The Inner Circle

[Serenierre]

I N T R O D U C T I O N​

Benjamin Martinique, husband of the Premier, fell with a thud, a bullet lodged in his chest, one meant, undoubtedly, for his wife. He looked around confused, from the corners of his eyes, he saw a pool of blood forming next to him. He could hear the crowd screaming in terror, the security detail scrambling to surround the injured man and his wife, who sat beside him, crying. And then he blacked out.

He woke up, he didn't know when or where, lying down, connected to tubes and a painful I.V stuck to his hand. The heart monitor beeped monotonously. He looked around, no one was in the room. He tried sitting up but as soon as he did, the sharp pain came back again. Reminding him of the shooting. He fumbled around, looking for the button to call a nurse. Though he found a button, he found the one that released the morphine from the IV and soon he was blacking out again.

Away from the quiet room, in the waiting lobby, Shahrazad sat nervously talking to the doctor. "So he's fine now? When can I get to see him?"

"Madame Premier, he's been waking up intermittently but we've been keeping the morphine steady for the past three days. His body has taken a hit... its a miracle he survived. But I assure you, by tomorrow, we'll start to bring down his morphine dose... we'll call you before we do it so you can be present."

"And he's not in any danger now?" she asked concerned.

"Yes, he's stable."

Famous for being tough as nails, since the shooting three days ago, the entire country had seen the woman covered in her husband's blood and crying, a very rare display of emotion. Now she was much calmer but still worried, she had been carrying on with the duties of her office, finishing all of her work in the morning and spending the rest of the day at the hospital. At times, she would walk over to the other family members, equally concerned at times for their loved ones, and at times she would speak to the patients themselves, if the doctors permitted.

At that moment, she wasn't Premier of Belmont, all she was a woman, a wife, worried and scared of losing someone who had been with her for thirty years.

***

It had been six days since the shooting. Thomas was awake and talking and Shahrazad was angry, back to her usual form. Sitting in her office in the Château de Lamorciérre, she was on the phone, talking to the Director General of the ISE, Belmont's main intelligence agency.

"You and I, both, know that the bullet was meant for me... the stupid bastard sent to do the job messed up and hit poor Thomas. The breach of security, Major-General, is unacceptable."

"Yes, Madame Premier... it is. I have my-"

She interrupted, "I want the preliminaries within this week... no buts, I want the dossier on my desk. Fail to do so, I expect to receive your resignation instead."

He remained silent for some time. He knew that he and his men had failed. He'd have resigned himself had he not felt it his duty to unmask the perpetrators before doing so. "Well, Madame, the investigation so far has suggested two possibles; Vangala and Coronado... the only ones with any motive to harm the Government... though I'd advise not to say anything to the press until some concrete proof comes along."

"Yes. With all those damn sources roaming around the place, I'm not even telling my secretary... just to be safe."

"That would be best, Madame."

"Now I won't hold you on any longer. And remember," she said before hanging up, "One week."

***

"Good Evening, this is Channel 10 news, I'm Juliette Marc and this is the breaking news."

The introductory music began and the teleprompter began rolling.

"The Premier's Office has announced that Mr. Martinique is doing well and has been conscious for almost twenty four hours, though he remains in the ICU. Mr. Martinique, Premier Martinique's husband for the past thirty two years, was shot at a ceremony in Paris, commemorating the birth anniversary of the famed author Pierre Leblanc. According to Doctor Sant-Pierre, the surgeon who operated on Mr. Martinique, a bullet was fired and was lodged in his chest and barely missed the heart.

Premier Shahrazad Martinique had continued with her duties even as the fate of her husband was uncertain and she spoke to the families of other patients in the hospital. Almost universally, her conduct during this trying time has been commended even by her former political rival, George Bettancourt, who went and met with the Premier, personally.

The Minister of the Interior has informed the media that the Government is certain that the shooter aimed to assassinate the Premier and that the intelligence community of Belmont was working hard to trace the perpetrators and bring them to justice.

For now this is all. More news tune back in twenty minutes. Now we continue to our regular programming."

 

[Serenierre]

Exactly one week after she had placed an ultimatum on the ISE, the preliminary findings report sat on her desk. She had read it twice, already, finding it detailed enough to answer a few of her questions but still the names of the ones responsible were elusive, much to her continued frustration. Since the attack, almost a fortnight ago, she had been suffocating herself with the guiltiness she was feeling about the whole happening. The bullet was meant for her, such threats came with the job, and all Thomas had done was stand close to her.

In her private study, up on the second floor of the château, with the windows overlooking the snow covered inner-courtyard of the residence, the three senior ministers had gathered to meet with her, only their second meeting since the shooting. Each, in his own mind, noted, the woman had been traumatized by the shooting, undoubtedly and understandably, but was emerging much stronger, more resolute, at-least as far as the job was concerned. She rose from the chair and made her way to the sofas by the fireplace.

"Renaudière, Taugourdeau, Chossy," she acknowledged as she took a seat on the sofa on the extreme left. "On my table, I have the preliminaries... Chossy you must have read it, the Orléans mafia are behind it... because of our crackdown, we're not sure which clique but we know the source was in Orleans. I'm sure that Chossy can continue his operations against them and it'll be alright. But," she paused, looking at the other two ministers, "I feel this is an opportunity... one we should waste no time in exploiting it." She stood up and walked over to the window, looking out, she spoke, "What happened to Benjamin is awful but he is alive... after all." She turned to look at the men, still sitting on the sofas, "That report is classified, the findings in it are known by only a handful... and the complete report by fewer still."

"So what are you proposing?" Renaudière asked, slightly apprehensive.

"The media has been a thorn in our side, has it not?" she asked, she walked over to the desk and picked up the report and held it up, "We let certain sections leak, sections we deem helpful to ourselves and our cause. Its built a reputation for being unaffected by the government... let's use that to our advantage." She looked over to the retired general, "General Taugourdeau, I hope your meeting with Rola went well."

"Yes, very much so, and the base is in operation."

"Good." Now sitting at the edge of the desk, "By tomorrow, I'll start spreading the information... with all the sources floating around here, I'm sure the piranhas will bite. I know Benjamin will be proud to serve his country." She had made her decision, driven by anger and desire for revenge.

***​

Later that very day, Shahrazad dictated the dispatch herself, over the course of her Premiership, many instances had occurred that staff at her office would leak certain portions of the dispatches. At times the leaks were damaging but never enough to destabilize her, or any previous, government. But it was an annoyance. Something would have to be done about that but for now, the failure in the bureaucracy would be used to her and her government's advantage.

In a matter of time, the dispatch would land in the hands of one of the people on the payroll of the media and soon the details would emerge, all she had to do was wait. With no paper trail, apart from the actual report itself, handwritten by the Director General of the ISE, there was no reason to fear anything to the contrary. Only she and her most trusted men knew of the change, the Director General would be handled with a term extension.

She had never favored the detente with the communists but had been the only way to keep the Social Democrats in her coalition, at-least now they knew that the communists were hard to deal with. Now she had freedom in dealing with the communists.

***​

DATE: 12-10-2010
SOURCE: Office of the Premier
CLASSIFICATION: Confidential

>>>>>>> C O N F I D E N T I A L <<<<<<<​

SUBJECT: Summary of ISE report of Thomas Martinique shooting

Typed by: The Secretary to the Premier


1. The report, published from the preliminary evidence discovered, has deemed it so that the attack was carried out by Mattias Beziérres, a native of a hamlet in southern Languedoc in the Dominion of Visidame, 15km away from the border with the Socialist Republic of Coronado. Identity confirmed per CCTV footage obtained from Sant-Hélène Memorial Park and suspect has been arrested by the ISE, pending interrogation.

1(b). Report outlines the operation to arrest MB at Leopold X International in Paris.

2. Report indicates MB received financing from abroad, notably states opposed to Premier Martinique, leaving the governments of SRatomkira, SRCoronado, PRVangala, REPJurzan as main suspects. Report hints at possible EDF connection, particularly Lorraine, though report claims their role is marginal, if existing at all.

2(b). The likelihood of communist involvement remains highly plausible and is being investigated by the ISE at the moment; with prime interest being taken in the SRCoronado, which has been deemed a serious threat to the Kingdom and the Embassy of Belmont in Toledo continues to provide a concerning stream of information, in regards to several aspects of the Coro-Belmontien relationship.

3. Benjamin Martinique is recovering well and has been deemed in a stable condition now. He remains hospitalized but is conscious and is recovering well, according to his doctors. He has asked the Government to convey his thanks to the various Governments of the world who have sent their wishes.

4. The DG-ISE has informed the Premier that the full report shall be delivered to her office by another week.


ROGÉRE
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DESTINATION:
EE-VVDC-9980--AA09-87-B
KD-669-T99-III-EVVE

TO:
MIN-FOR-AFF: PRESS OFFICE
MIN-DEFENSE: MoD OFFICE
MIN-INTERIOR: PRESS OFFICE
​

 

[Serenierre]

Being the Premier's Secretary was a cushy job; complete with a corner office and private bathroom, and a pay package that would easily have taken care of her needs for months. But sadly, her lot in life was a five foot by seven cubicle, overlooking the water cooler, and having to deal with a sexually frustrated divorcee who, almost daily, outdid himself in the worst pickup lines she'd ever had the misfortune of hearing. She, Yvette Nanjou, was one of the secretaries under the Junior Undersecretary to the Secretary, almost at the bottom of the hierarchy as far as secretaries went. But even then, she was important, she was needed, she would be the one who would end up photocopying the endless quantity of letters, dispatches and communiques that were issued from the Premier's office and sent all over the place; from the ministries to foreign governments.

Her position had given her a certain anonymity, all the while having access to sensitive information, the sort that the ravenous newshounds were dying to print or broadcast. When the epiphany had hit her that she could make some extra money by becoming a source for them, she had felt she was a genius, worthy of some prize, some noble prize for intelligence. Now, she had been working here for three years and had been a source of information for two. She, herself, had been the one who exposed the criminal mentality of the Plantard government, an exposure which brought about his downfall, she was proud of that.

Though since the Libéralistes came, it had been a slow year, at-least for her, the woman was clean not a single newsworthy item came from her office, all the mess was now at the Foreign Ministry, a friend working there had told her, how she cursed the day she was transferred to there. But regardless, at-least the women here were nicer here, all of them older than her, so at-least here she was the young one.

She had been at the end of reviewing the thousand or so Christmas cards that had been printed for the upcoming holiday, making sure none had any spelling mistakes, smudged ink or faded paper. These were the bunches going to the many dignitaries Shahrazad Martinique had met over the course of her premiership, these cards were the emissaries of Belmontien foreign policy, crafted to create personal friendships, with the hope that they may carry over onto bilateral ties. This was important, this was very important; that had been drilled into her brain by her boss, the Junior Undersecretary, a small man, who never hesitated to burst out into a rage, once she had even seen him reducing an intern to tears. He was not a man to go against - at-least openly.

He walked over to her cubicle from his office, "Nanjou, handle this," he said, holding a piece of paper in his extended hand, "Urgently forward this," he said as he turned back to go to his own office.

She looked down at the hastily dropped sheet, she read through it and smiled. She had found something newsworthy, she thought to herself.

 

[Serenierre]

As far as efficiency went, he knew his portfolio wasn't ranked high, a legacy of the neo-conservative Plantardites, the ministry lacked a proper doctrine and veered from one point to the other from issue to issue and the bureaucrats almost brainwashed during the Plantard era into adopting reactionary practices. Already since the Martinique government had come in, in January 2010, the Premier had seen three foreign ministers come and go; the first, the great intellectual Mir Hussain Baksh, died just five months into the job, the second, Jean-Jacques Villevan, became the scapegoat for the issues with the EDF and its Gallian members, and had been dismissed. He, Alexandre Renaudière, was the third.

When he had first been appointed, his first reaction had been dread. He knew the foreign ministry needed serious review and whoever had the misfortune of heading the ministry would have to purge large sections of the ineffective employees of the Foreign Office, the bureaucratic branch of the ministry in-charge of day to day running. Since becoming minister he had ordered the review and had started terminating the services of some of the worst but it was happening at too slow a rate for his liking.

As he entered his office, an intern, filling in for his P.A., came to his side, "Sir, the appointment with the Ratomkiran ambassador is at ten. The Chairman of the Foreign Policy Joint-Committee is also scheduled for to meet with you over lunch. Then the next meeting is scheduled with Secretary Vavasseur at five."

"Pretty light today," he said, almost to himself, then looking at the aide, "I believe Premier Martinique's office has sent some dispatch to the Press Room... have you seen it?" he asked, nonchalantly, and looked straight at the intern.

"Yes, sir... I believe," he checked the government issue PDA, "its the summary of the preliminary report about the shooting... basically making sure that the Press Office knows the situation."

"Alright." He closed the door to his office and briskly walked to his desk, placed his briefcase on it and switched on the small television in his office. He was genuinely intrigued to see if the woman's plan had worked, though he knew it was far too early to expect anything. The press was ravenous in its hunger for stories but even then it wasn't impulsive. Facts have to be checked; at-least that is what the editor of Chronique Augustine, an old school friend, had told him before he had become the minister.

***

General - retired - Taugourdeau entered his office in 4 Rue de Royaume - The Ministry of Defense - and he took a seat on the large chair behind the equally large pinewood table. The rotund man, opened the drawer, pulled out a cigar, lighting it with a lighter presented to him by his Sarmatian friend Marshal Rola when the last time they met, a meeting which went well. He looked down at the communique from the Premier's Office, sitting at the top of a pile of letters and documents awaiting his signature.

Having arrived just two hours after he had met with Shahrazad, the communique had sat on his desk for the better part of the evening, much of he, himself, had spent in a special room at the Hotel de Crilliôn with his mistress. A woman he had kept for almost three years, and as her thirtieth birthday gre closer, he was keen to replace her soon. For all that time, the dispatch had sat on his desk without him or his assistant present, usually for actual classified documents he would never be so cavalier but Shahrazad's plan called for exposing the summary of the report. She needed as many "sources" to say the same thing to journalists.

Though he himself seriously doubted that the Ministry of Defense would yield anything in way of the plan. Since becoming the man in charge of the ministry, he had built a reputation of completely ruining the careers of those bureaucrats who were caught breaking the protocol and procedures. Whenever he would hear of the corrupt low ranking bureaucrats, he would always think back to his military days, where they had ways of beating sense into the rowdy boys. In his opinion, some generals needed to be set loose on the bureaucrats.

He shifted in his chair. Glanced through the various files under the communique. He stopped at the dossier direct from General Mazarin's office. As Chairman of the Military Council, he was the highest officer of the armed forces and regularly he would send files and documents to 4 Rue de Royaume, as he himself had done when he had held the same post in the early 1990s.

The dossier outlined OPERATION: Inébranlable; detailing the current readiness and deployments of the armed forces' long planned joint drill; planned to include the Sarmatians based in Belmont, aimed to shorten the time needed to mobilize the armed forces, this had been his main interest for some time though the turn Shahrazad was orchestrating had the full capability of meeting his own goals.

***

The small café, a few blocks away from the Rue de Royaume, was busy, full of people grabbing coffee before heading off to work, some having breakfast and others grabbing a scone or two to have a breakfast on the go. The place was perfect for the sort of meeting Yvette Nanjou was having with her contact with the world of Belmontien media. He didn't work for any one publication or channel but instead auctioned information to the many publications. Nanjou had always thought that she herself was just one cog in that man's machine.

She pulled out an envelope from her bag, "Photocopied this dispatch myself, I'm sure this is something you would like very much."

He grabbed it from her and covertly slipped the paper out and read the subject. He looked up at her, "Yes, very much so..." he trailed off, glancing through the document, "This time, you're getting double."

Now, with ƒ.1,500 in her wallet, she was on her way to the Premier's office. She was late by ten minutes and would be reprimanded by the Junior Undersecretary but that would be worth it. The extra money was welcome and she was willing to put up with the short man's booming bass voice scolding her.