At first, the Rebelian people had rebelled against Bruno’s ideals and his new style of leadership. To prevent civil war, he’d taken over the newspaper and started a powerful propaganda campaign. He imprisoned the few who dared to speak out against his regime. He controlled the rest by withholding food or medical supplies—or simply by destroying their homes and businesses.
In an effort to win the hearts and minds of his people, Bruno gave public speeches at the town square. Eventually, some of the people began to listen; some even began to believe. Be patient, he told them; good things come to those who wait. Stand behind him and he would lead Rebelia to a greatness the likes of which the country had never seen. And to those courageous few who believed, he’d given food and medicine and hope.
But after two years of being in power, civil war had broken out. Bands of rebels roamed the countryside, holing up like rats in the forests and villages surrounding the city, speaking out against his leadership. Stupid peasants. What did they know about running a country? Not a damn thing. He’d been so close to taking his nation to the next level, to taking the next step. If only the rebels hadn’t interfered.
Restless and angry and disturbingly uncertain, Bruno reached for the crystal tumbler of cognac and sipped, marveling at the slow, rich burn at the back of his throat. He picked up the photograph and studied the lovely lines of her face. Even though the war wasn’t quite going as he had planned, he was going to have to make time for Lillian Scott. He wasn’t getting any younger, after all. All he had to do was find her.
Never taking his eyes from the photo, he drew on the Cuban cigar, savoring the rich tobacco, then tapped the ashes into the brass tray next to his blotter. Lillian stared back at him with those incredible eyes. Eyes that burned with intelligence and a woman’s secret passions. She was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Not only was she quick-witted and engaging, but she shared his ideals. Such a rarity in a world rampant with sheep. Lillian Scott was no sheep. She was a wolf. Like him. He’d sensed her power from the start. He only wished he’d had the foresight to have appreciated its rarity.
The uneasy realization that he may never see her again caused an odd flutter of panic in his chest. For the hundredth time he berated himself for having let her slip away. She was such a prize. How could he let that happen?
It seemed just yesterday he’d found her, broken and burned and at the mercy of his soldiers. His men had been ready to pounce on her like wolves on an injured lamb. But if Bruno admired any trait in a human being, whether it be man or woman or American, it was guts. Even injured and bleeding and in pain, she’d stood up to his soldiers, ready to fight them to the death.
To think of how close his soldiers had come to killing her—or worse—made him shudder. He smiled at the memory of how he’d saved her from such a terrible fate. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it at the time. Maybe the way she’d looked at him. Not pleadingly, the way some had. No, Lillian Scott would never beg. She looked at him as if to say she’d see him in hell before she’d let anyone lay a hand on her. She’d been baffled when he’d ordered her taken to the hospital in Rajalla. She hadn’t realized just how much he prized her kind of courage.
Leaning forward slightly, he pressed his finger to the photograph. “Where are you, my flower?” he whispered into the silence of his private chambers.
She smiled at him. An angel with a dazzling smile and the kind of body that could blind even the most cautious of men. Bruno considered himself very cautious.
He pressed the intercom button on the phone and summoned Colonel Hansel Sokolov, his right-hand man and the closest thing to a confidant he would ever have.
An instant later, a firm knock sounded and Sokolov entered, greeting him with a formal salute. “General!”
“At ease,” DeBruzkya said.
“Sir.” Sokolov approached his desk.
“I have two orders this afternoon that will take precedence over all else.”
“Yes, sir!”
“I want our forest patrols increased. All rebels are to be brought to headquarters and interrogated. If they are found with contraband, particularly any literature speaking out against my regime, they are to be taken to a judge, convicted of treason and executed.”
Uncertainty flickered in Sokolov’s eyes an instant before he shouted, “Yes, sir!”
“And I would like to place a bounty on the young American woman we imprisoned for a time last year.”
“A bounty?” Sokolov’s brows knitted. “An American? Sir?”
“Lillian Scott. She is an American journalist. I’m offering one hundred thousand American dollars to any man, woman or child who brings her to me.”
“But, sir, for civilians?”
“You have your orders. I suggest you make these two things a priority. Are we clear?”
“Very clear, General.” Sokolov saluted.
“That will be all.”