Alec's Royal Assignment (Man On A Mission Book 3)

by Amelia Autin

  His voice was hard when he said, “I already told you, no man could have done better.”

  “But what if Captain Zale thinks I was distracted from my duty, let us say, because you were there? Because of how I feel about you?”

  “You weren’t.” Decisive. Sure.

  His faith in her—so absolute—made her blink back sudden tears. She’d cried more in the past two days than she’d cried in the past eight years since Caterina disappeared. Tears no one but Alec had seen. She wanted him to always believe in her, but she had to be honest. “I will never know for sure,” she said softly. Words it hurt her to admit, but words she had to say to him.

  “I know,” he said, still in that same implacable tone.

  “How can you know when I do not?”

  His voice gentled. “Because I know you, Angel, like I know myself. Trust me on this.” He pulled her head down and cradled it against his shoulder, a gesture that comforted her more than she would ever have believed possible. Or necessary. “Nothing will ever distract you from your duty.”

  Chapter 10

  Eleven men and one woman sat around the conference table in what was called the war room. Zakhar had not fought in a war that required this size of a room since the Second World War, when the king’s grandfather sat on the throne, and it was rarely used. But relics of Zakhar’s illustrious military history were everywhere on the walls, including an authenticated copy of the portrait of the first Andre Alexei, the original of which hung in the portrait gallery downstairs. Angelina fixed her eyes on the portrait, wondering for the thousandth time how such a fearsome warrior could have been the same man who said, “It is her...or no one,” referring to Queen Eleonora. The same man whose fierce love for his queen was legendary.

  Everyone rose when the king entered, the wooden chairs making no sound on the large carpet beneath the conference table, and Angelina put her musings aside to consider another day, wondering instead why she’d been included in this high-level meeting. Captain Zale hadn’t told her. He’d merely said the king had commanded her presence.

  “Please be seated,” the king said curtly before taking the chair at the head of the table next to his cousin, the head of internal security. “You all know why you are here,” he told them. “But I will say it anyway. Prince Nikolai is dead.” The king shot one glance at his cousin, who was Prince Nikolai’s older brother, but Colonel Marianescu betrayed not a flicker of emotion.

  The king continued, “My cousin supposedly hanged himself in his prison cell last night.” She could have heard a pin drop. “I say supposedly, because there are indications it was not by his choice.” The king folded his lips tightly together, as if keeping his temper by the slimmest of threads.

  “I also find it convenient—too convenient—that the interrogation of the surviving would-be assassin from Sunday’s attempt has yielded a confession so quickly.” He glanced around the table, his gaze moving from one face to the next, ending on Angelina’s. “Far too convenient, because he named my cousin Niko as the instigator of the plot to assassinate my son.”

  Angelina had never heard a harder, colder voice than the king’s. Then he said softly, “I do not believe it. It is too neat. Too pat.” A couple of voices were raised in objection, but the king held up his hand to silence them. “Do I believe my cousin wanted my son dead? Absolutely. Do not waste your breath on that. But do I believe he could have arranged this from his prison cell? All on his own? Without access to money? Accomplices? No. I would be a fool to believe that.” And I am not a fool. He didn’t say it, but everyone at the table heard him anyway.

  He looked around the table again, and his gaze ended up on Angelina’s face. “Do not forget the cameramen were not the only ones involved. Lieutenant Sasha Tcholek, who was trusted to guard the queen and was then transferred to guard the crown prince, was part of the conspiracy.”

  She knew—all Zakhar knew—the king loved his wife. But even though she’d been a witness on occasion to intimate moments between the king and the queen she guarded, even though she knew their devotion to each other, seeing the king like this startled her. And—she caught her breath at the realization—it made her think of Alec. Alec, who’d been angry on her behalf. Alec, who she sensed could be just as ruthless as the king.

  She quickly pushed thoughts of Alec to one side, because the king was speaking again. “I want three things,” he told them, his tone reminding those gathered around the conference table he was one of the last absolute monarchs on earth—at the Zakharians’ insistence. “First, I want further interrogation of the prisoner with the aim of learning the entire truth behind the assassination attempt. Second, I want an investigation into the backgrounds of both would-be assassins. Find the connection between them, my cousin, Lieutenant Tcholek and whoever else is involved. Do the same for Lieutenant Tcholek.”

  He paused, poured water from the carafe in front of him into a glass and took a sip. “Third, I want a complete investigation of every man on the crown prince’s security detail. The same goes for the queen’s security detail.” He paused, and added softly, “And mine. We are fortunate Lieutenant Mateja was quick-witted enough to take Tcholek down, but we cannot rely on her every time. No stone unturned, is that understood? What nearly happened never happens again.”

  The chorus of assent seemed to please the king, and he stood. “Thank you, gentlemen. You are dismissed.” Everyone rose and headed for the door, Angelina among them, but the king called out, “Captain Zale. Lieutenant Mateja. A moment, please. No, Zax,” he told his cousin. “You stay too, please.”

  The king waited until only the four of them remained and then ordered, “Shut the door, please.”

  Angelina obeyed, wondering what this was all about. She didn’t have long to wonder. “It has come to my attention, Captain, there still exists doubt and suspicion in some quarters regarding Lieutenant Mateja’s actions on Sunday.” Captain Zale shot a sharp glance at Angelina. “No, Captain. Lieutenant Mateja has said nothing to me. Nor did she say anything to the queen. Admirable, perhaps, on her part. She is completely loyal to you. But know this. Of every man on the security details, including my own, the only officers above suspicion in my mind at this moment are Lieutenant Mateja and Colonel Marianescu,” he said, using his cousin’s military title. “Lieutenant Mateja will be investigated—as every officer will be investigated—but that is a formality, Captain. Keep that in mind. You are dismissed.”

  When Angelina turned to follow Colonel Marianescu and Captain Zale from the room, the king stopped her. “One more moment, Lieutenant, if you please.”

  When they were alone, the king said, “Something else has come to my attention, Lieutenant, regarding the killing of Lieutenant Tcholek.”

  “Yes, Sire?”

  “You did what you had to do, Lieutenant.” His voice was soft but seriously intent. “You are a fighting man—a woman, yes, but a fighting man nevertheless. You cannot let this killing weigh on your conscience. Nor the death of the other man. These things happened, and you must live with them. Take solace that they deserved to die, although not, perhaps, by your hand. But you cannot second-guess yourself. Not now. Not ever.”

  Suddenly Angelina knew the source of the king’s information. Alec, a little voice whispered in her mind. Alec talked to the king again.

  The king wasn’t finished. “For a fighting man, instinct is everything. Reflexes rely on instinct. If you doubt yourself, doubt your instincts, this could be fatal. To you and the person you are guarding. You cannot afford to doubt. I have entrusted the most precious thing in my world to you, but I must know you are able to put the killing behind you and move forward with the same certainty of purpose you had before. You may be called upon to kill again someday in the line of duty. I must know you will not hesitate...if necessary.”

  Angelina stiffened. “Yes, Sire.”

  The king assessed her
in that disconcerting way he had. “Good,” he said finally. “Very good.” He smiled his faint smile. “And Lieutenant, for what it is worth, I would have done exactly what you did under the circumstances. No more, no less. Exactly what you did.”

  * * *

  She pounced on Alec the minute he walked through her door. “You traitor,” she accused him, her eyes narrowing, but playfully. “You talked to the king again.”

  He didn’t even try to deny it. “Yeah, I did.”

  “But why?”

  “Because you didn’t deserve to be looked at with suspicion, or have anyone second-guess what you did on Sunday. And the only one who could fix that was the king. You told me the king was the reason your captain let you return to work so soon, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So I talked to the king. Man-to-man. I respected the hell out of him before this, but now...now I totally get why you Zakharians love him so fiercely. The loyalty he gives his men is incredible. Unbelievable, even. And unexpected. No wonder you give him your complete loyalty in return.”

  He smiled suddenly, as if at a memory. “You know, McKinnon told me the king sent men to spy on him when he was falling in love with the princess. Men with orders to kill him, if necessary, to protect her.”

  “I do not see what there is to smile about that,” she said, puzzled.

  “Then the king kidnapped McKinnon—although he already had a plane ticket to come here—and brought him by stealth to Zakhar, to ask him one question,” Alec continued. “And to force him to see what he’d done to the princess by lying to her. By telling her he didn’t love her.”

  “I still do not see—”

  “Ruthless. The king is ruthless where someone he cares about is concerned,” Alec said in the deep voice that never failed to thrill her. Still smiling, but the smile was a little crooked now. “I am, too, Angel. I’m ruthless where you’re concerned.” He put his arms around her and drew her close. “Don’t ask me to change, because I can’t change who I am any more than you can change who you are. I told you I want to be the one who gives you everything you need, and I do. I always will. Even if you don’t think you need it.”

  * * *

  Aleksandrov Vishenko eyed his minions coldly. “And how is it the Zakharian prince is still alive? I thought the plan was foolproof. Were there not two assassins? And was there not a backup? Someone on the inside?”

  The first man started to say no plan was foolproof, but one look at Vishenko’s face and he decided discretion was the better part of valor. The second man was apparently made of sterner stuff. “Two men are dead,” he said practically. “At least they cannot talk. One is a prisoner but, as previously arranged, he named Prince Nikolai as the instigator of the assassination plot. And with Prince Nikolai dead—” he shrugged “—nothing can be traced to you.”

  The first man jumped in eagerly. “And word is that even though the little prince is not dead, the king is now focused exclusively on rooting out any other conspirators on their security teams. So he has been distracted...exactly as you wished.”

  “Exactly as I wished?” Vishenko asked in a rumbling volcano of a voice that made the two men quail. “If it had been exactly as I wished, the king’s son would be dead.” He let that sink in for a minute. “And what of your other assignment?”

  The first man cleared his throat. “There has been some progress there,” he said cautiously. “We sent out the word on the woman...and the increased reward. The higher reward may have done the trick. An informant thinks he may have spotted her in—” He glanced at the other man, a frantic question on his face.

  “Denver, Colorado,” the second man supplied smoothly. “Why she would be there we don’t know, but we have sent a man to investigate.”

  Vishenko nodded his approval. “Good. Very good. Let me know what he learns.”

  * * *

  The phone rang, waking Alec from a sound sleep. He’d long ago learned how to wake immediately—you couldn’t function effectively as a bodyguard if your brain was groggy when you first woke up, not even for a few minutes—so he was sharp and alert when he grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you? Sorry,” his sister, Keira, said, but the perfunctory way the apology was offered told Alec she wasn’t sincere.

  Keira wouldn’t be calling him at this hour of the night if it wasn’t important, so he didn’t bother with small talk. “What’s up?”

  “Trace asked me to check on a name last week, and Cody authorized it,” she said, referring to her husband, McKinnon’s boss in the agency. “He wanted anything I could uncover, including any work visas, tourist visas, et cetera, that might have been issued in that name—and let him know what I found.”

  Keira had tracked down a work visa that had been issued just over eight years ago in Caterina Mateja’s name, but it had never been renewed. And since the original visa had expired long since, the holder of the visa should have returned to her home country. But there was no record of her on any flight or boat leaving the United States. Nothing Keira could find, and she had access to just about every data file.

  Lots of people overstayed their US visas, dropping off the grid and becoming illegal immigrants. The federal government wasn’t all that good about tracking people who overstayed their welcome, even after 9/11.

  “Caterina Mateja just resurfaced in a totally different case.”

  * * *

  Angelina stood at attention in Captain Zale’s tiny office in the palace, off a small, out-of-the-way corridor. She was worried the king’s intervention on her behalf only made things worse where her commanding officer was concerned, but she was determined to make her request anyway.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?” Captain Zale’s tone wasn’t unfriendly, but it wasn’t the warm, approving tone she’d grown to expect from him.

  “I would like to be involved in the interrogation of the prisoner, sir,” she said, not beating around the bush. “On my own time, of course. I am not asking to be relieved of duty for this.”

  Captain Zale made a sound of impatience and said curtly, “Sit down, Mateja.” When she was seated, he said abruptly, “I owe you an apology.”

  “Sir?” This was the last thing she’d expected.

  “No one appreciates being reprimanded. And especially not by one’s supreme commander,” he added dryly, referring to the king. “But I deserved the reprimand.”

  “Sir?”

  “Do not keep saying ‘sir’ as if you do not follow what I am saying,” he said testily. “I know you understand.” He grimaced. “Perhaps I was hard on you because I blamed myself.”

  “Si—” She stopped herself before she could say it. “Blame yourself for what, sir?”

  “For not telling you the name of the person I was sending to relieve you.” One corner of his mouth twitched into the beginning of a rueful smile. “I should have told you. Easy to see that now, of course. If I had, you would never have dropped your guard with Tcholek. You would have been suspicious of him from the first. Then we would have three to interrogate instead of only one.”

  “I do blame myself for that, sir,” she said quietly. “For dropping my guard. Or I did, until—” She caught herself before she could blurt out Alec’s name, and changed what she was going to say. “Until the king told me I could not let it affect me. I must put the killing behind me and move forward with the same certainty of purpose I have always had. He said I must trust my instincts. Always.”

  “He is right. He is always right. That is why he is the king.” His expression held nothing but an absolute belief in the truth of his statement. “Your request is approved, Lieutenant.”

  * * *

  Alec hand-delivered the message Keira had sent to McKinnon via the embassy’s encrypted fax. He’d decrypted it himself and read what Keira had uncovered before he picked up the pho
ne to request a meeting with McKinnon. The two men met on the embankment overlooking the river.

  “She very carefully says there’s only a possibility what she just uncovered is connected to the human-trafficking case,” McKinnon said slowly, “but knowing what we know...”

  Alec just looked at him. “You know something I don’t, obviously. You and Keira.”

  “Yeah.” McKinnon was quiet for a moment and then seemed to reach a decision. “I wouldn’t normally say anything about an ongoing case, but I think you need to know this isn’t the first time Keira and I have run into Aleksandrov Vishenko. But I hope to God it’s the last.”

  “Tell me.”

  McKinnon leaned on the guardrail, staring out at a slow-moving barge on the river, but Alec could see his eyes weren’t focused outward, they were looking inward. “Remember when Keira was shot?”

  “Of course.”

  “That case revolved around Vishenko’s nephew, Michael Vishenko, aka Michael Pennington, and an organization called the New World Militia.” He made a movement of frustration. “Christ, this goes back years.”

  “I’ve got nothing but time.” Alec’s voice was calm, but he had an urgent feeling inside, the one that told him he was on the right track, on the brink of something big.

  “I wasn’t working for the agency when this whole thing started—the agency didn’t even exist. I was a US marshal back then. I was assigned to guard a witness testifying in a trial against a man named David Pennington, Michael Pennington’s father. We didn’t know it at the time, but Pennington was working hand in glove with Aleksandrov Vishenko. It’s a long, involved story, and I don’t need to tell you all of it, but what you do need to know is that Alexei Vishenko—as he’s more commonly known to law enforcement—is the head of a particularly vicious branch of the Bratva, aka—”

  “The Brotherhood,” Alec broke in. “The Russian Mafia.” He nodded slowly as things started to connect. “The king told me up front he’d heard rumors the Bratva was involved in this operation, remember?” He cursed under his breath. “Now Keira’s message makes sense to me.”