The Wrath of the King (23 page)

Chey knew when to press, and when to let go. For now, she let go. “Why don't we all go make something hot to drink and settle in a sitting room?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Krislin, who had been silent until now, replied. As a group, the women made their way deeper into the castle.

Chey only glanced back at the door once. Her thoughts were, and would remain, elsewhere.

Chapter Twenty-One

Prepared for what was to come, Sander was nevertheless rocked to the core to see multiple skirmishes across the flat landscape of Latvala. His country, battle-torn all because Paavo decided to push an agenda designed to split people formerly content to reside along one another in relative peace. He knew some of the troops were Bashir plants, men not of Latvala blood. It made the situation even more precarious; if too many men lost their lives, Bashir could very well make it an international incident.

“Stop right up here,” Sander said to Gunnar, who was behind the wheel. Leander, in the seat behind, sat with his weapon across his lap, staring out the window.

Gunnar brought the Hummer to a stop near a broad trunked tree situated thirty feet from the main road leading out of Paavo's country holding. Roughly three quarters of a mile separated the group and the castle. Two more Hummers filled with military special forces parked at their rear, headlights off.

“What if he already left?” Gunnar asked for the second time.

“He's in there,” Sander said. “But he won't be for long. We're going to chase him out like the rat that he is, and have our confrontation away from the fighting. I can't believe those are our men out there, battling over land that is already theirs.”

It made Sander sick to his stomach. There was no good reason for the skirmishes. Every now and then, the night lit up with small flares of firelight. Pops and bangs indicated weapons were in use, and although Sander had insisted his men go for non-lethal wounds, there was only so much a man could do in the dark. The two contingents of military that had attacked two hours before were more diversion than anything, giving Sander and the rest a shot at Paavo when he fled the castle for a safer haven. It would happen, he was sure of it, because he knew his brother wouldn't feel secure after the initial infiltration. Paavo wouldn't know who he could trust, and that doubt should send him out from behind his high walls.

Sander counted on the strategy to work. Breaching the castle itself when it was battened down for attack was all but impossible. If they couldn't lure Paavo out, they would have to turn to other tactics.

“I wouldn't put it past Paavo to send a decoy out, either, so we need to be wary of that. He might send someone right ahead of the real convoy and we'll be vulnerable once we're out on open ground,” Sander said, directing his caution toward Gunnar. Leander already knew what to do and what to expect.

“How are we going to be able to tell the difference?” Gunnar asked.

“Paavo won't exit the castle without an entourage. A single car, no matter if it's Paavo's royal limousine or what, will probably be a decoy. Wait for a line of three or four vehicles. If they don't follow a lead car within ten minutes, then I'll send one of the teams behind us to stop the initial vehicle. We need to wait and hit Paavo ourselves.”

“Couldn't he use reverse strategy and go in the limousine instead?” Gunnar asked.

“He
could
, but this is where you have to use what you know about Paavo. He's a good fighter, no doubt. And smart. He doesn't like to fight alone, though, and against multiple adversaries, he'll want tight security if he leaves the castle. That means more than one car.” Sander watched the shifting mass of bodies out on the flatland, watched as several tents burned and more muzzles lit up from gunfire.

Paavo had a lot to answer for.

“I don't know that much about him—about any of you—in combat situations,” Gunnar replied. He sounded pensive.

“What do you think you're doing right now?” Sander asked, glancing away from the field. “You're learning. This is how you do it. I've always been a believer that hard experience beats the classroom every time. You'll remember every mistake you make tonight, and you'll also remember all the lessons you learn. It's a shame it has to happen this way, among our own people, but the result is the same.”

Gunnar grunted agreement.

“We all started somewhere, Gunnar,” Leander added, watching out the window. His eyes were clear and sharp and assessing.

“I should have been learning more about this and doing less traveling,” Gunnar said. “That's where I put most of my focus. Ambassador duties.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Imagine how well rounded you'll be in a few years, when you've learned a lot more about this part of running a country.” Sander shifted the gun on his lap, regarding the long road leading up the hill to the castle. He expected to have to wait another hour or two until his own troops made headway before Paavo felt the need to vacate.

Exactly an hour and forty minutes later, headlights appeared on the road. Sander sat straighter in his seat, looking for following vehicles. So far, he saw none.

“Leander?” Sander inquired of the man in the back to see if he spotted shapes in the dark that he might have missed.

“One car so far, traveling fast,” Leander said.

“Yep. Decoy, I bet,” Sander replied. He picked up the walkie-talkie and hailed one of the men in a Hummer behind them. “Let this car pass. Follow in ten minutes and stick to the pre-arranged protocol.”

“Yes sir.” A reply filled the Hummer and the walkie-talkie went silent.

The car that sped by wasn't Paavo's limousine. It was a sleek black Mercedes, a car Sander knew to be one of his brother's favorites.

“Are you sure, Sander--”

“Decoy, Gunnar. I'm sure of it,” Sander said. “In ten or fifteen minutes, three or four vehicles are going to come tearing down the road, with Paavo probably riding in the middle car.”

Eighteen minutes later, a trio of headlights blipped into view on the road.

“Yeah, coming real fast,” Leander said from the back seat.

“This is it,” Sander said. He got on the walkie. “Take out the first car. Disable it completely,” he ordered.

“Yes sir.” The Hummer directly behind Sander reversed, then pulled ahead around the tree just as the lead car was about to speed past. A crunch of metal, screeching brakes, and another loud
bang
rattled the night.

“Go, go, go!” Sander was on the ground even as the second car rear-ended the first, running to the middle vehicle with his gun in front at the ready.

Gunnar was the last to leave the car, bringing up the rear behind Leander.

A wealth of fury hit Sander just as he yanked open the back door of the high-end vehicle. All this heartache, near death and chaos was Paavo's fault. Reaching in as men started shouting and a gunshot went off, Sander physically pulled out a guard and threw him to the ground. Leander covered the front while Gunnar sighted in the third car, shouting warnings to the driver and passengers to freeze. The guards from the Hummer that had battered the lead vehicle swarmed between cars, pulling startled men out and forcing them belly down on the pavement.

A muzzle appeared, pointed at Sander's face. Paavo climbed out the far side of the damaged car, realigning his aim at his brother. His eyes were narrow, hooded like a snake.

Sander didn't lower his gun. Facing off with Paavo, he counted on his team to take care of the stragglers and prevent them from shooting.

“I'm not the type to live behind bars,” Paavo stated right off the bat. “So tell your men to back off and put their guns down.”

“Not going to happen,” Sander said. “What you need to do is slowly lower your weapon and put your hands where we can see them.”

“Are you deaf, Dare? One of us is going home in a body bag today, and it won't be me. If your men don't turn their guns away from me, I'm going to shoot you deader than dead. Don't think I won't.” Paavo's gun never wavered. His eyes glimmered and his jaw was tight.

“Paavo, what are you doing?” Gunnar said, lowering his weapon. Frowning, he took a step closer to the wrecked trunk of the car. “Don't do this.”

“Gunnar,” Sander said, barking the name. “Back off.”

“Little brother. Little, little brother,” Paavo said, staring at Dare while he talked to Gunnar. “You have a lot to learn. Dare should have never brought you along. How will you deal with his anguish after this, hm, my
King?
” Paavo asked. “It'll damage him forever to watch one of his brothers die right before his eyes.”

“No one is dying here today. Shut up and put the gun down, Paavo.” Sander jerked his head to the other guards, indicating he wanted them to point their weapons elsewhere than Paavo. After a brief hesitation that let Sander know they all thought it a poor decision, periphery picked up the motion of guns aiming at the men on the ground.

“You may order everyone else, but you do not order
me.
It's a real shame the IED didn't finish what it started. I would be well on the way to ruling a country that legally belongs to me.” Paavo's gun shook. “Now we'll have to do this the dirty way.”

“What, you plan to kill everyone here? That's what it would take, you know. You'll get one bullet off but not two before they take you down. So think twice. And I'll say it again: this country belongs to the man who rules it best. I'm sorry, but it isn't you. Aksel filling your head with ideas of a crown and a throne was the worst thing he ever did. Worse, even, than what he did to Natalia. It has corrupted your mind, made you stupidly arrogant. I will say this though—you almost succeeded. Almost.”

“We're not through here yet, Dare. Don't be so hasty. I've got reinforcements coming when I don't call to check in, and then you'll be outmanned and outgunned.” Paavo licked his lips. The gun trembled in his hand.

“You should have never touched her,” Sander said, unable to temper the venom dripping from every word. He wanted Paavo to know his vengeance was for more than the citizens and the country. Laying hands on Chey had dire consequences. “That was your final, fatal mistake.”

Paavo's obnoxious laugh got cut short by a single gunshot.

. . .

Dawn gave way to a late summer day, casting the pastures and fields into sharp relief. Dust hung in the air, a telltale remnant of the skirmishes that had taken place in the night. Dust wasn't the only reminder. Several bodies littered the ground, arms and legs akimbo, victims of a bloody feud that had only come to an end a few hours ago. Sander stood next to Gunnar, feeling older than his years. He stared out at the carnage, disturbed by the sight, by the circling of crows overhead. Needless deaths, Sander thought, men who'd died for a half-baked cause that should never have come to fruition at all. A sense of guilt hung over his head, guilt for the dead, for the division of a country he loved.

Fixing it would take time, patience and strength. Months upon months worth of explanations, healing and assurance that this would never happen again. And it wouldn't. He would make sure of that.

One glance at Gunnar's expression told Sander just how difficult this experience had been for him as well. He squeezed his brother's shoulder and let his arm fall away.

“Come on. Let's get back to the house,” Sander said.

“How do you go on from here?” Gunnar asked. “How do you reconcile with what's happened?”

Sander hesitated mid-turn. “You just do. This is where you build character, where you find out what you're really made of. Men don't let tragedy control them. You suffer in private, out of the public eye, and find what works to ease your internal pain. It's never easy, Gunnar, but men in our position have to do what's best for the country first, and what's best for themselves, second.”

“We're lucky we didn't have to meet him on the battlefield, aren't we? What would you have done then?” Gunnar glanced aside, met Sander's eyes.

“We're lucky,” Sander agreed. “I would have done what I had to. At all costs, I'm against taking a life unless it's absolutely necessary. Be that a stranger or my brother. I suspect I would have made the same choice I made on the side of the road, though. It was the best way to end the confrontation without more death.”

Gunnar traced the edge of his teeth with his tongue, then inclined his head. “I don't think I could have done it.”

“You don't give yourself enough credit. You would if I hadn't been here. It might seem impossible, and you probably don't think you'll ever be able to make that kind of decision, but trust me when I say that you will. Some day, you'll face another impossible situation and you'll use all your collective experience to make the choice you need to. That's what I did. I'm older, I've been through more than you have. These steps you're taking now help shape who you become later, a man I already know to be trustworthy, honest and compassionate. That's a better start than a lot of us get.”

“He threatened me, threatened Krislin. And there I stood, unable to do anything but fret about his death. As if none of the other mattered—and it should have. It should have.” Gunnar looked at the ground.

“It mattered. He's your brother, however, and it was your first time being confronted with that kind of volatility from your immediate family. It's not something I wish on anyone, but I'm glad that you cared enough despite what he'd done to be upset about his fate. Like I said—compassionate.” Sander studied Gunnar's profile, his eyes. He knew his brother would spend months attempting to reconcile himself with Paavo's actions.

With
his
actions, too.

“What will you do now?” Gunnar asked after a time.

“The only thing I
can
do.”

. . .

“Why do you look as guilty as a woman caught cheating on her husband?” Chey regarded Wynn across the sitting room, mid-afternoon light falling in through the window. The entire evening had been spent pacing, wondering, worrying and pacing some more. Chey couldn't rest, couldn't still her mind. People came and went from the sitting room—Natalia, Krislin, Wynn—at all hours, proving they had trouble sleeping, too. Everyone waited with baited breath for news, a phone call,
something.
The later it got, the more Chey feared something went terribly wrong. So she pinned Wynn to the wall with her question, choosing to indulge in curiosity rather than make another circuit around the couches.