Trouble in Haiti (day 2 - start voting)

[Muser]

As Muser steps off the airplane, a blast of tropical heat smacks him in the face. "Man, it's like a freakin' oven down here. What have I gotten myself into?"

As Muser heads for the baggage claim, he pulls out his tattered copy of The World Factbook and opens it to the section on Haiti, reading

"One of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere, Haiti has been plagued by political violence for most of its history."

"Oh, that's great", mutters Muser as he loosens his tie against the building sweat. Reading on,

"...lies in the middle of the hurricane belt and subject to severe storms from June to October; occasional flooding and earthquakes; periodic droughts...About 80% of the population lives in abject poverty...inadequate supplies of potable water...roughly one-half of the population also practices Voodoo."

Muser sighs audibly and rubs his temples, his headache starting to build as he grabs his bags and begins his search for a cab to get him to his hotel...

[Muser]

Muser flips on the TV and tosses the remote on the hotel room bed. The news anchor is in mid-sentence:

“…missionary was killed in an apparent Voodoo ritual. The name of the deceased is being withheld pending notification of relatives. In other news, more violence erupted during an overnight Guerilla attack that left a medical student dead. No further information is available at this time regarding the attack.”

“Geez, it’s started already,” mutters Muser. “Guess it’s time for me to get familiar with the locals.”

[Muser]

Muser ducks into a dimly lit alley and settles into a far corner, seeking refuge from the city.

Things are worse than I thought. There’s a crazy mob mentality down here, with people actually talking about lynching someone in broad daylight! As careful as I’ve been, it seems that I’ve still attracted the attention of a few of the seedier looking individuals. I’m going to have to find some allies soon, or I could be in trouble, despite my intentions to help the situation. I’m not sure any of the natives can be trusted though…they all seem to be either Voodoo crazies or militant fanatics.

After a few deep breaths to regain his calm, Muser steps back out into the street and blends into the crowd.

[Muser]

A mob has formed in the streets and Muser is trapped in its midst. A local shouts, “’Ang dat dude…e’s lookin’ a bit shady ta me.” Another screams, pointing at Muser, “No, string up dat wan…I don’ trust no foreigners.” “Ya, mon…let’s keel dat wan!!!”

Oh my God! How am I going to get out of this? I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures…

Muser responds, “Hey, I’m just here on vacation! I was told that the food was good and the babes went topless on the beaches. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to have a little fun, can you? But that guy with the Cuban cigar should be getting your attention…you’d think the commie infiltrators would be a little more discrete, and not just blow smoke right in your faces. If you’re going to hang anyone from a banana tree, he’s your man.”

Vote: cuban smoker

[Muser]

*** PRIORITY TRANSMISSION ***

TO: SAC/MIAMI
FROM: MUSER

FVGHNGVBA VA UNVGV QRTENQVAT ENCVQYL, IVBYRAPR RKGERZR. ORYVRIR V UNIR VQRAGVSVRQ PHONA ZBYR JUB VF ABJ EHAAVAT FPNERQ. NYFB ERPRVIRQ QVFTHVFRQ ZRFFNTR SEBZ PBAGNPG JUB NCCRNEF GB OR N TRAHVAR SEVRAQYL. QRFCVGR GURFR QRIRYBCZRAGF, NZ PBAPREARQ NOBHG FHEIVIVAT GUR AVTUG. ERDHRFGVAT VZZRQVNGR NFFVFGNAPR.

*** END TRANSMISSION ***

[Muser]

Muser snatches the telegram from the local exchange operator, “Mind your own business! It’s a private message.” A worried look forms on his face as he reads the telegram:

*** PRIORITY TRANSMISSION ***

TO: MUSER
FROM: SAC/MIAMI

QVERPGBE UNF BEQRERQ NYY VAGRENTRAPL PBBCRENGVBA BA GUVF ZNGGRE GREZVANGRQ VZZRQVNGRYL. LBH’YY UNIR GB QRCRAQ BA LBHE BJA THLF BE GUR YBPNYF SBE URYC, ZHFRE.

VAGRYYVTRAPR VAQVPNGRF GUNG GUVF PUNAARY ZNL OR PBZCEBZVFRQ. PRNFR NYY SHEGURE PBZZHAVPNGVBAF VZZRQVNGRYL.

*** END TRANSMISSION ***

[Muser]

Muser approaches the bartender at the seedy little cantina down the road from his hotel. "Hey, I've got a message I need you to deliver."

"Wat you tink I am? You messenja boy?" the bartender replies.

"Will this make it worth your while?" Muser asks, sliding a twenty dollar bill across the bar.

"Dat should do it, mon. Who dis message for?"

"Guy named mith. Make sure he gets it." With that, Muser tosses him a folded piece of paper, turns, and heads out the door.

The bartender, not being all that concerned about privacy issues, takes a peek at the note. "What da heck is dis?!"

WBG ORWX! XBL OLZG QK ZBOKBWK D CRW GHLZG. DG'Z ZB ARHM GB NWBJ TBH ZLHK GABLEA...

[Muser]

Muser approaches the park bench, turns and sits at the opposite end from discer. Without making eye contact, Muser whispers, "I think you understand why I'm here, and know it's for the good of Haiti."

"I've attracted too much attention though, and need to disappear for a while. If you don't hear from me again, beware of those who are responsible for my death."

[Muser]

Muser silently approaches his hotel room door. The tiny piece of tape he left near the top is still firmly in place. It appears that no one has entered his room...through the door, anyway. He cautiously opens the door and scans the room inside. A quick physical sweep of the room confirms it...all clear.

Not bothering to even strip from his dirty and sweat soaked clothes, he collapses on the bed in utter exhaustion. A night full of the stress of hunting and being hunted, without a moment of rest, has taken its toll. As he drifts off to sleep, he wonders...

Did I sense some help in my survival last night? It seemed someone was looking out for me, but I can't be sure. I don't know how I could have survived otherwise. Maybe I have found a silent ally. I've got to get just a few hours of rest, then I'll see what I can find out, and start thinking about how to survive another night...