13 turned to look at him. “I know, that’s what makes me so nervous. This has been planned for a while and now that we’ve ruined it, what’s her next play?”
Cooper ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Maybe it’s not her—it’s not like she left a calling card or anything…”
13 turned away from him and stared at the monitor again. She was silent for a moment. “It’s her. I can feel it.”
Cooper shook his head. “What is it with you and this woman? Yeah, she’s evil, but damn…”
13 never took her eyes off the monitor. “With Reginald dead, Jayne Renolds is the most dangerous person alive.” She turned slowly to face him again. “She has all of my skills, and none of my morals.”
Cooper frowned. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of doing…and I wouldn’t exactly say you’re a paragon of morality and ethics…”
“As bad as you think I may be, she’s ten times worse. And not only is she capable and perfectly willing to do anything to achieve her goals, she has all the power and resources that Reginald controlled at the time of his death. I’ve seen some the files myself—I have a pretty good idea who the remaining Councilors are.” She shook her head again. “They all pale in comparison to Jayne.”
“Look,” Cooper said, raising his hands palm up. “All I’m saying is that we have a job to do. The mission. We need to keep Senator Tecumseh safe. We’ve done part of that already, by breaking up this little bomb plot they had. If you get lost in the weeds looking for your white whale—”
“I am not obsessed,” 13 said firmly.
Cooper raised an eyebrow. “Says you. Besides, it doesn’t matter. The senator’s gonna be landing in a couple hours. We don’t have time to scour all of Edinburgh. She might not even be here for Christ’s sake,” Cooper said, hands on his hips. “We’re wasting our time standing around watching these local cops—or bobbies, or whatever the fuck they call themselves over here—interrogate this guy. You and I both know he’s a pro. Can’t you pull some strings? Just get me in there for sixty seconds. I’ll get all the information we need.”
The corner of 13’s mouth lifted, and for a second, Cooper saw a glimpse of just how pretty she really was. Underneath all the bravado and the facade of being one of the world’s most elite assassins, she was a strikingly gorgeous woman. The effect was gone in an instant though when her eyes narrowed. She changed from being an angel, bathed from behind with the light of the monitor in their darkened observation room, to being a shadowy predator, willing to rip someone’s throat out at the drop of a hat.
“Make no mistake, she’s coming for us. But I will find her, and I will kill her. This man knows something,” 13 said. “But we’re not in America, we’re the foreigners here—Scotland Yard has to handle this and they’ll do it their way.” She turned back to the monitor. “We have to be satisfied with being observers on this one.”
“I heard one of the staffers outside talking about them possibly postponing the summit.”
13 stiffened as his words. “We can’t allow them to do that,” she muttered.
“I think it’s time we call the senator. How much pull does he have with these people?”
She turned away from the monitor to face him again. “He’s only a junior senator and only been on the job for six months…but the world recognizes the United States is in a very dangerous position right now. He’s the delegate from America—if he makes a lot of noise and puts pressure on them to keep the vote on schedule, I have faith they’ll do it.”
“I take it you have a secure link?”
“For obvious reasons,” she said, indicating the screen with one slender hand, “the president insisted that he travel on an Air Force jet. I have an encrypted satellite phone that’s about as secure as we can expect in a situation like this.”
“Well,” Cooper said, “I guess it’s time to shit or get off the pot.”
13 blinked at him, her expression completely blank. Cooper laughed. “You like that? Well, stick around, sister—I’m just full of great advice.”
Cooper stepped across the room to the small serving table against the wall and opened his satchel, extracting a box of cereal and a carton of milk he’d taken from the hotel, before the bomb.
“You’re going to eat a bowl of Frosted Flakes?” she asked, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline. “We don’t have any bowls.”
Cooper grinned. “No worries.” He ripped open the little cardboard-encased individual serving of sugary cereal. “I do this all the time. Quick and easy.” He opened the inner, waxy paper bag, then opened the milk carton. As she watched, he poured half of the milk into the cereal box, shut it, and shook vigorously.
“Bottoms up,” he called out, bringing the box to his lips and slurping down the crunchy milky slurry. He polished off the box of cereal and drank the carton of milk while 13 accessed her phone and contacted the Air Force jet carrying Senator Tecumseh.
By the time Cooper dropped the empty cereal box and milk carton in the trash, wiping his hands together to clean them of sugary crumbs, 13 had the satellite phone on speaker and had placed it on the table. “Okay, sir, I’ve got you on speakerphone.”
“So what exactly happened? The reports I got from U.N. security are a little vague.”
Cooper scratched his chin and thought. The voice on the line sounded way too young to be a senator—the man couldn’t be more than forty. Cooper always imagined senators as old guys with gray hair and voices scarred by years of drinking whiskey and smoking cigars in back rooms. Senator Denoyan Tecumseh sounded more like the high school history teacher his dossier claimed him to be.
“A taxi filled with C-4 detonated outside at Holyrood Palace.”
“My God,” muttered the senator.
“It only did minimal damage—only one person was killed besides the driver—the security guard manning the palace gate.”
“The report said there was a second car…?” the senator prompted.
“Yes sir, there was. My associate—Cooper Braaten—and I, prevented the second car from exploding and detained the driver.”
“Cooper Braaten here, Senator Tecumseh. Ms. Baker is being far too modest. I didn’t even have a firearm.”
“You know, it’s been six months since I’ve been elected, but I think it’s going to be a long time before I get used to someone calling me ‘Senator.’ Just call me Denny, please.”
“Okay, Denny,” Cooper said with a grin. I like this guy already.
“What’s going on now?”
“Scotland Yard is interrogating the driver of the second car, sir,” 13 said, “but they’ve been at it for over an hour and he hasn’t given up anything. I have reason to believe that he is a Council operative. They’d like nothing more than to delay this summit.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I’m sure you’re both aware of what President Harris will do if this vote fails or is delayed. It needs to happen on schedule, and we need to convince the United Nations to stop this foolishness. I’m afraid they’ll use this attack as the perfect excuse to postpone or cancel the vote.”
“We’re already hearing rumors of that, Denny. You’re going to have your work cut out for you when you get here.”
“What about more attacks? Do we think this was it?”
“No—although the United Nations security forces are convinced it is. As I said, I believe this was a Council operation—they would benefit the most by delaying or canceling the vote. It would bring to light all of their connections with North Korea and likely expose their involvements with governments around the world. They can’t afford to let this happen.”
“We’re pretty sure this is just the tip of the iceberg, sir. I hate to say it, but I think you’re coming into a hot LZ.”
“I’ve heard that before. I can’t say as I’m exactly thrilled to be coming there…”
Cooper leaned in toward the speakerphone. “With all due respect, Denny, I read your file—I know what went down in
Salmon Falls and your part in it. You’re not a man that backs down easy, not when something important needs to be done.”
“Thank you,” the senator mumbled. “This vote is important, but if it’s going to continue to draw attacks and innocent civilians are going to pay the price…”
“I promise you, sir, we will make sure you stay safe,” Cooper added.
“I’m not worried about me, I don’t want innocent people to be harmed as a result of this nonsense.”
“We still have two days before the vote is scheduled to take place. That’s a lot of time for Cooper and I to track down any remaining Council operatives in Edinburgh. We’ll clear the road for you, so you can handle the United Nations.”
“I have faith that you will,” Denny said. “During our brief time together you’ve proven yourself more than capable, Ms. Baker. I’m sure you can get the job done.”
“Thank you for your confidence, sir. I will transmit the detailed reports and everything we have, so you can be up to speed before you land.”
“Thank you.”
13 nodded. “I’m just doing my job, sir. I’ll see you at the airport.”
“Am I ever going to meet Mr. Braaten?”
“Call me Cooper, sir. I’m going to stay here and make sure the facility remains secure. Ms. Baker will escort you from the airport.”
“Okay then, I’ll see you both in a little while.”
13 ended the call, then dropped the satellite phone in her satchel. “When he gets here, we’re going to have about forty-eight hours to find Jayne.”
“You think she’s gonna come looking for you? You said it yourself, she hides in the shadows and has other people do her dirty work.”
“She doesn’t know that I’m here already—she will when the reporters get pictures of me escorting the senator off the plane. I assure you, she’ll come for me.”
Cooper laughed. “You know what I like about you? Your modesty.”
13 frowned, making Cooper laugh even louder.
9
Evacuation
Jayne stood in the doorway to the King’s private chambers. He was surrounded by a ridiculous amount of matched luggage—most of it only partially full—with two terrified servants bustling back and forth across the room packing clothes, books, and personal effects. She crossed her arms.
“Your Majesty, we’re under a bit of a time crunch here…” She took one step into the room and went no further—there was no more clear space for her to step. The king lived in a pigsty. Snack wrappers, energy drink and soda cans littered the floor, intermingled with fast food wrappers. On the nightstand, next to the king’s ornate four-post canopy bed, lay a stack of adult magazines. The king saw the direction of her gaze and his face turned three shades of crimson.
“I need to make sure I bring my things…we only just moved in for the summer…you see, we…ah…I mean when we left, we didn’t bring everything from England…”
“And I promise you you will get everything back and more,“ Jayne said, trying her best to remain calm. “But our enemies are gathering in Scotland as we speak. We need to be there. Yesterday.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts,’ Your Majesty. You have servants, they will handle the rest.” She turned to the older of the two butlers, scrambling behind the king to get his things packed. “Is that correct?”
The old man looked ready to have a heart attack. He staggered into the side of the bed and dropped his armload of clothes on the silk quilt. “Oh…yes ma’am…of course!” he blurted, stumbling over his words.
Jayne recognized the look of absolute terror in his eyes. She prided herself on having that effect on most people who knew her true nature. Normally, with underlings who didn’t matter, she’d at least try to be nice. Today was not a day for her to lay on the charm and ease the man’s concerns, though. They needed to move, and the king needed to be gone within the next hour. At this rate, she groused, looking over the disaster area that was the king’s bedroom, they’d be there all week.
On the tablet almost forgotten in her hand was the list of dignitaries attending the summit. She’d acquired the confidential list from a hacker who owed her a favor. The scheduled arrivals were current through last night. However, she was sure the botched attempt at Holyrood Palace that morning would throw everything into disarray.
Jayne herself had planted the rumors among the delegates that certain countries were willing to float the idea of delaying or even canceling the vote, but her own sources provided her an even more unsettling rumor. A few delegates were pushing to have the vote moved up.
She idly kicked a crumpled-up energy drink can with her Gianvito Rossi alligator pump. That wouldn’t do at all—with the imminent arrival of the junior senator from Idaho, things were likely to go even further askew.
The more she thought about it, the more Jayne realized she’d have to make some changes, personally. While the king tried to explain to her what items were positively, absolutely, without a doubt necessary for his very survival in the U.K., she opened the tablet and scrolled through her list of contacts until she found the right name.
Jayne arched a sculpted eyebrow, thinking.
“Isn’t it a tad dangerous for me to return to my country so soon after the…you know…?”
Jayne looked up. “Don’t be silly. It’s the last place anyone would dare look for you.”
She ignored the continued bleating from the boy-king. He knew he was talking more to reassure himself than her, anyway. She’d given him Svea's file, and he read up on some of her missions and thought he might have wet himself reading through the dossier.
Now is not the time to be timid. Now is the time to strike with authority and strength. Now is the time to strike from a position of strength before the American shows up and wrecks my house of cards.
The operation’s window of success shrunk by the minute.
“So you see, I just can’t possibly leave—” the king was saying.
Jayne waved him to silence. “A thousand pardons, Your Majesty, but I simply must make a phone call. It doesn’t look like we’re going to be getting out of here within the next thirty minutes or so, anyway. I need to put some things in motion now, so we can secure our arrival.” She looked down at the tablet. Yes, you’ll do nicely—if you’re still willing to work for me…
“Oh…oh, okay. Well, I suppose we can work a little faster…” the king mumbled.
“Oh, that’s lovely, yes, thank you, sire,” Jayne muttered, as she turned and left without so much as a by-your-leave. The boy king called something after her, but she ignored him and continued down the hall, scrolling through her contact list, looking for an alternate should her primary operative be unavailable…or compromised. The world is a very strange place lately.
There was a time, as little as a year ago, when she could pick up her phone and call anywhere, anytime, anyone on her list…and they would fall all over themselves attempting to please her.
Now? She had to call three different people before she found someone to drive the cab up to Holyrood Palace. And even then, she’d been forced to contract out. It was shoddy business practice, and she didn’t like it. Jayne Renolds preferred to deal one-on-one with a reliable person and get the job done.
She knew, of course, she could always rely on her Arab contacts to cause a little trouble if the target was anywhere in Western Europe or America, but while they were certainly enthusiastic, they lacked the finesse, the panache, that Jayne so desperately needed for each of her missions.
She frowned. Any fool can walk into a building with dynamite strapped to his chest and blow up a handful of innocents. Jayne preferred to do things with style. It created a lovely reputation that she wore like fine jewelry. The mere mention of her name instilled terror in those who heard and understood.
After the Korean Flu ravaged most of the world, as many as half of her operatives had been nullified, either reduced to a coughing, wheezing mass or outright killed by the virus. Th
e rest were under constant surveillance and pressure from the Americans and their damned anti-Council alliance.
She paused at a large, gilded mirror down the hallway from the king’s private chambers. Without a care for who saw her, she lifted the short skirt that covered her tanned legs and pulled her smartphone from its sheath attached to her white lace garter. She took a moment to examine the tan line on her leg.
Starting to lighten a little…I have to make an appointment again. She sighed internally. The things one must do for one’s job…
Jayne smiled, flicked her hair over one shoulder, and brought the phone to her ear.
“I was wondering when you’d call me,” a rough voice said in Russian.
“Well hello to you, too,” she replied in Russian, her accent flawless. She turned in a slow circle to admire her body in the tall mirror before walking away down the hallway again.
“That business in Scotland…that was you?”
Jayne sighed. “Is it that obvious?” she pouted. “Unfortunately, yes. I used an unreliable contractor this time. It was…extremely short notice.”
The assassin at the other end of the line grunted. “Sure. What do you want from me?”
How about a little more respect? “I have a job for you.”
After a short pause, the answer came. “Not interested.”
Jayne arched one eyebrow. So we’re back to this game again, are we? “Ivan,” she began.
“Gregor—”
“Whatever,” Jayne said, rolling her eyes. “You know who I am, right?”
The man chuckled, but she detected a crack in his confidence. “Everyone knows who you are.”
She nodded as she walked, ignoring the servant who bowed deeply at her passing. “And you know I don’t make offers more than once…?”
Her assassin waited a moment—a rather long moment, she thought. “I do.” It almost sounded like a question.
“And do you think I am a person who makes idle propositions?” she asked. Jayne paused at the end of the massive hallway and stared out the windows into the early morning light. She raised one hand and examined her blood-red fingernails. “I’ll be generous.”
The Regent Page 7
