Royal Protocol

by Dana Marton

  When they made it back inside the security office, two of the guards immediately went to monitor the cameras set up inside and outside the building. Eight royal guards had remained, plus his personal security guard, plus the director, plus three civilians.

  “Peter Havek, retired police officer,” one of the civilians introduced himself.

  “Tamas Havek, from Havek Construction. Brothers, I have some demolition experience. We could go and look for those bombs. With your permission, Your Highness.”

  The director handed them each a headset, then they were on their way even as Benedek thanked them. The royal guards followed, except for the two who manned the monitors, looking for the bomb with the help of the security cameras. Over a hundred cameras had been strategically placed throughout the building.

  “Craig Miller.” The third civilian spoke with an American accent. “Rayne’s agent. Where is she?” The man’s lips were tight with worry, making Benedek wonder just what his relationship was with Rayne. He looked distinguished with just a touch of gray at the temples, wore an expensive tux and an expensive watch, standing apart from the others. “She doesn’t answer her cell.”

  “My secretary escorted Miss Williams to the palace an hour ago.” As soon as he had a second, Benedek was going to call and check on them. Maybe even now. He reached for his cell phone, then let it drop back into his pocket and turned when the computer behind him sounded a series of beeps.

  The two royal guards at the main console were desperately pushing buttons.

  “Security lockdown just self-initiated,” one reported, casting about a wide-eyed look, disbelief in his voice.

  “Impossible. It can’t self-initiate.” The director rushed over.

  “Someone hacked into the system.”

  “I’ll recall the damn lockdown.” The director’s voice rose, along with the color in his cheeks. “I apologize, Your Highness.” He moved to a free console immediately. Seconds passed. “Whoever initialized it already changed the password.” His tone was filled with outrage.

  Benedek left Rayne’s agent and stepped up to the director. “What does this mean, exactly?”

  “We’re locked in,” the director told him. “Nobody goes out, nobody comes in.”

  “What do they want now? With them out there, we couldn’t leave anyway—”

  The red cell phone rang, cutting him off.

  The man on the other end of the line said, “Bring Rayne Williams to the front door in twenty minutes. The door will open for one minute exactly and you will hand her over. If she’s not there when we open the door, we blow up the building. We’ve planted three bombs in the building.”

  Chapter Two

  “This makes no sense,” Craig said after Benedek had hung up the phone and explained everything to the men around him. “If they were going to let Rayne go, why didn’t they let her go with the others?”

  “They aren’t planning on letting her go.” Benedek’s jaw clenched. “She’s to be their high-profile hostage. This way they, or at least their leaders, can get away after they blow up the opera.”

  “With us in it?” Craig looked from one man to the other, wide-eyed.

  The director of security nodded. “Your Highness must get out at any cost.”

  “But we don’t have Rayne.” Craig wiped his sweating hands on the side of his designer tux.

  “We’ll tell them that Miss Williams is unwell,” the director said, a speculative look coming into his eyes. “Play for time.”

  “Why?” Craig looked between the two men. “If we tell them that she’s not here, maybe they won’t blow up the building. Without a hostage, the second they make a move, security forces will massacre them. The rebels won’t risk that. They won’t do anything if they don’t have her.”

  “Their main goal is to end the monarchy. They have me trapped. Whatever happens, they’re not going to let me leave here.” Benedek lay down the somber facts. “You shouldn’t have stayed.”

  A moment of silence passed as each man considered what might happen next.

  “We need time to find a way to get Prince Benedek out of the building,” Benedek’s security guard said. “If we tell them that Miss Williams isn’t here, they might turn this into a suicide mission and blow up the building right now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, unless we all go,” Benedek stated flatly. “If we tell the rebels that Miss Williams is unwell, but will go out shortly, we might gain enough time to find the bombs and disarm them. It’s in their best interest to wait for her. They’ll want to wait.”

  “Why is that?” Craig asked.

  “They think my brothers will rush to my rescue and then they can get all the princes.” The absolutely maddening thing was that he knew his brothers would come. No amount of common sense, palace security, probably not even a royal order from the Queen would hold them back.

  He had to solve this problem before that. He needed enough time to find and disarm the bombs with the help of their resident demolition expert, but not so much time that his brothers could come up with a plan and show up here. The difficulty was in the balance.

  “Except, we can’t call the rebels back to negotiate.” The call had come in as an unregistered number and could not be redialed.

  He’d been hotheaded enough at the beginning, so outraged by the attack that he’d wanted to rush out to give a piece of his mind to the bastards. He’d now cooled enough to realize that risking his life was not the best course of action. For one, if anything happened to him, his brothers for sure would be over here in the next second, starting a civil war.

  “Now what?” Craig asked.

  “Now we spread out and comb the building for those bombs.” The director handed a headset to Benedek and one to Craig. Everyone else already had them.

  With his bodyguard on his heels, Benedek took off toward the lower levels. Having worked on every detail of the renovations, he knew the building like he knew the names of all Valtrian kings back to the ninth century, the beginnings of the monarchy. First he went to the area that housed the furnaces and air conditioning. He checked under, behind, and on top of every piece of equipment.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing.

  His bodyguard helped, too, making the process faster. They went to the prop room next. Then costumes, tension growing in his shoulders as he moved from one area to the next. He walked through the giant backup pantry that would be used by the five-star restaurant that would soon open inside the opera house.

  He checked his watch before moving on. They had less than five minutes left.

  “Couldn’t find anything,” someone checked in over the headset.

  “No bomb here either,” another voice said.

  Benedek’s cell phone rang.

  “Your Highness. I got caught up in a tussle behind the opera house and lost my phone,” Morin, his secretary said. “I apologize for not being in touch sooner. I just got into the palace. Is there anything anyone can do from here?”

  “Until further notice, your only job is to take care of Miss Williams.”

  “Your Highness?”

  Something in his tone sounded the alarm for Benedek. “She’s safe with you. Correct?”

  “She didn’t come with me, Your Highness. She wasn’t let go with the other hostages? I just heard—forgive me, I just got in.”

  Benedek’s blood ran cold at the thought of any harm coming to her. “She’s probably with the chief of palace security.”

  “I just talked with him. He hasn’t seen her.”

  His muscles tightened, his complete focus on the man on the other end. “Where did you see her last?”

  “Just inside the back entrance.”

  Benedek ended the call and spoke into his headset. “Rayne Williams is in the building. Start looking for her, keep looking for the bomb. I repeat, Rayne is in the building. Find her.”

  NOBODY HAD COME for her.

  Nearly two hours had passed since Morin had left. She’d listened at the door, waitin
g for him to call her name in the hallway, but he hadn’t. Nobody had. All noise had stopped, in fact, over an hour ago, as if all staff had cleared out.

  She had tried to leave several times, but the ancient key had gotten stuck in the lock then broke right off when she’d tried to force it. She had shouted for help to the point of risking damage to her vocal cords, but nobody had answered.

  And then, at last, she heard her name called.

  “Rayne!”

  She’d never been as glad to hear another sound in her life. She thought she recognized the voice. “Prince Benedek?”

  The door handle rattled.

  “It’s stuck.”

  “Stand back,” he said.

  The door burst open with a bang in the next second.

  “Are you all right?” He stood in the threshold like some theatrical hero, in his impeccable tux and with blazing eyes. She noticed again how tall he was, the breadth of his shoulders, the incredible depth of his gaze. His was the kind of presence critics called “mesmerizing” in a performance.

  He was years younger than her, for heaven’s sake.

  She gathered herself and stomped out even the smallest spark of attraction. “Fine. Thank you.” She smoothed her hair into place and lifted her chin. She hated anyone seeing her shaken.

  His bodyguard stood outside in the hallway, inclined his head. “Madam.”

  Benedek took her hand without preamble and pulled her after him. Again, his touch was electrifying, his hand enfolding hers, warm and secure. She’d taken her gloves off earlier, and now found the skin-to-skin touch disconcerting.

  “Where’s everyone else?” The utter silence of the building had been making her increasingly nervous.

  “The rebels let the audience leave. Only fifteen of us stayed here. Including you. The building is locked down.”

  “So they can’t get in?” Oh, good.

  “So we can’t get out.”

  Her lungs constricted. “We’re trapped?”

  The tight expression on his face was enough of an answer.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, but he began talking into his headset, something she hadn’t noticed earlier.

  “I’ve got Rayne. We’re on our way to the restaurant. Found any bombs yet?” He paused to listen. “Seek cover.”

  She went weak in the knees. “What bomb? Did they find it? What do you mean?”

  “The rebels might have explosives in the building.” He glanced at his watch and was now out and out running.

  “Why are we going to the restaurant?” She ran up the stairs by his side.

  He let her hand go so she could hold up the folds of her voluminous skirt with both hands and not trip. She no longer cared about wrinkling her gown before the performance. There would be no performance tonight. They would be lucky if they still had an opera house when this was all over. Or if they were still alive. She reached the top and dashed through the gilded swinging doors.

  Benedek ran straight for the back. “Industrial meat cooler,” he said, as if that explained anything.

  Then they were through the kitchen and at the giant, stainless-steel doors. He pushed up the lever and opened the door. They just about fell inside, his bodyguard leaping in after them.

  The first thing she registered was that the place was empty, the second that it wasn’t freezing. Hadn’t been turned on yet. Thank God, since her dress was rather open on top. Then the door slammed shut, and they were enveloped in darkness.

  An explosion shook the building, ten times stronger than the previous two. Whatever blew up now had been a lot nearer.

  She was about rattled off her feet, careful to put out a steadying hand toward the wall and not toward the prince. But his hand shot out in the darkness, went around her waist and secured her. He was so close that she could feel his heat, the strong, solid presence of his body. Bombs, he’d said earlier. There could be more. Even closer than the last one.

  Oh, to hell with self-composure for once. She grabbed on to his arm in a death grip.

  She disliked wealthy men of privilege on principle. She was even more wary of Benedek, who’d watched her with a singular intensity during her performances, and at times made it difficult for her to completely immerse herself in whatever role she was playing. No other man had ever been able to do that to her, and she resented his ability to mess with her head.

  But right now he was the closest thing to hang on to, and hang on she did.

  “Easy,” Benedek said next to her ear, his warm breath fanning her neck, tickling its way down her skin.

  Half of her was preparing for death. Her other half was…tingling.

  He had a soapy scent, very expensive soap, masculine but non-obtrusive, with a trace of spice that made her want to lean closer to catch more. Instead, she peeled her fingers off his arm as her initial panic ebbed and took a deep, steadying breath from the opposite direction. She couldn’t be losing her composure just because they’d touched. They weren’t even alone, for heaven’s sake.

  When, after long minutes, no further explosions came, he moved away from her. The light came on the next second. He was standing by the door. He’d probably flipped the switch.

  He exchanged a glance with his bodyguard, emotions swirling in his dark eyes. Anger, out-and-out fury, was dominant. Then something else came into his gaze when he looked at her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. A bomb just went off in the building. This wasn’t normally part of the whole opera singer experience. Lockdown or not, they needed to get the hell out of here. There had to be a way.

  His bodyguard was already opening the door and checking outside.

  “What are we waiting for?” she asked when Benedek hesitated for a moment.

  “There are two more bombs,” he said.

  “I APOLOGIZE. If I’d known that something like this would happen, if I thought that the country wasn’t a hundred percent safe, I would have never allowed you to come here,” Benedek told her.

  “Yes. Well.” She seemed shaken, but was covering it up admirably, holding her head high and her spine straight, as regal as any queen. “I can hardly blame you. I’m sure you didn’t plan on getting blown up. What do they want?”

  The kitchen was in shambles, chairs turned over, pots and pans scattered on the floor.

  He shook his head. “We should find the others.”

  “What do they want?” She wasn’t easily distracted.

  “They want the monarchy gone,” he said, as his headset crackled to life.

  The director was asking, “Is everyone all right?”

  “Fine here. I’ve got Rayne,” he said.

  One by one, everyone checked in, except the ex-cop. Benedek tried to remember his name. “Where’s Peter?”

  “He was heading to the gift shop to look for the bomb last I talked to him,” the guy’s brother said.

  Foreboding filled him. “Where was the explosion?”

  “East corner.” The director’s voice was glum.

  Benedek moved forward. The east corner of the building was where the gift shop was located. “Going there now.”

  His bodyguard stepped in the way immediately. “Your Highness—”

  Benedek held up a hand. Someone was talking over the headset again.

  “I’m almost there,” the lost guy’s brother, the construction expert, was saying. Tamas. Benedek remembered his name.

  A few moments passed. “I’m there,” the words crackled through Benedek’s headset. Then came the scraping noise of something being pushed out of the way. Then a grunt. Then complete, utter silence. The man’s voice sounded broken when he spoke next. “He didn’t make it. No need to come here.”

  Benedek’s jaw clenched. He relaxed it with some effort.

  Originally, fifteen people had remained in the building after everyone else had left. With the ex-cop gone, they were down to fourteen.

  “We lost a man.” He passed on the news and reached for Rayne’s
hand, held it for a brief second before she pulled it back.

  No more information was coming through his headset, the line was quiet. He wanted to ask of the damage to the building, but how could he do that? To Tamas, the damage was absolute. He had lost a brother. Benedek gave thanks to God that his brothers had been late to the performance, that they would be spared whatever was going to happen.

  As long as they were smart enough to stay away. Unfortunately, knowing his brothers as he did, he highly doubted that.

  “Ceiling caved in here,” Tamas reported after a while, his construction-trained mind probably surveying even without conscious effort on his part. “Some walls collapsed, but all the load-bearing walls are still standing. No major damage to the structure. No breach in the outside wall to get us out of the place.” He paused. “I’m going to stay here for a few more minutes.”

  To say goodbye. “Take all the time you need,” Benedek said.

  The siege of the opera house had its first victim. He wasn’t optimistic enough to believe that the man had also been the last.

  A MAN HAD DIED.

  It brought everything into sharp focus, making their situation even more frighteningly real. Rayne followed Benedek back to the security office where he was supposed to meet the others.

  “How did you know they were going to detonate the bomb?” The way he’d been running for cover, it was as if he’d known exactly what was going to happen.

  “They gave us an ultimatum.”

  “Which was what?”

  They were heading up the stairs. The prince remained silent.

  “What ultimatum?”

  He said nothing.

  A man waited for them at the office door. Benedek introduced him as the director of security. Rayne wasn’t impressed.

  “What do the protesters want?” she asked without preamble, in a voice that told the guy that she expected a clear and honest answer.

  “Right now, they want you, Madam.” The man cast a nervous glance at the prince.

  The words left her speechless.