Page 6 of The Last Kingdom

They needed to return to the dock. Fast. A boat was waiting for them, the same one they’d taken over from the mainland. No one had been around when they’d arrived, the dock office closed and locked. Sure, the palace could use a cell phone to contact the police in the nearby towns that dotted the Chiemsee’s edges. But the lake was huge—about thirty square miles—the locals called it the Bavarian Sea—which meant there was lots of shoreline. And they’d chosen a particularly remote spot to the northwest from which to begin their journey across.

He loved his job. None better in the world. The mix of adrenaline and action seemed to be just what he needed to keep life from being dull. Having the ex-president of the United States, Danny Daniels, as your uncle came with some advantages. But he’d never availed himself of a single one. He wanted to make his own way.

And he had.

Stephanie Nelle, who headed the Magellan Billet, seemed to trust him. And he liked her. But she was currently embroiled with problems of her own, having incurred the wrath of the current president of the United States, Warner Fox. She was suspended, pending a hearing on her termination, which, strangely, had yet to occur. He’d offered her his unconditional assistance, but she’d so far not asked for any help. Magellan Billet operations had been severely limited the past few months, but his presence here in Germany had been personally approved by the attorney general.

And who was he to argue with the big boss.

They came to the stairway and scampered down the low stone risers toward the bottom. Up above, Malone appeared on the second floor. Christophe saw him and immediately reached beneath his coat and found a gun. Luke still gripped his and preempted any assault by aiming above Malone’s head and sending a round into the stucco wall.

They kept rushing down the stairs.

Christophe aimed his weapon Malone’s way.

Chapter 3

COTTON KNEW LUKE WAS FIRING HIGH. BUT THE OTHER GUY? HEwas deadly serious so he dove to the floor, the thick marble balustrade providing some protection from the bullets trying to make it his way.

He counted four rounds.

The firing stopped.

He risked a peek through the stone spindles and saw three forms scamper out of the glass doors into the night. The plan had been to keep them moving, so he hopped to his feet and rushed down the stairs in pursuit. Before leaving upstairs he’d noticed that the camera he’d intentionally dropped was gone. Good. He’d expected Luke to take it. He’d also quickly examined the rolltop desk and saw an empty exposed niche. He’d noticed a few moments ago that while Luke toted the camera, the woman carried a book. Most likely what Luke had been tasked with retrieving. But that had not worked out. At least he could keep up the pursuit, driving them toward the dock and back out on the lake.

Frat Boy would have to take it from there.

He came to the ground floor and bolted out the glass doors into the cold, seeing the taillights of a pickup truck speeding away.

Really?

He looked around and spied a utility vehicle, no more than a golf cart with a work bed. He ran toward it, slipping on his leather gloves, and turned the ignition key. The gas engine roared to life and he whipped the steering wheel to the left and sped off. The cart came equipped with a weak headlight that illuminated only a few feet ahead. Overhead, the sky was a sea of diamond stars on a velvet mat, the night all around him black as soot. He was following a paved road that ran from the palace, paralleling the island’s north shore. The lake beyond, past the reed beds, seemed even darker. Cold air whipped over him, chapping his lips, parching his throat with each breath.

The truck was way ahead, moving faster thanks to more horsepower. But the idea was to maintain pursuit and keep Luke and his cohorts moving away. He gave Luke a hard time but, if the truth be told, he was proud of him. Their first encounter, a few years back, had been a series of errors on both their parts. Ever since, their paths had crossed on occasion and, each time, Luke had delivered. He recalled his own formative years, right after he transferred from the Navy to the Justice Department. He’d been young and green too. Making his share of mistakes. Stephanie Nelle, who’d personally recruited him, had never held back, though. Instead, she’d pushed him hard. Insisting on excellence. And he’d responded.

So had Luke.

He’d been surprised when the call had come a few days ago. A first. Luke specifically asking for help. He’d had his own mentors during his first few years with the Magellan Billet. People he’d asked for help from too. Nothing wrong with that. But there always came a point when you had to do the job, on your own terms, by your own rules. And whether you succeeded or failed was a result of your own choices.

He’d succeeded.

So had Luke.

Funny how life dealt its cards. So random at first. No rhyme nor reason. Then, ever so slowly, patterns always emerged. The trick was to recognize and seize upon those, turning a pair of deuces into not exactly a royal flush, but something that could be made to work like one.

Improvising.

The key to success.

His own life a perfect example.

One day he was an intelligence officer for the United States government with a reputation for getting things done. The next he was retired, divorced, and moving to Denmark to open a bookshop. A complete turnaround, which he’d never regretted. Now he was an entrepreneur, financially well off, deeply involved with a woman who loved him. Cassiopeia Vitt. He’d told her of Luke’s request and asked her to come with him, but she’d declined, saying that her castle rebuilding project required her presence.

And he’d understood.

He loved her dearly. They were a couple. A team.

But not tonight.

---