what was going on inside. The ancient trees on the estate helped to hide activities from satellites overhead, as well as the occasional commercial or military aircraft.
Constantine walked to his office past the glass cases protecting the emblems of the Ninth Legion. Reports were coming in from all over Europe. He had guessed correctly. The current initiative had almost unlimited financial potential for long-term business. Il Nona would supply both sides of the conflict with arms and training, and then for years to come they’d watch the orders pour in for replacement arms and training. Il Nona would provide no soldiers in this conflict; this initiative was about goading people into a war, not helping one side win a war.
The Islamic communities springing up near every major city in Europe were becoming a source of concern among the local populations. The Muslim communities demanded to be governed by Sharia, or Islamic Law, rather than the local and national laws of Europe. This was creating “countries within countries” and causing violence on both sides of the issue. The Muslims, understandably, wanted to protect their culture and their property. The local populations were concerned that the Muslim communities were positioning themselves for a jihad across Europe to turn Europe into a Muslim state.
Constantine didn’t really care about the reasons why the Muslim communities had begun springing up everywhere. He saw it as an opportunity. It didn’t matter if the Muslims were jihadists in disguise or simply refugees from their own war-torn countries looking for a better life. Their presence made their non-Muslim neighbors nervous, and that was good for business.
Il Nona would supply arms and training to the Muslims across Europe so they could defend their culture and property more effectively. And once the local population saw that their Muslim neighbors were well armed and trained, Il Nona would provide arms and training to the non-Muslims so they could more effectively defend their culture and property against the feared jihad. All Il Nona had to do was create a situation where the first shot was fired, which would help validate the fears on both sides and ignite Europe like a powder keg. Muslims and non-Muslims would fight and kill each other out of panic and rage, creating the ongoing demand for more arms and more training. Even if one side eventually won in one community, the conflict could potentially continue across Europe for generations. Both sides would turn to Il Nona for help, and Il Nona would be there.
It was a simple and beautiful plan to Constantine. He felt no guilt about the potential loss of life. This was business. Il Nona had ignited conflicts before in order to secure long-term revenue, and this was just another opportunity to do so. A few people would die, but Il Nona would make money and create a completely new demand for its products and services. What could be better?
Constantine sat down at his desk and checked his calendar for the day. A soft knock at the door made him look up, and he smiled as he saw his second-in-command, the Prefect Tina Juliana who happened to be a descendent of Titus Aurelius. She was a striking woman, whose beauty and sensuality masked a true warrior who was trained to kill and had no issues with putting her training to use. She also had a natural ability for sales, and she handled most of the arms deals for Il Nona. He motioned for her to enter, and she sat down in front of him, crossing her legs seductively before leaning forward and looking Constantine directly in his eyes.
“How’s business?” he asked. He always started business conversations with Juliana that way, and he tried to hide his smile at her attempts to distract him. However, when they were alone together outside the office, his conversations with her were of a very different nature.
“We had an interesting development in France last night,” Juliana replied. “A shipment of arms was being delivered to a client outside of Paris when it was discovered that someone was watching. It turns out there was a whole team of people watching. The local Centuria captured them and took them to a safe house, but so far they’re not talking.”
“How many people were caught?” Constantine asked, frowning slightly at this news.
“Twelve altogether. The Centuria might have missed one, but they aren’t sure.”
“And captives have said nothing?”
“Not yet.”
“And the usual methods are being used?”
“Yes, but all they got was gibberish from one woman just before she passed out.”
“What did she say?”
“She said: ‘the knights of the saltire.’”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing. Not from any of them.”
“Any idea what it means?”
“None, but the Centurion’s still looking into it. They’re clearly not connected with any government agency, but what they were doing there and who they work for is still unknown. The interrogations will continue, and I’ll let you know what we find out,” she said. As she stood to leave the office, she slowly ran her hands down her waist and hips to smooth the wrinkles from her dress, smiling suggestively at Constantine.
“Very well. Thanks for the update,” he said, pretending not to notice her attempts at seduction, “and keep me posted on any new developments. We have a sizeable investment tied up in this initiative, and we can’t afford to have anything go wrong at this point.”
“Understood, sir.”
He watched her leave his office, admiring the view as she walked away. He could still detect her scent on him from the night before, and he allowed himself a grin as he thought about how skillful she was at other arts besides just warfare.
He thought back to the words uttered by the prisoner before passing out. Knights of the Saltire. Must have been delirious. He shook his head and picked up a report on his desk and started reading.
6
Three weeks before Constantine and Juliana’s conversation about the prisoners captured in France, a news report was being shown in a kitchen on the other side of the Atlantic.
“Tensions are mounting in Finland this morning after the stoning of a woman in one of the Muslim communities yesterday,” the reporter said on the news telecast. “Local residents are calling for the perpetrators to be arrested for murder, but the leaders of the Muslim community are claiming that the stoning was acceptable under Sharia, or Islamic Law. This is just the latest incident involving an act that’s illegal under civil law but allowed under Islamic law. Demonstrations broke out all over Finland in opposition to the government’s apparent acceptance of Sharia in place of the civil laws governing the rest of the population. Signs reading ‘One Law For All or No Law At All’ were seen at several of the demonstrations. Jewish leaders were quick to condemn the Finnish government’s unwillingness to arrest the perpetrators, calling for…”
“Can you turn that off, Honey?” Emily McCafferty Anderson asked as she entered the kitchen where her husband was fixing breakfast for the family. She wore her robe open and unbelted, showing her pajama top and shorts, and her slippers made a swishing sound as she walked over to her husband. “I hate starting the day listening to news like that.”
“No problem, Gorgeous,” Tom said, hitting the power button on the remote control. The wall-mounted TV in the kitchen went dark as Thomas Campbell Anderson leaned over to give his wife a kiss and hand her the mug of tea that he had just poured for her. “Where’s Jamie?”
Jamie Michelle Anderson, named for her grandfathers James Anderson and Michael McCafferty, was Tom and Emily’s baby daughter. She was two-and-a-half years old, and she was already a handful. She had her mother’s striking features, including flashing green eyes and red hair, and she had her father’s boundless energy. She was always moving, and now that she could walk and climb stairs, her parents spent way too much time trying to find her or chase after her as she explored her world. Still, she was precious, and her parents loved her with all their hearts.
“She’s on her way,” Emily replied with a happy expression as Tom started