by Daniel Gage
A soft rap on his door caught his attention, and Leonard looked up to see Felicity standing in his office’s entrance.
“You’re here late, Boss,” she said, a gentle smile on her face. “Leaving soon?”
Leonard couldn’t help but return the gesture. Felicity was one of his newer employees, a young woman a year out of college and still full of life. The world hadn’t beaten her down yet, and she was still optimistic for the future.
He saw a lot of his daughter in her, and sometimes he noticed the father in him come out when he worked with her. While she was very beautiful, he never felt the lust that most of the men in the office showed when they leered at her. Maybe it was the age, or the meds, or something else, but her flesh wasn’t something he ever desired.
But there was something he wanted that she had.
That look in her eyes, that showed life was worth living.
“Soon,” Leonard said. “Just expecting a call.”
Felicity tilted her head to one side, and her smile grew. “It’s freezing out there; don’t catch a cold. See you in the morning.”
And like that, she was gone.
Leonard turned back to the phone and sent a reply.
Almost.
He stood up and grabbed his cane, looking out again into the office. The last employee had packed up his belongings and was heading to the door, his phone already to his ear.
Leonard checked his watch again.
7:31.
The cleaning crew would be arriving around 8:00, but he would be done by then. It would only take a few minutes.
He hobbled his way around the office, making certain it was empty. Just because he had made up his mind didn’t mean he wanted someone questioning him, or worse, busting him too soon. And he didn’t want to accidentally make anyone else liable for his actions.
Once he was satisfied that he was alone, Leonard limped his way to the back of the office, to a door locked by badge and retina scanners. He swiped his badge, and leaned in for the retina scan. After that was the complete, the lock clicked, and Leonard opened the door.
He found it funny that, despite the amount of trust his company had in him, with the level of access he had, they still kicked him to the side whenever it was time for recognition.
And as he slowly made his way through the racks of servers and routers, Leonard realized his company was to blame just as much as he was, if not more so. The hollow thump of his cane on the raised floor was the sound of retribution, revenge.
How dare they piss all over him, and still ask more and more of his last few years and failing health? The long, stressful hours had taken their toll. Exercise was a pipe dream, and eating healthy was a challenge. Hell, keeping a regular sleep schedule was impossible.
Fuck them. Fuck them all. Even if this was a con, a trick, they deserved to be ripped off, to have their security and wealthy customers compromised.
Leonard actually wondered if he would do this if the promise of Second-Life wasn’t on the table.
He wanted to think that, yes, he would. But even he knew it was a lie, that he wouldn’t have the balls to do it otherwise.
No, he needed someone to push him into this. That would be something he’d need to change about himself, if he really did become the next prince of Monaco.
As he stood in front of the server he sought out, he tried out the name.
“Leonard, Prince of Monaco,” he whispered.
Wait, Leonard wasn’t going to be his name anymore. And they didn’t speak English in Monaco. Or did they? He’d have to learn a new language. New parents. New … everything.
Better everything.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the thumb drive that had been hidden there all day. He kept it hidden in his palm before twirling it in his grasp. This little device was his ticket out of here.
His watch said 7:37. The program he wrote should be disabling the server’s default security within the minute.
7:38. He inserted the thumb drive, and the LED light flashed red twice. His heart stopped, then suddenly, it turned a solid green.
A small smile creased his face, and seconds later, the alarms blared, filling the large room with a deafening sound.
Leonard laughed. He couldn’t hear himself over the noise, but he felt it rumble deep in his belly.
He did it. There was no going back. No matter what happened, he’d done it, probably the biggest risk he’s ever taken in his entire pathetic life.
And Leonard continued to laugh, even after security hauled him away.
CHAPTER 12
“It’s late,” Emma said into her phone. “I’m going to find a place to sleep in Boston and head back to Washington in the morning.”
“Okay, Emma,” Michael said. “You still owe me that drink. And you’d better not be doing what I think you’re doing there.”
“No, Michael,” Emma said as she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be back in town tomorrow.”
She ended the call before he could reply.
Depending on his mood when she got back, it was possible Emma would hear about it to no end. That was the problem when their chain of command went through a single person. Even though Michael wasn’t her boss, their superiors worked through him. He couldn’t fire or issue any disciplinary action to her, but he could to the rest of the office.
But Michael may as well have had that authority, with how her actual boss managed their division in such a hands-off manner.
The two had parted ways in Paris, as Emma wouldn’t leave her car in Boston. At least that’s what she told Michael. She could have easily had another agent pick it up. Or had a service drive it down.
Truth was, she needed to talk to Cameron again. That note meant he was somehow involved in this, though she couldn’t figure out how. What would a low-level felon from Boston have to do with the birthright theft of the royal family of Monaco? The two couldn’t be farther apart. It made no sense at all.
It had been well over an hour since she left the airport, and judging from the time of day, she assumed Cameron should be ending his shift and arriving home.
She was right. After a few more minutes of waiting, she saw him.
Emma gave him a few steps before getting out of her car. She figured he would be on edge after his ordeal, hyperalert to his surroundings. She knew she had been on more than one occasion, where the slightest creak in the middle of the night sent her rolling out of her bed in a tactical crouch as she grabbed her gun from her nightstand.
The street was otherwise empty, with long rows of parked cars on either side of it. She parked far enough in the opposite direction of the hover station, and his arrival, so she could easily survey the area before moving.
As she approached Cameron, she observed that he was walking with his head down and his hands tucked in his pockets. He didn’t seem the most aware of what was going on around him, but he was likely processing a lot from his recent experiences, on top of fatigue. She couldn’t blame him for not paying attention.
“Cameron Briggs,” she called as he got closer.
He stopped in his tracks and looked up. Emma assumed he was going to bolt in the opposite direction, but instead, he seemed more curious than scared.
“Pants Suit,” he finally said. His tone and body language didn’t hide his displeasure at the surprise visit. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said as she slowly approached the man. She had to focus on the task at hand to ignore the blatant disrespect, lest she shove him away even farther. “We got off on the wrong foot, and there’s more for us to discuss.”
Cameron frowned as he looked around, as if he suddenly decided to be aware of his surroundings. When he seemed satisfied, he continued.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “I haven’t done anything for you to be curious about, and I’ve got nothing that would help you with your case. Leave me alone.”
Emma shook her head and chose her words carefully. This was the moment sh
e either gained Cameron’s trust or lost him forever.
“Cameron, at the hospital, that mark I saw on your back. Can I see it again?” Emma asked.
“A woman typically has to buy me a drink first to get my shirt off,” he said as he quirked an eyebrow. “Besides, it’s a bit cold to be undressing outdoors. What’s this about? I think I deserve to know why you’re so interested in me.”
“That’s fair,” Emma said. “Cameron, have you heard of birthright theft? Second-Life?”
“It’s a nice fantasy, being able to live again. And, of course, makes for interesting conversation after a few drinks. Plenty of people claim to have pulled it off, but you’d think they’d pick a better life, where they don’t end up in prison,” he said, frowning. “What do I have to do with any of that?”
“It’s about that birthmark,” Emma said. “I’ll need to see it before I tell you more.”
Cameron looked like he was about to talk, but instead, something seemed to catch his interest. His head perked up, and he again scanned his surroundings. Emma looked too, but didn’t see anything.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t know—Look out!”
Emma didn’t react fast enough, as a pair of shooters materialized out of the shadows and opened fire.
Thankfully, Cameron did.
He grabbed her and pulled her to the ground as bullets struck the wall behind where she had just been standing. Now behind a wall of cars, the pair had momentary cover, but not for long.
So fast, she thought. He’s impossibly fast.
“We’ve got to move,” Cameron said as more bullets riddled the cars. “There’s more than two of them. You have a car?”
“Around the corner,” Emma said, drawing her gun. “Ready to run?”
“Don’t have a choice,” he growled.
Bullets shredded the line of parked cars, providing them little cover as they ran.
The only thing that gave them some relief was distance, and Emma wondered how they had both survived so far. All she had was her sidearm, and their attackers, however many there were, were using automatic weapons, judging by the amount of metal that was flying through the air. It was almost as if they were less concerned about hitting her and Cameron, and instead, were focused on how warm they could make their gun barrels.
While it only took a few seconds to reach the street corner, it felt like several long minutes. Emma was usually the one initiating the firefights and street chases with heavier firepower than a Walther PPK, not fleeing for her life.
It wasn’t until she rounded the corner that she realized she had made a grave mistake.
Emma charged around the corner and directly into the sights of two men holding handguns. They were standing near her car, and by their stance, it seemed they were waiting for her.
She was moving too fast. Emma couldn’t stop, let alone change her direction or aim her weapon.
The shooters had her dead to rights, and there wasn’t enough time to do anything about it.
But she didn’t account for Cameron.
As the shooters fired, Cameron shoved her from the bullets’ path. She fell into the side of a car, but she was alive. And so was Cameron.
Later, she would guess that the bullets missed him by mere inches, all six of them.
Yet he used his check into Emma to change his momentum, and before a seventh shot was fired, Cameron dashed in, grabbing the first shooter by the throat. He lifted him about a foot off the ground, and using his forward motion, slammed the man into the concrete.
But he wasn’t fast enough for the second shooter. He appeared to be trained, as he took two steps away and refocused his target on Cameron.
Emma, however, did more than just watch.
She had found her target and opened fire before the second shooter saw what she was doing. Three rounds hit him square in the chest, and he went down.
“Nice shot,” Cameron said as he regained his footing. “Which car?”
“Blue one,” she said. “How did you do that?”
“Later,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Emma moved to the driver’s side door and pulled on the handle, only to be greeted by a loud buzz.
“Error,” her car’s computerized voice announced. “Error. Driver unrecognizable. Please use master key.”
“Shit,” she swore as she kicked the door. “They must have hacked my car. My key isn’t working. Goddammit!”
“Move,” Cameron said. He pulled a small device from his pocket and pressed it to the door handle.
“Erro—” the car said again, before a click.
“How—”
“I used to boost cars,” Cameron said as he threw open the driver’s door and sat behind the wheel. “I’m driving; get in.”
“It’s my car!” Emma protested.
“My city,” he answered.
“Error,” the car repeated. “Unknown driver. Calibrating.”
“No, you’re not,” Cameron said to the car as he placed the device on the steering column.
“Override accepted,” the car said. “Enabling manual drive.”
“Aren’t those illegal?” Emma asked as she climbed into the passenger seat.
“Your point?”
“Then how—”
“Can we save the questions until after we’re not being shot at?” Cameron asked, obviously irritated as he slammed the car into gear.
As they pulled out onto the street, a salvo of rifle fire struck her car, piercing the back window and trunk.
It didn’t deter Cameron, as he took off down the narrow Boston streets at a speed Emma would have never been comfortable with. She was thankful the traffic seemed lighter than when she first arrived, but Cameron also lived on the fringes of Boston, nowhere near the tourist attractions that the center of the city held. Pedestrians were at a minimum, even less so than other vehicles.
A squeal of tires behind them signaled that it wasn’t going to be an easy escape.
Emma looked back through the rear window and saw two additional vehicles only a few hundred yards away. They drove like the suspects had in Prague, speeding down roads and drifting around corners. But then, Cam was driving the same way, with the deft skill of a professional racer.
But Emma saw the similarities. They all drove like them.
“Dealers,” she whispered.
“What?” Cameron asked.
“Nothing,” Emma said. She turned back to Cameron. “Can you lose them?”
“Maybe,” he said. “You have anything bigger than your pea shooter?”
“In the trunk,” she said as Cameron took another sharp turn. “I may be able to get through the backseat, if you can drive straight for a sec.”
“Hope you don’t get motion sickness,” Cameron said as he sped around another corner, causing the tires to skip along the pavement.
Emma climbed into the rear of the car despite being jostled around twice by Cameron’s reckless, but necessary, driving. With a few tugs, she worked the switch and lowered the back seat, exposing an opening to the trunk.
Gunfire caused her to duck her head, though only a few bullets struck the car. The streets weren’t long enough, nor straight enough, for them to line up a shot. But there weren’t enough obstacles for them to escape.
She reached into the trunk, felt around, and came up with her submachine gun. It wasn’t meant for long range, rather for close quarters and room clearing. But with her head constantly banging against the back upholstery, and the sharp cornering, it was the best she could grab. Latched to it was a pouch with two extra magazines, giving her a total of ninety rounds.
As Emma climbed back into the front of the car, Cameron slammed on the brakes, causing her to fall awkwardly in her seat. He turned the wheel sharply, but wasn’t at the end of a street. Instead, an alley seemed to materialize between two buildings, and he angled his turn just right to gun it into the narrow opening.
Their pursuers came within inches of rammin
g their car, but their mistake cost them precious seconds, and Cameron extended their lead.
“If you can get us on a straight stretch of road,” Emma said, checking her gun, “I can return fire.”
Cameron didn’t answer, but instead hit the brakes as they neared the end of the alley, pulling another sharp turn to get them back onto the open street, narrowly missing two passing cars.
“Shit,” he said as the car slowed. “How about a dead stop?”
Emma looked ahead and saw a wall of cars blocking their path. It looked like there had been an accident in the intersection, and the police and paramedics were attempting to deal with the mess. Lights flashed, and even the sidewalks were blocked off.
Cameron jerked the wheel sharply, pulling off a quick U-turn. But instead of flooring the accelerator and heading back the way he came, he paused.
“Get ready,” he said.
Emma didn’t need to ask why. She rolled down her window and leaned out, taking aim.
It only took a moment for the first car to appear. It was going too fast to take the sharp turn, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes to accommodate. Unfortunately for them, it made them the perfect target.
Emma pulled the trigger, sending a hail of hot metal flying at the car. They weren’t large rounds, and had they been fired from her handgun, they probably wouldn’t have pierced the windshield. But she was experienced with the automatic weapon, and her accuracy was true.
The bullets centered on the driver’s side. She couldn’t know for certain if she hit her target, but the way the car slowly started to drift forward was a good indicator that they wouldn’t be pursued.
“Got him!” Emma cried triumphantly.
Cameron slammed on the gas as she pulled herself back in the car. They flew by the alley entrance, just narrowly missing their second chaser, and shrill voices coming from the accident. She prayed they wouldn’t have the police after them, now.
“Now what?” Emma replaced the magazine in her MP5. “I’ve got two mags left.”
“I’ve got an idea,” he said, but didn’t elaborate.
It was faint, but Emma heard it. Sirens. The police had mobilized.