An emergency meeting of the Secretariat is called for 1pm, this afternoon, Geneva time. All members are required to attend. – The Office of the Secretary-General
“I am here today on a matter of the gravest import.” Raul Esteban sat in his place at the head of the table. He was leaning back, half sitting, half lying in a motorized chair. The plush leather seat he normally used had been pulled aside. He was weak, his voice a barely audible whisper, amplified by a small microphone attached to a headset. There were loosely bandaged sores all around his neck and the lower part of his face. His eyes were filmy, and only a few strands of his once-thick hair still hung from his bald head.
Four large guards, fully-armed and wearing body armor, stood silently behind Esteban. It was a violation of Secretariat rules for armed personnel to enter the chamber, but no one questioned the Secretary-General.
For only the second time in its history, the Secretariat had been called to an emergency meeting, its exalted members roused from whatever else they were doing and summoned to UNGov HQ. They were now gathered, save two. Anan Keita was on Juno, his chair next to Samovich empty. The seat on Esteban’s left was also vacant. Chang Li was conspicuously absent. He hadn’t responded to the emergency call, and no one knew where he was. His allies looked around nervously, not sure what to expect.
“Last night there was an attempt on my life.” Esteban’s amplified voice was weak and tinny, but his anger was obvious. “It was a well-planned and executed operation, one that likely would have succeeded without the timely intervention of Secretary Samovich’s internal security forces.”
There was a ripple of surprise around the table. Everybody knew Esteban didn’t have long to live, but they were shocked and outraged that anyone would make an attempt on the life of a member of the Secretariat. They considered themselves untouchable, and most of them viewed any attack on one of them as a dangerous precedent.
“I want to thank Secretary Samovich for his efforts. I will now yield the floor to him so that he may enlighten us further on this criminal act.”
Samovich rose and looked out at the faces around the table. “Thank you, Secretary-General. I would like to begin by expressing my own outrage at this appalling crime.” He glanced back toward Esteban for an instant before continuing. “In cooperation with the Secretary-General’s security team, my operatives were able to capture several of the perpetrators alive.” He looked around the table again, watching for any reactions from Li’s allies. He suspected none of them had been in on the scheme, but he hadn’t been sure, not until he saw the shock in their eyes.
“The prisoners were brought to Internal Security headquarters and questioned through the night.” He struggled to keep the excitement from his voice. “We discovered the truth, and I’m afraid it is extremely unpleasant. All of the prisoners have confessed, and their stories support each other. They were sent to kill Secretary-General Esteban by none other than Secretary Chang Li.” His tone was one of sadness, shock. Anton Samovich was a good actor.
The room was silent, stunned looks on the faces of most of those present. This was a development none could have foreseen, an astonishing turn of events. Li’s allies looked skeptical, as if they suspected some sort of trick by Samovich.
“Bring in the prisoner.” Samovich turned to face the sentry at the door as he spoke.
A few seconds later, two guards brought in Zhao Min. They were half dragging, half carrying the barely conscious man into the chamber. They stopped behind Samovich, holding the slumping form of Chang Li’s top henchman.
“This is Zhao Min, my esteemed colleagues, one of Chang Li’s personal operatives.” He turned toward the prisoner. “Tell this body what you told me last night. Who sent you to attack the Secretary-General?”
The captive turned his head slowly. Samovich had ordered Zhao cleaned up for his appearance, but he still looked haggard and exhausted. It was clear he’d been through a very harsh interrogation. He stood, shaking, shrinking away from Samovich.
“Come now, we have your confession on video, along with those of your co-conspirators. There is nothing to be served by a refusal to cooperate now.”
Zhao swallowed hard. “Yes,” he croaked. “Chang Li sent us to assassinate the Secretary-General.”
“There,” Samovich declared, slamming his fist on the table. “An admission from one of the lead perpetrators.” He motioned for the guards to remove the prisoner, and he looked over at Li’s empty chair. “And where is Secretary Li?” He turned toward Li’s closest allies. “Why is Chang Li not here? Why did he not respond to the summons?” He turned and faced Esteban. “Because he is guilty, that is why. Because he is hiding from the justice he knows he will find here.”
Esteban’s labored breathing was loud through the amplifier. Samovich had briefed him before the meeting, but he was still enraged about Li’s attempt, and hearing the operative acknowledge Li’s involvement made his blood boil. He knew he didn’t have more than a week or two left anyway, but his ego couldn’t accept that anyone would have the audacity to challenge him.
He cleared his raw throat. “In consideration of the information Secretary Samovich has presented, I would like to propose several actions.” Esteban paused, catching his breath before he continued. “First, I propose that this body strip Chang Li of his Seat, effective immediately and, further, that a Warrant of Execution be issued at once, directing all state security forces to terminate him on sight.”
Samovich rose again, restraining his excitement and doing his best imitation of regret. “It is with great sadness that I must second the Secretary-General’s proposal. An attack on one of us is an attack on all of us and cannot be condoned.” He stared over at Li’s allies. “All in favor?”
His own people raised their hands immediately, as did those of the neutral block. Li’s allies paused, the shock heavy on their faces. He knew they were realizing it would be suicidal to continue to support Li. They glanced back and forth at each other before slowly, reluctantly raising their hands. Samovich watched, struggling to keep the grim expression on his face, to fight back the broad smile that wanted to escape. After years of planning and waiting, he was about to win the ultimate victory.
“It is unanimous. Chang Li is hereby expelled from this body and declared an enemy of the state. He will be arrested and executed as soon as he can be found.” Taylor managed a solemn tone of voice, as if he regretted the entire situation.
“Now for my second piece of business.” Esteban turned his head slowly to look over at Samovich. “You all know I am dying. It is now time for us to consider the future of this body, the leadership that will bring our noble experiment in world government into the future. Therefore, I propose that I step down from the Secretary-Generalship, effective immediately, and assume an advisory role as Secretary-General emeritus.”
Surprised murmurs rippled around the table. No one had expected Raul Esteban to resign his position and power, not while he was still breathing.
“This government, and this august body, are very dear to me. I am the last of the Founders, the final member of the first Secretariat, and nothing is more important to me than to ensure that UNGov moves into the future boldly, and with continued success.”
Esteban struggled to raise his head, angling to stare directly at Samovich. “It is for that reason that I propose that Secretary Anton Samovich, who has served this body long and faithfully, be appointed the new Secretary-General of the United Nations World Government, and that he be sworn in and invested with the powers of the office immediately.”
Samovich sat quietly, trying to keep the grin off his face. All the planning, all the second guessing, years of calculating and debating…and Drogov’s people blunder into Li’s attack on Esteban’s compound. Luck could make or break the most carefully conceived plans, and this time providence had cast its vote for Anton Samovich.
“I second the motion.” It was Pierre Aguillard, one of Samovich’s creatures.
“All agreed?” Esteban looked out across the table. One by one, hands were raised.
Samovich was watching Li’s closest allies, trying to imagine what was going through their heads. Li was gone suddenly, expelled from the Secretariat with a death sentence on his head. Now his avowed enemy was about to step into the Secretary-General’s chair. They were realizing, he knew, that they had to supplicate themselves to him, to ease themselves away from the disgraced Li and into his good graces. Samovich smiled as he watched each in turn raise their hands.
“It is unanimous.” Esteban’s weak voice silenced the room. “Anton Samovich, you are now the Secretary-General of the United Nations World Government.” He waved to the guards standing behind him, and one of them pull his chair back slowly. “Rise and take your place at the head of this table.”
Samovich walked toward the Secretary-General’s seat as one of the guards slid the chair back into place. He stood for a few seconds looking out over the rest of the Secretariat. “I want to thank you all, and especially Secretary-General Emeritus Esteban, both for his confidence and for his years of exemplary leadership, from which I have learned more than I can easily list.”
A round of applause followed, loud and enthusiastic. Finally, he thought, as he lowered himself slowly into the chair…after all these years. Anton Samovich was Secretary-General, the most powerful man in the world.