After departing his brother and Leander's presence, Sander allowed several guards to drive him to the helipad. When they were airborne, he looked down over the remains of Ahtissari castle with a heavy heart, then turned his mind to his wife and children.
A bright spot in an otherwise dismal day.
*
Chey, torn between duties as queen and mother to her children, gave each equal measure of her time. Once she was sure the kids were calm and comfortable, she ushered them into a small but serviceable shower in Sander's office, a spare room with only one desk, three chairs and huge maps tacked to the walls. There was a bunk bed, a small niche for clothes and a modest bathroom. Nothing kingly, yet it allowed him a secure place to make calls and plan missions.
She washed what was left of the grime and dust off their bodies and out of their hair, then changed them into clothes provided by guards who had made a secretive trip to Kallaster. The less people who knew where Chey and the kids were, the better. Chey had taken her turn under the hot spray, wincing once or twice at the sting against a particular bruise or abrasion on her skin. Preferring to wear regular clothes to sleep, she tossed and turned, unable to shut her mind down enough to get any real rest. The children woke several times with gasps or quiet cries, which Chey soothed before they fell back to sleep.
In the morning, weary but determined to get things done, Chey dressed in a sensible outfit of dark wool slacks and a long sleeved sweater the color of wine, adding a pair of lace up shoes with good tread.
She busied the kids with activities such as drawing and reading. Trusting their safety with two guards, Chey walked the maze of tunnels, getting to know the layout. Solid stone surrounded her on every side, which was both mildly disconcerting and comforting at the same time. There were only a few ways in or out of the bunker and security had informed her of its safe haven status. Only a select number of employees even knew of its existence. It was used in extreme circumstances when Sander needed to totally disappear from the public eye.
She met with the man in charge, Mister Olsen, to go over escape plans should there be a breach of the bunker. Chey hadn't wanted to discuss it in front of the kids, worried they might fret about their safety and not find any peace. Their moods were tenuous in the wake of the explosion anyway, swinging from staunch to sobbing in a heartbeat.
Once she had examined all the routes in and out—mostly out—Chey got on a secure line to Kallaster castle. She informed her assistant of all the usual tasks that needed doing, and that she herself wouldn't be giving any interviews with media. Chey told her assistant to direct all inquiries and questions to Urmas, who would be handling the fallout. She spent an hour dealing with instructions to certain charities she ran, keeping the volunteers up to date while she was effectively out of circulation. Working with the charities had become one of her favorite passions besides her kids, her husband and photography. She adored helping all those people, many of them children. Sander often joined her, which made the activity all the sweeter. Both for her and for the charity.
On her way back to the kids some time later, Chey checked her cell phone for messages. She hadn't been able to use the phone underground and discovered she still didn't have a signal. The landlines were the only way to get communications in or out. Computers, maybe, but she didn't have one here.
Rounding a corner, she bumped into a rock hard body.
“Oh, pardon—Sander!” Chey glanced up after making contact with his chest. She threw her arms around his neck, phone in one hand. “I was just looking to see if you left me a message.”
Sander caught her around the waist and turned a slow circle, lifting her feet off the floor. “Reception is crap down here,” he said, voice a quiet rumble.
Leaning her head back, she sought his eyes. It never failed to thrill her how easily he made it seem to hold her aloft. Today, the thrill was tempered by the somber realization of loss. “How did it go? I heard eighty-three people died.”
“A lot of deaths, yes. Konstantine has asked to meet with me here in a little while, but I wanted to stop by and see you and the kids. I just left their room.”
“I'm glad you got to see them. They've been anxious,” she admitted.
“I could tell. Em cried for five minutes when I was trying to leave. They all look so fragile, even Elias.” Sander exhaled a slow breath.
“I know. They're holding on, though I'm really worried they'll have nightmares or, at the very least, restless sleep again. To be honest, I don't think I'll sleep much better tonight than I did last night.” Chey smoothed her fingers from Sander's temple to the back of his head. He looked rough, clothes dirty, face smudged with soot. She knew he'd been searching throughout the night.
“That really pisses me off. Don't get me wrong, I'm so thankful you're all alive, but knowing you and the kids might suffer emotionally infuriates me.”
“I know. There's nothing we can do except try to make the kids feel secure from now on and make sure they're in constant contact with us.” Chey paused, then said, “What do you think Konstantine will say?”
“The same thing he said before, with more fervency behind it.” Sander's eyes shuttered, shielding some of what he was thinking.
Chey caught a glimmer of caution in Sander's expression before he closed it off.
“So you think he'll still push for a merger? What happens if it is the Russians and they attack all three countries again? Will you be forced to join up with Imatra and Somero to save Latvala?”
“We'll fight alongside, as in we would all fight to save our sovereignty, but I won't ever consider a full on merger. Latvala won't be 'absorbed' into Imatra, period. We'll go to war, and hopefully our allies will step in to give us aid. Konstantine is grasping, he's not thinking everything through. He's only had the throne a year and from what I've heard, he's driving Imatra into the ground.”
“Could that be why Russia decided to strike? Because they sensed weakness?” Chey asked. Sometimes, the extreme politics and strategizing went far beyond her mien. But certain questions presented themselves and she preferred to have answers so she better understood Sander's point of view.
“Remember, we have no solid proof yet that it was Russia--”
“What kind of proof will you need? For their army to march across the border?” Chey wasn't being facetious; she genuinely wanted to know how Latvala's military would figure out who had precipitated the attack.
“That would be one way,” he said with a quirk of his lips. “Or we find some identifying marker left at the scene, or they take responsibility in public.”
“Didn't they do that with the letter?”
“It's damning, I'll say that much,” Sander admitted. “But there's still a question in my mind. Those photos I saw first, of the supposed Russian attack, just don't sit right with me. I could be wrong—I've been wrong before. I need more proof to retaliate and bomb Russia, who could literally blow Latvala, Somero and Imatra right off the map in a heartbeat. If it wasn't them, and we lob bombs across the border, then they're well within their rights to strike back and judiciously so. I won't risk all those lives on poor intel and 'maybes'.”
Chey pulled one arm down to tuck her phone into her pocket, so that she had both arms free to slide around his neck. “I didn't think of it that way. I guess it just seems, from my point of view, very hard to find out who is to blame.”
“One thing you have to remember is that everyone has an agenda. Not all agendas are violent or motivated by greed, but many are. Just because something seems one way, doesn't necessarily mean that's the truth. Trying to suss out the reality from illusion can be tricky, because ultimately, I'm responsible for whatever lives are lost in a confrontation that I precipitate. If I have proof of an attack and an invasion, then of course we send people in. Right now, there are too many questions.” He smoothed his hand up and down her spine, holding her body to his effortlessly.
“I see.” Chey did, and didn't. The semantics of war were difficult for her t
o follow, considering she came at it from a different point of view than Sander. “How long do you think me and the kids will have to stay here? I'd like to go back to Kallaster if you think it's safe.”
“I don't. Right now, this is one of a few places I think you're all secure. Give me a few days to figure this out.” He bent to press a warm, lingering kiss against her lips.
Chey encouraged the kiss, relishing the contact. She didn't know when she would see him again. “That's fine. I'll keep the kids busy while they heal.”
“I'll get you out of here as soon as I can, promise.” Sander loosened his hold, allowing her feet to touch the ground. Just as he released her, the sound of jogging footsteps in the corridor behind him brought Sander's attention around.
Chey glanced past Sander's shoulder, hands falling away from his arms. One of the guards approached at a quick clip, uniform buttons gleaming in the low lit passageway.
“What is it?” Sander asked the guard even before he arrived.
“Your Majesty, Prince Mattias called on the landline. He needs you back at the family seat immediately,” the guard said. He bowed his head to Chey in deference, then looked back at Sander.
“Another attack?” Sander's body tensed.
Chey laid a hand on his arm and held her breath, a tingle of fear creeping across her scalp.
“No, but Mattias said it's urgent. He wouldn't specify what the problem is, only that you need to go back before your meeting with Konstantine.”
“That's in less than two hours. It's going to be cutting it close.” Sander kissed Chey once more, hard and fast. “I'll call you when I know more.”
“Okay. Please be careful.” Chey hesitated to let him go. She worried another attack was imminent and that this time, Sander would be at ground zero when it happened.
“I will. Be prepared to move at a moments notice, just in case,” he said, then turned away with the guard.
Chey watched the men kick into a jog, disappearing down the passageway around a corner. She exhaled a slow breath and hoped that whatever news Mattias had, it would bring about the end of the terror.
Chapter Twelve
Sander stepped into the nerve center of the underground bunker, a rather plain chamber of stone with several televisions on the wall and a handful of desks manned by security who kept constant watch on the grounds above the bunker via a video feed. He went straight to a handset that another guard handed over.
“Mattias is still on the line.”
“Thanks. What's going on?” Sander said into the phone, glancing at the monitors on the wall. The outside streets of Kalev were displayed from different angles around the safe house, which was a fairly impenetrable structure in itself. Made of the same stone as the bunker, the safe house stood on its own plot of land smack in the middle of the city, with underground tunnels providing protection and escape routes should the need arise.
“I need you back here immediately,” Mattias said. “I can't say why over the line.”
“On a scale of urgency, where are we? I've got the meeting with Konstantine I need to prepare for. The guard said it was important.” Sander wanted to hear it from Mattias's mouth, however.
“On a one to ten, we're at an eight.”
“Do I need to send Chey and the kids away?” Sander knew Mattias was aware of where Chey and the children were staying, but Sander chose to be vague in case someone was listening in.
“I don't know yet. Keep her on alert though.”
Sander didn't like the sound of that. It made him think there was another attack on the horizon. What the hell was going on here?
“I'm on my way.” Sander hung up. “I want someone in constant contact with the queen and the children. At the slightest provocation, or on a call from me or Mattias, you get them out of the country, is that understood?” He wasn't taking any more chances with his family. They were easy targets for someone who wanted to strike at the heart of his empire.
“Your Majesty,” the guards said, acknowledging the order.
“Where should we take them?” one man asked.
There were several places Sander could think of. He decided to lean on an old friend in this instance, someone with as much power as he himself had, someone who could provide a safe haven far from Latvala's shores until the situation blew over.
“Afshar. Take them to the Emir. I'll make a call on my way back to Ahtissari castle.” Sander left the room. Afshar, a small but vibrant country in the mid-eastern bloc, was home to one of Sander's good friends. A man named Ahsan, who Sander trusted with his life. And that of his family. Ahsan would make sure nothing happened to Chey or the kids. Ahsan had armies of his own to protect his shores.
From the nerve center, Sander made a brief stop to shower and change, again choosing dark clothing better suited for situations where he might be required to fight or go on the run. He didn't know what to expect from Mattias's call, so he prepared in advance for battle. Arming himself from a small cache in the closet, he met up with his guards and exited the building via a separate, secret tunnel that opened up onto another part of the street away from the safe house.
Climbing into a black Hummer waiting at the curb, Sander turned his mind away from his family to the urgent matter awaiting back at the ruined castle.
He feared Mattias was about to tell him there were foreign troops on the border, ready to invade.
*
En route to Ahtissari castle, Sander made good on his promise. He contacted Ahsan and arranged a safe haven for his family should it come to that. Ahsan offered his help in the interim, whether physically, financially or militarily. Sander asked Ahsan to be on standby and the Emir, close friends with Sander for years, easily agreed. Sander answered several other select messages left on his private phone from other close allies, putting each on stand by status as well. If, God forbid, Latvala was about to be invaded, he would need all the help he could get.
On the helipad after the chopper landed, Sander crossed to a waiting Hummer. The sun streamed down through a scuttling layer of clouds, refracting off the gleaming black paint of the vehicle. The landscape surrounding the castle looked the same as it ever had, pretty and lush and still green this late in the season, which made the destruction of the castle an uglier blight on the land. On the drive from the helipad, down a long road circumventing the family seat, Sander took note of the extensive military presence surrounding the property. Soldiers with weapons in their hands surveyed the flat lands and the distant treeline, on the alert for trespassers—or enemies.
Another Hummer sat cockeyed in the road well before the now damaged gate, forcing Sander's vehicle to slow to a stop. Sander easily recognized Mattias standing in the road alongside another stranger, with troops making a loose circle of protection around the prince.
Sander disembarked and walked the short distance to his brother. On the way, he sized up the stranger. Short brown hair, pug nose, black rimmed eyeglasses, civilian clothing. He wore brown pants paired with a plain white button down and suede saddleback shoes. Sander couldn't place him. He wasn't an advisor, a councilman or anyone of that stature. In fact, the closer Sander got, the more young the man seemed. Early to middle twenties.
“Sander, thanks for coming so quickly,” Mattias said by way of greeting.
“What's the urgency?” Sander asked Mattias, though his gaze was on the stranger.
“This is Mikel Allanson. He first called a generic number to reach a secretary for the council, who turned him over to Urmas, who then contacted me. He has been telling me a most interesting story that you need to hear,” Mattias said.
Mikel shuffled his feet and looked from Mattias to Sander. He appeared slightly nervous, one hand shooting out as if for a handshake before retracting. Mikel seemed uncertain of the protocol for meeting the king.
Sander, in no mood to pander to anyone, took a deep breath for patience and caught Mikel's hand during one of the in-out-in-out advances to shake. He wouldn't stand on ceremony when the man cle
arly had something interesting to divulge.
“Mikel.”
“Your Majesty,” Mikel said. His accent matched that of Konstantine.
Sander released the man's sweaty hand, resisting the urge to smear his own palm on his thigh to remove the dampness. He wasn't sure what to think of the Imatra accent. “What information have you given Mattias?” Sander asked, getting right to the point.
Mikel glanced from the king to the prince, then back again. He adjusted his eyeglasses twice, a nervous habit, then cleared his throat.
Mattias interrupted to quietly say, “Tell him like you told me. It'll be all right.”
Mikel nodded, then dove into his story. “I could not stay silent after I saw the footage of the attack on your castle. Several weeks ago—well. I should start by saying that I work in King Konstantine's inner circle. I'm his—I was—his secondary personal assistant. The assistant to his assistant, yes?” Mikel looked worriedly at Mattias, who inclined his head in a go on fashion.
“I follow,” Sander said, in hopes of putting the man at ease.
“Several weeks ago, I overheard Konstantine discussing one of the letters he received from the Russians. He was talking to one of his advisors. Konstantine was...how to say it. Very upset about the idea of Imatra being absorbed into Russia. He went on and on to the advisor, stating that he knew his army wasn't big enough to fight back and win. That he needed more men. That it was a do or die situation and that Imatra had to do whatever it took to secure its safety. A few days after that, I was called into a private meeting where plans were laid out for the first 'attack' on the border. We staged the whole thing. I was in charge of planning the layout of the bodies and making sure it looked like a battle had taken place.”
Sander listened as the story unfolded, biding his time when certain questions popped up along the way. His jaw tightened when Mikel admitted that the first attack had been staged, just as Sander had thought. His instinct that something had been wrong with the entire set up had proven true.
A Royal Legacy Page 10