The Monarch

by Jack Soren

  LEW 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.

  RAIDEN PIONEER 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 fin
gers 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.

  PART FIVE

  Tuesday

  33

  Unknown

  JONATHAN SNAPPED HIS head up and fought the inky tendrils trying to drag him back down into the darkness. His cheek ached where the Australian had pistol-­whipped him. He tried to reach up to feel his wound but handcuffs running through the metal arms of his chair prevented him from moving his hands more than a few inches. He gripped the arms and pulled as hard as he could, but they wouldn’t budge. The chair didn’t rock either, apparently bolted to the concrete floor under his feet.

  He bent his head down so he could touch his wound. It had crusted over and was already healing. He’d been out for at least a day, something that no pistol-­whipping could accomplish. He’d been drugged.

  The fuzz rapidly lifting from his senses, he looked around the dimly lighted cavern he was in. It was huge, empty and lit only by emergency lighting. The air was hot and smelled moist and salty.

  Streamers of wiring hung from the ceiling, both power lines and blue CAT–5 computer network cabling. Whatever had been here had sucked a lot of power and had been computerized.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Hall,” a man’s voice boomed out above him from speakers. He involuntarily looked up, but the ceiling was so high and it was so dim he couldn’t see anything. “May I call you Jonathan?”

  “No, you may not,” Jonathan said. He winced as the act of speaking made his head pound even more. “What you may do is get me out of this fucking chair.”

  “John, John the leprechaun. One shoe off and one shoe on,” the voice said. Jonathan frowned at the nonsense.

  “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

  Muffled voices argued over the loudspeaker. A man and a woman. A disconcerting giggle. More muffled voices, then the female voice said: “Just give him the shot!”

  After that, minutes passed with no sound at all except Jonathan’s own heartbeat, which felt like it was in his eye sockets.

  “Apologies, Mr. Hall,” the male voice said a few minutes later. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

  Jonathan remained silent and still. He’d tried bending this way and that, leveraging here and pulling there, but he was too well secured. Physically, he was at their mercy. Mentally, he might have the edge.

  “First, allow me to introduce myself,” the voice said. A light snapped on in a large window high overhead. The light streamed down, spotlighting Jonathan. He squinted and turned his head away slightly. “My name is Nathan Kring, this is my island, and I’m the one responsible for finding you—­for finding The Monarch.”

  As Jonathan’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, figures took shape in the window. A seated man dressed in black looked down at him. Behind the seated man was a tall, slender woman with striking bone-­white hair.

  Island. That explained the sea air, but it still didn’t tell him where he was or why he was here. Jonathan remained silent, getting the definite sense that Nathan was waiting for a reaction. After a minute or two of waiting, Nathan continued.

  “Yes, well, I would have preferred this meeting to be more cordial, but your hidden identity made that impossible. Nevertheless, on to business. I have a job for you, Mr. Hall. A job you are uniquely experienced to perform. I want you to steal something for me from the Canton George estate. An easy task since The Monarch already robbed Mr. George. Once you’ve done that, you’ll be free to go and handsomely rewarded, of course.”

  Canton George? Jonathan suddenly wished he’d pushed Lew harder back in the hotel room, not that it would have helped. Lew was a bulldog in a lot of ways, but if Jonathan was here because of that failed job, he had even more problems than he’d thought he had a moment ago.

  “You really need to say something. Acting like a petulant child is not the response I expected from The Monarch.” Jonathan could hear the disappointment in Nathan’s voice.

  Did he really think I’d congratulate him for finding me?

  “That’s probably because I’m not The Monarch. I have no idea who you’re talking about or why you think—­”

  “Please. You were taken from the press conference about The Monarch. And let’s just say I’ve gone to great expense to verify you are, indeed, who I think you are. Great expense. And I’ve done things no one else had the . . . wherewithal to do. I know you’re The Monarch, just as I know you’ll help me.”

  Cocky bastard.

  “Hey, I just saw a crowd and wandered in to see what was going on.”

  “Fine,” the voice said, obviously perturbed. “You leave me no choice.”

  Jonathan didn’t care what he did, there was nothing that would make him—­

  Ooga chaka . . . ooga chaka . . . ooga chaka. . .

  Jonathan felt a chill race down his arms and legs as his breathing deepened.

  No, it can’t be.

  “You should really answer that. It might be important,” Nathan said, derision dripping from his voice.

  Jonathan leaned down so his handcuffed hand could reach his pocket. The name on the call display sent a chill through him. He pressed send.

  “Is there anything a father wouldn’t do to protect his child?”

  It was a woman’s voice. Jonathan looked up and saw the woman behind Nathan holding a phone to her ear. Then a light in another window snapped on. Natalie stood there alone; a blindfold covered her eyes and headphones were over her ears.

  Jonathan lost it. No training in the world could have prepared him to handle the shock his system took seeing his little girl blindfolded in this place. He pulled at the handcuffs, slammed his back against the chair, and flailed his legs out like an animal caught in a trap.

  “You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you. I’ll kill every motherfucking one of you!” Jonathan continued to struggle for a few minutes before his adrenaline eased, allowing him to stop thrashing. With exhaustion came defeat. The rage left him, replaced by the rawest, purest angst he’d ever felt in his life.

  “Please settle down, Mr. Hall. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up. And then I’ll have no reason at all to keep young Natalie alive.”

  Despair overtook his angst, tears blurring his vision.

  “She . . . she’s just a kid. Leave her alone. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “Oh, but she’s got everything to do with this. She is going to be my honored guest while you complete your task. She’s my little insurance policy to make sure you don’t run off to some corner of the world and disappear. Now, do we have a
deal? Will you take the job?”

  All Jonathan could think about was what Natalie must be going through. There was little else he could say.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  34

  Hemingway Hotel

  New York City

  12:45 A.M. Local Time

  “CHECK UNDER THE beds,” Lew said. He’d gone through the bedroom already, but hotel rooms had a habit of eating socks and paperback novels. He didn’t want any evidence remaining that they’d ever been there.

  He’d packed both his and Jonathan’s belongings; his in a khaki duffel bag; Jonathan’s in a large messenger-­style, black leather shoulder bag. A shopping bag full of their disposable items—­bottles, cups, wrappers, and newspapers—­sat by the door. He’d dump it on their way out.

  Lew cinched his duffel bag closed by the room’s sofa, noticing a strange hesitation in Emily’s movements. She was an odd woman; filled with potential and the instincts of a private detective—­which was obvious from the details she’d dug up for her book—­but something had happened, either to her or in her. Everything she did was tentative and unsure. Lew found it an attractive thing to watch, but he imagined it must have been hell to live that way.

  As he watched her, he realized that without meaning to, his eyes were wandering up and down her body. He caught himself and shook his head to clear his thoughts. There was no time for that.

  Besides, she’s smart. She’d never go for someone like—­

  Lew stopped his wondering when he saw her do something strange. She picked up one of the pillows and pressed it to her face, like she was smelling it. Lew turned away before she caught him looking, but he couldn’t help wondering whose scent she was trying to capture.

  “Everything okay in there?” Lew said, keeping his gaze away from the room, busying himself with tidying things by the front door. He picked up the last bottle of Canadian Club and saw it still had a finger’s worth of amber fluid in its base. He spun the cap off and slugged it back, the burn as it rode down making him feel better. Without Jonny around, he thought way too much.