The Cottage, Villa Scorpio
Even before the Donely car had rolled to a full stop, Robin was by the passenger side laughing and tearing up at the same time. Sean and Tiffany had her in a group hug in seconds as Anna and Frisco looked on.
"So good to see you!" exclaimed Robin.
"You're home and don't you ever leave again," scolded Tiffany.
Sean hadn't said more than five words. He couldn't get much past the lump in his throat. The adrenalin that had sustained him for the last four days was ebbing. As he hugged Robin, an avalanche of emotion assailed him. He'd kept it together for this long. Surely, he could last through the night.
Sean took a long deep breath to steady himself. It worked until he caught sight of Frisco heading his way after hugging and kissing Tiffany. Tiffany introduced Belle to Robin while Frisco enveloped Sean in a bear hug.
"Hey, man, you are a sight for sore eyes. I mean that," said Frisco.
Sean felt the world spin around him. His hand grasped at the car's hood for support. He said in between breaths. "You know … us … us old dogs." He touched his chest.
Frisco moved closer. "You all right?"
"Yeah, just a lot … to take in. Tired. Long flight."
Anna grabbed at Sean's hand and forearm to pull him towards the house and to gauge his condition for herself. "Everyone's waiting. Come inside." Anna was worried. Sean's face had lost all its usual ruddy color and his hands were clammy. She berated herself mentally for forgetting that Sean was older than she and Robert. They couldn't expect the same things of their friend and mentor as before. She said cheerfully, "You're working too hard. I'm going to do something about that."
"Wh-what?" asked Sean still taking in lungfuls of air. The cold night air was as effective as a cold splash of water across his face. His dizziness was passing.
"I've been slacking at the PR firm. That's going to change. I promise you," replied Anna.
Arm in arm with Robin and Frisco, Tiffany called out. "Amen to that! He's been working himself to death flying here, there and everywhere."
"Not that bad," said Sean.
"You probably have enough frequent flier points to fly around the world!" retorted Tiffany.
"Really?" asked Anna. "I'm going to take the next trip, Tiff. Sean's grounded for a while. Okay?"
"No!" said Sean.
"Yes!" said Tiffany. "Thank you!"
They entered the cottage to a chorus of greetings and a flurry of hugs shared all around.
Bletchley Park, Milton Keynes, England
Robert stood his ground as he found himself the recipient of critical scrutiny and intimidating glares. The people had seen and experienced too many events in their lifetimes to take this bit of information at face value. His stance changed subtly to one of battle readiness. He had to convince them of the truth. Their participation was vital to the next phase. He couldn't do it without them.
"If Cesar Faison is so dangerous, why has it taken this long for his so called true activities to come to light?" asked the Red King.
"Faison has made working in the shadows into an art form. He's a patient and sly strategist," said Robert. "He constructs layers and layers of tactics to disguise and mislead his opponents on the actual strategy. I've fallen for his tricks too many times myself."
"We do not doubt the merits of your evidence, Mr. Skinner," began Augusta.
"You speak only for yourself, Augusta," chimed in Mr. Hare.
"Point taken, Hare," said Augusta with a nod at Mr. Hare. She turned her attention to Robert. "In our culture and class, governesses and nannies do hold unique positions of trust and influence. As such, using them as tactical pawns would be an effective strategy but a dangerous and difficult one. Are you aware of the stringent application and screening process that candidates must pass for employment eligibility? One or two turned operatives could slip through. However, you speak of an entire network. That is a different matter."
"I know it sounds crazy. And, on the surface, things don't add up. I urge you to look through the information I've given to you today," said Robert. He took a deep breath. "I've spent years studying Faison. I've begged, borrowed and badgered for every bit of information I've collected. I confess that I found the idea of this nanny network to be preposterous at first but coupled with additional information from my … from sources with near intimate knowledge of the man, I'm more convinced than ever that what I've told you is valid. The longer we delay in acting, the more opportunity we lose. He's distracted now or will be shortly. It's time to act while he's too busy dealing with the DVX fallout. I need your help to-"
RAP. RAP. TAP. RAP.
Every head turned at the noise at the door. It seemed they all knew what the signal meant as they began to stir from their perches and positions around the room.
"That means a tour is to commence," said Mr. Hatter for Robert and Heloise's benefit. He looked out a curtained window. "It's a class tour. The drive is lined with buses."
Robert turned around to address the group and caught himself short. Nearly half of the attendees had disappeared. Had they melted into the walls? "Where's everyone gone?"
With spritely steps, Mr. Hatter led the way. "Come along. We must adjourn to our HQ."
"I thought you were based here?" asked Heloise.
There was a playful note to Mr. Hatter's voice as he said, "This is merely a fanciful camouflage. Our real work is done elsewhere."
"Where is that?" asked Robert.
"Wonderland, naturally," said Hatter. He ran a hand along a bookshelf lined with books. He pushed in the spine of a book. A section of wall slid to the side on silent tracks revealing a slim staircase leading down. "In this place, we can seem like antiques to these youngsters. But it is best to not invite too much attention. Come along. Step lively."
They descended the stairs sturdy carpeting muffling their footsteps. Above them, the panel slid back hiding their exit. They proceeded through a tunnel then up another staircase. They found themselves in a long and narrow room with three doors. Its ceiling was dotted with thick pipes obviously old yet cared for. Robert identified several of the attendees putting on coats, hats and gloves before leaving through various doors.
"This is part of the water works. Still working away. Quality always lasts." Mr. Hatter patted his coat pockets. "Bother, where are my keys?" After another minute of frantic searching, he pulled out his key fob. "There it is!"
Without a backward glance to see that his guests we behind him, Mr. Hatter marched off. "You've quite stirred up our merry band, Mr. Skinner. You have indeed."
"In a good way I hope," said Robert.
"That is up to the King." Mr. Hatter took the farthest door. They went down a short dim hallway before ascending a short flight of stairs to a garage.
Mr. Hatter held his key fob in the air. It chirped. The lights of a green Jaguar blinked to their right. "I do like modern conveniences."
A few minutes later, Heloise and Robert shared an uneasy look. The scenery was passing by them at an alarming pace. Mr. Hatter had a habit of swerving suddenly to pass and avoid slower moving vehicles. His passengers were forced to cling to the hand holds to keep from sliding about.
"Were you a race car driver in your youth, Mr. Hatter?" asked Heloise.
"A mere enthusiast I assure you, madame," said Mr. Hatter. "My wife was the designated driver in our day. The faster we went, the more marvelous she was." His fingers drummed on the steering wheel as if he was uneasy discussing personal details. He glanced at the dashboard clock and frowned. "My personal record is not threatened today. Hare shall beat my time and I shan't hear the end of it."
"We're delaying you. I'm very sorry," said Heloise.
"My fretting is habitual only. We mustn't be late to Court you see," said Mr. Hatter. "The King will be most vexed and Augusta will be cross."
"Who among you will help?" asked Robert.
"We do not employ a vote. Nor are we free to act outside of our group. Safety and discretion in numbers and all that," said Mr. Hatter. "The King will decide. You must convince him."
"Wonderful," said Robert. "Into the gauntlet I go?"
Mr. Hatter chuckled. "You could not ask for a better ally than the Red King. Your news has set us on our heels. Set us aright and you shall have your help."
"And if not, will you turn your backs?" asked Robert. "Don't tell me. That's up to the King, too."
"No. That is for Augusta to decide," said Mr. Hatter. "Her course is set parallel to yours you know."
"What do you mean?" asked Heloise.
"It was her granddaughter chosen to dally with Faison. She is an immeasurably valuable asset thrown into the field to aid your cause by our Queen over the King's objections," said Mr. Hatter. "Marshall your arguments well, Mr Skinner. The Queen has your back but even she will not advance if the King is unconvinced of the need for further aid."
"Any advice?" asked Robert. He rubbed at his wristwatch. "I can't let this chance slip away. I have so much at stake."
"Speak plainly from your heart. That is the best advice I believe." With a jerk of the wheel, the Jaguar leapt between two tall wrought iron gates. "Here we are Cromden Court."
They sped down a winding driveway lined with horse paddocks and planted fields. At their left, Robert spied rows of large gaily colored tents.
"Renaissance fair?" asked Robert.
"No," came Mr. Hatter's reply. There was no further explanation. Shortly, they approached a grand country manner. Its three stories were made of granite and brick. The circular drive was dotted with cars of every description. One silver Bentley flying small diplomatic flags along its hood stood out. Mr. Hatter sighed. "It appears there are visitors from the Continent."
"More members?" asked Heloise.
"Not exactly," replied Mr. Hatter.
"Should we be wary?"
"Yes."
The change from complex sentences to short blunt syllables in Mr. Hatter's responses were surely warning signs. Not ones that Heloise or Robert missed.
Mr. Hare appeared on the portico. He consulted his watch. "You are very late, Hat. By nearly ten minutes."
"Nine minutes twenty-five seconds. Do try to be accurate," retorted Mr. Hatter. "Visitors?"
Mr. Hare looked disapprovingly at Robert. "The White King is here because of YOU, Mr. Skinner." With that, he led the group into the house proper.
"Who's the White King?" asked Robert of Heloise.
"No idea," whispered Heloise right back. "Jacques never told me his name. He did say the White King was a very important piece, slow to anger but capable of wielding great power. One to be used only in the most dire of circumstances."
"When are you going to fill me in on ALL the pieces and roles?" asked Robert under this breath.
"Jacques left me strict instructions. He must have had his reasons," said Heloise. "But even I do not know them all. Jacques did not like to put all his … assets in one basket."
"It would have been more convenient," muttered Robert. "I feel like a show dog jumping through one flaming hoop after another."
"Isn't it said that Abelard travels the path of fire and light?" asked Heloise in a teasing tone.
"That's what the journals says," said Robert. "I'm beginning to think Jacques was cryptic simply because he didn't have all the pieces together. He played what he had."
"We all do that," said Heloise. "We don't have a choice."
They arrived at their destination at last. It was a comfortable two story library situated in a far wing of the enormous house. There was a sense of being hermetically sealed in once the entry doors were closed. No outside noise could be discerned. Even the parquet floor seemed to absorb sound. Robert noticed the unusual thickness of the glass windows. Triple glazed, bulletproof, surveillance-proof and one way view only he guessed.
He didn't have much more time to observe as the Red King introduced him to a white-haired man standing ramrod straight. The stranger's deep-set eyes bore into Robert as if dissecting him.
"Mr. Skinner, may I introduce you to the White King," said the Red King.
The Honorable Martin DeVries held out a hand marked by age spots. The handshake was firm and strong though. "Mr. Skinner, your reputation precedes you."
"We have not met, sir," said Robert.
"And we still have not," said DeVries.
"How did you know about-"
"That is unimportant." DeVries turned to the Red King as if dismissing Robert entirely. "I am here to listen and observe only. I fear my turn to act will come too soon. Advance counsel is best." He made a courtesy bow to the Red King before taking his seat next to Augusta.
Robert, already bewildered by all that had transpired, felt control of the situation slipping from his grasp. His hand found his watch. The quick touch reminded him what was truly at stake. He couldn't fail when he was so close. He simply could not.
Robert studied the Red King. In his natural environment, the king was more intimidating. Robert saw his right hand set free from under the blanket but contained in a tight black glove. The gloved fingers seemed to flex and twitch independent of the King's physical command. It was a disturbing sight. Robert thought of Jacques' slight limp. Were all Abelards destined to be marked by a physical problem, he thought. What would his be and when?
The Red King turned to Robert. "Mr. Skinner, we are all present at your disposal for as long as you require. All you say will not be repeated outside of this room. Begin."
Robert abandoned the impromptu speech he'd been composing in his head during the car ride. Instead, he opted for a story about a man, a woman, an unexpected love, an explosion, a baby, a secret captive and a brilliant madman who pulled the strings behind a dark, gauzy curtain. Mr. Hatter had advised to speak from the heart. That's just what Robert did. He hoped it would be enough.
Moscow
Constantine listened to the radio as the announcer read the latest bulletin full of border closures. There was little in the way of death notices. The government was suppressing news trying to prevent panic. That was wishful thinking in the age of information and mobile communication. The country knew there was a crisis. The efforts at suppression only used energy that could have been put to better use.
Constantine looked at his computer screen. It was still displaying the systems are unavailable message. The normal logo for the Guardian system was missing. It was taken offline as a precaution. It could not help them. He smiled a little smile.
Boris came in clipboard in hand. "Sir, I regret to inform you that General Josef Polushin died on the way to his dacha."
"His security officers?"
"Disappeared. Should we-"
"Do nothing."
"But they may be … may be HIS men."
"No. Our efforts are needed here." Constantine removed a small notebook from his jacket pocket. He walked to Boris and put it flat on the clipboard. He nodded at his subordinate and successor then held his hand out. He said loudly, "Any more reports from the West?"
Boris nodded back and gravely shook the older man's hand . "Two Defense ministry directors have been reported missing in London. An analyst in the Home Office collapsed in his office. Reports are delayed due to current system problems. Your meeting with the Foreign Minister has been rescheduled."
"Any news about my wife and daughter?
"Nothing. Nearly every passenger has been questioned and released," said Boris. "It is as if they were never on the train."
Constantin grabbed a heavy book and slammed it down on his desk. He roared, "They are INCOMPETENT and STUPID! Order my car! Assign my USUAL security. I shall be at the train station."
"The internal committee will be having an emergency meeting in two hours. Your must attend."
"I may be delayed at the station," said Constantine. "Attend for me, Boris, until I return."
Boris' response was slow to come. Finally, he said, "Yes, sir. My brother Ilya is on duty today. He was reassigned here yesterday."
"Very good. Make sure he is on my detail."
In his car, Constantin glanced out the side window. All he could see were people scurrying in and out of the government building. A few stretchers bore body bags that were certainly not empty. Security forces waved guns menacingly at any passersby who seemed too curious. On the street, people walked quickly and kept their heads down. When he caught an expression on a citizen's face, it was either worry or fear.
"I'm sorry, my Russia," said Constantine to himself.
His driver and guard both glanced at him from the front seats.
"Nothing important. Drive." Constantine took out a small envelope. He broke the seal. He read the card making sure to rub his thumb repeatedly over the card's surface.
Reaching the station, he discreetly dropped the envelope and card into the first trash receptacle he passed by. He marched double time to the Sochi train's terminal.
His security team following in a second car trooped dutifully behind him. They saw their distraught but determined superior question the train conductor for nearly an hour before reviewing the train car where his wife and daughter were last seen.
Constantine sat down. He said to his guard captain. "I want a list of all issued tickets. Go!"
For a few minutes, he sat unmoving save for his fingers turning his wedding ring forwards and backwards. A slight tremor shook his body. With a sigh, he leaned his back and head against the seat.
His body shuddered for a second time. An intense wave of pain swept down his left arm. He cried out and clutched at his chest. His guards grew alarmed and distressed. Constantine slumped forward. A quick thinking guard caught him and with gentle movements, he eased Constantine back to his seat while calling for someone to get an ambulance.
"Sir? Orders?" asked the guard softly into Constantine's ear.
"Tell Boris," gasped Constantine. "My family. Ring."
"I understand," said the young guard. "Thank you, sir."
"You are ... future, Ilya," muttered Constantine. He closed his eyes.
The Captain returned and began to panic. "Who? What happened? Secure the area! Find the assassin."
"No assassin, Captain," said Lieutenant Ilya Lipanov. "The Director collapsed. He was alone."
Constantine's head fell to the side as did his arms. Lieutenant Lipanov felt a faint pulse. He dismissed from his mind the Captain and guards rushing about like headless chickens waiting for the ambulance. Ilya laid Constantine on the seat trying to make him as comfortable as he could. He never left his mentor's side. He listened to any words uttered. At the right time and unseen, he carefully removed the gold band.
Later, a sincere letter was composed, put into an envelope with a ring wrapped in cloth. The letter and ring would find its way home through an efficient if unorthodox delivery network.