Royal Captive

by Dana Marton

  It started to rain, a rare event in the summer. The phone rang. He pushed the on button.

  It was one of his men who followed the two crew bosses. “They pulled over and got out. They’re walking into the woods.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On the main road to the bay. You’ll see the cars. We’re going after them.”

  He hung up, then called the investigative team at Alexander’s estate, gave them the location and ordered them to meet him there as soon as possible. Then he stepped on the gas. “There are guns in the glove compartment,” he told Lauryn. “Take what you need and get ready.”

  “I’m not much for weapons.” She opened the compartment gingerly.

  Great, an ex-criminal who didn’t like violence. He should have figured. She was unusual in every other way, as well. And he would have lied if he said he didn’t like that about her. She had a lot of layers, a lot of secrets to explore and investigate. He would enjoy discovering what lay at her core, as much as he enjoyed discovering the secrets of the earth. His favorite activity was peeling back layers. He had a feeling he would never be bored with her around.

  But to have her around, first they had to survive the night.

  He watched as she hesitated over the weapons.

  “For self-defense,” he told her, but she didn’t look reassured.

  She took the smallest one, handling it in a way that told him there was very little chance of her ever firing it, which was fine. He didn’t plan on putting her in harm’s way. He would leave her in the car.

  Soon the vehicles by the road came into sight. He parked farther down, in the cover of an abandoned shack, then called his men, who were already hidden in the woods, for an update.

  Neither of them picked up.

  He called again.

  Nothing.

  The muscles in his shoulders grew tighter and tighter, as he waited. And still nobody answered.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m not staying in the car,” Lauryn told the prince before he could have told her to.

  “It’d be safer,” he argued without any heat, preoccupied with worry because his men weren’t answering his calls, and also smart enough to know that nothing could convince her.

  Good. She liked smart men. That her feelings for him were rapidly moving beyond “like” she ignored for now.

  “As it would be safer for Your Royal Highness to remain safe.” She used his official title to remind him who he was and what his life meant not only to himself but to others. She better remember, too, and not sink too far into some imaginary fairy tale that could never be real. “We could wait for backup to get here.”

  “You should.”

  She glared at him through the darkness. The head lights had been cut as soon as they’d arrived. The only illumination came from the moon above and little of that with rain clouds drifting through. At least it had stopped drizzling.

  There were four of them, including Istvan’s two guards. A dozen men would be coming from the estate where the original war room had been set up. Lauryn figured they couldn’t be more than an hour behind them.

  “Spread out?” she asked.

  “Stick together,” Istvan answered.

  And soon she realized why as the guards took up protective positions around him. They were probably under order not to let the prince out of their sight.

  They moved forward quietly through the woods. There was hardly any light at all as they walked, the trees filtering what little moonlight the clouds let through.

  “I have a penlight,” she offered, digging into her pocket.

  “I have my lighter, but even that’s too dangerous.” Istvan kept moving forward. “We don’t want to alert them that we’re here.”

  She could barely make out the tree trunks, let alone the path. Their only chance of finding the men was catching sight of their lights up ahead, but even after long minutes ticked by, they saw nothing.

  Then the guard who led the group tripped and swore under his breath. “Careful here.” He bent and looked at the boulder in their way. A strange-looking boulder.

  Not a boulder at all.

  “Man down,” the guard clarified.

  Istvan stepped forward. “Ours?”

  A second passed while the man checked the body, peering closer, tilting the face to the dim moonlight. “Yes.”

  “We’ll come back for him.” Istvan’s voice was tight.

  He took her hand and helped her over the body, and she let him even though it wasn’t necessary. She was used to getting around in the dark and moving around obstacles.

  “One of the men could escort you back to the car,” he offered.

  She considered it for a fraction of a second. She’d been a thief, sure. But she’d avoided violence all her life. The sight of it never failed to shake her. She would have to get over that tonight. “No, thanks.” She hung on to his hand.

  Soon they came to some sort of meadow that was dotted with rocks, some the size of beach balls, others taller than a man. Then the path went from dirt to paved with small rocks. They came to an even flatter area after that. No boulders here, but partially collapsed walls cordoned off by construction tape and a posted sign.

  Istvan let her go as he passed his guards and moved up to the sign, then sounded out the letters of the Greek alphabet. “It says the site is protected by the Ministry of Culture.”

  “A historic ruin,” she guessed and looked around, wondering from what period. She spotted an arch that gave it away. “I think Roman.”

  Due to the economic crisis that hit tourism hard at tourist paradises like Cyprus, many excavations on the island had been halted, awaiting better times and sufficient funds. Many sites stood deserted like this one. They’d seen two on their drive to her uncle a few days before.

  Istvan moved ahead, but she grabbed for his arm after a few steps to stop him. She pulled the sheet of paper from her pocket. Of course, they couldn’t see anything written on it in the dark.

  “All right. Get out that penlight.” Istvan directed her toward a partially excavated wall and squatted, pulling her with him. Then he told the men to surround them and block the light as much as they could from the side that wasn’t protected by the wall.

  She produced the penlight from her shoe. It was about the size and shape of a slim lipstick and cast its light no farther than a foot, but for their purpose, it was perfect.

  “If that’s the path and this is the boulder and over there is the wall—” Istvan pointed at the marks.

  “Then we have to go that way,” she finished.

  Another thirty minutes or so passed before they found their destination, an excavation shaft they would have never come upon in the dark without the map. A man sat at the hole’s mouth, leaning against a pile of stones.

  They crouched and waited. Istvan was probably considering how best to rush the guy, Lauryn figured. Waiting didn’t bother her. Staying still and silent was one of her specialties.

  But the more she looked, the more she realized there was something strange about that guard.

  Istvan turned to her with a questioning tilt of his head. She inclined her own. He signaled to one of his men to move forward. The guard did, keeping in the shadows. The others raised their guns to cover him if necessary. The man at the stone pile still didn’t move.

  Then the guard was there and putting a finger to the man’s neck. A couple of seconds passed. The guard came back. “Another one of ours,” he whispered.

  Both men who’d been shadowing Berk and Canda were dead. And the backup team hadn’t arrived yet. Waiting would have been the smartest thing to do. But the sound of an approaching chopper gave them motivation to hurry. The crown jewels, if they were here, could be removed from the site before backup arrived.

  “That excavation shaft probably has another exit to an area that’s clear and flat enough for the helicopter to land.” Istvan moved forward.

  Lauryn and the guards followed. He was very likely right.
Excavation shafts often had multiple entry points to allow better flow for the carts going down and coming up with rubble, as well as to provide better ventilation for the workers.

  The small hill could have covered an entire buried Roman town beyond the single villa that was visible.

  They entered the shaft, the guards first, the prince next, Lauryn bringing up the rear. Good thing she wasn’t scared of dark places. The first man walked into a wall and swore. She pulled her flashlight and passed it up front; less chance of that giving them away than the noise they made as they bumped into things. The corridor twisted enough to shield the light even as its cavernous length amplified sound.

  The shaft soon linked to an ancient hallway that was made of stone from floor to ceiling, probably leading to the villa’s cellar, then to a low-ceilinged room with a reinforced-steel door to one side, which was not at all normal at a standard excavation. If the authorities wanted to protect the site, they would have closed off the entrance of the shaft.

  She looked at the lock, which was also not standard issue. The keys she’d lifted off Berk would have come in handy, but their copies weren’t ready yet.

  “Want to give it a whirl?” Istvan asked.

  She got out her picks and did her best. Several minutes and some adjustments later, she smiled when she heard the small click.

  The look on Istvan’s face was conflicted.

  “Right. You disapprove on principle.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Disapproval duly noted.” She opened the door and pressed inside.

  An old-fashioned generator hooked to a flood lamp was the first thing they saw. Because it would have made too much noise, they didn’t turn it on. Her flashlight was used instead, along with Istvan’s lighter.

  A dozen or so crates occupied the underground room, some full, some empty. Istvan rushed to the closest, tipping up the lid and lowering his lighter, victory in his voice as he said, “The war chest.”

  They immediately went to check the rest, not an easy task with what little light they had.

  “Most of what was stolen from the treasury is here,” he told them after a while, but his shoulders were sagging.

  “Except?” she asked in a low voice, standing near him, already suspecting the answer.

  “Except what was in the special vault.”

  So they were still missing the crown jewels.

  He left a man with the artifacts and instructions to send the backup team after him and Lauryn once they arrived. Then Istvan, Lauryn and the remaining guard moved on to discover the rest of the shaft and the location of the crown jewels.

  When, a few hundred yards later, they saw a dim light up ahead, they extinguished their own and moved more slowly and quietly. But then soon realized that the light wasn’t manmade. Moonlight was filtering in up ahead. They reached the end of the tunnel; another few hundred feet would bring them back out into the open. They could even hear the hovering chopper.

  They came out on the other side of the hill, and spotted a road nearby with a canvas-top truck and a dozen armed men, rifles outlined in the moonlight. The truck’s back was open. Two men were working on lifting a large box, hurrying, keeping one eye on the helicopter.

  Those who were not involved in the work held their rifles on the chopper. Whoever was up there was not their friend.

  The standoff provided the perfect distraction. Istvan moved forward, followed closely by the guard and Lauryn.

  Then all hell broke loose as gunfire erupted behind them.

  She dived to the rocky ground and rolled blindly for cover until she found relative safety in a ditch. A second later Istvan landed on top of her, knocking the air out of her lungs.

  The gunfire stopped once the shooters lost their targets.

  He poked his head up, not much of a risk given the darkness. “They had a lookout on the hillside. He saw us coming from the cave.”

  She, too, peeked out and saw Istvan’s bodyguard a few feet away, lying in a pool of blood, arms outstretched.

  Her stomach constricted painfully. “Can we pull him in?”

  She could feel Istvan’s muscles tighten on top of her as he said, “He’s gone.”

  The men were shouting around the truck, the crate was finally lifted. But then more shouting came from the same direction Lauryn and Istvan had just come from.

  The backup team. They burst forth from the opening and the men by the truck opened fire, and the chop per stepped into the melee, indiscriminately firing at everyone on the ground.

  Istvan took aim at the chopper and missed. She couldn’t have contributed if she wanted to. He was lying on top of her and showed no sign of wanting to move. He took aim again and hit it this time. The rotors gave a grinding noise.

  Unfortunately, the gunner had no intention of giving up on the battle.

  Half the Valtrian guards were dead on the ground, the other half pulled back into the shaft. Berk’s and Canda’s men rushed in after them, desperate for cover from the chopper.

  The hand-to-hand combat that ensued was bloody and fierce. Istvan kept shooting at the chopper, trying to at least stop the firing. And the bird did come down, even if it didn’t crash. The pilot landed it just as the blades came to a complete halt. A half-dozen men jumped off immediately, keeping low to the ground and spreading out as they ran forward.

  They were fresh to the fight with plenty of ammunition. They ended the battle at the opening of the shaft within minutes. Then they came looking for whoever had shot down the chopper.

  Lauryn pulled her head back in and held her breath, gripping Istvan’s shirt, thankful that they were both dressed in black, praying that he would stay very, very still.

  HE HAD SECONDS. Istvan grabbed his empty gun and watched as a familiar man got out of the chopper, his face visible in the truck’s headlights.

  “Stay down no matter what happens,” he whispered to Lauryn, then pried her fingers off him and stood from the ditch, threw aside his useless weapon and walked forward, bellowing, “Bellingham!”

  “Stand down! Put away your weapons!” the man ordered as he sauntered closer, holding his own pistol in front of him. “Well, well, Your Highness.”

  He stopped in front of the man and kept his hands up, his mind working furiously as he reassessed their meeting. “You’ve known all along?”

  “Only since Fernando was arrested this afternoon in Buenos Aires.” He laughed. “Good show, by the way. I’ve been asking questions and learned that the Valtrian royal treasures had gone missing. I’m always game, thought I’d track them down and sell them to Fernando for a fair commission. But if it wasn’t Fernando who came to breakfast, I had to ask myself, who could it be?”

  He motioned Istvan toward the truck. “Maybe someone who wanted to retrieve the treasures? Didn’t take much to sort out that Prince Istvan of Valtria hasn’t been seen in public in the past couple of days. Turns out his secretary cancelled all his appointments. Once I had that information and your latest media photos in front of me…” He gave an aristocratic shrug.

  “Name your commission,” Istvan offered. “I’ll pay it to have the artifacts back.” It was likely the man had no idea exactly what he had captured from Berk and Canda. He hadn’t had a chance to open the box yet. He wouldn’t dream that it held Valtria’s crown jewels.

  “If only it were that simple. You see, I already thought about that. And then I thought, if whatever was stolen was important enough for His Royal Highness himself to come after it, how important could it be to your enemies?”

  His heart sank. “You contacted the Freedom Council?”

  “In a way. Turns out we have friends in common. Imagine my surprise when they said that they in fact would not be interested in the recovery of the treasure as they were the ones who ordered the heist in the first place. Impressive.”

  “Criminal is another word for it.”

  “I knew if anyone on the island had anything to do with it, it had to be either Berk or Canda. I had both of them followed all day. The only s
urprise was that they did the job together. Usually they’d dig each other’s eyes out sooner than look at each other.” The man shrugged. “I tell you, the power of love has nothing over the power of money when it comes to reconciling people.”

  “So now you do have the treasure and you can make the Freedom Council pay.”

  “Oh, here is the good part.” Belligham laughed. “What they pay for what’s on that truck will look like a small bonus compared to what they’ll pay for a Valtrian prince.”

  Istvan didn’t waste his breath protesting. While he’d come forward to protect Lauryn and because he knew Bellingham was too much of a gentleman to shoot a royal prince in cold blood—despite his unsavory occupation—he also knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to sell one for the right price to the highest bidder.

  The only thing he could do was go with the man and draw him away from the place before Lauryn was discovered.

  Except that she seemed to be intent on getting herself killed, as if there hadn’t been enough blood already spilled tonight. He caught a small shadow moving along the edge of the woods. He could have strangled her. He looked away on purpose, not wanting anyone to pick up on what he was looking at.

  Then hope came, even if it was laced with misgivings.

  Belligham had only a half-dozen men. They were hard to miss in the truck’s headlights. If she found a decent enough cover, she might be able to pick them off one by one before they rushed her. She had enough bullets.

  “I’ll match whatever you think the Freedom Council will pay for me,” he said to distract Bellingham.

  From the corner of his eye, he watched as Lauryn reached a good-size boulder. He was prepared to drop and roll so any flying bullets wouldn’t hit him. But Lauryn didn’t stop at the boulder.

  “If I let you go with the treasure, the Freedom Council will come after me. Nasty people.” Bellingham shrugged. “If I give you to them along with the treasure, they’ll be my grateful allies forever. At the end of the day, I think I’d feel better not making enemies out of them.”