The Seven Sequels bundle

by Orca Various

  “I need the room now, sir.”

  I looked at my watch. It was almost eleven o’clock!

  “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep. We’ll be right out.”

  “Quickly, please, sir. The maid will be here soon to make up the room for the regular guests.”

  I flicked on the light, and Charlie jumped to her feet.

  “We have to get going! We fell asleep!” I said.

  She looked at her watch. “The time! I have to get ready!” Charlie grabbed her bag and ran into the bathroom.

  Sir March was still sound asleep. His eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving—he was breathing, wasn’t he? He suddenly let out a loud, rasping snore. It was like music to my ears.

  “Bunny, it’s time to go. We have to leave,” I said.

  “Have we been discovered?”

  “Yes, we have to leave.”

  He got up quickly. I knocked on the bathroom door. “We have to go.”

  “I’m almost ready.”

  “Do we have an escape route?” Sir March asked. “Should we go down the stairs or jump from rooftop to rooftop?”

  “I was thinking the elevator.”

  “Excellent! Do the thing they’d least expect! You were always able to think through a strategy.”

  “Always?”

  “Always.”

  I wanted to ask for more details, but this wasn’t the time. Maybe in the cab I could ask him questions. I’d already decided I was going to get him back home as soon as possible.

  Charlie came out of the washroom. She had changed into a short red dress and leggings that she must have had in her big purse, and she’d retouched her makeup and put up her hair. My mouth dropped open.

  “So?” she asked.

  “You do clean up good.”

  “I meant, what are we going to do now?” she said.

  “First step is getting out of here.”

  She took Sir March by the arm, and we left the room and headed for the elevator.

  “And then?”

  “We’ll get a cab. I’ll drop you off by Trafalgar Square and then I’m going to take him home.”

  “You could get out with me and give the cabbie the address and fare and send him on his own the rest of the way,” she suggested.

  “I can’t do that. I have to make sure he gets there safe and sound. There are Russian agents out looking for him.”

  “And looking for you. Besides, if you return home with him, you’ll get caught by British security,” she said.

  “I’m going to drop him off at his front gate and then run like crazy.”

  I felt a heightened sense of anxiety as we exited the elevator and started through the lobby. The desk clerk caught my eye, saw Charlie and gave me a thumbs-up. Then he saw Sir March and looked confused—really confused.

  I could see through the front windows that there was a line of cabs sitting right outside the front door. We would grab one—first making sure there wasn’t a familiar Russian agent as the driver—and get on our way.

  “Hey, if it isn’t my good friend Nigel Finch!” a man called out. The man from the London Eye. He grabbed my hand and started shaking it. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”

  “We’re really in a hurry.” He still had my hand in his, and he tightened his grip.

  “I think we should sit down for a drink, although really, there’s no need for introductions. I know of both Sir March and Charlie…although I do prefer the name Charlotte so much more.”

  How could he possibly know their names? Unless…

  He raised his left hand. There was a newspaper draped over it, and underneath, barely visible, was a pistol. “Let’s just sit down and talk. Talking is a much better alternative.”

  He finally released my hand and gestured toward the lounge. We found an open table, and he motioned for us to sit. Charlie and I flanked him, and Sir March sat across from him. He put the newspaper and hidden gun on the table beside his right hand.

  “As you must now know, I’m not a friendly Canadian tourist.”

  “I didn’t think you were Canadian to begin with. How did you find us?”

  “That reminds me. Could I have my pen back?”

  “Your pen? Wait...” I pulled it out of my pocket. “This is yours?”

  “I slipped it into your pocket when I was having that picture taken. It has a tracking device inside.”

  He took the pen from me and examined it. “I’m glad it’s fine. Do you have any idea how expensive these are?”

  “Glad I kept it safe for you. But why did you want to follow me to begin with?” I asked.

  “The same reason the Russians were after you and the SIS was chasing you. Then, of course, there were the paparazzi and those private detectives.”

  “Private detectives?” I asked.

  “Yes, apparently they were hired to investigate you,” he said, pointing to Charlie.

  “Why would anybody investigate me?” she demanded.

  “You can expect your privacy to be invaded when you date a member of the royal family.”

  “You’re dating royalty?” I gasped.

  “There are lots of royals in England. It’s not like he’s next in line to the throne.”

  “Close enough,” the man said.

  Great! I’d been in competition with a prince or an earl or a duke or something. I’d never had a chance—not that I’d ever really have a chance with somebody as incredible as Charlie. Well, at least I wasn’t losing out to some common git.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “CIA,” Sir March said. “I recognize the clothing, the expensive tracking device in the pen and, of course, that smug smell of superiority.”

  “You’re CIA?” I said to the man. “But we’re on the same side!”

  “Everybody is on their own side,” Sir March said.

  “Or a few sides,” the man added.

  “What do you want with us?” I asked.

  “I want you two to walk away,” he said, pointing first at me and then at Charlie.

  “We can just leave?” Charlie asked.

  “Walk away and nobody will know you’re involved. Go—enjoy your New Year’s celebration. If you leave right now, you won’t even be late.”

  “What about Sir March?” I asked.

  “Believe me, we’ll take good care of him.”

  “You’ll return him to his home?” I asked.

  “Eventually.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We have a few questions we’d like to ask him,” he said.

  “Like the Russians do.”

  “Perhaps the same questions but using different methods. You two should run along now.”

  Charlie went to stand up, but I said, “We’re not going anywhere without him. He comes with us.”

  Charlie looked confused and upset, but she sat back down.

  “Do you really think you’re in a position to make demands?” he asked. “Not only do I have the weapon, but I also have the two young people who kidnapped Sir Bunny March. Even if I don’t shoot you, do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when I turn you in to the authorities?”

  “Less trouble than you,” Sir March said. I wasn’t aware that he’d even been paying attention to what was going on. “You should look under the table.”

  “What?” the man asked.

  “Look under the table…all of you.”

  I looked. Sir March was holding a pistol, and it was aimed right at the CIA agent’s crotch!

  “I think you should slowly move your right hand away from the newspaper,” Sir March said.

  The agent looked down at the paper, but his hand remained in place. I thought about reaching for it, but I wasn’t sure I could beat him to it.

  “I am very old, but I can still pull the trigger faster than you can reach that gun.”

  “Do you really think you can get away with shooting me in the lounge of a hotel, in front
of dozens of people?” he asked.

  “I don’t expect to get away with it. I shoot you and the police will come, and I will be arrested…and then released. I am a member of the Empire, a knight, a former head of SIS.”

  “That won’t be enough to let you get away with it.”

  “Perhaps not, but I’m also an old man whose mind goes in and out. What are they going to do to me, take away my tapioca pudding?” He laughed.

  “My government won’t let you get away with this,” he said.

  “Your government will disavow any knowledge of you. Don’t you think they’re just going to look for any excuse to distance themselves from claims that they authorized you to kidnap and interrogate me? I’d be surprised if they even admit they know who you are. Now, move your hand.”

  The man slowly withdrew his hand. Without thinking, I reached forward and took the newspaper and gun.

  “Good work, David.”

  Charlie and I started to get up, and this time Sir March motioned for us to stay. We slumped back into our seats.

  “First, give me the keys to your vehicle,” Sir March said to the man.

  “I don’t have any—”

  “You really want to get shot, don’t you? Is your Mercedes really worth a gunshot wound?”

  “Is it a white Mercedes?” I asked.

  “Probably. The Russians like black BMWs, and the CIA drive white Mercedes. They might as well put a sign on the door that says spies inside. Give me the keys.”

  The man pulled the keys out of his pocket.

  “David,” Sir March said. I took the keys.

  “Try to drive a little more carefully than you did with the cab,” the man said.

  “Where is it?” Sir March asked.

  “Right out front. You can’t miss it.”

  “Now I want you to speak into your little microphone and tell your two colleagues to get up and leave the lounge,” Sir March said.

  “What are you talking about?” the man asked.

  “One is sitting at the bar, pretending to read a magazine, and the second is at the table right by the entrance. I’m sure they can both hear me. They need to leave right now. Tell them to leave.”

  “Both of you leave the building,” the agent said into his lapel.

  “No, I do not want them to leave the building. I want them to walk right over to the fountain in the lobby and take a seat…in the fountain.”

  “What?”

  “In the fountain.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No joke. I want to make sure that every single person in this hotel sees them and makes note of them, so that if we’re followed, it will also be noticed.” Sir March leaned forward and spoke louder. “I know you can both hear me. Do as I’ve suggested or I shoot your agent.”

  I watched as the two men got up and slowly started to walk out. One of them gave us a long, hard look as he went toward the exit, where the second man was already waiting. We watched as they walked over to the fountain, stepped over the retaining wall and sat down in the water. The whole lobby noticed. People laughed and stared and pointed, and a hotel employee came over and started yelling at them.

  “Now it’s your turn,” Sir March said.

  “I’d rather be shot than sit in the fountain.”

  “No fountain. I want you to go into the washroom—the women’s washroom. Now get going.”

  The CIA agent got to his feet. If looks could kill, we’d all be dead right there at the table.

  “You go in there and stay in there. If I see you peeking out, I’m going to shoot off whatever is sticking out.”

  “I’m not going to forget this,” the agent said.

  “And I probably will…maybe before the day is over. Go.”

  As the agent started to walk away, we all got up. Charlie offered Sir March a hand.

  “Take the newspaper and gun. We’ll leave it in the car when we abandon it,” he said. The agent disappeared into the washroom. “Let’s go.”

  We hurried as fast as Sir March’s legs would carry him. Out of the lounge, past the fountain and its two bathers—who had now drawn a large crowd—and out through the revolving door.

  “There it is!” Charlie exclaimed.

  It was a big white Mercedes—the one that had followed us before. I hit a button on the key fob, the car’s lights flashed, and we jumped in. I started it up, threw it into Drive and took off. Pulling out, I clipped the fender of the car in front of me. So much for being careful. We raced off.

  SEVENTEEN

  We drove a few blocks and then abandoned the Mercedes, bashed-in fender and all. As I pulled over, I deliberately brushed a telephone pole to give the other fender a matching look. Sir March said he was certain the car had a tracking device as well, so we had to get far away from it before the agents’ backup could locate us. We jumped into a cab and headed for Trafalgar Square.

  Sir March had gone back to staring into space and muttering things about the Nazis.

  “I don’t get it,” I whispered to Charlie. “One minute he’s like James Bond, and the next he’s, well, like this.”

  “My grandmother was like that too. Some things she could do well, like nothing was wrong. Mainly things from when she was a lot younger.”

  “So he became a spy again.”

  “Exactly.”

  I guessed that made sense.

  “Now if only the taxi could go faster,” Charlie said.

  We were barely moving, jammed in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I kept looking through the back window for black BMWs, white Mercedes, motorcycles or cabs—which made up pretty much half the vehicles on the road.

  “Can’t you go any faster?” Charlie asked the driver.

  “Not unless I go up on the sidewalk, and I don’t think I’d make much progress there either.”

  He was right. It wasn’t only the road that was blocked; the sidewalks were packed with people walking, singing and drinking. Almost everybody was moving in the same direction as us—toward Trafalgar Square.

  “How much farther is it?” I asked.

  “A dozen or so blocks,” Charlie answered.

  “It’s eleven forty-five. I know this is important, but I don’t think we’ll get there in time. I’m sorry,” I said.

  “I could walk faster than this!”

  “And if you did walk, could you get there by midnight?” I asked.

  “I could, but there’s no way Sir Bunny could walk that far or that fast,” she said.

  “He doesn’t have a date, and neither do I. I’m taking him home, remember? Go, get out, walk.”

  “I can’t just leave you two here,” she protested.

  “We’ll be fine. Get out and get going before it’s too late. You’ll miss your…appointment.” Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to say the word date.

  She hesitated. I knew she wanted to go but also felt bad about leaving us.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get him home. I’m just sorry I can’t spend New Year’s with my favorite lady, but I hope your nana will understand that I wanted to be with her.”

  She laughed. “I’m getting out. Stop the cab,” she said to the driver.

  Since we were barely moving, that was an easy request. She opened the door and jumped out.

  “Be safe…I’ll call you tomorrow…I’ll be over tomorrow…I promise,” she said.

  “Sure, see you tomorrow. Now go, or you’ll miss him!”

  She gave us one more smile and then raced away, getting quickly swallowed up by the crowd as a wave of sadness washed over me. Some part of me had hoped—believed—that maybe she wouldn’t go, that she would stay with me. I should have known better. She was going to meet a prince, not be with a pauper.

  “Driver, you can turn around. We’re not going to Trafalgar Square anymore. Take me to Coventry Lane, please.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “No, wait,” Sir March said. “You don’t have to go all that way. I can get there by myself.”

  “I have to m
ake sure you get there safely.”

  “I think between myself and the driver, I’ll be fine.”

  Part of me wanted to agree and get out of the cab, maybe even run after Charlie, but I couldn’t leave him alone. He needed my help.

  “Sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can. DJ, you need to go after your girl.”

  “She’s not my girl and—what did you call me?”

  “DJ, which is short for David Junior, named after David McLean Senior, your grandfather.”

  I was shocked. I stared at him and saw something different. He looked all there.

  “I know you’re surprised, and perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but after all you’ve been through, I feel you deserve to know the truth,” he said.

  His voice was steady, his words clear and concise, his eyes bright.

  “I am Bernard March. I am the former head of MI6. I am also very much in possession of my faculties.”

  “But…but how…why…?”

  “Let me try to explain. As you are aware, your passport sounded an alarm when you entered the country. In the process of clearing you, the large amount of cash and the false passports in your pack were discovered.”

  “But they didn’t find them in my bag. They stopped searching before they found them.”

  “They were stopped before they found them the second time. They wanted you to be unaware they had found them. The discovery of the false passports, particularly one with the name Nigel Finch, triggered even more alarms—alarms that pulled me out of my long retirement.”

  “But how does that involve the Russians and Americans?”

  “Your quest for answers alerted them both, and that’s when we saw an opportunity. In taking me away, you allowed the Russians to gain access to all the information floating around in the head of a former director, information they could extract from me in my, shall we say, reduced capacity.”

  “But why would you want to give them information?”

  “There is information and then there is false information. Right now, the two Russian agents have hightailed it to their embassy, where they are reporting this significant intelligence coup.”

  “This was all a trick?”

  “Counterintelligence is done with smoke and mirrors.”

  “But they could have killed us; they beat you up.”