Battling Brexit

by Andrew Anzur Clement

  “Hold on, Elena,” Mom tells me. “You accomplished a lot. You stopped an entire terrorist plot and uncovered a related arms and migrant smuggling scheme.”

  “Yeah, but Farage is still out there. So is Daesh. I didn’t get the Stabilization and Association Agreement for Kosovo, and that’s to say nothing of the rest of the former Yugoslavia. I’ll never have a chance to help bring the rest of it into the EU now.”

  ‘Elena…” Dad puts up a hand.

  Not waiting for their reaction, or wanting them to see mine, I stand up from the table and run out into the hall, down the steps to the path that has the leafy trees and the peacocks during the summer. Drago is still there, leaning against the wall of the manor.

  “Elena, I heard everything through the window. I’m so sorry. I wish there was more that I could do.”

  “Go away, Drago,” I snap as I walk past him. “What are you still doing here?”

  “What do you mean? I want to help you through this.”

  “No. Go away. Go back to Brussels, back to your life and your studies and your future. There’s no reason for you to stay, even for a little while longer.”

  “I want to stay.”

  “Why? I failed. There’s no reason you should want to be around me anymore. I can’t be the Maršal of Yugoslavia. I’m a nobody.”

  He grabs me by the arm, stopping me. “Hey. Listen to me. I don’t care whether you’re the Maršal of Yugoslavia or not. I think you’re amazing either way.”

  I shake off his hand. “It’s not true. I don’t need to be flattered.”

  I start to run off. I hear the sound of an engine pulling into the driveway, another truck making a delivery, like I’ve heard all my life, like I always will, now.

  I hear Drago behind me. “Um, she was right here.” Then, “Elena, wait. Come back!”

  I don’t turn around. I keep running. Rada—who made the return trip to Skopje with the proper paperwork—comes running up to me, barking. I wave her off.

  I run past the gate, past the guard, through the vineyard and the snow to where the lines of dormant vines end. My breathing comes in ragged spurts. I run up the hill through the snow, remembering the last time I ran here, when the possibilities seemed endless and I thought I was ready for everything that lay ahead of me.

  I reach the peak that looks back at the town of Demir Kapija. The snow-dusted hills rise over its single white church. It looks like it always does at this time of year. The sameness and familiarity now seem so different in light of everything that happened. I stop running. I have nothing left to run toward. I am nothing.

  My sight blurs. I sit down in the snow. A single tear falls from my cheek. My blurry vision makes it look like there is a chasm opening beneath me. The teardrop finally hits the bottom, freezing on the snow.

  I start to collapse over it. My chest heaves.

  Three sets of footsteps crunch up in the snow behind me.

  “Go away, guys,” I barely manage.

  A second goes by.

  “We’re not your parents, or your friend.” It’s a voice I recognize. An impossible voice. A voice that cannot be here.

  Something taps on my shoulder. I look around. A short, stout woman with light brown hair is standing in the snow, in a pantsuit and a jacket.

  “Chancellor Merkel?” I whisper in disbelief.

  She nods at one of the two men on either side of her.

  The one on the right is thin, with balding brownish hair and beady eyes. He steps forward. His English has a halting Slavic accent.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Donald Tusk, President of the European Council.”

  “Why are you here? I’m powerless.” I’m almost breathless.

  Chancellor Merkel speaks again. “Since he came to office last December, President Tusk and I have been following your adventures with some interest. You may not have an official position, Elena, but you are far from helpless. You’re a decisive young woman who stays true to her values and principles, even when it would be easier to compromise. The situation that the EU is facing is bound to get even tougher over the coming years. We’ve decided that we could use you back in Brussels.”

  President Tusk nods. “I would like to offer you a position. Officially you’d be a member of my cabinet, one of the President of Europe’s highest advisors. Unofficially you’d be heading up a top-secret rapid response unit that I am creating to deal with issues such as terrorism and migration.”

  I shake my head, just one girl sitting in the snow. “Thanks, but didn’t you get the memo? I’m persona non grata in Belgium. I’m not even an EU citizen anymore; I never really was.”

  The third man steps forward. Something I said caused him to get this odd twinkle in his eye. “Actually, you always have been,” he says in Slovene as he extends a hand. Tentatively, I take it. He helps me up from the ground.

  “Who are you?”

  “Janez Zupančič, Minister of Internal Affairs of the Republic of Slovenia. It took some doing, but the message you sent to my nephew Tone led to our coming here.”

  “How? What can you do about it?”

  Janez smiles, the twinkle in his eye deepening.

  “When I learned of what had happened from my nephew, I contacted Mr. Tusk. He contacted Ms. Merkel, who was already looking for a way to bring you back. They were pleased to learn that I had the missing piece of the plan they were already hatching. You see, Slovenia grants citizenship through ancestry out to the third generation. Maršal Tito’s mother, your great-grandmother, was Slovene. That means, all this time, you were qualified to claim Slovenian citizenship through ancestry. We put the papers through on your behalf.”

  He reaches into his briefcase and extracts a small burgundy and gold booklet with lime-green paper inside. I look at the words on it:

  Evropska Unija

  Republika Slovenija

  And then farther down, below the seal of three stars, a tri-peaked mountain and a coastline:

  Potni List

  “A Slovenian passport?” I whisper, not believing it until Janez presses it into my hands. I open it to see my picture.

  “Yours,” he says.

  My mouth drops open, jaw quavering. “Thank you, Mr. Zupančič, but even with this I still can’t go back to Belgium. I’ve been declared a threat to public safety—you know, article forty-eight, paragraph three of the Treaty of Rome. The principle of free movement doesn’t fully apply to me anymore.”

  President Tusk reaches into his own briefcase and takes out a similar booklet. This one is dark blue with the EU symbol of the twelve gold stars and the words ‘European Union’ written on it in the EU’s twenty-four languages.

  “This is an EU laissez-passer, issued to employees and diplomats employed by the Union. With this, Belgium will have to let you back in. I ordered that Hristijan and Lucija be issued them as well. They have already agreed to be part of the response unit. If you accept, you would have complete discretion as its head, answerable only to me. If publicly asked about it, we will deny all knowledge of its existence.”

  I dry my tears even as I try not to cry in gratitude. I hold the two new documents close to my chest. “Yes, thank you. I accept.”

  I look over at Chancellor Merkel. “And thank you so much, for believing in me. I thought you never even took me seriously.”

  Chancellor Merkel smiles for the first time since I met her. “I have from the moment you had the gall to stand there and yell at me when I got in your way. You reminded me of another young woman, then, who stood up for the reunification of her country, on a wall in Berlin, almost twenty-six years ago. If only I knew then how difficult it would be for the west and east to come to an understanding. You deserve a second chance. I am happy to have helped see to it that you are going to get one.”

  I thank her again and run down the hill toward the compound, passing where Drago is still leaning by the parlor window, not coming inside. I go into the parlor. I walk to the table and take the medal of the two red
stars in my hands. I refasten it around my neck as my parents look on with pride. Drago beams and gives me a wink through the window. We are headed back to Brussels after all. It’s time to get serious.

  ***

  I decided to walk from the Berlaymont, the building that houses the European Commission, and bask in my victory. I just came from the official signing of Kosovo’s Stabilization and Association Agreement with the European Union. I did it. Now it’s only a matter of time before they get to enter. The streets are crowded, noisy and full of life as I reach the end of the Rue Belliard. I walk along the ring road, past the Croatian residence and Permanent Representation to the EU. The damage from the attack six months ago has been repaired.

  I cross the street and walk in front of the royal palace. I turn to the left, past the white buildings in the square to its far side. I go through the Sablon, where once I was just a student driving a truck in a parade. The road dead-ends in front of the scaffolded Palais de Justice. I turn right, to the edge of the balcony with the monument to the Belgian infantry. I look out over the old town and the glistening vibrant lights of the city at dusk, so much less innocent but so much more ready for what lies ahead.

  There’s a tap on my shoulder. I look over to see a half-gloved hand. He is here, just like he said he would be.

  Drago

  She stares over Brussels’ north side from the balcony in front of the monument to the World Wars’ infantries. I touch her lightly on the shoulder. She turns to me.

  Both of us are now part of the European Union Covert Action Service—or the EU CAS for short. Elena and I are setting it up along with Afrim, Hristijan, Lucija and Emilija—she decided to let the board run what’s left of her dad’s company. With the sudden wave of migration from Syria that just started up, it looks like the EU CAS is going to have its first real test; I already think that I can detect al-Qadir’s prints all over this latest crisis.

  For the moment, none of that matters. Elena’s eyes meet mine. I stare right back into them. “Congratulations on the Kosovo Agreement. From what I heard, it sounds like it really wouldn’t have happened without you.”

  “Thanks. It’s good to see you.” She steps forward and takes me in her arms. Finally ready, I slide mine right around the small of her back.

  “You, too.” I close the final few centimeters between us until our lips are touching.

  “What was that for?” she asks mischievously when we’re done.

  I give a mock shrug. “Nothing. I think it means I kind of like you.”

  She kisses me this time. “I think I kind of like you, too.”

  I smirk, feeling something for the moment that might even be happiness. Hand in hand, we stare out over the old town and the spire on the city hall in the Grand Place, anticipating all we will accomplish for the Union that brought us together. Another day draws to a close on the continent we are sworn to defend.

  Hey there,

  It’s the author here. I want to say thanks for reading Europe’s lost Children: Battling Brexit, the first book in the sequel series to the Tito’s Lost Children trilogy. This alternate history parody of European integration has been a while in the making. I originally had the idea for it when I was living in Brussels, finishing up my PhD in EU studies at the ULB; we’re not done yet!

  In Europe’s Lost Children; Book Two Elena and her team are given their first real test as the heads of the Covert Action Service. They must choose between their loyalties to their loved ones and their secret duty to Europe during the 2015-2016 migrant crisis. Could a mysterious cabal be out to stop them before they even have a chance to make a difference?

  Back to book one, I sincerely hope that you would consider getting in touch by leaving an honest review of Battling Brexit on Amazon. Let me know what you liked, didn’t like, what plot twists were your favorites, and whether you think I’m a mad genius or just incredibly crazy for trying to satirize European integration. Your feedback matters and is invaluable to my journey as a writer.

  If you’d like to find out more about Drago and Afrim’s origins, you can get a free novella about their childhood during the Kosovo war and also try out some of my historical fantasy stuff for free here.

  Thanks in advance,

  Andrew Anžur Clement

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Beyond the Compound

  The Capital of Europe

  The Guild of Social and Political Sciences

  The Never-Ending Sacrifice

  Your Presence Is Kindly Requested…

  The Proclamation

  The Reception Bombing

  Showdown

  The Cordon

  Constitutional Crisis

  Friendly Competition

  Saint V’s Day

  Out-Hacked

  The Tip-Off

  Trepča

  An Attack and a Kidnapping

  The Takedown

  Home Again