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And then it happened.
Julián shifted away from her ever so slightly.
In that instant, Ambra knew it was over.
CHAPTER 45
THE GUARDIA’S DIVISION of electronic security is located in a windowless warren of rooms on the subterranean level of the Royal Palace. Intentionally isolated from the palace’s vast Guardia barracks and armory, the division’s headquarters consists of a dozen computer cubicles, one telephone switchboard, and a wall of security monitors. The eight-person staff—all under the age of thirty-five—is responsible for providing secure communication networks for the staff of the Royal Palace and the Guardia Real, as well as handling electronic surveillance support for the physical palace itself.
Tonight, as always, the basement suite of rooms was stuffy, reeking of microwaved noodles and popcorn. The fluorescent lights hummed loudly.
This is where I asked them to put my office, Martín thought.
Although “public relations coordinator” was technically not a Guardia post, Martín’s job required access to powerful computers and a tech-savvy staff; thus, the division of electronic security had seemed a far more logical home for her than an underequipped office upstairs.
Tonight, Martín thought, I will need every bit of technology available.
For the past few months, her primary focus had been to help the palace stay on message during the gradual transfer of power to Prince Julián. It had not been easy. The transition between leaders had provided an opportunity for protesters to speak out against the monarchy.
According to the Spanish constitution, the monarchy stood as “a symbol of Spain’s enduring unity and permanence.” But Martín knew there had been nothing unified about Spain for some time now. In 1931, the Second Republic had marked the end of the monarchy, and then the putsch of General Franco in 1936 had plunged the country into civil war.
Today, although the reinstated monarchy was considered a liberal democracy, many liberals continued to denounce the king as an outdated vestige of an oppressive religio-military past, as well as a daily reminder that Spain still had a way to go before it could fully join the modern world.
Mónica Martín’s messaging this month had included the usual portrayals of the king as a beloved symbol who held no real power. Of course, it was a tough sell when the sovereign was commander in chief of the armed forces as well as head of state.
Head of state, Martín mused, in a country where separation between church and state has always been controversial. The ailing king’s close relationship with Bishop Valdespino had been a thorn in the side of secularists and liberals for many years.
And then there is Prince Julián, she thought.
Martín knew she owed her job to the prince, but he certainly had been making that job more difficult recently. A few weeks ago, the prince had made the worst PR blunder Martín had ever witnessed.
On national television, Prince Julián had gotten down on his knees and made a ludicrous proposal to Ambra Vidal. The excruciating moment could not have been any more awkward unless Ambra had declined to marry him, which, fortunately, she had the good sense not to do.
Unfortunately, in the aftermath, Ambra Vidal had revealed herself to be more of a handful than Julián had anticipated, and the fallout from her extracurricular behavior this month had become one of Martín’s primary PR concerns.
Tonight, however, Ambra’s indiscretions seemed all but forgotten. The tidal wave of media activity generated by the events in Bilbao had swelled to an unprecedented magnitude. In the past hour, a viral proliferation of conspiracy theories had taken the world by storm, including several new hypotheses involving Bishop Valdespino.
The most significant development concerned the Guggenheim assassin, who had been given access to Kirsch’s event “on orders of someone inside the Royal Palace.” This damning bit of news had unleashed a deluge of conspiracy theories accusing the bedridden king and Bishop Valdespino of conspiring to murder Edmond Kirsch—a virtual demigod in the digital world, and a beloved American hero who had chosen to live in Spain.
This is going to destroy Valdespino, Martín thought.
“Everyone, listen up!” Garza now shouted as he strode into the control room. “Prince Julián and Bishop Valdespino are together somewhere on the premises! Check all security feeds and find them. Now!”
The commander stalked into Martín’s office and quietly updated her on the situation with the prince and the bishop.
“Gone?” she said, incredulous. “And they left their phones in the prince’s safe?”
Garza shrugged. “Apparently so we can’t track them.”
“Well, we’d better find them,” Martín declared. “Prince Julián needs to make a statement right now, and he needs to distance himself from Valdespino as much as possible.” She relayed all the latest developments.
Now it was Garza’s turn to look incredulous. “It’s all hearsay. There’s no way Valdespino could be behind an assassination.”
“Maybe not, but the killing seems to be tied to the Catholic Church. Someone just found a direct connection between the shooter and a highly placed church official. Have a look.” Martín pulled up the latest ConspiracyNet update, which was once again credited to the whistle-blower called [email protected]. “This went live a few minutes ago.”
Garza crouched down and began reading the update. “The pope!” he protested. “Ávila has a personal connection with—”
