“It’s worse,” Danika said.
She continued to answer questions as the nurses and doctors cleaned and patched her up. One of them made the announcement that her heart rate was abnormally fast.
Danika began looking for an opening to escape.
34
New Digs
Denny stepped out of his private suite and shut the door behind him. Freshly showered and dressed in clothes donated to him by one of the U.N. delegates, he tugged the cuff on his suit jacket and grinned. It didn’t actually fit too bad…
Cooper Braaten, his ever-present shadow, silently exited his room across the hall and shut it with an audible click. Instead of a suit, Braaten had opted for a more severe look. He wore dark combat cargo pants, boots, and a black knit turtleneck, layered with a tactical shoulder rig for his sidearm.
“New look?” Denny asked.
Braaten shrugged one shoulder. “I haven’t even been in this town for twenty-four hours and I’ve been surprised more times than I’d like to admit. I’m going with comfort over style.”
Denny glanced at his bodyguard. “That’s comfortable?” he asked. “Looks like you’re carrying ten pounds of gear…”
Braaten grinned, the stubble on his cheek creasing with his mouth. “Beats the hell out of no gear.”
Denny nodded. “You don’t have to come with me for this…it’s going to be pretty boring, I think. Bunch of politicians gathering in the Great Hall. At least that’s what I’ve been told…”
“My mission is to make sure you’re safe at all times, sir. Where you go, I go.”
It was Denny’s turn to shrug. “Suit yourself. Personally, I hate this shit. All the glad-handing and backslapping…kissing babies is where I draw the line.”
Braaten grunted, but fell in behind Denny as they strolled down the corridor heading for the stairs. The Governor’s House may have at one time been a single residence, but in the past century, the British government had converted the house into almost a hotel for visiting dignitaries. Each room was its own suite—but in the aftermath of the Korean Flu, the Governor’s House, like the castle itself, had been in upgraded for new security measures. Electronic locks covered every door now.
“We heard anything more about the attack?” Denny asked.
“Negative,” Braaten replied. “Angus went down to have a chat with the castle police to see if he could find out anything new. I checked in with my boss stateside, and he confirms we haven’t heard anything from Ms. Baker.”
Denny paused at the stairs and looked at Braaten. “Between the two of us, I’m starting to get worried about her. For her safety.”
Cooper snorted. “That makes one of us. Honestly, from what I’ve seen of her work, I’m more worried about Edinburgh.”
Denny walked down the red-velvet-lined steps, his hand sliding down the polished walnut railing until they reached the first floor landing. A pair of British soldiers snapped to attention, standing on either side of the main entrance to the Governor’s House. As they approached, one guard reached out and opened the door for them.
“Thank you,” Denny said.
“Stay safe out there, sir,” the guard replied.
“You too, Yank,” his partner muttered at Braaten.
“Always,” the ex-SEAL said.
Denny was pleased to discover upon exiting the building that the downpour that had soaked him to the bone when they’d exited the tunnels had finally abated. A fine mist hung in the air, which he thought rather typical of Scotland, and formed little beads of water on his coat, but did not drench him.
They walked briskly across the cobblestone ramp, heading up toward the main castle. Passing through the main gate via another three-man checkpoint, Denny looked up and marveled at the massive portcullis that was the last line of defense for the castle. By the time they climbed the final ramp and reached the courtyard proper, Denny had to pause for a second and catch his breath. He was ashamed to admit how accustomed he’d gotten to riding in limos and being shuttled back and forth since being elected senator.
He stole a glance at Braaten and discovered the man was indefatigable. He stood next to Denny, hands behind his back and head scanning left and right, constantly searching for signs of trouble. As much as it unnerved him to have the man standing nearby—he couldn’t get the image of Cooper executing the homeless man in the tunnels out of his mind—he wouldn’t complain, either. He’d seen how dangerous Braaten could be and was happy the ex-SEAL was on his side.
Denny started to move forward toward the Great Hall—a building he’d seen on several maps and impossible to miss—when Braaten reached out and grabbed his arm.
“What is it?” Denny said, his heart skipping a beat.
“Listen,” Braaten muttered. “You hear that?”
Denny strained his hearing. “It sounds like…”
“Screams,” Braaten said in a low voice. He drew his pistol, stepped in front of Denny and turned in a slow circle. Across the courtyard, a handful of guards marching between the Prisoner of War Exhibition and the Scottish National War Memorial, picked up on the sounds at the same time. Two of them raised their rifles and raced across to the Great Hall. Another immediately got on a radio. Two more spotted Cooper draw his weapon and raised their rifles, shouting for him to stay where he was. Cooper shouted back that he was an official dignitary security personnel and acknowledged that they would go no further.
Behind them, glass shattered and Cooper spun, shoving Denny behind him to face the new threat. A man staggered out of the building that supposedly held the Scottish Crown Jewels, clutching his face. He dropped to the ground, coughing blood. Behind him, a woman stepped out wearing a naval officer’s uniform and carrying a large butcher knife that dripped blood.
“Back up!” Braaten said, shoving Denny backward.
His heel caught on an uneven cobblestone and Denny spun to keep his balance. As he straightened, his mouth opened in surprise. Coming around the corner of the Great Hall, a beautiful blonde woman wearing a glittering blue dress that clung tight to her shapely body strolled along, her head bent to a phone, laughing as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Time slowed down for Denny, and his vision shrank to a piercingly clear view through a tunnel. The woman fairly radiated what weak sunlight there was peeking through the clouds. From her lustrous blonde hair tied in a heavy braid that hung over one shoulder, to the royal blue dress that sparkled with her every movement, she exuded refined sexuality. Over her shoulders, she wore a light, decorative shawl made of sable. In one hand, she held the phone to her ear, and in the other, a jeweled little handbag not much bigger than the phone.
She took two steps toward him, her eyes focused on something in the distance, then she saw the scene behind him playing out with Cooper and the deranged woman with a knife who shrieked into the wind.
The gorgeous blonde’s ice blue eyes flew open wide, and she pulled her head away from the phone, then her eyes landed on Denny. Her entire expression changed from one of surprise to outright joy.
The most angelic smile spread across her face and Denny’s heart ached just looking at her. As if carried on the wind by the breath of angels, a heavenly floral bouquet tickled his nose as she drew closer.
Denny blinked, his mind racing to catch up to the hormones flooding his body with desire.
It was the same smell he’d detected in the tunnel. He took a step back and bumped into Braaten, who spun again at the sudden encroachment of his personal space.
The woman with the knife charged him from behind, but Cooper, preoccupied with what he saw before him, dispatched her with an elbow to the face without looking. He ignored the clatter as she fell like a sack of rocks to the ground at his feet.
Cooper froze when he saw who approached them. “Fuck me.”
35
Missed Opportunities
Jayne laughed out loud. This was just delicious. Jayne had just released the accelerant into the Great Hall and trapped all those internatio
nal politicians and do-gooders inside, certain to meet grisly deaths, the lot of them.
Her man fairly screamed at her from the phone, but she ignored his prattle. Before him stood her ultimate target, Senator Denoyan Tecumseh from the great state of Idaho. Tall, dark, exotically handsome, he was standing there before her in what looked like a borrowed tuxedo. Despite the fear and surprise on his face, he still had that rugged handsomeness that if Jayne were truthful with herself, she found almost irresistible.
As close as she’d come to pulling the plug on the entire operation and going for the backup prize of scientific curiosity, Jayne saw an opportunity to pull victory from the jaws of defeat.
Jayne ended her call with a tap, and as she put her phone into her jeweled clutch, she also tapped the ruby injector ring. She extended her hand. “Well, well…hello there, handsome. I don’t believe we’ve met…?”
“Uh…” the senator stammered.
“Back the fuck up!” the man next to the senator barked, snapping a large black pistol up in a two-handed grip and sliding neatly in front of the senator. He leaned ever so slightly forward, his knees bent, ready to attack.
Jayne tore her eyes off her target and examined the tactically minded man next to him. About average height, a wiry yet muscular build, the man wore tactical cargo pants, boots, and a black high-necked sweater. Overlaid on top of his outfit was a tactical shoulder holster and chest rig that carried various implements of destruction.
Braaten.
Jayne forced herself not to tense. Svea could be nearby. This man worked with her…
Her hand still outstretched, Jayne continued undeterred. “My name is Claudine,” she said, using her polished British accent. “Claudine Seagrave. I do hope you’re not intending to go in there,” she said, with a tilt of her head indicating the Great Hall behind her. “It’s ever so dreadful, filled with stuffy politicians and the like.”
Senator Tecumseh reached out a hand, composing himself. “Well, I am one of them,” he said, a smile trying to curl up corner of his mouth. “I’m Denny Tecumseh,” he continued, his hand just an inch away from hers.
His bodyguard reached out like a snake and swatted his arm away. “Don’t fucking touch her! Get behind me! Now!”
Braaten slid forward, the open barrel looking more like a cave as it approached Jayne’s forehead.
“Well, how rude!” Jayne said, mock indignantly. “To be honest, I expect such behavior from the Germans, but not—”
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth!” the man shouted, cords standing taut on his neck. He was sweating, and a vein stood out at his temple. To say the man was upset was an understatement.
“Mr. Braaten!” the senator cried, incensed.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Jayne said as she pulled her hand back and raised her clutch before her chest in both hands.
“Notice how she’s not screaming about the fact I have a gun pointed at her?” Braaten said, his eyes boring into Jayne’s.
“I…” The senator’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that smell? Like flowers…”
“It’s her,” Braaten muttered.
A piercing scream rent the air behind her and one of the tall windows in the Great Hall shattered as what looked like a pole axe sailed through the air and landed with a clatter on the cobblestone behind her. Jayne shrieked and spun, pretending to be surprised, and dug her heel into a crack between the cobblestones. It had the desired effect—the heel of her expensive shoe snapped clean off, sending her tumbling to the ground.
Her plan was for the senator, overcome in a rush of chivalry, to step forward and help her up. She knew her toxic perfume was already having an effect on him by how dilated his eyes were—they looked almost completely solid black.
Why his bodyguard didn’t seem to be affected at all was a mystery to her.
The shouts from soldiers across the courtyard drew her attention away from her target for a second. Her eyes dropped from the men with weapons rushing across the courtyard to the pole axe laying just a few feet away from her, surrounded by broken bits of leaded glass. She reached her hand up over her shoulder, expecting Tecumseh to be there any second. The micro injector ring was primed and ready.
She pouted. “Be a dear and help me up, would you please?” she called out. “I seem to have broken my shoe!”
Huffing, she tossed her thick, braided hair out of her vision and turned to look over her shoulder. Tecumseh and his bodyguard were gone.
Jayne frowned. “What the fuck?” she muttered under her breath. Not wasting any time, Jayne moved far enough to grab the pole axe, flipped it up in the air and used it as a staff to stand just as the two soldiers rushed up, boots slapping on the wet cobblestones, their Scottish voices calling out as they raised their weapons.
Jayne knew without a doubt they wouldn’t fire on her; she was a beautiful, unarmed woman in a state of distress. As she stood, she made certain to catch her foot on the edge of her dress. With a satisfying rip, the $10,000 dress parted at the shoulder, several sequins bouncing off the ground like flashing raindrops.
Jayne stood holding onto the pole axe. Now she was a beautiful, unarmed, half naked woman with a pole axe in distress.
The strap over her right shoulder had separated exactly as she planned, exposing the soft flesh of one breast. The tender skin rippled with goosebumps as it tightened. She ignored the discomfort, launching herself into motion as three sets of eyes dropped from her face to her chest and mouths opened in surprise.
In the time it took her to bring her pole axe into a position ready to strike, Jayne glanced and noticed with approval that none of the soldiers had their fingers on their triggers.
She stepped forward, exposing a long tanned leg and swung the medieval weapon like the expert combatant she was. The first two men went down with slashes across their throats. On the counter swing, Jayne jabbed forward with a vicious thrust, impaling the last soldier with the wicked spike atop the axe.
She felt the heavy metal blade puncture flesh and separate the bone at the back of his skull with a satisfying crunch. Unfortunately, the weapon was now impaled in her victim, and his weight—which was considerable—pulled it right out of her hands when he toppled backwards.
The psychotic woman Braaten had knocked out began to stir. She got to her feet on shaky legs and yelled, slashing out with her bloody butcher knife. A searing pain flashed across Jayne’s exposed shoulder. Shrieking a curse to the sky, she swung around, catching the infected woman completely by surprise. With a vicious upward strike, she snapped the woman’s elbow, sending the knife sailing into the air.
Not missing a beat, Jayne snatched the knife out of the air and on the reverse stroke, plunged it into the woman’s chest. Her eyes opened wide and blood gurgled up out of her mouth. Jayne released her hand on the knife and the woman fell over backward, her head cracking against the ground.
Jayne glanced over her shoulder, wincing at the long, shallow slash through her skin.
“Goddammit,” she growled. Ripping the stole that had fallen to the ground during the brief fight, she used it to clot the blood and wrapped it over her shoulder, trying to tuck herself into the ragged dress as best she could. She huffed in frustration and looked down at the bodies that surrounded her, each contributing to a spreading pool of wine dark blood on the cobblestone.
“I ruined my favorite fucking shoes for this?” She turned and looked in the direction she assumed the senator had fled with his bodyguard. “I’m going to make you pay for that, Mr. Braaten.”
Jayne bent down, picked up her clutch before the blood reached it, and readjusted the dress over her exposed breast again. “After I find some new clothes…”
Her phone buzzed. Sighing as she stepped over the spreading blood, she glanced at the number and rolled her eyes. “Why hello, Your Majesty, and how are you? Are you enjoying your dinner?”
She ignored the screams for help coming from the Great Hall as white smoke billowed out through the broken windows. Jayne paused, lis
tening to the squeaky voiced king shriek in terror at what he was witnessing out the windows of his executive suite in an exclusive hotel in Old Town.
Jayne tugged at her dress, shivering as the wind shifted and blasted her exposed skin again. “My goodness, that’s horrible! Just stay where you are…I’m finished with my business here; I’ll have MacTavish come to you. Whatever you do, don’t open the door to anyone except him and make sure you put a towel across the bottom of your door. You’ve seen the smoke, yes? We don’t want you breathing that…”
Jayne smiled as she dropped her phone back in the clutch. “Yes, Senator Tecumseh, you’re going to pay for this…”
Jayne stepped around the corner and out of the misty rain, pulling her cellphone back out as another thought occurred to her. She waited for the call to connect, tapping her heel-less shoe impatiently.
“Yes?” an English voice answered.
“This is the Regent. I need an update on the vote.”
The man cleared his throat. “Yes, oh—of course, ma’am. One moment.”
Jayne rolled her eyes as she heard someone shuffling through papers. “I don’t have a moment,” she sighed. “I’ve got Navy SEALs coming out my ass, and half of Edinburgh wants to tear itself apart. I just need a little more time…”
“Yes, here we are.”
“Well? What’s the status on the vote?”
“It appears to have been rescheduled…but there is significant pushback.”
Jayne clenched her jaw. Dammit. The bombing, the gas attack, and now this rage virus…they still hadn’t canceled the vote. She had to keep them from learning the truth about North Korea. “I want you to pull out all the stops. Call in every favor you’ve got, burn every bridge you need to, but that vote better not happen.”
“I would love nothing more than to help you, Madam Regent, but there is a limit to what I can do as British ambassador. I’m quite afraid the United States is beyond listening to reason…even to us.”
The Regent Page 22
