Spa Northeast Batavië Groeneveld's caravan entered a high-security area, it was where all of the main city government buildings were. With machine gun nests, road blocks and tanks sitting in the streets, he felt a bit more secure. A bit. When he got inside the city's municipal headquarters building, he took off his coat and sat down, accepting a cup of coffee from the office girl. 'Look, what the hell is going on here? I'm being shuttled around the whole frigging country, no one is telling me what I am supposed to do. I have no leads. What the hell do you people want me to do?' he left his coffee untouched, no longer in the mood. An SV officer, a few ranks higher than Groeneveld, began to speak. 'We're having big issues. This isn't small any more and it poses a threat.' the man pointed to a screen on the wall as the lights went dim. It was a map of the country. 'Spa is a mess. We have control over the government area and about 15 per cent of the rest of the city. Tonight we are sending in the tanks, APCs and a heck of a lot of troops. We're using tear gas, water canons, rubber bullets, and if they shoot at us with anything, we're going hot.' Groeneveld interrupted, 'Sir, I don't understand, what started all of this?' 'This is the real thing, Detective! The real thing. We've got a frigging revolution on our plate if we don't crush it while we still can!' he stopped shouting and calmed himself down. 'The Batavian Republican Army is being financed and supplied from somewhere abroad. We have intelligence that both Arendaal and Scania are doing this. Possibly from farther away as well. The borders are sealed shut tight, but there are ways, there always are. From what I hear from HQ in Vlaanderen, the entire country is going to be under martial law by the morning if these riots spread beyond Spa. With the explosion and police officer killing in the capital two weeks ago, news is spreading. The people are being coerced.' 'What do you want me to do, sir?' Groeneveld was a Detective Inspector. He dealt with crimes, murders, investigations, not elements of national security. 'I wanted you to see it for yourself, so you can understand exactly what is going on here, DI Groeneveld. And now I am sending you to Windhoek Island. It is 95 per cent military out there Bases, labs, a small city to service the needs of the port and troops. They are loyal. That entire island is loyal. It is a fail safe, a place to withdraw to if things get sticky. You, Groeneveld, are in charge, you will prepare that island for whatever happens.' Jozef Groeneveld dropped his mug, spilling hot coffee on his shoe, not even wincing. 'I'm...I'm just a detective, sir. I...I can't do that.' 'You will do this, DI Groeneveld. You have been chosen personally by General de Graaf, the Supreme Leader's son. This is a direct order. You have no choice, you were chosen.' The SV man walked up to the now standing Groeneveld and whispered to him, 'Get your ass to the airport. You have a flight to catch to Windhoek.' The People's Palace 30 km north west of Vlaanderen The three nurses were taking measurements by the bedside. The room was dark, dimly lit by a few lamps. Outside the lavishly furnished room a group of men dressed in military uniforms and suits were whispering. Five different groups were talking about five different things. When the doctor walked past them to enter the room of Supreme Leader de Graaf, they fell silent, doing nothing but waiting. General Peter van Willem whispered to the men standing nearest him. 'Where is Karel de Graaf now?' A man in a suit answered the second highest ranked man in the country after the two leaders, 'He is in Vlaanderen, sir, being briefed as we speak.' 'He's not ready.' 'Well, General, we are all aware of that, but we have contingency plans in place. Windhoek Island is starting Operation B and he will have us as his best advisers. Before General van Willem could disagree further, the doctor came out and they all fell silent once more. It was, naturally, van Willem who addressed the doctor. 'Well?' The doctor put away his glasses and set down his bag. 'I am afraid that the tumour is too embedded near the spinal cord for an operation to be completed, gentlemen. He...he has about a week left, maybe a bit more. He is in pain. A lot of pain. With your permission I would like to sedate him for his last days, to ease the passing.' 'Dammit, he was as healthy as an ox last month! What happened?!' van Willem turned away. 'Do it. We will need to speak with him tomorrow, but after that you may do what you think is best, doctor. The rest of you, get back to your respective offices. We have a revolution to kill.'