novelSusiti Chapter 301 Visitors from Paris
Chapter 301 Visitors from Paris
Chapter 301 Visitors from Paris
A budget apartment near the docks in London.
The room was filled with a damp, musty smell.
Ahmed Riza sat in a creaking wooden chair, a copy of yesterday's Times spread out on the table in front of him. The paper reported how Venizelos, at the negotiating table, cited a 17th-century maritime law to refute the British representative's "territorial sea delimitation plan."
He looked at Venizelos's confident and composed face in the newspaper, and then he remembered the dumbfounded and bewildered look on his side's Pashas' faces at the meeting.
A surge of anger, a mixture of humiliation and despair, welled up in his chest.
He crumpled the newspaper into a ball and slammed it to the ground.
The empire is dying!
It's like a bloated, aging patient being ripped apart piece by piece by a pack of greedy jackals.
He had a burning passion to save his country, but he could only watch helplessly as things went wrong.
His report to Istanbul on reforming the army's organization by emulating the German model went unanswered.
His suggestion to emulate France and establish a modern civil service system was treated as a joke by the powerful figures in the court.
dong dong.
There was a knock on the door.
He assumed it was the apartment landlord coming to collect rent, and impatiently got up to open the door.
Standing at the door was someone he never expected.
Jean-Pierre Rousseau, a French journalist.
"Mr. Rizzard, I apologize for disturbing you." Rousseau took off his hat and greeted him politely.
Ahmed Riza was somewhat surprised. He had met the journalist a few times in Paris, but they weren't close. He stepped aside to let the guest in.
There was no place to entertain guests in the apartment, so the two of them had to sit down at a corner café.
The café was noisy, filled with the aroma of coffee beans and the sailors' swearing.
Rousseau didn't beat around the bush.
"Mr. Riza, I've come today on behalf of a Greek friend to deliver a message to you."
"Greek friends?" Ahmed Riza frowned, a sense of unease creeping into his heart.
"Yes." Rousseau took out his notebook from his pocket, opened it, and said, "He greatly admires your ideas and considers you the hope for Türkiye's future."
He looked at the notebook and began to read aloud.
He asked me to pass on a poem to you.
"The old chains have broken, but the new master has yet to arrive."
When Rousseau uttered those words, Ahmed Riza's hand, which was holding a coffee cup, suddenly stopped in mid-air.
The black coffee in the cup sloshed because of the trembling of my hand, and ripples spread out in circles.
His pupils suddenly contracted.
How could this be!
This phrase was a secret code used at the highest core meeting of their "Young Turks Party" to describe the current situation of the empire!
"The old chains" refers to the corrupt and autocratic rule of Sultan Hamid II!
"The new masters" refers to these revolutionaries who are determined to build a completely new Turkey!
This matter could not possibly be known to outsiders except for a few core comrades who are far away in Paris and Thessaloniki!
His heart was pounding wildly.
Rousseau, oblivious to his unease, continued reading from his notebook.
"The Sultan's palace is very large, but it cannot accommodate monarchs from two different eras."
boom!
The second half of the sentence exploded like a thunderclap, reverberating endlessly in his mind!
Every word felt like a red-hot branding iron, searing his nerves!
This is no longer just a hint!
This is a blatant declaration!
The old era of Sudan and the new era they pursued were mutually exclusive, a zero-sum game!
This was clearly telling him to abandon any illusions of peaceful reform and that a life-or-death, thorough revolution was necessary!
Ahmed's face instantly drained of all color, turning deathly pale.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down his thin cheeks.
"tell me!"
He sprang up from his chair and grabbed Rousseau's arm with such force that the latter cried out in pain.
The noisy chatter in the café seemed to vanish in that moment. All he could hear was the rapid pounding of his own heart.
"Who is this person?"
His voice was hoarse, distorted by excitement.
"How does he know all this? Who is he?!"
Rousseau was startled by his overreaction. He pulled away from Ahmed's hand and shrugged in confusion.
"Mr. Riza, please calm down. I'm just a messenger. As for the gentleman's identity, he didn't reveal it, and I can't speculate."
Ahmed Riza slumped back into his chair.
The wooden chair groaned under the weight.
He looked at the cup of coffee on the table that had gone cold, but a storm raged in his heart.
traitor?
Impossible. Comrades within the Party are brothers who risk their lives for the same ideal. There is absolutely no way anyone would betray us.
So, the only explanation is—
What terrifying intelligence capabilities and insight does that mysterious "Greek friend" possess!
What he saw was no longer the territorial gains and losses of Crete and Epirus, but the future of the entire Ottoman Empire, the enormous storm brewing deep within the heart of the empire that would determine the fate of the nation!
This person————
Is he a devil who lures him into the abyss, or an angel who hands him a torch in the darkness?
Is it Greece's most formidable enemy, or a most dangerous ally that can be exploited?
Ahmed Riza's breathing became rapid.
He knew he couldn't wait any longer.
He had to find an opportunity to contact and figure out what kind of person was behind that message!
He looked up and called to Rousseau, who was about to leave.
"Mr. Rousseau, please wait a moment."
He took a few coins out of his pocket and placed them on the table.
"I want to know everything about this Greek friend." His gaze rekindled with a fire, "especially how to see him again."