by Ted Bell
“Welcome aboard, sir,” Falconer said as Alex ascended the stairs and entered the cool air of the cabin. “How was your vacation, sir? As peaceful as you hoped?”
Hawke smiled at the handsome six-footer, an ex–Royal Navy airman who, just like Hawke himself, had been in Afghanistan. Hawke said, “Nowhere on earth is ever as peaceful as I hope it will be, Colin. But I cannot complain. Ultimately, we were successful in our efforts to find His Royal Highness and get him safely off that Devil’s Island. Nightmare Island. Here he comes now, out of the ambulance. Could you please assist Mr. Brock and Mr. Jones in getting his gurney up the steps? I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”
A woman he’d not seen approached him in the aisle.
“Lord Hawke? I’m Nanette. Captain Falconer said you might be needing me.” She was dressed in a perfectly tailored powder blue air hostess uniform and seemed qualified enough for what he’d explained to Falconer. And she was quite pretty in that English Rose way he’d always fallen for.
“Welcome aboard, Nanette. And you’re a certified nurse—an RN, is that correct?”
“I am indeed, sir,” she said with a very posh English accent. “Your captain inspected all my credentials. Would you like to see them?”
“Not at this moment. Maybe later,” Hawke said, hopefully.
China Moon suddenly appeared in the open hatchway, heading straight for him, bumping Nanette out of her way.
“We did it, Alex!” China said. “We damn well did it, did we not?”
Hawke said, “We did. And thank you, dear girl, for coming to my rescue. I was sorely afraid I’d arrived at Dragonfire Club with too little too late. Without your help locating him, I really don’t think he would have made it out alive.”
She smiled, looking around at the extremely luxuriously appointed interior: saddle leather, bespoke, and elegant hardwood paneling and gleaming brass hardware everywhere. She said, “This is one helluva airplane you’ve got yourself, boss. Stoke and Harry are preparing to bring Henry up now. Where do you suggest we put the young prince?”
“There’s an owner’s cabin aft. The berth has been made up with fresh linen. And the room is filled, I hope, with the fresh tropical flowers I ordered for when he wakes up.”
China said, “Let me go have a quick look. I’ll be right back. Where do you want me to sit?”
“Oh, I don’t really know, China. . . . Next to me perhaps?”
China laughed and made her way aft to ensure that the cabin was ready. Hawke turned away and looked out over the airfield. Stoke and Harry Brock were just now starting up the staircase. And the racing fleet of security vehicles with the flashing blues was getting dangerously close.
“Nanette, we’re bringing my godson aboard. He’s been through hell. Malnourished, dehydrated, and tortured. I want you to spend your time aboard attending to him. Not me nor my passengers.” He turned away and went to the open door, then leaned out.
“Stoke!” Hawke called to him. “Get a move on! See all those blue lights coming this way? We can’t afford to let those guys get any closer! They’ll use those vehicles to pin us in!”
“Aw, damn, boss. I didn’t even see those guys. Here we come!”
Three minutes later they were coming up the steps and through the door with His Royal Highness Prince Henry. Nanette had gone back to the aft cabin to make sure Henry was comfortable and had what he needed. Hawke had told Falconer to make sure Nanette had the proper medical equipment and medicines. So in her absence, Hawke, who knew this plane inside and out, secured the cabin, got the main door closed and locked, and stuck his head into the cockpit.
“Cabins secure, lads. Everyone’s seated and buckled up. Let’s get outta town, boys! While we still can.”
Hawke looked at his old steel Rolex and smiled. He’d have the boy in a real hospital bed at King Edward VII, surrounded by doctors and nurses, in less than two hours.
And he’d have China by his side. He would have bet a million quid she’d never speak to him again. But he’d have lost. There was something intangible between them; that was all he could think. Not a very astute observation of human behavior, he’d admit. On the other hand, there really was something between a man and a woman that was all about the chemistry. The bloody smell. He’d once been seated next to Carolina Herrera, a famous fashion designer, at a fancy dinner party on the Upper East Side of New York.
“What’s that scent, Alex?” she’d asked him early in the party. “Because if I’m right, it’s the only scent in the world that I approve of for men, other than my own, of course.”
“I buy it in Paris. Have done so for decades or more. I like it because it’s stimulating, helps me wake up in the morning and feels good on my face. Citrus, I think, but I’m no expert on fragrances.”
She looked at him, then sniffed him, possibly flirting. She was a very talented and good-looking woman, after all. “It’s Eau d’Orange Verte,” she said. “Hermès.”
“Yes, the shop on the Faubourg Saint-Honoré.”
“Et voilà! I knew it!” she said.
Maybe China likes me for my cologne, he thought. That Carolina woman certainly seemed to. Who the hell knows what women like?
* * *
—
For the first few days on the sun-kissed isle of Bermuda, Hawke spent most of the time he wasn’t swimming six miles out in the open sea, or taking the sun with China by the new pool he’d had built at Teakettle Cottage, sitting by Henry’s bedside. He planned to begin reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s A Study in Scarlet to the prince on the off chance that he might still be able to hear. And there were visitors as well. Congreve, of course, and his wife, Lady Mars, came by daily to check on his progress. Diana Mars had asked Hawke for a favor. Could she and Ambrose hitch a ride to Heathrow three days hence, when he, Pelham, and the prince would fly onward to England?
Of course they could. Ambrose had asked if, en route, he might debrief Prince Henry on the details of everything that had happened or that he had seen while at Dragonfire. It would be vital information for both MI6 and his own Scotland Yard.
Pelham would come to the hospital to relieve Hawke for the evening shift. Then China would come to relieve Pelham and take the graveyard shift. And there was an endless parade of caring visitors from London, all of whom now lived or vacationed at the Coral Beach Club in Bermuda and belonged to the families just like Hawke’s that were all lifelong friends of the Royal Family.
One day, Hawke got a call from the prince’s doctor, the chief of staff at King Edward VII.
“Come and get him, Lord Hawke. I think your young prince is well enough now that you can care for him at the cottage. All he needs at this point is a day or two of healthy food, a lot of sunshine, and swimming in the ocean to build up his lost strength. There’s no reason he cannot expect to have a full recovery.”
“I’ll be there early tomorrow morning, Doctor. I’ll stop by and collect him. A day or two here and then I’m flying Henry direct to London. Back home. And back to his adoring grandmother, the Queen.”
Hawke and China had a quiet farewell dinner that night. No one called it a farewell dinner. Both knew exactly what it was.
She wanted just the two of them out on the terrace, with the waves crashing below and Pelham serving spaghetti alle vongole under the star-studded skies.
Then he called Brick Kelly on his encrypted mobile.
“I’ve got Prince Henry, Brick. We got him out just in time.”
“Good news is, he’s alive, old boy. You ever figure out why the hell those damn Tang brothers kidnapped him in the first place?”
“Oh, yeah. Henry saw some serious Dragonfire stuff he wasn’t supposed to see.”
“Like the sub pen? The Chinese missile frigates?”
“Yes. But that wasn’t what really did him in. He saw the massive heroin factories the Tangs have built in the jungle. Fifty, mayb
e sixty identical, fully functional heroin factories operating twenty-four seven to supply worldwide dealers working for Dragonfire, the name the Tangs gave to their entire empire.”
“Got that. Thanks. I spent the afternoon at the White House with the president, the secretary of state, and the secretary of defense. I briefed them on the intel you gave me about what you saw. The sub pen, the Chinese Navy missile frigates, the complete enchilada. The president could not believe the Chinese would have the balls to put a sub base so close to American shores, especially during these bloody trade negotiations. But he’s taking proper countermeasures, effective immediately.”
“What kind of countermeasures?”
“Tomorrow morning, State is going to issue a démarche to the Chinese Embassy here in D.C. They’ve got seventy-two hours to get those three subs the hell out of here. When the time limit has expired, failing that, the Navy is going to enforce a naval blockade, just like Kennedy did. Commander, Naval Surface Forces Atlantic has been ordered to ring the entrance to that bay where the pen is located with a battle group. Navy fighter jets will commence heavy aerial bombardment to take out the pen and everything around it. Bunker busters, the whole shooting match. And he doesn’t give a good shit whether those three subs are there . . . or not.”
“Brick, listen, could you call the president and tell him about the bloody heroin factories on Devil’s Island? In one blow we could knock hell out of the world’s global heroin supply. That’s worth some heavy ordnance all by itself.”
“Absolutely, buddy! You saw all this yourself? You can verify what Henry is saying? That’s a confirm?”
“Saw it with my own baby blues, pal.”
“Good enough for me. I’ll get that word out now. Sit tight. Our boys will turn that place into a fucking parking lot in about ten minutes. Where are you now?”
“The hell out of there. I’m at my house in Bermuda, acting as my godson’s personal fitness instructor.”
“Bombs away,” Brick said. “Take care of yourself, buddy. And come to Washington sometime, will ya? The president has heard so much about you from me, now he wants to meet you. I think you two would hit it off.”
* * *
—
Hawke and China Moon agreed to bed together that night, even though both were sensing it would probably be for the last time. He held her close, thanking her for coming to help in the prince’s rescue.
But he made no promises.
And neither did she. China, who’d told Alex she had an apartment on South Beach, would get off the plane in Miami, along with Stoke and Harry Brock. She was headed back to Beijing in a few weeks to brief government officials. Unless, of course, she determined that Zhang had ratted her out regarding her participation in the prince’s rescue. Then, she said, she’d have to go on the run for a while until they lost interest in her. He would see her when he saw her, she told him. It had been fun while it lasted. He’d never looked better. And his new interrogation technique was to die for.
Besides, they’d always have Paris, she’d reminded him.
And all that other tommyrot and happy horseshit.
CHAPTER 72
London
Present Day
When Hawke and Prince Henry had boarded the G650 at eight that morning at Bermuda International, Pelham, Chief Inspector Congreve, and his wife, Lady Mars, were already aboard. They were seated comfortably amidships facing one another over the round fruitwood coffee table and sipping tea from William Yeoward Gosford china and the Buccellati silver service on the table.
All three got immediately to their feet when they caught sight of the Queen’s grandson Prince Henry coming through the cabin door right behind Alex. The prince, who had heard all about these people, smiled and went over to introduce himself. Lady Mars curtsied, and they shook hands all around. Invited by Ambrose to join them, the prince took a seat.
Hawke, who was leaning casually against the wooden bulkhead outside the cockpit, was having a final word with his captain.
“And the time of arrival at Heathrow?” Hawke said.
“Depending on the tailwind, flying time a wee bit short of seven hours, sir. Somewhere right around three this afternoon, I’d say, sir.”
“Good. Good,” Hawke said, already thinking about something else. Prince Henry had told him that he didn’t want his grandmother the Queen to see him like this. If they were going to Buckingham Palace, he wanted time to get properly attired. He wanted a proper suit, shirt, and tie; he wanted to replace his flip-flops with a pair of brogues from Lobb; he wanted to get a hot-towel shave and a haircut at Truefitt & Hill’s—all that sort of thing.
Hawke agreed. But it would be nearly five before they could get to Savile Row, and that wasn’t nearly enough time. He had an idea. He would ask Lady Mars if she could possibly invite the prince to their country estate for the night and make sure he got a good, healthy supper. Then, early the next day, Ambrose could take the prince to Hawke’s Savile Row tailor, Anderson & Sheppard, to get kitted out.
And to the Royal-warranted Truefitt & Hill barbers after that!
She readily agreed, saying how charming the prince was and that she and Ambrose would be delighted.
The copilot closed the cockpit door, and Nanette battened all the hatches and secured the cabin for takeoff. Not for the first time did Hawke notice her splendid figure and balletic movements. He smiled inwardly, knowing he’d done the right thing by letting China go. Way past time to move on.
They’d had a thing. It was over and time to move on and let all the bloody chips land where they might.
“I say, Ambrose,” Hawke said, “may I have a word?”
“But of course.”
“Very good. Let’s go back to the banquette aft, shall we?”
When they were seated, and Congreve had got his beloved brier pipe going, Hawke explained the situation regarding the young prince.
“I see, I see,” Ambrose said. “He’s quite right, you know. God knows he’s improved mightily, but he still wants to look the way his grandmother expects him to look at their reunion.”
“Well, you’re very kind, Constable. I know I could do it, but as you know, my allegiance is now to my son, Alexei. He’s been in Madrid for a month now. He’s been the guest at the palace of my good friend the Duke of Alba. I told you about that, of course. Before I was very nearly killed, along with Pelham.”
“You did. I’m happy to oblige. I enjoy his company immensely. Great sense of humor, you know. You must be very proud of him, dear boy.”
“Oh, I am indeed!” Hawke said.
* * *
—
Lord Hawke and Prince Henry arrived at Buckingham Palace at ten that rainy morning, right on the button.
They were escorted promptly up to the Royal Families’ private residence by a footman who had almost literally jumped for joy when he laid eyes on the long-lost prince.
“Home at last, sir. Home at last you are! Her Royal Majesty is beside herself with excitement. Come, come, let’s hurry!”
“Where is Her Majesty, Giles?” Henry asked, trying to keep up with the footman racing up the staircase. There were seven hundred seventy-five rooms in Buck House, and even Henry had never seen most of them.
“Sir, she’s in the White Room. Breakfast is being served there now, sir.”
“I’m famished,” the prince said. “Lead on!”
Hawke was thrilled with his mood and his appearance. Congreve had done an excellent job at the tailor’s and the barber’s and at Lobb’s famous shoe emporium.
When they arrived at the White Room, Her Royal Majesty was at her desk, answering Red Box mail, as she did every morning. When they entered and were announced by the footman, she looked up, and there was such joy in her eyes.
Prince Henry went to her side, bent down, and hugged her tightly, his eyes closed, hers wide open an
d smiling at him.
“Oh, Grandmother,” Henry said. “I am so terribly sorry about all this. I knew you were bereft and worried, but there was simply no way they would let me communicate with you. And I will tell you, had not Lord Hawke found me when he did, I would not be here.”
“Lord Hawke, Alex, my dear boy,” the Queen, who was crying, said, “I will, as long as I live, try to find the right words to thank you for what you’ve done. Losing Henry would have been the end of me. I don’t think I could have soldiered on. I really don’t.”
Hawke bowed deeply and said, “It was my very great honor to serve you, Your Majesty, I promise you.”
“Thank you, Alex. When I think back on all you have done for me, done for this old family. That Christmas at Balmoral? You saved us all, and we all know it. It’s why I insisted to Sir David that he send you out to the Bahamas. I knew you were the only man in England who could find Henry and bring him safe home to me. . . .”
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” Hawke said with a little bow.
“Henry,” Hawke said, turning to the boy, “I’m up to the north of Scotland for the weekend. Do a little shooting. Lots of pheasant this time of year. Want to have a go?”
The prince smiled, his arm still around the Queen. He said, “My Lord Hawke, I cannot think of a single thing I should like better on this earth. Is Alexei coming with?”
“Certainly. I’m teaching him about the dogs and the shooting. He loves it.”
“Well, count me in.”
“It’s done, then. I have a beautiful old place up there. An ancestral home called Castle Hawke. We can go stalking for stags in the Highlands as well. Drink a little whiskey. . . . You know the drill. Ever had haggis, by the way?”