The news reporter returned on screen and shook her head. “The UN Security Council is set to meet later today and decide how to intervene. However, much of the process has encountered snags since most of the government officials on Solana needed to provide information are either missing or dead.”
Flynn glanced at the two men in the corner. Their eyes were glued to the television, and their postures had changed. They were crowding over the table with sporadic, hushed words, instead of their earlier almost bored demeanors. They cast a glance at Flynn, threw cash on the table, and left.
The news went to another story and Flynn stood, the earlier nagging sensation now a gut-wrenching panic.
Alanna was a princess. On the run for her life.
And I just handed her over to a foreign government as a thief.
“Shit.”
Metal bars and concrete walls closed in on Alanna. She sat on a cold, wooden bench. Though stifling in the holding cell they’d locked her in, she still shivered.
At the docks, she’d been crammed into a tiny police vehicle with an armed guard on either side, and driven to the Customs & Immigration building. No one said a word, nor would they answer any of her questions. Could she make a phone call when they got there? How long would the process take?
Only silence.
Though she never resisted, they’d nearly dragged her out of the car and led her to this tiny, empty cell. Alarm bells had vibrated in her head. If they wanted her to fill out paperwork, why shove her in a place like this?
This wasn’t about paying duty on gemstones.
Over two hours later, she was still there. The same guard from the car had walked by a dozen times, but never acknowledged her, let alone answered her. He just continued pacing, hand on his automatic rifle like a security blanket.
She’d stuck to her false identity the whole time, and ended up in a jail cell. Hardly the expectation for royalty. There were no other options left. When they came for her, she’d tell them her real identity. Demand to see the U.S. Consulate representative and find a way through all of this. Start nailing these terrorists to electric chairs. But she had to get out of this claustrophobic cell first.
A metal door screeched open down the hall. Footsteps echoed off the cinder block walls.
A gangly customs official stopped at her cell. His thin mustache stretched into a creepy smile. Two armed guards came up behind him.
“My apologies for leaving you in here like this. We’re ready to fill out the proper paperwork. If you’ll follow me, Miss Kalani.”
Alanna stood and thrust up her chin. “This is all a misunderstanding, sir,” she began in her most authoritative voice. “That necklace is a family heirloom. I am Alanna Per—”
“We’ll get to all of that, miss,” he said, clearly uninterested. “There’s someone here for you.”
Alanna blinked. As the metal bars slid open, her heart elevated.
Someone’s here for me. Flynn? Thank God, he believes me. Or perhaps the U.S. Consulate Rep knows I’m here.
She eagerly moved through the gate and followed Mustache down the hall, the two others behind her a little too close. Their footsteps bounced off the walls in a loud chorus as they went down several more halls.
The farther they walked, the higher her pulse jumped, and frazzled her nerves. The last door had a large red sign over it: EXIT.
“Where…”
“Right through here, Princess.”
“But that’s an ex…wait. What did you call me?”
With a sickly smile, he opened the door, and the dark night stared back at her through the opening.
Princess. They knew? Ice wrapped around her heart.
They know.
Electrical signals fired from her brain, down through her legs into her feet to run. To get away.
One of the guards gripped her from behind, and a black cloth slipped over her head.
Screaming, she strained against a set of thick arms. Her feet left the ground at the same time as someone smothered her face. She kicked and shook her head, only to have the hold around her tighten, almost crushing. Something cold and metallic clapped around her wrist. After a firm yank, her arms were behind her, the metal digging into her.
The hand over her mouth shifted, shoving a massive, sausage-like thumb under her nose.
In a swift move, she jerked her head, and a clothed finger slipped just over her lips. She bit down. Hard.
The man bellowed and let her go. Her feet hit the ground. Then something sharp thwacked the side of her head. She staggered as everything spun around her, the world already black from the hood.
Muddled voices barely made it through the ringing in her ears.
“She’s supposed to be unharmed, you idiot!”
“She bit me!”
“Because you were supposed to gag her before you put on the hood, moron. Do you have any idea who’s arranged this?”
“I don’t give a shit. She deserved it.”
“Then it’s your head on the line. I’ll be the first one to throw your ass in his trunk if she’s hurt.”
She fell to her knees, the air ripe with sewage and humidity. We’re outside.
“I’m sorry for this,” someone whispered in her ear. She flinched. “It’s nothing personal. Best of luck to you, Princess.”
The raspy voice must have belonged to the last guard behind her. It wasn’t one she recognized from before, and it wasn’t Evil Mustache. A surge of nausea swarmed her.
“What’s this?” a distant voice called. “Did one of you fuckers hit her?”
“She’s faking it,” Sausage Fingers bit out. “Just get her in the car.”
Someone shoved her forward and she bumped into what had to be a vehicle. Hazy sounds of cars, horns and the deep bass of club music penetrated her veiled hell.
“Stop!” the new voice barked. “Take off the hood.”
“Are you nuts?”
Footsteps drew closer, and the man’s voice dropped lower. So quiet, but she could hear him clearly.
“I want to see if you did any damage to this regal face.” Without another word, the cloth rose over her eyes. Her knees nearly buckled at the rotten stench. She was in a trash-cluttered alley behind the customs building. Beneath the dim streetlight, puddles spotted the ground sheened with oil. A black Mercedes sedan sat with the engine running parked by the door.
A tall man with wavy dark hair and a thin black goatee stared at her like he was assessing a defective product. His tailored suit and purple tie looked comically terrifying in the drab surroundings. He would have fit in perfectly with the mafia movies André loved to watch.
“Faking it? There’s blood on her scalp.”
Blood?
Alanna went to touch her head, but cursed the cuffs around her wrists.
“Just a scratch. She’s fine.” The guard who’d stood outside her cell loosened the rifle strap around his neck. Either corrupt law enforcement or merely posing as a customs guard, the man deserved the same end as the rest of these criminals.
“Release me immediately,” she managed. “And I’ll see to it you receive lighter sentences.” Someone behind her snickered. “If you lay another finger on me, you’ll be locked in a place even the devil fears.”
One of the royal guardsman had used that phrase years ago, and it had always stuck in her mind. It seemed fitting now.
The man with the purple tie sneered. “Keep that bravery, Your Highness. You’ll need it.” Without a second thought, he raised a pistol and shot Sausage Fingers in the forehead.
A sharp chirp rang out. Alanna flinched, the man’s body crumpling at her feet. Her legs trembled uncontrollably.
“What have you done?” The customs official glared. “I didn’t agree to this. How am I supposed to cover this up?”
Purple-Tie holstered his weapon inside his suit jacket. “You’ll figure something out. On future assignments for my employer, be more selective of your hires. Now, the necklace.”
The cus
toms official’s nostrils flared, but he reached in his shirt and pulled out the sealed bag with Luna de Azul folded inside. Alanna’s eyes followed her family’s treasured charge as it passed between criminal hands.
“Your employer is becoming more reckless,” the official muttered.
“And your tongue is becoming more loose,” Purple-Tie replied sharply, and redrew his pistol. “Shall I shoot it off for you? Or perhaps your daughter’s? She’ll be getting out of her ballet lesson in about ten minutes, right?”
The other man’s jaw tensed. “My payment?”
Purple-Tie holstered the gun again and straightened his lapel. “Already deposited in your account. You should thank me. I just saved you a third of your money from going to this incompetent jackass.”
Blood oozed from under the dead guard’s head, mixing with a puddle beside Alanna’s foot. She shuffled to the side, fighting the rising nausea.
Stop shaking. Focus!
Maybe she should just run. If she was supposed to be delivered unharmed, they might not shoot her and instead only chase her. The end of the alley was maybe a hundred feet. Lights seemed brighter on that end. It opened onto a busy street with people on the sidewalk.
Strength pooled from somewhere. She wrapped it around herself and bolted.
The cuffs cut at her wrists, but she countered the unbalanced weight by leaning forward and pushing through the pain. Focusing on the lights at the end, she ran through the puddles and dodged the garbage heaps piled against the brick buildings on either side.
Someone was bound to see her. Someone would intervene. She’d barricade herself in the next building if she had to. All she had to do was make it to the end of the alley. Her heart thundered and her temple throbbed.
Just a few more paces…
A hand clamped around her elbow and pulled her back. She yelped, but it was only muffled by another hand wrapping over her mouth. Then her head slammed into his shoulder. Tears pricked her eyes. She could still see the end of the alley, not even ten feet away.
“That was very stupid, Princess,” Purple-Tie muttered in her ear. He dragged her to the car. “Though I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same in your position.”
Alanna kicked, and screamed again, even tried stomping on his feet several times with no luck. They reached the car too quickly, and he opened the door.
“Be a good girl and I won’t put that hood over your head again.”
The customs official stood by the door. Alanna’s eyes locked with the guard who’d whispered an apology earlier. It was the same guard from the boat, the young one who looked so harshly at her. Only now guilt dripped all over his face. She pleaded with her eyes, trying to cry out for help beneath the vice over her lips. Help me. Don’t let me disappear.
Just before her head dipped into the car, the guard’s eyes dropped to his feet. The door shut, silencing everything.
A BLACK MERCEDES WITH TINTED windows careened out of the alley in front of Flynn as he crossed the street to the Customs & Immigration building. The car squealed onto the pavement and raced away. Flynn shook his head at the crazy driver and moved on. The building was only a few blocks from the Yacht Club, close to the United States Embassy. Philippine flags lit by spotlights lined the street, with the American Stars and Stripes fluttering over the Embassy.
If they hadn’t already realized their new detainee was the Princess of Solana, it was his responsibility to make sure they knew. It was the least he could do to make up for turning her in as a thief. Guilt gurgled in his stomach like the overpriced, shitty beer. But there was more than that churning inside. He cared for her. He couldn’t quite identify the thorn in his chest, but he knew whatever the cause had something to do with Alanna.
Once inside, a safety glass separated the man behind the desk from the rest of the empty seating area. Most of the seats were metal folding chairs with padded cushions, in various, un-matched colors and states of disrepair. The clerk appeared in his early thirties, his feet propped on the counter, reading a magazine written in Tagalog.
When Flynn approached the counter, the man removed his feet and closed the magazine. “How can I assist you?” The words came out mechanical.
“I want to know the status of a woman who was brought in earlier today. She was travelling with me.”
“Visiting hours are ten to four. You can return tomorrow.” This time he didn’t even raise his head from a computer screen in front of him.
“What’s her status?” Flynn repeated. “She was brought in here three hours ago, to pay duty on imported property.”
The clerk rolled his eyes and wheeled his chair closer to the screen. “What’s the name?”
“Her passport said Alanna Kalani, from Solana, but she’s really—”
“Computer shows she was arrested and transferred to the nearest police precinct for processing.”
Flynn’s head whirled. “Arrested? For what?”
The clerk’s brow furrowed and he leaned toward the monitor. He picked up the phone and a minute later, the side door buzzed. A man stepped through into the waiting area.
It was the customs official from the boat, only this time he looked frazzled. Angry. “What are you here for, sir?”
Flynn kept his stance askew, not sure if he would be arrested just for asking questions. “Alanna. Where is she?”
The man’s face softened a bit, but his hand moved to the sidearm on his belt. “I’m afraid to tell you your friend was arrested when we brought her here. Perina Alanna Kalani had warrants for burglary and prostitution on an earlier visit to Manila.”
Flynn frowned, his heart hardening. “Sir, you’re mistaken. She’s really the Princess of Solana, Alanna Peralta. Her picture has been all over international news as missing—”
“You’re mistaken, boy.” The man’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t her.”
Flynn seethed through a growl. Boy. Condescending assholes everywhere. “Yes, it is her. If you turn on CNN, the pictures are identical.”
Asshole shook his head. “She’s already been transferred to the Police Department for processing. There’s nothing more I can do.” He turned around.
“You arrested the wrong person.” Flynn stepped forward. “She didn’t steal anything. She couldn’t possibly be a prostitute. Can’t you know just by looking at her?”
The man whirled and glared. His voice lowered. “You need to leave now. Forget about the girl.”
“Are you completely corrupt, or just deaf? Or perhaps incompetent?”
How in the world does someone this stupid make it into power positions? He must have taken lessons from my former commanding officer.
“I warned you, boy.” He grabbed Flynn’s elbow.
Even though the man’s grip wasn’t hard, the pressure of a stranger’s hand felt like an iron vice, shredding his rational control. Trained instinct took over. In a flash, Flynn grasped the man’s fingers and bent his wrist back until he cried out. Then Flynn let go.
“Don’t…touch me.”
As the official rubbed his wrist, the clerk behind the desk rose out of his chair and picked up the receiver. When Flynn turned toward the official, the barrel of a pistol nearly touched his nose. A sweaty slick of the man’s hair dangled over his forehead, and he panted with a vicious glare. “Leave. Now.”
Flynn focused on the gun. Governments do no operate on common sense. They certainly don’t.
This problem couldn’t be solved with rational behavior, at least not with this madman. He was part of the problem. But there were other avenues to pursue this. And when the gun was out of his face, he’d determine the next step.
Flynn raised his hands and moved to the door. The official’s gun followed him with every step. Flynn grabbed the handle. “By the way, your safety is still on.”
The air grew thicker in the short time Flynn was in the customs building. And hotter. The scent of urban rain hung in the clouds, signaling an upcoming downpour. Flynn’s feet carried him away from the insanity of the cor
rupt officer. By the time he recognized where he was—counting each of his steps as he went—the Yacht Club’s upscale façade stared at him.
He should go to the hotel and crash for the night. Call his father to fill him in on the details. Dean’s voice practically reverberated in his mind to forget about this and do anything to catch the flight home tomorrow. Flynn shook his head.
He knew the truth. The wrong person was arrested, and was now in the center of an international mess—possibly a conspiracy. A young, beautiful angel in the hands of some ruthless people, no doubt, wouldn’t stand a chance. Knowing her, she’d fight back of course. But how could she stand up to all of them alone? That light, that fire, in her eyes would burn out like a snuffed candle. A coconut scented candle.
Flynn moved past the entrance and approached the docks, still counting steps. Dozens of yachts floated in the small bay, their running lights reflecting off the waters like fireflies. Seagulls perched themselves on the concrete rock barriers, watching for unsuspecting fish to draw near.
Breezy Dreams anchored a few hundred feet out in the bay. A dream, indeed. She was a beautiful boat with clean lines, made even more perfect with a pair of the most powerful engines made for her class, thanks to Flynn’s adjustments.
He searched the marina, cataloguing the boats he recognized from coming into port. A new boat sat in the refueling dock, its running lights on and pumps working. Another beauty. Slightly smaller than Breezy Dreams, maybe a ninety-footer, with gold trim and state-of-the-art satellite communications perched on the roof. A cheap tender floated at the stern that didn’t match the paint job on the bigger vessel.
Odd. Spend that much money on a luxury yacht without a matching tender?
A man in a black suit and sunglasses stood under a spotlight next to the newer yacht, pacing the length of the ship.
Sunglasses at night. Such a cliché.
A small entourage of men in matching suits entered through a private gate, and moved down the docks to the awaiting yacht. Taller men surrounded two individuals, except one was a woman, short with dark hair.
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