The Miteravian Presidential Jet flew over the Bretonnian Republic, air traffic control had just told the pilot he was clear to land. President Seiler sat in the back of the plane, he once again noted his tardiness and cursed himself for not planning ahead enough; it wasn't his fault that refuelling the jet took so long, he reasoned with himself.
One of Seiler's aides, Veronika, walked through from the rear cabin.
'Uh...sir,' the aide began.
'What is it, Veronika.' He mused since he was already in a poor mood he hoped this wasn't any bad news.
'That communique you sent to Bretonnia regarding the NOR...' she continued.
'Yes.'
'Well...uh...it was never delivered, the Foreign Office never sent it off.'
'WHAT!' Seiler shot from his seat. 'Ugh the Foreign Office, for god's sake...'
'So...um...I don't think they know we're coming, sir...'
Seiler walked into the rear cabin of the plane.
'Maks,' he pointed at another aide, 'find the contact info for someone in the Bretonnian government and inform them of our impending arrival, get them to send a cab or something, we're already late and now we have no arrangements made.'
Maks did as was instructed so by the time the Miteravian's plane had touched Bretonnian soil they had a hotel, their private security and transport organised. They unloaded from the plane and hightailed it towards the conference.