his partner, Thorley Grayson, who was twenty years older than Ed and through a series of unlikely events had been assigned to Ireland despite being the very picture of the White Anglo-Saxon Protestant Man from Upstate New York. He looked far more like someone who made business deals on a golf course rather than a Senior Special Agent of the FBI, that was both good and bad. Grayson seemed oblivious to the precarious situation that he and Ed had found themselves in. Walking to the end of a narrow hallway, Ed saw the address they were looking for. A steel door hung in a steel frame that was set in concrete. There was no room for a battering ram in the hallway, so nothing short of a cutting torch or explosives would make it through that door.
Grayson pounded on it with the flat of his knuckles, but where a wood door would seem ready to shake to pieces under that treatment, this only resulted in a dull thudding. A few minutes later there was the sound of several bolts being drawn and the door opened only a crack, which was only as far as the chain allowed, the occupant, a young woman with short dark hair and blue eyes peered out at them. Ed caught a glimpse of a spartan apartment, what would be expected of a University Student, which was what she was.
“Margret Morgan?” Grayson asked, holding his badge out so she could see it.
“Please don’t call me that” The woman replied in an annoyed tone that was obvious to Ed even when said with an Irish accent.
“Whatever you prefer to be called, we just have a few questions” Greyson said, and Ed figured that she was seconds from slamming the door in their face.
“What do your friends call you?” Ed asked.
“Anne” The woman replied, not taking her eyes off Greyson. It was obvious that while she didn’t trust either of them, it was Greyson who she regarded as a threat. He could also tell that everyone on this floor of the building was listening in. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if this conversation went badly.
“Okay, Anne” Ed said, “We understand that you worked at Malone’s Public House last summer, we just want to know about that.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Anne asked.
“Not much” Ed replied, “There have been questions about the Congressmen who met regularly in the banquet room there.”
“Oh” Anne said, “We were always told to keep at least an arm’s length from that lot.”
“Sure” Ed said sarcastically. For whatever reason, Washington wanted them to track down the women who had worked at the Irish themed restaurant in Boston and they all said the same things.
“Have you ever been to Berlin?” Greyson asked, probably out of impatience with what they had been getting.
“I wish” Anne replied, “I’ve heard it’s very posh.”
“Thank you, Miss Morgan” Ed said, “If you could…”
Ed was cut off by Greyson’s next question. “You understand that you are considered an American citizen, we have no record of you filing an income tax return?” He said, which resulted in the door being slammed and loudly bolted.
“Good one” Ed said to Greyson.
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Does the FBI make a habit of hiring lobotomites? Or perhaps that's insulting to lobotomites...
Edit:
also
Should probably remove that had, otherwise it would be had had.
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Impatience, frustration, and dealing with what that individual regards as an inferior can have the same effect.