Personal Protection. Julie Miller
Chapter Six
May 1—Lukinburg Day in St. Feodor, on the steps of the historic palace square
“In three months, St. Feodor will play host to a group of dignitaries from our sister city in the United States. We will introduce the Americans to the charm of our country and show them that they need us as much as we need them. They need our rugged mountains, our beautiful beaches, our vast supply of natural resources, the skills and grace of our people.”
Cameras flashed in the crowd, and the low white noise of television and radio commentators from across Europe and the United States, speaking a dozen different languages, buzzed in the background beneath static from the old broadcasting system. The world was waiting for tiny, mountainous Lukinburg in Eastern Europe to blossom after decades of oppression to take its rightful place on the world stage once more.
A black-haired woman in a cream-colored suit moved in behind the prince at the podium and tapped him on the shoulder. “Do not forget to mention the city’s name, Your Highness,” she reminded him.
“Thank you, Galina,” the prince whispered before turning back to the microphone. “Kansas City, Missouri, our sister city, will become Lukinburg’s partner in worldwide respect and future prosperity. We shall be great friends.”
The crowd erupted in applause. He adjusted his glasses at his temple and scanned the throng of onlookers through the bulletproof glass surrounding the podium. He looked past the placards here to support the new regime to the handful of scowling doubters with their own less supportive signs, waiting for the opportune moment to voice a protest.
A public gathering of this size in the capital on one of the country’s biggest holidays once would have been a prime target for dissidents. Change was hard for any citizen. Change was the enemy to those who’d once held positions of power, who were now either imprisoned or being asked to embrace what was good for the country over what was lucrative for themselves. But the prince had reached out to those dissidents, had listened to their complaints and fears, had formed alliances and reached compromises with many of them. Yet, some of the most die-hard rebels hadn’t given up the fight, and they would always see the new monarchy as their enemy.
Lukinburg’s army had some of the finest trained soldiers in the world, and the plainclothes security force that now surrounded the country’s leaders at every venue were on constant guard against any threat that would topple the fragile new government. He looked at his friends and former military comrades flanking him on the podium. They were doing this. They were making Lukinburg great again. Their hard work and dedication had given the country reason to celebrate today.
Ivan Mostek, the crown prince of Lukinburg, was nearing the end of his long fight to replace the corrupt government of this country. A hardworking regency government and brave voters had replaced the corrupt dictator and mafia-like power brokers who had made Lukinburg a haven for criminals and arms trafficking. Part of electing a new Parliament and reestablishing the democratic monarchy this picturesque country had enjoyed before World War II was locating a true heir to the Lukinburg throne. As a distant cousin of the last legitimate king’s late grandnephew, that dubious honor fell to Ivan. Plucked from graduate school where he’d been earning his MBA, he’d accepted the position. Patriotism and DNA had left him with no other choice but to say yes, and accept that within the next year, he would be crowned king.
With the discovery of gold and mica deep beneath the mountains east of Lake Feodor, Lukinburg now had raw materials that countries in the West and Far East were clamoring to build their electronics and develop new computer technologies. The prince had implemented environmentally safe mining practices to sustain the new resources. From his newfound position of power, he was jump-starting the country’s economy, feeding the poor, capitalizing on new industries and putting people to work—all while paying tribute to Lukinburg’s traditional culture and storied history.
Public appearances were necessary to assure the citizens of the solidity of the new government. And public appearances meant crowds of people and noisy fanfare and making speeches. After the cheers had died down, he continued, “Kansas City’s manufacturing, agricultural and business leaders will be in our beautiful country, in this fair city, in three weeks. A carefully chosen delegation of representatives from Lukinburg will negotiate trade agreements and cultural exchanges that will benefit both our countries.”
He spied movement in the shadows of the pointed Gothic archways in the cathedral across from the palace steps where he stood. He looked across the podium to his friend Konrad Pavluk. They exchanged a nod of awareness. Konrad had spotted the movement, too. The other man drifted across the dais to stand beside Galina. Anyone less observant would have missed the hidden squeeze of hands, the subtle whisper of a warning. She nodded and moved up behind the prince again to relay a message.
The military marksmen stationed in decorative ramparts atop the stone buildings surrounding the public square didn’t seem concerned by the hooded man in the long coat making his way through the crowd of bystanders. Maybe they didn’t see him. Or perhaps, as the prince had confided to his best friend only days earlier, someone within his inner circle was still working with the extremists. Did the uniformed guards’ lack of response mean they were unobservant? Traitors? Was he overly paranoid about the prince’s safety because an attempt had already been made on his life?
Although that sniper had been captured and taken into custody, the threats against Ivan’s life continued. It had been random gunfire that had wounded his driver and ignited the engine of the car they’d taken to an ore refinement facility being built outside the city. Were the extremists here today? Mingling with this crowd of innocent civilians? Would they strike again, regardless of the casualties a group this big might sustain? Was the man in the hooded coat one of them?
He glanced over to the security chief, Filip Milevski. Although the dark glasses he wore made the direction of his gaze unreadable, the stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair was on the radio pinned to his wrist, no doubt asking for a situation update from his men and hopefully sounding a potential alert to stop the man who was now circling the fountain in the middle of the square.
The prince’s voice was slightly less composed, tinged with a bit of anger, when he continued. “I promise to make Lukinburg great again. We will move past the shame of our former leaders. We will return to the democratic monarchy of our ancestors. I will work closely with the new prime minister and your votes will count. All your votes,” he added, perhaps emphasizing to the extremists in the audience that they were not excluded from the new government.
Another round of cheers from the crowd nearly drowned out a lone dissenter who booed him. “You’re selling us out, Ivan!”
Security Chief Milevski sidled closer to the prince. “Wrap it up, Your Highness.” He moved