Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Deadly Beautiful ❯ Revelations ( Chapter 23 )

Disclaimer: (sings) I-I-I-I-I'm hooked on a feeling; I'm high on believing that I own Gundam Wing.... but I don't.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 23

By danse

Quatre smothered a yawn with his hand as he perched on the edge of a desk in the strategy den the Maganacs liked to call the War Room. He'd been up for twenty hours straight, running on Turkish coffee and sesame crackers with Rashid, Abdul, and Iria as they waited for one of their number to come home from a mission.

Finally, the man they'd sent, Mohammed bin Abdullah, pushed aside the red curtain in the doorway and collapsed in the chair that was waiting for him. His left arm was bandaged and his right hand clutched a stack of papers and a computer disk.

Quatre leapt off of the desk and practically jumped on the man, crouching in front of him urgently as he greeted him. "You were compromised?" he asked in Arabic, gesturing at the bandage. The man had been working undercover in France to get intelligence on this OZ organization that Quatre had heard of from Trowa.

Mohammed gave a soft grunt of assent, and his eyes squinted with pain. "I was three scant hours from escape, and someone confronted me. He was a guard, and he said that he knew I wasn't who I said I was, that I was a spy. Three men jumped me and dragged me into a little interrogation room, practically a closet with a table. They tried to get me to confess, and cut my arm a few times. By Allah, it hurt. I was bleeding everywhere; I think they nicked a vein. I thought I was going to either pass out or confess when one of their radios went off, saying that there was a security breach in another area of the building.

"They cursed at me and called me many evil things that don't bear repeating, and then locked me in the closet and ran down the hall. I tore cloth from my shirt and used it to bandage my arm, and then I stood on the table and climbed into an air duct in the ceiling. I got back to an empty hallway, found my stash of papers, and got out as fast as I could. I was delayed nearly fifteen hours in my return by getting my arm fixed up properly at a hospital, and then finding transportation out of the country. The OZ officers were looking through the airports for me, so I stowed away on a ship across the sea." Mohammed handed Quatre the papers and disk. "I hope these are sufficient, Master Quatre," he said.

Quatre was more worried about the man than the information at this point. "I'm sure it's excellent intelligence, Mohammed. Go get some food and rest. You must be exhausted."

"Thank you, sir." The spy left the room, the curtain rustling softly behind him.

Quatre flipped through the stack of papers, passing reports around the table for perusal as Rashid opened their laptop to run the disk. As each of the strategists read their respective papers, they stopped to read parts of interest to the group. Mohammed's work was sufficient, indeed. Quatre's mind reeled.

The OZ organization had apparently materialized out of nowhere three years ago, led by Antonio Catalonia, a former general of the Italian military. With the help of some high-placed friends in foreign politics and multinational corporations, he'd built up a small circle of powerful military figures and businessmen with an unknown agenda, all hidden from the world news.

Within the last year, the mysterious OZ had begun talks with the Romefeller Corporation, a company dealing in oil and gas reserves as well as several other natural resources. They'd previously worked with three different independent space programs and an airline manufacturer, building tanks, armoured trucks, and other tools of war in the slow seasons.

"What is this OZ group planning, that they would be negotiating with people who build large machinery?" Iria asked, flipping through the hieroglyphic fiscal report she was holding.

Rashid's voice was grim. "This," he answered, turning the laptop around for the others to see the screen.

The disk was copied from confidential files, a feat to reward Mohammed for. As Rashid scrolled down the screen, they saw photos, blueprints, and classified reports all headed with the same title: Operation Zodiac.

"What is this?" Quatre murmured, pulling the computer closer in a daze. He read bits of the reports, looked at the pictures. They all looked like they were related to military operations. Near the bottom of the file, he saw a table containing a long list of strange codenames, obscure worldwide locations, and lists of people of military rank. "Leo Ground Unit, Aries, Taurus Special Task Force...what does it mean?" He scanned the long chart and found one line that differed greatly from the rest: 'Taurus Special Task Force; Lt.-Com. Harrison, Lt. Karenov, Lt. Noin; 19.7 E 29.3 S; DESTROYED. DISCIPLINARY ACTION UNADVISED.' "Look," he said, pointing at the entry. "One of them's been destroyed. Whatever they are."

Rashid squinted at the monitor. "These have to be the co-ordinates of their locations. They're probably bases--military compounds, from the look of it."

"But what do they want to do?" Abdul countered. "This isn't UN activity, and it's not an individual country, either. Is there going to be some kind of global revolution?"

Quatre leaned back in his chair. "They're being quiet enough about it. I think we might have been lucky to stumble upon this. I'll have to ask Mohammed how he did it. This is amazing."

"So you agree with Abdul?" Iria asked him. "There's going to be a global revolution? I can't imagine it."

"There's going to be something, that's certain. They can't be just practicing their organizational skills and teamwork." Quatre answered. "I think we should find out exactly what it is as soon as possible. I'm going to talk to H about it, and we can do some follow-up." He got up from his seat, closing the laptop. His companions followed suit, looking grave in the face of the unknown situation.

Rashid pulled him aside as they filed out of the room, whispering. "Are you sure that we should pursue this, Quatre? This might be too big for us to handle. We're not a large enough group to fight on a global scale."

Quatre regarded his friend calmly. "If this really is something big and bad, and I think we both have the same feeling that it is, how would you live with yourself if you let it happen, knowing that you might have done something to stop it? Win or lose, we have to try. This chance has fallen into our laps; I'm not going to pass it up."

Rashid stared at Quatre for a second, looking agitated. Finally, he nodded acquiescence. "You're right. Our goal as Maganacs is to make the world a better place, for all to live in. We should do what we can. You find out more about this, and I will guarantee that I'll do everything in my power to have the force of the Maganacs behind your actions. This is an act of providence from Allah himself; I'll do my part."

Quatre clapped his burly friend's shoulder. "I'm glad." With that, Rashid left the room ahead of him.

Quatre lingered in the doorway a minute with his hand on the curtain. What luck we have, he thought. We might be the only chance at the downfall of a violent world take-over. I have Trowa to thank. If I hadn't run into him, I wouldn't know about any of this. He moved to leave but paused again, struck still by another sudden thought. I wonder if Trowa knows about this. Should I tell him? We seem to be on the same side.... But how would I contact him? Trowa....

The curtain swayed for a moment after it fell back in the doorway, betraying his exit.

Relena stared out through her bedroom window, eyeing the cheerfully sunlit sky with distaste. It was as if nature was mocking her heart, by showing sun when she felt like a rainstorm. She heard her mother's voice behind her and sighed. They'd just come home from the funeral a few minutes ago. She crossed the room to her dresser and looked at her image in the mirror, morbidly noting how good they looked with her long, black dress. Her skin had a somewhat ghostly pallor, the same she'd had for days. Her mascara was streaked with tears.

"Relena," her mother said, appearing in her doorway, black dress discarded in favour of jeans and a fuzzy sweater. She hated funerals.

"You've changed already?" Relena asked, a little amazed. "That was fast."

The newly widowed Mrs. Darlian walked into the room, her bearing regal and her head held high as she made her way to the bed and sat down on it. Relena noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed, both from lack of sleep and excess tears. "Come sit down, honey. There's something I need to talk to you about."

Relena sat on the bed next to her mother, wondering what was going on. She seemed extremely distraught, and kept fidgeting with her hands in her lap. "What's the matter?"

Mrs. Darlian took a deep breath. "I know you've had a rough few days, and so have I. Edward's barely in the ground. There's something that I urgently need to talk to you about, though.

"He and I made each other, and one other person, a promise years ago, that if anything ever happened to either of us--something like this--the other would tell you a story, one about you."

"What are you talking about?" Relena demanded, feeling nervous. "A story about me? What do you mean, if something 'like this' happened?!"

"Calm down, sweetheart," her mother whispered, taking her hands. "I'm going to tell you this, but you must not spread it around. I thought you might realize it; Edward was assassinated."

"What? How do you know?"

"Perhaps you're a little young to understand. In a few minutes, it might make more sense. Now, I'm going to tell you the story, and I want you to listen without comment until I'm finished. Who knows if you'll ever hear it again, and I need to know that you've heard and understood it all."

Seeing that she had her daughter's full and silent attention, she began. "Fourteen years ago, there was a king. He ruled a small country with his wife by his side. They had two children. The people seemed to be happy. However, there was a small group of people who weren't. The king was a peace-loving man, and even though he possibly could have fought wars with other nations, and maybe won a little more land and honour for his people, he was content to simply govern and let the wars go on around them. The small group of unhappy people didn't agree with this, and eventually they took action.

"Thirteen years ago, the king found out about some revolutionary plots against him, and was advised to squash the threats before they killed him, but since he loved peace so much, he couldn't do that. Instead, he and his wife sent their two children into hiding, in different countries under assumed names. They were to lay low with their new families until things calmed down and they could come back.

"Six months after getting the children out, the king and queen were assassinated, and the country underwent a revolution. That lasted seven years, until a democratic government was set up. Unfortunately, because of the small size of the nation and the peoples' experience of being governed by one royal family for generations, that dissolved. Now one person rules in proxy until the royal family re-emerges, or someone else takes over." Mrs. Darlian studied Relena's face. The girl was mesmerized by the tale, but didn't look uncomfortable yet, so she decided to tell the rest.

"Relena, you are one of the children of the late king of Liechtenstein. You are a member of the royal house of Friedenskraft, known to most English people as Peacecraft. Edward and I are not your real parents. We are loyal servants of your family, and we took you into hiding here in the United States thirteen years ago. It's a closely guarded secret."

Relena stared. Her brain felt numb, as if she was going into shock. "I... what?"

"I knew this would be too much for you all at once," Mrs. Darlian fretted.

"Hold on...you're not my mother. Dad wasn't really my dad. I'm... a princess?" This was not real. It couldn't be.

"Yes," Mrs. Darlian said. "You're the crown princess of Liechtenstein."

"But... don't they speak German there? I don't speak German. I'd know if I did, wouldn't I?"

Mrs. Darlian smiled. "You didn't speak a word of English when we brought you over. You had to learn it all. We thought about keeping you speaking German, too, but we thought it might look too suspicious."

Relena nodded slowly. "I see." Then something dawned on her. "There were two children, you said."

Mrs. Darlian bit her lip. "We haven't heard about the other child for years. As far as anyone knows, he's dead. He was your older brother, first in line for the throne."

"If he was first in line, and he's dead... I'm the heir to the throne." Relena said the last part very slowly, tasting the words as they passed over her tongue for the first time. They felt strange and foreign, belonging to a far-off land with a forgotten language. "Shouldn't-- shouldn't I go back?" she asked.

"Well, I thought perhaps you'd finish your schooling first," Mrs. Darlian said. "There's no real hurry, you can't rule officially until you're eighteen anyways."

"They have school in Liechtenstein," Relena protested. "I should go back to my home country, learn my native language again.... I have a family name to uphold." Her mind was racing, latching onto something besides the grief and clinging for dear life.

"Relena! Calm down. You've nothing to uphold yet. They've waited this long, they can wait a few more years until you're ready physically and emotionally to lead." This was a bad idea, Mrs. Darlian thought.

"...You're right," Relena said, slumping a little as she deflated. "But, can't I go back? Just to visit? I want to see where I was born! I want something real to remember until I go back for good, not just pictures and imagination."

"All right, there's nothing wrong with that," Mrs. Darlian conceded. "This summer, we'll go--"

Relena shook her head. "Sooner."

"I--" Mrs. Darlian's protests died as half-formed breaths under the look in her adopted daughter's eyes. The fierce determination there wilted her weaker resolve. She's been through a lot, she deserves a high point, she thought with defeat. "Sooner," she complied. "I'll book flights. Going back home might make me feel better, too." She got up and left the room, ready to phone a travel agent.

Relena watched as her mother--No, not my mother, she thought--walked out the door, and realized that even though she wasn't actually a parent, she'd been married to Mr. Darlian before this grand adventure. She'd loved him as much as any wife loved her husband. I've been pushing her while she's grieving, Relena thought with remorse. But I have another home! And I'm going there! Her excitement and nervousness quelled her guilt and grief. Suddenly the sunshine didn't look quite so mocking.