I see where he's going with this. "So we enter on the other side, and then burst into the King's quarters, catching him off guard?"
Nikolai nods. "Exactly. We exit the castle through my tunnel, and then re-enter it through my father's tunnel. But only the palace's chief architect knows the exact exit point of my father's tunnel. And he is sworn upon the crown to secrecy."
"Well," I say, my voice hardening, "then we force the secret out of him."
I've never felt so mercenary before. Normally, I would never agree to, much less propose, a plan involving force or violence against another person. But my baby is at stake. And I'm realizing that there's almost nothing I wouldn't do for my baby.
Nikolai eyes me warily. "I am surprised you would endorse such an action."
I give him a hard stare, my expression grim. "Is there a better way to get to him? When he's alone, unprotected?"
"No. Everywhere he goes he is accompanied by a contingent of armed guards. He is only alone when he is in his quarters."
"Then we do it," I say. "We pay the palace architect a visit. Find the entrance to the tunnel. Sneak up on the King when he's least expecting it… and smash him." I slam my fist hard against my open palm.
Nikolai nods grimly. "Very well. It is decided."
It'll either be the King… or our baby.
WE SPEND the next hour packing two duffel bags with a week's worth of supplies. We get dressed for a desert excursion, both of us wearing cargo pants and rugged jackets.
When we finish, Nikolai slides out his desk drawer and picks up his stainless steel revolver. He checks the cylinder. It's still loaded.
He looks in my eyes. "You are fully committed to this line of action? You realize that if we fail..." His voice trails off.
"I know what happens if we fail," I say. I've read about it a dozen times in my classes. Covered it at EDGE. In failed coup d'état attempts, the perpetrators end up hanging in the town square. Or worse. But there's no choice for us now. Not when our baby's life is on the line.
Neither one of us says it, but I know we're both thinking the same thing: we just hope that Josh is still alive and well right now.
He has to be, I tell myself. Nikolai's right. Josh is the best bargaining chip that the King has for getting Nikolai and I out of his country, so he can find a new successor and ensure that his legacy and regime will live on after he's dead and gone.
If something's already happened to our baby... No. I can't think about that. It makes me wanna double over and puke when I do. We have to assume the best.
"Okay," says Nikolai. "Then we go. Now. But stay at my side, no matter what. Don't leave my sight."
I nod. Part of me is terrified to get into this. But there's no safer place for me in this palace than by his side.
He unlocks the door to his quarters and steps out into the hallway.
I follow him through the palace halls and we take an elevator up to the third floor. I expect it to be as opulent as the main floor, but it more closely resembles an office building. The ceilings are low, the floor covered with dull blue industrial carpet, and everything is illuminated by harsh fluorescent lighting. It's obviously not a place for royalty.
We keep our heads down, moving down the hallways quickly. I sneak glances at the offices we're passing. Office of the Groundskeeper. Office of the Palace Engineer. Finally, we get to the one that says Office of the Palace Architect.
Nikolai looks at me. "Ready?" I nod. He bends down and gives me a quick kiss on the mouth. I try to will the moment to last for hours, but it's over nearly as quickly as it began.
Then, Nikolai knocks on the door.
"Come in," says a voice.
We enter the office. It's barely larger than a cubicle. There's a middle-aged bald guy of Molvanian descent sitting behind a wooden desk. A computer and a stack of blueprints sits on his desk, a magnifying glass atop them.
"My prince," he says, bowing his head. He steals a glance at me but says nothing.
"Drake," says Nikolai, "Good to see you again."
"Yes my prince," says the man, bowing his head again in deference. "The pleasure is mine."
"I need a favor," says Nikolai. His lips are pursed tight, his jaw tense, as we wait to see if the man will cooperate with us.
"Of course, my prince."
"The GPS coordinates of my father's Transylvanian tunnel exit. I need them."
The man looks off to the side, blowing air between his lips, taken aback by the request. "My prince. I am not authorized to disclose that information to anyone."
"I realize it is classified," says Nikolai. I can hear the tension in his voice.
"My prince," says the man, staring down at his desk, "I must humbly request that you do not burden me with a request I cannot fulfill."
I interject into the exchange between the two of them. "A child's life is at stake."
The man looks up at me quizzically. "What?"
Nikolai nods. "My child."
The man is clearly taken aback by what he's hearing, but after a brief moment of contemplation, he shakes his head again. "I beg your forgiveness, my prince. I wish to remain in your favor, but my oath is to the crown."
I hear Nikolai sigh softly, and I know he doesn't want to do this. But he does.
In one swift motion, he reaches over the desk with a thick, muscled arm, and wraps his fingers around the man's neck. The man's hands fly to his throat, trying to free himself from Nikolai's grip. But he can't.
"My prince," he tries to say, but the words come out choked.
"Tell me," booms Nikolai's voice. It's deep, resonant, authoritative, and it strikes fear even into my heart. I can only imagine the thoughts running through this man's head right now.
"I... cannot," the man gasps, clawing at Nikolai's grip.
"Give me the gun," I say. Nikolai shoots me a look of surprise, but he maneuvers his arm so I can pull it out of his waistband.
I wrap my hand around the grip, cocking the hammer with my thumb. I press the barrel against the man's temple.
"This is about my baby," I hiss at him. "Your life means nothing. I'll do it, I swear."
He looks at Nikolai, as if to question the truth of what I'm saying.
"I will not stop her," says Nikolai.
"I-okay," the man gasps. Nikolai loosens his grip on the man's neck, and he gasps deeply.
"Get me the blue folder in that filing cabinet," he says, his voice shaking.
I set the gun on the top of the filing cabinet, open it, and find the blue folder. I toss it down onto the desk.
The man opens the blue folder, shuffles through it, and then pulls out an envelope. It's sealed with wax in the shape of the North Molvanian royal sigil.
"The coordinates are in there," he says, rubbing his neck. "If they audit me and find a missing envelope, I'll be hung."
"You will not be hung," Nikolai says. "You will have my favor when the King falls."
The man stares at Nikolai, trying to decide if he's serious. Nikolai must notice it too, because he adds, "The King's reign is about to end. Change is coming."
Then he leans forward toward the man, until their faces are just a few inches apart. "Now, forget any of this ever happened."
The man swallows hard and nods.
I hand the gun back to Nikolai, and he jams it into his waistband. We turn and leave the office, leaving the man sitting at his desk, rubbing his neck.
The plan is in motion now, and it's too late to go back.
We hurry down the hallway, passing office workers who stand aside in shock at the sight of their prince rushing through their offices. I'm guessing he doesn't come up to this floor often. We take the elevator back to the main floor, walking at a brisk pace that's just short of a jog. I look back and forth, turning my head to look behind us each time we turn a corner. I keep expecting another assassin or kidnapper to leap out of the shadows and grab me, putting a premature end to our coup attempt. But it doesn't happen. The people we pass in the hallwa
y look at us suspiciously, but none of them stop us.
When we get back inside his quarters, he latches the deadbolts tight. Our two duffel bags sit next to the closet, ready to go. We don't have any time to waste.
The assault rifle is sitting next to the bags. He picks it up and slings it over his shoulder, then jams the spare magazines into cargo pockets on his pants. He reaches into his waistband, pulls out the revolver, and hands it to me.
"You take this. Just in case."
I nod.
"Now," he says, "we go down."
WE DESCEND into Nikolai's escape tunnel. He carries our supplies, the assault rifle slung around his shoulder. I flank him, holding a two million candlepower torch, illuminating the tunnel in front of us.
I feel the cold steel of the revolver against my skin, its presence a constant reminder of what I may have to do.
I've never hurt another person in my life, but when it comes to my two boys, I'm prepared to do almost anything.
In a way, I can relate to the King's desire to keep power within his family. Most people want what's best for their family, and if you have an entire country and economy under your control, you sure can provide a lot to your family.
But the difference between me and the King is that I'd limit myself if I were in power. I'd want the best for my family, sure, but I wouldn't step on the necks of an entire population to do it.
I may be fiercely protective of my own clan, but I'm not like the King.
The tunnel is much different than the one that Ashley and I used to enter North Molvania. That one was wide, spacious, brightly lit, and well-maintained. This tunnel is narrow, damp, dark, and seems like it could come crashing down at any time. I have a feeling that it was dug after the palace was constructed, and that it wasn't originally a part of the palace plan.
Makes sense, I guess. The ancient monarchs of North Molvania are said to be good kings, generous and fair to their subjects. It was only in the last hundred years that the ruling family began to abuse their power and turn the country into a ruthless dictatorship.
When you have something to fear from the people, that's when you need an escape tunnel. To burrow your way out of danger… like a rat.
I think back to how I felt about Nikolai before I met him. That's what I thought he was. A dirty rat. Pretty, but dirty nonetheless. It's incredible how different the truth actually is. He's turned out to be one of the most loyal and good-hearted people I know. He just didn't have anyone to bring out those qualities in him.
I think about Josh, and what kind of man he will grow up to be. If we all make it out of this alive, that is. Will he inherit the noble qualities of his father? Or, god forbid, will the evil traits of his grandfather skip a generation?
It's that whole nature versus nurture debate, I think, as we shuffle along the damp dirt floor of the tunnel. I go back and forth on it. All I know is that I'm gonna be the best mother I can be to Josh if—when—we get him back.
The tunnel only seems to get narrower as we walk, and I start to feel my shoes slop around on the floor. I point the torch down at my feet, and I see that the ground is wet mud. A trickle of water runs down the side of the tunnel, and I trace its path with the torch. It's coming from where the wall meets the ceiling, slowly flooding the tunnel. "This place gives me the creeps," I say to Nikolai, who trudges forward ahead of me.
"It was not meant to be used often. It is not a high-traffic tunnel. It was built for escape only."
"So, what's on the other side?"
"It exits in the back of an abandoned building. Manned by loyal ex-military men on payroll."
"They just wait there in the event that you come out the other side?"
"Yes," he says. "Ready to receive anyone who comes through, and needs to get the hell out of here. But now I do not know what—or who—we will find. I fear that the guards may have been compromised or worse."
I don't say anything. I just keep walking. But that's what I'm afraid of too. That when we come out the other side, it's going to be right in the middle of a den of bad guys.
But I trust Nikolai to get us through this in one piece.
Finally, the light of the torch glints off something metal at the end of the tunnel. It's a door, but not a thick vault door like the one that seals the main entrance to North Molvania. It looks like a basic office door that's been fitted to the entrance, jimmied to fit the irregularly shaped space.
"Slow and quiet," says Nikolai. He slows his pace dramatically, and begins taking cat-like steps instead of marching as we'd been doing previously. I follow suit, trying to make as little noise as possible. I keep my weight on the balls of my feet, trying to avoid dragging my shoes against the floor.
"Go first," he whispers to me. "The door opens to the inside. Open it fast, and hide behind the open door so they cannot see you. I will be ready with the rifle."
I swallow hard. "Got it," I say. "Hey."
Nikolai turns around, and I can see his face by the light reflecting off the tunnel walls. His face is bathed in light and shadow, and it looks angular, sharp, and strong in the dull light. He looks like some kind of military hero in a movie, and I guess that's what he is right now. A hero trying to save his child and his country at the same time.
"Kiss," I say. I feel like I need to sneak in as many kisses as I can, because we don't know what lurks around the next corner.
Or in this case, behind the next door.
He turns around, shrugging the assault rifle out of the way. He drops the two duffel bags to the ground, and then wraps his arms around me in a warm, giant embrace. There's something about his touch that makes me feel like the whole world could disappear, and it feels unfair when we finally part and everything is still exactly the way it was before.
He brushes off my arms, looking down at me with a wistful smile. I can tell that many of the same thoughts are running through his head, yet I have total confidence that if anyone can get the job done, it's him.
"Did I have some dirt on me?"
"No," he says, smiling. "It was just an excuse to touch you."
"You don't need an excuse to touch me," I tell him. "The opposite, actually. The only time I'll ever complain is if you stop."
He lowers his voice, almost to a growl, a purr. "When this is all over, I'm going to take you to bed and I am never going to let you go."
I smile at him. "Let's get this over with so that can happen as soon as possible."
I walk up to the door and place my fingers on the handle.
"On my count," whispers Nikolai. "Open the door, get behind it, and turn off the torch."
I nod.
"Three, two, one. Mark!"
I grip the door handle, pull it down hard, and swing the door open, stepping backwards. The door swings wide, concealing me in the corner of the tunnel, out of sight of whoever or whatever is waiting out there.
There's no window on the door, so my view of Nikolai in the tunnel is completely obscured. I can't see what's happening. I can only listen.
There are a series of shouts from behind the door, and then I see a powerful stream of light flood into the tunnel.
More shouts, and then the gunfire starts.
I hear it first coming from whoever's on the other side of the door, and then Nikolai's rifle begins to fire. The shots are absolutely deafening, and I reflexively take my hand off the door handle to press my palms against my ears.
There's a shuffling sound from Nikolai's direction—him moving, I think. More shots from his rifle, and then I hear a scream of pain from the other side of the door.
More shots. More screaming. The smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils, and reminds me of the shooting class I took in high school. It's funny how smells can trigger such powerful memories.
Finally, the gunfire dwindles, and then completely stops. I begin to count in my head. I'll count up to 30, and then I'll emerge from behind the door.
And find out whether it's Nikolai left standing, or some evil bastard from the oth
er side.
I start counting in my head, and I'm so focused on it that I don't hear the footsteps coming toward me until someone grabs the door handle from the other side and swings it shut, revealing me.
It's Nikolai. The rifle is slung back over his shoulder, white smoke rising from the tip of the barrel. On the ground where he'd been positioned, there are two empty, used-up magazines laying on the ground.
"Come on," he says, "Let's go up."
NIKOLAI STEPS THROUGH THE DOOR, climbing the staircase to the surface, and I follow him.
Inside, it's an abandoned building, just like he said it would be. Four bodies lay strewn around the room, cut down by the rounds from his rifle. Blood from the bodies pools on the floor, all the streams mixing into one big, shallow pool of red. There's no way to avoid it, and my shoes leave bloody footprints and streaks as I step around the room.
The dead men don't look like ex-military Molvanian guys. They're all young, and they look Arab.
I look at Nikolai, waiting for his analysis of the situation.
He shakes his head slowly. "Just as I thought. Gunnar, Milton, Hamish, nowhere to be found. Guys that were with me since I was a child. Not a trace left."
"Then who are these guys?" I ask, waving my hand at the dead bodies on the floor.
"I don't know. Mercenaries hired by my father. I fear we may never know the fates of the men who were posted here. But I suspect they met brutal ends."
A moaning sound pierces the silence, and as I look down, I realize that one of the men is still alive.
I look down at him. His head is shaved, and he wears a scarf around his neck. His body is covered in desert camouflage gear.
I crouch down next to him. "Did the King hire you?"
He makes eye contact with me, but then looks away, not saying anything. His breathing is shallow and it's obvious that he's mortally injured.
"I said," repeating myself, "Did the King hire you?"
I reach to my waistband and pull out the revolver. It's almost as if my body is functioning outside of my control. I point the barrel at his head.
"Tell me where my baby is.""
"Don't know," he mutters, "No baby."
"You didn't see a baby?" I ask him, my voice cold. I press the barrel of the gun hard against his temple. Part of me just wants to blow this motherfucker's head clean off his body.
Prince's Dirty Little Secret (A Royal Secret Baby Romance) Page 12
