Author's Note: And so we have come to the sequel of The Rules. I thank you for your patience (especially during the total fanfic hiatus of NaNoWriMo) and for your support, which I hope will continue.
Such support would be evidenced by reviews, in case you were unsure.
Bartholomew
A blaring siren cuts through my sleep over and over until I finally roll over and turn off the alarm clock. Allowing myself one last second of lounging with my face in the pillow, I get out of bed, put on slippers, and walk to the kitchen. Kettle on the stove, I step out to get the paper and look it over indoors.
It doesn't take much browsing before I find something relevant.
"Studies of International Bombings Continue
DUE TO the cooperation of several government agencies, more light has been shed on the recent series of explosions felt around the world."
I set the Telegraph on the dinner table and get some toast started before coming back to it.
The beginning is just a recap of the events we had already figured out by yesterday. The article does have a figure with the locations of the dozens of bombs, so I fetch the list of the countries that were on the island. All of the twenty were hit but Liechtenstein, though Italy only had one explosion.
On top of that, quite a few countries outside the island—Egypt, South Korea, and Philippines, to name a few—are on the list. It almost makes me think that this and The Rules are unrelated, but there's enough overlap to keep me suspicious. It looks like fifteen of the explosions were in unrelated countries, and that seems like an awful lot of effort for some sort of diversion, but there could always be something else planned.
The shrill cry of the kettle interrupts, so I start steeping my tea and go back to the article and list. It's quite a significant amount of discrepancy—more than enough for another island.
Pausing, I stare at the map of affected nations for a moment before fetching a phone. The toast comes out while Germany's phone rings, so I toss the food on a dish and set it next to the paper.
There's a click on the other end of the call. "England?"
"Eh?" I pause for a second before realising I'm not on my mobile. "No, just Bartholomew. Sorry—went for the wrong phone."
He grunts in response—I can almost see him give a curt nod. "What is it, then? Any new developments over there?"
"Not that I've seen yet." Shouldering the phone, I smooth out the paper and lean over the map. "I was just looking at the list of bombings—there were quite a few outside the nations you said were on your island, and I wanted to make sure they hadn't ended up on an island of their own, or anything else. Have you talked to Korea recently? Or Philippines, or Australia—"
"I know Korea's fine," he says. "I'll find a list of the others and check on them, though."
"Okay, great. I'll keep investigating things over here."
"Keep me updated." He hangs up.
Pushing the disconnect button, I hurry back to the living room and replace England's phone.
Peculiar just how used to this place I am. It's not as if I live here—by any legal definition, at least—but when my job is assisting with all of his nation-work, there's so much for the both of us to do we may as well be locked in here if there's not a meeting elsewhere. It's like the idea that one isn't really friends with someone unless he can wander to their refrigerator and help himself. Of course, I'd really rather not poke through some of the things England keeps in his fridge.
I do dare to get some jam that looks store-bought before settling with my breakfast and the rest of the article.
The remainder of the first bit is nothing new. All of the explosions were at the same time except for the Russian one—which was exactly an hour earlier, so maybe someone ended up in the wrong time zone—and most of them near airports. None of the security videos actually saw the bombs before they went off, let alone those who left them.
I have to force down the next mouthful of toast. Stomach squirming, I fetch an antacid and make myself focus on the article again.
The lack of damage the bombs left seems to be the most suspicious aspect at this point. One theory says it's probably some sort of "statement" against terrorism. Another theory says it's somehow a failed terrorist attack, though even the writer thinks that's a bit far-fetched. Anyone that could organise dozens of followers to set off bombs no one saw round the world could figure out how to get them into a crowd and give them more bang.
The next theory might actually be compatible with the island, though it doesn't have much evidence. Some CDC fellow says that something blowing bits of itself all over a populated area near an airport could easily be an attempt to spread a bioweapon. No deaths have been reported from anyone near the explosions, but it makes slightly more sense for scheming geniuses to not know how to make a virus than a bomb.
I wonder how that would tie in, though? This attack failing could be a good sign for the island. If it's all the same plan, they could just let England and the others go. I still doubt that, but it's a possibility.
So, why would launching a bioweapon necessitate making nations kill each other? Were they hoping it would somehow trigger wars here? Are they just trying to kill everyone? In that case, I can't tell why the only bomb in Africa was Egypt, but I guess that could have been part of the plan, too.
At least it doesn't seem to be working so far. It's only been a day since the explosions, and we've yet to track down the island, so there's no jumping to conclusions just yet. We'll just keep it up, step by step, meeting by meeting.
Speaking of which, there's a teleconference at 10:00. I should probably remember to shave.
I finish up the article and my breakfast and make myself look decent for the day. I then proceed to slump in my chair in the office and start on paperwork for the morning.
The papers are piling up like mad. Of course, right now I have to do all of the work rather than half or so. It's not as if England can help not being here, though. He's been known to dump all of the work on me on certain occasions, too, so it's something I've handled before. Still, I have no way to get his input, and there are all sorts of other things to look at because of the Olympics... Why did he even want to host this thing, anyway? It's nothing but more work.
Oh, I won't complain. It's not like I have anything better to do.
So I trudge through a few hours of paperwork before 9:50 mercifully comes round. Finishing one last signature, I push myself away from the desk, turn on the computer, and stretch a bit. The VoIP loads, and I wander about the living room trying to get some blood to my legs before returning.
Quite a few of the others are already in the meeting room. Some chairs are still empty, while a few blank white screens stand in place. Some of them might be for nations, though I've been under the impression most of the ones who know the situation have made it to Russia. Possibly some of those will be showing some of the other assistants.
I'm really not that familiar with most of them. I don't usually attend any meetings myself, just make sure England gets to them and wait outside double-checking all of the appointments. I have worked a bit with Jules, mostly because nothing positive tends to be done in meetings between England and France without anyone to keep an eye on them. If it's not an issue involving other nations, we're the chaperones. I hear the same happens for Japan's and Russia's assistants—I don't remember their names at the moment—and probably some others.
Maybe we should all have a get-together sometime, if we ever have the time. I don't know them well enough to say they all do the same things as me, but we must have a lot in common.
I can't quite make out the faces coming onto the screens from this camera angle, and when the meeting is called to order, we don't start with any personal introductions.
"We will tackle each known issue in the order they appear on the agenda," Germany says. I note the paper laid on the table in front of my screen but can't make out anything but "16 July 2012".
"No questions or comments pertaining to an issue other than the one at hand will be tolerated. We will begin with the process of finding the island. America?"
"Okay," starts America, getting to his feet, "so I've taken copters all over the place where the island's supposed to be. I hung around for a couple of nights, too, to check out the stars, and, adjusting for the days that have passed since I last saw them from the island, I was totally right where the island was supposed to be. There's nothing but water, though. I stuck a hand in the ocean and everything, too, so it's not just cloaking or something."
He puts his hands on the table and leans onto them. "So, given all the evidence, it's obvious the island isn't actually there. Which means the aliens must have had us in some underground chamber with artificial stars."
Germany looks at him sideways.
"Okay, okay, so it doesn't really have to be underground," America concedes. "That just made the most sense to me. So anyway, the fake coordinates were probably their attempt to lure us into a trap, but the aliens know not to mess with me, so I was able to spoil their villainous plans!"
"Really, aru? Why is it always aliens with you?"
America turns on China. "What else is it supposed to be? Some freaky illusion chamber, or..." He thinks for a minute, then his eyes go wide.
Slamming on the table several times, he says, "No! This is exactly like the ending of LOST! So we're all actually dead right now—"
"Shut up!" China covers his ears. "I haven't finished that series yet!"
America raises his eyebrows. "Dude, what have you been doing the past two years?"
"Making my economy better than yours."
"Burn!" Korea chimes.
America, mouth open, points an accusatory finger at China.
"Are there any relevant comments?" Germany interjects. "Alternate theories, perhaps?"
He looks round the table, and I shake my head when his gaze comes to me. No one else seems to have any ideas at the ready.
"All right." Germany adjusts the papers in front of him. "Everyone, feel free to contact America with any other ideas pertaining to the search as you come upon them. Next, status of nations still on the island. Lithuania?"
Dipping his head, Lithuania rises to his feet as America, still having a stare-off with China, slumps into his chair.
"There haven't been any notable changes since the last meeting," the Baltic says. "Threads and scraps have continued to appear at the seats of Poland, Spain, Romano, and Italy."
At the last name, Germany seems to relax the slightest bit, though he still glances over at China. The Asian doesn't meet his gaze.
"No one has left any more notes for us," Lithuania continues. "Estonia's suitcase still hasn't come up, though, so it's either in someone else's hands, or..." He looks down at the table. "...he could be keeping an eye on it, but since he hasn't been moving much, that's a bit dubious."
Clearing his throat, he continues, "There haven't been any more clues on Canada's seat, so I don't have any more explanation for the jawbone. Nothing else has come up at Liechtenstein's or England's, either. I've called each of them a few times in case they escaped, but there have been no answers from them. Canada's land line has somehow been disconnected recently, but he hasn't picked up his cell phone—"
He's cut off by a screech as France shoves his chair back from the table, pulls his jacket on, and hurries out the door. The brunette watches after him nervously for a moment before continuing.
"A few of the scraps have had some blood, but nothing significant—probably just scratches from the brush." He dips his head again, grasping the arm rests of his chair. "That's all I have to report."
Germany nods. "Any comments or questions concerning that?"
America raises his hand. "Are you sure about all of that?"
"Um... yes," Lithuania replies, sitting down.
" 'Kay. Just making sure." America lowers his hand and, leaning back, gestures back to Germany to continue the meeting.
Interlacing his fingers, Germany makes a last call for questions and says, "Then next is Japan. Any updates on the bombings?"
Japan rises, giving his spiel. It's not much more than the article I found earlier.
"I," Germany adds once the Asian has finished, "have contacted most of the other affected nations since this morning. No one seems to be in any worse condition than us, and they've all been at home. I haven't yet called all of them, but it's probably safe to assume they haven't ended up on an island of their own."
Japan nods in acknowledgement, and Germany asks for any more comments on that.
"That seems to be the extent of the material covered in this meeting," Germany finally says. "Are there any questions of a general nature?"
"Yeah," America says. "Can we go have a LOST marathon at my place?"
Germany sighs. "Not that general."
"What general, then?" America leans his chair back onto two legs. "Patton?"
"This meeting is over," Germany deadpans, picking up his papers and getting out of his chair.
Some of the other nations get up to leave, while others gather in clumps to converse. I watch until something leads Switzerland to chase Korea round the room at gunpoint before I log off.
Things aren't looking too well on England's front, then. But the others are still working at it, so I'll just stay in the loop and contribute what I can. At this point, that's not much more than making sure he won't have too many vast mounds of paperwork when he gets back, but helping is helping.
With an exhale, I grab a pen and get back to work.