Pawns in Motion
April 16
“You know, I think it would be great if you visited your brother.”
Gebhard glared at Julian. “What did you say?”
The boy sitting opposite him didn’t flinch. Julian casually sipped his coffee. “You heard me.”
“Why should I?” Gebhard said. “My brother’s a traitor. He hasn’t even repented for what he’s done.”
“All I’m saying is, it’s nice to get some closure on your past.” Julian discreetly slipped a scrap of paper across the table. “I understand this feud goes back fifty years. Almost as old as my own parents.”
Gebhard looked at the paper.
“WE BOTH KNOW THEY’RE LISTENING IN ON US—JUST PLAY ALONG”
Gebhard nodded. “Yes, yes. Edmund was mad I got admitted to Friedrich de Normandie and he ended up at Chernobyl.”
“Then perhaps you two should talk it out?” Another slip of paper.
“ANGELICA SCOUTED OUT THE AREA
OUR TABLE IS IN A CAMERA BLINDSPOT, BUT THEY CAN STILL LISTEN IN
WRITE BACK”
“Why should I reach out?” Gebhard took out his pen and wrote something on the back of the slip. “I tried doing that at the stadium in Sedeh. He refused.”
“WHAT IS YOUR REAL AIM?”
“There was a battle going on, and you two were focused on fighting,” Julian said, “Not a good time to discuss your brotherly rivalry when you two are trying to kill each other. Now that you’re not, you can have a better conversation.”
Julian passed his response back. “I CAN’T SAY HERE, JUST IN CASE, BUT FOLLOW MY LEAD”
Gebhard nodded. “I see, I see. That’s a good way of putting it. I think I can put in a request later today.”
Julian smiled. “Confronting your past demons head-on is the only way you’ll move on from them. It’s the only way we’ll emerge victorious from this war.”
“I’m no longer fighting a war,” Gebhard said, “Mozaffar sacked me.”
“Just because you’re not commanding troops or shooting people doesn’t mean the war is over,” Julian said, “There’s still a war to be fought without guns. A war closer to home. One within us all.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Gebhard said, “I thought we won. Like really won.”
“Our mistake was assuming the war was only on the battlefield,” Julian said, “We won’t make the same mistake again.”
He handed Gebhard a small box. “By the way, General, her. A gift from Angelica and Tania.” Gebhard opened it, finding an analog watch inside.
“Oh, no thanks.” Gebhard held up his hands. “I can’t possibly accept—”
“Gebhard.” Julian lowered his voice and looked straight at him. “I insist.”
Gebhard caught on. “Uh, sure, thanks.” He took the watch.
“I think it would be ideal to put your best self forward when you meet your brother, right?” Julian said.
April 17
The process to approve his visit, lodged with the Artesh “security detail” assigned to him, took hours, and it was finally scheduled for the morning of the 17th. Specific instructions for how to prepare were sent to his mailbox. An hour before the designated time, Gebhard woke up, got dressed, and ate a light breakfast. Then he waited at the door. When the time arrived, someone rang the doorbell. He opened it and found an Artesh soldier holding a thick bag.
“Put this over your head,” he ordered.
Gebhard did so. Next, the soldier handcuffed Gebhard and led him to a waiting vehicle. Getting in the back, someone put a seatbelt over him and then restrained his legs. Another soldier waved what sounded like a metal detector over his body, making sure he carried no electronics. It was almost like he was the prisoner here, not Edmund. Finally, after about ten minutes of security checks, the vehicle drove off. The route they took seemed to meander all over Isfahan, as if to throw off any pursuers and prevent Gebhard from memorizing it. This continued for what felt like half an hour. Then they stopped. The door opened, and a soldier led Gebhard out. They walked up to what sounded like a checkpoint.
“State your name, occupation, and reason for visiting,” a gruff voice said.
“Gebhard Remmele, Megas Domestikos, relative of Edmund Remmele,” Gebhard replied.
He heard fingers clacking on a keyboard, accompanied by beeping. Then a buzzer sounded, and a door unlocked. Gebhard’s escort led him inside. Once they were in, the bag finally came off. Gebhard blinked, his eyes adjusted to the new light. When his vision returned to normal, he found he was in a prison. There were cells on either side of him, each with a man inside. They continued walking down the hallway, the clacking sounds of their footsteps resonating off the walls. At the end, separated from all of the other ones, was a single cell. Inside, he saw his brother. When Edmund noticed his visitors, he stood up with an angry scowl on his face.
“Please leave us,” Gebhard said.
“I can’t do that,” the soldier said.
Gebhard sighed.
“What’s the matter, Crybaby Gebby?” Edmund taunted. “You can’t handle talking about us with others listening?”
“This is between us, Edmund,” Gebhard said, “No need to involve others.”
“Why are you even here, Gebby? Want to gloat about your victory? Rub it in my face?”
Gebhard shook his head. “No, I’m not here for that. You’ll get your justice in a court of law, not from me. I just wanted to ask a few questions.”
Edmund sat down. “Ask away. I’ve got all day.”
“Why?” Gebhard asked. “Why side with Jerusalem?”
Edmund shrugged. “You still don’t get it, Gebby. There was never a choice. It was natural. Jerusalem offered what I was looking for. I have no regrets.”
“How did it come to this?” Gebhard said. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“On the other hand, it was going to happen from the beginning. You just haven’t acknowledged it.”
“Cut it out.” Gebhard sighed. “Stop gaslighting me.”
“You’ve always been so stubborn, Gebby,” Edmund said, “You haven’t changed. Not since the war.”
“And that’s why you joined Jerusalem? Because I was
stubborn?”
“If you had been listening to me, you’d know I didn’t join Jerusalem,” Edmund said, “You left it.”
“There you go again with the gaslighting,” Gebhard said, “We were Roman citizens! You helped overthrow the government!”
“I’m not a Roman citizen,” Edmund said, “Never was. My allegiance is to God and God alone.”
“Are we going somewhere with this?” Gebhard said.
Edmund shrugged. “That depends. Though I doubt you’ll get it.”
“Stop playing with me, Edmund!” Gebhard shook the bars. “You’re the one who’s in prison!”
“Are you so sure about that?”
Gebhard stopped. “What?”
“Did you really think I didn’t know?” Edmund said. “I may be in a prison, but I still hear things from the others. Like how you lost your command. How the General Staff sacked you. How Mozaffar made you into the villain in his narrative. You lost your job, your reputation, and—” He looked at the escort to Gebhard’s side. “—your freedom. I may be confined to this specific building while I await trial, but I can go wherever within it and do what I want during free time. So who’s really imprisoned here?”
That makes no sense. “Shut up!”
“There you go again, trying to avoid the truth,” Edmund said, “You know, that’s how the old corrupt Reich fell so easily. Its leaders avoided inconvenient truths because they were offended by differing opinions. We merely spoke up and showed the people the truth of the world, and they’ll follow us of their own free will. You’re just like the old party cartel. Fearing a truth you didn’t like. Deluding yourself in a false reality. Just like you refuse to listen to me.”
“Come on, you really expect me to listen to you after what you did?” Gebhard said.
“Tell me I’m wrong, though,” Edmund said, “What Mozaffar did to you really happened.”
Gebhard sighed. “You know, we’re not going to get anywhere. I’m done.” He turned to his escort. “Let’s go.”
They walked away.
“There you go again, Crybaby Gebby,” Edmund said, “Running away again!”
“I got what I came here for,” Gebhard said, “There’s no reason to stay longer than I need.”
He refused to listen to whatever else Edmund said. As soon as he returned to the lobby, the escort put the bag over his head, stuffed him back in the car, and drove him back to Isfahan. When the bag was taken off, he was back in his house.
“Please do not make another such request so soon.” The escort left the house, shutting the door behind him.
Gebhard slumped into his couch and sighed. That was far more tiring than he expected. After he heard the escort’s car starting up and driving away, he smiled. He may not have patched things up with Edmund, but he had achieved his goal.
He picked up the phone. “Hey, Julian. So I just visited my brother. Let’s just say it went well.”
Isfahan University of Technology - April 18
The university had no shortage of student radio channels, but Julian was only interested in one. The sign at the front door read “Channel X.” Another sign hastily taped underneath it read “(not like that, so stop asking, this means you Ismail).” They even had a professional looking logo, a stylized X.
Best that you not see the blatant plagiarism, Angelica.
“Live in five minutes!” a boy shouted.
“Almost ready!” a girl replied.
Julian opened the door, seing a boy and girl hard at work. The boy was adjusting the settings on a radio transceiver, while the girl was typing on her laptop.
“Excuse me,” the girl said, “We are getting ready for a broadcast.”
“Forgive my intrusion,” Julian said, “But I couldn’t help but be interested in the work you’ve been doing.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Julian pointed at the replica “I Want to Believe” poster hanging behind the transceiver. “I see you’re a fan of the original X-Division.”
“My sister and I are,” the boy said, “Anders Humboldt and Angela Hansen were visionaries, defenders of the truth. They were taken from us too soon.”
“Amen to that,” Julian said, “You know, before things got bad, I actually met them.”
The siblings’ faces lit up. “Really?!”
“Yes,” Julian said, “I noticed what you were doing and I was hoping my recollections of them could help your work.”
“Anything you know would greatly help,” the girl said.
“First things first,” Julian said, “The best rumors are those that are based in at least a kernel of truth.”
“We know, but things haven’t been easy for us,” the boy said, “It’s been pretty difficult lately to find anything with evidence. We’ve been stuck sharing random rumors lately.”
Julian held up the watch he had given Gebhard. “What if told you that can no longer be the case?”
“What’s that?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Julian said, “I’d like you to share a specific rumor, one that’s based on the information that this watch has gathered.”
“I suppose we can delay the broadcast a few minutes to get a script ready,” the girl said, “What exactly is this rumor?”
“Her Majesty the Shahbanu, Gunduz II, and Kaiserin Wilhelmina IV are being held against their will in a military-controlled hospital in the Isfahan suburbs. That hospital is officially where the Crusader general Edmund Remmele is being detained, but the location data and audio recording on this watch will prove that Remmele is being held elsewhere. This is a conspiracy organized by Mozaffar to neutralize the two political figures with the authority and influence to oppose him.”
He smiled. “You two want to follow in X-Division’s footsteps? Well, here’s a conspiracy for you to take on.”
Isargaran Park, Isfahan - April 26
Izinchi had wanted to hold another memorial service. It wasn’t part of Julian’s plan, but he went along with it. The rumor he had given to the broadcasters at Isfahan Tech was starting to spread. It was the perfect time to sow doubt among Mozaffar’s people as to if the Romans were evil or not, as well as restore his people’s morale. But things were different. Two months ago, they had held a memorial service for all of Jerusalem’s victims. Now, the government in exile had to jump through so many hoops just to get a new memorial service organized. It was as if Mozaffar was trying to stop them from doing it. Thankfully, Izinchi had plenty of experience with bureaucratic gridlock before, so she got the event approved. Even after all that effort, Julian noticed barely anybody showed up today. They did the best they could with the budget they were given. It was barely enough for a few lights, two tattered Roman flags taken from the abandoned embassy building, and a podium.
Izinchi stepped up to the podium. “Ahem.” She was putting on her Brandenburg accent now, appearing presentable to the general public instead of the Caledonian sailor-mouth she usually was these days. “People of Isfahan, thank you for attending.” There were only about a couple dozen non-Romans in the crowd. “Things have been tough lately. When we repelled the Crusader attack on this city, killed one regent, and captured another, we thought we had won the war.” She looked down, dejected and ashamed. “We thought wrong. The truth is, there is still much to do before we defeat Jerusalem and go home. There are many battles ahead of us.”
Some boos erupted from the Persians in the crowd. “We knew it! You want to overthrow our hero Mozaffar!”
Izinchi continued with her speech. “All we want is a place to stay. A place where we can live in peace. We lost our homes five years ago. We’re trying to get them back, but in the meantime, we just want to live our lives here.”
“GO BACK TO YOUR COUNTRY! YOU’RE NOT WELCOME HERE!”
“We don’t want any trouble with anybody.”
“LIAR!”
“We’ve done our best to fit in.”
“BY TAKING OVER!”
“In the meantime, we’ve also served on the front lines, giving our lives to take back our homes from Jerusalem. This memorial service honors the lives of those—”
“WAR CRIMINALS!”
“FASCISTS!”
“IMPERIALISTS!”
“FUNDIE THEOCRATS!”
“—who died in battle recently. Now please, let us observe a moment of silence.”
All of the Romans and refugees from other countries bowed their heads, but the Persians booed and raised their fists, shouting obscenities.
“GO HOME ROMANS!”
“PERSIA FOR PERSIANS!”
“MOZAFFAR WILL SAVE US ALL!”
“YOU’RE NOT WELCOME IN OUR FREE COUNTRY!”
“JERUSALEMITE SCUM, GO TAKE OVER ANOTHER COUNTRY!”
“
GOH XORDAN!”
“ANSWER FOR ALL OF THE PEOPLE YOU’VE KILLED,
MÂDAR JENDE!”
Julian tuned them out.
Disrespectful idiots. Heckling a memorial service. It’s an insult to those who died protecting you. You frakking monsters.
Izinchi raised her head. “I will now read the names of the fallen.” She flipped open a book. As she recited each name, Gebhard held up a soldier’s portrait.
“Lieutenant Michael Rudolf.”
“
PÂYANDE BÂDÂ IRÂN!”
“Sergeant Leon Gottsman.”
“GET OUT! GO HOME!”
“Captain Tiffany Cyril.”
“FRAK ROME! THEY ALL DESERVED IT!”
“Private Brunnhild Hauser.”
“DEATH TO JERUSALEM!”
“Corporal Alek Davidovich.”
“GO HOME!”
“Colonel Elijah Sven.”
“FRAK YOU!”
“We will remember these heroes,” Izinchi said, “Their service. Their courage. Their sacrifice for our people and ideals. They died so the rest of us could have a better future, so that we can still have hope. Hope that one day we can go home. And now, let us recite the pledge of allegiance.”
All of the Romans placed a hand over their hearts.
“I pledge allegiance…”
“GET THE FRAK OUT OF OUR COUNTRY!”
“To Her Majesty Wilhelmina IV…”
“NO MORE KAISERINS! NO MORE MONARCHIES!”
“And the Reich for which she stands.”
“SHUT THE FRAK UP!”
“I swear to uphold and defend the values of the Reich…”
“CHRISTIANITY IS A DEATH CULT, NOT A RELIGION OF PEACE!”
“And to support my country to the best of my ability.”
“ALL ROMANS ARE FASCIST WAR CRIMINALS!”
“We unite our hearts and minds in pursuit of a shared and better future.”
“SAY NO TO JERUSALEM’S WORLD ORDER!”
“One flag, indivisible under Romanitas…”
“ROMANITAS IS A LIE!”
“With fairness and justice for—”
A shot rang out, and Izinchi fell, her blood splattering over the flag behind her. The Romans all screamed and scattered, as did most of the Persians. However, a few hung back and cheered. “YEAH! YOU GET WHAT YOU DESERVE!” Then they ran off. Julian scanned the rapidly disintegrating crowd, looking for any suspicious individuals. His gaze finally settled on a man in a trench coat quietly walking away as everyone ran around in a blind panic. There was a gun in his hand.
“There!” he said. “That’s the shooter!”
Without hesitation, five Romans tackled him to the ground and began raining down punches and kicks on him. The gun fell out of his hand within a second, but the Romans kept on beating him.
“Stop!” Julian shouted. “He’s already neutralized!”
But the Romans continued beating on the defenseless assassin, despite Julian’s pleas.
April 27
Julian, Kresge, Gebhard, and Angelica waited patiently in the hospital lobby. None of them said a word, for fear of indirectly affecting Izinchi’s condition. After what felt like forever, August walked up to them. He was the only doctor whose team agreed to operate on Izinchi—the others turned her away.
“Good news, guys,” he said, “She’s stable. She’ll regain consciousness soon.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Gebhard said.
“The bullet hit her in the upper body,” August said, “She was very lucky it hit where it did. An inch to the left, and it would have hit a major artery.”
“So she’ll be fine?”
“Yes, eventually, but…”
Of course there was a but. Julian steeled himself for what was to come.
“What is it?” Gebhard asked. “Please let us know.”
“It’ll take a while for her to recover. She’ll have to stay in the hospital for several weeks. Then she can leave, but she’ll need supervision for another few weeks. She needs rest.”
“How…how long are we talking?” Kresge asked.
“Maybe…two, three months, at minimum?”
“
Merde,” Angelica muttered, “That’s after the examinations.”
“I’m sorry,” August said, “But that’s the best I can do, with the resources I have.”
“Thanks, August,” Julian said, “Please keep us updated on her condition.”
“Of course.” August left.
The four of them left the hospital and returned to their car before they resumed their conversation.
“This is going to set us back significantly,” Julian started.
Gebhard banged a fist against the window. “Damnit…I warned Izinchi it wasn’t safe…”
“What do we do now?” Kresge said.
“What the frak do you think we do?” Angelica said. “The same thing. Figure out a way to fight back and protect ourselves.”
“Speaking of which did you find out who the shooter was?”
Angelica nodded. “I took a photo of his ID. Jahangir Rostam, 56 years old, from Qom.”
“That’s pretty far away,” Kresge said.
“So an angry man drove all the way from Qom for the sole purpose of shooting Izinchi,” Gebhard said, “Can’t say I’m surprised we’ve made enemies that far away. Anything special about him?”
“No,” Angelica said, “He’s a bartender with a gun license. That’s it.”
“Even worse. If someone as ordinary as him went to such lengths to attack us…then who knows how many others like him are out there?”
“I sure picked the worst time to be rescued from Jerusalem.” Kresge rolled his eyes.
“It’s happening again,” Julian said, “They shot Eva. Over five years ago, when this began, they shot her, because they were scared of the way she spoke.”
“So you’re saying Mozaffar ordered the hit on Izinchi to weaken us?” Kresge asked.
“It’s something the Athanatoi would do,” Angelica said.
“I wouldn’t rule out the possibility,” Gebhard said, “He’s already deported the five Romans who beat him up.”
“Who stands to gain from the Roman chancellor being shot and confined to a hospital until at least July?” Julian said. “Mozaffar. He did the same thing to Wilhelmina and Gunduz, the only ones who would outrank him. Then the only other political figures with the authority to rival him would be Chancellor Jaberi, who barely has a spine, and Izinchi.”
“But the government in exile derives its legitimacy from the Persian government,” Gebhard said, “Without that, we’d be nothing more than a glorified community association.”
“That’s true, but you should know better, being a general and all,” Julian said, “After all, your troops need to depend on the locals’ support if they are to survive behind enemy lines. Which means you need to cultivate a good reputation with them. But rumors are fickle. They move faster than the actual army, and by the time you get to where you need to go, the people there have already made up their minds about what you are like. For them, the rumor and the idea are just as real as the truth. We’ve seen it happen in Jerusalem, when the truth got taken over and rendered absurd. Now it’s happening here. If the people think our government in exile has power, it will have power. But if they think we don’t, then we won’t. Izinchi being shot shows that we can’t even protect our own chancellor. It shows our weakness. Furthermore, even if the office of chancellor isn’t what it used to be ten years ago, it still has one big power: speaking to the people. In the absence of Wilhelmina, the chancellor is our best spokesperson. Now that Izinchi’s stuck in the hospital, we lost our best way of presenting our case to the people.”
“Allowing Mozaffar to control the narrative even more,” Gebhard realized.
“So how do we recover from this?” Kresge said.
“We laid out a line of succession before, in case this happened,” Julian said, “I suppose it’s now coming in handy.”
“And who’d you guys pick for vice-chancellor?” Kresge pointed at himself. “Please tell me I was included.”
Angelica facepalmed. “Kresge, for the last time, you weren’t there when we discussed this.”
“So, it was…” Gebhard pointed at Julian. “Him.”
Julian’s mouth curled up in a confident grin only a young man could put on. “That’s right. You’re looking at the new chancellor of the Reich.”
I must have set a record for the Reich’s youngest modern chancellor. It may be impossible to outlive Metternich, but I sure can take the title on the other end.
“You?!” Kresge said. “A boy your age as the chancellor of the most powerful nation in the world?”
“Kresge, first off, I’m old enough to drink, and second off, it’s hardly the most powerful nation in the world if its three highest-ranking non-monarchical political and military officials are discussing official policy in a normal car in a hospital parking lot in downtown Isfahan at 6 in the morning.”
Kresge looked away, obviously annoyed by the fact. “What has my life come to…”
“Alright, we need a plan,” Julian said, “Fortunately, I’ve already been working on a plan for the last couple weeks. I just need to adjust a few things to account for Izinchi’s situation. The ultimate goal is to take down Mozaffar by July. Prevent him from seizing full power.”
“Yeah, so how do we do that?” Gebhard asked.
“There are four pillars holding him up,” Julian said, “Politics, finances, the war, and public image. Break those all, and his entire career will fall apart. First off, politics. Straightforward enough, we comb through his record, find anything suspicious, show he’s either abusing his power or not doing his job. Then, finance. Follow the money trail. I’ve already gotten a paper trail leading from him to the hospital the royals are being held in, but that’s not enough. We need more suspicious financial dealings to break that pillar. A politician like him doesn’t get to where he does with clean hands. They never do. Izinchi only got to be chancellor because everyone ahead of her died. But Mozaffar, who’s been in politics for decades? Guy like him must have shady donors and hidden interests. We’ll bring those to the light. When all three of these pillars intersect and are rtoppled, his reputation will crumble. We’ll show he doesn’t care about the people at all. He only wants power and control. I have a strategy to do that, but we’re not at that part of the plan yet.”
“And what about the other one?” Gebhard said. “The war? We barely have an army.”
“Yes, but Mozaffar does,” Julian said, “This is the most dangerous one. Mozaffar controls the narrative on the war. What the people hear about it is what he wants them to hear. His nationalism and militarism, though, can be a weakness. If we can just make the Mesopotamian campaign not go as he wants, it would lead the people to doubt his qualifications.”
“And how do we do that without losing the whole war?”
“Simple,” Angelica said, “Mozaffar wants to use reckless tactics that will get non-Persian troops disproportionately killed, like at the citadel.”
“I intend to save those troops,” Julian said, “And then bring their stories to light, showing Mozaffar’s cruelty.”
“Wait, you want to save those troops?” Kresge said. “How?”
Julian smiled. “How else? I’m going to the front myself.”
Gebhard and Kresge’s jaws dropped.
“Hold on!” Gebhard said. “I do not agree to this! You’re just a kid! You’ve got no combat experience!”
“On the contrary, I’ve had over three years of leading rebel cells during the Siege of Bremerhaven,” Julian said, “I think I have a solid grasp on the tactics I’ll need.”
“Let me do it,” Gebhard said, “I’m the one who’s actually trained for this stuff.”
“And that’s why you can’t,” Julian said, “Mozaffar already stripped you of your field command. Do you really think he’d let you go back there? Someone as high profile as you, commanding non-Persian troops on the front lines? No, as soon as he had the chance, he sacked you and General Tahmasb. Mozaffar won’t let you leave Isfahan, unless it’s with every other Roman.”
“So the alternative is
you going there?” Gebhard said. “And I thought Willie going to Samarkand was crazy enough. Now we have a literal kid going off to goddamn Mesopotamia.”
“I’m not a child!” Julian temporarily lost his temper and gritted his teeth. “Quit it!”
“I don’t want to know what other crazy things you guys did while I was gone,” Kresge said.
“I can vouch for Julian,” Angelica said, “He got the information on Wilhelmina’s confinement from Senator Afshar without breaking a sweat. He got the location of Edmund Remmele’s prison and proof the guy was there without anyone catching on. And he spread that information via rumor. I bet half the city’s already suspecting the same thing. Not to mention he’s survived several years in Bremerhaven. I’m sure he can do it.”
“And if he can’t?” Gebhard said. “What then?”
“Well, I think Kresge’s earned the title of vice-chancellor,” Julian said.
“I was originally chancellor!” Kresge said. “Why am I the number two now?”
“Because I’m still here,” Julian said, “If I die in Mesopotamia, then by all means, you can have the hat.”
And from what I remember, you objected to being chancellor to begin with.
“Why is it so important that you go and not anyone else?” Gebhard said.
Angelica facepalmed again. “Oh, great, you’re going to get him to say the line about kings leading again.”
“Well, I’ve already made all of the necessary preparations, and I can’t exactly back out now, even if I wanted to,” Julian said.
“See what I—wait, what?”
---
The door slammed loudly behind Alex. He took off his shoes and hung up his coat. Then he made his way inside, passing the living room on the way to the storage closet. Thea looked up from the blueprint she was sketching.
“Alex?” she said. “What’s the matter?”
“Izinchi’s in the hospital.” He opened the closet, pushed aside some boxes, and pulled out a safe hidden in the back. He unlocked the safe with a 4 digit number code and took out the pistol he hid inside. “We may be next.”
Thea’s eyes widened. “Alex…what are you doing?”
“I need to keep this somewhere I can get it easily,” Alex said.
He checked the clip. It was almost full. One bullet was missing, from when Magnus shot at Theodor. As long as it wasn’t completely empty, it would suit his needs.
“You’re better than this, Alex,” Thea said, “Are you really comfortable having a gun out in the open like that?”
“That’s the only way we’ll stay safe,” Alex said, “You don’t know what they’ll do next.”
“We could just hire security, or ask the police for help.”
“You really think the cops will help us?” Alex said. “They’re in on it. They arrested the guys who beat up Izinchi’s shooter and deported them this morning. I hear they’re going to let the shooter off the hook with only a fine.”
He put the gun on the table and slumped on the couch. “Everyone frakking hates Romans. We’ve got to protect ourselves.”
“Surely there’s a better way.”
“Look, Thea, if things calm down, I’ll put it away,” Alex said, “They probably will in a few days, once people forget all about the shooting. Once I feel like it’s safer, it’s back to the locker with this gun.”
“Why do I feel like it’ll take until Mozaffar’s out of office?”
“I promise, Thea,” Alex said, “I’ll be responsible, okay? I won’t use this gun unless they come after us. But if they do…we’ll be safe.”
Thea sighed. “I sure hope we never have to use that gun again.”
---
Edit: Fixed a typo.