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Investigations; Maybe it's nothing...
Topic Started: Dec 5 2015, 11:20 PM (119 Views)
Mastropa
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Adam Patterson was not someone who often fell into patterns of behavior. His position as Minister of Security gave him some leeway when it came to his work schedule, and he took advantage of it daily, entering and leaving work at random times, setting meetings with only just enough warning for the relevant people to arrive on time, and never taking the same route twice. His trips outside of Genoa were as secretive as he could make them, regardless of whether he was attending some security-related meeting at the president’s vacation retreat in Solterra, checking up on any of the numerous Security Ministry satellite offices across the country, or simply visiting his family’s homestead in Devinaria. While he accepted the need to dress well as a mark of his office, he was known to choose very different suit combinations from one day to the next to throw off any potential observation. And he owned three different vehicles with seven different (civilian) license plates, all legally obtained through the auspices of the Security Ministry, to throw off the scent even more thoroughly—especially since he never parked in the Executive Building’s parking lot, instead making his way into work on foot in order to make it more difficult for observers to learn what car he drove.

All in all, Adam Patterson was a very paranoid man. It was completely understandable in a man of his position; no minister could be completely ignorant of the dangers of his office, and the security minister was obviously more aware than most. His cautious habits had made it difficult to hold any kind of personal relationship with anyone, and his wife had left him decades ago, but Patterson had quickly reacquainted himself with the bachelor’s life and found that it suited his unpredictable schedule and lifestyle. It was not simply prudent, but also convenient, that Patterson could work whatever hours he chose in the name of safety. The minister had to admit that being difficult to find had its perks as well as its downsides.

One habit that remained ingrained from his stint in the military, though, was Patterson’s very early wakeup call. Unless he was ill or exhausted, the minister tended to be out of bed by six in the morning, and would be eating a light breakfast in front of the kitchen television within half an hour. It was an ugly machine, old and dated, but Patterson trusted nothing that could think for itself in his home, and so-called ‘smart’ televisions, computers, and even remote car starters were no exception; they were welcome in his workplace, where they could be monitored with the best technology available in Gilead, but not in his private home. If it weren’t for the almost-instant ability to get news from the other side of the world, Patterson would probably have stuck with the morning newspaper, but there was little that could compare to the ability of the television news networks to find the next story almost before it was even happening. The accuracy was nothing to appreciate, of course, but at least Patterson knew which subjects to investigate more fully when he made it to work later that day.

Today, though, the news focused exclusively on the sudden death of Justice Minister David Lambert the previous afternoon. The Golden Tiger Tavern had been turned upside down by investigators from the Genoa police as well as the Ministry of Health, and the proprietors were already being threatened with a revocation of their license as well as possible jail time for letting anyone, let alone a minister of the government, be poisoned in their establishment; interestingly, though, the Golden Tiger’s staff was hitting back with accusations of slander by those same government agents, and threatening a costly lawsuit against the government for defamation. From the images on his television, Patterson decided that either everyone in the Golden Tiger was a very good actor, or there might perhaps be something worth investigating in this matter.

It was highly coincidental, after all, that the first person to die in this place was a government official. And on the heels of a controversial court decision, too… Yes, as far as Patterson was concerned, there was simply too much coincidence in this matter for his peace of mind. And while coincidence did tend to happen, even in his line of work, it never hurt to be absolutely sure.
Edited by Mastropa, Dec 5 2015, 11:20 PM.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

“Sir, you’re looking well. Aren’t you a little early for work today?”

Adam Patterson raised an eyebrow as his young protoge, as well as the man responsible for counterintelligence work in this madhouse of a ministry, Jack Campbell sidled into his office. “National security waits for no man,” he intoned. Waving to the chair on the other side of his desk, normally disused (given how rarely Patterson could actually be found in his office, even when he did arrive at work), the minister said, “Shut the door behind you and take a seat. I’ve got some questions to ask you.”

“Yes, sir,” Campbell said easily, doing as instructed while Patterson flipped through a few papers on his desk. “Was there anything in particular you needed me for today?”

“A couple of things.” The minister glanced up at the closed door and wondered just how much he should trust the security on the thing, but he knew better than anyone just what measures had been taken to make his office one of the most secure in the government. Returning his attention to his visitor, he said, “I understand you’ve been as interested in the matter of Minister Lambert’s demise as anyone.”

Campbell looked almost affronted. “Of course,” he said. “For his security team to drop the ball like that was unforgiveable, and I need to know what they did wrong if I’m going to be sure that we aren’t at risk of the same thing happening to any of us.”

“And I can almost guarantee that the information you’ve learned since then has been either confusing or disheartening,” Patterson added.

The younger man nodded, curiosity warring with a well-imprinted expression of frustration. “Every service agent on rotation that day was called away by an emergency of some kind or another, and every single one of them was replaced by the Prime Agency according to proper protocol. Yet the replacements apparently only exist in the system, so either they were done away with also…”

“Or this was an inside job.” Patterson pulled a photograph out of the small packet in his hands and passed it over his desk to Campbell. “This was taken the day before David’s death. Who do you see there?”

Campbell narrowed his eyes as he looked at the photograph, at first not seeing the connection. “Two women, it looks like, on a bench outside the Capitol Building; this must have come from one of the security cameras in the park. They…” He peered closer, and his eyes widened. “Miranda Briggs?”

The minister nodded. “Our illustrious deputy justice minister,” he said. “David’s ‘heir apparent,’ if you will, now that he’s gone.” Patterson leaned back. “What can you tell me about the woman sitting next to her?”

“Only that Briggs doesn’t look happy to see her,” Campbell said with a thoughtful frown. “It’s difficult to see her face from this angle. Do you have any other shots of this meeting?”

“I do,” Patterson replied, “and I can tell you that Briggs was much happier when her visitor left than she had been prior to the other woman’s arrival. Unfortunately, the same problem applies in those photos, too: The woman was able to hide most of her face from the camera’s view, either through clever angles or due to some subtle disguise. She obviously knows where the cameras are and how to avoid them.” The minister pulled out another piece of paper. “So it is very fortunate for us that the woman herself wasn’t so confident in her abilities.”

Campbell glanced up curiously, and took the offered paper from his boss’s hands. He nearly choked when he saw the signature. “Lucinda Bills?” he hissed.

“The very same.” Patterson glanced at his door again. “That was waiting for me here, via the usual channels.” Secretive courier services were the norm in the higher levels of Gileadan government. Such agents rarely if ever interacted with their packages’ intended recipients, in order not to be recognized as they went about their business. “She isn’t even pretending to be uninvolved in this mess.”

Campbell whistled lowly as he read the message. “Well, we’ll have to take that seriously,” he muttered. “‘Call off the investigation or else’ seems a lot more sinister when the investigation itself is over the death of a government minister.”

Patterson scoffed. “She certainly has nothing to fear from the police detectives. Bills has already lined up a scapegoat, as you can see,” he said with a motion toward the letter. “Apparently those Kanatans were chomping at the bit for revenge. Unfortunate about the restauranteurs, of course, but they’ll survive once the ‘real culprits’ are revealed.”

“You’d think she’d know better than to start nationalistic rivalries within our own borders when we have more important matters to worry about abroad,” Campbell muttered.

“Whether they like it or not, the Kanatans are stuck with us,” the minister replied. “You should be more worried about the bad press this will throw onto the civil rights community.” Patterson sighed. “Even then, we have other things to worry about. Our own skins, for one.”

Campbell looked up sharply; he’d always been very good at self-preservation. He wouldn’t have made it far in this business otherwise. “What’s the problem?” he demanded.

Patterson shrugged. “What isn’t?” he asked rhetorically. “The president’s hatchetwoman is striking down cabinet ministers; should I not be worried? You see in her letter that she justifies herself, implies that this was a one-off, et cetera, et cetera. The number of times she’s said similar things when making her political opponents sweat is innumerable.”

The minister reached out, and Campbell gave him back the letter and the photograph, giving him a shrewd look as he did so. “You can’t think you’re in danger, can you?” he asked. “Austin wouldn’t stomach it if the Secret Service started eliminating his longtime allies without reason.”

“And what reason do you imagine Bills had for targeting David?” Patterson asked. “The obvious answer is the court case, of course: The bad press Genoa suffered over that might have made a lesser government collapse already. But by and large, Gregory and his people, including David, had already been through the worst of it. This will only throw it back into the media with even greater vitriol.”

“It might discredit a few civil rights leaders I could name,” Campbell pointed out helpfully.

“It makes more political sense to let the matter be buried entirely,” Patterson argued. “Austin doesn’t need a martyr for his cause when the country already eats out of his hand, and the more airtime the controversy gets, the more likely that something unfortunate will come out of it. Yet here we are, with the Kanatans about to shoulder the blame for the murder of a government minister, and the media already primed to throw up a firestorm. If this is the ‘solution’ the president chose, I hate to contemplate whatever the alternative was that made him choose this course of action instead.” The minister scoffed again. “Of course, that’s precisely what our job will be.”

Campbell leaned back in his seat, thinking. “I’m assuming you have some ideas of your own at the moment?”

“Not really,” Patterson answered. “Not as far as motive is concerned, anyway. But I do have a lead or two that might be useful in the near future.” The minister glanced again at the closed door. “I’ll need you or someone you trust very, very much to visit Addison Banks today, if you can manage it.”

Campbell’s jaw dropped. After a moment, though, he recovered enough to speak. “Somehow I don’t think the Security Ministry is on his list of favorite people right now,” he understated. It had been Patterson’s work that had tipped President Austin off that his foreign minister was out for his hide, and Banks was known to carry grudges. That’s part of what had made him such a feared man in international circles… and it was also the reason for his fall from grace.

“I have a feeling that Gregory Austin is even lower on that list, however,” Patterson pointed out, “and when Gregory wants to silence a man whose relationship with Banks wasn’t exactly unknown, I think our esteemed former minister will be willing to cooperate if only to ensure that he isn’t the next target… as unlikely as that might be.”

Campbell sighed in resignation. “I’ll see him this afternoon, then,” he muttered.
Edited by Mastropa, Dec 12 2015, 05:50 AM.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Banks, Campbell told Patterson later that afternoon, knew nothing but guessed much. The former foreign minister was apparently jittery, fearing some kind of retribution from President Austin for his ‘unorthodox’ attempt to run for office himself. Lucinda Bills was at the top of his list of nerve-shakers, and (contrary to Patterson’s initial concerns) Banks made a point of spilling as much as he could to Campbell and the Ministry of Security in the hopes of blunting the Secret Service, if in fact it or Austin behind it had any designs against him even after his abrupt ‘retirement.’

“Banks claims that Bills told him a few facts about the president that turned his loyalties,” Campbell reported when he’d returned to the security minister’s office.

“Did he share them?”

“No.” Campbell shook his head firmly. “He was in no mood to elaborate, let me tell you.” The younger director took a sip from one of Patterson’s ever-present water bottles and added, “Whatever it was, Banks is still furious about it. He apparently double-checked to make sure Bills wasn’t lying through her teeth to him, and didn’t like the results.”

Patterson nodded distractedly. “Did he say anything to suggest that whatever he was upset about has anything to do with David’s death?”

“Not per se,” Campbell answered. “He was guessing for the most part, he told me that much himself. But he made it clear that Bills was due for a sticky end. Apparently she turned on him as soon as he’d started off in one direction, and—according to Banks, of course—called in the Ministry of Security as soon as he’d started working against Austin. We did the rest at her behest, he thinks.”

“Did what? Throw him out of his office?” Patterson snorted. “Why would we care? Why would Bills care?”

“Why would the president care?” Campbell went on in agreement. “Banks obviously doesn’t view him too highly at this point, but he theorized that Austin was looking for excuses to remove his closest allies in order to make room for a younger generation.”

Patterson raised an eyebrow at his protégé. “You aren’t bucking for promotion, are you?” he asked, amused.

Campbell scoffed. “He said it, not me. Apparently Austin is supposed to think that Hubbard will view him more favorably than someone who went through thick and thin with him. I didn’t ask for specifics.”

“And so… Addison suggests that the president sent Bills to kill David to make room for Miranda Briggs, is that it?” Patterson shook his head. “Gregory has his moments of megalomania, of course, but no matter how bitter Addison may be, the fact that he would even consider a claim like that is amazing to me.”

The minister paused. “You’ll keep an eye on Gregory, of course,” he said as an afterthought.

Campbell rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he said. ‘Who do you take me for?’ passed unsaid.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

“President Austin! President Austin, where are your cabinet ministers now?”

“President Austin, what has the Secret Service told you about—”

“President Austin, what have you said to Congress about this?”

“President Austin, have you stopped your daughter from dating the Achaian yet?”

Gregory Austin froze and stared at the impudent reporter responsible for that last ridiculous question, scowling as the reporter grinned at his reaction. The rest of the press, which had joined him as he’d made his way out of the Presidential Palace toward a waiting car, took the opportunity to press around him, shouting more relevant questions about the current nightmare swirling around his government, demanding the locations of his ministers and begging for scraps to report about his upcoming conversation with Congress about the sudden collapse of security surrounding some of the most important individuals in Genoa. Grimacing at his mistake, Austin pressed forward again, ignoring the shouts (as well as the hisses as he trod on one of the reporters’ toes as he forced the pile forward) and keeping his eyes glued to the car that was really only feet away. It felt more like miles, especially when that same great wit behind him called out, “When can we expect the anax to murder General Landry?” but eventually a stony-faced Secret Service agent stood in front of him with an open car door, and Austin gratefully escaped the throng by sliding inside.

Already sitting there was Minister Hugo Lagos, grim-faced and insecure, knowing all too well that being seen in Genoa at this point in time was a danger that not many cabinet ministers were willing to brave. The president nodded to Lagos gratefully. “I’m glad you could join me today,” he said.

“I’m not,” Lagos said bluntly. “Damn it, Greg, why did you drag me out of hiding for this? I could have just briefed you over the telephone.”

Austin nodded. “I’d be grateful if you could do that in the future,” he said. “But I’d rather not have to brief Congress with third-hand information.”

“Instead you bring me into the public eye at the very moment that being a cabinet minister is essentially a target on my back,” Lagos growled. “As you might imagine, I don’t intend to stay long, and having my face splashed next to yours in this vehicle tomorrow morning when that media scrum’s pictures go public will definitely keep me from coming back. Don’t call for me again until this mess is taken care of, Greg, I mean it.”

“I understand your concerns completely,” the president answered. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think that it was necessary.” Austin chose not to add that he’d hoped that the minister of intelligence would have enough security around him to help protect Austin himself if need be. While the mysterious murders of government officials had been largely confined to the cabinet, nothing prevented the murderer from branching out to other areas of interest within the Gileadan government. Austin had no intention of ending his career in a coffin.

If such security was around, however, Minister Lagos had hidden it too well: The president was blind to it. As such, both Lagos and Austin were constantly casting their eyes about as their motorcade passed through downtown Genoa, making its way toward the Capitol Building—the president curiously, in the hopes of finding Lagos’s hidden men; the minister fearfully, wondering when the mysterious assailant would strike again. The journey wasn’t silent, though, given Lagos’s irritable nerves, and both men were happy to arrive in the halls of Congress as quickly and as safely as they did.

There was no media scrum to greet them this time; Lagos had no intention of putting his head out into open air, and as such the president’s car split away from the motorcade and rushed into the (well-guarded) underground parking garage under the Capitol’s east wing. As soon as the car was parked, Austin and Lagos exited the vehicle without even waiting for the driver, striding as quickly as they could toward the nearest elevator to take them back up to the ‘habitable’ levels of the building. Within minutes, they were being escorted by the Prime Guard toward one of several committee chambers, this one usually empty as a consequence of being set aside for emergency hearings. Given that this was an emergency, of course, it was the logical choice to gather the hastily-thrown-together Committee on Ministerial and Government Security, whatever witnesses it chose to call on any given day, and the guards necessary to see to their safety. The moment that President Austin and Minister Lagos stepped into the room, their escorts took hold of the doors to the chamber and shut them firmly, leaving the two newcomers to find their seats in front of the nine-person panel made up of representatives of Cielo, Congrelee, Ania, Ioawaki, and Devinaria.

Austin barely heard the preliminaries; his interest mainly focused on steeling himself for a grilling. Most of these representatives had been his political allies at one point or another, but instead of making him more sympathetic in their eyes, it seemed to make matters worse: The president had somehow failed to protect three of his loyal ministers, and had thrown away a fourth. Now the representatives wondered if their deaths were connected to their loyalty to Austin, and if so, if they were next in line.

Sure enough, Representative Charles Cotton of Devinaria led off the questioning: “Mr. President, I see you’ve brought a witness today. Do you have anything to say before we turn our attention to Minister Lagos’s testimony?”

Austin cleared his throat. “Not much, no,” he said. “All I can say at this point is what I’ve said many times before: Our agencies are working as hard as they can to determine exactly what is failing in our system today, and I am confident that the minister’s testimony will demonstrate a great deal of progress in our investigation. In the meantime, the executive continues to operate almost as efficiently as before, even if we do so outside of the public eye for now.”

The representative barely hid a scoff, and Austin winced as he saw just how low his political star had fallen, at least behind closed doors. Turning to Minister Lagos, Cotton said, “We’re ready when you are, Minister.”

“Thank you, Representative Cotton.” Lagos straightened in his seat. “I’d just like to begin today by expressing my indignation on behalf of the Gileadan people for the efforts we have gone through to apprehend this murderer. Never in the history of my ministry have we ever been required to turn our tools of intelligence gathering against those within our own borders; the Ministry of Security, of course, exists for that purpose, while our agents and services have always been aimed outside of ourselves, in search of the invisible enemy. For us to have to turn away from matters abroad in order to do another ministry’s job, at the expense of Gileadan liberties at that, is a disgrace. Unfortunately, our investigation makes it fairly clear that our intervention was necessary. We’ve determined that the ministry that would normally be tasked with this investigation, the Ministry of Security, is almost certainly responsible for the murders we are currently investigating.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the representatives’ panel. On the far left, Representative Maria Hendricks of Cielo leaned forward to catch Lagos’s attention. “Minister, you’re accusing an arm of the Gileadan government of turning on itself. Are you certain that this is true?”

“There is no certainty in a matter such as this,” Lagos replied testily. “But as near as we can possibly be sure, my agents and myself are in agreement that the crisis we are currently facing is one propagated by Minister Adam Patterson and the ministry he leads. There is no other explanation that makes nearly as much sense to us.”

Representative Cotton turned to President Austin. “Mr. President, where is Minister Patterson now?”

“I wish I could tell you, Representative, but unfortunately I’m in the dark regarding that information, just as you are,” Austin replied. “He hasn’t been seen at his home for more than a week. The last witness reports place him in Ministerial House, but the Secret Service has turned the place upside down in the last few days and found no trace of him. His ministry, on the other hand, has essentially gone into lockdown within Ministerial House. I had believed it was a reaction to the current crisis, but there is little doubt in my mind now, listening to Minister Lagos’s explanations on the way to this meeting, that this suspicious behavior is indicative of something more sinister.”

The president was surprised to see disgust appear on at least one face among the panel. Another Devinarian representative, Oscar Mathis, frowned at Austin in judgment. “So your first instinct is to condemn a man you considered a trusted ally just two weeks ago, without hearing his side of the story first?”

“As I said,” Austin replied evenly, “we cannot find Minister Patterson in order to question him. I assure you, I don’t turn against my friends without very good reason.”

“I’m sure Addison Banks would agree,” Mathis replied sarcastically. Austin’s eyes narrowed; considering that Banks had been dismissed after attempting to remove him from his duly elected position, the representative’s comment suggested that he either disbelieved the official account (which was certainly accurate) or knew the background information that had never entered that account. Austin wasn’t sure which state of things he preferred, but it had become very clear that, either way, he had somehow lost the trust of the majority of the panelists, all of them politicians he had worked with and befriended for a very long time. Regarding Banks’s unfortunate departure, thankfully, the rest of the panel seemed at least curious about Mathis’s meaning, but the representative didn’t elaborate. Instead, he glanced down at the papers in front of him and asked, “Mr. President, where in this matter is Lucinda Bills involved?”

Austin hesitated for a moment, confused. “I’m sorry?” he asked. “I wasn’t aware that she was involved at all.”

“Ms. Bills didn’t meet Justice Minister Lambert the day of his assassination, or the day before?” Mathis pressed. “She didn’t have a sit-down with Deputy Minister Miranda Briggs the day before her employer mysteriously died? Where is Ms. Briggs now, anyway?”

“Deputy Minister Briggs, like the rest of my cabinet bar Minister Lagos here, is currently in hiding, Representative,” the president replied testily. “As for the rest of your questions, Ms. Bills hasn’t been seen since Minister Lambert’s death, and her employers have expressed their certainty that she was murdered at the same time as the minister, with whom, as you have already pointed out, she was meeting that day.”

“You’ll assume Ms. Bills dead, but not your friend Minister Patterson?”

Austin gritted his teeth. “I have access to Ms. Bills’s superiors, whereas Minister Patterson’s superior is myself. I cannot vouch for him, but those who know can certainly vouch for Ms. Bills.”

“Then we expect to see those superiors in front of this panel within the week, Mr. President,” Representative Cotton said, closing the subject for the moment. Turning his attention back to Minister Lagos, the representative asked, “What evidence do you have for the Security Ministry’s complicity in these events?”

The expression of distaste on Minister Lagos’s face made it clear just how little he wanted to explain the secret methods used by his ministry… or perhaps instead indicated his doubts that the representatives would understand his jargon. Either way, he sighed and leaned forward to speak, and Austin found himself quickly falling into his own thoughts to escape the droning of spy-speak.

If nothing else, the meeting had been productive of one thing: It had clearly shown the president that his usual supporters were turning away from him. His longtime friends were turning toward other sources of support and protection as they saw many of Austin’s allies falling dead without any progress in catching the culprit, and vague indications that these people had been killed because they were Austin’s friends only made the survivors less willing to associate with him. The scandal at the beginning of summer that had thrown Addison Banks out of Ministerial House had only thrown still more suspicion onto Austin’s shoulders, and the president really had no desire to prove that Banks’s dismissal was entirely unrelated when the only proof he could offer would damn him as well. It was a pickle, and Austin honestly couldn’t see any solution that would return full power to his hands until or unless the culprit responsible for the current crisis was apprehended… and Austin could only hope that that good news would drag up anything else he’d prefer to keep under wraps.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

“It’s not looking good, Jack.”

Jack Campbell sighed as he took a seat on the other side of Adam Patterson’s desk. The two had retreated to one of the Security Ministry’s secret hideaways as soon as David Lambert became the first, rather than the only, cabinet minister to fall victim to the killing spree. Now with so many other dead men to wonder about—most notably the cabinet ministers, from Interior Minister Jordan Pavelski to Energy Minister Quamar Santana, but also an increasing number of Security Ministry personnel—it was clear that there was no safety to be found in Genoa, or possibly in Cielo as a whole. As such, Patterson had taken the majority of his personal staff out of the state entirely, moving out to Congrelee where he hoped to be out of the line of fire while still being close enough to observe. From there, he had hoped to continue his investigation with more remote means. As of now, however, it appeared that events had conspired against him and his ministry.

On the television in the minister’s office, the voice of Minister Hugo Lagos of Intelligence, slightly distorted by the telephone line he was using to contact his interviewer, publicly denounced the Ministry of Security as the party responsible for the ministerial deaths, as well as the additional murder of at least ten members of Austin’s Secret Service and the Prime Guard. “…concluded that no other organization or state has the resources or the access necessary to gut the executive branch of our government,” the minister, represented by a stock photograph on the right side of the screen, was saying to a news anchor who stared at the camera in obvious shock. “These deaths are clearly being orchestrated from within the structure of government, and there are only a limited number of government agencies capable of this kind of work. And I should add that the Security Ministry’s mandate does include assassination in the name of public safety and national security. Technically, every ministry is expected to get its hands dirty if the need arises, but the Security Ministry actively trains for the eventuality. I can’t imagine what has caused the ministry to turn against the rest of the government, but…”

“That anchor will get fired soon if she doesn’t start an actual interview,” Patterson said as an aside to his protégé.

Campbell nodded, still too distracted to really register what his superior had said. A moment later, though, he shook his head harshly as if to clear it. “How are we going to counter that?” he asked, turning his attention back to Patterson.

“I’m not sure we can.” The minister frowned as he considered matters. “It’s obvious now that Gregory really has turned against us, and apparently Hugo is in his pocket—very disappointing, that,” he added. “Trying to contact the president is just as obviously a fool’s errand, now. But at least we can be sure just who is responsible for this mess, if he’s trying to pin the blame on an obviously-blameless ministry.” Patterson gazed at the television for another long moment, before sighing and shaking his head. “At this point, we might be safer fleeing the country than staying.”

Campbell raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t that just confirm your guilt in the president’s eyes?” he asked.

Patterson scoffed. “I’m more concerned that the president appears to be the guilty party,” he replied. “Given the number of Secret Service agents we’ve found trying to trail us, it’s fairly clear that the agency is not acting on its own. They’re taking direction, and the only man they would listen to in that respect is the president.” The minister grimaced. “At this point, we’d be better off becoming the criminals they portray us to be if we intend to bring Gregory down and save our own skins.”

“Somehow I don’t think it will be as easy as that,” Campbell murmured. “Still, I see your point.”

The stock image of Minister Lagos disappeared from the television screen, and the visibly-recovering news anchor cleared her throat. “While we were hearing from Minister Lagos,” she began shakily, “our team was contacted by another interested party, who has been following this story closely and has additional information for us. We have Addison Banks, formerly Minister of Foreign Relations, on the line. Mr. Banks, thank you for calling in today.”

Patterson turned to Campbell, surprised. “What does he have to say now that he didn’t tell you?” he asked.

Campbell shrugged. “Maybe he’ll spill the beans about Bills?”

“I’m pleased to be here.” Like Minister Lagos, Banks’s side of the screen was covered with a stock image taken from his days at the helm of Gilead’s sophisticated net of friends and allies across Noverra. Patterson had to admit, his former colleague had always been very impressive in front of the cameras—sometimes moreso than even the president. “I called in today mainly to express some skepticism about Minister Lagos’s account of the current crisis, or at least some doubts about the direction of his investigation thus far.”

As the former minister had obviously wanted, the news anchor latched onto his hook. “What doubts do you have, Mr. Banks?”

“Well, partly I’m concerned that there are plenty of likely culprits that Minister Lagos has chosen not to bother investigating,” Banks replied. “Most of what the minister said to you was said in front of Congress a couple of days ago, at which time, according to my friends who were present at that hearing, the minister and the president cited statements from the head of the Secret Service and other government agencies who were not also present with them in the chamber. President Austin was asked to produce the relevant Secret Service executives, and has thus far failed to do so, again according to the inside information I have.”

“Are they also in hiding?” the news anchor asked.

“No one knows,” Banks answered. “The easy answer is to assume that they are, yes. But I’ll remind you and your viewers that Minister Lagos’s assertion that the Security Ministry is responsible for this crisis rests mainly on Minister Patterson’s sudden disappearance. He is, obviously, not the only cabinet minister to have gone into hiding recently, but he was the first or among the first. That hardly makes him guilty. As Minister Lagos pointed out, the Security Ministry is constantly working to determine the safety and security of the government and the nation. If anyone was aware of the nature of the threat in a timely manner, it would have been Minister Patterson. If we are to assume that the Secret Service’s elite personnel are now in hiding, there is no reason why we should assume differently for the Security Ministry’s personnel.”

“And what about Minister Lagos’s claim that the Security Ministry is trained to assassinate those who threaten Gilead?”

“Certainly they’re trained to do that, but Minister Lagos already admitted that every ministry is expected to do its duty when called on to do so. Notice that he didn’t mention anything about his own ministry, Intelligence, which I can assure you is trained and perfectly capable of carrying out the same kind of missions.”

The news anchor blanched. “Are you suggesting that Minister Lagos is the culprit?” she asked shakily.

“Not at all,” Banks said firmly. “Not personally, at any rate, but I wouldn’t be too sure that the Secret Service agents who have died thus far were innocent of the whole mess, either. Really, the fact of the matter is that there are many possible organizations and agencies with the capability to murder government ministers. The question, as always, is motive. We have no motive for the Security Ministry or for Minister Patterson personally to want the rest of the cabinet ministers dead. The ministry gains absolutely nothing by it. The nation gains nothing by it. The only rewards fall on those individuals who rise up in place of their dead predecessors… well, unless you count President Austin standing, rather conveniently I must say, in front of a crowd of corpses that were once his most likely rivals for the presidency.”

The news anchor, Patterson thought, might not survive much longer without a pacemaker for her heart. “Are you seriously accusing President Austin of assassinating his own cabinet members?” she gasped.

There was a pause. “You must admit that it’s quite suspicious,” Banks said eventually. “I can’t pretend to understand the president’s mind right now. You’ll recall, of course, that he dismissed me quite suddenly as well. It’s possible that he decided that my former colleagues needed to be removed more permanently. It’s also possible that he lost control of the Security Ministry—and, for that matter, the Secret Service—but while that may absolve him of any overt crimes, it would leave him criminally negligent in his office. I’m not entirely sure which is worse.”

“Assuming that there’s even a little truth to this, Mr. Banks, aren’t you worried that you might be targeted for saying these things?”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Banks replied. “I’ve had my family in hiding ever since I received word from the closed hearing two days ago. I’m confident in my precautions, just as Minister Lagos is confident in his. I’m more worried about my former colleagues, however, as most of them are not part of the intelligence or security community and are… well, they aren’t trained for this kind of thing. As foreign minister, I had to learn it. Minister Lambert and those that have fallen since, on the other hand, depended entirely on services that are provided by the executive branch, and ultimately from Gregory Austin’s hands. Those services are at the very least inadequate, and have possibly turned traitor; either way, those depending on them are in grave danger now.”

The news anchor nodded dumbly, and shuffled the papers in front of her in order to appear at least somewhat in control of herself while she collected her thoughts. Campbell took that opportunity to say musingly, “At least we know Banks is on our side.”

Campbell looked over in surprised when Patterson scoffed. “Is he?” the minister asked. “All he’s done with this interview is attract Gregory’s attention. What possible good could he do for us now that he’s drawn the eye of his attacker? If he’d kept his mouth shut, he could have done us a service, but now he’s no more ‘on our side’ than the schmuck on the street with no idea about what’s going on.” The security minister leaned back with a sigh. “That’s not to say that he’s wrong in his analysis, of course; we were thinking the same thing, obviously. But after that report, I have more reason to worry than I had before.”

“Because we’ve been set up as the responsible party.”

“Partly, yes,” Patterson said. “But how was that message delivered? Gregory didn’t come to the newsroom to announce it himself. He sent Hugo to make a phone call instead. So either Hugo is entirely ignorant of the truth—which I find hard to believe, given his occupation—or he is part of the conspiracy. Logic dictates the latter, which means that we are faced with at the least two enemies, at least one of whom is a cabinet minister. We can no longer assume that the rest of the cabinet will be on our side in this matter.”

Campbell frowned as he followed Patterson’s logic. After a long moment, he sighed too. “It would have been nice,” he grumbled.

“It would have been nice if this mess had never started at all,” Patterson replied evenly.
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Newspapers were piled haphazardly on a corner of Gregory Austin’s desk, but he had long since quit reading them; it was enough to see their headlines. “President Accused of Assassination!” was probably the least damning of the lot; the rest largely panicked over the certainty of presidential overreach. The president had tried to read all of them, but more important literature arrived before he could get through the fifth one, namely a congressional summons that required Austin’s immediate attention. Apparently Congress was not content with closed-door committee interrogations: Austin was required to submit to a public inquiry in front of the entire Representative Assembly. It was a sad day indeed when headlines proclaiming his involvement in a conspiracy and murder spree were happier reading than paperwork relating to the presidential office, and the news only got worse when Austin’s secretary returned a few minutes later with personal letters of exasperation and, in some cases, condemnation from a sampling of Gilead’s state governors, especially those elected in the lands acquired from old Kanata’s collapse. The people of the north had looked to Gilead for salvation; they were most unhappy to find their new overlords to be in the midst of a crisis as well.

Austin sighed as he looked out from his office window at the cobbled yard outside the Presidential Palace, stretching out to the property gate. Unlike in times past, it was bare today, on the recommendation of the Prime Guard; until the crisis was over, no one would be permitted to approach the Presidential Palace or any of its residents without prior approval and a damned good reason. On the one hand, it allowed Austin an escape from brazen and frustrating public questioning as he attempted to navigate the turbulent waters that Addison Banks had thrown him into. On the other hand, the order angered the media, which stirred the pot against Austin even further. The presidential spokesman’s explanation for the order had been paired with lines from some of Austin’s most virulent critics in three of the articles Austin had managed to read, denouncing his security measures as an attempt to separate himself from the public’s rightful scrutiny and muzzle his critics. The president snorted to himself. If he had intended to silence his public enemies, he was obviously doing a very poor job of it, especially given that the government would have no real trouble in doing just that, even legally. It was Austin’s secret enemies that always gave him pause, and it was their actions now that had caused him so much grief. Too many of his colleagues and friends had been murdered in cold blood over the past couple of weeks, without any explanation as to how or, most importantly for Austin, why. The president’s rage had long since transformed into despair, as events turned totally against him without warning. Nonetheless, he was not about to leave the matter unresolved, if only to prevent the culprit from eventually turning against him—which Austin thought would probably occur soon, if only because he was fast outliving his usefulness as a believable scapegoat.

And as far as that was concerned… Austin turned back toward his desk, where the pile of newspapers and unsavory memoranda buried a perfectly useful stack of stationery. Addison Banks had transformed from Austin’s sharpest sword to the most painful thorn in his side, but the president would see it through with him no less than with his enemies hiding in the shadows. Banks claimed to know something, even if his conclusions were ridiculously misplaced; well, Austin wanted to know what that something was, and by God, he would know it before the end of the week, even if he had to hand Banks over to the Achaians to see what depravities they could invent that would get him to talk.

A knock on the office door broke into Austin’s thoughts, and he only barely prevented his groan when he saw the apologetic look on his secretary’s face as the other man stepped into the room. “Mr. President, this arrived for you just a moment ago,” he said, holding out an official-looking message.

“Thank you, Derrick,” Austin replied, walking up to take the message. He glanced at the envelope and noted the seals of the Ministry of Intelligence and the Secret Service Agency, and had a fleeting thought that he was finally catching a break. Out of habit, he smothered the idea before it could blossom; the last thing he needed now was false hope. Glancing up at the secretary again, the president asked, “Do you know anything about the contents?”

The man’s expression wasn’t promising. “Not anything specific, Mr. President, but the men who delivered it didn’t look friendly,” he replied.

Austin sighed. “Well, that could mean anything,” he said. “Thank you, Derrick. I’ll need some privacy for this, I think.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the door to the office closed, Austin headed back to his desk and took his seat, reaching for his letter opener. With a quick cut, he opened the envelope and pulled out the folded paper it contained. The message wasn’t very long, and thankfully for Austin’s mounting frustration, it didn’t try to hide its meaning behind any obscure legal terminology. Instead, it was a blunt message, signed by Minister Lagos, the head of the Secret Service, and three well-known congressional and party leaders, informing the president that his office and all of his actions during his four terms in power were now under an extralegal investigation to determine if Austin himself was the reason that so many of his friends and longtime allies were now dead. It was insulting enough to hear that accusation from Congress and from the media, but Hugo Lagos’s signature made Austin’s blood freeze: He had no trustworthy friends left at the cabinet level, no one he could fall back on to determine the truth of the matter even in his absence, and no one would stand up to protect him should the worst come for him at last.

And considering how Banks’s accusations against Austin centered on the Secret Service’s supposed actions on his behalf, the president began to wonder just how sinister this investigation would become when headed by that same service and its suddenly-hostile head.
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“I feel as though we’ve been learning more from the television lately than we have from our investigations.” Adam Patterson sighed, leaning back in his office chair as the news networks played yet another report on President Austin’s appearance in front of the Representative Assembly earlier that day. At this point, the minister could practically quote the media’s chosen sound bites in his sleep, but he continued to watch the reports anyway in the hopes that some ‘breaking news’ might appear to give him a further indication of the direction he would soon need to take.

Jack Campbell, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a report in the other, only shook his head and closed the office door behind him. “Here,” he said, laying both on Patterson’s desk. “At the moment, I can safely say that any investigations we conduct will only result in arrested or assassinated agents. I had to ask most of our field agents to pull back entirely when the Ministry of Intelligence started to snoop on us. At this point, you feel like the news is your only source of information because it really is.” The man took a seat on Patterson’s other side and frowned at the television. “Didn’t Banks claim that Austin was already in front of Congress? What do they need him again for?”

“The cameras,” replied the minister, nodding in thanks as he picked up his coffee and took a sip; he ignored the report for now. “If the president can’t do anything, Congress has to show that it’s up to the job in his place, even if the only thing they can realistically do is yell at Gregory for his apparent incompetence.” Patterson’s frown deepened. “The more he looks like an idiot, of course, the less I’m inclined to believe that he’s actually responsible for this mess. But God, if he can’t control his own Secret Service, what has this country come to?”

The president certainly didn’t look good at that point. No matter the channel, Representative Charles Cotton’s demands to know if there was any truth behind Addison Banks’s accusations against him replayed again and again, with special repetition reserved for Austin’s irritated reply that he would soon be cleared of those charges by an independent and unauthorized investigation into his actions by the Ministry of Intelligence and the Secret Service. For the two bodies likely most responsible for the bloodshed to turn against Austin was striking, though a cynical man might point out that, if these were indeed the agencies responsible for the removal of a quarter to a third of the cabinet (and assuming that they were acting on Austin’s orders), their word of Austin’s innocence could not be trusted if they were truly working on his behalf—nor could their word of guilt, in case they should decide to deflect all the blame from their actions onto him as a scapegoat. Thankfully for the public, just such a cynical man existed in the form of at least a hundred representatives and the former foreign minister, Addison Banks, who had spent the immediate aftermath in front of the media decrying the president’s failures thus far. “Either the president is a murderer, or the president is an idiot,” he was quoted as saying in front of a dozen microphones outside the Capitol Building. “Either way, the Secret Service certainly is murdering is fair share, and whether he’s responsible for it or simply unable to stop them, Gregory Austin is failing to serve the Gileadan people in this fashion.”

Those representatives who did not immediately distrust the Secret Service’s decision to investigate Austin also happened to be more hostile to the president, and they were more than happy to denounce the man who had lost the trust of his own organizations and cabinet officials. Patterson noted with some confusion that hostility toward the president in the Representative Assembly seemed to have tripled in the last few days, and had to assume that the representatives attacking Austin now who had never had an unkind word for him before were attempting to gain some political advantage from the public panic in Genoa. And in certain cases, the representatives were doing a very bad job of hiding their populist motivations, attacking the president for reasons having nothing to do with the inquiry at all. The five-minute lambasting Austin received for his decision to secure an alliance with the Suranese Axis was a case in point, though the president was at least capable of defending himself on this score by pointing out that the RDI’s creation had helped to create said ‘Suranese’ Axis by splitting its Suranese component away from the ever-hostile Empire of Kenso, and furthermore reminded Congress that, had it not been for the RDI’s looming presence, it was likely that even the remnants of Esperian Valkany would have been erased from the map. The media, it seemed, were as pleased to replay this singular victory on Austin’s part as they were to fling mud in his face in all other respects. Perhaps it was simply a fascination with the combat…

Patterson coughed lightly as he set the coffee cup down and glanced at the report that Campbell had brought in. “If we have no investigations running at the moment,” he began, “what exactly have you been spending your time with?”

Campbell nodded toward the report. “That, mainly,” he answered, but when Patterson raised an eyebrow questioningly, the man grinned sheepishly. “There’s really not much I can say about it that you won’t see yourself.”

Patterson’s frown became extremely quizzical; this was not at all how his subordinate usually behaved. “Don’t tell me it’s—” The minister had to stop to clear his throat. “Don’t tell me it’s embarrassing you,” he said more clearly. “After what you brought in on the Banks case…”

Campbell chuckled slightly. “Believe me, it’s a bit different than that.”

“God, it is embarrassing you,” Patterson said, almost awed. Turning his full attention back to the file on his desk, he reached a trembling hand forward to open the cover. He blinked at the photographs he saw there. “Wh—” Again, he cleared his throat. “What am I looking at?” For some reason, the images didn’t make sense to him.

Campbell leaned forward to see which photo in particular his superior was looking at. “Lucinda Bills,” the younger man replied. “I know she doesn’t look like much, but after having that much quicklime thrown over her…” He shrugged. “It happens.”

“She’s dead?” Patterson looked up at Campbell sharply. “How long ago did you discover the body?”

The other man leaned back and thought for a second. “Two weeks ago, approximately,” he said after a moment. “I mean, pretty much as soon as we put her there, we could be said to have ‘discovered’ her.”

Patterson stared. “What are you talking about?” he rasped, his throat dry again.

Campbell frowned. “You’re not usually this slow on the uptake, boss,” he said. “Do you need more coffee?”

Patterson, confused, glanced down at his empty cup, before looking back up at Campbell. “You’re trying to distract me, Jack,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I won’t have it. Answer me.”

Campbell furrowed his brows, as if confused. “What was the question?” he asked.

Patterson looked back down at the photo in front of him, as if to remind himself that it was still there. “Tell me who this is,” he insisted.

“I already told you.”

The minister blinked in confusion. “But…”

“Adam—do you mind if I call you Adam?—I really think you need another cup of coffee.” Smiling in a way that Patterson’s fuzzy mind didn’t really like, Campbell got to his feet and headed to the door of the minister’s office. “Thankfully,” he said, opening the door to reveal a couple of men waiting outside, “these gentlemen already have a cup for you.” He waved the two inside, before closing the door behind them and returning to Patterson’s desk.

The minister stared for a moment at the interlopers. “You’re not—” He coughed for a bit, before clearing his throat one more time. “You’re not supposed to be here. Only Campbell here is authorized to enter my office…”

“But they are authorized, Adam,” Campbell said, still smiling. “I authorized them, so that they could bring you more coffee.” The newcomer on the left, whose face looked like it had never broken into a smile before, did indeed hold a carafe, from which poured another cup into Patterson’s forgotten mug. The minister stared at the cup as it was set back onto his desk. “Drink up,” Campbell urged.

Patterson stared at Campbell for a long moment, before he finally reached for the cup and picked it up. His hand was shaking so badly at this point that the coffee sloshed over the lip of the cup, splashing onto the photographs under it. The minister didn’t seem to notice, staring at the cup for a long moment before he made eye contact with his subordinate once more. “You poisoned me,” he said, his mind clear enough to make the connection at the last moment.

The younger man’s smile widened. “I most certainly did,” he said. He motioned to the cup in Patterson’s hand. “So there’s obviously no harm in having another sip or two at this point. You don’t want it to go to waste, after all.”

“Why?”

Campbell chuckled again. “You can’t even remember that you were looking at photographs a couple of seconds ago, Adam,” he pointed out, and even as he said it, Patterson took a surprised glance down at his desk to find the now-soiled photographs staring up at him. “Do you really think you’ll remember my reasoning in the few minutes you have left?”

The minister stared at the traitor for a long moment, before he flung his arm out clumsily toward the younger man, sending the coffee in his cup flying. Campbell kept his lips pressed firmly shut, but Patterson’s unstable aim was considerably off, and the poisoned drink landed mainly on the front of his dress shirt. Patterson immediately began to wheeze as that final effort took the most of his remaining strength, and he flopped forward to rest his elbows on his desk, dropping the cup and watching with half of his attention as it rolled off the side of the desk; he heard the glass shatter as if from far away. Directly in front of him, the mysterious photographs filled his vision, coffee-colored bodies that were rotted away by chemical baths and two weeks’ time. He couldn’t remember whose dead body he was staring at on the top of the pile, and he couldn’t remember why he should care, but he knew instinctively that she had had something to do with why he was sitting in this office, losing his mind even as his body failed him. In the end, he hated her for it.

Then he let his forehead strike the desk and expired.

* * *

“It was a complete success. The only people left alive in this safe house are the people who answer to you. Most of the ministry’s employees were left behind in Ministerial House, of course, so we can’t say for sure that they’ll cooperate with the new regime…”

“They’ll have no reason not to. The entire ministry is under the microscope right now, and they’re none too happy that they’re under suspicion for a governmental killing spree. As soon as they’re able to pass their supposed guilt onto Patterson, they’ll be more than happy to go along with the people providing them with a scapegoat.”

“And the investigations thus far? The Secret Service won’t rest until Bills’s killer is dead, I have a feeling.”

“So do I, but thankfully you have enough high-level culprits’ corpses in your care that her killer won’t be hard to find. I’ll see what I can do to soften the blow, of course. I have enough influence in the Service still that I can retroactively provide you with an agent’s identification; as far as the Service leaders will be concerned, you were working on their behalf to bring down their opponents, and your declaration that the rest of the ministry is clean will have to be enough for them. It will assuage their pride to know that ‘one of their own’ carried out their vengeance, anyway.”

“How soon will we be able to announce it, then?”

“As soon as Congress gets its act together and impeaches dear Gregory. They’ll never go for it if they think the emergency has been resolved, sadly. His reputation is greater than his authority, and with most of his advisors and cabinet allies missing, that’s becoming more obvious even to the general public. But even with most of his swords and shields trampled and broken, he still has enough charisma to salvage his career intact if we move before he’s ousted. After all, the Secret Service and the Intelligence Ministry are still his for now, and any victory of theirs can be attributed to him as a result.”

“How soon will Austin be impeached, then?”

“Within the week. Perhaps another body or two—perhaps even in Congress, among his firmest allies—will speed matters along… but try to be subtle about it, Jack. We don’t want them to see how easily they can be herded into some course of action or another. Besides, I’m still not quite assured that some of the state governors even realize I’m a candidate to fulfill Gregory’s remaining term. I won’t need a lot of time to bring them around, but I’d like a couple of days at least to refresh my old contacts and see what they’ll have to say about running for office this time around.”

“Of course, Mr. Banks. I’ll see what I can do.”
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Cameras flashed and questions were shouted as the Prime Guard escorted Gregory Austin out of the Presidential Palace for the last time. With the exception of the guards, the former president was alone: His ministers still refused to show their faces in public, his congressional colleagues had no interest in soiling their reputation by shaking his hand, and his family… well, apparently Adeline Austin was no more forgiving of slights than the man who had informed her of her husband’s misdeeds.

That man had watched the news coverage of Gregory Austin’s inauspicious departure with a smile. Addison Banks hadn’t planned to see this day for several months, or possibly even years. It was luck that Adam Patterson’s well-known suspicion had turned first on the president, rather than being led in that direction by Banks’s efforts over a longer period of time. The almost-immediate shuttering of the Ministry of Security and the paranoid seclusion of its minister had provided the perfect red herring for the Ministry of Intelligence to pursue, the media to accuse, and the government to fear. It helped, of course, that agents of that ministry were actually responsible for the deaths of the various cabinet ministers and the Secret Service agents seeking to stop them, but Banks had never imagined that Patterson’s own actions would further incriminate himself. Instead of the long, drawn-out process that Banks had initially planned for, then, the former minister was faced with the prospect of winning over the state governors and the remaining ministers of Austin’s cabinet, dwindling though they might be, if he wanted to be selected by the Presidential Electorate to fulfill Austin’s term as president. Not that Banks had any great concerns in that respect, as his own plants within the ministries that had lost their heads in the last couple of weeks had almost invariably risen to succeed their deceased superiors, but Austin’s colleagues—and Banks’s former friends—had almost certainly lost the respect they had once held for a man who had betrayed his patron and acted to subvert Gileadan democracy. They hadn’t been privy to the background any more than the general public had, and could not be expected to side with Banks even if they had. Now that any such charge of ‘subverting democracy’ rang uncomfortably true, Banks was even less inclined to submit to the scrutiny of a cabinet he did not control. And the only way to ensure his control of that body was to remove those whose loyalties and interests could not be entirely guaranteed, which boiled down to ‘Austin’s people’ in the end.

The first and most dangerous of those individuals had graciously accepted Banks’s invitation to dine this evening, and the former minister, flanked by his wife and eldest son, stood at the head of his table as his butler guided Minister Hugo Lagos into the dining room of his residence in the suburbs of Genoa. “Welcome to the Banks residence, Hugo,” Banks said with a wide smile. “Thank you again for accepting my invitation.”

“You drive a very hard bargain, Addison,” Lagos replied, nodding to his host before turning his attention to the other members of the Banks family. “Bethany, you’re looking lovely as always. George, it’s very good to see you again; it’s been a while.”

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Minister,” Addison’s son said with a grin. “Hopefully we’ll have you over for dinner more often, now that Dad’s returning to politics.”

“Yes, there’s certainly a chance of that.” Lagos looked over at the family patriarch speculatively. “I’m sure it has something to do with why I’m here, anyway.”

Banks’s smile turned into a grin. “Shall we sit down?” he asked, motioning to the seats that surrounded the table. Lagos was allowed to sit first, while the butler departed as the Banks family followed suit. “Gordon will bring out the wine while we wait.”

Lagos shook his head. “You know how I hate surprises, Addison,” he said bluntly. “Out with it, please. What do you want with me?”

Banks frowned slightly. “Well, I think you already know the most obvious answer,” he said. “I’ve thrown my hat into the presidential contest. I’m sure the Intelligence Ministry is well aware that I was likely to do so for a long while now.”

“Ever since you were thrown out of office for starting just such a campaign half a decade too early, actually,” Lagos said pointedly. “I know what you want from me, of course. But I’m not the only one you have to ask for support at this point; nonetheless, I’m the only one you’ve invited to your table since your dismissal. I have to believe that getting my vote is secondary to you.”

The former minister grinned. “You never miss a trick, Hugo,” he complimented. “I’m putting together a small dining party of governors for this coming weekend, and I intend to drag some other colleagues of ours along, but I thought it better to discuss this matter with you privately beforehand—not just to sound you out, but also to ensure the security of the gathering. A party of several ministers will be a tempting target, I believe, and I’d like to make absolutely sure that we can prevent a disaster if I do succeed in bringing them out of hiding for the evening.”

“Security is not my business, as I’m sure you already know,” Lagos demurred.

“That’s true,” Banks said, “but as you already know, the Ministry of Security is out of contact and the Secret Service is interested in its own investigations. And of course, you know already just how little I trust the Secret Service’s record thus far.”

“Yet you’re not speaking to the Prime Agency?”

Banks chuckled. “You know as well as I do that it’s flooded with Gregory’s flunkies. I admit that I’m beginning to second-guess my initial estimate of Gregory’s guilt in this matter—”

“And based on my ministry’s investigations thus far, I can only encourage you to rethink that entire theory,” Lagos interrupted.

Banks nodded. “I bow to your better understanding of the situation,” he said. “I would certainly have expected Gregory to be more competent in defending his public image if he was truly responsible for these murders, but thus far he has simply foundered. I didn’t realize that he depended so much on ministerial support to maintain his grip on power.” The former minister snorted. “One wonders if he was as much a target of this assassination spree as the people who were actually killed.”

Lagos raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” he said slowly, “we have looked into that possibility. We have no conclusive evidence either way, at least at this point, so it remains as valid as any number of other hypotheses.” The minister of intelligence frowned at Banks. “I’m sure you realize, of course, that Gregory’s precipitous fall from grace occurred at your hands more than any other’s. Your invitation for an interview with the Secret Service and with my ministry is already being drafted, in fact. I personally found it disturbing that you retain ties to congressional leaders, even in your disgraced position.”

Banks grimaced dramatically. “Now, Hugo, that disgrace is about to end—and in some quarters, it would be fairer to say that it already has, wouldn’t you say? The media seems to like me well enough again, anyway.”

“You know better than most not to mistake the media’s appreciation for the sentiment of the rest of the country,” Lagos chided.

“True enough.”

The doors to the kitchen opened, revealing the butler and another tuxedoed man bearing a bottle of wine each. Banks smiled upon seeing the label. “You’ve gone out of your way again, Gordon,” he praised.

Lagos frowned in confusion. “Did you hire additional staff, Addison?” he asked, referring to Gordon’s assistant.

“I thought it prudent, with the dinner I mentioned this weekend,” Banks replied. “I will hire a ballroom, likely at the Chancellor Regent, but I intend to use my own staff at the event as a security measure. I want to be able to recognize every face in that room.”

“I’m glad to see that retirement hasn’t softened you,” Lagos said approvingly, eyeing the approaching bottles as the two servants brought the wine to him. Gordon moved around Lagos to pour into his glass, while his assistant followed close behind. Lagos smiled as the wine began to flow, but left the glass alone as Gordon pulled back and turned to serve the Banks family; the former minister assumed that Lagos was waiting for the likely toast. “Thank you, Gordon,” the man said, turning to the butler to smile.

A look of confusion crossed the minister’s face when he saw that Gordon was now carrying both bottles of wine by the necks, quite unlike his earlier formal posture. By the time he thought to look for the second man to see what he was doing without his bottle, it was too late: The man in question, hands now free, reached around from behind the minister and twisted his neck with a sickening crack.

Bethany Banks screamed and leapt from her seat, letting it fall to the floor behind her. Stumbling in her dinner dress, she turned for the nearest door, only to find Gordon, still holding the bottles of wine, blocking her path. “Please sit down, madam,” he instructed calmly. “Your dinner will be out shortly.”

Addison ignored his wife’s panic. “I’m sorry that you had to see that, George,” he said to his son, who had paled and was pointedly looking away from the dead minister. “The violence will die down in the next week or so, I assure you.” He turned to look at ‘Gordon’s assistant’ as the man strode around the room and picked his wife’s chair up from the floor. “You do excellent work, Wilson. When will you be able to remove the body?”

“Immediately, sir,” the assassin replied. “Agents are already en route to transport the evidence.”

“Excellent.” Addison looked up as Wilson reached out and guided his still-hyperventilating wife into her seat again. “Now Bethany,” he began, “I know you weren’t very interested in coming to dinner with me tonight, but that’s no reason to be so rude as to run out before we even have a drink.”

“W-wha… Addison, you did this?” Bethany stared at her husband in horror.

The former minister nodded with a pleasant smile. “Obviously a man as intelligent as Hugo Lagos would easily determine my relationship to poor Gregory’s run of bad luck,” he explained easily, nodding to Gordon to pour out the rest of the wine. “He said as much just a few minutes ago, as you heard. Now that Gregory is out with cap in hand, there isn’t as much point in investigating him. Eventually all of that suspicion will simply fall on his associates, those who owe him ‘favors,’ and those who were associated or have associated themselves with the events of the last two weeks.”

Bethany stared at her husband. “And what did you have to hide that made him worth killing?” she asked, though with a great deal of hesitation.

Addison scoffed and sipped from his glass. “Does this look like the first time I’ve seen a dead body recently, Beth?” he asked rhetorically.

“You…”

The former minister nodded. “Yes,” he said. “As I just said to George, you can expect the violence to peter out in the near future. Gregory’s out of office, and I’m well on my way in; once that happens, there won’t be any need for more, at least unless I find a rabid Austinite who can’t be pushed aside any other way. I expect Hugo to have been the last of those, however.”

“And… and Gregory himself?”

“Worried for him, are you?” Addison sneered at the woman sitting beside him. “Oh, don’t worry about him. His life is over in every way that matters, now. You’ll hear about it in the papers soon enough, probably, assuming that someone investigates Adeline’s departure from the Presidential Palace well before the impeachment vote was taken. Unless Adeline decides to spread the word herself, of course. In that case, you might have to accept being the center of attention for a completely different reason.” The former minister took another sip of wine and leaned back into his seat. “Get used to it.”

“Addison, please, that was hardly worth this!” Bethany had clearly misconstrued the threat, given that she was hyperventilating again. “Please don’t hurt me, I’m begging—”

“Shut up.” Bethany did so immediately. Addison sighed and turned back to his wife with a bored expression. “You don’t deserve answers. You don’t deserve anything that comes from me: this house, this lifestyle, and certainly not the lifestyle you’ll receive as the country’s first lady. But I’ll tell you what I will give you instead. I’ll give you a story.” Addison leaned forward again, staring at his frightened wife. “When I came to Genoa as part of Gregory’s little gang, I put myself into his shade. I gave him advice and worked miracles behind his back. I gave him whatever support he needed, either in public or behind closed doors. I worked for twenty years to preserve this country’s strength in the face of obstinate aggression, and I did it without any expectation of thanks or gratitude from the general public. I was a loyal servant of my nation and my president. I expected a reciprocal loyalty from him, and asked only to receive it. Instead,” Addison snarled, “he betrays me—you both betray me—and take for granted everything that I gave to both of you!”

Bethany stared at her husband with tears of panic and shame running down her cheeks. “I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered between sobs. “But it wasn’t worth this.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Addison replied, making his wife blink in surprise. “You’re certainly not worth getting worked up over, anyway. But Gregory? Gregory came to power because we devoted our lives and careers to building him up. In return, he betrayed me, humiliated me, and threw me away with nothing.” The former minister took a deep breath and another sip of wine. “You’re nothing, Bethany. And now, so is Gregory. Once I’m sitting in his place at the top of the ladder, reversing every idiotic decision he’s made in my absence, I’ll be content enough to let him go… unless he does anything more to annoy me, I suppose.”

Bethany whimpered and shook, but had nothing more to say. Their son, however, swallowed nervously and asked, “People will know that Lagos was visiting tonight, won’t they?”

“We hardly need to be subtle anymore, George,” Addison replied. “The Security Ministry is under our control, and it will redirect any investigation in other directions for as long as we need it to. They won’t even need to hide their interference, after Hugo’s many television interviews. Once we announce Patterson’s tragic death, on the other hand…”

George nodded slowly. “And by that time…”

“By that time, I will be president,” Addison finished, “and this country will finally be back where it belongs.”
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MAKARIA to the Achaian People:
Be as Many as the Stars
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