Work Text:
September 1959
Office of the President of Sordland, Maroon Palace, Holsord
“Mr. President! Ms. Morgna!” The door to the president’s office flew open, and Foreign Minister Deivid Wisci stumbled into the room, nearly losing his balance.
“Deivid, are you all right?” Vice President Nia Morgna exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa to help him. He waved off her assistance, leaning heavily on his cane. “Sit down, at least,” she urged him, and he lowered himself down onto the sofa, coughing.
“Lucian,” he gasped, catching his breath, and Lucian Galade, perched on the edge of his desk, nodded at Deivid to go ahead. “It’s about Tusk. I just received an answer from Arcasia.”
Nia drew in a sharp breath, and looked at Lucian, who remained impassive.
“And?” he asked, and Deivid’s lined face broke into a broad smile.
“And they agreed to the deal. They will begin extradition proceedings immediately.”
Relief hit Nia so hard that her own knees buckled, and she sank down on the sofa next to Deivid.
“Truly? After all this time?” she asked, disbelieving.
It had been nearly two years since an assassin’s bullet had ended President Anton Rayne’s life prematurely. Careful, painstaking investigation had proven Lucian’s initial hypothesis – that disgruntled former tycoon Walter Tusk had been behind the assassination – to be correct. After the Sordish government’s controversial decision to partially nationalize his company Bergia Steel, Tusk had fled to the safety of Arcasia, where he hired the hitmen that carried out the plot against President Rayne. As Sordland did not have an extradition treaty in place with the capitalist superpower, this had greatly complicated the attempt to bring Tusk to justice in his native land – especially considering the Sordish government’s turn toward socialism and closer ties with Valgsland during Rayne’s administration. Since then, Did had been orchestrating a complicated multilateral deal in which an Arcasian intelligence agent convicted of espionage who had spent the last three years in a Valgish prison would be released in exchange for Tusk being returned to Sordland.
“Yes. We did it, we really did it!” Deivid said, eyes shining. “They’ve already taken him into custody. Chancellor Hegel has fulfilled his end of the bargain – the Arcasian spy they’re releasing is headed home now.”
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening,” Nia murmured. "What do we need to do to get Tusk here?”
“I already have my team working with the Gendarmerie to arrange a secure flight to Ventrie City to bring Walter Tusk back to Sordland under guard.” He looked at Lucian. “But Mr. President, I rushed over here because President Walker is going to be calling you personally in the next few –”
There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Bauer, Lucian’s longtime secretary, poked her head into the room.
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but President Walker of Arcasia is on line one for you right now, Mr. Galade,” she said. “I assume you wouldn’t want to leave him waiting.”
“You assume correctly, Mrs. Bauer,” Lucian said with a nod. “I’ll take it now, thank you.” Still sitting on the edge of his desk, Lucian took a deep breath and picked up the handset, holding it to his ear. Nia watched from the sofa, fighting the urge to start gnawing on a fingernail. Deivid gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.
“Lucian Galade speaking,” Lucian said, his voice smooth and calm. “Good morning, President Walker. It’s very kind of you to call.” It was early afternoon in Holsord, but of course Lucian had accounted for the time difference. He listened for a moment, his face betraying nothing. “Yes, Mr. President. Minister Wisci has just shared the good news with me. I’m also glad we were able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement for both our nations.” Again, Lucian stopped to listen to Walker’s response. “Certainly, sir. I believe your own law enforcement agencies found our evidence that Mr. Tusk was behind the murder of President Rayne to be compelling enough –” Clearly Walker had interrupted, and Nia saw Lucian clench his jaw. He scribbled something on the pad of paper in front of him.
Nia looked at Deivid in concern, and he shook his head, giving her a reassuring smile.
“It’s fine,” he whispered. “Walker is just posturing. The Arcasian foreign minister and I have it all worked out.”
“I can assure you, Mr. President, that Mr. Tusk will absolutely receive a fair trial here in Sordland,” Lucian said, a hint of steel in his voice. “Vice President Morgna, our former justice minister, will be personally overseeing the case – yes, Nia Morgna –” A flicker of disgust went across Lucian’s face at whatever Walker was saying, and he took a steadying breath before responding. “I’m afraid I can’t speak to that, Mr. President,” he replied, very neutrally.
Nia raised her eyebrows at him, questioning, and he shook his head and looked away. Deivid sighed.
“As I said, there is no reason to be concerned,” he continued. “Mr. Tusk already has counsel on retainer in Sordland, from one of Holsord’s preeminent law firms. All we seek is justice, and the truth, President Walker.” Lucian went quiet again. “I appreciate that, sir,” he said softly. “I can’t thank you enough for seeing beyond politics to the justice of the matter. You are helping to bring closure not only to a mournful nation, but to a grieving widow and her children.” Another pause. “Yes. Yes, he was indeed a friend.” Lucian closed his eyes briefly. “Thank you, you as well. Goodbye.”
Lucian hung up the phone and pulled off his reading glasses, dropping them to the desk. He covered his eyes with one hand and sat like that for a long moment, completely still except for a slight shaking of his shoulders. When he finally pulled his hand away, his eyes were wet, but his voice was steady.
“Mr. Wisci, can one of your people arrange a direct call with Chancellor Hegel? I want to thank him personally as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Mr. President,” Deivid said. “We’ll get on that right away.” Using his cane for leverage, he pushed himself up to his feet with some effort. Nia stood as well, hovering beside him in case he needed help.
“Deivid, I just want to…” Lucian trailed off, and shook his head, starting over again. “Deivid, what you’ve done here goes above and beyond service to your country. It feels strange for me to thank you, because I know you did it for Anton, not for me, but I know how difficult this time has been for you.” He stood, holding out his hand. “It’s been an absolute honor to work alongside you.”
“Thank you, Lucian,” Deivid said, smiling and clasping Lucian’s hand. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to run out the door on you just yet. I’ll stay on until we see this through, although I’m going to try to pass more on to my deputies.” He walked to the door, and Nia held it open for him. “Of course I’ll keep you both posted on any new developments. Mr. President, Madam Vice President,” he said with a nod as he left the room.
Nia let the door swing shut and looked over at Lucian, who had already regained his usual composure.
“Wow,” she said. “It’s not that I didn’t have faith that Deivid would pull this off, it’s just a shock to have it all happen so suddenly.”
“Indeed,” Lucian replied, moving back to his desk to shuffle through some papers. “Quite a victory. There’s still much to do before we celebrate, however.”
“Someone needs to let Mrs. Rayne know. I can call her, if you like,” Nia volunteered.
“Thank you, Nia,” Lucian replied, sounding distracted, “but I think I will go to Lachaven to tell her in person.” He picked up a framed photo from his credenza – Anton and himself, posing for the camera on the day Lucian was sworn in as vice president in this very office – and gazed at it thoughtfully.
“That would be a lovely gesture,” Nia acknowledged, “but then you probably need to leave in the next few hours to make it tonight. It could hit the media at any time. I know you don’t want her to get a call from a reporter.”
“No, certainly not,” Lucian murmured, his eyes still on the picture. “I’ll leave shortly. Will you –”
“I can take your meeting with Paskal this afternoon,” Nia said with a nod. “I’ll ask Mrs. Bauer to get the flight to Lachaven arranged on my way out.” She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Is there anything else you need from me?”
Lucian looked up at her.
“When Tusk gets to Antel Rock, I need to see him first, before anyone else interrogates him,” he said, his tone deceptively casual.
Nia stared at him.
“What?” she exclaimed. “No, Mr. President. Absolutely not.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lucian asked, arching a brow. His voice was soft and dangerous, but Nia stood her ground.
“That’s not happening,” she said firmly. “First of all, as you well know, he is entitled to have his attorney present. Second and most importantly, it is entirely inappropriate for you to involve yourself in a criminal case to this extent. You are the president of Sordland!”
“You’re making too much of this. I simply want to talk to him,” Lucian insisted, waving a dismissive hand, and Nia shook her head.
“Lucian,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “We’ve never acknowledged this outright, but I know that at least part of the reason you selected me as your vice president was to rein in some of your worst impulses.” He looked surprised, but Nia charged on. “Well, I'm reining you in now. It's improper for you to directly speak to a defendant due to your position, and even more so considering your close relationship with the victim.”
“Ms. Morgna –” Lucian began sharply, his brow furrowed, and she held up a hand to stop him.
“I won’t be speaking to Mr. Tusk directly, either. One of my very competent and professional deputy ministers – who didn’t know Anton personally – will be prosecuting the case. I will of course be supervising at a high level in terms of strategy, and I promise you I will keep you briefed, but we are both far too close to this matter to have any deeper involvement than that. Especially you.” Lucian looked like he was about to argue further, and Nia got up from the sofa, moving to stand in front of him. “It’s simply out of the question. This is a red line for me, Mr. President.”
Lucian gave her a long, measured look, and sighed.
“All right,” he relented. “You’ve made your point.”
“Trust in the process,” Nia said, softening her tone. “You and I, we rewrote the constitution together. We built a system that is both fair and robust. We can do this the right way.”
“As you say, Ms. Morgna.” Lucian turned back to the credenza, carefully returning the photograph to its place.
“By the way…what was it that President Walker said about me?” Nia asked, and Lucian stiffened, his back still to her.
“I’m sorry?” he asked, obviously stalling.
“When you told him I was heading up the prosecution. He said something that upset you. What did he say about me?” She was calm, but insistent, and Lucian turned to her, finally meeting her eyes.
“Something crass. Nothing you need to hear,” he said, and Nia nodded, none too surprised.
“You don’t get to my position as a woman in politics without a lot of that, unfortunately,” she said.
“My apologies,” Lucian said, clearly uncomfortable. “I would have preferred to call him out on his inappropriate behavior, but surely you understand…I mean, the political realities of the situation being what they are…”
“Yes, that’s also usually the case,” she replied with a rueful shrug, and Lucian appeared somewhat abashed.
“Perhaps…perhaps your Ms. Walda isn’t entirely off-base in her political aims,” he admitted. “I am sorry, Nia.” They were both silent for a moment, and then Nia cleared her throat.
“Well, I’d better head over to the Ministry of Health – and you need to get ready to leave for Lachaven. I’ll see you when you get back.” She smiled. “Please give my regards to Mrs. Rayne – and Deana, as well.” She walked back to the door.
“Madam Vice President,” Lucian called out, and Nia turned again to face him. “For what it’s worth, my primary reason for appointing you as vice president was because you are eminently qualified for the role, and because I can think of no other Sordish public servant better suited to carry on Anton Rayne’s legacy at the end of this term.” He gave her a small smile. “But perhaps what you said is part of it, too.”
***
September 1959
Residence of the Rayne family, Lachaven
“Uncle Lucian!” Deana Rayne threw her arms around him as soon as she opened the door, nearly knocking the breath out of him as she hugged him tightly. Lucian staggered back a step – Deana was nearly as tall as him now.
“Deana, hello,” he managed. “How are you? I hope school is going well.”
It still felt surreal to have this girl – or anyone – calling him Uncle Lucian, but considering that she had lost both her father and her original surrogate uncle in a little over a year, he was hardly going to begrudge the child finding some comfort where she could. Furthermore, if he were to be honest with himself – which he always tried to be – it was rather nice.
She gave him a bright smile.
“School is going great, actually. I can't wait to start high school next year!”
“Did you really?” Lucian asked, taken aback at how fast the time had passed. “What classes will you be taking?”
“Well, I still enjoy art, but I'm thinking a more academic –”
“Deana,” a man’s voice cut in, and Lucian startled at the sound of the warm baritone, so familiar. “It’s pretty late. Aren’t you going to let him come inside?”
“Oh, sorry!” Deana said with a laugh, grabbing Lucian’s wrist and pulling him into the apartment. He looked up, and up some more, into the face of Franc Rayne, who looked so much like his father now that it made Lucian’s heart ache.
“Good evening, Mr. Rayne,” he said, shaking the young man’s hand. “Or is it Doctor now?”
“Not quite yet, sir,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “I have a couple years more to go.”
“I didn’t realize you were back home,” Lucian said. “It’s good to see you.” The last time he had seen Franc was at Anton’s state funeral, where the boy had manfully struggled to maintain a stoic front as he escorted his mother and sister during the somber ceremony. He had gone back to school in United Contana soon after, and thrown himself wholeheartedly into his studies, from what Lucian had seen in his security reports. Although technically they were no longer legally entitled to it, Lucian had ordered that the Rayne family continue to receive the same level of protection that they had during Anton’s presidency.
“I had some time before the beginning of the term, so I decided to visit while I could,” Franc explained. “Since I’m probably not going to be able to make it back over New Year’s.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Lucian said. “This concerns you as –”
“Oh, Lucian!” Monica exclaimed as she came through the door to the kitchen. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
Lucian felt something unclench in his chest at the sight of Monica Rayne. He opened his arms automatically and Monica stepped into the hug. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, then stepped back, looking him over critically.
“Have you been taking care of yourself?” she asked quietly. “Are you eating? You’re thinner than the last time I saw you.”
“I’m trying to,” Lucian said. “Please don’t worry about me, Mrs. Rayne. It’s – it’s good to see you.”
“It’s been far too long,” Monica agreed. She had long since stopped trying to convince him to use her given name. She was as elegantly put together as always, makeup and hair impeccable, but Lucian could see the telltale signs of too many sleepless nights around her eyes. “Please, come into the living room. We can sit down in there. Deana, baby, maybe you should –”
“I’m staying,” Deana said, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin in a manner not unlike her father. “I’m not a little kid anymore. If this is about Papa, and Mr. Galade came all the way out here on a Friday night, it must be important, and I deserve to hear it.”
“Deana…” Monica sighed, uncertain. She looked at Lucian, who shrugged slightly and raised his eyebrows – he was completely out of his depth on this one; it was up to Monica.
“Let her stay, Mom,” Franc said suddenly. “She’s right. And if you don’t, I’ll just tell her everything after, anyway.”
“All right, Deana, you can stay if you want,” Monica conceded, raising her hands in defeat, and the Rayne siblings shared a quick grin of triumph as everyone moved into the living room.
As they found their seats, Lucian looked over the assortment of family pictures on the wall. Anton Rayne featured in most of them. There was one of an overwhelmed-looking Anton holding a bundle of blankets that he could only assume was baby Franc. One where Anton was sitting under a tree with Monica, so young that he didn’t even have his distinctive mustache yet, both of them looking impossibly young and radiantly beautiful. One from Anton and Monica’s wedding, where the happy newlyweds posed with Deivid Wisci and his wife. Another of Anton sharing a very dignified dance with little Deana at the inaugural ball, probably less than an hour before the peace of the night was shattered by violence. A candid shot of Petr and Anton, somewhere in their early thirties, laughing together with bottles of beer in their hands. There was even one of Anton and himself – not the formal posed picture that Lucian kept in his office, but a snapshot from election night 1953 that he hadn’t seen in years – Anton, obviously more than a little intoxicated, was grinning widely, his arm around Lucian’s shoulders.
Lucian found himself staring at that last picture – not just at Anton, smiling and vibrant and alive , but at himself as well, looking so young and happy. Only seven years had passed, but the man in that photograph looked very different to the man that Lucian saw in the mirror every morning. Monica was right, he had lost weight that he didn’t have to spare, and his hair was shot through with silver now, beard gone almost entirely grey.
He became aware that the Rayne family was watching him, waiting for him to begin, and explain why he’d traveled hundreds of miles to show up on their doorstep with very little notice. Franc and Deana sat next to each other on the sofa, and Monica had taken the small loveseat, slipping her shoes off to tuck her feet up underneath her.
“Let me get right to the point and not leave you all in suspense any longer,” Lucian began. “We have successfully negotiated the extradition of Walter Tusk.” Monica took a sharp breath, but Franc and Deana looked puzzled. Lucian had kept Monica regularly apprised of the investigation as it went on, so Tusk’s involvement wasn’t news to her, but the information had been withheld from the public up to this point, to avoid tipping off Tusk and sending him running to yet another neutral country. She obviously had not been sharing that information with her children. “Mr. Tusk is the individual we believe responsible for arranging the assassination of President Rayne – that is to say, your father,” he said, nodding at Franc and Deana.
“Oh!” Deana said with a soft gasp. Franc’s jaw clenched.
“Walter Tusk, from the Lotherberg Group?” he demanded. “The Bergia Steel guy that ran off to Arcasia?”
“That’s correct,” Lucian confirmed, watching as the young man’s face contorted in anger.
“That…that capitalist son of a bitch!” Franc exploded, suddenly on his feet. “He’s the one who had my father killed? All because of fucking money?”
“Franc, please,” Monica urged in an unsteady voice. “Think of your sister.”
Deana looked up at her brother in shock, and then looked at Lucian, her eyes wide.
“Extradition – that means he’s being sent back to Sordland from another country, to go to prison here, right?” she asked.
“Essentially, yes,” Lucian said. “He will of course stand trial and be given the opportunity to defend himself against the charges. But we certainly anticipate that he will be found guilty on all counts and spend the rest of his life in Antel Rock Prison.”
Franc snorted a derisive laugh.
“An oligarch like him?” he demanded. “He’ll get the fanciest lawyers around and buy people off and wiggle out of any real consequences, like his type always do.”
“No, Mr. Rayne,” Lucian said, consciously keeping his tone firm but calm. “That is not how Sordland operates. Not now, at least. I can assure you, I am not Ewald Alphonso.”
“I’m not blaming you, Mr. Galade,” Franc said quickly. “I know you’re doing all you can. But Sordland is still a capitalist country –”
“Franc,” Monica interrupted. “You haven’t lived here for almost four years now, and you were very young when you moved abroad. Things have changed.” Franc looked skeptical and Monica continued, speaking insistently through the tears in her eyes. “We have a functional judiciary now, filled with qualified, fair judges. We have a reformed criminal justice system. This is all thanks to –” Monica broke off suddenly, overwhelmed by a flood of tears.
“Oh, Mama!” Deana cried out in dismay.
Lucian crossed the room and knelt in front of Monica, wordlessly offering his handkerchief. She took it, trying to blot away her tears as they fell, but it was a losing battle. Lucian held her free hand in both of his, and turned to look at Franc.
“It’s all thanks to your father,” he concluded. “Anton Rayne’s reforms brought real change to Sordland and it was the greatest privilege of my life to play a part in his administration.” Lucian remembered the rather charged conversation he’d had with Nia earlier that afternoon, and wondered wryly what she would think hearing him extolling the virtues of a fair and transparent legal system just now. “What greater tribute can we pay him than to trust in the structure he built to bring the man who murdered him to justice?”
Franc’s furious expression faltered at these words, and he blinked rapidly, scrubbing at his eyes quickly. He sat back down on the sofa, and Deana leaned against his shoulder. Monica continued to cry silently.
A shrill ringing coming from the kitchen shattered the moment, and Monica jumped up. “That’s the stew, I need to go check on the stew,” she murmured. Lucian stood as well, reaching a hand out to her in concern.
“Mrs. Rayne, is there anything I can –” he began, and Monica shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with his handkerchief before balling it up in her fist.
“I’ll be fine, Lucian,” she said, her voice cracking. “Please, just give me a moment.”
“Mama, do you want me to help?” Deana asked hesitantly and Monica shook her head.
“No, darling, thank you,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She rushed out of the room, choking back a sob, leaving Lucian, Franc, and Deana staring at each other in awkward silence. Deana was the one to finally break it.
“So…” Deana began, her tone uncharacteristically uncertain, “Mr. Tusk, he is a… businessman? And he moved to Arcasia five years ago?”
“More or less,” Lucian said, nodding. Deana screwed up her face into a frown.
“I don’t understand why some businessman who was living halfway across the world would go to all this trouble to kill my papa here in Sordland.”
Lucian suppressed an unhappy sigh. This was not a conversation he had ever wanted to have with Anton’s children, but they were owed as much truth as he could give them. He perched on the edge of the loveseat that Monica had abandoned.
“Your father – with my full support, I must emphasize – undertook an ambitious economic restructuring plan.” It wasn’t actually with Lucian’s full support – he had warned Anton against taking drastic action that would make enemies of the oligarchs – but Franc and Deana didn’t need to know that. “Mr. Tusk was required to surrender a controlling share of Bergia Steel.” Deana still looked a little puzzled, and Lucian clarified. “To put it in the most straightforward terms, we took over his company.”
“I mean, you didn’t,” Franc pointed out. “Not like, you and Dad personally. The government took control of Bergia Steel. And only partially, at that!”
“Quite so, Mr. Rayne,” Lucian said, nodding in acknowledgement of the point before continuing. “Then Mr. Tusk left Sordland for Arcasia, where we hoped we’d seen the last of him.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, our intelligence reports missed that he was in fact determined to have his revenge on your father and had entered an agreement with a contract killer…the one who took his life during that campaign speech.”
Deana was quiet as she absorbed the information.
“That’s a stupid reason to kill someone,” she said, in a shaky, defiant voice, and Lucian had to smile.
“It is,” he agreed. “And I’m sorry that it happened. I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to stop it.”
“It’s not your fault,” Franc said, his voice tight with grief. “You don’t need to apologize to us.”
Lucian bowed his head slightly.
“Do either of you have any more questions?” he asked them. They both shook their heads silently. “If you think of something later, please feel free to call me at any time. Your mother has the phone number, just tell my secretary who’s calling and she’ll put you through to me straight away.”
Lucian became aware of Monica standing in the doorway, half in shadow, looking at him with soft, sympathetic eyes. A rich, spicy smell wafted in from the kitchen behind her, and Lucian glanced at his watch. It was later than he’d realized.
He stood abruptly. “I’m sure I’ve taken enough of your time tonight. Let me leave you to your meal.”
“Why don’t you stay and eat, Mr. Galade?” Franc asked, and Lucian blinked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected invitation. “I mean, if it’s okay with you, Mom.”
“Of course it is, but I’m sure the president already has plans for dinner,” Monica said, looking at Lucian, giving him an out.
“Actually, I don’t,” Lucian admitted, surprising himself with his honesty. “But I wouldn’t want to impose on your family time.”
“Oh, please stay!” Deana said with a dramatic groan. “It would give me someone else to talk to. Franc has been home for a week already, and I’ve already heard enough about the wonders of Malenyevism, the horrors of organic chemistry, and above all mooning over his –”
“Okay, he gets the point, Deana!” Franc cut her off hurriedly, and Monica laughed.
“It’s up to you, Lucian,” she said. “It’s bean stew and a green salad, nothing fancy, but there’s plenty to go around. We would love to have you stay.”
Lucian looked around the warm, cozy living room, at Deana’s hopeful smile, and then thought of his original plans for a solitary meal and working late into the night at the Blue Mansion before his early morning flight back to Holsord.
“If you’re certain it’s not too much trouble –” he began, and Monica put a hand on his arm, giving him a knowing smile.
“We’ll eat in about ten minutes,” she said. “Franc, can you help me set the table and get everything ready?”
“Sure thing, Mom,” Franc said agreeably, disappearing into the kitchen. Monica looked at her daughter.
“While you’re waiting, Deana, why don’t you go get your portfolio and show Lucian what you’ve been working on?”
“Oh, yeah!” Deana exclaimed, bounding out into the hallway toward her bedroom. “Hold on, Uncle Lucian, I’ll be right back!”
Monica smiled at him again. “Thank you so much for staying. It means a lot to them.” Before Lucian could respond, she followed Franc into the kitchen.
Alone for a moment in the Rayne family living room, Lucian found himself drawn once again to the photographs on the wall. His eyes lingered on the various Anton Raynes – the student, the politician, the family man – until he returned to the image of the two of them together. He traced a light finger over the glass.
“I miss you every day, my friend. We all do,” he whispered. “But we’re doing the best we can.”
-end-