It's been a while since I posted a chapter. I thought I had posted everything I wrote, but today I found I had Chapter 8 sitting there on a document. I thought I could add more to it, and I wasn't sure about the place it ended, but since it's been so long since I posted a chapter, I thought I'd put this one up. It might be a while before I write some more, but if I get reviews that say they want more, I may post earlier. :) Although my other story set in the 'present' is a priority, since the new season is coming soon and, if the new episodes go a radically different direction, I don't know if they will spoil my vision for that story.
"What are you talking about, boy?" said Cartier. "This is the king. I should not even have it, but no one cares what I think anymore."
"Sorry," said Jason, feeling a little sheepish. "I –thought it was my father for a moment. The king looks like him."
"How much like him?"
"Almost exactly. It's very strange." Jason had forgotten about the coincidence when he'd seen the picture of the king in the NSA file, but now, again—it was like seeing a face in an old yearbook or newspaper of someone you knew, but couldn't possibly be born yet.
Cartier leaned forward, looking into Jason's eyes. "You look a little like the king yourself. You would probably be about his age…" He looked out the window; Jason got the feeling his mind was faraway, or long ago.
Then, he looked back at Jason. "What would you like to ask me? I was one of Von Warberg's confidants. The elder Von Warberg, that is."
"I'm not sure," said Jason. There were so many things he should ask, but he didn't yet know enough to ask them.
"I'll tell you one thing. Karl had a hand in his father's death, no doubt about it."
"How do you know?"
"I was with Erik at the end. All the signs of poison, but Karl had it covered up. He suspected me of knowing too much, so he threw me out of the government center. I ended up here, the graveyard of heroes." He laughed bitterly.
"You were a hero?"
"I fought with Erik against the king."
"I thought—"
"King Roderick ordered me to. He wanted someone on the inside, someone to help him in case….
"Turns out, he needed someone…but I was…too late." His voice broke; he looked away, tears hovering in his blue eyes.
"Let me tell you something, though." He leaned forward, grabbed the front of Jason's shirt. "I was too late to save him, to save his beautiful Karin—but—" his eyes darted to each of his visitors in turn. "Can I trust them?"
"Yes," said Jason. "I trust each of them."
"I have never told this—to anyone. But I gave—" his voice faltered again. "Erik ordered me to kill the child. The newborn boy. I saw to it the execution was carried out. Only—I replaced James with a baby that was already dead. Erik didn't know the difference."
"So you're saying—"
"I gave him to a woman to raise as her own. The woman whose baby had died."
He sat back, put the picture on the lampstand. Looked at it with wistful eyes. "He'd be in his thirties now."
"Where is he?"
"I made it a point not to know. But if Karl ever found out—well, he'd scour the country for him. Whether the boy knew his heritage or not. I don't even know if the boy survived…Please, keep this to yourself. In fact, it would be better if you forgot I said it. Forget that you even spoke to me." He got up, leaning on his cane.
"But sir," said Jason, "could I ask—"
"Boy, don't you know when you've outstayed your welcome? Go!" He waved at them with his cane.
"We will leave," said Dana.
They got up. Jason reluctantly followed suit. But before he could step out the door, Cartier grabbed him by the arm, pulled him down to his level. "You look like how I imagine he would look by now." Tears flooded the old man's eyes, and he turned away. The door slammed shut, reverberating throughout the building.
Downstairs, they stepped out into dusk, the first stars appearing in a deep violet sky. "What did you mean?" said Tasha. "Does he really look like your father?"
Jason nodded. "He looks almost exactly like him. When he was younger, of course."
"Strange."
"Very."
Jason rode next to Elena in the back seat. She looked at him, large eyes luminous in the darkness, her blond hair falling about her shoulders. "There was a rumor once, a legend," she said softly. "That the day of the king's coronation, there was an impostor in his place."
"You mean the king wasn't really the king?"
"It was just for the day. Then the real king reappeared. He had been…indisposed."
"You don't think…no, that would be impossible."
"Well, it's just a legend. Something my father told me once." She reached up, gently touched his hair. "You do look like him a little. Something in your eyes…Perhaps you are related to royalty." As her hand came down, it brushed his cheek. He turned away, looked out the front window.
"My communist self wouldn't like that," said Jason. "If I were related to royalty I mean."
"But your real self does?"
He nodded.
"I am glad that I know you as you really are. I am glad that you are not a communist, and that we can talk freely together." She smiled. A thrill shot through him. This feeling had built throughout the day, until he was unable to deny it. It was similar to how he'd felt when he'd first met Gloria. There was this…connection between them. And now that he knew they were on the same side, it had intensified.
I took this job so I could make a difference, he thought. We are part of a larger operation, but I just wish there was more that I could do. We haven't even done anything concrete yet.
If it wasn't abandoning my post, I'd go join the rebels and help bring freedom to this country. That would be really making a difference, not all this fiddling around because of protocol, bureaucracy, paperwork. If I could I'd just cut through all that and DO something!
If the chance comes, and there's something I can do without endangering the mission, I'm going to take it.
Elena was looking out the window, her profile sheened with moonlight.
"We're being followed," said Dana.
Jason looked behind him. Sure enough, there was a car without headlights driving through the shadows.
"Can you lose them?"
"Can I lose them!" said Dana, looking back at him with a smile. They swerved through deserted streets until they got to the main street, and then Dana wove in and out of cars so fast that Jason gripped the side of the door to hold on.
"Are you sure you should—" said Tasha.
"You want me to lose them, don't you?" She zoomed in and out of traffic; several times horns honked at them. Finally they stopped at Hotel Zentral.
"Thank you," said Jason.
"No problem," said Dana. She motioned Elena to come and sit in the front seat, and then sped off into the darkness.
"Well, that was fun," said Jason.
Tasha raised an eyebrow at him. "It was…interesting. I'm not sure how much it had to do with the mission."
They went upstairs, took turns in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Jason sat down on the chair, dressed for bed. "I'll sleep in the chair again," said Jason.
"No, I'll have none of that," said Tasha, in her loose pajamas, dark hair pulled out of its twist and tumbling over her shoulders. Her porcelain skin contrasted against the darkness of her hair, and the low light highlighted her beauty. But of course she was untouchable. One, they would never get along. Two, they were co-workers, and that rarely worked out. Three, he wasn't sure if he was ready for a relationship, after Gloria. Four—was there a four? Well, he wasn't sure if she was a Christian. Somehow, he doubted it. Though that was not necessarily a permanent barrier…
And of course there was Elena…
Was there? Was he suddenly counting her…now that he knew she was anti-communist—It wasn't likely that he would be able to have a relationship with her, either, considering he was an American, and an agent. Unless he was prepared to give all that up. He'd never ask someone to give up something he wasn't prepared to.
Besides, all that was speculation. The mission was the most important thing.
Tasha stepped over to him. "Get up, please. I'm kicking you out."
He reluctantly rose and lay back in bed; he had to admit, it did feel nice to feel a soft mattress beneath his back rather than that chair, whose springs stuck out at different angles and poked you all night. He didn't envy Tasha's position.
Only three more days, though, he thought, and turned over, sinking his head into the pillow. "Good night," he said.
Tasha replied, "Good night."
He found himself thinking about home, not his place in DC, but about his father….and mother, who had died several years ago, Jana, and Jerry….back when they had been a whole family, before Jerry had been taken away. A time that he could never recapture again, except in dreams.
He dreamed about royalty. A king that looked vaguely like his father was sitting on a throne, a dark judgment seat on high, scepter held out in anger. Lightning flashed from its tip, throwing Jason to the ground.
He gasped awake.
Thunder boomed.
It was dark outside, but Tasha was already up; she came out of the bathroom, dressed for the day. Jason looked at the clock. It was 6:30; might as well get up. They had a big day ahead of them: setting up the transmitter.
Rain slashed against the windowpanes. Jason got dressed, and they headed out, into the storm.