Prince's Secret Baby

by Riley Rollins

  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 other 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.

  "No. No baby."

  I wrap my finger around the trigger and start to pull it. It's uncocked, in double-action mode, which means there's a long trigger pull before the gun fires. About halfway through the trigger pull, Nikolai steps toward me, puts his hand on the gun, and pushes it down until it's pointing toward the ground.

  "Don't. He knows nothing."

  The man scowls at me on the ground. I stand up and turn away from him.

  "We need to move," says Nikolai. "The longer we stay in one place, the more danger we are in. We have to get to the GPS coordinates."

  "Right." I turn back to look at the man. He's lying on the ground, not moving.

  We exit the building and step into the sweltering Transylvanian sun. The sun bakes my skin, but it actually feels cooler outside than it did in the building, where the air was still and thick.

  There's a Jeep sitting outside the building, and an old broken-down supply truck. The truck is covered in a thick layer of sand, and it looks like it hasn't moved in years. Nikolai walks ahead of me to the open-top Jeep, and fishes around between the folds of the sun visor. When he removes his hand, he's holding a key ring between his fingers.

  "Got it," he says. "Get in."

  I yank open the passenger door and hop in as Nikolai walks back to the building's exit to retrieve our supply bags. When he returns, he drops them in the back of the Jeep. He takes the assault rifle off his shoulder, and sticks it next to the driver's seat before getting in and closing the door.

  Good. We need the rifle close at hand.

  "Only two magazines left," he says, as he starts the Jeep's engine.

  He fishes around in one of the cargo pockets on his pants and pulls out a small yellow GPS unit, along with the envelope of coordinates we got from the palace architect.

  "Dial them up," he tells me.

  I punch in the coordinates, and we take off.

  We drive across the dusty old Transylvanian roads, the Jeep kicking up a plume of silver and tan dust behind us. The sun is starting to set, and the evening horizon light filters through the dust storm in our wake. Reds, blues, and oranges illuminate the dusk.

  The ride mostly passes in silence, but Nikolai keeps one hand on the wheel and one on my lap, and I absent-mindedly play with his fingertips as he drives. In a way, I almost didn't expect us to make it this far already. Well, that's not quite true—I knew Nikolai could handle it. I'm just nervous about what happens next.

  When the sun's gone down completely, visibility gets bad. The Jeep's headlights are dim, and there's a heavy wind kicking up sand and dust all around us. The Jeep's headlights reflect off the cloud of sand in front of us, making it nearly impossible to see where we're going.

  "We need to pull off," says Nikolai.

  He slows the Jeep and takes us off the main road. The shoulder of the road is hardly any rougher than the road itself, which is potholed and ill-maintained. Not surprising. The road is ancient.

  But the Jeep handles the off-road terrain well, and Nikolai drives us toward some rolling sand dunes in the distance. "We will make camp between them," he says. "They cut the wind."

  He takes us into the dunes, parking up against a particularly steep one. He's right. The wind is lower here.

  We both get out of the Jeep, and I help him unload the bags of supplies from the back. "Have you spent a lot of time in the desert?" I ask him.

  "Yes," he says. "When I was a boy. In the summers, I would spend weeks with the desert nomad tribes, learning the ways and secrets of the desert."

  I feel glad that he's got that experience under his belt.

  "God, I'm so thirsty," I say. I pull out a metal canteen from one of the duffel bags and drink deeply from it. I hand it to Nikolai, who also drinks. He takes only small sips, though.

  "Conserve the water," he says. "If you drink in big gulps, your body can't process it. You pee it all out. Drink in small sips, and your hydration is more effective."

  I'm so glad he's with me right now. I don't know what I would do if I were out here in the desert by myself. I was put on this earth to interview people and to write news stories. Not to go on crazy desert excursions to rescue babies.

  We only have minimal supplies with us—food, water, and some essentials like a knife, rope, and a first-aid kit. There's no tent and no camp to set up, so we nestle into the back of the Jeep together, pulling a thick fiber blanket over us. It reminds me of one of those blankets they give you to cushion your furniture in a moving truck. It's scratchy and not made for sleeping, but I'm thankful for it anyway. The desert region of Transylvania gets surprisingly cold at night. I shiver.

  Nikolai must feel me shivering, because he puts an arm around me and pulls me close, rubbing my back vigorously and heating me up with friction.

  "We wake before first light," he says, "and we get going. There may be another guard contingent at the coordinates. I do not know."

  I look up at him, and I see the stars twinkling above. They're brighter than I've ever seen before. No pollution or city lights out here to cloud the view of the solar system.

  "Do you think we'll get him back?" I ask, my voice quiet.

  "Anything it takes. Anything."

  "Can you just hold me right now?"

  He nods, and pulls me tight against his chest. I lay my cheek down, snuggling under the blanket.

  "Nikolai."

  "My li
ttle pet."

  "No matter what happens, I just want you to know I love you."

  "My little pet," he says, "I love you too. I think I have from the moment I met you."

  11

  I wake up in Nikolai's arms before dawn. It's warm under the blanket with him. Soon, the desert heat will start in earnest, but right now it's still cool and all I want to do is stay here lying next to him.

  He seems to be sleeping soundly, but as soon as I stir, his eyes open. I realize he was sleeping lightly all along, practically with one eye open.

  I'm glad one of us was. If someone had found us during the night, I probably would've slept through it.

  When his eyes open, I want to lose myself in them and take a break from all this, to avoid what's about to happen. But he gets up without a word, and I get up without a word. We both know it's time.

  Yawning deeply, I fold up the blanket into a compact square, savoring its warmth. I tuck it away in the back of the Jeep and head to the passenger seat. Nikolai has already started the car, and he's punching in the GPS coordinates.

  "Where this will take us, I do not know," he says.

  We begin to drive, heading out of the sand dunes and back onto the main road.

  It's still dark out. My body is exhausted, but my mind is on red alert. Right now, I have the willpower to run a marathon, but I feel like my body would give out after the first mile.

  The road becomes rockier and less well-maintained as we drive, and eventually it fades away into dirt. The sun starts to peek over the horizon, and in the distance I can see where we're headed.

  Toward a mountain range.

  As we get closer, Nikolai downshifts the Jeep into second. The engine revs up, propelling us up the sharp, mountainous incline.

  "You know," I say, trying to lighten the mood, "I used to drive stick too."

  "Now you just ride stick," says Nikolai, grinning. I slap him on the arm. "Pervert."

  Our exchange is interrupted by a beeping sound, and I see the GPS vibrating in the driver's side map pocket. Nikolai reaches down, grabs it, and hands it to me.

  "Navigate," he says.

  The GPS directs us deeper and deeper into the mountainous territory, and we start passing cave entrances.

  There's an old, decrepit-looking shack, and for a moment I think the GPS is directing us into it. But it takes us past the shack. Finally, it beeps, indicating that we've arrived at our destination.

  It looks like the coordinates are located inside a small cave.

  "There," I say to Nikolai, pointing my finger toward the opening.

  The entrance is small and dark, and even with the Jeep headlights and the early morning sun rays shining inside, I can't see past the entrance.

  Great. Time to go down into an unknown underground passageway again.

  Nikolai turns the Jeep around and backs it toward the cave entrance. "Just in case," he says, and he doesn't have to elaborate for me to understand. Just in case we—or one of us—fail our mission. At least we'll have the option of running like hell and maybe escaping using the Jeep.

  He kills the engine, tucking the keys back into the driver's side sunshade. I realize just how quiet it is out here in the middle of the desert.

  I hop out and start to unload the duffel bags from the back of the Jeep, but Nikolai stops me. "We leave those. From here on out, all we need is this," he says, indicating the assault rifle he's slung under his shoulder.

  "And this," I say, pointing first to his head and then to my own. We need to be clever, and not start another blazing gun battle if we can help it.

  But then, I think of my own murderous instincts when it comes to protecting my baby. Despite all my pontificating on the virtues of a bloodless coup, I'm completely prepared to do whatever it takes.

  That scares me a little bit.

  "Let's go," he says. "Torchlight."

  I shine the two million candlepower torch down into the cave entrance, and we descend into it.

  So far, no guards. I don't say anything as we enter the cave.

  Inside, it at first resembles nothing more than a natural cave, a cavernous rock room. Then I notice something on the wall. A strange indentation. I walk up to it and push on it. Something budges. I throw my full weight against it, and it budges further.

  A hidden door.

  It reveals a tunnel much like the one leading out of Nikolai's quarters. Cut deep into the mountain as a second thought, by untrustworthy rulers who knew they might someday need an escape plan.

  We enter the tunnel, passing through it the same way we traversed the last: me flanking Nikolai, illuminating the path ahead.

  After a nearly 45-minute walk, we approach the end of the tunnel. Instead of a door, there's a ladder that leads up to a hatch in the tunnel's ceiling.

  "This is it," says Nikolai. "On the other side of this hatch should be my father, alone in his quarters for the rest of the night."

  Nikolai steps up onto the ladder, then reaches up and gives the hatch a mighty push. It swings open and up into the room above it, landing with a clank. Nikolai clambers up the ladder, assault rifle in hand.

  I follow him up the ladder, my hand on the butt of the revolver stuck in my waistband. I hope I don't need to fire it. But I'm prepared to do so if necessary. Oh lord, am I prepared.

  As I pull my body into the King's quarters and get my bearings, I look up and see Nikolai. The stock of the assault rifle is against his shoulder. He's pointing the gun right at the King, who's sitting behind a mahogany desk.

  "Son," says the King. "What you think you are doing, I am not sure. But you are making the greatest mistake of your life."

  "No, father," says Nikolai. "You have made the greatest mistake of your life. For involving my son in this, there can be no forgiveness."

  The King looks at me. "You have caused much mayhem in our little kingdom, strumpet." His eyes are disdainful and arrogant.

  "You hold your foul tongue when you speak to the mother of my child," says Nikolai, his voice a low growl.

  "Our baby," I say. "Tell us where he is, and we may spare you."

  The King peers at me over round spectacles. He looks at me with a detached curiosity, as if he's inspecting a blister on his body.

  "You wish to know where your child is? Very well."

  He swivels around in his chair. I see Nikolai's arm twitch. His finger is already on the trigger.

  Trigger control, I think to myself. I'm sure that Nikolai was trained in it, and knows not to put his finger on the trigger until he's ready to shoot.

  That means he's ready to shoot.

  Now facing away from us in his chair, the King bends down to the ground and picks something up.

  He swivels his chair back around to face us, and he's holding baby Josh—my baby boy—in his arms. Josh is wrapped up in a blue terry cloth towel.

  A low rumble builds in my throat, a growl that I can't contain inside. "Give me my son, you psychopath,” I tell him. My hand tightens around the grip of the revolver in my waistband.

  "Ah," says the King, "A pity this boy will not live to see his first birthday."

  Nikolai shakes his head, retraining the rifle on the King. "Father, you have opened Pandora's Box. A baby as a human shield. You coward."

  The King holds Josh close to his chest with one arm. With his other hand, he reaches into a desk drawer. He withdraws a knife.

  "You fucking scum," says Nikolai. "Put it down and face me like a man."

  I instinctually step forward, on the verge of launching myself over the desk to grab my baby. I don't care if I get cut. But Nikolai, sensing that I'm about to lose control, holds out his arm and blocks me from moving forward.

  The King holds the knife against baby Josh's neck. My blood pressure explodes inside me. My nerves are boiling.

  The King is a psychopath, and he's got my baby.

  "Son," says the King, "all my life I've worked to build this empire. To ensure the family line stays strong. To ensure it's not contaminat
ed with outside, commoner blood. And then you do this to me," he says, shaking Josh in his arms.

  Nikolai tightens his grip on the assault rifle. "Father. Don't make me do this."

  The King transfers the knife to the hand that's holding Josh, then reaches into the desk drawer again. This time he withdraws a black handgun.

  “No!” I blurt out. What happens next is in slow motion. There's an ear-splitting crack from Nikolai's rifle, and my ears instantly ring and pulse in pain. The King jerks to the side, a cloud of fine bloody mist spraying out from his shoulder, dotting the white wall behind him. He collapses off the side of his chair. Josh tumbles down onto the desk with a thud and begins to cry.

  I jump forward, reaching out with both hands. I grab ahold of my baby with my fingertips, snatching him off the desk and away from the King. Then, I turn and dash for cover behind a wooden armoire that stands on the side of the room. There's an identical armoire on the opposite wall.

  From my cover, I watch the scene unfold.

  The King uses one arm to pull himself back up from the floor, hooking his elbow over the edge of the desk. With his other hand, he brings his gun up, firing shots wildly into the air. A glass vase on the other end of the room shatters, and bullet holes pockmark the walls behind Nikolai.

  Nikolai steps back and unleashes a flurry of rounds from the assault rifle, taking cover behind the armoire on the opposite side of the room. Now, we're facing each other, taking cover on opposite walls. The King sweeps the width of the room with handgun fire.

  We're separated, but we're not hurt, and I have my baby safely in my arms.

  "End this," I scream across the room to Nikolai. He unloads another volley of shots toward the King, most of which ping harmlessly off the King's desk. I realize it must be armored.

  Nikolai ejects the empty magazine from his rifle and fishes around in his cargo pockets for another one. But he comes up empty.

  He's out of ammo.

  I peek around the corner of my armoire. The King has also dropped a magazine out of his gun, and he's reloading.

  I grab the revolver out of my waistband. "Take this!" I shout, tossing the six-shot revolver across the room to him.