Music: Breaking Benjamin - "Had Enough”
20 April 2003
Easter Monday
Prydanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs
Býkonsviði
Thomas Lasmartres strode quickly through the corridors of the Prydanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. His outrage of the past few days had persisted and stewed over the weekend, but now that he’s going to deliver such an important message, he had to keep his emotions under control.
The Royal Santonian Ambassador to the Syndicalist Republic of Prydania passed through hallways whose walls were still pockmarked by bullet holes and dark stains which may or may not be blood spatters. The Syndicalists still hadn’t cleaned and repaired their offices… but then they have a much larger mess to clean and repair right now.
Ambassador Lasmartres was followed by a junior diplomat from the Santonian embassy, Marc-Daniel Millerand. He was carrying the documents and the all-important material to present to the Foreign Minister. Perhaps because of the weekend, the Foreign Minister only agreed to meet them that Monday morning.
The two Santonian diplomats reached the door of the office of the Prydanian Minister of Foreign Affairs. Millerand knocked on the door. A voice from within told them to come in.
“Good morning, Ambassador Lasmartres,” the secretary greeted them.
The ambassador merely smiled at the secretary. He was in no mood to be nice. The secretary picked up the subtle cue and went inside Buhl’s office, presumably to inform the foreign minister that the people he had an appointment with had arrived. After a few minutes, the secretary opened the door and ushered the Santonians in.
The Santonian ambassador was a familiar face in the foreign ministry. Being one of the few remaining embassies in Býkonsviði, and a neutral power at that, the Santonians were one of the most frequent visitors.
He was also welcome at the Prydanian Foreign Ministry, for a variety of reasons. And certainly Ambassador Lasmartres was more welcome than his predecessor, the aristocratic Paul-Baudouin Luyt de Thiembronne.
Thomas Lasmartres was from the working class. His father was a dockworker at the Port of Saintes, his mother was an ex-prostitute who became a washerwoman. He knows how to swear like a sailor and how to flatter someone like that person was the best and most gorgeous person in the world. One of those attributes might help today. Either of them.
He opted not to follow his father and older siblings and instead went to university, studying Gotic languages and international relations at the University of Saintes. While at university, he was active in left-leaning student organisations. He was hired by the Santonian Ministry of Foreign Affairs right after graduation. He was posted to Valland in 1981, and then reassigned to Gottia in 1985. While in Gottia, he was the contact of the leftist anti-Himdoch activists, including the socialist Marie-Magdalene "Marlene" Schellenberger, who eventually became a Santonian MP. Lasmartres helped rescue and facilitate the emigration of many of these activists. His activities were so extensive that the Himdoch government lodged a protest with the Santonian Foreign Ministry in 1988. The Santonian government simply transferred Lasmartres to neighbouring Goyanes, where he continued his activities from overseas.
With the fall of the Himdoch government, Lasmartres was returned to Hessunland, where he was partly responsible for Saintonge’s massive humanitarian response to the war-torn country. His term in Hessunland was extended for another two – an extraordinary step for a lower-ranking diplomat, as Santonian diplomats are allowed to stay in a posting for only two terms, or eight years. Lasmartres stayed in Hessunland until 1997. His outstanding performance for the humanitarian effort in Hessunland earned him promotions. He was elevated to minister-counsellor (
conseiller des affaires étrangères) in 1997, as he was transferred to Prydania. He served in the second-highest position at the Santonian embassy in Býkonsviði under Ambassador Charlotte-Amélie Courtehoux, who was replaced by Paul-Baudouin Luyt de Thiembronne in 2001. Despite their political differences, Ambassador Luyt de Thiembronne came to rely on Lasmartres, since the latter was present at the post for longer than he did.
Lasmartres was familiar with Prydania’s persecuted Left during the reign of Anders III, and fully understood the situation when the Syndicalist coup happened. Ambassador Luyt de Thiembronne, a scion of a noble family from the province of Hainaut, took a dim view of the coup. It was Ambassador Luyt de Thiembronne who caved to the pressure from the Duke of Champagne to surreptitiously spirit away the Loðbrók gold to Saintonge: a fact that only a few in the embassy – and even in the government back home – knew. Meanwhile, Lasmartres, sensing that the political situation in Prydania was mirroring that of Gottia in the late 1980s, strengthened his networks of contacts before the coup even occurred. One of the people Lasmartres met was a union man named Henrik Buhl… who was now the Prydanian foreign minister. Lasmartres also sheltered some Syndicalists from the tentacles of Anders III’s government. In all of their activities, though, both Luyt de Thiembronne and Lasmartres had to keep their sympathies in check, as Saintonge maintained a strictly neutral, non-interventionist stance on foreign affairs.
The winds changed when Ambassador Luyt de Thiembronne was recalled by Saintes weeks after the fall of Býkonsviði. Some of the Býkonsviði legation staff in the know, believed that ambassador was recalled after the government at home found out about the Loðbrók gold affair; the
Palais des Drapeaux* had given no explanation for transferring Ambassador Luyt de Thiembronne to the more cushy post at Gojanesstad. Thomas Lasmartres was then promoted and became the Royal Santonian Ambassador. He was instrumental in convincing the Santonian government to switch its recognition to the Syndicalist government, since the Syndicalists had now
de facto controlled much of Prydania and its capital. Saintonge’s recognition of the Syndicalist government lulled the Syndicalists into thinking that Saintonge – a country known for championing worker’s rights and was governed by a leftist party at the time – was sympathetic and friendly to their cause.
But the astute Ambassador Lasmartres knew that there were differences between the Gottian Left and the Prydanian Syndicalists. Lasmartres saw that many in the Syndicalist ranks harboured murderous tendencies, such as that madman Lieftur. The Santonian ambassador was horrified to see them in high-ranking positions within the new Syndicalist government. This was going to be Gottia/Hessunland all over again, but with the roles reversed.
Lasmartres also activated his contacts in the resistance, including a highly-secret line of communication with William Aubyn. Lasmartres clarified to Aubyn the purpose of Saintonge’s recognition of the Syndicalist government – to be able to handle the waves of refugees and asylum seekers that the impending Syndicalist onslaught will bring. In a country where Santonians also rescued the persecuted people during the Fascist War, such a scenario was not unthinkable.
True enough, the persecution of people started. The Royal Santonian Embassy, its legations, and its consulates, were inundated by people seeking help. Ambassador Lasmartres did not try to rein in his subordinates and diplomatic staff: “Go ahead and save as many people as you can.” Twice, the rescue efforts brought the ire of the Syndicalist government. However, Lasmartres’ reputation and his skill at flattery, plus the fact that Saintonge was still one of the few countries to recognise the Syndicalist government, were trump cards that led the Syndicalists to back down. Any attack against Lasmartres or the Santonians might make the government in Saintes recall Lasmartres and replace him with a less sympathetic ambassador. Or worse, Saintonge might withdraw its recognition.
The Syndicalists knew and thought they had at least someone who understands them within the Santonian embassy. And now Ambassador Thomas Lasmartres was going to exploit that fact to the fullest.
“Good morning, Thomas,” Henrik Buhl greeted the ambassador, trying to sound pleasant. He knew what was coming, and he was somewhat relieved. Nielsen had granted him the authority to authorize everything he expected the Santonians to demand. He was sure Thomas would leave pleased, and this ugliness would be put behind everyone.
Thomas Lasmartres and Henrik Buhl called each other by first name in closed-door meetings. They had some familiarity with each other, bordering on friendship. The Santonian ambassador had invited the Prydanian foreign minister several times to his residence for informal dinners – those Santonian wines and cheeses and food were rare treats that the Prydanian foreign minister liked and secretly craved. They talked about issues, up until the wee hours of the morning. Henrik was especially concerned about his son Sölvi and asked that Thomas take him in, in case the Syndicalist coup failed.
Despite this bond, Lasmartres would not prefer them to be called friends. Especially now.
“Away with the pleasantries, Henrik,” Thomas Lasmartres said flatly. “You know what happened
last Friday was not pleasant.” His aide handed the ambassador a sealed letter. Lasmartres looked at it for a moment and handed it to the Prydanian foreign minister.
Inside the letter was a
note verbale from the Kingdom of Saintonge. Despite being couched in formal diplomatic language, its contents were seething:
The Santonian Embassy presents its compliments to the Prydanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and has the honour to invite their attention to the following matter:
On 17 April 2003, members of the Syndicalist People’s Militia of Prydania shot and killed Marc-Tristan Landet, a Santonian citizen and a First Secretary at the Royal Santonian Embassy at Býkonsviði. The aforementioned fact is supported by multiple pieces of evidence, including, but not limited to, eyewitness accounts.
The government of the Kingdom of Saintonge strongly denounces and stridently protests the murder of its diplomatic representative. Such an act violates the traditional immunity afforded to diplomatic representatives and constitutes a hostile act by the Syndicalist Republic of Prydania against the Kingdom of Saintonge.
While the Kingdom of Saintonge wishes to continue its warm relations with the Syndicalist Republic of Prydania, however, the recent actions by the Syndicalist Republic of Prydania is not in the spirit of good neighbourly relations. The Kingdom of Saintonge demands that the Syndicalist Republic of Prydania take concrete actions to repair the damage to bilateral relations between the two countries.
As such, the Kingdom of Saintonge requests that the Syndicalist Republic of Prydania:
- Provide restitution to the family of Mr Marc-Tristan Landet;
- Prosecute the perpetrators of the murder of Mr Marc-Tristan Landet;
- Authorise the Kingdom of Saintonge to bring in any number of diplomatic staff so that the Santonian Embassy can continue its work efficiently;
- Respect the immunity of diplomats and their families;
- Allow the diplomats of the Kingdom of Saintonge to continue their work unimpeded;
- Refrain from harassing the diplomats of the Kingdom of Saintonge; and
- Permit the diplomatic mission of the Kingdom of Saintonge to bring in and out supplies, material, and personnel via ships and planes of the Royal Santonian Armed Forces.
The Kingdom of Saintonge hopes for a favourable response on the matter.
The Embassy avails itself of this opportunity of assuring the Ministry of its highest consideration.
Henrik sank into his chair as he read the letter. He was expecting this. He kept his expression calm, even as he cursed Jannik to all hell. Recruiting angry union thugs and giving them guns and uniforms, telling them they were soldiers... it was a minor miracle this hadn’t happened earlier. Still, he’d gotten his scapegoats.
It was to that effect that he nodded as he read down the list. One was doable enough. Two was why he was glad Nielsen had forced Jannik to get him names. Three through six were standard re-affirmations of the rights of diplomatic personnel. Seven, however, caught his eye. He didn’t say anything at first, instead re-reading it. He wiggled the letter as he held it between his thumb and index finger as he thought it through. The Santonians were helping refugees – officially “reactionary anti-social elements” – out of the country. Point seven… it was essentially asking for unlimited and expanded capabilities to continue this.
If the Santonians were asking for the freedom to whisk anyone away? It was unexpected to be sure. And Henrik knew that he had no means of resisting the leverage Saintonge had at their disposal. Not just the withdrawal of recognition, but releasing the forensic evidence of Marc-Tristan Landet’s murder. It could – and likely would be – an international catastrophe. They were asking for more than either Nielsen or Henrik had thought they’d ask for, and he had no means of negotiating them down. They had the witnesses, the bullets, the dead body. He sighed softly.
“Thomas,” Henrik began, keeping his voice pleasant even as nerves bunched up inside, “I am authorized by the collective authority of the Presidium to agree to points one through six on behalf of the Syndicalist Republic. We’ve already conducted our own investigation and have detained the guilty parties, in fact. Point seven though…” he set the letter down on his desk. “You’re
not talking about Santonian personnel are you?”
“My government would be very pleased that the Presidium agrees to points one to six.” Ambassador Lasmartres gave the Prydanian Foreign Minister a sincere-looking, but forced, smile. “As for your question regarding point seven…”
Ambassador Lasmartres pondered the question. When he and deputy foreign minister for Craviterian affairs Jules-Frédéric Théroux drafted the document last Saturday, they meant diplomatic personnel. Henrik Buhl’s question gave a whole lot of meaning to the word
“personnel”. The Prydanian foreign minister was interpreting it differently - and it was an interpretation the Santonians could make the most out of.
“Personnel,” Ambassador Lasmartres said the word with a twinkle in his eye.
“You know what we mean,” the ambassador said wryly, in a slow, deliberate tone. The Santonian ambassador knew what kind of
personnel the Prydanian foreign minister was referring to. And Ambassador Lasmartres would stretch the envelope to cover those people, and as many people as possible.
But he had to state the obvious first, to assuage any concerns the Prydanians might have. “If it means anything, we are ready to assure you that it doesn’t mean military personnel,” the Santonian ambassador added. “Saintonge is not in the business of military invasion, you know that.”
Henrik nodded. “Oh I’m sure, and both myself and Chairman Nielsen know the Santonians wouldn’t aid the fascists that are currently trying to topple our new government,” he replied. It was very much intentional. It had been Good Friday, after all. The day had meaning. A sort of rallying cry against the agressively state atheist Syndicalist Republic. That Mr. Landet had died aiding fleeing church goers on that day, of all days, made a lot of sense.
It was also a day that William Aubyn had issued another defiant statement against the Syndicalist government, with FNU partisans striking against a number of People’s Militia groups before vanishing into the countryside. Henrik liked Thomas Lasmartres, but he knew what the Santonians were up to. He also knew that despite certain shared ideals? The Santonians were very much not a secular state. Henrik was sure that the Santonians weren't aiding the Royalist rebels, but he had to say it. To make a point.
“I’m not concerned with Saintonge sending in military personnel. But Thomas, let’s be honest with each other. We’ve spoken twice before this about your diplomatic personnel helping these reactionary anti-socials flee our country. We looked the other way when it was just people with Santonian citizenship, but…” he paused, thinking of how to best word what he was about to say.
“I say this wanting to restate that the guilty parties will be punished, and that Mr. Landet’s family will be compensated. With that said? You and I both know Marc-Tristan Landet wouldn’t have died had he not interfered with a legitimate police action.” He knew damn well that the Militia were gunning down families and not terrorists, be he was trying to salvage what he could for his own side in this back and forth. If only so that Lieftur couldn’t go to Nielsen and tell him he’d capitulated. The room was very likely bugged.
“But given the past actions of the Santonian government, you need to know that these are our citizens. If you’re intending to aid these people in fleeing the lawful government of Prydania then you need to be open about it, so we can have a proper conversation.”
Ambassador Lasmartres fumed inside. But the trained diplomat within him reined in all that sailor tendencies that would’ve unleashed a barrage of expletives at the absolute nonsense the Prydanian foreign minister said.
Instead, the ambassador took a deep breath and sat on the chair in front of the foreign minister’s desk. He looked straight at Henrik Buhl’s eyes, with his icy blue eyes sending trepidation over to the foreign minister. “
‘Legitimate’... police... action?” Lasmartres uttered the words slowly and deliberately. “Against... the
citizens of Prydania?” His words were dripping with sarcasm. “Where have I seen that?” One corner of his mouth rose up in a smirk. “I know.”
Buhl began to respond but Ambassador Lasmartres cut him off as he stood up from his chair, mentioning a litany of historical facts and recollections. He paced back and forth authoritatively in front of the foreign minister, as if delivering a stern lecture.
“Remember the one hundred and eighty-thousand Shaddaists of Býkonsviði forced into ghettos for extermination by the fascist government of Prydania during the Fascist War?” The ambassador stopped momentarily to look at the Prydanian foreign minister. “That was a so-called
legitimate police action against the citizens of Prydania by the so-called
lawful government of Prydania.” The Syndicalist flag hanging on a flagpole caught his attention. “I know you dislike the fascists as much as I do, but you are sounding
a bit like them.” The ambassador flung the barb precisely and purposefully to unsettle the foreign minister.
Buhl tried to speak up again, and it seemed that Lasmartres was going to let him this time, but he couldn’t find the words in his throat. He had twitched his wrist as if he were going to raise a hand, but he’d paused himself and just quietly tapped his desk again. It wasn’t just that the Santonian Ambassador had a point. He’d heard Lieftur and Nielsen talking about the Shaddaists themselves. They’d couched the language in ways to avoid echoing the fascist-era policies, but needless to say? The Shaddaists were becoming increasingly difficult regarding the government’s atheistic mandates. And eventually something - he didn’t know what - was bound to happen. This all swirled in his head, and he just stayed quiet, letting Lasmartres continue.
“And who was there to help the Shaddaists?” The ambassador paused for a bit, but did not really expect a word from the foreign minister. He then answered his own question. “The Kingdom of Saintonge… yes, our embassy helped a good number of them escape. We couldn’t save them all, but we did the best we could do.”
Ambassador Lasmartres then paced back to the opposite direction, towards the window. “Remember Mikael Kjarrval, Gilbert Bergholt, and Rósbjörg Laufkvist?” He glanced at the foreign minister. “The people you extol as -” the ambassador then moved his hands slowly as if he was making a big circle in the air in front of him “- the
‘Children of the Martyrs of the Great Syndicalist Revolution’?” He said the title in a slightly derisive tone, mocking as to how the Syndicalist government put on a pedestal the children of killed Syndicalist leaders. “I can distinctly remember Marc-Tristan interfered with
a legitimate police action by hiding one of them, when Anders III’s Óafmen went after the families of the leaders of your movement.”
“Yes, Anders III went after
children. Anders III was not content with murdering those who voiced dissent. He had to kill. Murder. Slaughter.” The ambassador said the words as he looked at the foreign minister squarely in the eye, making him reflect on the words, whether it was applicable to his
own government too. “It was another so-called
legitimate police action by the
lawful government of Prydania against its citizens.”
The ambassador reached the window and peered out to the characterless gray courtyard outside. The ambassador asked softly, “Is that why you asked me to take Sölvi in, in case the Óafmen went after
you?” The ambassador’s question went unanswered for a few tense moments. Thomas Lasmartres then turned again towards Henrik Buhl and clearly sensed the foreign minister’s discomfiture at his questions and insinuations. He decided to let the matter go, and instead went to another recollection.
“Remember the town of Kleifar, whose inhabitants were supportive of your movement? Anders III discovered your safehouses there.” The ambassador walked back towards the foreign minister’s desk. “What happened next? The then-
lawful government of Prydania launched a so-called
legitimate police action against its citizens.” Both of them knew too well the fate of the people and the town of Kleifar - erased from the map. “I’m happy to say that the orphans we had rescued there had found good homes in Saintonge.”
Thomas Lasmartres unveiled all of Henrik Buhl’s phrases as mere contorted words that can euphemise the atrocities of the previous oppressive Prydanian rulers… and now by extension, the atrocities of the Syndicalists against their people.
The ambassador stood in front of the foreign minister. “The Kingdom of Saintonge had stood beside the Prydanian people, even as their rulers persecute them. We see persecution, we try to save people.”
Lasmartres’ words had unnerved Buhl, and a voice in his head was screaming at him to listen. To do something… surely with Saintonge’s help… but he didn’t. Again. The room could be bugged. The woman working reception could be taking notes for the Militia. And anything he said here that wasn’t the government line would be his death sentence. He’d known Thomas Nielsen for a long time. There was a time when he could be reasonable despite his excess of passion. When you sat him down and explained things out he’d see a better way than whatever foolhardy, headstrong idea he had. These days though? Perhaps it was the stress of governing. Building a new society was harder than tearing one down. Or maybe Lieftur WAS gaining too much influence. The days he felt trapped were growing more numerous. Today was perhaps the worst one, after starting off so promisingly.
After a moment of awkward silence, the Prydanian foreign minister spoke. “We are not persecuting them. What happened last Friday was a legitimate police action.”
“Keep repeating that mantra to yourself, Henrik,” Thomas thundered. “You know it isn’t true. You are deluding yourself.” Before the foreign minister could even speak, the ambassador held up his hand to silence him. What came next was a salvo of trenchant inquiries on the true principles of the Syndicalist movement. “Whatever happened to those big dreams and grandiose ideas that your movement had? A country where people are equal, where rights are respected? Whatever happened to the right to live? The right to due process? The right to freedom of speech? Had the equality and the rights of people gone out of the window? Are the people of Tobias om Stjern
less equal than others?”
The foreign minister could not take it. He slumped in his chair like a confused, embarrassed heap. He was like a student who could not answer his teacher’s questions in front of the class. “They were terrorists…” He muttered. Half of him didn’t believe what he was saying, but he said what he had to. Thomas Lasmartres was protected as a foreign dignitary. He was not. He had the Presidium to answer to.
Something inside Thomas Lasmartres snapped. “Very well,” he murmured. It was as if the student gave the most wrong answer imaginable. Ambassador Lasmartres turned to his aide. “Daniel, show him the video.”
Marc-Daniel Millerand took a 2003 Nolf laptop from his briefcase, opened it, and placed it on the foreign minister’s desk. The aide then prepared the laptop while Henrik Buhl continued to speak. Thomas Lasmartres remained silent, mentally preparing for the upcoming show.
“That society, Thomas, we’re trying to build it! But these people…” Buhl sighed. It was here that, upon reflection, his stomach really began twisting in knots. What Lieftur was doing to the churches in the countryside wasn’t discussed in Presidium, but it wasn’t a secret either. You knew if you wanted to know it, and accepted what you heard. And the truth was… he knew. And he’d supported it at first. Now though, as he spoke to defend it, the horror of what he’d tacitly allowed to happen dawned on him. Still… he had no choice. He continued with the old excuses he’d told himself.
“These people… change is hard, Thomas. We’re trying to build a better world. These people… maybe they don’t all have guns and bombs, but they’re clinging to an old way of life that propagated Anders’ regime, and the regime of every damn Loðbrók autocrat that came before him. They’re a threat. A threat to our new world.”
He had to admit, saying the old party line, falling into the old pattern of street protests and stump speeches, made him feel alive… but also sickly. The way one feels when they realize an old, cherished childhood treat was full of sugar and chemicals.
The aide started playing a video on the laptop and turned it towards the Prydanian foreign minister so he could watch.
“What is this?” The foreign minister asked.
“This is the front and rear dashboard camera footage of the Santonian diplomatic van as it was traversing Tárland Road near Tobias om Stjern on 17 April 2003,” the ambassador answered curtly.
The screen was divided into two, the high-definition footages from the rear camera on the left, the one from the front camera on the right. At the 1:05 PM timestamp, the van stopped at the shoulder of the road, beside a clearing on the side of the road. The rear view footage showed much of the burnt-out clearing. The voice of Marc-Tristan Landet could be heard. And then the cries for help came.
From the rear camera footage, people could be seen running towards the road. The Syndicalist militiamen’s taunting of the Courantists was heard, followed by shots. A few moments later, someone, presumably Paul-Robert Volfius, turned the front camera dashcam towards the field, capturing the carnage in all of its brutality. Paul Volfius could be heard yelling: “They’re coming after the Courantists!”
Ambassador Thomas Lasmartres went to the side of the foreign minister’s desk to watch the video with him. “So how is the ‘legitimate police action’ going?” Lasmartres asked contemptuously. “Where is the due process?”
The cameras show the Landets sprinting towards the field to rescue the fleeing people. Many of the villagers of Tobias om Stjern were not able to escape. An old man was shot at the back, with blood spurting out of his chest as the bullet passed through his body. “You say the old man is a terrorist?” Lasmartres asked testily.
Lasmartres pointed to another section of the footage where a man was carrying a pregnant woman. The man was then shot in the neck, and both fell to the ground. A Syndicalist militiaman walked coolly towards the pregnant woman and fired at her belly. “You are saying that the pregnant woman is a threat? A terrorist?”
“What about them?” An old woman was hit in the leg, and a young man went back to save her. Both were shot and killed by the militiamen. “Terrorists?”
The butchery was too much for Henrik Buhl. He looked away from the screen, which only infuriated Lasmartres. He paused the video. “TERRORISTS, YOU SAY?” Lasmartres lifted the laptop off the table. Lasmartres then held it in front of Buhl, almost shoving the screen to Buhl’s face, so that he could not look away. The Santonian ambassador saw a boy in his early teens, also running towards the diplomatic van. The boy was about the same age as the foreign minister’s son. “LOOK AT THAT BOY!” Lasmartres commanded brusquely. “YOU SAY THAT’S A TERRORIST?!” Lasmartres then pressed the spacebar button to continue the playing of the video. A few frames later, a Syndicalist bullet shattered the boy’s head and blew out his brains, killing him instantly.
“ENOUGH!” Henrik Buhl screamed as he shoved the laptop away from his face. Millerand was able to catch the expensive device before it fell to the floor.
“Can’t handle the f*cking truth, Henrik?” Lasmartres asked bluntly.
The Prydanian foreign minister was shaking. Not from anger or indignation at the Santonian ambassador’s insolence. He was shaking from fear, from humiliation, from the realisation of the barbarity of his own ilk. He was figuratively cornered and he had no escape. This was all Jannik’s fault.
Thomas Lasmartres observed his almost-a-friend Henrik Buhl stew in his emotions. After a few moments, the Santonian ambassador then unleashed another trump card. “By the way, copies of this video had been sent to the Santonian Foreign Ministry,” Lasmartres told him. “I was told that they will publicise the video if Prydania doesn’t agree to
all of our demands.”
Henrik poured himself a glass of water, looking over Thomas’ shoulder, towards the door. He was half sure Jannik would burst through with his thugs. He wouldn’t put it past that fool to just assume the cat was out of the bag and double down. It took all of his willpower to keep from shaking. Thankfully that scenario didn’t occur. He calmed as he drank the water, and he retreated for a moment, into the cool, calm world of logic and objective reasoning. The horrors were manageable if you broke it down.
And the fact was that Saintonge releasing this video would do more damage than them simply withdrawing recognition. They’d be left with the likes of Cogoria. Maybe the Stan Yera and Fuss, but the latter two weren't given. Not by a long shot. He knew what he had to do. He had to agree to every demand, right now. Yet the Santonian demand to move people out of the country… that wasn’t authorized by Nielsen.
Henrik weighed his options. If he agreed to it? He could reasonably sell it as a matter of absolute necessity to the Presidium. Yet it was possible Jannik would seize the opportunity. He’d already begun purging some of the mid-party bureaucracy. How long was it before he turned to the Presidium, exactly? And what were the chances Nielsen would stop him? It was at that moment that the knots he’d felt in his stomach over this ordeal turned to a gaping hole as he realized one inescapable truth: he was terrified of his own government.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Buhl replied as calmly as he could muster. “I need to run this up the chain of command” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“Good luck,” Ambassador Lasmartres smirked. “You need it.”
Buhl picked up the phone as the Santonian Ambassador and his aide waited outside with his secretary. He thought about that for a moment. Was he sure she worked for his office? He couldn’t think about that though. He was doing the smart thing. No one could come after him for taking it to committee. Of course by committee he meant….
“Comrade Chairman,” he said with a pleasant enough smile. It didn’t matter that Thomas Nielsen couldn’t see it. It helped him keep his calm. “There is a matter regarding the Santonian delegation I urgently need to discuss…”
It wasn’t long. Maybe three minutes. The door opened once more and Henrik Buhl welcomed Millerand and Lasmartres back into his office. He had a relieved feeling about him as he took his seat. His mind was swimming. At the end of all of this? One thing remained certain. He’d have to readjust just how much the Syndicalist Republic could rely on the Santonians for support. That wasn’t important now though.
“Ambassador Lasmartres,” the Prydanian foreign minister said calmly, even if he nervously tapped a finger on his desk. “I’m pleased to inform you that the Presidium finds all Santonian terms agreeable. We will not... concern ourselves... with your personnel fulfilling their duties as to the agreement.”
“Very well,” Ambassador Lasmartres said. “Thank you for your cooperation and the cooperation of the Syndicalist Republic. We would be expecting the formal
written reply later today, so that we can forward it to our government back home.” A verbal agreement will not suffice. The Santonians needed a document to wave in the faces of the Syndicalists should they try to stop or hinder them again.
The agreement marked the organisation of the
Santonsklína, or the “Santonian line”, through which asylum-seekers and refugees were brought out of Prydania to Saintonge and other countries willing to accept them. Thousands of people escaped oppression, torture, and death through the
Santonsklína. For the Syndicalists, it was a release valve through which ‘unreformables’ and ‘undesirable elements’ were sent out of the country. For how long this situation will remain, only time can tell.
*
Palais des Drapeaux – the building housing the Santonian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, sometimes used as a metonym for the ministry.
OOC: Post co-written with
@Prydania .
