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Early-July 1960 - Across Spain
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[b]01:35 Hours[/b]

"Colonel." The voice was quiet and the hand that shook him took a few moments to drag Colonel Francisco De Le Cal Delgado out of his sleep. He blinked slowly, aware that whoever was shaking him had brought a dulled lantern into his room so as not to blind him. The smell of the sea and the scream of the gulls reminded him where he was, Malaga. 

"I am awake Blas, I am awake." He did his best not to sound annoyed but he was tired. He had spent the better part of the week fencing with Herzog Jaegar Hurst von Deutsche Westafrika, not to mention a trip to Morocco to meet his latest assest, and he was tired. "What is it?"

The man squatted down next to his bed and his grim face came into the light. There was no humour. Whatever had happened was deadly serious and it woke the Colonel up more quickly than a gunshot.

"The King got drunk and shot his mouth off to a Frenchman who didn't like the threat of imminent invasion. He got a call off to Paris before we could stop him. The French know, or at least suspect, the coming invasion. Surprise, at least, is gone."

"Sweet Mary Mother of God..." Delgado hissed the words out between his teeth. Years of planning had just been blown apart by the petulant child who had been allowed to call himself King. "We're certain the call went through?"

"Absolutely sir." The men pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Delgado who squinted at it. It was messy and rushed but there was no doubt, the switchboard had patched the call through and some two minutes passed before the line was cut. The damage was done. 

Delgado frowned at the note. Any number of options whirled through his head, but only one seemed logical. Four years they had planned the invasion of France. They being the Royal Council, with the reluctant support of the military. They had insisted on including the King, against the wishes of the military. And now it all was for nothing. There was only one option left to make sure this sort of Royal bullshit never happened again.

"Order the Reconquista." 
[hr]
[b]02:00 hours[/b]

Grandioso Inquisidor Juan José Omella was already awake, dressed, and waiting for the Cazadores when they came for him. He was seated in the front pew of the Sagrada Família, staring up into the soaring vaults toward the unfinished roof. 

He had heard inklings of a military plan to overthrow the King but he had never been able to confirm it. But then one of his agents had reported that the King had gotten drunk and said something to a Frenchman he shouldn't have and military agents had exploded into motion. He had no doubt that the Royal Council was be among the first to go if the military moved to neutralize the King.

The doors to the Cathedral crashed open and the sound of the spring rainstorm poured in with a gust of wind. The smell of the rain, the promise of a clean start. It would have been a gift from God if not for the shouts of startled priests and the tramp of heavy boots. Thankfully there were no gunshots. That would came later, he was sure of it.

He kept his gaze riveted on the face of the Virgin Mary as the soldiers stopped next to him. He could just see the shoulder of a big man in the corner of his eye just before he closed it, waiting for the thud of a fist or the cold steel of a gun barrel against his temple. Instead he heard the click of heels coming together and a deep voice spoke. 

"Grandioso Inquisidor. I am Lieutenant Fernando Alejandre Martínez of the Cazadores. Colonel Delgado would like to invite you for a late luncheon this evening at headquarters, in Madrid of course."

Omella slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the Cazadore. He was a handsome man with a sharp jaw and piercing eyes that betrayed no malice or evil intent. "He invites me does he?" 

The soldier spared him a quick smile. "It is, as you might suspect, not optional."

"Then I would be delighted to join the Colonel."

"Wonderful!" The soldier stepped backward and gestured toward the rainstorm outside where a Cazadore vehicle waited, blue light flashing in the darkness. "After you."

Omella stood shakily and, with a bow toward the Virgin, began to walk toward the rain and an uncertain future.
[hr]
[b]02:15 hours[/b]

Army General Francisco Javier Varela Salas, Chief of the Defence Staff, was dead asleep when they came for him. He, like many other Flag-officers, was the son of nobility and had hardly earned his position based on merit and rather more on birth. He had doubled down on his power base by accepting a seat on the Royal Council. 

A gunshot had sent him bolt upright in bed and the frantic, terrified shouts of his servants had sent him hurtling toward the door. His wife had sat up quickly as well, then clung fearfully to the blankets as more shouts were heard and another gunshot thundered through the house.

"Camila! Hide!" He shouted as he slammed the bedroom door shut. He looked about frantically. His uniform was hung neatly, as it had always been, but the sword scabbard and holster were empty. His weapons were kept in the next room inside a locked safe. He had always been concerned that the servants might steal them. The sword had been a gift from the King, and the pistol a pearl handled revolver allegedly worn by the great American gun fighter Wyatt Earp. Fists suddenly hammered on the door and an angry voice roared out.

"General Francisco Javier Varela Salas! You are under arrest by order of Colonel Francisco De Le Cal Delgado of the Cazadores! Open this door!"

The fear that he had felt suddenly crystallized. The Cazadores. Delgado. It was a coup. He should have known! He looked around again for anything to use as a weapon. Camilla was still on the bed and she screamed again as a boot slammed into the door just above the lock. Before he could move toward the umbrella he had spotted in the corner, the heavy boot smashed the door inward and Cazadores burst into the room.

A fist slammed into his gut and he folded over, a knee smashing his nose into a bloodied mess. Camilla was screaming louder now and someone snarled at her to shut up. His arms were roughly forced behind his back and handcuffs slapped into place. Then they began to drag him from the room, naked as the day he was born. 

His feet bounced off every step as he was dragged down the stairs. A body lay in the front entry to his home. The butler, he could not think of the mans name, a bullet hole in his chest. It was raining outside and the water seemed strangely warm as they dragged him across the marble, onto the gravel driveway, before hurling him into the back of a police lorry. The doors slammed shut in his face. The last thing he saw as they closed was the terrified faces of his servants as they knelt in the driveway, policemen with drawn guns standing behind them.
[hr]
[b]04:30 hours[/b]

His Royal Majesty, King Juan Carlos I, knew something was wrong. He had woken in the dead of the night with a splitting headache and a vague recollection of the nights events. The water pitcher beside his bed had been quickly drained and the overwhelming need to piss took over.

Kicking the bed covers aside, he had made his way into the hall and down the long corridor to the bathroom at the far end. He had an ensuite bathroom of course, as befitted a King, but this room had a wonderful breeze that came down the mountain and an amazing view of the city below. 

He pulled out his cock and aimed the yellow stream into the bowl before glancing outside. The city below looked, at first glance, like it usually did, a sprawling and beautiful collection of lights. But, as his blurry eyes focused, he noticed blue police lights flashing all across the city. Hundreds of them. Far more than one might normally expect.

The need to use the bathroom quite forgotten he quickly slipped his cock back into his pants, washed his hands and made his way into the corridor, calling for his manservant. His words echoed off the long corridor to no response. Quick steps took him to one of the glassless archways that looked down over the garden. Nothing moved in the half moonlight that softly kissed the flowers below. No guards patrolled. No happy laughter came from anywhere. It was as still as death. 

He ran to the stairs and hurried down a level to where his guests would be spending the night. This corridor was also empty. Wilhelm's guards, usually so "there", were gone. Maria's chaperone had vanished as well. Not bothering to knock on either door he ran down the corridor shouting for his guards. 

The cries, frantic in his own ears, rang emptily throughout the palace. He ran. To the dining room, the kitchen, the sitting room, into the gardens, no matter where he turned, he was alone in that great building. He pinched himself, maybe it was a dream, but no, it only hurt.

"Your Majesty?" Maria's voice brought him around in a frantic turn. His face must have scared her for she recoiled at the look but bravely plowed on. "What is the matter?"

"My guards, your chaperones, Wilhelm's men, they're gone. Where has everyone gone?" He was afraid for the first time in his life, truly afraid. He had never been alone, never without protection, he felt sueednly very exposed. 

"Phone's are dead." Wilhlem's German growl entered the conversation. "I tried the one in my room and the one in the billiard room. Neither are working."

"What the fuck is happening?" The King demanded staring at his two friends. Neither could answer him.
[hr]
[b]06:00 hours[/b]

"General Admiral Teodoro E. López Calderón." The Admiral, who was in the middle of tying the laces on his tennis shoes, looked up in surprise.

"Ah, Capitán Navarrete. Good Morning. What can I do for you today?" The words were polite but it was well know that Calderón did not like Navarette. He thought of the man as a jumped up commoner who had no place commanding the nations most powerful warship, let alone a battlegroup. He would have made an excellent lieutenant no doubt, but only men with noble blood should command. Everyone knew that. Afterall, had Spain not reached her greatest heights when the Nobleman held sway.

"I am here to place you under arrest. Officers." The last word was to the three Cazadores who came through the gate behind Navarette.

"My god man! Have you lost your mind!?" Calderón demanded as the three policemen closed on him. He had a fleeting thought of trying to fight them off, maybe run, but they must have seen his face and quickly pinned his arms to his side before placing him in handcuffs. The steel was cold on his wrists and it served only to heighten his confusion. "What are the charges!?"

"Treason. Corruption. Destabilizing the Kingdom. Being a Royal fucking git. What the fuck do I care?" Navarette snarled back. "You've always been a useless piece of shit Calderón and now you, along with the rest of your blue blooded ilk can hang for all the good it will do the rest of our nation."

"The Royal Council will hear of this! You men, you will hang along with Navarette!" He was trying to reason with the policemen but they paid him no mind as they began to walk him toward the gate.

"The Royal Council is finished." A wide smile had crossed Navarette's face. "You are all finished."
[hr]
[b]06:00 hours[/b]

The three of them sat on the front stone steps of the Generalife. The small courtyard in front of them neatly tiled and surrounded on all sides by white washed buildings that had once housed the Royal stable. Now it held any number of fine cars and motorbikes. Only thing was, all the keys had vanished in the night. 

"And we cannot leave?" Maria asked quietly. She was seated between the two man, holding onto each of them with one hand. The driveway in front of them, a long lane of raked white stones, ended at a large wrought iron gate that was closed and chained shut. Two police cars sat outside of it, the officers dutifully ignoring all their shouts or attempts to rattle the gate.

Confusion, anger, fear, all emotions that any rational person might feel, had shaken the little group. They had looked everywhere and found not another living soul. Both access points to the grounds had been sealed by police and a helicopter had been circling overhead for the last hour.

"There, look!" Wilhelm, his stoic German self, actually sounded excited, or relieved, the King could never tell. He was pointing toward the distant fortress where a second helicopter was speeding through the air toward them. 

"Finally..." Muttered the King. He stood, still clad in sleeping shorts and t-shirt, as the helicopter swept overhead and then banked hard. The Cockade of the Cazadores gleamed on the side and he felt a flutter of hope in his heart. 

"A rescue?" Maria said hopefully. 

"Armed like that?" Wilhelm stated mildly. The bloody man was always so practical but the King had to admit he was right. 

The helicopter drowned out any further words as it dropped from the sky and onto the driveway. Five men dropped from the open door as the machine began to wind down. Four of them were smartly uniformed Cazadores. They carried machine guns, pistols, and looked very purposeful. The man in the middle was slightly shorter and bore no markings of rank on his otherwise crisp uniform. Despite this, there was no doubt he was in charge. 

He strolled up to the three and Wilhlem, as was German custom, stood and bowed shortly. The man smiled at that and offered a short nod. "You must be Wilhlem. I am Colonel Francisco de le Cal Delgado. I have heard quite a bit about you from your father."

If it was possible for Wilhlem to look surprised, he did for the briefest of moments. He swallowed. "My father?"

"Is quite well and I suspect waking up right about now. Now, please, do not fret. If you will join these fine men they will escort you to a car by the gate and you will be returned to your father."

"And Maria?" The question stopped the Colonel dead in his tracks and he turned to look at the German.

"The Marquess of Morella? She, and the King, are both under arrest." As he spoke the Cazadores stepped forward and seized the King and Maria. 

"You cannot arrest your King!" Retorted Juan Carlos I. The title suddenly seemed ridiculous as he struggled to escape his captors grip. A third Cazadore had taken Maria by the arm while the fourth gestured for Wilhelm to join him. The German did not move.

"I will go with her." He said stepping to her side. The Colonel smiled slightly and then shrugged.

"Very well. Please escort the Marquess and Wilhelm to the sitting room. They can remain there under guard while I speak with the King." He held his hands apart apologetically to Wilhelm. "For legal reasons, I must also place you under arrest then, Wilhelm. Behave and you will not be harmed."

The German only nodded as he and Maria were led away, leaving a frantic King alone in his pyjamas. 
[hr]
[b]07:00 hours[/b]

Señor Mariano Rajoy, the Duke of Morella, was taken by the Cazadores as he was about to board a train for Madrid. The Royal Council had been set to meet in Madrid later that day and, as a sitting Member, he was expected to be there for the discussion around the pending invasion of France. He, like the Grandioso Inquisidor, had cautioned the Royal Council about involving the King in their plans, and today he would continue to argue that the young fool should not be given any more information. 

He had been thinking about how it irked him that his only daughter was staying with that same King, and was so absorbed in his thought process that he failed to notice the four men who entered his private train car.

"Señor Mariano Rajoy." He looked up into the face of a man not much older than Maria. "You are under arrest by order of Colonel Francisco de le Cal Delagdo." 

Whether he wanted to laugh or cry, he didn't know. He had suspected something like this might occur, in fact, the whole Royal Council had mentioned the idea. They had been trying to plan how to remove the Colonel without starting a mutiny but it looked like he had beat them to the punch.

"And where will you be taking me then, my fine friends?" He asked as the bulk of the policemen filled the interior of the car?"

"To Madrid. We thought we might as well use your own train." Replied the officer with a smile. Rajoy blinked in surprise.

"What, no handcuffs? No beatings?" 

The policemen laughed, it was not a pleasant sound. Their leader grinned like a wolf eyeing its meal.

"We were directed to bring you gently if you were willing. If you wish to resist..." He left the sentence unfinished but tapped a finger against the wooden baton that hung at his side. 

Majoy held up his hands quickly. "No, no. Let us ride in quiet contemplation then. Thank you for your kindness. Have you any word of my daughter?"

"She is under arrest, along with the King."
[hr]
[b]09:00 hours[/b] 

"What the hell do you mean we can't leave?" Herzog Jaegar Hurst von Deutsche Westafrika demanded, standing up so quickly from his breakfast that he almost upset the table.

"The Colonel told me this morning before he left, sir. Then he and his men disarmed us and left. The gates are guarded by Cazadores who politely but firmly turned us around when we tried to go in to town." The soldier, one of West Afrika's finest, was standing ramrod straight, staring an inch over the Dukes head as he spoke. "The Colonel wished you to know that the King is to be arrested and his government replaced."

"The King arrested?!" Hurst managed to make his voice loud without shouting. Things had certainly gone horribly wrong in a very short period of time. "And my son?"

"I was told that he is to be sent to you as soon as the Cazadores have taken the King."

The conversation was interrupted as the phone rang on the table next to Hurst. He stared at it for a moment waiting for someone else to pickup but it continued to ring. Taunting him. Finally, with a glance at the silent soldier, he picked up the phone.

"Hello?" 

"Señor Hurst?" The voice was certainly Spanish and spoken with the clipped preciseness of a soldier.

"This is him." 

"Your son has chosen to remain with the Marquess de Morella despite an offer of release. He will contact you when he is permitted to do so."

The line went dead and Hurst stared at the phone. "That goddamn fool". He didn't know if he wanted to throw the whole thing across the room or not. 
[hr]
[b]11:00 Hours[/b]

"That about sums things up Your Majesty." Delgado said as he pushed back his chair and leaned back his chair. "Though, I will be hones, it boils down to two options."

The young man across from him looked broken. He hadn't wept at least, though he had threatened, cajoled, and even tried to reason with the Colonel. The shoulders slumped, sweat had come through the white t-shirt, and a sheen was showing on the youthful forehead.

"One. You get to remain as King, albeit as a figurehead, nothing more, and name me as Viceroy of Spain. I intend to rebuild our once great nation and you have this one chance to be a part of it." He smiled widely as if this was a matter of course. "Option two is of course you die. One way or another, you will not be the same man when I leave here today."

"You will not harm me, or my family?" The King asked in a whisper. He had brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and so much more. At the moment he was aware that all of them were "guests of the state", much like Wilhelm and Maria. 

"As long as we all get along, I don't see why I should." Delgado said. His uniform jacket still buttoned despite the rising heat of the day looked decidedly relaxed. Truth be told, he was nervous. Getting a live King to turn over power was one thing. Murdering a King and taking his place was another.

Juan Carlos stared down at the document in front of him. It had been carefully prepared before hand and he found himself wondering how long i had waited for this moment. It, in loose terms, stated that he had lost faith in his Royal Council, certain Members would be executed for treason, the nobles were to lose their lands and wealth, and he was to turn the country over to Delgado and his conspirators. 

But then there had been the unofficial conversation that had occurred between just him and Delgado. The Cazadores were out of ear shot, though watching carefully, when Delgado had explained to him the vision he had of Spains future. The King had found himself drawn into Delgado's vision like a child into a legend being told. He had a choice now. Be a part of that, even if only a figurehead, or die today, to be buried in a paupers grave.

"Very well, Colonel. For the good of Spain, I agree to your terms." He swept up the pen that had been laid next to the paperwork and without hesitation he scrawled his signature across the bottom, turned the page, signed again, and then again. In one fell swoop he had changed Spain forever and, he hoped, secured his own life. 

"Thank you, Viceroy." He held out his hand.
[hr]
[b]15:00 Hours[/b]

Grandioso Inquisidor Juan José Omella began to slow clap as Viceroy Delgado appeared in the doorway of the conference room. They were in the Military Junta building in Madrid, the headquarters for the armed forces. Confused staff officers were swirling around outside the doors and their endless babble was thankfully cut off as the door was closed behind the Viceroy.

He acknowledged the slow clap with an ironic bow and then took his place at the head of the table. The Grandioso Inquisidor and the Duke of Morella were the only two other men in the room. Both looked slightly ruffled but none the worse for their ordeal.

"My daughter?" Morella demanded without ceremony.

"Is safe and sound. She seems to have found a German Knight to protect her." Delgado said with a sigh as he drew a pitcher of water toward him and poured a glass, drinking it down greedily.

"Señor Hurst's child? That German provincial nobody?! With the daughter of a Spanish Duke?" Morella was indignant and would have continued if the Viceroy hadn't held up a hand and stopped him in full flow.

"Noble rank and status mean exactly two things now Señor Morella, jack, and squat, as the Americans say." Delgado spoke the words quietly, the threat within them implied by the immense power he now wielded. "You should be thankful the German did not leave when he was given the chance. And more thankful that you are sitting here, now, and not lying dead in a ditch."

The brought a pale sheen to Morella's face as the Viceroy turned to Omella. 

"Thank you for coming, Señor Omella." 

"Your fine fellows did not give me much of a choice, though they were painfully polite about it." He actually laughed, the memory almost amusing now even though his life was still hanging in the balance. "I assume you brought me here because you have some use of me?"

Delgado regarded him cooly for a moment. Omella was impressed by the man. He had undoubtedly been planning this for some time and managed to keep it well hidden, even from the Inquisition. If he was honest with himself, and he hated doing that, he was interested in what came next.

"You are correct, Señor Omella. I wish you to continue running the Inquisition, albeit under a different name, and answering to me directly." He picked up one the files that had been sitting on the tabletop and slid it across to Omella. It simply read [i]Centro Nacional de Inteligencia[/i]. "Not quite as historical as [i]Inquisition[/i], but so much more modern."

Omella did not hesitate. He swept up the file and nodded firmly. "Thank you, Viceroy, I accept."

"Good, oh, and I should mention, you will fall under the offices of the Cazadores now. So, behave yourself."

Omella couldn't resist a smile. "My mother always said I would make a terrible soldier."

"Surprise her then." Came the reply. 

"And me?" The bombast had gone out of Morella's voice and he looked something like deflated balloon now.

"Señor Morella. While I have little use for the nobility and even less so for those who wear the titles, I cannot ignore the fact that you are one of exactly two men on the Royal Council who won't be shot today."

Morella looked surprised at this and sat up straighter, tugging his jacket about his shoulder and trying to banish the look of defeat he wore. "Go on..."

"I noticed that you have a rather unique interest in Morocco and I find we need will need a cool head and steady hand down there in the days to come. While you will, like the rest of the "peerage", will lose your noble titles and almost everything you own, I have a proposition for you."

A look of hope had come across Morella's face now and he nodded along with Delgado. Anything other than total disgrace and banishment would be considered a win at this point.

"I would like to name you Viceroy of Morocco."

Morella froze, as if cast in ice. Then, ever so slowly me mouthed the title. 

"It is a political appointment of course, theoretically one given by the King but since he now does whatever I tell him too, I think it matters little." He slid the second file across. "We have great work to do and I have seen your deft hand in the Council. I know you're the one who so carefully assisted us in planning the deployment of our troops to the French border. As with our new Director, your work begins at once."

With a confidence he had not felt a few minutes before, Morella picked up the file and glanced at the contents. "Is that all?" He asked with a hollow laugh.

"Yes, Viceroy, you need to get those same troops out of there without France being the wiser. We may have taken the government but now we need to avoid a war we cannot within without surprise on our side."