"Of course. But what if Caesar's son or a Caesar's adopted son goes bad?" Jay elucidated.
"So far we haven't had that problem to deal with. But we're ready. Each time a new Dictator comes to power, one thousand top military men draw folded pieces of plastipaper from a 'bowl.' On twenty of these are X's. The others contain O's. The twenty X's are a secret organization, sworn to kill the Dictator if it should become necessary. When Caesar, as you say, 'goes bad'."
"Brilliant!" Jay breathed. "And he—Caesar—never knows who they are?"
"No one ever knows," Ilaria said. "Not even the members. They remain in contact, but none ever knows who the others are."
Jay remembered Ilaria's previous mention of the system, and the unconscious swelling of the Tribune's chest at the time. "You're one," he said.
Ilaria was caught off guard. "I—yes," he said. "I won't ask how you knew."
"A guess. Then you've been a—whatever it's called—for nine years, during Caesar V's reign."
"That's right."
"And you don't know any of the others?"
"Only one. I found out accidentally. He—" Ilaria stopped.