Different, This Time
Raphael Mirabaud
“The backbone of surprise is fusing speed
with secrecy.”
~~Carl von Clausewitz
It was different, this time, Raphael thought as the car bounced down the road.
Other vehicles transported more Rogue Security andWelfenlegionpersonnel, all heading from France to Monaco. More rode the train.
Usually, before the start of an operation,excitement zinged along Raphael’s nerves, keying him up so that he could hardly sit and wait to start.
Chaos called him. Violence drew him closer.
This time, for the operation to free Flicka from the Prince’s Palace, grim determination crowded out anticipation. The job was to walk in with guns and walk out with Flicka, safe in his arms. Anything that happened inside wasn’t important. Only theoutcome mattered.
Only Flicka mattered to him.
In the front seat, Julien Bodilsen watched out the passenger-side window as Luca Wyss drove them through Monaco.
Raphael asked, “Julien, when we were in ARD-10, did I ever seem like a psychopath to you?”
“What, you’re not asking me?” Luca asked and turned the steering wheel, whipping the car around a tight corner.
“I know what you’ll say, asshole,”Raphael said. Luca would have heartily agreed with him just to make a joke. Julien would give him a straight answer, or at least a more carefully considered one.
Luca laughed and piloted the car through the heavy traffic.
Julien sucked in a derisive snort and looked out the passenger-side window. His dark hair curled over his suit jacket collar. “We’re all at least a little bit psycho, Dieter.We enlisted in the army to shoot big guns, destroy property, and kill people. We were selected for ARD-10 because we were the best at it. We went all over the world with the special forces unit, breaking things and murdering people. We’re all hired murderers, except that we signed up to kill for our government rather than being highly paid assassins or serial killers who just do it for sport. Soyeah, no one should trust any of us, ever.”
“No, I mean—” Raphael thought for a minute, “did it ever seem like I liked it too much?”
“I’m telling you, we all did, and we all still do.” Julien wrenched himself around in the car seat to stare at Raphael in the back. The light in his dark eyes and the hard set of his mouth seemed almost angry. “What’s up with you, Dieter? You sound like you wantto say something.”
“I’ve just been thinking about those days in ARD-10, lately.”
“Well, you shouldn’t,” Julien said, turning back around and continuing to survey people walking on the crowded sidewalks as the car inched through the traffic. “Those days of killing for our country are over, and we’re mercenaries now. Rogue Security is paid to do the dirty work that other people are too lightweightto do. We’ve gone rogue. That’s how you came up with the name, right? We’re all rogues now, mercenaries like the Swiss men of centuries ago, cannon fodder to be bought by the richest nobleman.”
“Speak for yourself,” Luca told Julien. “I’m still in the Swiss reserves. If my country calls, I’ll answer and defend every inch of snow and rocks with my blood and bones.”
Raphael said, “We still haveour honor. We’re still Swiss citizens, and we were forged in the ice of the Alps.” That sentence had fallen from his lips like habit, but it felt hollow.
Julien shrugged. “I never took the mountaineering course.”
Luca said to Raphael, “We’ve arrived. Wait until I open your door.”
An overhead streetlamp shone through the car’s window, illuminating the back seat.
Raphael waited for Luca to playchauffeur and stared at his marred knuckles where his hands rested on the black fabric of his costume, his bones and skin thickened from so many fights. Not only had the wounds left scars on his body—the gunshots, the knife attacks, the scrapes, and blows—but even his attacks had scarred him.
Beside him, the car door opened.
Raphael emerged from the car and stood, smoothing down the long, blackcassock he wore that fell to the toes of his polished, black shoes. Scarlet piping stitched down the front of the black robe, and he had tied a wide, red sash around his narrow waist. He wore no honors, no military ribbons, no diamonds or jewels, unlike the glittering crowd of people stepping out of cars and walking into the Prince’s Palace around him.
Luca said, “Monsignor.”
