by Jillian Dodd
“Please stay here,” the soldier says, going back to the guard stand while still keeping his gun trained on us.
A few moments later, soldiers surround the car, their guns drawn.
The good news is that they probably don’t know this car is armored. I could hit reverse, flip a cookie, and hightail it out of here.
But then what?
Where would I go?
If I were by myself, I’d go back to the bank to look for Intrepid, but it’s too risky with the boy. I can’t put him in any more danger.
What if these men are the bad guys? What if their uniforms are a ruse?
“Get buckled, Chauncey. Now,” I whisper. “We may have to get out of here fast.”
“Are they going to shoot at us?” he cries. “I want my daddy.”
“I do, too,” I say, putting the car into reverse and readying my foot on the accelerator.
“What is your code name?” one of them asks.
“It’s either Bag Girl or X,” I reply.
“She’s clear,” he yells out then turns back to us. “Please, come follow me.”
I nod, tears of relief filling my eyes as I put the car in park and turn it off.
“Don’t cry,” Chauncey says as he gets himself unbuckled. “We’re all right now.”
When he gets out of the car, he leaps into my arms.
“You’re right,” I say, giving him a squeeze. “We’re safe now.”
An airman takes our bags and carries them onto the plane.
“I heard you are very brave,” he says, saluting Chauncey.
“I’m going to be a knight someday,” the boy tells him.
“What’s your name?” the airman asks.
“Chauncey.”
“Sir Chauncey, I like it. Would you like to meet the pilots and see the cockpit while we wait for our other passenger?”
The boy leaps out of my arms and follows him, suddenly having a new best friend. He checks out the plane, shakes the hands of the pilots, and comes back with a pair of aviation wings pinned to his shirt.
“I’m hungry,” he says, making himself at home in one of the seats. “Are we going to London for bangers and mash now?”
“Yes, we are.”
A steward offers the boy some biscuits and jam, which he happily accepts. “Do you have any hot chocolate?”
The steward smiles and makes him a cup of cocoa from a mix.
“Have you heard from Gallagher?” I ask. “Do you know if he’s okay?”
“He’s a little worse for wear, but he’s okay,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn around and see him. He’s a mess. His suit is tattered and covered in dust.
I rush to him, throwing my arms around his neck.
“I was very worried about you two,” he says. “Particularly when the explosives were detonated.”
“What happened?”
“I was escorted to the room where you would exit from when you had concluded your business. But things got a little dodgy when gunmen came in. The receptionist hit a silent alarm, which then shut off that exit to you, meaning they couldn’t get to you, but neither could I. Two men came in back. I took them out.”
“Were they bank robbers?” I ask hopefully.
He shakes his head. “They were after one of you. There must have been a message sent out as soon as the fingerprint was scanned, because the response was almost immediate.”
“You look like you could use this, sir,” the steward says, handing Gallagher a drink.
One of the pilots steps out of the cockpit. “We just got a call from the gate where there is an unidentified, unfriendly vehicle. You may have been followed here. We can fight it out or take off.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here, now!” Gallagher replies.
We get buckled up, taxi down the runway, and quickly ascend.
I hold my breath, half waiting for the plane to be shot out of the sky.
Once we’re safely airborne, I let it out.
Intrepid is sitting next to me. He lays his hand on top of mine and nods toward Chauncey, who is chewing a bit of biscuit with his eyes closed, trying to fight off sleep.
“Cute kid,” he says.
“Smart kid. You should have seen him at the bank. He’d been there before. And I think I have been there, too. I had a couple of flashbacks today. My memories have been, um, iffy, I guess you could say, since my mom died. I remember a lot from when I was young but the time around her death, I can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember or you don’t want to?”
“I’m not sure there is a difference anymore. Now, I wish I could remember, but it’s like my memories are encrypted or something.”
“Trauma can cause that.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say with an eye roll.
“What was in the safety deposit boxes?”
“I don’t know.” I tell him all that happened on our end.
Once we reach cruising altitude, the steward gets up and folds out one of the seats, making up a bed. Then he unbuckles the boy and lays him down on it.
The boy wakes up and motions for me, so I sit on the floor next to him, rub his face, and wish him sweet dreams as he falls back to sleep.
“Can I make up a bed for either of you?” the steward asks.
“How long is the flight?”
“Ninety minutes,” he replies.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
I grab my backpack and pull out the safety deposit box.
Inside I find just four things. The first is another key, this one for a safety deposit box at the Royal Montrovian Bank. The second is a letter from my mother telling me that she was a covert agent, that she’s sorry she couldn’t tell me, how much she loves me, and how she hopes that I remember all the fun we had traveling together. The third item is a photo. The one I remembered today. I’m sticking my tongue out at her, peeking around the side of Lorenzo’s castle. And lastly, there is a stack of cash. One hundred thousand American dollars.
I stare at the photo and try to replay what I remembered earlier today, but the rest won’t come.
“Not much in here,” I say.
“What were you hoping for, a bag full of clues?”
“Actually, kind of. Something—anything, that would make sense of all this.”
“What about the boy’s?”
I pry the backpack out of Chauncey’s hands and replace it with his tiger. He sighs, rolls over, and snuggles the tiger up to his chin.
I take the Glock out of the back of my pants. “This was one of the things in his safety deposit box.” I pull a pouch out of the backpack and discover six million dollars worth of bearer bonds, photos of a beautiful woman who I assume was his mother, and a baby journal full of musings in a loopy cursive.
I read the first entry.
As I held you in my arms for the first time, you looked up at me with your big, beautiful eyes. I feel so blessed and fortunate to have you that I decided to name you Chauncey, which means fortune and gamble. We took a gamble by bringing you into this world, but sometimes love trumps good judgment. Your father’s job means that even now, as you are born, we are in constant danger. But your father promised to do only one final job, then we will move away and live a happy life together. You, Chauncey, were my gamble, and you are my fortune. And I know that God will bless you with intelligence and a heart full of love.
Sleep well, my beautiful baby boy.
I close the book, not wanting to read anymore of her private thoughts. Intrepid brushes tears off my cheek, tears I wasn’t even aware had fallen.
“The world is saying The Priest is dead. What say you?”
“You sound like a pirate.” I laugh.
He laughs too.
“He should have gotten out. But if he had, he would have come for his son.”
“What happened?”
I tell him about the men who came and all that went down.
“Sounds like the same mercenaries that were a
t the bank.”
“Unless they were Russians.”
He tells me about the base takeover in Tartus. That maybe someone is trying to push us toward World War Three.
It all just makes my head hurt.
Just before landing in London, I’m given a military uniform to change into, so I am not recognized. The boy is taken off the plane inside a large duffle.
Once we get loaded in the armored Range Rover, Intrepid unzips the duffle, and Chauncey pops his little head out and goes, “That was fun!”
We are driven to Notting Hill and let out at a side entrance, where we are greeted by Lorenzo and the smell of bacon cooking, even though it’s after two in the morning.
Lorenzo pulls me into his arms and hugs me tightly. Since I’m carrying the boy, he’s hugging him too.
He smiles and says, “I’m Chauncey.”
“And I’m Lorenzo.” He shakes the boy’s hand.
“Chauncey,” I say. “Lorenzo is the King who granted my knighthood.”
The boy’s eyes get big as saucers. “Really?”
“Yes, he is.” I tell Lorenzo how Chauncey was very brave and how he saved my life. “I think he deserves to be a knight, too.”
Lorenzo takes the boy out of my arms and sets him down. “Being a knight is a great responsibility. Are you up for the challenge?”
“I am.” Chauncey nods seriously.
Lorenzo holds out one hand for the boy to take and the other for me to take. “Let’s go into my study.”
When we get into the richly decorated room, Lorenzo grabs a staff out of an umbrella stand and positions the boy in front of him.
Chauncey’s eyes are wide with astonishment. He’s adorable.
“Wait here,” Lorenzo says, then comes back a few moments later wearing his royal dress uniform and looking like the king he is.
“Woah,” Chauncey says. “You really are a king.”
Lorenzo smiles at him. “Please kneel.”
The boy takes the position. He clearly knows the drill.
“A true knight is a man who shows courage and bravery against all odds. You have proven your valor today, and it is my honor to offer you knighthood. You must promise to uphold the knight’s code. Knights are honest, true, and valiant. They must always seek justice and truth. They are noble, chivalrous, and generous. Do you promise to uphold these values?”
“I will,” he says.
Lorenzo taps the staff on the boy’s right shoulder, then gently raises the staff just up over his head and then taps his left shoulder. “With the power vested to me by country and crown, I make ye a knight of Montrovia.”
The boy stands up beaming.
Lorenzo bows to him. “I offer you this staff.”
“I get to keep it?”
“Yes, you do. Is Sir Chauncey hungry? I smell bacon.”
The boy rubs his tummy. “I smell bacon too. Let’s go!”
After a very early morning breakfast, we tuck Chauncey in.
“I’m not tired yet,” he protests. “Can you tell me a story?”
Lorenzo sits on the edge of the bed and proceeds to make up a story about knights and fair maidens. It’s not long before the boy is fast asleep.
Lorenzo takes my hand and leads me into his suite.
“A bed has never felt as soft as this one has,” I say, sprawling myself across it, desperately needing sleep.
“You are very upset, Huntley, even though you are putting on a brave face for the boy. Tell me what is going on.”
“Can we talk about it after I sleep? I haven’t slept in . . . I don’t even know how long.”
“Well, sleep will have to wait a few more minutes. I need some answers.”
“Very well,” I say, sitting back up. “Chauncey is the son of the assassin who killed my mother.”
“What!? How could that be? Why is he with you?”
“It’s a long, crazy story. Let me start at the beginning. Ari and I were sent to the location of the assassin’s next hit. Our job was to find him and follow him. We had no idea he was going to shoot Clarice until she walked out of the building—then it was too late. She was shot. Ari went to her and I went after the assassin. Did she make it?”
Lorenzo shakes his head.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I spoke with your brother. He filled me in on all that happened to that point. What I want to know is if you kidnapped his son.”
My eyes get huge. “No! I would never do something like that!”
“Then tell me the rest.”
“Long story short, I followed the man home. I had him on his knees in his living room in the same position he had my mother in. Then the boy spoke from behind me. I didn’t know he was there. The assassin begged me not to kill him in front of his son. It was then that I told him about what he did to my mother. He told me that he didn’t know I was there. That he was just doing his job. And now, more than ever, I understand. He was given a job, and he did it. Just like I was given the job to kill him. I was trained to complete my missions at all cost. To never question my orders.”
“But you are?”
“Yes. Even before his son spoke, I knew I couldn’t kill him in cold blood.”
“Huntley, you’re not a machine,” Lorenzo says, joining me on the bed. “You have emotions and feelings, no matter what you were trained for. But if you didn’t kill him, why is the American government reporting that the President’s assassin is dead?”
“Because that’s what I told them.”
“Are you saying you lied to your government?”
“I don’t know. He may have died in the explosion.” I quickly explain the rest of what went down.
“Do you think he could have gotten away?”
“I don’t know why he didn’t. He was supposed to be right behind us.”
“So as far as Black X is concerned, you completed your mission. Can’t you just quit now? Tell them you got the revenge that you wanted, and you are finished. Then you can come live in Montrovia with me. Have a simple life.”
“Growing up, we were constantly on the move. I never really had a friend.”
“You have me now,” he says, pulling me into his arms.
“I know, and it means more to me than you know. But I can’t quit. Honestly, I don’t think they will let me.”
I tell him about Josh and my school.
“I can keep you safe in Montrovia,” he suggests.
“I appreciate the offer, Lorenzo, but you can’t even keep yourself safe. And there’s more going on here. More to the story. I’m starting to believe that my training and missions are somehow connected to my mother’s death, and I have to figure out how—with or without the help of Black X.”
“Then what?”
“I retire. To your country. If you’ll still have me at that point.”
“You will be welcomed with open arms, Contessa. Always.”
I put my head on his shoulder with a contented sigh and quickly fall to sleep.
MISSION:COMPLETE
I am awakened by Chauncey, who is riding atop Lorenzo’s shoulders. “Time to get up, sleepyhead!”
I glance at the clock by the bed and see that it’s nearly noon.
“We’re going to play with bubbles!”
“I need a shower.”
“He said you would say that.” Chauncey laughs out loud. “We’re going to the park.”
I squint my eyes at Lorenzo.
“It’s a large private courtyard,” he states. “We’ll be perfectly safe.”
I smile as the boy pats Lorenzo’s shoulders and says, “Giddy up, horsey,” causing Lorenzo to rear up and trot around the room.
“Have a good shower,” he tells me. “I had clothing and personal items delivered for you and the boy this morning. Yours are in my closet.”
“Thank you,” I say gratefully.
He gallops over and kisses me. Then he licks up the side of my cheek, which causes Chauncey to giggle. “That’s a horsey kiss!”
“Is Daddy still on a trip?” Chauncey asks.
“Yeah, he is,” I reply. He nods and then dips the wand back in the bottle and blows more bubbles into the air. I take a seat on the bench next to Lorenzo.
“We’re going to have to tell him the truth eventually,” he says.
“I know. I guess I just haven’t given up hope that he’s alive. That he will come find me.”
“You hope he’s still alive?”
I glance at the boy, who is running around in circles and giggling, trying to catch the bubbles. “For his sake, I do.”
Lorenzo tilts his head and studies me. “And what about for your sake?”
I nervously twist my hands together. “I hope so even more.”
“The boy adores you,” he says, taking my hand in his.
“The boy adores you,” I counter. “It warms my heart to see how he has taken to you, and how sweet you are to him. You have no idea how much it means to me that you allowed me to bring him here.”
“I will do anything you ask of me, because I adore you.” He smiles at the boy. “And I will admit, I like the kid. He’s smart as a whip and cute as a button. And he already knows how to work it. You should have seen him his morning, sticking out his lower lip in a pout and giving the cook these big, sad eyes because she told him he couldn’t have another brownie.”
“I take it he got one?”
“Oh, yeah. Got me one an extra one, too,” he laughs and rubs his taut belly.
“I promised his father I would keep him safe. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to do that.”
“Gallagher and I have already taken care of it. We’ve deposited half of the bearer bonds in London and the other half in Montrovia, and a trust has been set up. The boy will live here with a nanny who is an MI5 agent until his father’s fate is determined. He met with the nanny this morning, and they are already best friends. I’m leaving four of my father’s guards for extra protection, and the house is fully staffed. Gallagher messengered over British citizenship documents for the boy, and he will start school at the prestigious Wetherly Pre-Prep here in Notting Hill. I suggested taking the boy to Montrovia, but Gallagher didn’t think it wise.”
