After two separate security check points, the limousine pulled into a breezeway surrounded by the palace walls, where Sander entered the building by a private, elaborate entrance. With his guards at his heels, Sander strode the polished floors behind an official escort, bypassing stunning works of art and architecture. Vases half as tall as Sander decorated niches in the walls and alabaster sculptures stood on small pedestals, beautiful and unique. Arriving at an impressively carved archway, the double doors already open, Sander ordered his security to remain at the entrance and strolled into the large room after the escort gestured him inside. The doors closed quietly in Sander's wake.
Bookshelves stuffed with an endless array of tomes lined three of four walls, creating a comfortable atmosphere to go with the elegant furniture in colors that enhanced the dark wood of the bookcases. A floor to ceiling fireplace sat to the far right, carved with cherubs holding vases of ivy.
King Thane Ascher strode through a separate door on the opposite side of the room, easily as tall as Sander and just as broad through the shoulder. He wore a suit of silver with darker gray pinstripes and a navy accented tie. His eyes were the lightest hazel, leaning toward green rather than brown, and fixed on Sander as he smiled and crossed through the maze of furniture, one hand extending just ahead of his arrival. The dark layers of his hair, perhaps as long as Sander's, had been pulled back into a neat tail at his nape.
“King Ahtissari, welcome to Ascher House.”
“Thank you for accepting my visit. It's a wonder we haven't met up before this on a more personal level,” Sander said, clasping Thane's hand for a shake. He made direct eye contact, then released the man's hand. He unbuttoned his formal beige suit coat and whisked the edges to the sides. Coupled with matching beige slacks and a cream colored shirt, Sander had chosen lighter themed attire rather than austere black and white.
Sander had only met Thane in passing at one gala or another and never in an official manner. Caught up in the troubles and strife that Paavo created, Sander hadn't reached out to his neighbors very often. He recalled that Thane had come into power some four years before when his father died after a fall from his horse.
“Indeed, Sander—may I call you Sander? Please call me Thane,” the king said, with a distinct rasp to his voice. He gestured to an arrangement of seating that allowed the men to recline and speak without craning their necks, a more informal way of conversing than sitting at a conference table.
“Absolutely.” Sander settled into the cushions, assessing Thane's demeanor and reactions. The man seemed astute and intuitive. He almost reminded Sander of a medieval knight, though for what reason specifically, Sander couldn't say. “The reason I stated for my visit is not the real reason I'm here,” Sander said, moving into the subject rather quickly.
Thane's brows arched in curiosity. “Not a state visit, then?”
“No. I'm here to ask if you've heard from our neighbor to the north, and whether or not there has been any strange activity along your border with Russia.” Sander observed a flicker of surprise in Thane's eyes.
“Heard from Konstantine? I have not. And no, there have been no reports of incursions from any direction on Somero soil. May I ask why?” Thane, appearing intrigued, sat forward and rested his elbows on his thighs.
Sander did not mistake the gleam of interest in Thane's eyes. His reaction seemed genuine. “Konstantine appealed to me last week for use of my troops. He sent pictures of a supposed Russian incursion in his territory near the border. After examining the evidence, I informed him via our advisors that I would not be sending troops to Imatra. He visited me in person several days ago with a stunning proposition, which I also declined. Konstantine implied I, and my country, would grovel within the week to accept his offer.”
Thane's features shifted from intrigue to thinly veiled surprise. “Those are harsh words. Did he use them exactly?”
“Yes.”
“What was the stunning proposition, if it's not intrusive to ask. This is the first I have heard of any of it.”
Sander detected no lies in Thane's reply or his demeanor. That was not solid proof the king told the truth, but it eased some of Sander's hesitancy to discuss the more personal aspects of the meeting with Konstantine. He said, “Konstantine proposed Imatra and Latvala 'merge' together. Become one country. And when I asked him how that logistically would work out with Somero, he said he will ask you to come on board as well.”
Thane stood up from his seat, a sound of disbelief rumbling from his chest. “What kind of ridiculous notion is that? To merge? Did Konstantine happen to mention who would rule this illustrious joining of nations?” Thane asked with knowing snort.
“Of course not, but I'll give you one guess who thinks he will reign over all three territories, and his name is not Sander or Thane.” Sander leaned back in his seat, inwardly pleased at Thane's indignant reaction to the idea that someone would press him to cede power over his country.
“I have heard rumors of Konstantine's poor management since taking the throne last year. There is no way I would begin to consider merging with Imatra, even if he promised that the kings who now reign would still have control of their territories after the 'merger'. He will receive the same answer from me that he received from you.”
“There's more,” Sander said. He tracked Thane with his eyes, following the king's movements through the room. Thane was agitated over the news, a good sign in Sander's eyes.
“More? He really did overstep, did he not?”
“Indeed. When I asked him what 'we' would do—during a hypothetical question and answer session—should you decline to join forces with 'us', he said he would make you listen. I don't know about you, but where I come from, that's an open threat. Somehow, Thane, I do not believe Konstantine is talking about having a conversation.”
Thane ceased pacing. The look he sent Sander's way became instantly predatory, gaze gleaming as if to say, let him come. “Konstantine might believe because of Somero's smaller size that we are easily defeated, but our soldiers are hardened warriors who will not go down without a fight.”
“As are my men. I have put my armies on alert, just in case this isn't all a bunch of hot air. I don't know how far he would take it, but he seemed pretty intent and aggressive with his ideals.” Sander felt Thane was a kindred spirit in regards to Konstantine. His gut instinct told him he could trust the dark haired sovereign on all fronts. For a moment, and only a moment, Sander regretted not pursuing a friendship of sorts with Thane.
“I will do the same, just in case.” Thane rolled a shoulder, as if he was working out a kink in the muscle. Then he asked, “What made you initially decline to send troops to Imatra? Something off about his story?”
“Not so much the story as the photos. I can't explain it better than to say it looked like a set up. There was a Russian flag—a formal sized flag—beneath a body on the ground. If that was a stealth mission, which by all rights it appears to have been, then why would the Russians carry a giant banner to all but announce who they were to the enemy? It sat wrong with me right off the bat.”
“As it should. When was the last time foot soldiers hoisted a flag going into battle? The middle ages, maybe.”
“That's exactly the same thing I said.” Sander was briefly amused that he and Thane had come to the same conclusion about the flag.
“Do you think he staged the whole thing?”
“I don't know, to be honest with you, Thane. The scenes in the photos just didn't seem...organic to me. Other than the flag, I'm not sure why. Something was off, however. Maybe it happened to be the angle or the time of day or whatever else.”
“Did the bodies actually look dead, or were they actors?” Thane asked, still pacing beyond a settee across from Sander.
“They did look dead. Though I suppose someone could fake bullet wounds and blood. If he did fake the photos—why? Why would he do such a thing? What does he stand to gain?” Sander wanted to see if Thane came to some of the same
conclusions he and Mattias and Leander had.
Thane tipped his head left and right in contemplation. “He might have staged it to gain sympathy from you, of course, so that you would feel more compelled to give up your troops or join forces with him.” Thane paused to cut a look directly at Sander. “You have stepped up your personal security, I hope. Because honestly, I see a strike against you should Latvala become one with Imatra.”
“I have, yes. You came to the same conclusions my men and I did, which makes me believe we're not far off the mark. We have increased security all around.” Sander paused, then added, “And after this visit, I hope you do the same.”
“I will. To say thank you for coming with this information seems inadequate and trite, but thank you nevertheless.”
“You're welcome. I hope you--” Sander jerked in surprise when a distant boom shook the windows of the palace. For a moment, Sander thought they were experiencing an earthquake. His gaze met Thane's and then they were both running for the doors, which flew open under a guard's hand.
“Your Majesty!”
Sander and Thane ignored the guard's attempts to guide Thane to a safe room. They darted into the hall, where other guards—including Sander's own—along with members of the palace staff, created a hectic scene of shouting and fleeing.
“Here!” Thane led Sander into a room on the left, where floor to ceiling windows overlooked the acreage beyond the front of the castle all the way into the outskirts of the city.
A plume of black smoke rose from the landscape, close to the silhouettes of buildings that were separate from the taller high rises of the city itself.
“What is that?” Thane shouted to his men. “Status report!”
Sander's guards flanked him on every side, looking out the windows while they conjectured between them in heated whispers over the cause of what appeared to be an explosion.
Another man, this one in a dark suit with a phone to his ear, rushed into the room. “Your Majesty. There's been an attack on the city. A bomb—the reports are just coming in. An entire building has been taken out.”
*
Thane barked orders to his men, spinning away from the window. “Sander, pardon me--”
“No apologies. Take care of business.” Sander didn't need to be pampered or 'seen to' when Thane clearly needed to concentrate on more important things.
A phone rang. A cell phone that one of Sander's men answered with a curt hello. Suddenly, in an urgent voice, he said, “The Ahtissari family seat has taken a direct hit. Mass casualties, they think it was a bomb...”
The scene took on that slow, surreal quality of a dream. Sander heard the words, but his mind tripped ahead to thoughts of Chey. His children. All waiting for him at the family seat. Possibly dead. His wife, his heirs, put in the crosshairs by an unknown enemy. Or, perhaps, not so unknown.
Sander didn't remember glancing Thane's way, or shoving past the group of people surrounding the kings. The next thing he knew he was running down the long hall, feet pounding the fine, polished floor, the edges of his jacket flapping like the wings of a startled bird. He hit the door to the breezeway like a linebacker, pointing and shouting for the driver to drive. He glimpsed his guards on his heels when he sank into the back seat of the limousine.
“Go, go, go!” he bellowed, even before the doors were shut. He heard his men making calls. To the castles, to advisors, to the military, to the pilot so the jet would be ready for immediate take off.
The limousine sped away from the palace, taking the turns as tight as a limousine could. Sander fumbled for his phone, chest tight with suppressed fear and panic, his fingers missing the key to dial Chey's phone three times before he got it right.
“Come on, come on,” he urged, wishing, hoping, praying for her to pick up. To one of his guards, he said, “How bad is it? Put the entire military on the highest alert.”
“Already done,” one guard said. “Still waiting on status reports.”
“Well tell them to hurry up! Is the whole castle gone? One wall? What?” Sander could hardly fathom the horror of flying over Latvala, over his family's stronghold, to see it reduced to nothing but rubble. Knowing his wife and children and hundreds of others he considered family and friends were dead.
No one answered Chey's phone. A sick sensation curled through his stomach. He fought it down, calling up calm in the face of panic. He needed to remain fluid and flexible. Not allow the unknown to paralyze him.
Once the limousine pulled into the airstrip and stopped adjacent to the private jet, Sander departed the vehicle at a run. He crossed the tarmac and loped up the steps. His men were right behind him, phones at their ears, trying to get more information.
Just as he sank into a seat, his phone rang. “Chey?”
“It's me,” Mattias said, his voice strained and tense. “Have you heard?”
“Yes. I'm in the jet, about to take off from Somero. Are my kids alive? Chey? Has anyone had contact?”
“Not yet. It's very early. I'm on my way as well with Leander. We should be there within a half an hour, maybe less.”
“Was anyone else at the family seat?” Besides the regular staff, advisors and councilmen, which was devastating enough. Sander couldn't wrap his mind around that kind of loss—if the explosion had been in the middle of the castle and not outside a wall. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as it seemed. Maybe a chunk of wall was gone and there were really no casualties at all.
“Natalia is still overseas. Gunnar is with Leander and me,” Mattias said.
Despite his fear over Chey and his children, he was relieved to hear other immediate members of the royal family were not in harm's way. “Good, good. I want troops sent to the border--”
“I already did. If this is a Russian attack, they'll meet resistance on Latvala territory if they try to come over. I've mobilized all the Generals and the staff. It's taken care of.”
“Somero was hit, too. While I was there. In the city, not far from Thane's palace.” Sander glanced out the small oval window as the jet taxied to the runway and, after a brief pause, picked up speed for take off.
“What? Hit at the same time?”
“Yes. We heard the explosion. It shook the windows, so it was no small device.” Which made Sander imagine the same kind of hit on Ahtissari castle. His stomach turned and once more, he forced himself to push away an overwhelming sense of panic. He couldn't be effective or make the right decisions to help his family or country if he was immobilized by fear.
“Do you think this is a coordinated attack by the Russians—or Konstantine?”
“I don't know. I just know there were two attacks within minutes of each other. We need to be prepared for more. Engage the public warning system and arrange for someone to make an announcement. Give as few details as possible and whatever happens, do not allow anyone to even mention the Russians. For now, the enemy is unknown.” Sander stared out the window as the terrain became smaller and smaller.
“All right.”
“Was this a missile, Mattias?”
“We don't know yet. Let me call you right back. We're about to get in the helicopter.”
“Stay on the phone. I know it'll be loud and I don't care. I want to know what you see when you get your first glimpse of the castle.” Sander waited through the sounds of his brother transferring from the car to the helicopter, and then a small ruckus as Mattias belted himself in and tucked the phone under the cup of the headset against his ear.
“Can you hear me?” Mattias asked.
“For now.” The blades in the background grew louder. Sander refused to hang up. He needed to know what Mattias saw. Needed to hear that a device had gone off outside the castle walls, that there had been a misunderstanding or a mistake.
“We're in the air,” Mattias shouted into the phone.
“Good. I can hear you.” Barely. But it was enough. Sander gripped the armrest and sent up prayer after prayer that the explosion wasn't as bad as the one in Somero had seemed. He fe
lt short of breath while he waited; these were some of the most agonizing moments of his life. While the jet brought him closer to Latvala's borders, the helicopter took Mattias closer to the mainland. It only took a few minutes for Mattias to make his first report.
“We just cleared the island. I can see a column of black smoke from here.”
Sander couldn't say anything. He couldn't make his tongue shape words.
“A lot of smoke,” Mattias added.
The guards in the plane with Sander had grown quiet, either ending their calls or conducting the conversations in voices too low to hear.
Long minutes went by where Sander heard nothing but the sounds of his brother's helicopter and occasionally Mattias's breathing. Pallan island wasn't a great distance from the mainland, so Sander knew it wouldn't be long at all now until the helicopter reached land and passed close to the family seat.
A few minutes later, Mattias said, “We're about to—oh my God.”
Chapter Nine
Sander closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Mattias was a man rarely moved to extreme displays of emotion, even under intense situations. For his brother to sound so taken aback, so stricken, Sander knew it must be bad. His heart dropped to his stomach. He wondered how he would function if the next words out of Mattias's mouth were, the whole thing is gone.
“An enormous chunk of the castle is in ruins. It's obliterated. The blast radius is unbelievable. I see...I see...” Mattias's voice faded, overtaken by the sound of chopper blades.
Sander suffered anguish so great it stole his breath. His heart hammered at a painfully fast clip. And still, words eluded him.
“...vehicles upside down a fourth of a mile from the bailey, fire, pieces of the castle everywhere. It's utter disaster,” Mattias shouted.
A Royal Legacy Page 7