work. And in the turbulent times of the last few years, his duties had never been more important: to guide the nation through a period of upheaval and change, as lesser economies succumbed to the global malaise that had infected Europe.
A short man in his fifties with an arrogant bearing and hawk-like eyes, his diminutive stature deceived nobody into taking him for granted or underestimating him. He ruled his kingdom with an iron fist, and nothing of any note took place in the financial system without his express approval.
His cell phone chirped, and he punched it on as he eyed the stately skyline. “Yes?”
“Sir, I’ve taken care of everything for your meeting this morning. The other ministers will be here by nine, and I’ve arranged for the press to gather forty minutes before the ceremony so that you can hold a press conference,” his assistant said.
Milan glanced at his watch – his subordinate was already at work at six, which was unusual. However, today was no ordinary day; it was the culmination of two years of negotiations, struggle, and cajoling. Everyone on his staff had invested the same kind of effort he had, and he expected nothing less from them than absolute loyalty – and the same brutal hours he kept.
A career with Rejt guaranteed lucrative government positions regardless of what party was in power; no matter who was sitting in the driver’s seat, they would need money, and Rejt controlled the Treasury purse strings with the tight-fistedness of a medieval money-changer. He had spent the last fifteen years in the government corridors, guiding policy to benefit the interests of the Czech people – and, of course, his own network of rich and powerful associates.
He sank into the butter-soft leather seat and nodded as he listened on the telephone. When he spoke, it was with quiet approval.
“Excellent. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I trust you have the paperwork we discussed yesterday ready for a final review?”
“Of course, sir. I have it prepared for you, on your desk.”
“Good. I’ll see you when I arrive.”
Rejt didn’t wait to hear the response, having stabbed the phone off with his last syllable. He looked down at his hand-made Italian shoes, shined to a gleam by his valet, and smiled with satisfaction. Not bad for a humble academic, an economist who had struggled fresh out of school under the Soviet system, and who hadn’t known the right people to garner one of the cushy administrative jobs that entailed decent pay, privilege, and little actual work. But when the regime changed and the Russians were suddenly gone, he had been in a perfect position to become a simple administrative assistant to one of the founders of the new government, and once his taste for power had been whetted, he had never looked back.
He took another sip of coffee and closed his eyes.
Today would change everything. He had never been closer. Years of work, and he would be the one who put his stamp of approval on the agreement, which couldn’t have been ratified without his backroom jockeying and the pressure that only he could bring.
A pigeon strutted its early morning mating dance, its cooing a rhythmic lament as it swept back and forth across the roof, the shy object of its affection watching from its perch on the metal edge, eyeing the male’s bombastic display with approval. Step step step swoop and coo, wings to the side, its chest puffed out, fanning the area in what was surely an impressive avian maneuver.
The man watched the show twenty feet away with dry amusement, and then returned to his errand. The breeze was around twelve miles per hour, and he turned the upper knob on the scope several clicks to compensate. Distance, he knew, was two hundred fifty yards from his position on the roof of one of the Wallenstein Palace buildings undergoing renovation. An easy shot with this rifle. Hardly worth his special talents, although he wasn’t going to argue with the million euro fee he would earn for a morning’s work.
He had been waiting for two hours, having posed as a workman the prior week in order to get a feel for the best available position for the hit. This was a tricky shot, at an odd angle from his hiding place, but he had pulled off far worse from much greater distances. And at the end of the day, all his client cared about was the final result. The instructions had been very