Page 36 of Skotos
“He was vocal in his opposition to Stalin?” Thomas asked.
The Baroness nodded. “Quite.”
I sat up. “That doesn’t mean Moscow did this—or any of the assassinations.”
“It gives them clear motive,” Thomas countered. “What about the others? Baroness, what was your assessment of King Paul and President Petitpierre, as men, not murder victims?”
The Baroness thought a moment, her gaze drifting out the window to a snow-capped peak in the distance.
“Max was a dear friend and brilliant public servant,” she said, her voice nearly cracking. “He helped keep Switzerland together during the war. Afterward, he stepped onto the world stage, paving the way for adoption of the Geneva Conventions. His loss . . . will be deeply felt for many years to come.”
“Where did he stand on the Soviets?” Thomas asked, quickly adding, “I understand Swiss neutrality,but surely he had an opinion on their growing influence.”
She nodded slowly, as if lost in some memory. “He would never say so publicly, as our nation’s position in the center of world politics demands such discipline, but Max leaned toward the West in all things. He placated Moscow when necessary but was a devout democrat who believed in freedom to his very soul.”
The wind howled outside, drawing Thomas’s eye to the arched windows.
“And King Paul?” he asked without looking back at the Baroness.
She splayed her hands. “I knew the king, though not well. For such a public figure, he was . . . a very private man.”
“And pro-Western, from what we’ve learned,” Thomas said.
She nodded, again appearing far away.
“Who will replace De Gasperi?” I asked, wading into the conversation.
The Baroness looked up. “I . . . our president is not like your American leader. He is one of seven members of the Federal Council who rule the country. Each year, one member is elected by their peers as president, a largely ceremonial role. Any one of the other six could be chosen to replace Max.”
Another gust buffeted the windows, rattling glass in their frames.
“Philipp Etter is the current vice president. I believe he would easily win election to the presidency.”
“Let me guess.” Thomas stopped his pacing and faced the Baroness. “He’s conservative, right-leaning, or far-right with a fondness for vodka?”
Despite the gravity of the moment, the Baroness snorted and rolled her eyes.
“A fondness for vodka,” she chuckled. “I would not say he is pro-Moscow, per se . . . more pro-conservative, traditional values. He is likely more Catholic than the Pope.”
“Depending on the Pope of the day, that isn’t saying much,” I muttered.
Thomas bumped my shoulder, a smirk twisting his lips as he mouthed, “Behave.”
The Baroness chuckled again.
“I see you two are still . . . as thick as thieves, yes?”
The Baroness knew of our relationship and was one of the few people in the world who embraced us with unfettered affection. She was the doting aunt or grandmother neither of us enjoyed within our own families, and we cherished her for it.
Thomas’s smile brightened. “I could never tell you why, but this man has stolen my heart and refuses to give it back. I’m afraid I will die with it clutched in his thieving fingers.”
The Baroness’s chuckle grew into a full-throated laugh as she clutched her pearls—literally—and slumped back into her chair again.
“It is so good to see you two in these dark times. Why do we wait until tragedy strikes to see one another again?”
“We will need to correct that error . . . once this mess is sorted,” I said, earning a grin and a nod from our host. “Until then, it appears we have a world order to save.”
“A bit grand of a description, isn’t it?” Thomas smirked again.
