Jayne looked down. “I see.” When she raised her eyes, the man’s face paled on the screen. “It’s me you have a problem with, isn’t it?”
She took a moment to examine the faces on the screens before her.
“I realize I’m not from a blue-blood aristocratic family. True, I am the daughter of a U.S. Senator…but he was no lord, nor yet even a knight.”
The man from England cleared his throat. “Yes, and exactly why is it we should allow this nonsense?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Jayne saw MacTavish raise his arm and tap his watch. Hurry up…we’re going to lose the link, he mouthed.
Jayne focused on the Council again. “Trust me, I would love to take my time with this and explain to you in exquisite detail why I am not only the best-qualified person to accept this responsibility, but also the only realistic chance the Council has at survival. Instead, I will be blunt. As you so eloquently stated earlier, our enemies are legion and we need time to lick our wounds.” She moved around the king and stood in front of him, making sure that every one of the Councilors saw that it was she who spoke, not the king.
“I have the late Earl Dunkeith’s personal files, his computer records, and all of his finances,” Jayne said, shifting her attention to each monitor in turn as she spoke. Several of the Councilors blinked and adjusted their ties or swallowed. None of them had expected that.
“In short, gentlemen, I have more power available at my fingertips—by far—than all of you put together. I know this is going to take some time for you to get used to…after all, you are the Council…but keep in mind, that from this point on, I am the regent.”
“As you say, madam regent,” said the handsome Sir Edward. “What would you have of us?”
Jayne smiled her most seductive smile. She felt the king shift his weight on his feet when he noticed the reaction on Sir Edward’s chiseled face. If the man was truly ambitious, and she was able to get the king upset with him, he would be easier to remove, thus eliminating a further obstacle.
“My first order is that we shall disrupt the U.N. summit taking place in Edinburgh.”
“How is it you think you’ll be able to coordinate our disparate forces to get there in time to diffuse the situation?” demanded Baron Dousman. “It’s impossible! We’re scattered all across the globe.”
“My dear baron, nothing is impossible,” Jayne purred. She suppressed a giggle. She stepped aside to allow the king to bask in the limelight.
“We’ve had people in place there for over a month,” the boy-king said, his voice cracking only a little. He glanced at her. “Well, Miss Renolds has.”
6
First Strike
Danika stood in front of the window in her executive suite, one hand on her hip, the other bringing a steaming cup of English Breakfast to her lips. She took a few moments to center herself and admire the view of Edinburgh Castle gracing the crest of the Royal Mile. A smile tugged the corner of her mouth. This was perhaps the first time she’d bothered to look out the window at the castle, and she had one of the better views in the hotel. Yet Braaten had walked over to the window first thing, expecting to find the castle, and saw nothing but the building next door.
Her smile faded. This isn’t a sightseeing trip.
She had a feeling the serene image of the castle perched atop the hill overlooking the sleepy town just before sunrise would be one of the last times in the next few days things would remain so peaceful. Jayne was out there lurking in the shadows, she knew it. She could feel it in her bones.
Every fiber of her being told her what was left of the Council was going to strike, and soon. Danika knew, deep down, one way or another, the world was headed toward a major conflict. If they didn’t take out the Council—take them out completely—before the bombs fell, they would use the cover of a world war to rebuild, regroup, and strike again.
The thought disgusted her. She took one final sip of tea, now bitter to her taste, and replaced the cup on its saucer. The quiet clink as the china touched made her pause, her hand hovering over the tea service atop her dresser. Her room was silent, other than the soft hum of the air conditioning unit above the main door.
It’s too quiet. I can’t hear anything from outside…
She walked back to the window and glanced down at the streets below. Not a soul moved in the hour before dawn. That in itself wasn’t exactly unusual, but Danika expected to see at least one or two people walking around down there. It wasn’t like they shut down the entire town for the summit—there were still plenty of tourists mucking about.
Soon the trees would be changing color in preparation for the long winter’s sleep ahead. Her eyes followed the slope of the Royal Mile toward the castle perched at the top, still illuminated with its nighttime spotlights. With the lightening sky behind it, the medieval castle struck a majestic pose—it was the perfect background for peace talks.
Or to prepare for war, depending on what side you’re on…
Satisfied that no attack was imminent, Danika turned from the window and finished dressing for the day. She made sure to strap a boot knife to her lower leg under her pantsuit, a small, concealable Glock 26 in 9mm at the small of her back underneath her waistband, and slipped a long, thin dagger into a forearm sheath under her coat sleeve.
As the head of security for a United States Senator, she was expected to be armed at all times, but Danika knew in the close quarters of crowded conference rooms, where you may only be a few feet from your attacker, a knife could be far more lethal than a firearm—especially in the hands of someone who knew how to use it.
Danika examined her image in the floor-to-ceiling mirror next to the main door. She adjusted the fit of her business coat and nodded to herself. A tall, athletic, redhead nodded back at her, exuding confidence and ability. She turned in a slow circle, watching herself in the mirror to make sure none of her weapons were visible.
Last to go on were a pair of steel-toed pumps, specially made and reinforced to provide added security for her feet and extra weapons if necessary. The heels had been supplemented with a metal rod and the toes wrapped in a sheet of steel under the leather. They would make formidable kicking weapons if needed, or she could use them as hand-to-hand tools of last resort.
Watching herself in the mirror, she pulled her long red hair back into a tight ponytail and let it hang over her shoulders. Despite the early hour of the day, she looked fresh, well rested, and ready to tackle whatever challenges appeared.
Danika turned to make sure her room was as tidy as possible. All evidence of her early morning workout had been erased. The yoga mat had been rolled up and her sweaty clothes had been hung in the bathroom to dry after a quick rinse. She walked over to the bed and straightened the quilt at the corner. Satisfied the room looked exactly the way she wanted it to, she retrieved her satchel and slipped a ruggedized iPad into it.
Time to get to work.
Danika’s first stop upon leaving her own room was the floor below, at the far end of the building. She knocked on the door and was surprised when it opened almost as soon as she pulled her hand back.
Cooper Braaten stood before her, dressed in a business suit and freshly shaven. His eyes looked tired, but he gave off the impression of one who was ready to handle whatever was thrown at them.
“Good morning. You look tired, you didn’t sleep?” she asked.
A grin increased his handsome face. “I swear, I don’t know how you have such a good accent,” he muttered. “I only had a couple hours to rest, so I spent that time poring over the mission briefing again.”
“I need you at the top of your game, Braaten,” Danika said, disappointed that he hadn’t taken advantage of restorative sleep while he had the chance.
“Don’t worry about me. I got enough sleep on the flight over.” He turned and picked up a messenger bag, then slung it over his shoulder. Danika leaned around him to get a view of his room and frowned. It looked like a bomb went off. Clothes lay strewn everywher
e, and the bed looked like he’d spent all night tossing and turning.
“You squared away here?” she asked.
Braaten paused to examine the disaster area that was his hotel room. He turned back and looked at her with a blank expression. “Yeah, why?”
Danika shook her head. “Never mind. Come on, I need to get you checked in and get your official credentials and sidearm issued.”
“Sounds good, let’s roll,” Braaten said, as he stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him.
On their way out of the hotel, he paused at the hotel’s little breakfast bar and grabbed a couple of apples, a banana, three boxes of cereal, and two cartons of milk. He loaded everything in his messenger bag, smiling at the befuddled employees, then grabbed a cup of coffee while Danika stood watching.
He turned with the mug in his hand and took a sip, wincing at the taste. “Now I know why you guys all drink tea over here,” he said to the hotel employee who tried to explain to him that hotel guests couldn’t take food with them.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I still had this mug in my hand,” Braaten said, a charming smile on his face. While the woman behind the counter grew more flustered, Braaten continued talking over her. “This is my first time in Edinburgh, you know?” he said, pronouncing it Eddinberg, like a tourist. “I’m still little jet-lagged from the flight…” he said, grabbing for a paper cup.
“Sir, that’s all very interesting, but the hotel policy is—”
“I just love it over here, though; I love the way your voice sounds when you talk,” he said, looking up from his coffee as he poured the mug’s coffee into the paper cup.
“Och, well then,” the blushing waitress said, adjusting her curly dark brown hair over one ear.
“Oops, sorry about this mess here,” Braaten said, trying to wipe up the dribbled coffee on the countertop with one hand while holding his newly acquired paper cup of steaming coffee in the other.
“Och, dinna worry about that, I’ll take care of it. But I must remind you, sir ,that—”
“Thank you so much,” he said, turning to Danika. “Everyone here is so polite!”
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yeah, okay,” Braaten said. He turned back to the waitress. “Say, thanks again! Y’all have a good day now,” he said, with a slight southern accent.
Looks like I’m not the only one who knows their way around accents…
As they stepped out the sliding doors into the chilly September morning, Braaten took a sip of his coffee and grinned. “You eat yet?” he asked, rummaging in his messenger bag.
Danika rolled her eyes. “Is this how you always act on a mission?”
“Yeah,” Cooper laughed, “until someone starts shooting at me.”
Danika cast a sideways glance at him as they walked down the brick-paved sidewalk toward Holyrood Palace, some two blocks away. Maybe it was all just an act? He certainly had the appearance of the Ugly American: loud, boisterous, ignoring local rules, and insulting local hospitality.
He munched happily on an apple, every bite creating a loud crack-snap, intermittently pausing to slurp his coffee as they strolled down the street. His posture suggested that he thought he owned the world.
Typical.
“So what’s the game plan?” he mumbled around a mouthful of apple.
Danika forced herself not to sigh. “We’re going to check in at Holyrood; that’s where summit security has set up shop.”
“Isn’t it like some kind of ruins or something?” he asked.
Danika checked the cross street as they approached the ancient palace, long-time seat of Scottish kings.
“Only the Abbey. The rest of the palace grounds are in remarkably good condition for its age. Everything was built with solid stone walls. It’s probably the most secure structure around here, outside the parliament building itself and the castle, of course.”
Braaten paused and looked back up the Royal Mile. The road curved slightly to the left, but it didn’t quite completely obscure their view of the castle seated atop its crag almost a mile away.
“Why didn’t they just have the meeting up there?”
“They decided to have it in the parliament building—politicians like their creature comforts and technology. SNP has plenty of room for all the delegates and staffers, and it’s more secure than the castle itself.”
Braaten didn’t say anything as he chewed the remains of his first apple, but his eyebrows rose a little.
A single black cab turned the street in front of them and headed toward the palace. Danika started to explain the security layout, how the headquarters were set up in the palace—that the actual checkpoints were in the parliament building—when Braaten stopped walking. She went two steps beyond him before she paused and turned.
“What is it?”
“When’s the senator getting here?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. The carefree attitude he’d adopted since they left his room vanished. The Navy SEAL she’d hired had suddenly appeared.
Danika checked her watch. “He’s in the air now. About five hours.”
“We need to stop whoever’s in that cab. They’re doing recon.”
“What?” asked Danika, her head spinning back to target the ubiquitous black cab that slowed near the entrance to Holyrood Palace.
“You said this whole area had been shut down to tourists—so what the hell is a cab doing pulling up to the palace? We work there, and we’re walking.”
“Shit,” Danika cursed. The cab stopped directly across the main entrance from the palace. As she pulled her phone out of her satchel, Danika saw the taillights flicker in an unusual pattern, as if the vehicle were suffering an electrical malfunction.
Her eyes widened, her senses sharpened, and time slowed. Not even bothering to release the phone from her hand, she lunged sideways, slamming her shoulder into Braaten and pushing them both just behind the corner of a Scottish souvenir shop.
She felt the heat from the explosion on her foot as she continued with Braaten around the corner just in time to miss the overpressure as it barreled up the Royal Mile. The dull boom of the taxi exploding shattered windows nearby and set off alarms up the street. Braaten gripped her shoulder and said something, but she couldn’t hear his words. She focused on his lips as he repeated himself, understanding he was inquiring if she’d been injured.
Pebbles rained down around them, and bits of ash and dust floated down like snow. She nodded once, then they both rushed around the corner to see smoke rising from a small crater just in front of the palace’s main gates. Or what was left of the main gates.
Braaten cursed, her ears barely recognizing his next words. “They’re too early!”
He started to move forward, but she grabbed his coat and held on tight. “Wait,” she said, her voice sounding like it came from far away. “Something isn’t right…”
As she turned to scan up the Royal Mile, he placed his back against hers and watched the palace. In that moment, surrounded by the smoke and the chaos of the attack, she was glad to have such an elite operator at her side. Without being told to, he instinctively moved to protect her back while she tried to figure out what was going on.
And all he has is a knife…
“What are you thinking?” he asked in a muffled voice.
“What?” she replied.
“I said, what are you thinking?” he repeated, louder.
Danika rubbed her ear, willing the buzzing to go away. “I’m thinking I’m glad you delayed us by getting your food…”
Braaten grunted. “Yeah, we would’ve been trying to get inside that gate when the bomb went off.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “You think it was meant for us?”
“What?” she asked again.
“Was the bomb for us?” he yelled.
Danika shook her head, her eyes scanning the streets, watching people emerge from buildings and raise cellphones to take pictures of the carnage at the palace.
“No—no
one knows about you, and I doubt anyone would care about me.”
The buzzing was fading, replaced by a high-pitched whine. She frowned, unable to hear exactly what Braaten had said. “Who would care?”
Braaten shook his head. “Jayne would care.”
Ice water trickled down Danika’s spine. He was right. Jayne would care. And Jayne would have access enough to know that her nemesis was in charge of a key senator’s security detail. Danika had a fake identity and had fooled everyone else, but Jayne Renolds was not everyone else. She would know. A calm settled over Danika’s shoulders.
So you’re coming for my charge, is it? Good. I have some unfinished business with you.
“Civvies are gathering…” Braaten warned.
Danika watched several people rush by, talking excitedly with each other. She followed them with her eyes down the road as they gathered among others who had already arrived on the scene. The first of the emergency responders dove into the rubble and picked their way through, looking for survivors, bathed in the blue-and-white strobe lights on their vehicles.
“Got a second cab,” Cooper shouted, pointing down the side street where the first taxi had emerged.
“It could be a second attack! We’ve got to stop them!” Danika said.
“Well, you sure know how to show a guy a good time,” Braaten quipped, as he turned and marched purposely across the street toward the oncoming taxi. He whipped back his coat and his right hand appeared at the small of his back, drawing the ceramic knife from its sheath.
Going after the bad guy with a knife. Bloody American.
“Wait for me!” she called, pulling free her sidearm.
7
Enemy Sighted
Jayne opened the door to yet another room in the palatial chateau and frowned. The young king was nowhere to be found. She’d searched at least a half-dozen rooms, and while the efforts of the remaining staff to put the place back together after her arrival were heroic, the chateau remained in shambles. The clutter was starting to grate on her nerves.
The Regent Page 5
