Geographicide
Gareth Lewis
Copyright 2010 Gareth Lewis
The Mediterranean sun blanketed the forest of tables, lacing their parasol canopy. Only the waiter, off to the side, disturbed the courtyard's tranquillity. Tyler, the sole patron, ignored him, his attention on the gate to the quiet side street. He spared a glance at his watch. In another minute his guest would be uncharacteristically late.
A languid movement to his side turned him to again dismiss the waiter. He stopped short as Foile took the seat opposite. The white suit and shirt, glaring where they caught the sun, appeared as immaculate as his dark hair, but those flat eyes drew focus from an unremarkable face.
"Mister Tyler," said Foile, his tone silk dragged over gravel.
He'd almost forgotten the disquieting stillness of the man. Irritated by the wrinkles of his own clothes, a light grey suit, and the sweat not mirrored on that face, he strove to at least match the steel in those eyes. "Our employer's unhappy."
"The assignment for which your employer contracted me is complete."
"Not to their satisfaction."
"To their specifications, it is. They wished a country killed. It has been."
Tyler selected his words, careful not to run his hand over his freshly shaved head as it itched in the heat. "The contract was to eliminate the government."
"No." Foile turned, signalling the waiter. "While the government was declared a problem, the actual wording, if you recall, was that they wished the country killed. I'd hardly emerge from retirement for something as prosaic as killing a few politicians."
As the waiter disappeared from sight, Tyler's suspicious gaze returned to Foile. "The government is the country."
A faint, indecipherable, smile graced Foile's lips. "The government is not the country. A few may remain in power long enough to become inseparable from national identity, but most nations, Trensavia included, would hardly adopt a new name with each administration. Does national identity truly change that much between governments? No, at most a government is the brain, or maybe just the state of mind. Either way, directing the activities of the nation is its primary role."
"A brain-dead country would've been fine."
"Many live contented lives with little sign of brain activity," Foile sniffed. "But after a period of instability, another government would have emerged, and Trensavia would still exist as a country."
Tyler maintained an amicable tone, not wanting to irritate him. "A new government which we'd have ensured was amenable to our interests."
"Then your employer would seem to have erred in contracting me to kill the country."
The waiter arrived, laying a pair of cups before them. Tyler held his tongue until they were alone. "I've tried contacting you for the last year. They're also unhappy about your isolation."
Foile sipped his drink. "No time limit was placed on the contract, and I stated at our previous meeting there would be no contact until the job was completed. The research alone took five months. You could hardly expect such an undertaking to be the work of an afternoon."
Cautious that his irritation and the heat wouldn't inflame his temper, Tyler raised the cup to his lips, halting just short, his eyes flicking between Foile and the waiter. The assassin's eyes showed nothing beyond possible amusement. Poison wasn't his usual weapon of choice. And he had little to gain from eliminating the messenger. Refusing to back down, Tyler sipped the liquid. It seemed okay. "So you believe you've succeeded? Seems to me Trensavia's still there."
"It's dead. But with its brain isolated it has yet to realize the fact."
"You think discrediting the politicians was enough to neutralize the brain?"
"Compromising secrets leaked to the media, stretched over the course of the assassination to maintain the wound, while somewhat sadistic, served to erode public confidence. And strategic revelations alienated them from the military, so that when the situation descended into civil war, they could exercise little control over the situation. The politicians were the easiest to neutralize, and only a few revelations required fabrication."
Since Foile seemed eager to orate, it could make getting the information their employer wanted easier. He'd just need to guide the conversation and not irritate the killer. "The unrest was down to you?"
Foile offered a faint shrug. "Existing ethnic and sectarian tensions were easily exacerbated, especially once the economy collapsed and enough politicians from all sides were discredited. By the time civil authority disintegrated, a few strategic deaths proved enough to ignite hostilities."
"What's this, the world's greatest assassin actually deigned to kill someone." Regretting the words as soon as they'd escaped, Tyler tensed, feeling suddenly naked without a weapon.
Foile's stare grew cold, and he maintained it for a long moment. But the chill did evaporate, fleetingly replaced by a sliver of distaste.
Steeling himself, Tyler found his hand drifting near the cup before he caught it. He hadn't felt any effect from the previous sip. Foile was probably playing with him. But gambling on that gained him nothing, so he withdrew his hand. "You caused the economic breakdown?"
"Of course," said Foile, between sips.
"That was inconvenient to my client."
"I imagine it would be. Nevertheless, it was necessary. Beyond all the posturing, commerce is the true language and goal of international diplomacy in the modern world. It is the lifeblood of the political country, that which truly supports the authority of government. Without money to build and maintain the infrastructure, allowing the populace to go about their normal lives, all the government has to support them is the moral authority as those chosen to rule."
"Which you neutralized by discrediting them."
Foile nodded. "And since the army eroded as it became obvious their back pay would never manifest, while the government proved unable to manage the civil unrest threatening their families, they ended up with too small a force to do more than secure their own protection."
Tyler held his gaze a long moment. "You actually managed to kill their economy?"
"With disturbing ease, in conjunction with the other factors in play. Some disease spread amongst various crops early on, and leaks to the international press before it could be officially announced, dealt a blow to their agricultural exports. Rumours of faults in their leading manufacturers' engineering contracts had those put on hold, taking out their second major export. The increasing domestic troubles drove away tourism. All leading to concerns for the economy, and job losses, temporary or otherwise, which affected domestic spending, slowing imports until the country became isolated from other economies. So the transnationals, and those companies unconstrained by uneconomic patriotism, departed, exacerbating the spiralling cycle of inflation and fear."
"But it's not dead yet," said Tyler, heat and irritation getting the better of him. "No matter what you've done, there's still a country there. It may be in anarchy, but it's still whole. My client believes it can be salvaged, which is why I'm here. You're to leave this job, leave Trensavia, and don't interfere."
Those flat eyes bore into him, a hint of amusement playing around them. "You should pay attention. I said it was already too late."
"Apparently there's disagreement on that point."
"They're mistaken." Taking another sip, Foile's eyes didn't flicker. "I'm sure the majority of inhabitants still consider themselves residents of Trensavia, but the factions vying for power have different pictures in mind when they imagine their country. And their powers are too well balanced for a quick, decisive victory for any one faction. Besides which, their neighbours will hardly sit idly by with this powder keg on their doorstep. Many border communities see more in common wi
th these neighbouring countries than with countrymen on the opposite side of their own nation. Karinon has always coveted Trensavia's resources, and their current administration have been fairly aggressive, so their surprising openness to refugees is likely preparation for annexing the willing towns along their border. Arigine, while more restrained, is concerned by Karinon's belligerence. It's merely a matter of time until they, and the internal factions, begin carving Trensavia up."
His eyes finally releasing Tyler, Foile's gaze swept the surroundings. "What is a country, anyway? A collection of communities, forced together by might or mutual self-interest, and held together by tradition. Another prism of 'us and them' through which to view the world." Pushing aside the drained cup, his eyes returned to Tyler. "In the global society developing around us, we could have more contact with someone on the far side of the globe than with our own neighbours. Where then is our sense of geographic community? Or patriotism? Country is a fading concept, an anachronism even. Was it ever really more than an abstract, interpreted by those in charge for their own ends?" He leant back with disturbing casualness, his jacket catching more sun. "So no, I have no further need to involve myself with Trensavia."
Tyler met his gaze for a long few moments. "Good." He had no reason to doubt Foile's word. Unfortunately his client's instructions had been specific, so he had little choice in the matter. With an inward sigh, tightly controlling the tension, he leant back in his chair, straightening his sleeves. He held Foile's gaze, longer than he should have, and his tension grew as they remained fixed there.
"I must apologize for the indisposition of your snipers," said Foile, with only mild interest and a hint of smugness.
A bluff? Probably not, since they hadn't fired at the signal. Not that he'd expected things to be that easy.
"The five of them are quite unable to do much at the moment. Timed release capsules hidden near the optimum positions, with an odourless, invisible gas which has rendered them quite irrelevant."
He was guessing. But why make up a number when he could bluff more convincingly without?
"Two, of course, were situated with a better view of your position."
Doubt fled as Tyler realised his own expendability.
"Apparently Mr. Forester believes me unaware of the identity of my ultimate client in this matter." Foile offered a tight smile, devoid of warmth. "Please disabuse him of this notion."
Tyler said nothing as he watched Foile rise, brows furrowing against the glare as the suit met the sun.
Smoothing his jacket, Foile offered a final glance. "I fulfilled the contract offered me. It actually managed to arouse my interest, so do pass along my gratitude for that. Should their dissatisfaction with the outcome lead Forester and his associates to seek… recompense, please point out that a corporation is no more immortal than a country. Good day." With a nod, he turned, strolling out the front gate of the courtyard, leaving it as dead as he'd found it.
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Other titles by Gareth Lewis:
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Glyphwar
Grey Engines
Grey Enigmas
Monstrum Ex Machina
Shadows of the Heavens
Song of Thunder
Soul Food
Stoneweaver
Tales of the Thief-City
The Monster in the Mirror
The Sin of Hope
To Hunt Monsters