Chapter 8

Italian President Amato Ludovico steps out of his home and gives his wife a kiss before walking down to the waiting car in the driveway. He waves to the driver and gets in. “Good morning, Marco,” he says.

“Yes it is, sir,” the driver returns.

“You’re not Marco, my regular driver,” the president says.

The man turns around, the doors locking as he does so. “Unfortunately for you, no I am not.”

The car explodes a moment later.

Spain’s Prime Minister José Luis Reyes wakes to the phone ringing a half hour before his alarm is set to go off. He groggily turns over in the bed and picks up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Is this Prime Minister Reyes?” the voice on the other end asks.

“Sí,” he answers sounding slightly confused. “Who is this?”

No answer comes. Instead, the line goes dead. The prime minister hangs up the phone and feels a hand settle on his shoulder. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know,” he says to his wife.

Suddenly there is a load crash that startles both of them. Fear instantly has its grip on Reyes and he has the feeling the phone call and the sudden crash is connected. “Get to the children and call the police,” he tells his wife. But before either can get fully out of their bed the door to their bedroom is burst open and a trio of soldiers step through. “Who are you?” he demands.

“Your executioners,” one of them says raising his carbine.

The other two follow suit and all three open fire, spraying down the prime minister and his wife.

Portugal’s President Fernando Santos Candido looks out the window of his office at the gardens of the buildings contempt with the beauty of the rising of the sun. Behind him the door to his office opens. “António, thank you for coming so quickly,” he says not turning around.

António de Santana Soares, the Prime Minister of Portugal, closes the door quietly behind him and says, “It is not a problem Mr. President.”

“Have you heard anything about President Ludovico this morning?” Candido asks with a frown forming on his face.

The prime minister stands next to the president to look out the window. “So far they have determined it was a car bombing. Do you have a fear sir?”

“The New World Regime has taken credit for the attack,” Candido answers. “And yes I have reason to fear an attack António. NATO received a threat six months ago warning them of every country allied would become a target.”

Shock and disbelief shadows Soares face for a moment before he lets his logic take over. “We receive threats everyday like many other nations and organizations. What can make you so certain just because of an attack on the Italian president?”

Candido turns to regard the prime minister. “Because the New World Regime is the one that made the threat.”

Soares is briefly at a loss for words. “What are we going to do about it?”

“The only thing...” The President suddenly goes silent and looks back out the window. “What’s that?”

“Sir?”

He points out the window. “That.”

Soares follows his finger, squinting though the sunlight to in an effort to see himself. I don’t know ... holy mother of...”

His sentence is never finished. An RPG crashes through the window and upon contact erupts into a fireball annihilating the entire office.

The Sava Bridge seems to be rather busy and congested this morning as Croatian Prime Minister Jadranka Haramja looks out the window at the sun shining off the water of the Sava River below.

“Can you see what the holdup is up ahead?” she asks breaking her gaze away from the water.

“Not quite madam,” the driver replies. “There does appear to be some men in uniform though. It’s maybe an accident or something?”

“Ugh. I certainly hope not,” she says. “I have a busy day today and I certainly do not wish to have it start out late.”