Alec's Royal Assignment (Man On A Mission Book 3) (6 page)

“This is a historical event,” she explained. “This ceremony—it is more than five hundred years old, you understand. The line of direct descent from father to son has
never
been broken. God willing, it never will be.”

“Were you here the last time, too?”

“But of course. My husband and I, we were both here. That is why we are here today.” She beamed at Alec and went on to explain that it wasn’t just a historical event for Zakhar, it was a good omen. Not that the Zakharians were any more superstitious than citizens of other European countries, as a general rule, but they had come to believe the good fortune and prosperity Zakhar had experienced throughout the centuries was somehow tied in with the House of Marianescu. Zakhar had never had a truly bad king in all those years of the monarchy’s direct descent. Was this cause and effect? “No Zakharian is willing to put it to the test,” she added in all seriousness. “And now we will not have to.” She took her elderly husband’s hand. “Not in our lifetime.”

After a little more conversation, Alec thanked them both and excused himself to wander around the square outside the cathedral, taking everything in.

Large screens were being erected to project the ancient ritual from inside the cathedral, one performed by every Zakharian king except the first Andre Alexei—his heir had been born in captivity, far away from Drago. But his successor, his son Raoul, had begun the ritual when
his
first son was born.

The clock tower in the square had just proclaimed the time as nine o’clock when cars began arriving, disgorging a phalanx of steely-eyed men with the distinct look of bodyguards about them. They swarmed up the cathedral steps and disappeared inside. “Security teams,” Alec murmured to himself. A couple of women dressed just like the men were also there, and he remembered Angelina saying Queen Juliana had requested a certain number of female bodyguards, although the vast majority of her security detail were men.

Neither Captain Zale nor Lieutenant Mateja were with them, and though Angelina hadn’t mentioned it to him, it didn’t take much to figure out they would arrive with the royal family. Which meant Angelina was highly thought of by her superiors.

As if he were inside the cathedral with them, Alec knew the security teams were taking up their assigned positions, fanning out throughout the cathedral, making sure security was tight. Everything that could be done to ensure the safety of the royals would be done, but none of the members of the various security details would breathe easy until the christening was safely over.
Been there, done that.

More cars arrived at ten, but Alec noted all these arrivals were moving in through a side door. His eagle eyes spotted the photo-ID badges that were being flashed to the security team monitoring the entrance and the portable metal detector set up there.
Not guests,
he figured.
Must be participants in the ceremony— musicians, choir members, people like that.

As he walked around the square for the umpteenth time, Alec still couldn’t get over how vast the crowd was—there had to be close to a quarter-million people here—and they remained orderly. Many had been there for hours, but the overall celebratory atmosphere engendered good-natured camaraderie.

Whoever had organized this event had thought of just about everything that might be needed by those in attendance, including portable latrines set up discreetly just out of view. And—surprising to Alec—when someone had to step out of line to use the facilities, no one moved up. That person’s place in line was there when he or she returned.

Just after eleven, the personally invited guests started arriving, limousines pulling up at the foot of the shallow stairway leading to the cathedral’s main doorway.

Internationally famous movie star Dirk DeWinter received one of the loudest and longest ovations when he arrived alone. Alec, as well as the crowd, knew him as the actor who’d portrayed King Andre Alexei the First—the king’s illustrious ancestor and the founder of the House of Marianescu—in the movie
King’s Ransom
, opposite the actress who was now queen. Dirk smiled briefly for the crowd and acknowledged their cheers with a wave of his hand before he, too, disappeared through the cathedral’s main entrance.

DeWinter was followed by the US secretary of state, who Alec had known would be in attendance representing the president, accompanied by his DSS bodyguards; the prime ministers of England and several European countries, who Alec also immediately recognized; and a world-renowned duke and duchess of England, the birth of whose children had created a media frenzy in their own country and around the globe, much like the one accompanying the birth of Zakhar’s Crown Prince Raoul.

The invited guests had all arrived and been seated by the time the clock tower in the square chimed the noon hour, and the lines to enter the cathedral perked up. Everyone who could would be squeezed into the cathedral, even if it meant standing room only.

Alec saw that what was going on inside the cathedral was already being broadcast outside on the giant screens. And by the expressions on the faces of those near the end of the lines, he figured they were consoling themselves they’d probably have a better view of the christening out here than those who managed to find space inside.

At twelve-thirty, the lines of people were politely turned away, and the remaining crowd quickly moved to find seats in the square. At a quarter to one, the extended members of the royal family arrived—distant cousins, maternal aunts and uncles. Alec knew that was his cue. He politely made his way through the shifting crowd to the foot of the cathedral stairs, waiting for the McKinnons’ limousine.

Prince Xavier, the king’s first cousin on his father’s side, arrived alone to a mixed reception from the crowd. No one wanted to believe the prince been part of his younger brother’s attempts on the life of the king and queen, but a shadow of a doubt remained in the minds of many, despite the king’s vehement assertions to the contrary.

Alec was convinced of the prince’s innocence, and had been almost from the moment he’d met him. But a gut feeling wasn’t evidence, and he didn’t really blame the crowd for its ambivalence.

Princess Mara and her husband arrived last of all, and as the huge sea of people in the square raised a cheer for them, Alec moved forward. By way of greeting, he said sotto voce to McKinnon, “This is a security nightmare.”

“Don’t I know it.” McKinnon smiled coldly. “I hope you’re strapped.” He tapped his right hand lightly over the breast of his formal suit. “I am.”

“Since you told me to come prepared, you shouldn’t even have to ask.” Alec moved to the princess’s left side, knowing McKinnon wouldn’t yield the right side to anyone, king or commoner. Alec was right-handed, too, and his shoulder holster was rigged for a right-handed draw, same as McKinnon’s. But the princess was McKinnon’s wife—that was the bottom line. Anyone trying to hurt her would have to go through McKinnon first.

The metal detector would have gone crazy on either of them—in addition to the gun in his shoulder holster, Alec was wearing his ankle holster with his backup gun—except McKinnon stepped to one side and spoke quietly to one of the guards there. “Yes, sir, it is all arranged,” the guard said respectfully in Zakharan, and he opened the velvet rope to let the three of them pass through to the right of the metal detector.

An usher was waiting on the other side and led them down the center aisle, all the way to the front. He removed the ribbon blocking off the aisle to the front pew and seated them on the left side. Alec didn’t know who else was going to be seated after them, so he moved nearly all the way to the left, figuring that would leave plenty of room remaining for whoever would sit there—the king, the queen, their infant son and any security guards who would be accompanying them.

Through the open door of the cathedral came a roar from the crowd, and Alec knew the royal family had arrived, right on time.
Let’s get this show on the road,
he told himself with a touch of humor. Movement to the left of the altar had his gaze sliding in that direction, his hand never far from the unbuttoned jacket of his morning suit. But it was only the archbishop, dressed in his ecclesiastical robes, with two bishops and a handful of acolytes coming from the sacristy, moving into place near the altar and the ancient marble baptismal font off to the right.

The organist, who’d been playing for the past fifteen minutes, came to the end of Henry Purcell’s
Trumpet Tune.
He paused, waited for a signal, then nodded to the string quartet and moved right into Jeremiah Clarke’s
Trumpet Voluntary.

The stately music filled the cathedral with sound, and Alec realized Angelina had been right. No assassin could stand behind the organ pipes while the music was playing, unless—and he’d been just as right about this—that person was wearing some kind of noise-canceling headgear. He’d already spotted plainclothes security guards stationed on both sides of the recessed area, so apparently she’d passed along his concern to whoever was in charge of security. But he couldn’t get it out of his mind that anything might happen.
And wasn’t that what McKinnon was worried about when he asked me to come armed?

When everyone in the cathedral stood and turned toward the rear, Alec stood, too. But even as he faced the rear, his gaze was sweeping left and right, taking in every detail. Plainclothes security guards were everywhere, earpieces in place, looking for all the world like the Secret Service protecting the president of the United States, except none of them were wearing sunglasses—not inside the cathedral.

Then he spotted Angelina coming up the already crowded far-right aisle—her left, his right—and his heart leaped at the sight of her. She was so beautiful as she slowly advanced, keeping pace with Zakhar’s king and his queen. The queen was carrying their infant son in her arms as she and the king made their stately way up the center aisle.

Angelina’s eyes were constantly looking left and right, just as he’d done earlier. Guarding the queen as best she could without being right beside her. So tall, so straight, so intensely focused. Like a Norse Valkyrie.
Or a guardian angel,
he thought.
Yeah, that’s more appropriate for church. So determined nothing will happen on her watch.

Just like me.

Chapter 6

F
or no reason he could think of, Alec suddenly remembered the scene in the coffeehouse. Remembered the two bearded young men who’d entered so innocuously but who bore hatred in their hearts and carried death in their minds and hands. His sixth sense—the one he always trusted, which had never let him down—told him there was danger here. He didn’t know from where or from whom, just that it was here...somewhere.

His hand was already reaching for his SIG SAUER, but then he stopped, cursing internally. If he drew his gun, he could trigger an international incident, and he already had one black mark against him with the State Department for taking down those terrorists—even though it had been necessary. One of the security guards here was bound to see his drawn gun, think he was a threat to the royal family, shoot first and ask questions later. Even if he wasn’t killed, the State Department would have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. And so would he.

* * *

Angelina spotted Alec immediately in the front pew as the royal family took their seats next to the McKinnons, though she shunted him to the back of her mind because she had to focus on doing her job. Her eyes scoured the vast room, but she saw nothing that warranted alarm. So far so good.

As the archbishop began the sacred rite of baptism, the organ began playing, and after a few bars, the choir burst into song. She tuned everything out as she kept her focus on the royal family.

She moved slightly so she could have a clearer view of them as they stood and approached the archbishop at the baptismal font, accompanied by the McKinnons and the other set of godparents. Seeing the archbishop’s mouth moving but not hearing the words. Watching as the baby’s head was bared and holy water was sprinkled on top of it. Casting out original sin, if you believed the church.
But a baby has no sin in his heart,
a small part of her brain insisted.

Then her eyes zeroed in on the man directly in her line of sight on the right, stationed behind the altar. And suddenly she
knew.
Knew the royal family was in imminent danger. Because at this angle, with the light hitting the large television camera just right, she could see the gun half hidden within easy reach of his hand, artfully concealed as part of his equipment. The setup was beautiful—no one would suspect him...until it was too late.

She couldn’t just draw her weapon and shoot to kill—not only did she not have a clear shot, she couldn’t just open fire. All the security details here—so many men, all of them armed—and someone innocent was sure to be wounded, perhaps killed. Maybe more than one. She couldn’t start a bloodbath. And there was no guarantee the royal family would be immune from harm, which was the only thing she cared about at this moment.

Don’t look at him,
she warned herself.
Don’t let him suspect you know...anything.
She had to get closer. Close enough to take him down without firing her weapon—if she could.

Suddenly a cold feeling gripped her. If there was one assassin, there could be more, disguised exactly like him. If one man had smuggled a weapon into the cathedral, what was to prevent a second? Or a third? Or a whole contingent?

She moved again, as if merely shifting position restlessly, but really to bring another man clearly into focus, this time on the left side behind the altar. Confirming her suspicion. He, too, had a lethal weapon close to hand.

Her gaze darted left and right, searching for other would-be assassins, but then she remembered yesterday’s security briefing and the practice run-through. Those two television cameras were the only cameras not operated remotely from the control center set up in one of the cathedral’s offices. So maybe—
maybe
—the two cameramen were the only potential assassins she needed to worry about.

When?
her brain was frantically trying to reason out.
When will they attack? And who is their target?
When the answer came to her, she marveled that no one had thought of it before.
The baby. The crown prince. He is their target. Of course.
If the king or queen was their target, the assassins would have had a clear shot at either or both of them long before this. So it could not be them. That meant it had to be the baby. And that meant there was only one moment when the assassins would have a clear shot at the baby.

The ancient ritual unique to Zakhar. Everyone knew what it was. Everyone knew it was coming soon. Everyone knew the king would raise his eyes to heaven as he raised the baby above his head in both hands—one hand supporting the baby’s head, the other beneath the little posterior—as he turned toward the people assembled in the cathedral and presented the baby to God and his subjects, reciting the ancient words acknowledging his son and heir before God and man. The assassins would have a perfect opportunity in that moment. The baby would be completely vulnerable. No one could protect him. Not his father. Not his mother. No one could protect the baby...except her. If she could get there in time.

But she couldn’t do it alone. Not with two—or more—assassins. Angelina tapped her earpiece and uttered Captain Zale’s name in an urgent undertone. “Yes?” came the reply in a voice that told her this had better be important.

“Sir, the two cameramen. One is stationed on the left side, behind the altar, the other on the right. They are armed. Repeat, they are armed. They should not be, but they are. Look closely at the steering ring beneath each camera. That is not auxiliary camera equipment, sir, those are weapons.”

Two seconds passed, then three. Then four. Finally, “I see them,” came the calm reply. “You have good eyes, Lieutenant.”

“The baby is their target,” she continued in that same intense undertone. “Why wait otherwise? Why not open fire immediately? That is the only thing that makes sense. They are waiting for—”

“The ancient ritual,” agreed Captain Zale. “Good thinking, Lieutenant. I will notify the heads of the other two security details, but we cannot wait for that. Move in...quietly. I will take the one on the right, closest to me. You take the one on the left.”

“The king wishes nothing to disrupt the ceremony or detract from the religious solemnity of the occasion,”
Angelina heard Captain Zale say in her mind. And she knew she had to do her best to comply with the king’s wishes...if possible. Not at the risk to the royal family, but...

“Yes, sir.” She was already moving before he finished, knowing she had only one chance to get this right. Only one chance to slip around and behind the cameraman unnoticed. Only one chance to quietly disarm the assassin-in-waiting and remove him from the apse without causing a stir.

* * *

Alec saw Angelina speaking quietly into her earpiece before slipping nearly unnoticed behind the people standing in the aisle watching the ceremony unfold. He glanced over to the right and recognized Captain Zale doing the same thing on the other side. Something was up.

He’d been watching Angelina for most of the time, not the ceremony, and now he cast his mind back quickly. What had she seen that he hadn’t? Then he remembered the moment she’d stiffened as she watched the royal family in front of the baptismal font. But then she’d relaxed, or seemed to. He surreptitiously slid a little to the left on the pew to get a better angle, and that’s when he noticed the cameraman behind and to the right of the altar.

Cameraman,
he told himself.
That has to be it. She saw something. Nothing else makes sense.

And though he didn’t have a clear view of the cameraman on the left, it didn’t take much for him to figure both cameramen were in on the conspiracy. And Angelina was attempting to take the one on the left down by stealth while Captain Zale did the same on the right.

The McKinnons were just taking their seats again, their role as godparents in the baptism finished, when Alec caught McKinnon’s eye and mouthed one word.
Cameramen.

McKinnon unhurriedly took his seat, his gaze sliding away, but Alec saw him make the connection. Saw him bend and whisper in Princess Mara’s ear. Heard the princess’s slightly indrawn breath, but was inordinately proud of her when nothing showed on her face at the warning she’d just been given by her husband.

She turned toward Alec—a seemingly casual move—and whispered, “My brother will die before he lets anything happen to his son. Or his wife. Please, Alec. Please do what you must to protect him.”

“I’m on it,” he assured her. He slid slowly all the way to his left on the wooden pew, holding his breath, and muttered, “Excuse me,” to the people standing there as he slipped from the pew. Alec was shielded from the cameramen’s view by the people standing in the aisle—much as Angelina had been—and he quietly made his way behind them.

In his mind, as plain as if a map of the entire cathedral were laid out before him, he knew there was a side chapel ahead of him, knew taking that circuitous route was the only way someone would be able to sneak up behind the cameraman stationed on the left side of the apse behind the altar. Angelina would know that, too.

When he came to the entryway, Alec took it. People were seated in the side chapel, of course, and standing in the aisles. The side chapels were just as packed as the rest of the cathedral, even though the view of the proceedings from there would be limited. But that meant neither cameraman would be able to see him, either, especially since their cameras and their attention would be riveted on the royal family standing at the baptismal font.

Angelina was already on the far side from him; she must have quickly made her way all around the back of the side chapel and up to the front again. Alec saw her lips moving and knew she had to be communicating with someone else on the security team, but the distance was too great for him to hear what she was saying. He ignored the startled glances that came his way from the people in the pews and standing in the aisles as he followed the same path she must have followed.

He was still too far away when Angelina disappeared from view.

* * *

Angelina had drawn her gun, but her hand was half hidden in the sleeve of her blazer and her arm was down by her side to ensure as few people as possible spotted the gun she carried. All she needed was a few more seconds.
Let no one raise the alarm,
she prayed as she quietly moved along the back wall behind the cameraman.

The king turned with the baby in his hands, and the cameraman reached surreptitiously for the weapon half camouflaged by the steering ring to which it was affixed. But before his hand could grasp it, Angelina had her left forearm around his throat. Her gun was pressed against the right side of his neck, beneath his ear. “Do not move,” she said softly in Zakharan, for his ears alone. “Do not make a sound. Remove your hand—ah—slowly. Very slowly. Leave the gun where it is.” When he complied, she said, “Now back away from the camera.”

He was an inch or so taller than she was and a good forty pounds heavier, but she controlled him easily. She drew him backward from the camera’s stationary position in the apse to the back wall, thankful the camera provided some camouflage for what she was doing from the people in the main chapel. And the angle hid the back wall—and the two of them—from the side chapel’s view.

At first, Angelina was afraid she would have to take the cameraman out by way of the side chapel, where people would see what she was doing, and perhaps cause a panic.
The king wishes nothing to disrupt the ceremony or detract from the religious solemnity of the occasion
flashed into her mind again.

The door to the sacristy appeared in her side vision, and Angelina gratefully steered her captive toward it.
Perfect,
she thought. The door had scarcely closed behind them when it opened again, and Angelina whirled around, dragging the cameraman backward with her to confront this new threat. She breathed a quick sigh of relief when she recognized Alec, until the idea occurred to her he might think she wasn’t capable of handling this on her own.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded fiercely, while at the same time making sure she didn’t raise her voice loud enough to be heard outside the sacristy. “This is not your responsibility! I do
not
need your assistance!”

Alec’s eyes narrowed, but the flash of admiration in them mollified her. He turned, locked the door, and faced Angelina again. “I know you don’t need me—you’ve got everything under control,” he said in the same low voice. “But Princess Mara recruited my help in saving her brother and his family—that makes it my responsibility.” He indicated her captive. “And shouldn’t this discussion wait for a more opportune moment? Like after this man is secured and interrogated?”

Angelina realized he was right. She needed to contact Captain Zale immediately to let him know her status, that this would-be assassin was no longer a threat to the royal family. But with both hands occupied, that was impossible. Not to mention she could use some help tying him up.

She glanced around for something, anything, they could use. She hated to use any of the priestly vestments for this very unpriestly requirement, but the sacristy was woefully lacking anything else that might substitute for the handcuffs a policeman would carry but a bodyguard didn’t. Alec made it easy for her, grabbing a pure white stole—the long, narrow strip of cloth priests and bishops wore draped around their necks— from a hanger, and approaching Angelina and her captive, careful not to interfere with the control she still maintained over the man.

“Hands behind you,” he told the cameraman in Zakharan.

The man hesitated, and Angelina pressed her weapon even tighter against his neck. “Do it!” she commanded.

It wasn’t easy. Since she still held the man in a chokehold, Alec had to maneuver between her body and the cameraman’s in order to bind the man’s hands behind his back. Despite the adrenaline still coursing through her body, or perhaps because of it, Angelina was acutely conscious of everywhere Alec accidentally touched her. When he was finally finished and the cameraman was securely trussed, she released the iron hold she’d had on the man’s neck and swiftly holstered her SIG SAUER P320. She gave the man a little push in Alec’s direction.