Guardian Knight

by Aarti V Raman

  She realized she couldn’t turn this into a series of articles. Not yet. The articles would come, of course they would, and her ex-boss would get first shot at them, but she wanted to put it all together in a book. A finished book, chapters and footnotes included.

  But all this was for tomorrow. For all the tomorrows to come.

  First, there was tonight to deal with.

  She knew she had to look her best too, to play her part. So she hugged him closer to her, wishing there was some way to make the tides turn and went off to dream.

  Her last dreaming thought was the same pathetic one she had over the last few days.

  I love you, Brand. I love you so much.

  Forty-Five

  The nightmare, when it came, always started with the sound. Brand recognized the music and it clenched inside of him. Like terror, like the past.

  Pounding rock music poured in through the speakers.

  His baby brother grinned up at him, as Brand drove with the carefulness one associated with old people or the very drunk. He was stepping on the gas, but that was just the red blood of youth.

  “So there’s this girl. In my dorm. Couple inches taller than me, seriously built.” Colin winked. “Her name’s Jessie. I’ve got a date with her the first Friday we get back to uni.”

  He barely nodded. His own impotence, his seething anger and jealousy; making him want to snap, bark, plead, do something violent.

  “Hey, isn’t it cool, Brandon?”

  “Yeah, it sure is. It sure is, Colin,” Brand looked down with a sneer at his brother, stamping his foot on the accelerator and the car shot forward suddenly.

  Colin’s eyes widened before he could say another word and then there was a screeching of metal and human screams and blood, God, blood everywhere and what was he going to do?

  Colin. He screamed. Colin. Come back, he screamed while he went from bush to bush in the Sahara and tried to find his mates.

  There was machine gun fire, a fiery backdrop and then nothing.

  And then, the last image terrorized him, terrorized him like even death hadn’t. He saw, like a film on slow roll, that horrible night aboard the Sea Princess.

  He saw the third rebel firing because Akira had thrown shoes at him. He saw Sebastian duck… saw Akira being hit.

  And this time, in his dream, she didn’t get back up.

  She stayed dead.

  Brand woke up with a soundless scream lodged in his throat, and sweat pouring from his pores. He looked with a wild man’s eyes at the woman curling next to him on the huge pillow.

  She had a small smile on her lips and for one insane second he sincerely envied her. Then he thanked God that at least she didn’t suffer like him. He touched her lips with a still trembling finger and forced himself to get off the bed.

  Then he went into the bathroom to shower and prepare for his next move.

  ~~~~~

  The sound of running pipes made Akira wake up by degrees. She reached a sleepy hand behind her and encountered empty air. That jolted her awake.

  Brand had woken up, and hadn’t bothered to wake her.

  Probably hip-deep in battle preparations even now.

  Akira told herself it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter. He had to keep his mind focused on the important things. Like keeping them safe and alive through the night to come. She almost convinced herself.

  He came out, wrapped in a towel and rubbing one in his hair.

  “You could have woken me,” she said immediately.

  “I.” He stopped. “I have something for you to sign over.” He told her briskly, while he went to the huge couch where they’d made love last night so sweetly, so hauntingly. There wasn’t a place in the suite they hadn’t made love in by now.

  He removed his laptop bag and pulled a couple of papers from inside it. They looked like legal documents. He held them out to her.

  She didn’t like the look of them. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a copy of my will. I have signed it and it’s all witnessed correctly.” Brand spoke calmly.

  She raised stunned, disbelieving eyes. “No.”

  “Akira, be reasonable. This could be fatal, for any of us. And I don’t know about you, but I like to leave all my affairs in order when I’m gone.”

  She let the papers flutter down. “You say it like it’s a done thing.”

  Brand smiled then… and it was a smile full of self-reproach. “Isn’t it? Will you read it, please?” He picked them up, and crouched in front of her.

  Her eyes swam with tears but she blinked them back before he could see them. “Why me?” The question was a bottomless whisper.

  “Because I want you to go to Australia and give it to my parents,” he said simply.

  Akira had no defense against him needing her for something so vital. She slid from the bed and hugged his unbending back, her hands curling against his formidable shoulders, the papers kept carefully on the couch.

  “Brandon.” She willed her voice to not break, waiting until she could speak again. His skin was warm and cool at the same time. And it smelled like home to her. “Just promise me one thing.”

  He put his calloused hands over hers, in a gesture of strength and need. “Anything.”

  “If we get out of this alive we, I mean, you’ll go see your parents. You owe it to them and to yourself,” she said softly.

  He nodded, slowly, cautiously as the impact of her small words hit him.

  “Alright, but I want one promise in return.” He turned to look at her, clasping her wrists in a tight, inexorable grip.

  “What?”

  “You won't do anything stupid or reckless tonight. No matter how bad it gets, you won't try and get yourself killed, yes?”

  “You’ll rescue me some other time?” She spoke with deathbed humor.

  “I am serious, Akira. Please. Just this once. You’ll do exactly as I say.”

  She couldn’t know just how close he was to begging her. On his knees, on the floor, anywhere, just as long as she listened.

  “Yes. If it means that much to you.”

  “It does.” He held her against his now-beating heart, an organ he was beginning to recognize and despair for.

  She wasn’t sure she heard the rest of the words that he murmured against her hair.

  “It means the world.”

  ~~~~~~

  Brand turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

  And his words of admonition, anger, dried up in his throat.

  Long ago, God, had it only been three months ago, he’d seen her try on lingerie in a Paris store and it had made him horny as hell. Every time they’d made love, from the first time itself, he’d been too far gone to ever appreciate the complexity of her underwear.

  The light from the bathroom spilled over her body, silhouetting her, haloing her in golden light. She wore a pale pink satin confection that hugged her breasts and almost but not quite spilled them out. It was attached to a pair of lace garters that made his mouth water.

  And the worst part. She wore no stockings.

  Just the garters.

  Was she trying to kill him by inches?

  ~~~~~

  Akira had had her doubts about the wisdom of choosing sexy lingerie while going to war, but seeing the look on Brandon’s face, a half-hungry, half-desperate look, she was gratified. More, she felt vindicated.

  Why, she thought with tremendous satisfaction, the man was gone stupid just looking at her.

  And it thrilled her. Right down to her freshly cerisse pink-painted toes.

  She curled a fist over one hip and tilted to one side, knowing the light displayed her to best advantage. She was just sorry she wasn’t wearing her Loubotins, a look like that deserved those heels.

  “Do you like this?” She purred.

  “I don’t think I need to be armed at all?” he murmured wryly, coming forward.

  Her playful smile faded. “Why not?”

  “Because, dressed like that, you
’re an unregistered lethal weapon.” He smiled widely. Snickered too.

  To his gratitude, she just came over to him, patted his cheek and said, “I am not yet dressed to kill.”

  Then she shooed him to the miniscule sitting room, where the others were gathered.

  Brand was barefoot since he was still debating on the idea of carrying his trusted knife in an ankle sheath. But if there were going to be triple security checks, and he assumed there would be, then he would be toast. His knife was known in security circles.

  In the end, he did take it. Hoping to God that the Asharfil Royal Guard had not heard of Il Gatto.

  They were dressed in tuxes too, but they would not be accompanying the Quintons aboard the Sea Queen. They would mill on the boardwalk, within very short distance of the boat. Nobody was taking chances even if they were flying blind.

  And they’d never flown blind like they were tonight.

  Jared looked at the pitiful way Brand was armed with only his knife, commented, “This is very bad, Brand. This smells of doo-doo to the high heavens.”

  Nobody agreed with him. Nobody contradicted him either.

  Brand just gave him an impassive look and said, “Everybody please be on their comms. When I want action, move in fast. As in savvy-fast.”

  “Sure thing, Brand.” Luke grinned at him.

  “Our main aim is to get Geraldo De La Hoya and take whatever documents he has in his possession linking him and his cohorts to the problems facing our friend. I’ll do it single-handed if I can,” Brand ended in a steely murmur.

  “But, you have a loose cannon and an extremely gorgeous woman to worry about.” Pierre thought it necessary to add.

  “Regardless. I’ll do the job and we’ll get out. If I don’t, get her to safety and fly to Vienna. All further instructions will be given there,” he ordered.

  Then Akira called for him and he said, “Gentlemen. We’ve been through some hairy times together and survived. Here’s to survival.”

  “Champagne’s on me when we come out of the sea.” Murad joked while he strapped on his watch which was his comm-talkie-cum-sat phone.

  “You still owe me for Stalingrad,” Lucas complained good-naturedly as they all filed out.

  They each had a specific part to play and they had their lines down cold.

  Now all that was left was for Act One to begin.

  ~~~~~

  Brand took a deep breath and went back in.

  For the second time that night, his mind was wiped clean of all plans as he saw Akira in her Party Dress. He’d thought that the barely-there lingerie would explode his brain with lust.

  He was wrong.

  The dress she wore was pure princess white. A graceful billowing ball-gown with gossamer sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It flowed from her tiny waist like one of those antebellum heroines he liked seeing sometimes. And it was yards and yards of tulle and lace. Underneath she wore five-inch silver Loubotins, with diamante straps.

  And she’d done something to her hair so that it hung artfully over her head, shimmered silver in the nightlight.

  She wore no jewelry except a gleaming blue sapphire pendant suspended over her breasts on a nearly invisible platinum chain.

  All in all, Akira looked like some exotic fairy princess who’d come to the land of mortals.

  As he saw her soft, shy smile, Brand seriously thought about just snatching her and running away to some uninhibited island where they could be alone for the rest of their natural lives.

  It was not just a tempting thought. It was the right one.

  But, he knew that Prince Kharaan always hunted his prey out. There was no other way out for both of them.

  He, Brand would have to put her through this, this one last time, and then it would be over.

  She’d be safe and he could breathe again.

  He opened his mouth and she shook her head, as she draped a black shawl around her arms. “Don’t say a word. Don’t ruin it.”

  Brand went to her and handed her the diamond pin.

  “What’s this?” She raised her silver-shadowed eyes to him.

  God, her face. It looked so clean and fresh, exactly like how a wood fairy would look like. There was the barest hint of color on her cheeks, and her lips were brushed with pale pink. She looked delicate, breakable and he was afraid. So afraid.

  “It’s a GPS receiver. It’ll track you for me. So that I’ll know where you are at all times.” He was grim.

  Akira smiled again, and her lips glistened like fruit of the Gods.

  He wanted to lean in and bury himself in that woodsy fragrance, those luscious lips and that abundant hair. He wanted to gather her close and never stir from this room. He wanted the damn moon.

  “Jealous of all the men who are going to want to dance with me tonight?”

  He thought of a faceless, nameless man dancing with her for the rest of her life and it made him want to kill. Senselessly, without thought.

  Brand forced himself to smile, “Yes, Princess. If you want to think so.”

  “Hey.” She pouted. “Come on, not tonight. Not the Princess crap again.”

  “Well. You look like one tonight, so it’s really your fault.” He said drawing her close and dropped a desperate kiss on the top of her coiffed head.

  “Watch the hair,” she was indignant, “I spent like 500 Euro on it.”

  He laughed and led her out. They collected her purse, a Balenciaga diamond clutch, one of the originals and exited the room.

  ~~~~~

  Akira paused to look at the suite one last time.

  She was never coming back here. To this place. To this life. To Mrs. Barnaby Quinton. To her eternal sorrow, tears smarted on her lids and she had to will them back by force. Then she placed her hand on Brand’s and they made their way to the elevator banks.

  Forty-Six

  The Sea Queen, La Reine De La Mer, had worthy patrons tonight.

  The guests aboard were a mixture of celebrity, glitterati, royalty, old money and new. The cause was a Children’s Outreach Program for UNESCO and the Red Cross together, and the plates were three thousand Euros per couple, five thousand for singles.

  Brand had blithely written a check two days ago, handed it to the concierge who’d delivered their invitation.

  Every one of the guests - who arrived in a classic car, a foreign sports car, a convertible or even a limo - clutching their golden invitations, agreed that the prince knew how to throw parties.

  They didn’t mind the security check that began on the wharf itself, about a city block away from where the pier, with a motor launch which would ply them to them to the Queen. The guest list wasn’t unlimited, but the jetty could hold only fifty people at a time.

  An elite few were given the option of arriving by speed boats.

  Barnaby Quinton had been one of those select few, courtesy of the fact that his father and Sheikh Kharaan, were old school chums, a key reason why Brand had picked that alias in the first place.

  So, when he and Akira arrived at the wharf in the limo provided by the hotel, he was just another easygoing guest enjoying the night lights on the Mediterranean. He got out when the limo stopped and held out his hand for Akira to exit.

  She took his hand with clammy fingers, and he drew her out, slowly. Conscious that the dress was more fragile than her.

  They strolled down the wharf, to the first of the security posts.

  The guards, of Mediterranean descent, were impersonal and thorough. And they couldn’t get through the layers of tulle on Akira’s dress. She shrugged apologetically, while they patted her awkwardly and checked her purse which contained her cell phone and a tube of Chanel Rouge gloss.

  Brand was also patted down thoroughly, but somehow they managed to miss his knife holster, which fired his suspicions and simultaneously left him grateful. They walked onward, nodding and smiling to other couples who were going towards the edge of the pier.

  A second check point was at the edge of the pier. Her
e people showed their invitations and either boarded the launch or got escorted to one of the speed boats that were lined on one side beneath the pier.

  There were about forty of the boats. And the launch capacity was fifty.

  The guest list was a tentative two hundred, so Brand figured the launch would make one more round before it was allowed to drop anchor.