by S. E. Rose
“Well, then that fantasy has been fulfilled,” she says, and I can practically hear the jealously roll off her voice.
“Are you jealous?” I ask, following her into my mother’s room.
“No,” she grumbles.
I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her. “I think you might be jealous,” I say.
She squirms out of my hold and opens the closet door. “I’m not jealous, OK?” she scoffs as she pulls the string that turns on the single light in the closet.
“OK,” I say, but I grin like a fool from behind her.
“Where do we start?” she asks, looking at the rows of neatly stacked plastic boxes.
I pull down one and place it on the floor of the bedroom. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” I say as I open it. I know most of the boxes contain my mother’s research. She was meticulous and something about that kept me from getting rid of these things. There were only two small shoebox-size boxes of her personal belongings that I took with me, and those items are in my apartment in the Bahamas. They were mostly photos of us, a few necklaces I made her for Mother’s Day, and a few of the nicer carvings she collected on her travels. She had kept them sitting out on a shelf in here, but now they sit on a shelf in my home. There is also a collection of Roald Dahl books that Nana and Pops gave her, and in turn, she would read to me. They inscribed things on them for her, and she inscribed things on them for me. But these remaining boxes are her work.
“What types of stories did she work on again?” Anna asks.
“Mostly business, some politics,” I say. I leaf through the papers. “I think this is from a story she did on campaign financing here.” Anna grabs a handful of papers and notebooks and looks through them.
“Do you want to keep them?” she asks. I shake my head. “I think her colleague has copies of these and even if they don’t this story is very old. I think it’s largely irrelevant now.” As much as it pains me to clean out the boxes, I feel as though it’s time, and something about having Anna here with me makes it easier.
“OK,” she says as we place the papers back in the box and push it to one side of the room. We spend the next forty-five minutes going through one box after another. Stories out of Morocco, Israel, Germany, Colombia, Mexico, Venezuela, Montelandia, and then I pause, Norddale.
Anna grabs a stack of newspaper clippings and notebooks from me. “Your mom did a story about Norddale?” she asks.
“I guess so,” I say, a bit confused. “I…don’t remember her talking about this.”
Anna reads through the notes. “It sounds like she was investigating the anti-monarchists who were also a problem for Norddale like they were for Montelandia at the time she was there,” she says as her finger trails the words across the pages of the notebook.
“What does that say?” I ask.
“Hold on,” Anna says as she continues reading. I pull out more clippings. One makes me stop. It’s a photo of Anna’s family, her mother, father, Chris, Auggie, and baby Anna. It’s talking about the political relations between Montelandia and Norddale. There appears to have been some sort of trade agreement signed between the two countries, which both royal families supported. I read on and see that Marcus is quoted as saying this will merge the two countries’ economies and strengthen them.
“Our countries have strong economic ties?” I ask Anna. She nods, half listening to me.
“Anna?” I ask. She looks up at me. “How strong?”
“Our parliaments have many agreements and our prime ministers have signed a number of treaties that the royal families approve of,” she explains. “Why?”
“Say there were no more royal families in our countries,” I muse, not even flinching at saying Montelandia is my country. “Then, what would happen, economically speaking?”
She frowns, considering it. “Well, I suppose under the current set of treaties, the parliaments could form a sort of super-parliament to co-rule the two countries as a united entity. Essentially, it would lead to more economic ties between the two jurisdictions. Why?” she asks.
“Who profits from that?” I ask her.
“Well, lots of people would profit I suppose, I mean if all trade barriers were broken down, and we were essentially one giant super power,” she muses. “I mean, it’s not what the people want, they very much identify with their individual countries.”
“I understand, but…” I trail off and wait for her to consider what I’m suggesting.
“There are a handful of companies that would profit if that happened,” she says.
“Any to be worried about?” I ask her. She shakes her head.
“No, I don’t think so,” she says. “I mean most companies are so global now. I’m not sure it would matter much for them.”
“You don’t think so, or you know so?” I ask.
“No. I know all the owners of those companies. They wouldn’t attempt such a thing,” she says. I decide to investigate that on my own because clearly Anna feels too tied to these people to objectively consider them. I push that aside and look at her.
“Find anything?” I ask.
“No, not really. Your mom was worried about the anti-monarchist movement possibly being a bigger threat than known in Norddale. It sounds like she had set up some meetings with people to inquire, but there aren’t any notes on it. There are a few pages ripped out of here. I…don’t know,” she says as she hands the notebook to me. I flip through it but don’t find anything additional.
“Let’s set this box aside,” I say to her. “We can take it with us and go through it later.”
We continue looking through the remaining boxes. My grandmother calls us down when we are left with only three more boxes.
“I’d say we did good,” I note as I survey the wall of boxes that I can empty out in the trash.
“Well, hopefully, we’ve cleared some space for your grandmother,” she says as she walks downstairs. I want to tell her, yes, but I know my grandmother won’t change my mom’s room into a den or sewing room or anything else for that matter. It will stay a museum until my grandparents sell this house.
Lucas, Pete, and Hendrick are already seated at the table, digging into the soup, sandwich platter, potato salad, and fruit salad. Pops is sitting next to Hendrick, and they are already deep in war story conversation.
“Sorry,” Lucas says to us. “We were hungry, and you guys were taking forever,” he adds as he shovels some potato salad into his mouth.
I shake my head. Anna sits down, and I follow suit as Nana brings out a pitcher of iced tea. It’s a pleasant late lunch that bleeds into the afternoon. We clear the table after the conversation has died down. The dishes are done in no time, and Nana insists that we pack up some leftovers to take with us.
While Anna helps Nana pack up food, I walk out to the front porch where Pops is smoking his pipe.
“She’s a keeper, that one,” Pops says to me.
“Yes, she is,” I agree as I sit down in the other rocking chair.
“I get the sneaking suspicion that there are things you aren’t telling me,” Pops says as he takes a puff on his pipe.
“It’s complicated, Pops,” I tell him. “Very, very complicated.”
“I may not have a fancy college degree, but I’m pretty smart for an old guy,” he says, giving me a pointed look.
“Pops, I’m not questioning your intelligence. I…honestly, I’d need a whole week just to explain it all,” I tell him, which is close to the truth.
“Well, you know where I am, when you’re ready to talk,” he says.
“I appreciate that, Pops,” I say to him. In his typical fashion, he quickly changes gears and starts telling me about some nature show they watched on television. Pops is an avid birder and loves watching shows about birds.
I listen and nod, but my mind is a million miles away.
“Eddie, my boy, I think you need to go get some rest and clear your mind,” Pops says, stopping his diatribe about some bird he’s seen in the
garden.
“Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind,” I admit.
“Well, like I said, I’m here when you need to talk,” he reiterates.
“Thanks, Pops,” I say to him. Anna comes out carrying a bag full of leftover-filled Tupperware.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Yeah, let me just grab that one box,” I say as I head back up to get the box of documents we had begun to go through earlier. We pack up the car and bid my grandparents farewell before heading back to the house.
Chapter Thirteen
I look through the box again. The contents are spilled out across the bedroom floor with Anna at one end of them and me at the other.
“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing to a man in an article I found tucked inside another article.
She reaches across the pile of papers and slowly brings it up to her face. She squints and cocks her head to one side.
“I…am not sure,” she says with a frown as she surveys the article which is about e-commerce, or the infancy of e-commerce in her country. The article names two of the men in the photo but the third, who is in the background, is not named.
“We can’t wait on this,” I say to her. “We have to start figuring this out.” I feel an obsession coming on, a need to spend every waking moment analyzing the situation until the puzzle pieces come together.
“Eddie, we can’t figure it all out this second, or at least I don’t think we can,” she slows her speech and frowns.
“What?” I ask her.
“Did you and your father speak about why your parents separated?” she asks me.
I recall the conversation with my father at the summer palace.
“Logan, you must understand, it was a dangerous time, especially for a journalist like your mother. The anti-monarchists were gaining power and connections in our parliament. There had already been several assassination attempts. I couldn’t keep you safe, either of you. So, I did the only thing I thought I could do,” my father tried to explain.
“Abandon us?” I say in mocking tone.
“No,” he says, and he gives me a look that is both sad and angry. “I sent you away, so you both would be safe. Your mother said if she left, she wouldn’t come back. I didn’t want to make that decision, but she left me no choice. At the end of the day, I would have rather you both lived than risked losing everything I loved.”
“Not really. He said it wasn’t safe for a journalist like her at that time because of the anti-monarchists,” I explain.
Anna hands me an article written by my mother. I read it. It’s about my father and his family, and it paints them in a very good light. One might even say it’s a bit of royal propaganda. I look at the publication date and see that it is about six months before my birth.
“Do you think someone would have wanted to cause her harm because she was clearly not supporting the anti-monarchist movement?” I ask Anna. She shrugs.
“I don’t know, but it might be worth investigating further,” she notes as she picks up more articles written by my mom and a picture of my dad’s secretary, Gregor, who I met briefly when we were at the palace.
“We should probably get some sleep,” I say as I set a pile of papers back in the box.
“Probably,” Anna says, reading over something without looking up at me. “Just let me check in on things first.”
She stands and walks over to her laptop. I hear the click-clack of her fingers on the keyboard. It’s fast becoming a sound that I associate with her.
“It’s strange,” she says.
“What is?” I ask, standing and walking over to her.
“M hasn’t popped back up since the explosion at the palace,” she says. I look down at her arm. She’s taken off her brace, and I want to yell at her about it. I start to say something about it, but she frowns.
“What?” I ask, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s like everything has been wiped clean. It doesn’t make any sense,” she says, biting her lower lip as she clearly contemplates the reasoning behind the disappearance of both M and whoever is behind all of this.
“Anna, it’s late. Let’s get some sleep, and we’ll work more on this tomorrow,” I say to her.
She sighs and closes the lid of the laptop. “Fine,” she grumbles. We all but fall into the bed as exhaustion takes over. My last thought before sleep claims me is about the mysterious Jack Ross.
It’s a knocking on the door that wakes me.
“Logan?” I hear Pete ask.
I stumble out of bed and toss on a t-shirt and some shorts.
“Yeah,” I whisper as I open the door. I can tell the sun is up, but it’s early still. The house is quiet and there aren’t the typical morning sounds of the neighborhood where we are staying, no cars going by, no lawn mowers starting up, and not even birds chirping.
“Jack Ross is here,” he says.
I blink and look back at the nightstand where an old alarm clock sits. The red-lit numbers tell me it’s a quarter till seven in the morning.
“Give him some coffee while I get Anna up,” I say to Pete.
He nods, and I shut the door. Anna stirs, and in the dim light, I can see her rub her eyes.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Not what, who,” I correct her.
“Huh?” she says in a sleepy voice.
“Jack Ross is here,” I say to her.
That gets her up quickly. In a manner of minutes, we are both showered and dressed.
I walk out to the kitchen first to find a middle-aged man sitting at the kitchen island sipping coffee. He stands when I enter the room and outstretches his hand.
“Logan, good to meet you,” he says in a strong Scottish accent. He’s tall and fit, the muscles in his arms flex as he grips my hand in his. His hair is a reddish-brown with a few grays stuck in it. His skin is freckled from the sun, but he has very few lines indicating his true age. He’s dressed in slacks and a polo shirt.
“Likewise,” I reply as I hear Anna walk in behind me. Jack’s eyes leave mine as she does so.
“You look like your mother,” he says to her. She gives an almost imperceptible nod.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” he says to her and gives a subtle bow of his head.
“So, you’re the infamous Jack Ross?” Anna asks.
“And you’re the famous Knight2E4,” he replies. I see Anna’s eyes widen slightly and then narrow.
“I see you’ve done your homework,” she says coolly.
“Well, I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I hadn’t have done it, now would I?” he responds with a raised eyebrow.
She tilts her head to one side as though inspecting him.
“You’re not how I imagined you,” she admits, and Pete stifles a laugh from the far corner of the kitchen.
Jack, however, doesn’t even attempt to hide his amusement. “I’d love to know what you envisioned me looking like,” he says, sitting back down on the stool.
Anna walks up to him. “Younger,” she says as she sits down next to him. Pete sets coffee in front of her while Jack laughs.
“I once was,” he says.
“How’d you become…well, whatever it is you are now?” Anna asks him.
“What do you mean?” he asks her. I take the seat on the far side of Anna after grabbing myself a cup of coffee.
“Your father was a baron. You should have been one too,” she states the obvious and something I did not know.
“You’re royalty?” I ask, cutting off their dialogue. They both swivel to look at me, Anna with annoyance and Jack with amusement.
“Well, I think royalty might be an overstatement. I think I’m somewhere around eightieth in line to the throne,” Jack muses.
“And they let you work for Interpol?” Anna asks, a trace of hope in her voice.
Jack laughs. “I think the term ‘let’ may be a little loose of a description,” he says. “But you, Your Highness—”
Anna holds up
a hand. “Please, Mr. Ross, none of that formal shit, please. Call me Susanna or Anna,” she says.
“Well, then call me Jack,” he responds with a grin. Anna nods. “What I was going to say, Anna, is that your reputation precedes you. You may very well be one of the best hackers in the world.”
At that, Anna grins and shrugs. “I enjoy it,” she says nonchalantly.
“Your skills are…well, everyone in the intelligence community knows about you,” Jack says. Anna’s face is one of shock. “I mean, they don’t know that Knight2E4 is you, but they do know that Knight2E4 has helped bring down some pretty big players in the underground criminal community.”
“I do what I can,” Anna says.
“It’s appreciated,” Jack says to her. “So, what is it that I’m doing here, exactly?”
Anna wrings her hands. This surprises me because my princess is not the type of person to get nervous. She stops herself and looks into Jack’s eyes.
“Because I trust you,” she says.
Jack’s eyebrows both go way up at her statement. “Oh?” he says.
“Jack, I’m almost one hundred percent sure that whoever is trying to kill us may actually be one of us or working for one of us,” she says. Her admission makes me catch my breath because while we’ve discussed this, we haven’t put it quite in those words.
The look on Jack’s face tells me that this theory is not shocking to him. And that makes me wonder what he knows.
“That is the most likely theory,” he says. “I’ve been trying to fit the puzzle pieces together but the more I dig, the puzzle pieces I find.”
“Exactly,” Anna replies. “That’s just it. This goes deep, deeper than I know we’ve considered up until now. I feel a little…well, stupid, for not having ever investigated my own family before. Until now, I never thought anyone I knew personally could be…well, I never thought they were a threat. And that’s why I need your help.”
“Do you have an idea?” Jack asks her.
She clears her throat and looks back over her shoulder at me, and I’m momentarily confused because she’s giving me a very guilty look and I don’t know why.
“I think it’s time we flush out our bad guy,” she says to him.
