The Eagle (Spy Girl Book 2)

by Jillian Dodd

  “History will be the judge of that.”

  “Then I hope I am around to watch your history unfold.”

  “You could be,” he says. “In fact, if you play your chess pieces right, you could end up by my side, history unfolding for both of us together.”

  “If we stay friends, which I hope we do, I will be.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  I tilt my head. “I’m trying to avoid that topic. There isn’t much more to say on the matter.”

  “That is where you are wrong, my dear. You merely won a battle, not the entire war.”

  I laugh. “Regardless, I like your idea of a monument for your father.”

  He glances at his watch. “I must leave, but will be back here at two to pick you up. We’ll have dinner and then do a nighttime tour of the monuments. I’m told they are beautiful at night.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” I tell him as he gives me a kiss and departs.

  I work out with Ari in the house’s gym. He’s well-trained in boxing and martial arts, and it’s fun to spar with him.

  “I wish we could go to a shooting range. I used to practice every day, and it seems weird not to. But I don’t know what the public would think of Huntley Von Allister going to one.”

  “Probably depends what kind of designer handbag you’d carry there,” he teases.

  “Very funny.” I grip his arm and whip him over my shoulder onto the mat.

  “You’re in luck. Did you notice the spiral staircase over there?” he asks, still sprawled flat out on his back.

  “Yes.”

  “It will take you below the room we are in now, which houses a three-lane bowling alley, a basketball court, and a shooting range.”

  “Really? Can we go down there now?”

  “Yeah, sure. Come on.”

  I follow him down the staircase, past the bowling lanes and the court to another door with a keypad. Ari says, “The code for all the doors in the house is 032872.”

  “This is fantastic,” I say, looking in.

  “It is,” Ari agrees, moving toward the gun case, where there is a wide variety, from pistols, to rifles, to assault weapons.

  “If the house is ever under attack, we know where to go,” I tease.

  “Why do you think he has a gun range in the basement?” Ari asks. “To me, that’s a little odd.”

  “He worked on military stuff. Was Ares ever in the military himself?”

  “No, but his father was a Marine. Maybe he taught him to shoot.”

  “Probably. My dad did.”

  “So did mine,” Ari says, choosing a military grade black Glock G30.

  “Oh, I want to shoot this one.” I pick up a limited edition Sig Sauer P220. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  “Guns aren’t supposed to be pretty. They’re supposed to be lethal.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the beauty of this one. Five-inch barrel, lightweight alloy beavertail frame, anodized finish, adjustable target sights, and the rosewood handle is so supple. Shall we have a little contest? See which of us is best?”

  “Absolutely,” Ari says, clipping on a target and sending it back.

  We grab the proper ammunition, put on our headphones, and shoot.

  When the targets are pulled back in, Ari looks at the tight circles and says, “You’re better than I thought.”

  I punch him. “Gee, thanks.”

  After spending a few hours shooting a multitude of different firearms, my phone buzzes.

  “Terrance is on his way over. He got into my mom’s locket.”

  “Let’s have him meet us down here. I scanned this room for surveillance devices and found none.”

  “What about the rest of the house?”

  “Clean as far as I can tell,” he says, which I find interesting as I run upstairs to greet Terrance.

  Once we’re all in the range, Terrance takes out a small device and does another scan, just to be sure.

  “I feel comfortable talking here now,” Terrance says. “Huntley, you were right. The passcode was Top Secret. I entered it, and everything opened.”

  “And?” I ask hopefully.

  “There’s a lot of information to go through, and I haven’t had the chance to do that yet, just gave it a cursory glance, but I have to tell you, what I’m seeing doesn’t make a lot of sense. I think it was just a junk file.”

  He pulls up a photo of the Terra Project. “This looks similar to the one found in Ophelia’s house, but the only indication of its location is the sand that surrounds it. So, if the Terra project is what got your mom killed, although I highly doubt it since it’s a peaceful initiative, she must have been to a site where one was actually built. A quick computer search didn’t tell me where that might be.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s where it gets a little strange. The rest is nothing but a bunch of conspiracy theories.”

  “Conspiracy theories? Like what?” Ari asks.

  “Like we’re being poisoned with fluoride in our water. That genetically modified foods are destroying our immune systems. There’s information in here about chemical trails, crop circles, and terrorist attacks all being done by those who want to make the world one country. A new world order. I don’t understand why she’d bother to save this information. It’s not like you can’t find all of it on the Internet.”

  “Unless she had proof those things were true. Did you see any proof?”

  “No, I didn’t. The only other thing on there were some random vacation photos. I’ll have them printed out for you. I really don’t think the disc has anything to do with how your mom died. I think she just wanted you to have the memories.”

  “Thanks for trying, Terrance,” I say, holding back tears. “At least now we know.”

  At precisely two in the afternoon, Lorenzo arrives back at the house.

  “Don’t you look lovely?” He takes in the Dolce & Gabbana lemon print dress I’m wearing along with low-heeled black zip-up booties and matching lemon print handbag. I have a supple black leather jacket thrown over my arm since it will be cooler this evening.

  I give him a wide grin, quite possibly melting a little.

  He escorts me to the limo, and we spend the first hour taking in the architecture at the Library of Congress.

  “I think your father’s monument is going to be quite expensive if you want it to look anything like this,” I tell him.

  “It’s interesting how new your country is,” Lorenzo states.

  “In Europe, I’m always amazed at how old everything is. Like your castle. Do you ever wish it were more modern?”

  “Although my penthouse in New York City is quite modern, most of my other homes have a lot of old world charm. It’s what I feel comfortable in.”

  “Because it reminds you of home?”

  He nods. “What was your home like, growing up?”

  “We lived a lot of different places. Traveled all over. But I loved the home we lived in, you know, when it happened.”

  “What style was it?”

  “Cape Cod. It had worn wood floors, shutters, and felt a touch nautical.”

  “My mother informed me that she’d like to move into my Uncle’s home since it is empty. She thinks I will need the castle to myself for my future family.”

  “And you told her that she is your family, right?”

  He smiles at me. “You are right. I also suggested that she build a cottage on the palace grounds instead.”

  “Why does she want to move now? It’s not like you’re getting married soon.”

  He grimaces slightly but hides it quickly. “She says she needs a fresh start.”

  “But you think it’s too soon?”

  “It’s only been a short while since my father passed. She shouldn’t be making decisions right now.”

  “Give her some time. I’m sure she’ll come around to your way of thinking. She loves you and wants to make you happy.”

  He ta
kes my hand and presses his lips against it. “As I do you.”

  I want to ask him to clarify that. I’m sure he meant he wants to make me happy, not that he loves me. But just as I’m about to open my mouth, Juan interrupts the moment to tell us our car is waiting out front.

  Upon arrival to the Archives, we are escorted through a back entrance. We’re getting a VIP tour that allows us to see the preservation rooms as well as some of the pieces that are rotated on and off display. It’s cool to see the care that is given to our country’s important documents.

  Next, we are taken to the grand hall where the Declaration of Independence is displayed. The place is packed with summer vacationers and full of children.

  “There it is,” Lorenzo says. “Your Declaration of Independence. It’s incredible to think that a new country, your government, was created by a few men with great foresight.”

  “America has become a super power in a very short time. Do you think it will be like other world powers who have fallen, or will it be able to maintain this status?”

  “If history is any indication, all super powers eventually fall. My father always said we should learn from the mistakes of the past. And we can learn much from the history of our countries. Montrovia is like Switzerland. We remain neutral in world politics. It keeps us from getting involved in costly wars.”

  “That’s true, but terror has yet to come to your country.”

  “And it probably will not because we’ve created no animosity with any country.”

  “You flaunt your wealth and western ways, isn’t that enough for some?”

  “Perhaps,” he agrees, “but the deep seeded hate is not there.”

  “I wish there was no hate in the world,” I say with a sigh, then point to the document and change the subject. “Did you know there’s an invisible map on the back of it?”

  He smiles. “I’ve seen that movie.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close enough so that he can whisper in my ear. “I think in another life I was a treasure hunter. So much excitement. Speaking of that, you’ve been spending time with me. I like it but was wondering, am I still your mission?”

  I shake my head. “No, you are not.”

  “So you are here with me simply because you enjoy my company?”

  “Yes,” I say, standing on my tiptoes and kissing his cheek. “I most certainly am.”

  He’s pulling me in for a kiss when my peripheral vision notices something out of place.

  Shit. We have to act quickly.

  I duck behind Lorenzo’s shoulder and tap Juan. “Three o’clock. Black puffy jacket.”

  “It’s not cold out,” he says.

  “And there are a lot of children and families here. We have to do something.”

  Nearly everyone in the place is taking photos and videos. If I tried to approach the man, it could end horrifically, not to mention completely blow my cover. But that would be better than being blown to bits.

  Juan reaches for his concealed weapon.

  “Don’t do that! If he has a bomb, you’ll risk him setting it off and killing everyone in here. Including us.”

  “Well, what would you suggest?” he says sarcastically.

  “If you want to play the hero, you can hug him tightly, which would lessen the bomb’s impact. You would die but you’d save a lot of people.”

  “Any other brilliant ideas?”

  “You need to go behind the bomber, grab him around the shins, lift up, and push forward. He should instinctively put his hands out to break his fall. Once his hands are away from the bomb’s trigger, shove your knee into his back to keep him down flat. Then you can shoot him if need be.”

  The other guards surround Lorenzo and I, but I’m not sure why they are bothering. If the man does have a bomb, and it goes off, it won’t matter. We’ll all be dead.

  Juan circles behind the man.

  “Lorenzo,” I whisper. “You need to leave the building.”

  “Maybe the man is just chilly?”

  “He’s here by himself, wearing a coat in the middle of summer, and his lips are moving.”

  “Then we need to stay here and help these people. Are you armed?”

  “Actually, I am, but if I shoot him, the bomb could still explode. Let’s see if Juan can handle it.”

  I wait until Juan dives into the man’s shins then yell out, “He’s got a bomb! Everyone get out!”

  A mass panic occurs, people scream and run for their lives.

  This helps to clear the area around the bomber. Juan jabs his knee in the man’s back, but the man keeps struggling.

  I’m afraid he will get free.

  No one is looking at me, so I shoot the man in the neck with a tranquilizer dart, causing him to quickly stop struggling as he goes limp.

  Juan narrows his eyes at me then rolls the man over and opens his jacket.

  “There is no bomb,” he says. “Merda.”

  “Check his underwear,” I say. “I read in the paper the other day that—”

  “I’m not unzipping his pants,” Juan argues. “If you’re wrong about this, it’s going to be a social media nightmare.”

  I bend down and unzip the unconscious man’s pants, proving my point.

  “Holy mother, will you look at that?”

  “I’ve heard about those,” one of the other guards says. “They use liquid explosives, like TATP and nitroglycerin. We only had to go through a magnetometer here. It wouldn’t have picked it up.”

  “Get your hands in the air!” a policeman yells as we are surrounded by lots of men with guns.

  “Drop the weapon,” another yells at Juan.

  “I am the King of Montrovia,” Lorenzo says, his voice booming as he steps directly into their line of fire. “These men are part of my security detail. Because of their quick thinking, they took down a suicide bomber who nearly caused the deaths of many people. Lower your guns and treat them with the respect they deserve.”

  To my surprise, the men do exactly as told.

  I can’t help but smile with pride.

  An hour and a million questions later, we are allowed to leave.

  The good news is they don’t believe the man was targeting Lorenzo. The bad news is he got past their security.

  “I think we should skip the rest of our tour,” Juan says.

  When we get back to the house, Juan asks to speak to me in private.

  “Miss Von Allister,” he says formally. Usually he calls me Huntley. “May I ask why you have a watch that shoots tranquilizer darts? Darts that look much like the ones used when you, your brother, and the Prince were kidnapped?”

  I look down at my watch, wondering what I could tell him to allow me to maintain my cover.

  I slump my shoulders and sigh, like I’m about to tell him a secret.

  “As one would expect, being kidnapped kind of freaked my brother and I out. I suggested getting a gun for protection, but Ari said that I would end up shooting myself. So we did some research and found a website with all these covert, spy-type gadgets.” I hold my arm up, showing him the watch. “With their help, we retrofitted this watch to hold two tranquilizer darts.”

  “Okay, let’s say I buy that,” he says, scrutinizing me. “How is it that you knew the proper way to take down a suicide bomber?”

  I look him straight in the eye and lie through my teeth. “Ari and I worked with a professional security advisor. Although we are not royalty, we’re told that our money could make us a target, particularly for kidnapping. So we were taught some basic techniques. That was one of them. I was really impressed with how well it worked.”

  “I can’t believe I listened to you,” he says with a smile, shaking his head. I’m not sure he totally buys it, but at least he goes along with my story. “However, I’m glad I did. Can you give me the name of the firm? I think I’d like to have them do a training session for the King’s guards.”

  “Um.” Merda. “Absolutely, I’ll have Ari get you his name. We considered h
iring our own security guards, but that seemed a bit pretentious. Ari and I aren’t used to all this media attention. I suppose Lorenzo grew up with it and doesn’t know anything different.”

  “He did, and he often acted out accordingly,” Juan says with a laugh. “You’re good for him. After the kidnapping, he distanced himself from you.”

  “I know. He wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “But he wanted you to attend his coronation.”

  “To get back the Royal Jewels, I assumed.”

  “His sending you on the boat and not going with you was a mistake on his part.”

  “Juan, I’m not sure I could handle the pressures of being a princess, let alone be the queen of your country.”

  “And I’m thinking you most certainly could. You’re unflappable, smart, and quick on your feet. Because of you, we’re all alive.”

  “Is it just me, or does the King’s security team seem a little, um, old?”

  “I suggested that he offer his father’s guards nice retirement packages and recruit his own men. He declined.”

  “Maybe after today, you should remind him of that.”

  He smiles. “Maybe you should be the one to tell him.”

  I nod in agreement. “I think I will.”

  Lorenzo is in the study taking calls from reporters. I sit down in one of the chairs not already occupied by his staff.

  When he finishes the call, his personal secretary says, “CNN wants you in studio tonight to talk about the events of today, the other attempts on your life, and your new role as King.”

  His eyes meet mine, and he smiles. “Tell them I have plans for this evening.”

  “What about first thing in the morning?” she counters.

  “Tomorrow is the funeral for the President,” he reminds her.

  She looks frustrated. “Very well then.”

  “I’m done for the day,” Lorenzo states, then he walks over, takes my hand, and pulls me out of my seat. “We aren’t going to let this ruin our evening. And we’re going out alone.” He addresses his staff. “I want you all to take the night off. Go enjoy the city.”