by Simon Harrak
“I’m fine,” said Ida defiantly. “Thank you for what you did. You don’t have to stay if you have somewhere else you need to be.”
Frederich felt a convulsion in his stomach.
“It’s not like that,” he said defensively.
“No?” said Ida, turning and giving him a questioning stare. “You don’t have someone else to kill tonight?”
“What’s going on, Ida?”
Ida sighed and frowned. She began breathing heavily and her face turned bright red.
“Dammit!” she yelled, raising her head to the sky. “I hate this!” she screamed. “I hate Paris! I hate The League! I hate Vidrik!” She turned and looked Frederich directly in the eyes with a scorching stare, her loathing on a level he had never seen before. “I hate you!!” she screamed at him at the top of her lungs.
A searing pain cut through Frederich’s chest. His eyes opened wide, his mouth fell open. The pain spread to the rest of his body while he gave Ida a confused, searching look.
“You don’t mean that,” he said with a croaky voice.
“Don’t I?” she said, pursing her lips together and narrowing her gaze. “What happened in Poland, Frederich? One bullet wasn’t enough? What kind of monster does that in front of children?”
Frederich’s entire body iced over. Monster. He could barely fathom hearing the word coming from Ida’s mouth. He lowered his head and looked away. His face grew intensely hot. It got too much. He turned his anger outwards. How dare she! he thought. He had saved her life twice now. What gave her the right?
“You want to talk about me?” he said with force. “What the hell are you doing here, Ida? What brought you to Paris in a fucking cocktail dress when you knew Vidrik was after you? Huh? Not enough parties for you in Berlin? There’s a war happening right now. Why didn’t you go home to America when you had the chance? Life too boring there? You felt you needed the rush of being hunted by a psychopath?”
“I’ll do what I want!” she yelled, her scowl consuming her entire face. “I won’t let Vidrik or you or anyone tell me how I should live my life!”
Frederich fell quiet.
“Shit,” he mouthed, biting his lower lip.
The intensity of her rage had surprised him, not to mention his own. He had to admit the fault was not hers. Vidrik had picked her out for his own sick reasons. Her only mistake had been mingling with Elias Khartoum, and she had more than paid the price for that. Why should she let Vidrik dictate what she did? Frederich relaxed his body.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s not your fault. It’s Vidrik’s.”
Ida gave Frederich a sceptical glance before her face softened somewhat, the scowl leaving her.
“But Ida, there are still consequences. You could have died tonight,” he said.
Ida gave him a long blank stare while the grim idea of her death lingered in the air.
“Yeah, I know,” she said wearily with a nod.
The tension had now dissipated, and silence rushed in to fill the space. Ambulance sirens continued to sound in the far distance.
“You’ve got some balls,” said Frederich with a half-smirk. “Taking him on like that. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A brawler in a cocktail dress, taking on a murderous maniac.”
Ida snorted suddenly as a laugh broke out, her face blushing.
“I might start calling you the cocktail brawler,” he added.
“Idiot,” she said with a smile.
She stood up and walked toward Frederich, looking somewhat like her real self again. She reached forward and wrapped her arms around him, this time embracing him with her usual warmth.
“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear.
They pulled away and locked eyes, the intensity of the moment drawing them toward each other. Frederich reached out and rubbed the area around the cut above her eye.
“Sure that doesn’t hurt?” he said.
“It’s ok.”
He felt warm all over as his affection for Ida gushed out of him, urging him to kiss her.
“Hmm,” he said, still gazing into her brown eyes. “I get why people usually kiss during moments like these.”
“You want to kiss me?” asked Ida with a twinkle in her eyes.
Frederich looked deeper into her.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not yet.”
They continued holding eye contact. The life in Ida’s face showed itself to him in numerous forms which came and went like weather patterns. He witnessed sadness tinged with doubt. Her face softened and revealed her glow, which sent intense tingles through him. Then it disappeared. He looked deeper into her eyes, and narrowed his. The ferocity he witnessed had not been there before. Or had it? He had never had so much time to simply see her.
“You do have pretty eyes,” blurted Ida.
A smile escaped him.
“Thanks,” he said, struggling to push the smile down.
Ida’s stare hardened and the mood turned dark again.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Yes,” said Frederich.
“What happened in Poland, was that what you were trying to tell me about at Lustgarten? When you said ‘I’m not normal?’”
“Yeah,” said Frederich, now forced to look away. “I black out when it happens.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I found out. It’s not you.”
“No, but it’s a part of me.”
“You can’t stop it?”
“No. I see it coming, then I black out.”
Ida sighed.
“What’s going to happen with us, Frederich?” she said. “There’s so much death everywhere.”
“It’s going to get worse,” said Frederich. “Which is why I still think you should go home.”
“Not going to happen,” said Ida with a hard stare. “I’m staying right here.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it makes sense to me now why you joined The League.”
“Does it?” said Frederich.
“Yes, even though it scares the hell out of me.”
“Me too,” said Frederich.
“I just hope you know what you’re doing. You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I’m playing a dangerous game?” said Frederich, tilting his head.
“Yes,” said Ida with a grin, pointing her finger at Frederich’s chest. “You. Frederich Abel.”
Frederich’s pocket began vibrating. He tilted his torso and took his phone out.
“I need to take this,” he said.
Ida nodded, and Frederich answered.
“Abel,” said Gerricks.
“Gerricks,” said Frederich, walking away from Ida.
“We’ve got a lock on Vidrik.”
“What?” said Frederich, making a fist with his free hand. “How did you find him?”
“Our cameras have had him since he left La Défense. We want you to go after him. Can’t risk letting him get away. He could lead us to Stirner. After the shitstorm last night we could use a win.”
“Where is he?”
“He walked into a public park just south of where you are and we haven’t seen him since. The Bois de Boulogne. I’ll send you his last known location.”
“Perfect,” said Frederich, vitalised by the knowledge that Vidrik was still within reach.
“The city’s on lockdown and crawling with cops, which means he won’t have gone far. But that means you need to be double careful.”
“I will,” said Frederich and closed the connection.
He walked back to Ida.
“They found Vidrik?” she said.
Frederich nodded.
“You’re going after him?”
Frederich nodded again.
“Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will,” said Frederich, looking deep into her eyes. “Cocktail brawler.”
“Pretty eyed monster,” she shot
back with a weary expression.
He lingered for a moment, staring indecisively at Ida. She shook her head and pushed her eyebrows together.
“What?” she said.
“Listen,” said Frederich. “If… If I don’t make it back…”
“Frederich,” said Ida, shuffling her weight to the other leg and appearing uncomfortable.
“No, this is important,” he said. “If I don’t make it back, promise me you’ll be extra careful. That you won’t take any more unnecessary risks.”
Ida sighed loudly and bit her lip, looking away for a brief moment.
“Ok,” she said with a nod. “I promise.”
“Thanks,” said Frederich with a soft smile.
“Your turn,” said Ida. “If you do come back, promise you’ll have dinner with me. One normal evening away from all this stupid death and violence.”
Frederich imagined spending time with just the two of them, simply enjoying each other’s company. No other place to be and no shadow hanging over them.
“I’d like that,” he said.
“So come back,” said Ida with longing in her gaze.
Frederich nodded, holding Ida’s cheeks with his hands and resting his forehead on her’s. Then he spun around and made for the stairs.
“Wait,” came Ida’s voice.
He stopped.
“What was that gunfire I heard before?”
He paused, then turned his head.
“War,” he said.
Ida nodded, her gaze sharp and gloomy.
“Stay safe,” he added before pushing his way up the stairs two steps at a time, already bracing himself for a showdown with Vidrik.
19
The time had come. Kalakia’s ‘Schlieffen Plan’ had failed, in much the same way as its namesake.
Like the German Empire at the beginning of the 20th century, Kalakia feared that a hostile power was eclipsing him. In Germany’s case it was France, Britain and the Russian Empire. The Germans believed that not making the first move would prove catastrophic in the long run. Field Marshal Alfred von Schlieffen’s answer was to devise a strategy to achieve swift victory in the West against the French before concentrating the German Army’s forces against Russia. This approach was meant to give the Germans the upper hand when the war inevitably escalated.
The Schlieffen Plan relied on assumptions and educated guesses. The Germans assumed the Belgians would put up little to no resistance, allowing them to pass through unhindered. They also counted on the British staying out of it, and were sure the Russians would be slow to mobilise on the Eastern Front. Much did not go to plan, and the result was the gruelling trench warfare of World War I, which spanned four terrible years.
Now Kalakia was also staring down the barrel of a drawn-out conflict. Without exception, history showed that the consolidation of power always had one of three outcomes; eventual total collapse, the splitting of the entity into one or more sub-entities, or the emergence of a stronger opposing power. Rome split in two, where the eastern Byzantine Empire endured while the western half fell apart. The Mongolian Empire collapsed. The Byzantine Empire was later swallowed whole by the Ottomans. Napoleon’s France was defeated. The Ottoman Empire was eclipsed by the emerging powers in Europe.
Kalakia had long predicted the third scenario, that his grip over the globe would lead to the consolidation of an opposing power. What form it would take was anyone’s guess. The League focussed its efforts solely on wiping out wealth inequality, with Kalakia refusing to pursue a global totalitarian regime. He believed that power which suffocated the freedom of the masses could never justify its authority in the long run. Tyranny was a tool to be used surgically. It did not work as a political solution. The League instead sourced its strength from its unwavering moral purpose. That was the reason Kalakia’s men sacrificed their lives, and why the world never rose up in defiance. If Kalakia grew corrupt, his fraudulence would funnel down and infest the entire organisation. Allowing the nations of the world their autonomy ensured cooperation while avoiding revolt. Only one flaw remained; by transcending the world powers, Kalakia had paved the path for an upstart to establish global dominance.
The tide was changing. The balance of power could tilt at any moment, putting global stability at risk, and Kalakia had no choice but to adapt. For now, there was work to do. They had to deal with the fall-out of the mayhem from the previous night.
Kalakia had his elbow on the armrest and was rubbing his forehead as Francois dolled out reports of the damage caused, with the night-time Moscow skyline in the window as a backdrop.
“The death toll in the Americas has been the worst,” said Francois. “366 soldiers dead so far. We don’t have a count on the injured yet. There was resistance almost everywhere.”
“It seems we have stumbled on a hornet’s nest,” said Kalakia.
“It doesn’t look good,” said Francois.
“We did find one success. We now know that Stirner has indeed recruited the underworld as the military wing of his organisation.”
“But how did they know about our attack? We must have a mole. Or maybe Five Eyes sold us out?”
“Such questions are irrelevant,” said Kalakia and stood up.
Francois stared at Kalakia for a moment then fell quiet, his scarred face appearing tense as he began stroking his long white goatee. Kalakia left Francois to his own wisdom and retreated inside and closed the door behind him. He went over to the large-scale world map hanging on the wall.
He moved his attention from continent to continent, taking mental note of the countless native people who lived within certain borders or across them. He considered the multi-ethnic democratic states, autocratic nations, the states currently engaged in civil wars, as well as the dizzying number of alliances which scaled the globe. He spent a long time imagining what the map would look like in a few months, or the following year, or in the years to come. Which borders would still be standing, which might be erased as demographies evolved and morphed into new alliances in an age of unprecedented connectivity. He visualised the collapse of nations and the possible emergence of continental states which coincided with the rise of a global demagogue. He remained utterly consumed, losing his sense of time, before being interrupted by Francois.
“Scheffler’s here.”
Kalakia nodded. Once he gathered himself he went back outside and found his General standing upright with his legs firmly planted and his arms crossed.
Kalakia passed by Scheffler and went over to the window. Scheffler’s reflection appeared soon after when he stood beside Kalakia and faced in the same direction toward the skyline.
“We must discuss your decision-making process, Vincent,” said Kalakia.
“Right,” said Scheffler.
“I understand that you are in unfamiliar territory, being thrust into this kind of leadership position at such a vicarious time.”
“I don’t want to make excuses.”
“No, I know you are above such things. Excuses will not benefit us, in any case. Tell me, what caused you to carry out the incursion in Barcelona? Surely you had a compelling reason.”
“It looked like something big was going on in there. I thought it might be important to find out—”
“What did I say at the council of war?” interjected Kalakia.
“Yeah, you’re right. I buggered up.”
“Your suspicions may have been warranted. Inaction may have cost us. But you do not exist in a vacuum. You are part of an interconnected family. Every decision you make impacts thousands of lives. Global stability could collapse, simply because you could not control your impulses. Do you not understand this?”
“I do,” said Scheffler. “I take full responsibility for what happened.”
Kalakia nodded approvingly and studied Scheffler’s face. The strain of being General was showing. Scheffler’s eyes looked weary and doubtful, with dark patches beneath them. His lips were pressed tightly together and his mouth was downturned.
“Tell me why you ordered a full retreat,” said Kalakia.
Scheffler cleared his throat.
“Didn’t have a choice,” he said. “It wasn’t an easy decision, I’ll tell you. We would have found ourselves in a bloodbath if we dug in. We needed to regroup.”
“The casualties in Europe appear to be the lowest because of your decision. And you were correct. Fighting on would have been counter-productive, to say the least.”
“So…”
“You were in a difficult place, and you made the correct decision.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” said Scheffler, exhaling slowly.
“Now, how will you deal with Frederich Abel? That reckless brawl could have cost us dearly.”
“Looks like he flipped out again. Not sure how long we should tolerate it.”
“You wish to terminate him?”
Scheffler went quiet for a long time.
“No,” he finally said. “I want him on our team.”
“You failed to tame him during his training. How do you intend to reign him in now?”
“He’s on Vidrik’s tail at the moment, so we’ve got no choice but to let him keep going. He could lead us to Stirner.”
“So you believe the potential benefits outweigh the risks?”
“Yeah.”
“How far his talents go will depend on how well you command him.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Remember, Vincent; you are no longer a soldier in the field. Put the warrior aside and expand your mind. Your realm of influence has vastly expanded, and shortsightedness will be the end of you. Always think multiple steps ahead. You must adapt quickly. As we all must.”
“I will,” said Scheffler. “You have my word.”
Kalakia turned and walked toward the study.
“Come,” he said.
Inside Kalakia stood facing the world map on the wall, and Scheffler joined him.
“The battlefield is changing rapidly,” said Kalakia.
“I know,” said Scheffler. “I feel like we’re walking on quicksand.”
“You said earlier that we must regroup. What did you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly. Last night while we were in the thick of it, I thought back on my time in Kosovo. We were caught in the forest, and the area was crawling with hostile soldiers. We had no idea of numbers or what their position would be at a particular point. Time was running out, and we had to extract our target. I solved the issue by laying charges in one direction and going another way. It worked. The enemy took the bait. You weren’t wrong before. I’m not a soldier anymore, but all I see on this map is one enormous battlefield. War is war, regardless of the scale. Why not use the same tactics?”