Jehan hated press meets.
You’d think he’d have gotten used to them by now, considering all the havoc they’d helped him wreak over the past year.
But nope, they were still suffocating, and too bright, and made him want to crawl under the nearest piece of furniture.
He picked up the glass in front of him and pretended to take a sip of water, using the time to take his eyes off the crowd of reporters and swallow the tightness in his throat.
He’d been walking this tightrope for almost a year now, and the damn rope seemed to get narrower every time he stood on it. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up without falling on his face and breaking his nose.
He’d spent the last hour answering questions about Badal’s murder, arrested suspects, missing evidence, international conspiracies, and national security. All the while, trying to weave the slightest hints, the minutest references to the almost-forgotten La Fantome scandal into his answers, without going overboard or saying anything that might prompt too many follow-up questions.
It was an exhausting – and exhilarating – game to play, but there was too much at stake for him to truly enjoy himself. He’d never minded playing roulette with his own life, but now there were other people’s necks on the line, and he didn’t enjoy being weighed down by the additional responsibility.
Putting the glass down, Jehan raised his eyes once again to the gathered reporters, smiling invitingly and bracing himself for what was to come. It was time for the final act of his little charade.
A middle-aged journalist near the back of the room raised her hand. She was dressed in a white jacket, worn over a black and green checked shirt and gray slacks. With her hair pulled back in a tight, braided bun and a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles on her nose, she looked the picture of solemn respectability.
Jehan gestured for her to speak. She rose to her feet and smiled briefly at him. “Do you think former Prime Minister Rajat Shian could have had a hand in Badal’s death? After all, it is a well-known fact that Badal supported your ascension to the premiership after Mr. Shian was forced to resign.”
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A flurry of excited murmurs filled the room. Jehan smiled tightly, leaned forward, and pretended to clear his throat. “Thank you for the question,” he said, pulling the microphone towards him with steady hands.
“Rajat Shian and I have had our differences, as I’m sure you’re all aware.” He raised an eyebrow, prompting some awkward laughter from the gathered audience. “And there are plenty of things he has done that I disagree with, and always will.
“But, that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve known Mr. Shian since I was fifteen, and I can say with absolute certainty that never once in all that time have I known him to intentionally hurt or undermine any of his colleagues or subordinates, even when it might’ve been considered justifiable. He saw them – us – as an extension of his own family.
“So to answer your question, no, I absolutely do not think that Rajat Shian had anything to do with what happened to Badal. Despite all his faults – and he has many – Mr. Shian never had anything but love and loyalty for his country and her people. And despite everything that’s happened between us in recent months, I’ve never once had reason to doubt that.”
For a few seconds, there was absolute silence. You could’ve heard a pin drop. Then, everyone started talking at once, asking questions, making speculations, and demanding answers.
Jehan let the bedlam continue for a minute, then raised a hand to get the room back under control. He looked over the crowd and pointed at a young man who’d been sitting quietly in the second to last row throughout the conference.
The young man – barely more than a boy, probably an intern or trainee – looked surprised to be acknowledged and nearly jumped to his feet. Taking the microphone in his hand, he stuttered, then blushed and stuttered some more.
Jehan smiled encouragingly at him, showing no signs of impatience. This, in turn, seemed to help him relax, and his stance became more confident, less anxious. “It’s rare to see such candid admiration between opposing factions in politics these days,” he said, his voice steady.
“These are difficult times for our country, for a variety of reasons.” Jehan leaned forward, trying to look and sound sincere, earnest. Everything he wasn’t. If they’d never believed a word he said before, he needed them to believe him now. “And now, more than ever, we need to stand by the truth.
“And the truth is that Rajat Shian’s one of the greatest leaders Naijan has ever had, despite the fact that circumstances had conspired to put him in a position he couldn’t control. But he was a strong and honest leader nonetheless, and right now, we’re running severely short of those.”