by Jim Heskett
“Of course, Your Majesty. Where is your security team?”
“I don’t keep one inside the residence, especially not in the entertainment room or my bedroom.” He turned his head to the side and growled, “Come!”
A moment later, a man with skin darker than Diego had ever seen appeared, seemingly from the shadows.
“Diego, this is Rehani. He is from Burkina Faso. Have you ever heard of this place?”
Diego shook his head. He eyed Rehani, standing stone-faced, fists balled and hovering at his waist. A large man, taut, with not a pinch of fat anywhere on his body. He wore his hair in tight black braids against his scalp.
“Rehani handles all of my private security needs. I don’t trust anyone else with this task. Not even my personal soldados.” He leaned forward, lights from the water making his face glow. “I hope you understand how this makes you privileged to even see this room. Most have not.”
“I understand. Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Nichol waved his hand, and Rehani withdrew to the corner of the room. Eyes on Diego the whole time.
Then, the king's jovial expression turned dark as a frown pulled his jowls toward the water. "How goes the investigation into the Operation Home engineers? I’ve been dying for an update.”
Diego drew a breath. He was ready. "It goes well, sire. I have identified a number of engineers who I believe are questionable and should be removed immediately.”
“Excellent. We haven’t had enough hangings lately.”
“Several others deserve increased scrutiny and suspicion. I left all the details with your secretary this afternoon."
The king’s expression lightened now. Maybe he hadn't expected such a positive report. "Good work, young Diego. After your work in Wyoming, I knew you would be ready to handle greater responsibility.” He lifted a hand from the water and wagged a finger at Diego. “I knew I could trust my judgment about you.”
“Thank you. I'm happy to serve.”
“One quick question, though. In all your time at the plantación, did you hear or see anything about robots?”
“Robots, sire?”
“Yes. Machines of war.”
Diego shook his head. This was the second time the king had asked him about robots. “I don’t think so. I wasn’t allowed access to everywhere in the mansion or the tunnels underneath, but I don’t recall ever seeing anything about machines of war.”
Nichol shrugged. “No matter. It’s only gossip, which I make a point never to believe. Anyway, the time is drawing very short to execute Operation Home. Perhaps even by tomorrow, if everything is ready."
“What do I do next with the engineers?”
“Nothing. Your part is done, for now. I will have some soldados bring them in and find out what they know.”
“If I can, I would like to assist with the deeper interrogation, sire. I already know these men now.”
Nichol clapped his hands together, making a small splash in the water. “That’s what I love about you, Diego. Always looking for ways to get ahead. We will take care of these engineers. This is nothing new for us.”
“A few of them are missing and unreachable. I flagged them for this reason alone. I can help bring them in if you need me to.”
Nichol considered this. “Don’t worry. We will find them.”
The king spent a few seconds in meditation, moving his hands under the bubbly surface of the water, inhaling deeply of the steam. He opened his eyes. "Do you have anything else to report?"
“I left a set of fake building keycards in a secure locker at Zan’s brothel down the street. Thought you should know.”
The king frowned. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I have breakfast there most mornings. Lately, I have felt eyes on me every time I visit. I wanted to see if I could draw out a spy.”
“Very clever. I should have known. If you manage to catch your spy, I will let you question that one. Anything else?”
Diego felt a burning itch to ask the king about his comment that everyone in Wybert’s plantación had been killed. Clearly, that had been either a lie or bad information. Tenney, for sure, had survived. Until earlier today, that was.
If Diego mentioned it, would the king feel like he was being accused of lying? Or, would he view it as a loyal service to bring up information that could be useful? Diego didn't know what to do.
The king’s eyebrows raised, waiting.
Might be best to hold on to the information for now. "No. Nothing, Your Majesty. "
"Very well. I have one more thing to ask of you tonight. It is an important matter. Maybe even an urgent one. Your father," the king drifted off, letting the words hang in the humid air between them.
Diego tilted his head, lips pursed. "Yes?"
"I believe Laertes has had some dealings with terrorists. Evidence has come to me over the last couple of days. Troubling evidence. I would like to believe that you are not guilty of the same indiscretions. Is that true?"
Diego shot a glance to Rehani in the corner, still eying him. With a shrug, Diego held his palms toward the ceiling. "Of course, Your Majesty. I have not seen my father much these last few years. I couldn’t say where his loyalties lie, but I hope you would never question mine.”
The king nodded. "Good answer. Then, I have only one more task for you before I can officially welcome you as a member of my government."
"Yes, sire?"
Before answering, the king reached over to a tray on the side of his tub and lifted a glass. Ice cubes clinked together as he sipped a straw jutting from the top. "I need you to kill your father.”
“Sire?”
“Thank you, young Diego. Rehani will see you out."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
From across the street, Rosia watched her boyfriend hiding under the shade of an umbrella. She was positioned at the edge of a building diagonal to the brothel, peeking out from the alley. Hamon was also nearby, on the second floor of an apartment building. He had the long-distance viewing job, while Yorick and Rosia monitored both ways along the street.
Immeasurable danger lived in what they were doing. Spying on Zan’s brothel, waiting to see if Diego would keep his usual breakfast appointment. Also, hoping he wouldn’t, so they could sneak inside and gain access to his private locker in the exercise rooms. For this to go right, several elements had to fall into place. To go wrong, anything could glitch, and they would lose.
Diego was only one piece of the danger. They were all wearing disguises provided by Hamon, but they might not stand up to much scrutiny. If Zan or any of his personal security team saw them, it would probably be over. Or, if the White Flames returned to seek another round of revenge for the killing of their leader. Since fleeing yesterday, Rosia didn’t know where they were or their intentions.
Too much could go wrong. But, they were out of time and needed a way into that building.
Rosia lifted her communicator device, another gift from Hamon. “I don’t see anything,” she said as she held down the button. Operating this little device felt foreign to her.
“I don’t either,” returned Yorick’s scratchy voice. “I think we should make our move now. He might still be coming later, so that gives us a small window.”
Without Tenney, Rosia felt too exposed. Four on a team would be better than three, but he had been unreachable since before yesterday. She didn’t like this.
Where in the stars was Tenney?
“Last day,” Yorick said. “We’ve got one chance to get this right.”
Maybe he’d meant it to sound encouraging, but Yorick’s words didn’t fill Rosia with hope.
“I’m coming down,” Hamon said. “Yorick and I will go around to the kitchen back door, and Rosia, you take the side entrance. You keep watch on us and let us know if you see anything. Sound good?”
“Works for me,” Yorick said.
Rosia clicked the communicator button twice to acknowledge, then she left her position. Having Hamon back in the m
ix did give her a twinge of confidence. Even though he’d said before he wasn’t interested in running things, it seemed he couldn’t help himself. He’d been the best guerrero she had ever known. A great leader.
Head down, the short brown wig on her head dangled in her eyes. She found having bangs annoying, but hiding more of her face was a good thing. How long it would keep her hidden remained to be seen.
Rosia approached the side entrance and withdrew the key from her pocket. After a cleansing breath, she inserted it into the lock. It turned. She was a bit surprised Zan hadn’t changed the locks because all kitchen workers had keys, and she had to expect Zan would’ve wanted to keep her and Yorick out. But, perhaps since the assault by the White Flames yesterday, Zan had more important matters on his mind.
The rising sun warmed her neck as Rosia entered the building to a long hallway. This hallway branched off to a few maintenance rooms and break areas for staff. But Rosia ventured straight, head down, eyes forward. When she passed by the open door of the room reserved for the kitchen workers to eat their own breakfast, someone called out to her by name. She quickened her pace. Her disguise wasn’t as convincing as she’d hoped.
Out into the main floor. Her eyes trailed all over the interior courtyard, looking for Zan or his security, or Diego. Although they’d watched the street since dawn, it was possible they could have missed him.
She didn’t see anything of note here. Usually, in the mornings, there weren’t many people about. A few of the putas would hang out in the courtyard, hoping to meet businessmen and women looking for a quickie before their workdays started.
Rosia ducked behind a giant marble statue of Zan when two of his security team appeared nearby. She crouched down as they shuffled along the courtyard.
“Feels wrong,” said one guard.
“You’re telling me,” said the other one.
“You think those guys will come back?”
“I hope they do. I loaded hollow points into my pistol this morning.”
“You did? Does Zan know?”
“No, and he doesn’t need to. All Mr. Diaz cares about is that we show up to work on time and keep him safe. All the rest is just details.”
“We should get to our stations.”
After another moment, they wandered off, and Rosia waited until they had left via a side door before emerging from behind the statue. Since the area had yielded nothing, she decided to get a better look from up high. Maybe in the restaurant. As she crept toward the stairs, she met Yorick’s eye when he and Hamon emerged from the far side of the room. They were headed for the other stairs. Yorick gave two quick chirps of the communicator, and she dipped her head at him.
So far, everything according to plan.
Up the stairs to the second floor. A couple of kitchen workers in the stairwell gave her a double-take, as if not quite sure who they were looking at. Rosia pointed her head away and hurried past them. If they suspected her, they said nothing about it.
Out into the restaurant. The hostess near the front was busy pulling a few smaller tables together to form one large one, so no one greeted her when she entered the room. There were plenty of people about, some at the bar drinking alcohol mixed with tomato juice, some at tables, awaiting their bacon and eggs.
The bartender cocked her head at Rosia, a little grin at the corner of her lips. Her eyes followed as Rosia navigated through the nameless patrons.
And then, one person stood out, hovering before the large bay window overlooking the courtyard. Diego. And he was staring right at the entrance to the exercise room. He was waiting, expectant, cataloging each person who entered or exited the room.
What was he looking for? Why would he care who went into the exercise room?
Rosia gasped. She understood everything. The keycards in the locker were fakes, meant to draw out spies. Him dropping them off had seemed too convenient. Too planned. It had to be a trap.
Why hadn’t she put it together before this?
She lifted the communicator to her mouth, but it was too late. She watched Diego’s eyes grow wide as his hands, previously resting on his hips, slid down to his waist. He was watching Yorick and Hamon exit the stairwell and meander toward the exercise room.
She reached into her back pocket and drew a knife. A small thing, stolen days ago from the kitchen supplies. But, it would have to do. If Diego had a communicator on him, he could alert the soldados at any second. This whole thing was about to blow up.
Diego needed to die, right now, before he could act.
But, before she or Diego or anyone could do anything, the sound of glass breaking came from the west side of the room. Not a single window, either. A string of small explosions crackled glass all along the side of the building. Heads pointed in that direction. A rumble of nervous yelps came as the explosions intensified and now seemed to come from every direction.
She raced over to the side of the room and gazed down to the street below. And there, she witnessed five or six dozen sun-blistered men and women marching toward the brothel. Sun worshippers, most of them armed with rifles.
Tenney had said before that he’d stopped the sun worshippers from attacking this brothel. He had crushed their detonators and killed their leader. Looked like they had regrouped and were about to make their second attempt.
Rosia had expected the White Flames to make another run at this place. It hadn’t even occurred to her the sun worshippers would show up to carry out their threat of attacking the brothel.
And then, multiple objects zipped through the air. Rosia barely had time to see where they’d come from. Four sun worshippers at the front of the group, each with long tubes sitting on their shoulders.
Rockets flying from rocket launchers.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Diego opened his eyes to chaos. He could barely make out the screams and shouts over the ringing in his ears. Clouds of smoke filled the room, and he couldn’t see more than a meter in any direction. Light flickered through the gray, sparks or a fire or something else off to his right. A heavy object had fallen on him, and he tried to push his feet to scoot back and found he couldn't move.
He blinked a few times and discovered a table over his legs. He put his hands underneath it and pushed. Grunting, teeth gritted, he heaved it up off him and wiggled his legs. Not seriously injured. The nagging bullet wound in his leg cried out, but he was used to that already.
He rose to his feet for only a second, but then he dropped back down when a bullet whizzed over his head. This wasn’t a gas explosion in the kitchen or a structural collapse. This was an invasion.
The rest of his surroundings faded in like the beginning of a program on a video screen as the smoke spread out and thinned. Blistered sun worshipers with assault rifles storming the brothel. Some of them even in this room. Citizens and brothel employees, bloodied and bruised, dashing around in a panic. A teenaged girl stumbled in front of Diego, her left arm detached and missing. As she flailed, droplets of blood ejected from the stump.
A pulsing ache wormed through his head as he tried to get his bearings. There had to be a way out of this room. He didn’t know who the sun worshippers were here to attack, but he had to assume they would kill him if they could.
Diego turned over onto his stomach and began to crawl across the floor. He shifted away from the elevator when he saw two sun worshipers standing guard in front of it. There had to be another way out of here.
Diego had one advantage. By staying low, the smoke would mask his exit. He still had a few more seconds until it would dissipate enough to make the room clear.
He shuffled forward, keeping his body low. Restaurant detritus like broken plates and hunks of food littered the floor as he moved. Diego tried to focus only on getting out and getting to freedom, but the two faces he had seen on the second floor kept edging into his thoughts. Serfs Yorick and Hamon.
And, if Yorick was here, Rosia was probably not far behind.
He’d processed the appearance of
each one separately. Diego had not seen Yorick in several weeks. Not since the pinche guerrero had shot him in the bowels of Wybert’s mansion and then left him for dead as they committed their haphazard and disorganized rebellion.
But Hamon, that one surprised Diego even more. He had not seen the former leader of the Blue guerreros in at least a month, maybe a little longer. Not since Diego had bested him on the battlefield at the plantación, sending him inside the mansion. Last in the ranking was supposed to be a death sentence. Even though Diego did go into the mansion from time to time, he had never seen any of the battle losers there. He assumed they were killed immediately in some private dungeon. But apparently, that was not the case.
Wybert let at least some of them out to roam free. It made no sense.
Diego noticed the stairs and pivoted toward them. Finally, a good way out.
There had been a couple of times over the last few weeks when he had thought he’d seen someone who looked a lot like Hamon working at the brothel. Wearing makeup, hair cut short, but there was definitely a resemblance. But he'd always disregarded it. He’d had no reason to think Hamon would have survived his banishment from the guerreros. No reason to think anyone had survived a trip inside the mansion.
But Diego appeared to be wrong about many things. Not the least of which had been his father.
Diego had several questions to ask of his father. And maybe, Laertes' answers to those questions would help determine whether or not Diego would carry out the king's orders to kill him.
When Diego reached the stairs, he sprang to his feet and threw a shoulder to open the door. He turned as he entered the stairwell, and watched the brothel owner Zan take a bullet in the chest as he tried to cross the restaurant on a path to the bar. Probably trying to recover the lockbox full of gold and king’s Notes.
