That same day…
The smell of cedar was a source of calm for Rikhelidze; the wood scent emanating from the incense he lit had transported him to distant, serene memories of his childhood. The urthiness suspended his hotheadedness, keeping his mind clear even if just for a moment. Such a state of mind for him was fleeting, especially when under such stresses as being deep in the council of the enemy.
“What time’s my meeting with Augusta scheduled, Luca?”
His boss, the insufferably priggish woman who had asked that question roughly an hour ago, was chiefest among the enemy; his boss the Chancellor of Lovelia. Of course referring to Alyona Petrovavich as “boss” was stretching the term some, considering his nature as a for-hire agent of international subterfuge and espionage. His true employer had recommended him to this assignment, citing Rikhelidze’s prolific career in the 70’s and 80’s. He would not have accepted the assignment had it not been for the exorbitant amount of money he’d been promised by his benefactors. So he dragged on with acting as a newcomer to Alyona’s team, confident that this contract would fund his retirement and beyond.
“Your meeting is this afternoon ma’am. At four. Why do you ask?”
Petrovavich had wanted him to come along. Something about learning tools of the trade and getting to know the political landscape. After all, he was playing the part of a newbie member of Petrovavich’s cadre; knowing the in’s and out’s of what she needs done day-to-day was vital to her success. But that same knowledge could be used to dismantle her career just as effectively.
“Very well, ma’am.”
As far as Rikhelidze was concerned, there was no choice in the matter. Not much to lose, too much to gain. And of course there was the added implication from Petrovavich’s tone that Rikhelidze was going regardless, so his feelings on the matter were moot one way or the other.
He watched the incense on his desk burn for a few more moments, the embers at the tip morphing to ash before the delicate weight of the thing came crashing down onto the incense holder below. Who knew destruction could be so peaceful?
He lifted his arm to read his metallic wristwatch. He had about an hour before the meeting with Augusta, meaning he would need to meander his disheveled self over to the conference room to prepare. Rikhelidze ran his fingers through his oily black hair in an effort to tidy up some, standing up from his chair in the process. As he collected his notepad, pen, and other meeting materials and placed it all in a small duffle bag, it occurred to him just how quickly his desk had become so disorganized in the span of a few weeks. He’d need to get to reorganizing it at some point, maybe tomorrow. For now, he approached the door to head out. As he went for the door, a bright orange envelope slid under it. An update to his assignment; so early? Picking it up, he obediently opened the file to read its contents…
Your timeline has moved up. You now have seven months to complete your mission. Do not miss this deadline, or expect appropriate retribution.
-The Employers-
Ominous. His success must be quite important for them to threaten “retribution” for missing such a distant timeline. He took note of the wording and checked for any other hidden messages, finding none. Satisfied with the lack of ulterior motives behind the letter, he stored it in an inside pocket of the deep green coat that hung on the back of his desk chair.
He finally opened the door and walked through the hallways, passing by statues, paintings, and other artifacts from Salovian and Lovelian history. He recalled learning that this building was once the palace of elven King Aluminaera, the first elven king of Salovia. The building was the official palace for only his reign, and was quickly abandoned and neglected for centuries after. Only with the founding of the Salovian Republic was it revitalized and renovated as the home of the Chancellery, surviving on as the Lovelian executive building into the present. As he walked past these artifacts emblematic of the layered and antiquitous past of eastern Aurora, he wondered how much of it was true. As with everything, the victor paints themselves the savior. Fittingly, the last painting he had passed was a depiction of King Odelfv, more commonly known as Rorik the Conqueror, founder of the Salovian monarchy. Being of Lovelian blood, he’d resurged in modern days as a popular figure of pan-national unity, though the Lovelians would never say that out loud for fear of chastisement from certain international neighbors.
Rihkelidze arrived first to the empty conference room. An air of kenopsia gripped the room whose sole purpose was temporary in nature; meetings lasting at most a few hours only to be emptied and re-emptied day after day. The dense oaken conference table dominated the space, with equal-quality chairs lined along the flanks. Chairs of a lesser nature hugged the side walls, creating the effect of a makeshift pathway looping around the table. There was no television installed for this room in unexpected defiance of the Information Age and its spectacle: A security measure. No internet-enabled devices were allowed in the room during the course of the meeting either.
He went to work preparing the room, placing eight paper copies of the discussion points for the meeting, paired together with overly elegant pens and notepads to boot in front of the eight chairs circled around the table, one for each key member. Making minor alignments here and there to ensure all looked sufficiently professional for such a high level encounter, he proceeded with his real work. Pulling a compact toolkit and a series of suspiciously large-headed screws from his duffle, he pulled away the nearest chair to him and crouched underneath the table to find the wooden brackets that connected the beautifully-crafted tabletop to its more utilitarian foundations through a series of screws, nearly identical to his own screws. The brackets were spaced out equally along each side of the table with enough room for the eight chairs to fit neatly, a sign that this whole room was meticulously designed for perfection. One by one he pulled away the chairs from their positions and removed each bracket screw, putting them in his duffle as he went, replacing them with his large-headed ones. He could feel his wrists becoming increasingly sore as time wore on. The spy was a few screws away from fully rigging the room when he heard footsteps: High heels. They metronomically clacked the floor, getting louder and louder with each step. Part of him hoped the footsteps would simply stamp past the door, but Luca’s gut told him otherwise. He continued his work to get the remaining few screws installed, but a bit quicker now. His knuckles were raw from grazing against the rough wood of the underside with each turn of his weary wrists. The warmth of the room was getting to him as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He tightened the final screw when the footsteps suddenly stopped. Then, a voice.
“Luca? Is that you under there?”
It was Trimola Eknol, the senior-most member of Petrovavich’s staff, and more notably known as the Lovelian representative to the UNAC in the Auroran Council. He didn’t know her too well aside from the paragraph or two in his personnel briefs, but obviously Petrovavich kept her trusted right hand well-informed and seemingly always watching, considering she already knew his name.
“Ah, Ms. Eknol! Apologies, I’d dropped a pen and, well. You know how that goes when you lose a pen. Disappears into the void.” The agent of subterfuge forced a jovial smile on his face.
Eknol returned the smile, saying “Oh of course! I can never keep a pen longer than a week myself. Either I leave it in a conference room or I ruin my clothes with the darn things by washing them. Such a hassle sometimes. Makes me wish we used pencils.”
‘Pencils aren’t permanent. Easily redactable,’ his mind wanted to reply. Instead he nodded in polite agreement.
Probing, Rikhelidze asked, “Well what brings you all the way from Aura? It’s one hell of a plane trip to cross the continent, isn’t it?”
Eknol replied bluntly, “This meeting, actually. Alyona called me about a week ago requesting I attend. She wouldn’t say why she needed a council member for such a standard meeting. But here I am, as she requested.”
Eknol let out a resigned sigh, one that implied that yes, she doesn’t want to be here, but she’d do just about anything for Petrovavich. Whether that loyalty was professional or personal, Luca couldn’t determine.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet the Chancellor’s right hand. I’ve heard stories from Ms. Petrovavich about your escapades together.” Mostly a lie, but you needed to stretch truths in places like this.
Eknol’s eyebrows flashed upwards for a moment at the implication of ‘escapades’ before correcting themselves to their default state. Perhaps there was more to the relationship than met the eye.
“Escapades, you say?” she asked.
Pulling from his limited information about their professional relationship, he responded, “Oh, I mainly speak of your efforts for Mrs. Tarasovna in her election as UNAC President. She’d mentioned it had been a stressful time for you both. I remember watching the Reunification events unfold, and it’s quite an amazing feat you’d pulled off to get your candidate in the position, considering how divided the UNAC members were at the time.”
Eknol had become visibly more relaxed upon learning the “escapades” were nothing more than public events, replying, “Oh yes, Mrs. Tarasovna was the perfect person in our eyes; stern, decisive, open minded. Couldn’t ask for someone better in my opinion. The Chancellor and I both felt she was perfect for the spot, and I think Aurora has been better off for it.”
‘A trio of hypocrites. That’s what you are.’ He thought to himself. But he retained his warm countenance and said, “Oh absolutely! She’s been a stabilizing force in the chaotic politics of late.”
“Indeed,” Eknol said, lightly nodding.
Conversation with the UNAC representative petered out as the two took their respective seats, Rikhelidze on the sidelines and Eknol at the oaken table. As the meeting time approached, more individuals entered the room, with Jane Augusta and Alyona Petrovavich entering last. The door was closed by a woman nearest to the sound-blocking door.
Petrovavich began, “Good afternoon everyone, let us begin.”
Rikhelidze took out his notepad and started a set of notes by writing the current day’s date at the top. He sat tight, and let his devices do the reconnaissance he needed for his mission. This was a perfect start to his waiting game.