Page 56 of Skotos
“Unless they think he’s too liberal,” I countered. “Maybe that’s enough.”
Will chewed and tapped the table thoughtfully. “What about Attlee in Britain?”
“He’s Labour, pretty left-leaning, but not pro-Soviet. Still, he may be too secular for the Order.”
“And if they want to make a statement, how much louder could one be than to take out the British PM?”
“Right.” I dropped the breadstick onto my plate, no longer interested—or even hungry.
“The Pope warned us. Whoever they are, they want to burn out perceived corruption,” Will said. “What if they think secularismiscorruption?”
“What about a Scandinavian?” I offered. “They’re neutral but progressive. They could be seen as traitors to tradition.”
“They’re too peripheral.” Will shook his head. “I think it’ll be someone symbolic, a cornerstone figure, someone tied directly to the postwar reconstruction, someone who represents the liberal order.”
“Churchill?”
“He’s retired, though still influential. Definitely symbolic.” Will grimaced. “So far, they’ve only killed men in power. The king—”
“George VI,” I whispered.
Will’s voice dropped. “He’sthemonarch, an ally to the US, and a devout Anglican. He’s also about as public as a person can get, globally so. Killing him would send a very loud message.”
“And possibly ignite global panic,” I finished. “Maybe that’s the real goal.”
The waiter arrived with pasta so fresh it nearly wept steam. He poured wine from a carafe that probably hadn’t been washed since Mussolini. Neither of us touched it right away.
Finally, Will leaned forward and lifted his glass. “So who do you think’s behind this? Moscow? Or this damn Order?”
I frowned. “I’m torn. The Soviets have motive—they’ve been trying to break the West’s unity since the war ended. Taking out Western-leaning leaders makes sense strategically, and they’ve never been shy about wet work.”
“But they’re too smart for this,” Will countered. “Think of the consequences if they were discovered. The entire West would unite against them, and they’d have solid reason to do so.”
“The West is already united against them, even if some of the European powers are still reeling from the war and can’t throw much weight around. What do the Soviets really have to lose? It’s not like we can hate communism more than we already do.”
“You underestimate the world’s ability to hate,” Will snarked before taking a sip, grimacing slightly at the bitter wine.
“Fine, hate is a powerful force. Still, the Soviets make sense.”
“But the signature.” Will shook his head. “The spear fits the Vatican angle. The killings aren’t just strategic—they’re symbolic, ritualistic, even. This doesn’tfeelSoviet. It feels older and far more fanatical.”
“Unless it’s a false flag . . . and nobody loves those more than Uncle Joe.” I leaned in. “What ifthe Soviets want us to think it’s the Church? Turn the West against itself, stir paranoia, splinter the alliance? That’s another game they’ve played well throughout the years, even before the Soviet Union existed. Don’t forget, the Russians wrote the playbook on spy games. Catherine the Great herself was a master of whispers.”
“I’m pretty sure that wasn’t one of her official titles.” Will smirked.
“It should’ve been,” I said, finally surrendering and grabbing my wine glass.
“Then again,” Will countered, “what if it is the Order—and they’re playing us all? What if their goal isn’t just toppling governments but reigniting something ancient? A war of faith, not politics.”
We sat in silence for a long moment, each chewing over the same gnawing truth, the wine no longer bitter on our now-numbed tongues.
“Maybe it’s both,” I said quietly. “Maybe the Soviets found the Order . . . or someone inside the Church allied with Moscow.”
“Shit.” Will’s face darkened. “The Pope said something: ‘None but our Lord may know the soul of another.’ He knows there’s rot inside the Church; he’s just afraid to say where.”
I nodded slowly. “Then maybe we don’t need to decide who’s behind all this yet. We just need to find the next target before they do.”
Because whatever flag the killers flew, false or otherwise, their aim was the same: tear down the world we were trying to rebuild and make sure it never rose again—or when it did, it rose in an image of their choosing.
