Chapter 12
Jeremiah clenched his teeth in annoyance. It had been well over a week since Prince Clovis had assigned him to take out the terrorists and, quite frankly, he had had about enough. The unit he'd been assigned was great . . . at shooting and running and subduing targets. They were quite a bit less spectacular at thinking and coming up with a plan for catching the terrorists. He wasn't surprised in the slightest that they had failed.
But he wasn't like them. He had always prided himself on his ability to command and on the excellence he expected from his men. It shouldn't have been so difficult to track down a couple of arrogant Elevens. It should have been easy. He should have been done by now and back into the Pureblood's good graces. The longer this took, the worse it would look. But this Naoto Kouzuki had covered his tracks well.
Which was why he was currently dressed in disguise with a ratty old fedora pulled low over his face and the collar of his equally unkempt jacket pulled up high enough to hide his distinctly Britannian features in the Shinjuku ghetto. They had gotten as far as they were going to get by going through the Eleven registry and old birth certificate archives that were still relatively intact from before the war. Naoto Kouzuki didn't exist on paper. As far as the national administration was concerned, Naoto Kouzuki had never even been born. At least not the one they were looking for. They'd already checked out the twenty seven Naoto Kouzuki's found in the registries and archives and he'd determined after many hours of intense interrogation that none of them were terrorists. He'd put them out of their misery afterward just to make sure.
Years ago, he'd been tasked with taking down a man who had been selling weapons to the Elevens. That man had been just as equally invisible in the system. The only reason he'd actually caught the man had been because he'd stumbled across the man's very charming sister who, after a few glasses of wine, had shared everything she knew with him. He had been hoping for a repeat of the incident, but that seemed unlikely unless he felt like brushing up on his Japanese.
All around him the Elevens were chattering away in their fact-paced native tongue or – even worse – a butchered garble of Japanese and Britannian mangled together. It put him on edge. He hadn't been so surrounded by this language since the invasion. He had a sneaking suspicion that most of the people in the ghettos didn't even know how to speak Britannian, or at least not enough to do more than plead for their lives. And his Japanese had never been anything to brag about.
During the war, all Britannian soldiers had been taught a few important phrases in Japanese for dealing with the Elevens. This bare acquaintance with the Japanese language had consisted primarily of phrases such as 'Surrender!', 'Stop or I'll shoot.', 'Hands up.', and 'Further resistance is futile.' along with a pleasant collection of curses and derogatory slurs that they would be sure to understand.
However, he doubted using his paltry understanding of their base language on the locals would garner him any information as to the whereabouts of Naoto Kouzuki. In fact, Jeremiah was beginning to suspect that the name was an assumed identity. It would make a lot more sense that way. Or there was also the possibility that there was no Naoto Kouzuki and the email correspondence had been deliberately left as a red herring to draw attention away from the real culprit.
He wished he was also in charge of finding the leak. That seemed like a much better place to start. Once they had him, the leak could have been . . . persuaded into revealing the location and identity of his contacts. It made a lot more sense to start with the leak than with the terrorists. After all, it would be exponentially easier to find one traitor amongst the staff of Prince Clovis' research laboratory than it would be to find a man who may or may not exist amongst the millions of Elevens who lived in the ghettos.
But Clovis didn't want him involved with this operation any more than was needed. He wasn't sure if his prince was doubting his loyalty after the discovery of his connection to Prince Lelouch or if the Viceroy was just that paranoid about whatever it was he was working on. For his part, Jeremiah was hovering somewhere between being offended at not being trusted and being relieved that he wasn't being asked to become involved in something that could easily ruin him.
He paused outside of a small shop. It was probably the nicest store he'd seen inside the ghetto – managing to look just run down as opposed to a crumbling ruin that had been re-inhabited after the bombs had stopped falling. He looked in the window – which was mostly unbroken – and found that it was a herbal remedies shop.
Leave it to these heathens to prefer a couple of ancient dried grasses to the wonder of Britannian medical science. He also noticed that not a single sign or price tag was written in Britannian. Instead, they were covered with the indistinguishable scribbles that the Elevens thought counted as an alphabet. He was of half a mind to go in and teach the store owner a lesson for his impudence.
He hated Japanese. Not just the language, but the Elevens themselves. For the life of him he couldn't understand where their arrogant pride came from. Every lesson they'd been taught about the Japanese before the war had told them that the Elevens should have thrown themselves on their swords by now in shame over their defeat. Instead, they persisted. And they rebelled – whether through small rebellions like this store or through active terrorism.
What exactly were they so proud of anyway? Their own Prime Minister had killed himself to get out of fighting Britannia. Jeremiah wished the rest of the Elevens would follow suit and just get on with it already instead of dragging it out like this and wasting resources. They needed to face the facts, and the facts were that no country in the history of the world had fallen to terrorists and that Britannia would rather see the entire country flattened and dead than surrender it.
There was no way they could win.
Even the JLF – the last remnants of Old Japan's armed forces – were little more than a slightly better trained terrorist cell. It was embarrassing. And these terrorists he was tracking now wouldn't even have been worth his time if they hadn't been working against Prince Clovis' side project. If it weren't for that little fact, he would have left the dogs to a lesser ranked unit and gone back to his brand new Sutherland.
He was an elite Knightmare pilot, after all. And leader of the vastly powerful Pureblood faction. Aside from the Viceroy himself and General Bartley Asprius, there was no one in Area Eleven that wielded as much power and authority as he did. This task was beneath him, but even he had to show obeisance to the Imperial family now and then. And he had sworn an oath to serve Prince Clovis.
"Man, Kouzuki-chan's been really messed up since all that business with that cop."
The voice seemed preternaturally loud if only because it was the only thing withing hearing distance that was spoken in his native tongue. Behind him, three Eleven men passed by, shoulder to shoulder with heads bowed together in private conversation. Jeremiah watched them through the reflection of the herbal shop's window, all thought of starting trouble with the shop's owner fleeing his mind.
Kouzuki.
It was a long shot. Kouzuki wasn't that rare of a name, and the person being discussed was a woman if his foggy memories of Japanese honorifics didn't elude him. But still, it was the first thing that came even remotely close to a lead all day and he was going to follow it.
He waited a few seconds before turning away from the shop window and following the men, his fingers brushing reassuringly against the butt of his gun as he did so. It would take a lot more than a couple of filthy Elevens to take him down if there was trouble, but the weapon was an appreciated bolster to his confidence. He followed a few meters behind, ears straining to to catch on to the conversation.
"Naoto's been just as messed up." One of the men said knowingly. Jeremiah's eyes widened in shock as his steps faltered for a second. Had he really been this lucky? These men knew someone named Naoto who was connected to someone with the Kouzuki surname. What were the chances those two were related? "I thought he was going to have a heart attack when she got back to the apartment all covered in that guy's blood."
"Notice he didn't give a shit when it was us covered in blood." The third man grumbled. "Next time he asks me if I want to help him dismember and hide a body, I'm going to tell him fuck no. Gah, that was gross. It took me all night to get the blood off of me."
"Tamaki, this probably isn't the best place to be talking about that." The first speaker said firmly.
The third man – Tamaki – shrugged in response. "How many people in the ghettos actually speak this stupid language? It's why Naoto made sure we learned it – so we could discuss the resistance's plans in public without people knowing what we were saying."
"Will you shut the hell up!" The first man snarled, grabbing Tamaki by the front of his shirt. "Kouzuki-chan killed a fucking Britannian cop less than a week ago. You don't think they're going to be investigating that?"
A cop killer, huh? Well it would be easy enough for him to gain access to all the information on that case. With luck it would give him a lead to work on. If he could get to this 'Kouzuki-chan', it would be a tangible link to this Naoto character they were talking about. And he already knew they were members of the 'resistance', courtesy of the one called Tamaki's big mouth.
The second man groaned. "Both of you be quiet now." He ordered as he glanced over his shoulder to look for eavesdroppers. Jeremiah ducked his head at the last moment to hide his features and glanced down at his watch nonchalantly.
The Eleven either wasn't observant or didn't think Jeremiah looked like a threat. He wasn't in a uniform after all and both the hat and long coat he was wearing had been picked up from a thrift store on his way to the ghetto. The coat smelled . . . oddly, but was ratty enough to let him blend in with the rest of the residents of the ghettos, so he could ignore it.
A high-pitched childish shriek of laughter to his left destroyed any further chance at observation as a young Eleven girl came pelting out of a back alley with a middle-aged man in hot pursuit. In the girl's hands was a package of what looked like instant noodles.
Behind her, the man let out a long stream of Japanese. Jeremiah vaguely recognized the word for 'stop' amongst the midst of them. The girl looked over her shoulder to stick her tongue out at her pursuer and would have run straight into him, if he hadn't clamped a hand down painfully on her shoulder to bring her to a halt.
She glared furiously at him for a moment until she saw his face - her short stature making it easy to see beneath the lowered brim of his hat – and then started screaming. She let out a torrent of rapid-fire Japanese of which he didn't understand a word. Judging from the way everyone else on the street stopped in their tracks, however, he figured his cover was blown.
His eyes darted toward the three men he'd been following and sure enough both 'Tamaki' and the first speaker were drawing their weapons – old Japanese models, he noticed. He pushed the screaming girl in front of him as he drew his gun. She didn't make much of a human shield, but the terrorists were reluctant to fire on him with her in the way. Obviously they weren't confident of their marksmanship.
He had no qualms with firing however, and his first shot took down the Eleven in the center of the group. The first speaker, the one who had voiced his concern for 'Kouzuki-chan' - died almost instantly as the bullet penetrated his heart. The other two scattered a second later, the only one with sense in the group dragging Tamaki away through a half-collapsed ruin.
He grimaced and let go of the wailing girl he'd been holding. He'd been hoping that his presence in the ghettos would go unnoticed. He'd been hoping he'd be able to make multiple reconnaissance trips around these ruins, but that would be impossible now. The Elevens would be on alert after hearing of the death of one of their own in broad daylight.
He let the terrorists go, unwilling to chase after the two men into an ambush. He could well concede the point that the Elevens knew the terrain of the ghetto far better than he did. They lived in this squalid filth, after all. And besides, killing them now served no purpose. First he needed Naoto Kouzuki and these two men might just prove useful again.
Sighing, he pulled out his phone as he closed the distance between himself and the body. He'd be taking the corpse with him as a source of evidence. He called Villetta, who had been standing by in her Sutherland outside the ghetto – just in case things got too out of hand – and asked for an extraction. He then called the rest of the members of his team who he'd had spread out across the ghetto and ordered them to withdraw. News traveled quickly amongst these lowborn animals, it wouldn't be long before the ghetto was on full alert for a Britannian presence in the area.
Damned Elevens.
The day of the funeral was deceptively sunny and warm. It was a stark comparison to the moods of the people paying their last respects to Tony Caputo. At the front of the group huddled around the casket in one of Pendragon's many cemeteries, Mrs. Caputo (the wife) and Mrs. Caputo (the mother) were sobbing hysterically while holding each other up. The sound of their misery seemed to drown out everything else.
Lelouch watched from near the back with the majority of his household staff. Despite his respectfully calm facade, he was secretly agonizing over what his brother had said to him. Schneizel was, in all honesty, probably right. This wouldn't be the last person to die for him.
How many?
How many people would lay down their lives for him during the course of his existence? How many lives would be cut short in order to extend his? How much blood would be spilled for his sake? How many tears from wives and mothers and fathers would fall so that he could live on?
How many times would he have to watch scenes unfold like the one in front of him? How many funerals would he attend. And . . . when would he stop going?
Would there come a point where the number didn't even matter any more? Would he stop counting? Would he eventually become so desensitized to the grief he caused that going to one funeral or another to pay his last respects became something trivial that he could easily squeeze out of his schedule?
How could he? But he was terrified that that day might come. That one day he would be as merciless as Schneizel when it came to the sanctity of human life.
He glanced at Edith to his left. She was blatantly using him as a shield between herself and Schneizel (who had arrived twenty minutes late, but had still arrived.). She was afraid for her life and he didn't blame her. Would she be one of the faceless mass to lose their lives for him? What about the heavy-set driver, Samson standing on the other side of her? Or the remaining members of his security team? Were they all fated to die for his sake?
How was he supposed to bear that kind of responsibility?
"Edith," He said softly almost as soon as the service ended. "do you want to quit?"
"What do you mean?" She asked, startled.
"An assassin was sent to kill you because of me. I put your life in danger. I can understand if you don't want to work for me any more." He explained.
She snorted and shook her head, "You put your life in danger to save me, Lelouch. Besides, do you really think he'd let me live if he found out I wasn't working for you any more? I'll keep my job, thank you. That is, if you still want me to work for you?"
She did have a point about Schneizel going after her if he found out about her leaving him. But he didn't want her to feel like she was being forced into working for him. It seemed he couldn't win. "You'll have your job for as long as you want it."
She smiled a little before it turned into a frown as Schneizel approached him.
"Lelouch."
He inclined his head in greeting instead of responding.
"I apologize." Schneizel said after a long moment of awkward silence. "You've humbled me, Lelouch. I will never again interfere in your affairs in this type of matter without your consultation first."
Pretty words, Lelouch thought skeptically.
"It wasn't meant to teach you humility." Lelouch grumbled. "It was meant to help restore your humanity."
Schneizel arched an eyebrow at him. "Restore my humanity? Really, Lelouch, just how big of a monster do you think I am? I always temper my judgment with mercy."
Lelouch stared at his brother incredulously for a moment before gesturing mutely behind him to where Edith had slunk back into the crowd of the other house employees.
"I can admit that I made a mistake. I shouldn't have sent Pierre after your maid. I was worried about you, but I should have consulted you first. I had no idea you were able to trust her with secrets of that magnitude." Schneizel apologized calmly. "And I really am very sorry that you lost your guard as a result of my actions."
Lelouch considered his brother's words carefully while the only thoughts running through his head expounded on just how great of a politician Schneizel was. His brother knew exactly when to be hard and exactly when to appear to give way. Forged humility and forced sympathy were just part of the package.
He sighed. Schneizel had caused unrepairable harm to their relationship. How much doubt and suspicion could exist between them while they still called themselves allies? He didn't explicitly trust Schneizel. He never really had, but he had had enough trust in him not to stoop quite so low as to send out assassins on his own people. An assassin Schneizel was on a first name basis with.
How many contracts had his brother issued for that killer?
How many people was Schneizel responsible for having killed? How many times had he sent out his assassin and never been called on it?
"We have an issue, Schneizel." Lelouch said eventually, falling back on his painfully upfront approach. "I don't trust you."
Schneizel examined him for a moment thoughtfully before he smiled a little. "Well, I don't particularly trust you either, Lelouch." He said at last.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Lelouch sighed. "So what are we going to do about this?" Lelouch asked.
The two brothers said nothing for a long time as the crowd milling around the funeral slowly began to disperse. They were in a stalemate. At this point in time, there was no way they could continue their alliance and they both knew it. The lack of trust was a serious flaw in their business relationship. Lelouch knew he couldn't trust Schneizel whatever he said. Schneizel was likely just as suspicious.
That being said, neither of them were willing to simply abandon their partnership. For one, such a move would cause too many problems and both of their lives would likely be in danger from the other. For two, going their separate ways wouldn't see their goal accomplished any quicker.
"Well," Schneizel said eventually, "I don't think there's anything I can say right now to fix this. This issue will take time to resolve. In the meantime, I would suggest you take my declaration that I bear neither you or any one who works for you any ill will on faith and we proceed as planned."
So they were going to ignore the assassination attempt then? Take it on good faith that Schneizel wouldn't try to kill anyone he knew? That was asking a bit much. He knew for a fact that he himself was safe from Schneizel so long as they remained allies (and so long as Schneizel still needed him), but how was he supposed to keep his brother from hurting everyone else? Was he supposed to send Schneizel a complete list of all those who worked for him. And then what about others? What about Nina – who technically worked for him in a very very unofficial sort of way? And what about his friends . . .
He was worrying too much. Ignore it. Pretend it never happened. He could do that, he supposed. He wouldn't forget. He would never forget this transgression, but he could move on. Or appear to move on, couldn't he? Pendragon was built on the fake smile, after all. But Schneizel was at strike one and if he ever moved against Lelouch's people again, all bets were off. Forgiven – to the untrained eye, at least – but definitely not forgotten.
"Fine." He said eventually as he uncrossed his arms, giving his brother a curious look. "It surprised me that you actually came here today." It was a little gratifying to know that he could dictate the Prime Minister's schedule to some degree. That little ounce of power made him feel a little less like a pawn in their partnership. He had some authority.
"I wasn't aware it was optional." Schneizel answered simply.
Another strained silence fell between them and Lelouch sighed. Even with the agreement to let sleeping dogs lie and move on they were both still wary of the other. He decided to skip pleasantries and their former playful banter and moved on to the more pressing matters.
"So what's next then? What's the next step?" Lelouch asked, aware that the cemetery was empty now except for Kanon who was hovering a few feet away and a couple members of his staff from the Aeries Villa. The rest of the mourners had moved on to the wake.
"After your wedding, you mean?" Schneizel asked, latching onto the opportunity to talk about something less strained. "I've arranged for you to enlist on the first. Your basic training should last nine weeks before you'll probably be sent out on active duty. Most likely either to the E.U. border, Area Eleven or Area Eighteen. In the meantime, I'll continue to procure resources and support. Unfortunately, I think I've raised the suspicion of Bismark – the Knight of One – so I'll have to slow down my acquisitions for a while."
"You've arranged to have me enlisted on the first?" Lelouch asked disbelievingly. "The day after my wedding? I thought he was being sarcastic when he said that."
"Did you want more time?" Schneizel asked. "I could arrange that. I suppose you should have a honeymoon."
"No." Lelouch said suddenly. Spending time with Abigail after their wedding should be kept to an absolute minimum. Especially with ideas like honeymoons floating around. "The first is fine."
It would give him an excuse to duck out of the festivities early and it would also keep him out of his wife's clutches for a while. He could certainly live with that. The woman had only been in Pendragon for four days but already he was sick of her. She was . . . pushy. And arrogant. And it bothered him that all she had to do was smile and most people wouldn't notice her glaring personality flaws. He was definitely not disappointed that she'd be returning to the west coast that very day. And that he wouldn't have to see her again until the day of the wedding.
So really all he had to do was get through the ten or so hours that the wedding and reception would take before he could be free of her for a couple months. And then if he was shipped out, who knew how long he'd be away for. If he was forced to stay in Pendragon, he'd be taking Schneizel's advice and start looking for a pleasant country estate.
A home.
No, a house.
No, a residence. That was different.
She needed a place suitable for a lost princess of Britannia. Unfortunately, all of those kinds of places weren't wheel-chair accessible. She knew Lelouch and she knew Nunnally. They wouldn't thank her for sacrificing practicality for the sake of luxury. And really, their suite in the clubhouse wasn't all that luxurious to begin with.
Nina paused her rapid clicking through real estate listings on her computer, a small smirk forming on her lips as she read over the listing's details. It would be perfect with a bit of modification and it was well within her price range. Better yet, it would allow her to have her cake and eat it too.
Vacant Laboratory for Sale
Footage: 20,000 square feet
Storys: 2 + basement
Electricity: Solar power + auxiliary generators.
Heating: Geothermal
Features: Loading bay, elevator, fenced lot.
Former EcoLife biology research facility for sale. This facility boasts 20, 000 feet of open laboratory space with twenty foot overhead clearance plus a second story loft. The building is self-sustainable with over two hundred feet of solar paneling and geothermal heating throughout. It's the perfect facility for a small research team looking to make a low impact on the environment.
For more information or to view the property, call Jeanne at 885 742 9635
Nina reached for her phone as she eagerly clicked through the pictures the website provided of the property. It would take a little work to make certain parts of it inhabitable for a blind, wheel-chair ridden princess of the Empire, but otherwise it would be perfect.
By converting the basement into a residence, she'd be able to hide Nunnally far more effectively than a house ever could. And if anyone ever came poking around wanting to see her research facility, she could show the the main floor and loft, claiming she used the basement for storage or something. After all, it would be difficult to explain why she'd listed a house as a research facility if she was ever audited. And Nunnally probably wouldn't be bothered by the lack of natural scenery due to her blindness. Even at the clubhouse, she had rarely left the building.
She looked up the address and her smile got a little wider. It was located on the outskirts of an industrial park. There would be little to no traffic to worry about. She could install a gate to keep anyone unwanted out, just in case.
She paused – the number from the listing half-dialed into her phone - when she realized it was currently two in the morning. She doubted the real estate agent would be pleased with the wake up call. She'd have to call them in the morning.
AN:
Thanks so much for all of your super kind reviews. I've had a couple of you asking if the rating was going to change due to the need for Lelouch to consummate his marriage. The answer is no, it's not going to change. I don't write lemons. Sorry if that disappoints you.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I, for one, enjoyed writing Jeremiah.
Don't forget to leave me a nice birthday present in the form of a review. ^.~
Thanks for reading!
Allora
PS: Oh, and if any of you lovely readers happen to have actually gone through basic training, please send me a PM. I'd love to pick your brain a bit about the experience.
