by Adams, Cat
weren’t toadies and they weren’t
anything remotely close to what I would
have expected Adriana’s friends to be
like when I first met the prickly princess
with a huge chip on her shoulder. They
were, however, exactly the kind of
people I would expect to see in the
company of the Adriana I was now
coming to know.
We were taken well out to sea, with
our ever-present escort vessels keeping
a discreet distance. Equally watchful
were the helicopters that passed
overhead.
Adriana, are those Secret Service
choppers or press?
Both. It’s the open sea, so mother
couldn’t legally clear the air space. I
know it’s annoying, but try to ignore it.
Easy for her to say. I kept
remembering Mexico and the armed
thugs who’d fired machine guns at us
from overhead. I sat and smiled, drink in
hand, but now I was on high alert, my
former relaxation gone. That vigilance,
and my vampire vision, let me see the
diver drop from a helicopter as it swung
low beside us, photographers in the
cabin snapping telephoto pictures.
I sent a warning to Baker mentally.
Diver in the water. Three o’clock off
the port side. I heard her mutter
something into the mic at her wrist.
Almost immediately the yacht’s engines
roared to life. At the sound, the women
all looked around, startled. It takes a
couple of minutes to get a large vessel
moving from a dead stop, but the captain
did the best he could. In fact, the
movement as the ship set sail was so
abrupt and jerky that Keohi, who had
been standing, had to grab onto the table
to keep herself from falling.
In the distance, the escort ships started
moving in.
Adriana was pulled down to the deck
by the nearest guard and thought at me in
alarm, Celia, what is going on? We
aren’t supposed to be heading back yet.
Stay down. A diver dropped off that
last chopper. I’m pretty sure he had a
PMD.
Originally developed for the military,
a PMD, or Personal Movement Device,
was about the size of a dinner plate and
used a combination of magic and
technology to allow a diver to move
through the water as fast as most ships
while maintaining a constant flow of
oxygen. If the guy I’d seen drop off the
chopper had one, he’d be here in
seconds.
How could you possibly have
seen…?
I shrugged as I pushed Adriana’s
friends toward the cabin to get below
decks. Vampire night vision comes in
handy now and then. Now if you would,
everyone needs to get below.
You think we’re under attack. Her
mental voice sounded truly shocked.
Even with everything that had been
happening, she hadn’t expected this. Of
course, as a clairvoyant she’d probably
gotten used to having at least a hint of
trouble before it arrived.
I don’t know, but better safe than
sorry. Now go.
At a word from her, the four of them
darted for the stairwell, holding hands
and keeping their heads below the line
of the upper cabin. A pair of agents
materialized from the shadows and
followed them. Baker appeared at my
side.
“You should go inside, too.” It wasn’t
quite an order, more a firmly framed
suggestion.
“I’m of more use out here, Helen. I’m
on duty, just like you.”
“We really do know what we’re
doing,” she chided me.
“Did any of your people see him?
Even those using night-vision goggles?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but
remained silent when I raised my hand. I
thought I’d heard the soft whump of an
object impacting the ship’s hull. There
was a second thump, the sound barely
audible over the noise of the engines and
the slap of waves against the ship. It
might be my imagination, but I didn’t
dare risk it.
Baker had heard it, too. We both drew
guns from beneath our jackets and
moved to take cover between the cabin
and the built-in table. When we were
concealed, she whispered into the
microphone at her wrist and I saw
shadows move into position around the
boat.
Seconds that lasted an eternity passed
as we watched and waited. A pair of
wet-suited figures eased over the railing
and began creeping silently forward.
When they were far enough from the
edge of the deck that they couldn’t
simply dive over and escape, a spotlight
flared to life, accompanied by the voice
of authority blaring through a bullhorn.
“Freeze. Move and you will be shot. ”
They
froze
and
dropped
their
weapons.
Actually, what they dropped into the
bright light were … cameras.
27
I ha t e the paparazzi. Just hate ’em.
Some of them will do anything, risk
anything, to get a picture or story. Never
mind who gets hurt in the process. There
are even those who, if they can’t get the
story, will stage a story.
Nellie Standish was evidently one of
those.
She wouldn’t give us her source, but
admitted she’d been slipped information
about tonight’s party. She’d also been
told that Adriana wanted “one last fling”
before she and Dahlmar tied the knot and
that if Standish could get a camera on
board, she’d find a naked man in the
princess’s bedroom.
Baker and I went to check on that
detail, letting others continue the
questioning.
Adriana’s stateroom was down the
hall from the main room where the party
guests were waiting. Her private cabin
was spacious, beautiful, and after a
thorough check, unoccupied except for a
male blow-up doll propped up by
pillows. The doll’s staggeringly huge
member was adorned by a big red bow.
I burst out laughing. I mean, seriously,
a blow-up doll?
Baker gave a derisive snort. “She
risked getting killed for this toy.”
“At the right distance and angle, she
might be able to make it look real. And
even
photos
of
this
would
be
embarrassing for King Dahlmar if they
got out.”
“Or she could be an assassin, using
this as cover.”
Baker was right. Paparazzi go
everywher
e—it would be a great way
for an assassin to hide. “When you find
out, let me know. I’m going to deal with
Seymour here and report to the
princess.”
“Seymour?” Baker asked.
“Yeah, I’m seeing more of him than I
ever wanted.”
She chortled and left, first handing me
a device I could use to scan my cousin’s
“last fling.” I didn’t touch it, in case
being tossed off the bed in disgust was a
trigger. There was no bomb. But that’s
not the only thing that can kill.
I had no doubt I looked ridiculous
hooking the scanner to the air port,
which some clever soul had placed right
where fluid comes out of a human male,
to check out what the doll was filled
with. I’d hate to find out it had been
inflated with sarin gas.
I waited for the light on the device to
turn green, but it remained stubbornly
yellow. Not red, but there was definitely
something more to Seymour than his
obvious attributes.
I called in Baker and Griffith and
managed not to blush as I told them to
bag and tag the doll and get it off the
boat without deflating it.
I took Adriana into a small cabin to
brief her. She was rightly alarmed as
what looked like a body bag was
removed from her personal cabin. I
explained what had happened without
mentioning the contents of the doll, then
she and I went back to the main room,
where the other guests were sitting and
staring at nothing. That likely meant they
were busily talking mentally.
“Excuse me,” I said out loud, startling
several of them, “but which of you left a
gift on Adriana’s bed?” Nobody
answered. That wasn’t good. “Really,
this is important, ladies. If you did, we
need to know.”
Finally,
Nani
raised
her
hand
sheepishly. “It was poor taste on my
part, I know. But the expression on it
made me laugh. I’m sorry if it frightened
anyone.”
Adriana laughed and told the others
what I’d found. They all chuckled before
Adriana swatted her friend’s knee. “You
scamp, Nani! I’m sorry I didn’t get to
see it.”
Ouch. I’d been hoping it hadn’t been
left by one of Adriana’s friends. Now
came the hard part. “Did you actually fill
the doll?”
Nani, big-with-child, been-with-a-
hundred men siren Nani, blushed. “Good
heavens, no! Did you see where they put
the nozzle?” She turned to the others. “It
was right on the end of his … well, you
know. Most of them have the place
where you blow it up on the back of the
head. No, I asked one of the servants to
fill it.”
I heard a cheep near the door. It was
Baker’s earwig. She listened intently
and then nodded. “Ten-four,” she said
into the mic at her wrist. She stepped
forward and took over the questioning.
“Did you instruct the servant to place
anything in the doll except air, your
ladyship?”
Nani shook her head, confused. “No.
Of course not. Why, what—” She didn’t
complete the sentence but her expression
told me she’d figured out what was
going on. Gasps from the others told me
everyone else had gotten it too.
“What did you find, Agent Baker?”
Adriana’s voice shook, and for good
reason. Everybody on board, with the
exception of the reporters, was someone
she trusted.
“There was THC suspended in a
mixture of air and ethylene. It wouldn’t
kill the princess, but since she is a
prophet, it would likely cause euphoria
and hallucinations. We don’t know what
was intended beyond that. Perhaps the
photographer would catch her in a
compromising position or appearing
drunk,
which
would
inflame
the
Ruslandic
population.
Or
perhaps
someone
hoped
she
would
fall
overboard and drown. Of course, that
could never happen. The ocean wouldn’t
allow a siren princess to die by
drowning. Or perhaps it was a prank.
We might not ever know. But I do need
to know which servant you asked to fill
the doll.”
Nani named the male bartender.
Adriana protested that she’d known him
for years. When the security team
scoured the ship for him, they found him
easily—he’d hung himself in his cabin.
We might never know why he’d done it
or who he might have been working
with.
The whole chain of events cast a pall
over the party and it wasn’t long before
the captain turned the ship around to take
the subdued group of friends back to
shore.
28
The wedding had been being planned
for more than a year with military
precision and timing. An army of
workers were laboring to take care of
even the tiniest details. You would think
that there wouldn’t be any last-second
preparations required on the final day.
You would be wrong.
That Nellie Standish had been able to
get onto the princess’s yacht and that a
member of Adriana’s own staff had been
compromised had the secret service in a
frothing fury. I went to the security
meeting and listened as Thorsen went
over the schedule for the next day minute
by minute, confirming who would be in
charge of what and which units where
doing what where and when. Air space
had been closed off over the capital city
for the entire morning. Uniformed police
would be stationed along the parade
route at ten-foot intervals, providing a
very visible presence. Less visible
would be Creede, who was coordinating
the work of the mages who would create
an unseen magical barrier to protect the
royals for the entire length of the two-
mile procession. The Secret Service
agents were doing continuous sweeps
for
bombs
and
snipers.
Radio
announcements and printed handouts
asked all citizens and visitors to report
anything suspicious.
The sheer size of the endeavor was
staggering. And even with all of the
preparation, Thorsen and everyone else
in the room were fully aware that we
couldn’t keep Queen Lopaka, Princess
Adriana, and the others completely safe.
The route was too open and too long.
But everything that could be done was
being done by professionals who were
the best in the business.
And all this was for the casual part of
the program. The procedures in place for
the big church wedding in Rusland were
going to be even more elaborate.
I was proud to be a part of history in
the making. I was terrified of screwing
up.
On the Internet, the Guardians of the
Faith denounced the upcoming ritual on
Serenity, decried Adriana’s baptism as a
fraud, and threatened decisive action if
she ever dared set foot on Ruslandic
soil. They sounded hysterical and crazy.
Then again, they probably were. But
though the best minds in the security
services of three countries tried, they
were unable to trace the source of the
messages. The bad guys had thoroughly
covered those tracks. It was impressive
and frightening—they’d spent a lot of
time and effort to make themselves
untraceable.
On Serenity, every trail connecting to
the man who’d tried to kidnap my
grandmother held a fresh corpse. Some
were obviously victims of foul play.
One was an apparent suicide. In the
United States, the FBI had found Clarke,
murdered with gruesome irony on a
standing warehouse set that had been
used in the James Bond movie A Place
to Die. I was glad I had an alibi for that
one, because it was common knowledge
that Clarke had been harassing me and
that I hated the bastard.
Jan was in the wind and there was
still no sign of Okalani. Despite the
words of Laka’s seer, I was losing hope
of anyone finding her alive.
It was hard. I would save her if I
could. But first someone had to find her.
Both the queen’s people and the FBI
were
working
with
local
law
enforcement to search anywhere that
Clarke had been known to frequent, so
far to no avail. Okalani was off the grid
and definitely in danger. Knowing that
the mess she was in, start to finish, was
her own fault didn’t make it any better.
Most of our problems are of our own
making. Since there was nothing I could
do to help her, I tried to put the whole
situation from my mind.
The morning dawned bright and clear
—something I knew because I watched
the sun rise through the French doors of
my suite. The procession was scheduled
to start at 9:00 sharp and there was a lot
to be done before then. And it wasn’t as
