The Big Game
Athanatoi Headquarters, Schulz Building, Berlin - April 21, 2029
An Internet video played on the wall-mounted screen.
“Good evening, Roman infidels,” a man wearing traditional Mexican clothes said, “I hope you’ve been enjoying this latest football season, because it will be the last. It’s time for you all to stop worshipping athletes as if they are gods. I am calling on the Diet to cancel the upcoming Uberbowl and shut down the Paris stadium, or else there will be severe consequences. The gods are awake, and we are their sword!”
The video ended. Angelica dutifully closed the video player and switched to a slideshow with details on the Mexicanist cell the Athanatoi had been tracking. Diana turned to Wilhelm Karl, Heinrich, Thierry, Elias, and the other generals and politicians in the room.
“As far as I’m concerned, we need to shut down the stadium in Paris,” she said.
“I agree,” Thierry said, “The terrorists have now directly threatened the event. We can’t put that many innocent people in danger just for a game.”
“We can always reschedule it once we defeat those terrorists,” Heinrich said.
“Are we all in agreement?” Diana asked.
"No," Elias said.
“No,” Wilhelm Karl said.
Everyone looked at Wilhelm Karl.
“What do you think, sir?” Diana said.
“I think it is wise we don’t give in to the demands of terrorists,” Wilhelm Karl said, “Let me lay out the optics of our decision. So we cancel the Uberbowl. We anger millions of Romans who wanted to watch their team get a shot at the trophy. We lose millions of marks in advertising money which would’ve been spent on commercial breaks. And the Mexicanists get everything they want."
"We’d appear to be giving in to their demands, at the cost of our national pride and possibly economic health," Elias said, "If we do this, they win.”
“What do you suggest, then?” Heinrich said.
“We double, no, triple security at the venue,” Wilhelm Karl said, “They know we’re there, but we also know they’re coming now. So let’s lay a trap for them. The Athanatoi has had ample experience thwarting terror plots in the past, hasn’t it?"
"And you, Director Frank, have had many years of experience working to expose Sentinel, don’t you?” Elias said.
“And?” Diana said.
“I think you should personally assemble and lead a task force to supplement the Argus personnel the league has contracted,” Wilhelm Karl said, “We must project strength and unity in the face of an adversary who only wishes to tear us apart and return us to before the Restoration.”
“Sir, I’m not sure that’s wise,” Thierry said.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure everyone there will be kept safe by the daughter of the Valkyrie,” Wilhelm Karl said, “The woman who took down Sentinel and the mad Frankfurt terrorist. She has a decades-long record of excellence. I have faith she will keep us safe.”
He looked at Diana. “Well?”
Diana hesitated for a moment. Wilhelm Karl’s eyes seemed to pierce into her, breaking down the mental barriers she had thrown up. It reminded her a lot of Elias’ own look. Something about it unnerved her. There was only one other time she felt like this…back with Hoffman. She tried looking ahead for help, but as she had found out over the years, that was unreliable, and she found nothing other than an overwhelming feeling of dread.
“Uh…yes,” she said, her confidence evaporating, “Of course, Your Majesty. I will see to it that the Uberbowl is protected.”
“Are you saying that you will personally take responsibility for the safety of the spectators?” Wilhelm Karl said.
“I…guarantee it,” Diana stammered.
“It is hard to argue with Director Frank’s track record,” Elias said, “If she is confident her agents can protect the arena, then she has my support.”
“And mine too,” Thierry said, “Who else is with me?”
Everyone raised their hands.
“The Uberbowl stays on!” Wilhelm Karl declared.
Paris - May 1
The football stadium had been built in downtown Paris many decades ago as part of the reconstruction effort Adenauer spearheaded in the Wirtschaftswunder. That part of the city had been particularly badly bombed and shelled during World War II, which made it ideal for extensive construction efforts. Here, the architecture and city layout were noticeably more modern than in other parts of the city, more resembling Frankfurt and Constantinople’s Ostend than the actual city center. The football stadium was one such modern project. It was one of the earliest stadiums built after the war, serving as a symbol of Roman resilience and teamwork digging the country out of the ashes. But Diana couldn’t care about the history right now, because she had a job to do. The parking lot was now crowded with police cars and armored Athanatoi rapid response vehicles, while helicopters and drones circled overhead, scanning the nearby streets for any suspicious activities. Inside, Diana watched her agents sweep the still-empty stands, also searching for anything that shouldn’t be there. Angelica approached her.
“Last team reported in,” she said, “We’re all clear, Director.”
“Good,” Diana said, “I hear the lines outside are getting pretty long. We shouldn’t delay the event any more than necessary. Do we have enough agents to cover all points of entry?”
“With the Argus people helping out, we’ve got the skies, every block within a one mile radius, and every single inch of this stadium covered,” Angelica said.
“Thank you, Agent Haus,” Diana said, “I’m glad you’re on the team.”
“As am I,” Angelica said, “I hope I made you proud.”
“Well, we’ll have to get through the day first,” Diana said.
“Of course,” Angelica said.
“Let’s take our seats,” Diana said, “I paid for seats on the upper levels.”
“Isn’t that a violation of our code of ethics?” Angelica said.
“Not if it’s with my own money,” Diana said, “And I cleared it with the Justice Bureau too.”
They went to their seats and sat down. Over the next hour, the fans began streaming in, and soon the stadium was abuzz with chatter and excitement. Angelica took out her phone and opened a sports streaming app.
“What, you don’t want to watch the real deal?” Diana said.
“I like the commentary,” Angelica said.
“The anticipation is palpable as we are just moments away from the opening ceremony,” the commentator said, “Will the Patriots’ ferocity help them repeat as champs, yet again? Or will the underdog Lilies serve up a surprise smack down?”
“You’ve got to love this guy’s commentary,” Angelica said, “His reaction to the Eimerican rowing team’s upset victory at the 2020 Olympics went viral.”
“Well, he’s certainly…something, I can say that,” Diana said.
The opening ceremony came and went, and now it was time to introduce the teams.
“Introducing the challengers,” the loudspeaker echoed, “The Lille Lilies!”
The Lilies emerged from one corner as triumphant traditional French music played. The leading players were draped in blue flags bearing the old French fleur-de-lis, while the others bellowed French mottos. The audience roared with excitement. They must be proud a majority French team had finally reached the championships, after decades of getting close but never making it. Diana couldn’t help but root for the underdogs, as she always did. It wasn’t that long ago she herself was an underdog too.
“And their opponents!” the loudspeaker announced. “The seven-time defending champions, the Thracian Patriots!”
Everybody looked at the other corner, but they initially saw nothing. Then bright pyrotechnics fired off a display of sparks and flames around the entrance, and the team captain tore his way through a flag bearing a Spartan helmet clutching a football. The rest of his team followed behind, aggressively chanting intimidating Greek slogans. Pyrotechnics and fireworks fired off around the edge of the arena, creating a spectacle above befitting of the champions. But the audience wasn’t as receptive to the Patriots, being from the other side of the country. Diana herself didn’t particularly like them, although she did live in Constantinople for a long time. She wasn’t much of a sports fan anyways.
“Boo!” Angelica shouted. “Vive la France! French Lives Matter!”
Apparently Angelica felt the same way. She was a Normandy girl, after all. It hadn’t been that long ago that Diana had never even heard the name France before, and now it was everywhere. The French were really doing well promoting their culture over the last twenty years. After a few theatrics and customary greetings, the two teams took their positions, and a referee walked into the center of the field with a ball. He tossed the ball up and stepped back, and the teams charged at each other.
“The champs and challengers face off at the center, and here we go!” the commentator said.
“Come on, Lilies!” Angelica said. “I bet a hundred marks on you guys! Make France proud!”
Diana noticed the Patriots employed a very aggressive strategy. Tomas Patricia, their star player, was extremely provocative. He rushed towards the Lilies’ Marceau, who pulled back in surprise as Tomas got far too close, sweeping his leg down to take the ball from him. Marceau couldn’t move his leg in time and was sent flying.
“Patricia tries to clean Marceau’s clock by bringing him down to earth,” the commentator said.
“Damn,” Angelica said.
Tomas and the Patriots charged across the field, skillfully passing the ball between them. Every time Marceau or another of the Lilies came close to blocking their path or taking the ball, the Patriots simply passed it to someone else nobody expected. Two minutes later, they scored. Even after possession turned over to the Lilies, the Patriots still retained the advantage. Tomas was looking pretty smug about it too. He began taunting the other side, and Marceau raised his fists in response only to be held back by his teammates. The Lilies did score a few goals, but the Patriots had already amassed a big lead, just fifteen minutes in. Tomas and his teammates formed a line and began playing defensively, intercepting the Lilies’ kicks and passes to take back possession and then push forward. It was a simple but effective plan, made all the more effective by the Patriots’ unpredictable strategy. Sometimes, they would draw the Lilies’ attention to someone else like Tomas while another player swiped the ball. Other times they would tail a player dribbling the ball, but this would only be a distraction for another player to come in from the side and kick it away. Sometimes Tomas would use his signature “back block” to deflect a pass with his back, always calculated to send it right to the waiting feet of the least expected Patriot. By the half hour mark, Marceau was clearly frustrated. His face had been twisted in a scowl, and despite the encouragement of the crowd, he was in a bad mood. Tomas took advantage of it and said something to him, making a rude gesture too. Diana couldn’t hear it, being so far away with thousands of people talking around her, but it clearly got under Marceau’s skin, because he straight up punched Tomas.
“Oh, Marceau gets too worked up and decides it’s time to clean Patricia’s clock in revenge,” the commentator said, “Might this be a foul on both their parts?”
The referee only gave a red card to Marceau for assaulting another player.
“And Patricia gets away with it without as much as a reprimand for unruly conduct,” the commentator said, “A questionable call by the officials.”
“Oh come on!” Angelica said. “He clearly shouldn’t have been taunting.”
“Wouldn’t have guessed you know your way around football,” Diana said.
“Well, I played a little in high school,” Angelica said, “Didn’t go so well.”
Halftime rolled around at the 45-minute mark, and the show began. There were a few high-profile artists performing, including some of Alexandra and Thea’s favorite singers, but Diana kept her attention focused on the crowd. She picked up her walkie-talkie.
“Status report,” she said.
“All clear,” everyone reported in.
Putting down the walkie-talkie, she turned to Angelica.
“What the frak are they up to?” Diana said.
“Yeah,” Angelica said, “This doesn’t fit their MO. They’d likely attack during halftime for maximum casualties, but they’re not.”
Halftime ended, and attendants began dismantling the stage, while the performers said a few words to the audience and reporters and left. Yet there was still no attack. Diana was confused. She tried looking ahead, but as usual, it wasn’t helpful. The game resumed, and she noticed the Patriots were now playing completely differently. Five minutes in, they called a timeout. They used all of their time, about two minutes, to talk about something, although they didn’t look like they were talking much. After coming back, Tomas then baited Marceau into committing a foul, which caused play to be suspended for a little bit. But the clock continued ticking. After the referee made a call and possession was given to the Lilies, about a minute had passed. Ten minutes later, the Patriots called another timeout, which they stalled out again. Seven minutes after that, they tricked the Lilies into committing another foul, taking another minute, and then another one, taking yet another minute. Thirteen minutes after that, they called their last two-minute timeout. And before she knew it, there were only three minutes left before the 90 minute end mark, and the Patriots remained comfortably ahead.
“The Lilies are backed up badly and the Patriots smell blood,” the commentator said, “Not that they need it after all that they’ve done over the last 42 minutes. I don’t know what match the referee’s watching but it’s obviously not this one.”
With a minute left on the clock, the Patriots suddenly shifted back to their overwhelming offensive strategy. Letting out a Greek war cry, they formed a line and ran across the field like an old phalanx charge as seen in the movies, intimidating the Lilies so much they simply fled back to their goal. Marceau stood his ground but could do nothing except let them run past. Tomas, ball at his feet, aimed at the goal and delivered a strong kick. The Lilies’ goalie attempted to deflect the ball, but the ball simply bounced off him and then the goal frame and landed in the goal.
“GOAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL!” the commentator said. “I’m sorry, it’s a habit of mine.”
The timer hit ninety minutes, and the final buzzer sounded marking the end of the game.
“Anyways,” the commentator said, losing his enthusiasm, “You know the drill. The Patriots win the championships…again…for the…goddamnit…eighth time…in a freaking row. Yay.”
The Patriots waved to the crowd, while Tomas waved his hands and pounded his chest.
“I barely broke a sweat!” he eagerly shouted into a reporter’s microphone, but he was met only with boos.
At that moment, Diana felt a nagging feeling at the back of her head. She felt a sense of rapidly approaching doom. Not her death, of course, that was still in the future, though when exactly felt increasingly nervous for her. No, she knew the terrorists were about to attack.
“Agent Haus,” she said.
“Yes, Director?” Angelica said.
“Get your gun ready and warn the other teams,” Diana said.
“I don’t see anything indicating an attack,” Angelica said.
“Trust me,” Diana said.
She took out her walkie-talkie. “All teams, go on high alert. The Director has a feeling the terrorists are about to strike.”
Diana couldn’t see it, but she knew what was happening around her. She knew there was a man sitting a few seats to the right of her, pulling a bandana over his face and getting a knife ready. She knew there was a woman on the other side of the stadium also putting on a bandana. There was a man reaching into a bucket of popcorn and pulling out a pistol. There were dozens of people loading pistols now. And then she saw a man with a bomb vest. Wait. There was something off about this guy. He didn’t look like the average Mexicanist terrorist. And that logo on his shirt…was that—
Her thoughts were cut short when explosions rippled across the stadium. There were maybe seven of them in total. Shots rang out, and her walkie-talkie crackled.
“We’re under attack! They’re everywhere! How did they—”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man with the knife lunging at Angelica.