Friends in High Places

Tokyo Skytree

August 2013, The War of Sanctuaries has begun
Duke never really warmed up to Tokyo. Especially during the night. He’d much rather the twinkling lights of Dresden reflected onto the Elbe river, than the headache insinuating neon lights of Tokyo’s skyline.
Standing on the deserted observation deck of the Tokyo Skytree, the heavy rain tapped a constant beat on the glass pane. He knocked back two paracetamol tablets with a swig of Fanta, savoring the “tropical” taste of a German made drink.

He heard the entrance door open, as trendy Latin American walked with little swagger, and a refrained smile. Carlos joined the German at the window, neither looking at each other.
“I don’t know how, but the situation’s worsened” Carlos broke the ice. He clutched a briefcase tightly in his hand. “I’ve heard. The Africans have joined the Irish Sanctuary, along with the Ozzie’s” Duke responded, looking at the locked case with a sigh. “So what’s in the case then”.
He liked Carlos. He was straight to the point. Same personality as the man he met in the New York sanctuary back in the spring of '03, when Duke was still an intern for the Berlin Devision
Carlos handed the briefcase to Duke before answering. “Our guys want your guys in Berlin to run a simple prisoner exchange with the Africans. All the relevant paperwork is in their. Hand it straight to the German Council personally. There’s also some other documents in their that are eyes only. I’ll recommend you to go on the team that does the deed in Africa”. Duke smiled sarcastically. “Thanks, your too kind”.
Carlos chuckled " Cairo’s hot this time of year"
Duke sighed “at least can you pull some strings from up to and get us a quality car? Like a BMW or something?”
Carlos was cut off mid sentence, to the opening of the door. Dukes eyes hardened as three sorcerers stepped through the door. He could tell by their grins that they weren’t coming for a chat. One was already igniting a flame in their palm.
“Fuck” said Duke "We’ve been sold out"
Carlos crackled blue lightning between his fingers “Get the briefcase out of here” the small Manhattan/Latino grunted. "I can handle these fuckers myself.
Duke didn’t wait to argue. He knew his job. They both did.

Duke drew a silenced Walther PPK, fired two rounds at the tallest of the attackers, her head knocking back with a burst of blood. Then he ran, gripping the case in his left hand with a dead mans hold, leaving Carlos to buy him some time. He was confident that the Latin American could handle himself. He circled the observation deck and burst through a fire exit, a ball of flames searing the doorframe as he dived.

Once in the corridor it was just a matter of an elevator ride to the bottom floor and a race to his Mercedes out front.

Bing the elevator sounded as the doors slide open to a mostly deserted reception. He deformed the pistol as he crossed the marble floor to the dark steps outside. His black car was neatly parked at the steps to the Skytree Building. He opened the cold boot and carefully laid the briefcase inside. He had walked around the C Class to the drivers door by the time he heard the scream above him. He looked up just in time to see Carlos fall from the top of the skyscraper in an explosion of glass. Duke could do nothing to help as his friend plummeted hundreds of feet, before landing with a blood curdling crunch onto the tarmac road only ten metres away from where Duke was standing. He simply stared with horror. He tore is tear filled eyes away from the semi-mushed corpse that used to be Carlos. Duke sat into the plush leather seat of the Mercedes Benz and pulled away, as pedestrians stopped and pointed, one or two screamed for a doctor.

Duke just drove. And didn’t stop