The Monarch (20 page)

 

30

New York Downtown Hospital

New York City

9:00
P.M.
Local Time

A
LMOST NINE HOURS
after the massacre, Emily waited until Wagner's family left, crying and supporting each other as they shuffled down the hospital corridor, before she tentatively made her way into his room. The scratches on her face beneath the few small bandages still stung, but they weren't the reason tears filled her eyes. She blamed herself. For all of it.

The banks of machinery beside the bed were dark and silent, making her breathing sound even louder. She walked around the far side of the bed so she could watch the door, paranoia still strong in her after today. Part of his hand was visible outside the sheet. She delicately uncovered it and took it in both of her shaking hands. He was still warm. The touch, the human contact, was the final brick. Her sobs took her, tears rolling down her face as she silently fought for breath.

“I-­I-­I . . .” She tried to say she was sorry, but speech failed her. She crumpled to her knees in slow motion and pressed her forehead to his hand. She had known very few good men in her life. Truly goodhearted souls interested only in right and wrong, not how the decisions would paint them. She knew in her heart that Wagner was one of those. His entire team had seemed like protectors rather than law enforcers. And now they were gone.

As the sobs eased she sniffled and took a tissue from the bedside table and wiped her face. She got up and pulled a chair over, sitting beside him. She didn't know why she was here or what she hoped to accomplish with her vigil. She knew his family could come back, which would make for some very awkward explanations. She also knew that someone would soon come to move him down to the hospital's morgue, though it was no doubt filled to capacity today, and they might just leave him where he was.

There were no final tallies yet, but the last news report she saw put the dead at forty-­nine, with dozens injured, their fates unknown. Strangely, there had been no further mention of The Monarch's true identity.

The blast had not only blown out the windows, but destroyed much of the concrete around the windows, causing part of the building front to collapse. An on-­site FEMA engineer had assured the public the damage was superficial and the building wasn't in any danger of falling. Even so, they had evacuated the area. Since she'd been knocked unconscious almost instantly by the blast, all of this was secondhand knowledge for Emily. The last thing she remembered was pulling away from the man who had attacked Wagner. She'd spun and ran right into Wagner's arms as he got up. Then there had been a loud
whump
before Wagner pushed her down and threw himself on top of her. The next thing she knew, she'd woken up in the ER, surrounded by chaos and screaming.

“I just want you to know, I'm going to do what I can to make this right,” Emily said to Wagner's body. “I don't know if it will do any good, but I'm going to tell the story—­the real story—­to anyone who will listen. And if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to find Nathan. Find him and make him pay.”

“Do you mean that?” a voice said from the door. Emily sat up with a start, and looked at the stranger. He was big, dressed in some kind of long canvas coat that made him look like a cowboy. His left hand had two finger splints on it under white hospital tape, and bandages were wound around his head. She assumed he'd been hurt in the blast.

“I . . . I'm sorry. Did you know Agent Wagner?” Emily said, standing up and working her way toward the door with the intent of leaving.

“Only from the newscasts,” the man said. Emily nodded, then shook her head.

“Then why—­”

“I'm here to see you, Miss Burrows.”

“See me? Why?” Her paranoia ramped up.

“My name's Lew. Lew Katchbrow,” he said, holding out his hand. By reflex, Emily shook it. It was strong, but gentle. “The Monarch sent me.”

She felt her knees buckle slightly, but Lew's damaged hand slipped around her back and held her up.

“He sent you? For me?” This had to be a mistake. Or a trick.

“We have a lot to talk about, but I don't think this is the best place. Have you eaten?” She literally couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten.

“How do I know—­”

Lew cut her off, apparently anticipating her question. “He said to tell you that leaving
The Just Judges
out of your book was a good idea. Especially since the Belgians sold it to someone two days after he gave it back to them.”

“My God,” she said, taking a quick breath. “You
do
know The Monarch.”

“You have no idea, lady. But we really need to go,” Lew said.

She let herself be led away from Wagner's room by Lew, but hesitated in the hallway. She looked back at the nurses' station at the end of the hall, and her common sense said to run toward it.

“You can trust me,” Lew said, apparently sensing her worry. “Any public place you want to go is fine. Lots of ­people and no tricks. Promise.”

After a long moment she said, “Lead the way.” She stayed five steps behind him all the way so she could make a run for it if he tried anything, but something about his eyes and the way he talked about The Monarch made her want to trust him. Still, her common sense hadn't exactly been brilliant lately.

 

31

Tartaruga Island

4:15
A.M.
Local Time

“W
ELCOME BACK,”
L
ARA
said when Nathan opened his eyes. He looked around and saw he was in his bedroom. The last thing he remembered was trying to get out of the hangar before anyone saw him collapse.

“What—­how long?” he rasped, surprised for a moment that he could talk at all without the healing power of the serum running through his veins. But of course he wasn't just missing the serum, but the neuro-­blocker as well.

“About nine hours. You collapsed in the hall. Randy and I found you and brought you here,” Lara said, pouring him some water from the carafe by his bed. “I described your condition to Sophia. With a little convincing she said it sounded like you might have had a transient ischemic attack—­a mini-­stroke.” Lara held the glass to his lips. Nathan drank hungrily despite the heavy feeling that something was caught in his throat. He'd grown used to that symptom years ago.

“She also admitted giving you a half-­strength serum dose. Not only didn't it last long, it didn't fully deactivate the neuro-­blocker in your system. She said it was like running a car with your foot on the floor and the emergency brake still set. If it matters, she seemed upset at the result of her subterfuge.”

“
Described
my condition? She didn't examine me?” was all Nathan said.

“I've had her restricted to her lab. I didn't know what you wanted to do but assumed you didn't want her sneaking off to the chopper while you were . . . recovering.”

Nathan didn't like the idea of Sophia being a prisoner and he didn't want to know how Lara had
convinced
her. Of the two of his girls, he'd always thought Lara was the one most like him, but now he was thinking Sophia was showing hidden promise. For now he let it go.

“Give me an update. What did I miss?” Nathan said, awkwardly pushing himself up in the bed. He was having trouble holding still. Lara filled him in on Jonathan Hall's past profession and the attempted cyber attack they had thwarted.

“We've located current information on his residence and occupation from the DMV. We'll be in position within the hour.”

“I got him?” Nathan asked, both excited and a little melancholy the chase was over.

“You got him. A ninety-­eight percent match. Definitely The Monarch,” Lara said. Nathan took a cleansing, relieving breath. His calm lasted about two seconds before he noticed the look in Lara's eyes.

“Hall and Burrows en route, yes?” Nathan said. His suspicions were confirmed when instead of answering, Lara got him some more water. He clumsily turned his head away from the glass. “What's wrong?”

Lara explained about the explosive miscalculation and losing their own men.

“The news reports have the dead set at forty-­nine,” Lara said. “I'm afraid Miss Burrows was—­” A tweedle from her cell phone stopped Lara in mid-­sentence while she read a text message. For a moment, he thought she was going to pitch the device across the room.

“What is it?”

“Uh, nothing,” she said, putting the phone away. “As I was saying, Miss Burrows wasn't acquired. She got away.”

Nathan's chest heaved. At first he thought he was having a coughing fit, but then he realized he was laughing. Hard. A side effect of the disease. If he didn't get a neuro-­blocker shot, he'd be laughing inappropriately all the time, now. Tears ran down his face. Lara knew about the condition, but even so she looked uncomfortable in the face of it. When he found it hard to breathe, the laughter finally subsided.

“Where's Thomas?” Nathan said between pants.

“He's still in New York awaiting further instructions.”

“Tell him to get Burrows back here ASAP. At all costs. Do you understand? She's integral to this. Without her—­”

“I understand, Father. Consider it done.” He could tell by the look on her face that she didn't understand at all. She didn't need to.

He sent Lara away to
convince
Sophia to give him the neuro-­blocker. A little later, while trying to get himself some water, Nathan caught his reflection in the cabinet of rare books against one wall. He watched himself shake and twitch.

If this didn't work, he'd take a final dose of the serum, light a final cigar, and hobble into the natural gas holding tanks beneath the complex. One throw of a switch and it would all be over.

Mercifully over.

 

32

New York City

9:30
P.M.
Local Time

L
EW DIDN'T KNOW
if Emily could help him find Jonathan or not, but right now she was the only lead he had. At least she'd stopped looking like a scared rabbit that was going to bolt at the tiniest noise.

“You've hardly touched your food,” Lew said, seeing her plate when he finally eased back from the pile of dirty dishes on his side of the table.

“I just don't have much appetite after today,” Emily said, picking at her spaghetti.

“You need to eat,” Lew said. “Especially after today. Nothing drains a body more than shock.” He watched her poke at her food some more, but the fork never made it up to her mouth.

“You still haven't told me why we needed to get out of the hospital,” Emily said. Lew had shined her on about the question earlier, more intent on getting food into his grumbling belly.

“Let's just say that whoever took Jonny might be interested in me.”

“You were with him, then. How well do you know him? Why was he here in New York? And how does he know me?” Emily said in rapid-­fire succession.

“Easy, Geraldo. I'm going to be honest with you. I'm still not sure I can trust you.”

“Trust
me
?”

“Jonny said to protect you when he saw the shit going down. I don't know why, but he usually has pretty good reasons for doing the things he does. So I figure maybe we can help each other.”

“Oh,” she said sounding disappointed.

“Who's Nathan?” Lew asked abruptly, hoping to catch her off guard.

“How do you know that name?”

“Back in the hospital room you said if it was the last thing you did you'd find Nathan. And make him pay. Pay for what?”

Emily sighed, drained her wineglass, and then told Lew everything about Nathan's bribe, his request, and even the abduction and her meeting on the beach. Lew listened quietly, letting her finish, each stage of the story fascinating him more than the last. When she was done, he refilled both their wineglasses.

“You think it was Nathan that grabbed Jonny?” Lew asked.

“It would seem likely. More than likely, actually. But you have to believe me that I had no idea what his endgame was.”

“From what you've told me, I don't think we've even glimpsed his endgame yet. Can you contact him? Do you know where he is?”

“No. . . . wait. Yes, I do know where he is,” Emily said. She explained about the book and the cell phone she'd given to the FBI. “They still have the phone, but if we could get it, we could locate Nathan. I'm sure of it.”

“They have it? The FBI? In the building that was just blown apart? Yeah, we're not getting in there anytime soon.”

“We may not have to,” Emily said, a faraway look in her eye.

R
AIDEN
P
IONEER PEEKED
through the glass a few minutes after Emily knocked. She was relieved he was there so late. At first he smiled, before he noticed the big man standing behind her. Emily nodded. Raiden eyed Lew again, but unlocked the door.

Emily sat with Raiden at the counter by the old-­fashioned cash register while Lew wandered around the small shop, poking at the computer guts hanging everywhere. As Emily spoke to him, Raiden never took his eyes off Lew.

“A new phone's not going to help you,” Raiden said.

“It can't pick up the signal?” Emily asked.

“It'll pick it up, but what you want is the log of the previously texted locations. That's on that particular phone's SIM card. A new phone won't have that.”

“Bollocks, you're right,” Emily said. “Wait, what about Bluetooth?”

“Hmm, yes. That might work. You'd have to get within about twenty feet of the original phone, but if you could get a connection, it would only take a few seconds to grab the data.”

Emily wasn't sure how she could get that close to the original phone, but at least it was possible. When Raiden told them the price, Emily looked at Lew, who was trying to push some wires back into an old motherboard he'd apparently unplugged.

“What? It was like this,” Lew said.

“No, money. The FBI took all the cash Nathan gave me. Can you pay Raiden?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.”

“So that's all you need?” Raiden asked.

“Guns,” Lew said, approaching the counter.

“Excuse me?” Raiden said.

“He just does electronics, Lew,” Emily said.

“Look, this is a nice shop and all, but this computer crap is all show. It's staged. Most of it has a ­couple months' worth of dust on it. Meaning it's garbage. Your pal here is a businessman. And I'm willing to pay a fair price. But without an automatic and a box of shells, no deal. Bank's closed.”

“Lew, please,” Emily said emphatically, embarrassed by her new partner's behavior. “Raiden is a friend, and he's willing to help us. But—­”

“Glock okay?” Raiden said to Lew.

“I guess,” Lew said, not seeming surprised that he'd been right. “I'd prefer a SIG P226 with a .357 clip, if you've got one.

“Nice weapon, but lower capacity than the 9mm,” Raiden said. Emily felt as if she weren't even in the room anymore.

“You give me .357 slugs and I won't need as many shots,” Lew said.

“True. Let me see what I've got,” Raiden said, going into the back of the store.

“You'll catch flies,” Lew said as he pulled a wad of cash out of one of his coat's pockets.

Emily realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it. It had never occurred to her that Raiden did more than electronics. But the really shocking thing was after only a few minutes of wandering around the shop, Lew had known more about Raiden than she did.

“What exactly did you do for Jonathan?” Emily asked. She was starting to get used to the idea that The Monarch had a name, but she just couldn't bring herself to call him Jonny. In fact, she wished Lew wouldn't either.

“
For
him? Well, if you listen to him, most days I just messed with his blood pressure,” Lew said with a smile and a wink. Emily didn't know how he could be so . . . so amiable after what had happened this morning. She was having trouble not hyperventilating whenever she thought about it.

Raiden brought out a selection of guns, and Lew examined each, selecting two of them. He also purchased a ­couple of boxes of ammunition, extra clips, and a ­couple of underarm holsters. He offered to buy Emily a gun, but just the idea of having a weapon made her light-­headed. After the arms deal, they waited another half hour for Raiden to prepare their Bluetooth-­hacked phone.

They left Raiden's shop and Lew tried to flag down a cab. Under his coat, she couldn't even see the new weapons. It made her wonder how many unseen things she passed every day without realizing it.

“Where are we going, now?” Emily asked as a cab slowed and pulled to the curb. Lew opened the door and stepped back.

“You're going home. I'm going to try and get close to that phone of yours,” Lew said.

“What? But I thought we were—­”

“A team? Sister, let's just say I don't play well with others. You've done enough. No offense, but aside from that phone of yours, you'll just get in the way. And I think it's pretty obvious things are far from safe. Just go home. Work on a new book or something. Have a nice life,” Lew said. He turned around, his coat flapping dramatically in the morning breeze, and headed up the street.

Emily was furious. She felt like a tag-­along little sister being sent home. But worse, whatever fate had befallen Jonathan was her fault. There was no way she could just go home and let that lie. Not after the promise she'd made to Wagner. And she knew there was only one thing Lew would understand. She marched after him, spun him around, and slapped his face even harder than she'd meant to, the frustration of the past few days all summing up in her swing. She saw red images of her fingers appear on Lew's cheek.

“Jesus, lady! I knew you were trouble,” Lew said rubbing his cheek.

“Look! You wouldn't have an inkling of where to go if it wasn't for me. I'm as deep in this as anyone, if not deeper, so don't you dare try to dismiss me. What if by some bloody miracle you do get the location? Do you have any idea what Nathan looks like? You stick your head up down there asking stupid questions, and if you're right about them wanting you as much as Jonathan, you'll get it shot off. Nathan will talk to me. Hell, he's practically in love with me! So you just get your arse in that cab and stop this cowboy bollocks!” She yelled so loud and with such vitriol she almost lost her balance. Lew reached out and caught her by the arms.

“Okay, okay. Relax,” Lew said. He walked back to the cab with a slight hunch to his shoulders, like a scolded schoolboy. They got in and Emily slammed the door behind her before she crossed her arms, still fuming.

“Where to?” The driver asked. Silence drew out in the cab. Emily realized she had no idea what they were supposed to do next.

“If I give him directions are you going to hit me again?” Lew asked.
Why is he so damn likable?
Emily did her best to stifle a smile. Apparently Lew took that as a no. “Hemingway Hotel.”

“Why there?” Emily asked as the cab pulled away from the curb.

“Clean up,” Lew said, rubbing his cheek.