by Kim Foster
The old War Plan Red? “What’s that?” I asked.
“In the nineteen-thirties, the US government drew up a plan to invade Britain. It’s fact. Look it up. They just never acted on it. But if the British government had evidence the Americans were planning it again . . .”
“The Brits would be entering a war they couldn’t win.”
“Probably. Although it’s a debatable point. But even if they lost they’d cause a mountain of destruction in the process.”
I didn’t know what to believe. It seemed impossible, but I remembered reading an article somewhere, the New Yorker maybe, a hypothetical discussion about who would win—Britain or the United States—if the two powers came to blows. It wasn’t as clear-cut as you’d think. The United States had greater numbers, but the article argued that Britain had a more sophisticated military intelligence and a more powerful navy. Numbers don’t always dictate. Take Vietnam. War is a complicated thing.
“The UK would be crazy to enter into war with the States.”
“Maybe not so crazy. Especially if they had allies.”
“What kind of allies?”
“Eastern ones.” His eyes glittered.
“Why would the East join Britain against the United States?”
“Because of this,” he said, holding up the Lionheart Ring. “Well, not only this. This, plus the other items in the Fabergé egg. I’m sure you know this ring was made with the lost Gold. With it, we now have all three Gifts of the Magi.”
“The Gifts of the Magi are part of Christian legend,” I said confidently. Another hole in his plot.
“Are they?” His triumphant smile caused a fluttering doubt in my chest. “The Gifts are from Eastern kings. The three Magi were from Africa, Asia, and Europe, according to the ancient legends, the old paintings. The power is Zoroastrian, and has nothing to do with Christ. He just happened to be the recipient. Plus—and this is where things get really beautiful—the Lionheart has the additional benefit of being a gift from an Eastern king—the sultan Saladin—to the king of England, Richard. It’s the perfect symbol of the joining of East and West.”
A wave of nausea curled in my stomach. It made some sense, in a very twisted way.
“Don’t you see, Catherine? This is the way to reunite the old countries of the world. We have the Gifts; we are the old power. We need to take back the power from the new dragon.”
“Like the American Revolution in reverse.”
He nodded.
“But what you’re really talking about is World War Three,” I said.
“Indeed.”
“You’re insane. Like Sandor was. He believed the Gifts had some kind of special power. Do you believe that, too? Is that why you’re doing this? Do you think the power of the Gifts will assure your success?”
He shrugged. With that gesture, I knew he didn’t believe the metaphysical bullshit any more than I did. “Either way, the ring is crucial for getting the other countries on our side. They know the value of talismans in the East.”
It was incredible. The depth, the layers of this plan made my brain spin. But I still found it hard to believe that Atworthy and Caliga would be able to catalyze war between Britain and America.
“And how do you plan to actually put this insanity into play? The deputy prime minister is just that. He’s not in power.”
Atworthy watched me carefully, waiting for me to piece it together. In the next second, I did. “Oh my God, you’re going to assassinate the prime minister of Britain.”
“And this is what we need you for.”
I choked. “I’m not an assassin. That’s not what I do—”
“Not to kill him. But because of what we need you to take, right before we kill him.”
“And that is?”
He pulled up a second file. It contained information on the prime minister. “The current PM has suspicions. He has, for a while. But he hasn’t dared to raise them publicly, as the deputy is too well-regarded. Duncan Wakefield is a very charismatic leader.”
“And?”
“The PM is old school. He has kept copious notes and lines of evidence, everything against the deputy PM. Things that would get him kicked out, if he ever did gain power.”
“And those files—they are what you want me to take?”
“Bingo.”
I frowned.
“He carries his files with him,” Atworthy said. “He locks them in a safe wherever he goes. But like I said, he’s old-fashioned, and he doesn’t save things electronically. Once the files are gone, our way is clear. Of course, accessing the private quarters of the PM would be exceedingly difficult. For anyone . . . except you.”
He flipped a page in the dossier for me, revealing an invitation. “There will be a gala at the PM’s residence in New York.” He pointed to the rooftop garden of the midtown high-rise. “You will be in attendance, and during the party you will sneak away and into the suite. You will take the files, and bring them to me. We will take care of the rest.”
I was quiet a while, staring out the window. “So if I get you those files, you will release Templeton.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll also assassinate the prime minister of Britain?”
He shrugged. “Catherine, it’s a tough world out there. Bad things happen to people. You have been searching for a purpose. This is a very singular purpose. You would be instrumental in reshaping the world, the political planet.”
It was a purpose, that was certain. But it was not something I believed in, not even a little. It was abhorrent; it was ridiculous. I was signing the death warrant of the British PM, and initiating all the repercussions. Did I really believe all this World War Three bullshit would actually happen? No. But—did it matter? Caliga believed it. Atworthy believed it. And they were prepared to do horrendous things to attempt to make it happen.
It occurred to me then—they would never let me live after this. I knew way too much.
I only had one choice. Agreeing to do this would be a play for time. There had to be some way I could stop their plans while appearing to go along with everything. Maybe there was a way out of this. I held on to a thin thread of hope.
In the back of my mind I knew if I didn’t find a way to stop them, I would be part of the plot to assassinate the British PM, and possibly start a war. It would forever make me an enemy of the League.
I was trapped. “Okay, Atworthy. Looks like you leave me no choice.”
His face beamed triumphantly.
I felt an immediate urge to negotiate the terms. To bargain, using the leverage I knew I had. He needed me; we wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. But I held my tongue. Better to play along for now.
We drove in silence for a while as I scanned the files. Questions exploded like grenades in my brain. The more information I could get, the better I could understand all the factors at play, and the more likely I could come up with a plan. I tried to ignore the weight of despair that pressed down on me.
“Why me, Atworthy? Why do you need me, exactly?”
He smiled. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
I put down the file in my lap and waited.
“You must have noticed that everything about our plan has meaning. For Caliga, heritage, ancestry, and history plays a role. And that’s true for you, too.”
He handed me one final dossier. This time, it was a folder on . . . me.
“Can you guess what it is, about your ancestry, that intrigues me?”
I looked at him blankly. I had no idea. I opened the folder and stared at pages about myself. My history, my stats, my family . . .
“You are descended from thieves, Catherine. In fact, you are descended from the greatest thief of them all.”
I froze. I searched his face and saw that he looked . . . proud to be telling me this. I turned a page in the folder and stared at a list of names, a family tree with dates, an insignia, and family crest.
At the top: The House of Loxley.
“My mother
’s family . . .” I whispered. My vision swam.
“No,” Atworthy said. “Not your mother.” I glanced at him sharply, knowing what was coming now. “Your father.”
“You’re lying,” I said.
He shook his head. “I assure you, I’m not.” He reached across and turned the page over. There was a crest for Clan Montgomery. “Here. All the proof you need.”
Underneath the crest for Clan Montgomery was the phrase Garde Bien, the official motto for the ancient Norman family. French for Watch Well. And the Latin translation of that was Vigilate.
I grabbed the Lionheart Ring from Atworthy. The inscription on it, the word I’d read on the beach that had felt so familiar: Vigilate.
“It’s one of the reasons Caliga targeted you years ago. It’s the reason I assigned myself to you at the University of Washington.”
Atworthy went on to explain the legend. It was told that when Richard the Lionheart gave Robin of Loxley his ring, Robin brought it home to England, and it became the motto under which he toiled, ever loyal to his king. Robin and his true love, Marian, had married, and when Robin had died she had been pregnant. Marian buried him with the ring. To honor him, and to keep his child safe and secret, she adopted the old name Montgomery for her own protection.
I scanned through the family tree in the dossier. Marian Montgomery was on my father’s tree, far, far back.
My hand dropped like a weight in my lap, loosely holding the ring. Atworthy reached across and plucked it from me; I did nothing to resist.
My father?
“This may help explain a few things,” Atworthy said, turning the page. I stared at a document about my father, with details of his early life. He had grown up under a professional thief. And after dabbling in it as an adolescent, he had ultimately rejected the calling himself. Just like Jack, I thought.
The world tilted. My dad’s father had been a thief. My grandfather had been one of us. All this time, I’d thought my father had been hurt and betrayed by my choice of profession because it went against his straitlaced upbringing and values. But it must have been because he grew up in that environment and rejected it. That was why my choice gave him so much difficulty.
Had he ever planned to tell me the truth? My heart ached, and I felt a fierce urge to confront my dad.
“I’m not surprised your parents never told you,” he said. “Your ancestor, Robin of Loxley, was one of the most infamous villains to ever live. The most devious thief of all.”
I blinked, looking at Atworthy, and realized: he saw Robin Hood as a common criminal. A thief and a scoundrel. His tone was smug. I realized something else. Atworthy thought, with this revelation, he owned me now.
But what he didn’t count on was the fact that I saw Robin Hood quite differently. I wasn’t ashamed of my newly revealed heritage. In fact, the effect this news was having on me was quite the opposite of what Atworthy seemed to expect. A burning ember of determination sparked to life inside me.
I was part of a legendary lineage. Robin of Loxley had possessed a higher purpose. He had helped the king. He had fought against insurmountable odds, under the motto on the Lionheart Ring: Vigilate. This was my family’s crest, too. Montgomery. Garde Bien.
There had to be another way through this. In a flash of clarity, I thought about the ace Atworthy possessed, the whole reason he had me in a noose: Templeton. But what if Templeton wasn’t in danger? Atworthy’s trap over me would fall apart. If someone could bust Templeton out of prison, Atworthy wouldn’t have anything over me.
It all depended on how much time I had. I calmly closed the dossier about my heritage and reopened the folder of blueprints, struggling to keep a neutral face. I couldn’t let Atworthy see the change. “When is this all supposed to happen?”
“The party is happening tonight. You’ll do the job then.”
“Tonight? It’s impossible—”
“Here’s the agenda for the evening, and your invitation. You have the schematics and security details in that folder; it should provide everything you need. I recommend you stay in your hotel room and study up. I will be back to pick you up this evening.”
Atworthy’s phone rang. He took the call and spoke briefly.
“Is everything in place?” he said. “You have cleared the location, your post?” He listened, then nodded. “Good. We’re a go from here. At my signal, you take the shot.”
I kept my face impassive, concealing my glee at this. I had clearly done an excellent job convincing Atworthy I was on board, because he’d just been incredibly sloppy and revealed much more than he seemed to realize. It might give me the chance I needed. I surreptitiously glanced at my watch and marked the exact time. We arrived at the hotel where he was dropping me off. I had enough time—barely—but I would have to be quick.
“I expect you downstairs, in the lobby, at eight sharp,” he said. I climbed from the limo and he watched me go through into the lobby. I checked in, but instead of going to my room, I walked straight back through the hotel and out the back entrance, then doubled back through the alley and out to the cross street.
I hailed a cab and pulled out my phone. I had two very important calls to make. I punched in the first number and put the handset to my ear, staring out the window with determination as I waited for the call to connect.
Chapter Sixty-Two
I used an encryption code to place the call. I had to assume Atworthy was monitoring my every move. I looked at my watch, and after a quick calculation knew it would be about six o’clock in the evening in Bali. It took a few rings, and then he answered the phone.
I breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of Ethan’s voice. “It’s me,” I said. “Listen, I’m sorry I had to sneak away. I couldn’t tell you why.”
Ethan said nothing, so I continued speaking. “Ethan, I need you to do something. But it’s not for me. It’s for Templeton.”
There was a brief hesitation, and then he said, “Felix told us Templeton is in a prison in Singapore. Did you know that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what do you need?” He sounded odd. Was something wrong? Trouble was, I didn’t have time to deal with it at the moment.
“I need you to rescue him,” I said.
There was another pause. “I’m sorry, Montgomery, this connection must be bad. It sounded like you just asked me to bust Templeton out of a Singapore prison.”
“I did.”
Silence.
“I know it’s a big job,” I continued. “But you’ve got Jack. And Felix. And Gladys . . .”
“Wait,” Ethan interrupted. “What do you mean, I’ve got Jack? Isn’t he with you?”
I frowned. “No, what are you talking about? I left the resort alone.”
I sat back in the cab and thought for a second. If Jack wasn’t with Ethan—where was he? Not knowing Jack’s location left me feeling unsettled. With him out there, like a wild card, he could mess everything up. There was nothing I could do about it, though; I’d have to keep moving forward with my plan.
“I don’t have much time to explain,” I said to Ethan. “Atworthy is—well, he’s in charge of Caliga. And if I don’t do what he says, here in New York, he’s going to ensure Templeton’s execution.” I quickly described what was going on, and exactly what I needed him to do.
Ethan listened quietly throughout. When I was finished, he said, “Montgomery, this is crazy. I need to go there to New York. I need to help you.”
“No. That’s the last thing that would help. If Atworthy knows I’ve told you, he’ll make a call and have Templeton’s execution expedited. I have to stay the course. But it’s okay, Ethan, I have a plan. And it entirely depends on you being able to bust Templeton out.”
“A prison breakout? I’m not sure it’s something I can do—”
“You’re amazing at getting precious works of art out of secure settings. Think of this like that.”
There was quiet on the line while he considered. “Okay, Montgomery. I’ll try. But
I’m not sure it’s going to work.”
“That’s all I’m asking. I just need you to try.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what your plan is? What Atworthy is making you do?”
“No. I can’t. If I did, you guys would try to stop me. And if this gets messed up, then Templeton dies. I need you to get him out.”
He sighed heavily on the other line, clearly unhappy with my secrecy. But he didn’t object. I squeezed a fist tightly in my lap. Good. He would try.
“Okay, so Ethan, the next thing I need is for you to find Gladys and put her on the line. There’s something I need from her.”
I had a few more puzzle pieces to connect. But I was getting there.
“Sure, Montgomery. But before I go, there’s one more thing.”
“Okay, but can you make it quick? I’m on a tight schedule here—”
“I know Jack proposed to you.”
My words died in my throat.
“I saw you,” Ethan said.
So I had heard someone behind us by the pool in Bali. I still couldn’t find any words.
“I don’t know what you said to him, Montgomery, and it doesn’t really matter. I just need you to know that I can’t do this anymore. I won’t be second fiddle, and I’m not going to get all tangled up in this again. No more ups and downs, because I’m getting off this ride. There won’t be any more us.”
A raw ache formed in my chest.
Chapter Sixty-Three
I was in the Holland Tunnel, deep underneath the Hudson River, waiting in the darkness. I had slipped down here through one of the ventilation tubes, and was now tucked into a service alcove, trying to be patient. The air was cold and damp, and the fluorescent lights that lit the road didn’t penetrate into my small hiding spot. Deafening sounds of the constant flow of traffic did, however.
It was good to have something concrete to focus on. After Ethan had gotten off the phone, I’d forced myself to suppress the tangle of emotions threatening to derail my mission. I didn’t know what to think—much less what to feel—but I knew I didn’t have any spare moments. I’d have to deal with it all later.
