by Jack Soren
“So how do I make her shoot?” Sophia asked.
“Oh Jesus,” Emily said.
“The smoke,” Jonathan said, pointing back at the island. “Fly toward it. She’ll be afraid of losing us and fire when we duck in. The second we’re in, climb. Fast.”
Sophia swung the chopper around in a slow arc, trying not to let the drone figure out what they were up to until the last possible moment.
“She’s on to us,” Sophia said as she throttled up and headed for the smoke. The drone came into line behind them.
Jonathan flipped Natalie’s headset back on. “Hang on, baby,” he said, looking back at her.
The second they hit the smoke, the drone bucked up and fired her final missile. Jonathan watched it scream across the sky toward them at incredible speed until it was blotted from view by the column of smoke they’d entered.
“Climb!”
The massive G force threw them back in their seats as the chopper lurched up in an almost vertical climb. Jonathan could feel his blood rushing to his torso from his extremities. If he passed out it wasn’t a problem, but Sophia was a different story. After an eternity, they leveled out and exited the smoke in time to see the missile miles in the distance, still waiting to hit something.
Cheers echoed in the helicopter. They banked and headed off toward the mainland.
“See? I told you she was from my dream!” Natalie said over the headset. Jonathan laughed.
The drone followed them for about twenty minutes, but eventually broke off and disappeared into the clouds. They might have a welcoming committee waiting for them when they landed, but that was fine by Jonathan.
The more the merrier.
Epilogue
Smithsonian Institute
Washington, D.C.
Two Weeks Later
DR. TASHA DIZAZZO, special acquisitions curator, slugged back the remainder of her energy drink, already feeling the familiar headache approaching. She had finally worked her way through the week’s donations so that the rest fit in her messenger bag, even if it felt like the strap was trying to sever her arm from her body. She just wanted to grab her coat and head home to a bubble bath with her name on it.
“Rats!” she said as she pushed into her basement office. More donations had come in while she was upstairs. Mostly envelopes she could squeeze into her bag, but there was one medicine ball–sized crate her assistant had graciously left in the middle of her desk. “Thanks, Krisi.”
Against all common sense—and a desperate desire to leave and pretend she didn’t see it—Tasha dropped thirty pounds by putting her bag down, cracked open another energy drink, and headed to her desk armed with a crowbar. She knew if she didn’t deal with this now, the pile would be twice as big in the morning.
Once she’d squeaked the lid off the crate, she found another case inside, but this one had a keypad on it with a red glowing LED.
“What the heck?”
An envelope was taped to the top. She detached it and read the handwriting on the front:
To whom it may concern:
The preserved brain, eyes, and letter of authentication in this case belong to the world. Please make sure it stays that way.
The note was signed with a symbol that looked, for all intents and purposes, like a butterfly. Tasha opened the envelope and reviewed the letter of authenticity, the tingle up her spine rivaling the energy drink buzz tickling across her scalp.
“Oh. My. God.” She fell back in her chair.
The only bubbles she’d see tonight would be squirting out of a champagne bottle.
Tallahassee Memorial Hospital
Tallahassee, Florida
“UP FOR SOME company?” Jonathan asked from the doorway of Lew’s hospital room, a police officer seated just outside the door behind him.
During their two weeks at the Aga Khan Hospital in Mombasa, Kenya, Lew had been pronounced dead twice, but he’d stubbornly contradicted the doctors and kept on living. Sophia’s shoulder wound wasn’t nearly as severe, but it had been touch and go for her emotionally as she came to grips with what she had done and lost. They finally got the okay for Lew to travel, and now he was recuperating at Tallahassee Memorial while everyone else started putting their lives back together.
No one had been there to meet them when they landed, and aside from having to call in a few favors to explain why a helicopter had landed on a sports field across the street from the hospital, it seemed like it was going to remain that way. There were still rumblings of The Monarch on the news services, but with the “terrorist attack” in New York, that was to be expected.
As it turned out, that was going to be good for them. The interest in The Monarch meant not only was Emily going to get to finish The Monarch Reigns with the infamous missing chapter, but her agent had called with a deal to pen a sequel, The Monarch’s Fall. At first she’d wanted to refuse, but Jonathan and Lew had talked her into doing it—with a lot of poetic license. When the book came out they would be cleared and The Monarch would finally be well and truly dead.
Sophia seemed to be in the clear, as well. At least legally. Her only connection to everything had been her last name, but since it was never revealed that Nathan was behind the New York killings, she wasn’t even being sought for questioning.
“Sure,” Lew said, sitting up as best he could with the pain he still felt and the handcuff tethering him to the bed’s rail. Jonathan came in and sat at a chair beside the bed, putting a folder of papers on his lap.
“When do you testify?” Jonathan asked.
“Already done,” Lew said with a half smile. Unlike everyone else, Lew had some answering to do when they got back, for walking out of prison three months early. But even that turned out better than they’d expected. He turned state’s evidence against Warden Quinn and once he was well enough to travel he’d only have to serve his remaining time. No new charges.
“They did it right here?”
“Easy-peasy,” Lew said. He was less than thrilled about having to return to prison, but he knew it was far better than looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. He’d even been able to keep Miguel Colero out of it by playing dumb. Being on his bad side would have been even worse than having a warrant on his head.
Lew could tell Jonathan felt bad about the situation and that he was going to try to say something about it, so he quickly changed the subject.
“So you’re really doing it?” Lew said, nodding toward the papers in Jonathan’s lap.
“Yeah,” Jonathan said softly. “It’s the only way I can be sure she’ll be safe.”
“I get it. And it’s not as if boarding school is like, you know, prison, but do you have to change her name?”
“Change it back, you mean. She was Natalie Webster longer than she’s been Natalie Hall. It’s a good thing. And if she has to change her name, what could be better than her mom’s maiden name?”
“I know, but jeez.”
“She’ll be safe and that’s all that matters. Besides, no matter what her name is, she’ll always be my daughter.” Lew didn’t say anything, but he thought it sounded like Jonathan was trying to convince himself more than anyone.
Silence drew out between them. It wasn’t that they didn’t have anything to talk about, but everything they wanted to say wasn’t supposed to have happened. So they settled for silence.
It was nice for a change.
FCI Yazoo City
Yazoo, Mississippi
Three Months Later
IT WAS JUST after noon in August when Jonathan saw Lew as a free man. Sitting in the rental car, running the AC in a futile attempt to beat the Mississippi summer heat, Jonathan watched his partner come strolling down the path toward the parking lot like a commuter on his way home from work, except for the duffel bag over his shoulder. He was dressed in the same off-white bu
tton-down shirt and gray slacks as he had been when he went in. His sleeves were rolled up and his collar button was open, which was about as much as Lew ever did when it got hot.
“Hot as balls,” Lew said after putting his bag in the backseat and getting in the car.
“Nice to see you too,” Jonathan said, shaking his hand. He reached down and pressed the button to pop the trunk. “There’s some sodas in a cooler in the trunk. Grab us a couple and we’ll get out of here.”
Anybody else would have whined about just getting in the car out of the heat, but Lew nodded and got out. Jonathan smiled and got ready to open his door. They had some serious things to talk about, but they had time for a moment of fun first. When the trunk opened all the way to hide him, Jonathan eased his door open and got out.
“Are you fucking serious?!” Lew called from the back of the car.
Jonathan stepped around the back of the car and saw Lew holding up the duster Jonathan had bought for him, a grin on his face like he was holding a newborn.
“It might be a little hot but I figured what the—”
Lew ignored him and shouldered his way into the heavy coat. He ran his meaty hands along the oilskin lapels and then popped the leather collar.
“Daddy’s home.”
Back in the car, the rental company’s air freshener fighting with the oilskin scent, Jonathan knew it was time to get down to business. He pulled a folder out of the pocket between the seats. Lew saw this and rolled his eyes.
“Aw, crap. The bastard popped up, did he? Okay, let me have it,” Lew said.
With everything that had fallen into place and all they had finagled three months ago, there was one piece that had remained out of their control—Canton George. No body was ever found in the remains of his destroyed mansion, but his empire just kept chugging along like the little red choo-choo. They’d hoped it was nothing but they couldn’t afford to turn a blind eye to the possibility. Jonathan opened the folder and passed a photo to Lew. It was a picture of a middle-aged white man in a navy uniform.
“Who the hell is this?”
“That is the late Colonel Rudyard Maitland, U.S. Navy. Apparently he was wanted by NCIS when his body popped up in a Capetown slum. They found him with two raped minors and a couple of bullets in the back of his head. They’d been dead for a while too.”
“Ick. What was he wanted for?”
“Classified. But get this, he was base commander of the navy’s air base on Diego Garcia and the warrant went out the day after the attack on Tartaruga.”
“Holy shit,” Lew said. “This is the fucker who—”
“He fired it, but it wasn’t his idea. When they found him his wallet had been cleaned out, but they missed a necklace with a key on it. A key that fit a post office box. They found a diary inside documenting years of blackmail by your friend and mine . . .” Jonathan trailed off and handed another photograph to Lew, this one of a pristinely dressed, short black man.
“Canton fucking George,” Lew said.
“None other. NCIS has had a global warrant out on him for a month, but nothing. I’ve got some feelers out, but you can bet if the navy can’t find him, we’re not going to.”
“Until he wants us to, you mean,” Lew said.
“I don’t know. Even for someone with his resources, he’s left a pretty huge wake. He might stay underground for a good long while,” Jonathan said. He was lying.
“Then why is Natalie in boarding school?”
“I’m just being cautious, and she’s not in boarding school for another couple weeks.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. How’s about you kick this pig into gear? If I don’t see Emily soon you’re not going to like what I do to you.”
“All right, all right,” Jonathan said, putting the folder away. They drove out of the parking lot and headed to the airport in Jackson.
Emily had actually wanted to come, but her deadline kept her chained to her desk, most days. She had taken an apartment in Tallahassee near Jonathan so they could all give her help with the fiction in her sequel, but she didn’t have near enough time to fly out, pick Lew up, and fly back to Tallahassee. But she did have time for a little surprise Jonathan had cooked up.
And maybe a little more.
Jonathan’s House
Tallahassee, Florida
8:15 P.M. Local Time
“SURPRISE!”
Sophie, Natalie, and Emily jumped up from behind the couch when Lew and Jonathan walked through the front door. Jonathan flicked on the lights and Lew saw a huge cake on the dining room table. The room had banners, streamers, and balloons saying things like “Congratulations” and “Welcome Home.” Lew was starting to get a little misty until he took another look at Emily. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a pencil behind her ear, and was wearing a speckled-pattern sundress. She was about the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Lew took the time to say hi to Sophia and tousle Natalie’s hair, but he made a beeline for Emily’s outstretched arms. Emily wasn’t just getting misty, she was full-blown crying.
“Welcome home, baby,” Emily said with a big smile, dabbing at her tears.
Lew kissed her deep and hard. He could feel her knees buckle slightly under his embrace and he held her against him. When the kiss when on too long, Natalie put a stop to it.
“Uncle Lew! Gross!”
It broke the spell and he pulled himself back, parting from Emily but hanging on to her with one arm when it looked like she was going to lose her balance.
“Don’t make me get the hose,” Jonathan said.
“Hey, I’ve been in prison, ya know,” Lew answered. Everyone laughed and settled in to a great night of music, food, and conversation.
A FEW HOURS later, with Natalie grudgingly taken up to bed, they lowered the music and the four of them sat on the sofa drinking wine. Lew had his arm around Emily and noticed while they were sitting together, Jonathan and Sophia weren’t touching at all. He asked if they’d had a falling out or something.
“I didn’t want to say anything during the party,” Sophia said.
“About what?” Lew asked sitting forward.
“Sophia’s taken a job as a university professor,” Jonathan said.
“Hey, that’s great!” Lew said. Then he got the point. “Wait. Where?”
“Sri Lanka,” Sophia said.
“Yie. Tough commute,” Lew said.
“No, it’s good,” Jonathan said. “It’s her heritage and a great opportunity. They’re even going to let her continue her research. We just decided we didn’t want to start anything, you know . . .”
“That you couldn’t finish?” Lew said.
“That we couldn’t continue, funny man,” Sophia said.
“Sorry,” Lew said when Emily elbowed him.
“But what about you guys,” Jonathan asked Lew.
“Yes, what about us?” Emily asked Lew.
“Any big plans?” Sophia asked.
“Um. Uh, that is . . . we just got, you know—”
“Oh God, let him off the hook before he has a stroke,” Emily said. Everyone laughed. Except Lew.
“Hi-larious.”
AS EMILY DROVE her and Lew to her apartment, Lew inhaled the night air and sighed. Free air really did smell better, he thought. Of course, the beer and wine in him didn’t hurt.
He looked at Emily again and felt his chest thump. He was acting like a bloody teenager, and he didn’t care. Then he noticed the manila envelope in her sun visor with “LEW” written on it in black marker.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“No idea. Jonathan handed it to me as we were leaving. He said to give it to you in the morning,” Emily said.
“Like hell,” Lew said as he grabbed it. He tore it open and found a folder inside marked “Sep
tember.” He opened the folder and couldn’t believe his eyes. It was filled with pictures of a villa in Spain, vault schematics, security timetables, and finally a photo of a Renoir. Across the photo Jonathan had written “Stolen in ’98.”
“I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Lew said, knowing exactly what it meant.
“What is it?” Emily asked.
“Nothing,” Lew said, closing the folder and putting it back in the envelope. “Legal papers and stuff to do with my release.” He kissed the back of her hand as they drove into the night.
The Monarch might be dead, thanks to the book Emily was finishing, but Jonathan and Lew still had work to do.
But not tonight.
Acknowledgments
THANKS TO MY editor at HarperCollins, Chelsey Emmelhainz, for her incredible support, advice, and patience. Without you I never would have found the book within the book and I’ll forever be grateful.
Thanks to Barb Einarsen, Julia Borgini, Brian Gallucci, and many other unnamed victims for the early reads and feedback. You guys have no idea how much you helped.
Thanks to Robert J. Sawyer and Dan Perez for their support and nurturing of my writing when it was well and truly terrible. You’re braver than me, boys.
A special thanks to the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) annual event. Much of the early part of this book was written during a NaNoWriMo event and it’s doubtful there would be a novel without the community and support I found there. You guys are fantastic and a light in the dark where it’s most needed.
Thanks to my daughter for drawing the Kring sisters when even I wasn’t sure what they looked like.
Thanks to my parents for buying me a typewriter for Christmas all those years ago when all the other kids were asking for bikes and train sets.
And finally, thanks to the love of my life, Tasha DiZazzo, without whom this book couldn’t have made it down the home stretch. Thanks for the multiple reads, for listening and for the “curtain of solitude.” Thanks for being the first person to preorder it online and being more excited about that than me. You believed in me and this book when even I didn’t. You rescued me, Tash. I’ll love you forever.
