by Daniel Gage
“I see,” she said, worried that she betrayed her disappointment.
Seemed Cam was just another rumor, with a bartender hoping to make a quick buck from passing along weak intel.
“Is that all, Agent Jennings?” Cam asked again.
“Yes, Cameron Briggs,” she said. “That’s all.”
**********
Emma held her composure as she exited the room, and gave her best scowl as she passed Sergeant Mullins.
“He wouldn’t talk to me either,” she said. “I don’t think he’ll trust any of us.”
“Too bad,” the sergeant said. “Would have liked to have known how he took down five armed guys.”
“Mind if I keep the file?” she asked. “If I learn anything else, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Mullins eyed her, as if he was trying to figure out if she could find out something new, or if she was lying about reporting back to him. But he finally nodded.
“Sure, I’ve got a few copies,” Mullins said. “And anyone in that file not named Cameron Briggs won’t be talking anytime soon, if at all.”
“Thanks,” Emma said. “Any idea when Cameron will be cut loose?”
“Probably within the hour,” the sergeant said.
Emma nodded and turned, making her way to the elevator, hoping she hadn’t shown too much of her hand.
But her phone rang before she reached the call. It was Michael. She reluctantly answered.
“Where the hell are you?” Michael said.
“Hello to you too,” Emma replied. “What do you need? I’m about to get in the car.”
“Are you in Boston?” he said. It sounded like he was pacing furiously, something Emma knew he did when he felt he wasn’t in control. “The Unborn intel was bad. Didn’t Colton tell you?”
“No, he didn’t,” Emma said, but she left out the part that Colton hadn’t been able to reach Michael about it. “But yeah, it was bogus. Just a weird scar.”
“It happens,” Michael said, his voice considerably more calm. “But we’ve got a job. The royal family of Monaco had an incident, something with the princess. She’s pregnant, and … well, I’ll fill you in. We’re flying out now.”
“Book my flight from Boston,” Emma replied. She unlocked her car and sat behind the wheel. “Meet you in Paris?”
“Works for me,” Michael said. “I’ll send you the flight details. See you soon.”
So much for Cam being something special. But at least they had another job, another family to protect.
CHAPTER 8
Leonard wasted no time in downing his first glass of whiskey.
“Another,” he said as soon as his voice was back.
“Rough day?” the bartender asked as he poured him another drink.
“You could say that,” Leonard said as he went to work on his second round.
“Want to talk about it?” the bartender asked. The New York dive bar was mostly empty, aside from a lonely patron down at the end of the bar bent over his drink, and he otherwise seemed bored.
The quiet was one of the reasons Leonard chose this place. He found it by mistake when he took the wrong hover exit one evening. That, and it was far enough from his office that the risk of running into a coworker was low.
The décor was sparse, and the pair of old televisions struggled to focus on whatever sports were playing, but he guessed people didn’t come here for the ambiance. Leonard never had the time to watch sports, let alone television and movies. Everything was about his job, his career.
Leonard figured the bartender would try to work him for a larger tip. But, if Leonard was being honest, it would be nice to have someone to unload on. Not many people liked hearing him whine.
“Well, this cold spell is killing my arm and leg,” he said, motioning to his mangled limbs. “And I got passed up for yet another promotion.”
“Damn, that sucks,” the bartender said just before the bar’s phone rang. “Excuse me.”
Leonard finished his drink and waited for the bartender to come back and pour him a third.
“What happened to your leg and arm?” the man at the end of the bar asked, looking up from his drink.
Leonard turned and really looked at the man for the first time. He had assumed he was a drunk, the way he wasn’t moving and hovering over his glass, but now that Leonard paid attention to him, he realized the man was anything but.
He had a close haircut and a few days’ worth of stubble, and while dressed very unassumingly, the clothing didn’t appear cheap or threadbare. Quite the opposite, actually. The man’s coat, T-shirt, and jeans almost appeared new.
“An accident, back in college,” Leonard said. “Got T-boned in an intersection by someone running a red light.”
“A drunk driver?” the man asked.
“Seventeen-year-old girl sending a text.” Leonard groaned. “She was fine, of course.”
“Of course,” the man said as he nodded. “Did you ever try to get cybernetics?”
“Yeah, several times,” Leonard said. He made a spiraling motion with one finger around his arm as he continued. “But the way they healed, there are veins or something wrapped up all funny, and no doctor would touch them.”
“That’s terrible,” the man said. “Here, let me get your next round. What are you drinking?”
“Whiskey, neat.”
The man had gotten up and moved near Leonard, close enough for Leonard to smell his cologne. It was a brand he was familiar with; it was the same all the vice presidents and higher used at his company.
“Bartender!” the man called. “Two rounds of whiskey, neat. The good stuff.”
**********
“And he just kept yelling at me about his phone,” the man said over his fourth whiskey, “telling me he lost it, that he thinks I stole it. All the while, his buddies are trying to pull him back, saying I didn’t do anything with it. Not only was he holding it in his hand the entire time, when I snatched it from him and gave it back, he was so grateful, he bought me a round!”
Leonard laughed. It felt good to laugh, to talk about something other than work. To talk to someone else as a human, a friend. He gave so much to his job that he had forgotten what it was like.
“Come on,” the man said, slapping the table. “You have to have some sort of story. Something funny or entertaining has to have happened to you recently.”
“Not really,” Leonard said after sipping from his drink. “I work too many hours a day, then I drink the rest. Gave my life to my career, the bastards.”
“Bastards?” the man said, taken aback. “If you’re spending that much time there, surely they’re taking care of you?”
“Nope,” Leonard said. “Got passed up again for a promotion. They don’t seem to promote aging cripples into positions of leadership.”
“That’s horrible,” the man said. “Let me guess, someone younger, better-looking, and prettier to put in front of a board room.”
Leonard nodded and downed the rest of his drink. The man signaled for two more.
“But what can I do except keep trying?” Leonard said. He set his empty glass down a little too hard on the table, and he feared it left an imprint in the old wood. “I already gave them my best years. Not like I can start over.”
The man was silent as the bartender brought them another round of whiskey.
“What if,” he finally said, “you could start over?”
Leonard fell back against the padded back of the booth they had moved to between their second and third round. Starting over, at his age? Impossible. Too close to retirement to even think of picking up a new skill, or starting at the bottom of another corporation.
“It’s a nice fantasy, but I’m too old,” Leonard said. “And I ache enough as it is. The medication I need … it isn’t cheap. I couldn’t start over someplace else. No, I couldn’t. I’m … I’m trapped.”
“But, Leonard,” the man said, “you don’t have to be. You could have a second chance. A second life.
”
“A second life …?” Leonard asked. The alcohol must be making him hear things. It sounded like the man was suggesting—
“That’s correct,” the man said. “You could start over. And be something more.”
“Wait,” Leonard said. “Wait. I don’t remember telling you my name. Who ... who are you?”
“I’m someone who can make your dreams come true, but people refer to me as Dealer X. What if I said you could have another sixty, seventy, eighty years added to your life? A life with no pain, no mangled limbs from an accident, and a life where you would never have to worry about a promotion.”
Second-Life. Leonard had heard the rumors, read a few blogs about it, but didn’t think it was real. And now, in front of him, a stranger in a bar he only sometimes frequented, seemed to be making him the offer of a lifetime. No, two lifetimes.
“What are you saying?” Leonard asked. “Do you mean—”
“Shh,” Dealer X said as he held a finger up to his lips. “Not so loud; there are ears everywhere. But yes, that’s what I mean. I can give that to you.”
“Why me?” Leonard asked. He leaned back in the booth, looking at the man across from him in disbelief. “I don’t have anything. I don’t even have enough to retire on time, this stupid medication—”
“There’s a small cash portion, yes, but it won’t be anything you can’t afford,” the dealer whispered, leaning across the table. “But before I tell you the price you’d have to pay, I want you to understand something. You wouldn’t just be reborn. You’d be royalty. A prince. A prince born with all your memories and experiences. Imagine the possibilities. Imagine the wealth, the women, the luxury.”
Leonard, a prince? Royalty? He never dreamed of it. Being the third child born in a lower-class family wasn’t exactly easy, and many times, in his youth, he went to bed hungry. He fought tooth and nail for everything he had, but he always felt like he was only treading water, barely managing to stay afloat.
But to start over, really start over, and have it all from the beginning … what would that be like? Especially if he retained all his memories, and remembered this life? He often wondered what reliving his youth would be like, knowing what he knew now.
“I’ve got so many questions …” Leonard muttered.
“And we can get to those, once we have a deal,” the man said.
“What would you want from me?” Leonard asked, shaking his head. “I have nothing to offer. Nothing of value.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Dealer X said with a slight grin. “You do have something I want. Specifically, something you can get for me.”
“What is it?” Leonard asked.
The man took a drink. “Does that mean we have a deal?”
Leonard paused, took a long breath, then nodded.
The dealer smiled.
“You work for Global Financial Partners, correct?”
A puzzled look crossed Leonard’s face. “How …? Never mind; yes, I do.”
He figured there was no point. This Dealer X seemed to know plenty about him.
“Good,” Dealer X said. “You have access to something we want. And once you can get it for us, we’ll be able to help you, Prince. I assume this won’t be a problem.”
Leonard mulled over the man’s words for a moment, then grinned.
“Of course not. I have no problem getting you anything you want from them.”
Dealer X raised his glass. “To new beginnings.”
CHAPTER 9
Emma awoke with a gasp, startling her seatmate. The lady was at least polite enough to not make a comment, but instead gave Emma a look that showed either concern or annoyance. Emma was too wired to care.
She hoped she hadn’t screamed while she slept this time. That would have been more than embarrassing for the long flight to Paris, and now more than ever, she was glad she wasn’t sharing the flight with Michael Sapien.
**********
She landed in Paris during the day. So while waiting for their connecting flight to Nice, Emma couldn’t get a moment of rest. The well-lit terminal was anything but silent, and the only thing Emma couldn’t figure out was why Michael wasn’t as tired.
“Used to it,” Michael said between bites of his sandwich. “That and I didn’t run off to Boston on an empty whim. You sure you’re not hungry?”
Emma just replied with a grunt, and counted the minutes until their flight to Nice. At least on that flight, she estimated she got a quarter of an hour of uninterrupted sleep.
But by the time they got their car to head to Monaco, rest became the last thing on Emma’s mind. Her thoughts circled around the conversation with the man from Monaco, and what could have happened to the princess. There were some files and video waiting for them, and understandably, the guard had been vague.
It was likely the mother had been tagged, but Emma could confirm that if she was allowed access to the princess. Each major dealer had their own unique signature for their tags, but they all let off the same tell-tale electronic pulse once it tagged the unborn child. The small device she always packed for these appointments could easily read it.
The complicated part was with how it attached itself to the fetus. Once the tag reached the child, it propagates like a virus; a couple of Emma’s earliest cases wasted way too much time on trying to separate the child from the tag.
So far, technology hadn’t caught up to handle the dealers’ tags. Thankfully, they were harmless, at least on their own.
“What’s with you?” Michael asked, breaking Emma’s train of thought. “This place is beautiful. And you’re staring at your lap.”
“I know, I know,” she said, shaking her head. “Just trying to figure out our plan for talking to the royal family. We’ve never tried to convince such a high-profile target.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Michael said nonchalantly. “They’ll either accept our offer or not. No point in stressing about it. Besides, they called us, didn’t they?”
“No point …?” Emma asked, shocked. “This is huge. We can’t let the dealers take this one. Just because they called us doesn’t mean we have the contract. If they turn us down, we may still have to investigate and deal with it, and still not get paid. How can you not be stressed about it?”
“Why? I’ll tell you why,” Michael snapped, his hands tensing so hard that the wheel jerked, causing the car to swerve within its lane. “Because this job isn’t everything, Emma. You can’t hang everything on it. There’re more important things.”
“Yeah, but this is our job,” Emma countered. “We need to give a damn. If you want a job you don’t have to care about, go flip burgers.”
A low, guttural growl boiled in Michael’s chest, but he didn’t say another word on the subject.
It took Emma a few moments to recover from the spat. Generally, Michael was a good man, a hard worker, but lately, his focus had been elsewhere. The reputation he held in such high esteem hadn’t had a single victory in years, but he still used his past to defend his actions like it was yesterday.
Emma’s colleague occupied her thoughts longer than she had anticipated, and next thing she knew, they had pulled up to the royal palace.
“Okay, Michael, game face,” Emma said. “Pretend like you give a damn.”
Michael shot her a dirty look, but released it once he opened the door.
The pair made it about five steps from the car before guards had descended upon them. Emma was surprised it took that long.
“Excuse me, but please state your business,” the man who appeared to be their leader said. He spoke with a French accent, but his English was spot on. His uniform was more decorated, more elaborate, but what set him apart was that he held himself with a higher posture than the rest of his team.
“Yes, I’m Agent Sapien, and this is Agent Jennings,” Michael said, channeling an air of confidence that rivaled the lead guard. “We have an appointment with the royal family.”
Both agents handed over thei
r credentials, which the guard took.
While he examined their IDs, Emma took a moment to scan her surroundings. The half dozen guards had appeared out of nowhere, but their uniforms suggested that they were more for presentation. She figured that for a ruse; Emma could see the assortment of weapons hidden on each person, let alone the obvious rifles slung over their shoulders.
“Agent Sapien, Agent Jennings, I apologize, but you won’t be meeting with the royal family,” the guard said after he returned their badges.
“What!” Emma protested, but the guard silenced her with a single gesture.
“You’ll be meeting with me, instead,” he said. “My name is Olivier, and I’m the head of security for the royal family. It was I who spoke to you on the phone. Come, let’s talk in my office. Prying eyes out here.”
They followed Olivier, and the guards fell into step behind them. Olivier led the group to a nondescript building to the side of the palace, one that would be easily overlooked next to the royal estate.
As they entered, the guards resumed their duties, leaving Emma and Michael alone with Olivier. Olivier guided them to a small, sparsely decorated but well-organized office. He sat behind the desk, and motioned for Emma and Michael to take a seat.
“So, you’re from the Agency of Family Continuity,” Olivier said as he settled on the edge of his chair. “We weren’t sure if you were the people we needed to talk to, but after the unusual incident, we had conversations with other families. So, tell me why I should think of what happened as a threat to the unborn child?”
Emma exchanged a glance with Michael. “Yes, that’s correct,” she said. “We can’t say there’s a threat until you show us the evidence you have. We’ve seen our fair share of false alarms, and we don’t want to mislead you.”
Olivier leaned forward onto the desk, his eyes moving back and forth between Michael and Emma. “Okay,” he said. “About a week ago, a doctor arrived in replacement for our usual doctor. He said all the right things and appeared to have the correct credentials. But he injected … something into her. She said it hurt, but then the pain passed. Our doctor showed up after being detained at the airport for false charges, and he couldn’t find anything wrong with her.”