The Monarch

by Jack Soren

  “What’s Matthews think?” Evans asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him about it, yet.”

  “Seriously? Ballsy. Dumb, but ballsy,” Evans said. Even he knew the heat was on politically over this case, and unsanctioned moves would just give lawyers something to exploit down the road.

  “Press conference isn’t until Monday,” Wagner said in his defense.

  “Maybe, but it’s already been announced on the news. If he doesn’t know already, he’s going to pretty damn soon.”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about him,” Wagner said, watching Ryan Meed, one of their techs, approach his office. Ryan smiled and stuck his head in.

  “Got a second?”

  “For what?” Wagner said.

  “I’ve got something you need to see.”

  Several minutes later and a few floors down, Wagner stood behind Ryan at his workstation, which looked like the cockpit of a space shuttle. Ryan’s hands were flying over several keyboards, mice, and control deck knobs. Wagner wouldn’t have been able to turn the machines on, never mind use them. But his son, Todd, had highlighted his technical ineptitude years ago.

  “We picked up an encrypted cell phone signal in the building a while ago. I didn’t think much of it, but then when I did an audit, none of our encrypted phones was in the area at the time,” Ryan said, pointing at one of his displays that looked a little bit like the peaks and valleys of a heartbeat on an EEG monitor. Wagner nodded convincingly.

  “Right, so what does that have to do with me?”

  “We pinpointed the source of the signal as the main floor. Here, watch,” Ryan said, playing back recorded security camera video on another monitor. It was black and white, but high quality. It showed a hallway off the main area downstairs. Specifically, the door to the women’s public washroom.

  Up in the corner of the video a time code spun.

  “And . . . now,” Ryan said, pointing at the screen. Someone came out the door and then left the hallway, but not before he saw their face clearly.

  “Son of a bitch,” Wagner said. The face belonged to Emily. “Are you sure it was her on the phone?”

  “I ran the recording ahead for fifteen minutes. Nobody else came out. It was definitely her. She signed out a minute later. I checked the log and saw she’d been up here to see you. This something you can use?”

  “Oh yeah,” Wagner said.

  Wagner’s cell phone buzzed.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey,” it was Evans.

  “What’s up?” Wagner said.

  “I just got a call from one of my NYPD contacts.”

  “What about?”

  “Some kid named Dan Cooper took a nosedive off the New York Times building this morning. Smashed a taxi flat.”

  “Jesus. The kid anybody we know? I mean, case wise?”

  “Not that I can find, but I think we’re going to be involved.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Kid’s cell phone survived the fall. Well, his SIM card did, anyway. The last number he called, like a minute before jumping, was to Emily Burrows.”

  16

  Tallahassee, Florida

  2:30 P.M. Local Time

  THE SWENSONS DROPPED Natalie home just after two. Before they left, Jonathan flagged them down and made his pitch. A sleepover was one thing, but asking a neighbor if your daughter could stay with them for an unknown length of time, that was a whole different ball game.

  Jonathan would have loved to take Natalie with them and show her New York, but he had no idea how dangerous things were going to get. Ken Swenson was leery at first, the request seeming to come out of nowhere. Jonathan lied and told him it had to do with finding work before he pulled Natalie out of school. Their financial situation was no secret to the neighborhood. He hit the heart button too, suggesting that after this, Natalie and Kayla might not get to see each other ever again. After that, it was just a matter of time before Mrs. Swenson worked her husband over for Jonathan.

  Jonathan knew as difficult as it was selling the Swensons, it was child’s play compared to telling Natalie in a way that didn’t make her feel abandoned. Even with Samantha’s death, if Natalie and Jonathan weren’t so close, this would have been a lot easier, but they were more like best friends than father and daughter.

  After spending some time with Natalie, Lew headed off to do some shopping. The plan was to catch a flight Sunday morning. The FBI were holding a press conference on Monday and they wanted to be there for that. Use it as a kind of ground zero. Jonathan had less than twenty-­four hours left with his daughter, and he hadn’t even told her he was leaving yet.

  He steadied himself and knocked on Natalie’s door. She was inside surrounded by her stuffed animals and drawing. When she looked up he took a mental image of the scene, knowing no matter the outcome of either this conversation or his trip to New York, nothing would ever be this again.

  Jonathan had never lied to his daughter before, but he just didn’t see any way around it. Aside from Lew, the only person who even knew the truth about his past was six feet underground and he and Natalie took flowers to her grave once a month.

  “Where are you going?” Natalie asked. She wasn’t upset. Not yet, anyway. He led off with the idea of spending a few weeks at Kayla’s house, so she was much more receptive to the idea than if he’d just said he was going away. But she was a smart kid, and already she was seeing the nugget at the center of the story. To keep things simple, he stuck to the same lie.

  “New York,” Jonathan said.

  “Why don’t you know how long you’ll be?” It was a logical question, and Jonathan could see if he didn’t handle the answer just right it could lead to some uncomfortable follow-­ups. The main thing he wanted to avoid was giving her any reason to think he wasn’t coming back. And with the dreams she’d been having lately, that wasn’t going to be easy.

  “I could lie and say a few days, babe, but you’re a big enough girl to handle the truth. It could take that long just to set up meetings with ­people. The thing is, it’s all up to them. I just have to do it this way. You understand, don’t you?” It was basic spy craft. Bury a lie within the truth within a lie. The hard part was keeping it straight and consistent.

  “I guess,” Natalie said, looking at her stuffed owl and playing with its wings.

  “Here,” Jonathan said, taking the bag out of his pocket that he’d bought on the way home from dumping the van. He took out a prepaid cell phone made for kids that hung on a lanyard. “You have to promise you’ll only use this to call me.” He slipped it over her head.

  “My own phone?” Natalie said, the sparkle returning to her eyes. It was a cheap trick. Jonathan had never liked the bribery tool as a parent, but it seemed he was breaking all the rules today.

  “You’ll have to make sure you keep it charged. You know, like your iPod. Now promise me you won’t use it to call your friends.”

  “I promise! I promise!” she said, throwing her arms around Jonathan’s neck. “I can really call you anytime I want?”

  “I’ll call you too,” Jonathan said, nodding. “If I’ve got a meeting or something, I might get Uncle Lew to call you.”

  “Uncle Lew’s going too?”

  “Sure is. You don’t want me to be lonely, do you?” She shook her head no.

  “Is Uncle Lew going to live with us in New York?”

  “I don’t know about that. Maybe at first. He might be lonely all on his own too.”

  “I don’t think Uncle Lew gets lonely too much,” Natalie said in that knowledgeable way kids have of talking about unknown things.

  “I think you might be right about that,” Jonathan said with a smile. “Now let’s see if we can pick a good ringtone for you. I’m thinking . . . the theme song from Sesame Street.”

  “Dad, puh-­lease!” Jona
than suggested a few more songs that were obviously too young for her. They laughed and roughhoused a bit. Then she put her arms out for a hug. He held her tight. “Thank you for the phone, Dad.”

  “You’re welcome, baby,” Jonathan said, hiding the tears slipping from his eyes.

  17

  Tartaruga Island

  12:00 A.M. Local Time

  LARA KRING VAULTED out of the elevator and launched herself down the complex’s main level corridor, her long Chinese cheongsam dress restricting her movements so she looked more like a ballerina executing a pas de bourrée than an infuriated executive. But she was more than even that. She was Kring Industries’ second-­in-­command, superseded only by Nathan Kring, her father.

  Her bone-­white hair, stark against the bloodred silk, flowed behind her as if it were spreading her scent of jasmine and coconut rather than trying to keep up with its owner. Her black alligator Manolo Blahnik high-­heeled boots—­not easy to get on an island somewhere east of Zanzibar—­hammered out a typewriter staccato, warning everyone between her and the wide, winding staircase that led to her father’s office of the price they’d pay if they tried to intercede. Though at this hour, most staffers were sound asleep.

  Her South Asian features were from her late mother, but everything else was from her father. She was his younger female doppelganger in every way, but one: She wasn’t dying.

  “You’re going to meet her?” Lara spouted even louder than she’d intended as she burst into Nathan’s office, flipping her disheveled hair out of her green eyes.

  “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen,” Nathan said, pressing a button on a remote control that muted the voices coming from the displays embedded in the wall opposite his desk. Lara knew the mute also cut off the sound and video going out of the office.

  “Is it true?” Lara demanded, holding her clipboard of papers close to her chest, her bluster already threatening to falter in his presence.

  “Not that it’s any concern of yours, but yes, it’s true,” Nathan said. He walked around his desk and sat in his leather chair, as if preparing himself to withstand a cross-­examination. Lara noticed he’d placed his wheelchair off to the side where it would be out of view of the camera set in the wall above the displays.

  “Now? What are you thinking? Shouldn’t you be in the data center making preparations?” she said, stalking toward the desk, slamming her clipboard down when she reached it.

  “Everything is on schedule. They’re not children. I doubt that things will fall apart if I’m gone for a few hours,” Nathan said, swiveling back and forth in his chair as he spoke, as if sitting was allowing too much energy to build up in him.

  Lara knew she couldn’t talk him out of his little field trip any more than she could talk him out of the plan, but he had to know he couldn’t circumvent her like this. If the plan failed, she would need to know everything that was happening. Everything. Right down to the last order and penny. But that was defeatist thinking, of course, and he simply wasn’t capable of failure; which was one of the faults that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

  Instead of continuing her tirade, she clocked around the desk and put her hand on his forehead. As she expected, he was burning up.

  “When was the shot?” she asked.

  “Yesterday,” he said, pulling his head back from her hand. She knew he was lying.

  “Is she monitoring you?” Lara asked.

  “Don’t concern yourself with Sophia. Your sister knows what she’s doing. Look at me,” he said, smiling, his eyes ridiculously wide and bright.

  Lara cringed inside at the mention of her name. “I wish you would stop calling her that,” Lara said. She took her hand away. “You seem fine, but remember the last—­”

  “I am fine,” he said, slipping his hand around and squeezing her rear end. “Why don’t you let me show you?”

  “I’m busy and you’re in the middle of a meeting,” she said, trying to hide the mix of fear and anger blossoming in her chest.

  “It’s been so long,” he said. She knew the serum was fueling more than his legs.

  She picked up her papers and clasped them to her breast, her eyes flicking to the row of faces on the monitors. She knew they couldn’t see her, but it was still disconcerting.

  “We talked about this. I don’t want to talk about it again. Ever,” she said, unable to look him in the eye, the memories of all their past encounters assaulting her.

  “Fine. Be that way,” he said, sitting up straight and smoothing his lapels. “What are you busy with? Anything you need me for?” His tone changed and he was the CEO again.

  “No. The consortium is petitioning us again about our reserves. I can handle it, unless you’ll change your mind.”

  “We’ve been over this. We might be sitting on the only natural gas pocket between here and the mainland, but it’s finite. If we manage ourselves, we have maybe fifty years’ worth. If we start handing it out, we’ll be just like them; reliant on someone else. And you know their proposal is just the start. Next they’ll want to use our airstrip or farm the back side of the island. No, I’ve been clear on this.”

  “All right, then no, I don’t need any help,” she said, and began heading out of the room.

  “In that case, let me get back to the vultures before they start eating each other,” he said. “See if Sophia needs anything. I mean it. She’s your sister, whether you like it or not,” he said. “And she’s crucial to the plan. Without her—­”

  “All right, fine!” Lara said louder than she meant to, the combined distaste for Sophia and her father wrenching away her self-­control.

  “And let me know when Thomas gets in,” Nathan said, turning back to the screens. She flinched slightly.

  “Yes, Father,” Lara said. She left his office feeling like the energy had been sucked from her bones. And she realized that of everyone on the island, the one she hated the most was herself.

  LARA RAN HER pass card through the card reader, but instead of a green light giving her access to Sophia’s lab, it buzzed and blinked red. She tried it again, paying more attention this time, but again it buzzed denial. She examined the card and carefully wiped the strip clean.

  “Come on,” she said to the device. After five failed attempts the door would lock down for an hour and the guards would come running. She had authority over them, but it would still be embarrassing. “What the hell has she done to this thing?”

  She carefully ran the card through a third time. This time, the light turned green and she heard the electronic buzz-­click of the lock releasing. Perturbed, she pushed through the door and entered her sister’s world.

  The lab gleamed in the dim light coming from a few workstations. In days gone by, the lab had accommodated dozens of scientists and lab techs, but as her father’s condition worsened, they’d slowly either been let go or reassigned. Sophia Kring was the only one who inhabited its beakers and test tubes now.

  “Is that thing sticking again?” a voice said from deep inside the lab. Lara was almost a foot taller than her sister, but she couldn’t see her from the door.

  Lara hated the lab. Aside from the knot in her stomach whenever she saw or spoke to Sophia, it smelled terrible. She couldn’t even think of what it smelled like. The closest she could guess was rotting garbage.

  And all those disgusting animals she has.

  She especially hated the little mice, though she’d never show it on her face. Thomas had taught her early in her lessons that rule number one was never let your opponent see your true emotions. I’m already a black belt in that department.

  Lara took a deep breath and clip-­clopped back into the lab. She found Sophia sitting on the floor with a rabbit and two mice in her lap. She wasn’t running any experiment, she was just playing with them.

  “What’s up?” Sophia asked from the floor. She was wearin
g a lab coat over her usual sweater and jeans, her glasses pushed up on the crown of her long black hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. Several strands either had never made it into the hair band or had worked their way out through the day.

  “He wanted me to check and see if you needed anything,” Lara said. She couldn’t say Father because that would mean acknowledging that Nathan was Sophia’s father too; something she just couldn’t do.

  “I’ve done pretty much all the protocols I can for now,” Sophia said. “I don’t have any more donor material, and since it’s the largest constituent in the serum—­well, you see my point.”

  Lara hated the way she talked down to her. Just because Sophia went to university didn’t mean she had to rub it in Lara’s face every ten minutes.

  “Fine. Well, I checked,” Lara said, spinning on her heels and heading back the way she came.

  “Wait! Hang on a sec,” Sophia said, struggling to get up without freeing her creatures. She dropped the mice into a maze, cradled the rabbit like it was a baby, and walked over to Lara.

  “What is it?”

  “No one’s told me what this ‘big thing’ is, yet. He’s taken all my ­people and just keeps telling me I’ll have to work harder. But you know, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “Damn it, that’s what he keeps saying! Somebody better let me inside the loop or I’m going to . . .” Sophia let her threat trail off. Lara stepped closer to her and stared down into her brown eyes.

  “You’re going to what?” Lara held her stare until she looked away.

  “I don’t know. Wait I guess. That’s all I ever do,” she said, wandering away, patting the rabbit.