Creating an Industrial Empire in 19th Century Parallel World Chapter 238 The One Responsible



On the day of the failed attempt.

The two bombers that threw a bomb on Poul Nielsen's carriage returned to an undisclosed mansion just ten kiloters away from Buckingham Palace.

They were being escorted by the palace guards, leading them toward a room where their employer was waiting.

As they arrived at the door, the two royal guards standing on either side of the door pushed the door open, revealing an ornate reception room bathed in soft, golden light. The air was thick with a sense of anticipation as the bombers entered, their steps echoing on the marble floor.

Seated at the far end of the room, behind a polished mahogany desk, was a distinguished figure in a tailored suit. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with a mix of authority and nace.

"Welco back, gentlen," Lord Vanderre greeted them, his voice smooth and commanding. "I trust the mission was carried out successfully?"

The expression of the two bombers turned pale upon hearing the question.

"Your Highness…the bomb went off and destroyed Poul Nielsen's carriage but it was unable to effectively kill him. He is now heading towards the United States Embassy, seeking refuge."

Alexander's face contorted upon hearing their answer. His usually composed deanor shattered, replaced by seething anger that flickered in his eyes.

"Useless fools!" Alexander thundered, slamming his fist onto the desk with a resounding thud. The room trembled with the force of his rage. "You had one job! One simple task, and you failed !"

The lead bomber lowered his head, his voice trembling as he spoke. "Your Highness, we did everything according to plan. We couldn't have anticipated his escape."

"Anticipated? That's what separates the diocre from the exceptional," Alexander seethed through gritted teeth. He rose from his seat, towering over the trembling bombers. "You dare disappoint ? After all, I've done for you?"

Fear and regret washed over the faces of the two bombers as they realized the gravity of their failure. They knew that crossing Alexander, the man who held their lives, was not a position anyone wanted to be in.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," the other bomber stamred, his voice barely a whisper. "We will rectify our mistake and finish the job."

Alexander's anger subsided for a mont, replaced by a calculating gaze. He circled the room, his steps deliberate and asured. The silence was heavy, broken only by the echoes of his footsteps.

"Very well," he finally replied, his voice filled with a chilling calmness. "You will have one more chance. Find Poul Nielsen, eliminate him, and bring proof to . Failure is not an option."

The two bombers nodded, their determination renewed despite the trepidation still etched on their faces. They knew their lives hung in the balance, and the stakes had never been higher.

As they left the room, escorted by the palace guards, Alexander watched them with a mix of frustration and anticipation. In his mind, the grand chessboard of power shifted once again, and he prepared to play his next move.

"Your Highness," his aide de camp leaned forward and whispered. "If Poul Nielsen is in the embassy, I don't think the assassins that we hired are going to get through the strict security."

Alexander's gaze turned icy as he turned to his aide de camp. "I don't care about their security asures. I want Poul Nielsen eliminated, no matter the cost," he hissed, his voice laced with venomous determination.

The aide de camp could sense the desperation in Alexander's voice, but he also understood the need for caution. "Your Highness, if they traced the assassins back to you, it would cause an international incident. Your reasons may justify the ans but it will tarnish the dignity and reputation of the royal family."

"You do not speak for ," Alexander interrupted, his voice sharp. He took a step closer to his aide de camp, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity. "Do not forget your place, nor the consequences of questioning my decisions."

The aide de camp swallowed hard, realizing he had overstepped his bounds. He quickly composed himself, straightening his posture and lowering his gaze. "Apologies, Your Highness. I ant no disrespect. I only wish to offer a different perspective, considering the potential ramifications."

"The people of the British Empire wanted one thing, and that is the death of Poul Nielsen. As a mber of the royal family, I have a duty to fulfill their desires," Alexander retorted, his voice dripping with a mix of arrogance and conviction. "They wouldn't hate for doing that. In fact, they might love for that. If Poul Nielsen seeks refuge within the United States Embassy, then it is within those walls that he will et his end."

The aide de camp sighed inwardly, recognizing the futility of arguing further. He knew that once Alexander had made up his mind, it was nearly impossible to sway him.

"Very well, Your Highness."

"Oh, one more thing. I would like to see Poul Nielsen in the evening, see how it goes?"

"Pardon?" His aide de camp raised a brow. "Your Highness, why would you want to et the person you wanted to eliminate?"

"You are questioning my authority again," Alexander interrupted.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, I have overstepped my bounds again and would assure you that it won't happen again."

***

Two hours later, Prince Alexander arrived at the Embassy of the United States in London. Normally, visiting Poul Nielsen wouldn't be possible due to the recent event that almost took his life, but as a Crown Prince of the British Empire, those protocols were often bent or reinterpreted to suit his desires. Accompanied by his loyal aide de camp, Alexander was led through the high-security entrance of the embassy, where he was t by the Arican ambassador and a team of security personnel.

"Your Highness, I'm Smith, the Ambassador. I see that you want to see Mr. Nielsen?"

"Yes, I want to see how he is doing. The event earlier was unfortunate and I want to assess the situation personally," Alexander replied.

Ambassador Smith nodded, his expression cautious. "Understood, Your Highness. Mr. Nielsen is currently in a secure room. We have taken every precaution to ensure his safety."

"I appreciate your efforts, Ambassador," Alexander acknowledged, his eyes scanning the surroundings. He could sense the tension in the air, the heightened security asures that surrounded them. It seems that the United States is making a huge effort on protecting Poul Nielsen. It's going to be hard for the assassins he hired to infiltrate.

The ambassador led Alexander and his aide de camp through a series of corridors, guarded by additional security personnel at every turn. They finally reached a reinforced door, guarded by two ard agents. The agents exchanged a brief nod with the ambassador, unlocking the door and allowing Alexander's party to enter.

Inside the room, Poul Nielsen sat at a sturdy wooden table, bandages wrapped around his forehead and arm. His face bore the marks of the recent attack.

He looked up to et Alexander's gaze and asked.

"Your Highness? To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here in the Embassy? Oh, sorry to have seen this miserable state of mine, I'm sure you are aware of the failed assassination attempt on earlier?"

Alexander's eyes narrowed as he observed Poul Nielsen's composed deanor. He could sense the underlying strength and resilience in the man despite his injuries. A flicker of admiration crossed his mind, quickly suppressed by his desire for vengeance.

"Yeah, I heard the news, I am glad that you are okay," Alexander said.

"Oh, spare the pretense, Your Highness," Poul Nielsen interrupted, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. "I highly doubt you're here to offer your well wishes. What is it that you truly seek?"

Alexander tilted his head to the side, adopting a practiced expression of innocence. "I must confess, Mr. Nielsen, I find your insinuation rather puzzling. My purpose for being here today is simply to extend my well wishes and offer my deepest apologies. You see, our governnt had provided assurances that you would be transported to port safely, but the unfortunate incident that occurred raises concerns regarding the effectiveness of our security asures."

Poul Nielsen raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing through Alexander's facade. He had dealt with enough politicians and manipulative individuals in his line of work to see through their masks.

He sighed and decided to play along with his charade.

"In that case, thank you for the thought, Your Highness. I sustained injuries but I'm recovering well. I hope there won't be any attempts on next ti as I am sure that the British won't definitely let it happen again if they are sorry."

Alexander smiled stiffly at Poul Nielsen's response, his eyes glimring with a mix of hidden motives and suppressed anger.

"Rest assured, Mr. Nielsen, I will personally ensure that such incidents never happen again. The safety and well-being of all individuals within our borders, including yours, are of utmost importance to . We will spare no effort in rectifying any shortcomings and strengthening our security asures."

Poul Nielsen nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I appreciate your assurance, Your Highness. It is comforting to know that steps will be taken to prevent any future mishaps."

Alexander's smile faltered for a mont, a hint of suspicion crossing his face. He couldn't help but wonder if Poul Nielsen suspected his involvent in the assassination attempt. But he quickly composed himself, regaining his composure and reaffirming his resolve.

Poul on the other hand, couldn't help but smirk inwardly. He can read it in his face, Alexander has sothing to do with the assassination attempt on his life, it was too obvious for him. After all, if he was in his position, he would probably do the sa.

"I'll take my leave now, Mr. Nielsen," Alexander said before leaving his room.