novelSusiti Chapter 305 The Time Bomb of the Future
Chapter 305 The Time Bomb of the Future
Chapter 305 The Time Bomb of the Future
Ahmed Riza did not sleep all night.
The window of that cheap London apartment, which couldn't be closed properly, let in not only damp, cold winds, but also the all-night clamor of sailors on the docks outside.
He did not light the lamp.
In the darkness, he paced back and forth in the small room, his steps hurried and disordered.
He spread the piece of paper with a drawing of a lion, a jackal, and a sword on the table.
Moonlight streamed through the dirty glass, casting its glow on the paper and making the simple lines appear like some kind of mysterious incantation.
This is a deal with the devil.
He knew it perfectly well.
Accepting this deal means that he, Ahmed Riza, will become a sinner against the Turkish nation.
He would personally hand over the territories that the empire had cultivated in Europe for hundreds of years to his arch-enemy.
This crime is enough to nail him to the pillar of historical shame, never to be able to rise again.
But what if you don't accept it?
If they do not accept this, the "Young Turks" party will face the gallows of Sudan and the combined strangulation of them by the European powers.
The Turkish nation will utterly lose its future.
He had to choose between two cups of poisoned wine.
Ahmed Riza stopped in his tracks.
He walked to the table and ran his fingers over the note.
Constantine —
The name rolled on his tongue.
In this Greek crown prince, he saw something far more terrifying than the corruption of the Sultanate and the greed of the European powers.
That is the strategic foresight of an eagle surveying the entire chessboard from ten thousand meters above the ground.
To be an enemy of such a person is to invite self-destruction.
Cooperating with him might—perhaps—provide Türkiye with that last glimmer of hope.
As the first rays of dawn pierced through the thick fog of London and shone into the room, Ahmed Riza made his decision.
He walked to the table, picked up a pen, quickly wrote a line on a piece of paper, folded it, and put it in his pocket.
He pushed open the door and stepped into the cold morning mist.
Ten o'clock in the morning, at the corner coffee shop.
It was still that noisy place, filled with the aroma of coffee beans and the sailors' swearing.
Jean-Pierre Rousseau, the French journalist, sat by the window, stirring his coffee with some unease.
Ahmed Riza's urgent request for a meeting made him sense that something big was about to happen.
Not long after, Venizelos appeared at the entrance of the coffee shop.
He took off his top hat, looked around, and then walked straight to sit down opposite Rousseau.
"Gentlemen," Venizelos greeted with a smile and a nod.
Rousseau, having completed his role as intermediary, wisely rose and left the space to the two true protagonists.
This time, there was no debate, no probing.
Only transactions.
Ahmed Riza's eyes were bloodshot, but his expression was one of calm after a do-or-die situation.
He looked at Venizelos and got straight to the point.
"Please convey this to your monarch."
His voice was a little hoarse from not having slept all night, but every word was crystal clear.
"If, on some future day, when we are in Constantinople fighting for the fate of the empire, the Kingdom of Greece can maintain—benevolent neutrality."
He emphasized the word "goodwill".
"We will neither support the Sudanese government nor take advantage of its misfortune."
Ahmed Riza paused, clenching his fist under the table.
He knew that what he was about to say would be the heaviest burden of his life.
"Therefore, the new government established by our Young Turks party can accept all the outcomes of this London Treaty."
"Sovereignty over southern Epirus and the entire island of Crete will forever belong to Greece."
He closed his eyes, as if using all his strength, and spoke his last bargaining chip.
"We could even hold further consultations on the demilitarization of the Aegean islands."
These words shocked the two people present.
This means that the "Young Turks" party is willing to give up every inch of land that the Ottoman Empire is still haggling over at the negotiating table in exchange for Greece's neutrality in their future power grab.
This is an astonishing price.
Venizelos listened to everything calmly.
His face showed no surprise or delight.
He simply gazed quietly at the young man before him, who was willing to bear eternal infamy for the future of his nation.
Then, he nodded slightly.
"I will convey your words verbatim."
He stood up and looked down at Ahmed Riza.
"I believe that my monarch is a gentleman who keeps his promises."
After saying that, he extended his right hand.
Ahmed Riza looked up at the hand extended in front of him.
He hesitated for a moment, but finally extended his hand as well.
Two hands, representing the future destiny of their respective nations, clasped tightly together in a dimly lit café, in a secluded corner unknown to anyone.
That evening, in the study of the Greek delegation's official residence.
Venizelos reported the results of his meeting with Ahmed Riza to Constantine in detail.
The young crown prince listened quietly without saying a word.
He simply walked up to the huge map of the Ottoman Empire and stared at it for a long time.
That map was still as huge as ever.
From Baltimore to North Africa, from the Caucasus to the Arabian Peninsula.
An ancient empire spanning three continents appears menacingly on the map.
Constantine reached out his hand, his long, slender fingers gently tracing the name of the city on the map, located at the throat of the strait—Constantinople.
Then, without pausing, his finger continued eastward, tracing across the vast, barren Anatolian interior.
He smiled.
"very good."
He spoke in a low voice, his tone carrying the satisfaction of a chess player who had just laid out his final killing move.
"A map to bury the old empire has begun to be drawn."
A future, powerful time bomb was quietly planted by both sides.
It will lie dormant quietly, waiting for the storm to come, waiting for the day it will be detonated.
Constantine tapped his fingers lightly on the map.