Page 52 of Lone Spy

"I agree with Rebecca. As you know, Grand has been systematically replacing civil servants with loyalists. Many states are changing their election rules at his request. He's a threat to our democracy. And always has been."

Another silence stretches. Wind whispers through the trees and brings the scents of rosemary, lavender, and sun-baked earth up to the veranda.

“Let me ask you a question," I say. They both nod. "Are either of you officially involved with the US government at this time?” I turn to Rebecca. "From what I know of you, you're a private citizen—a very wealthy and influential woman with political ambitions, but you currently hold no political office. Right?" She nods, a subtle smile slipping across her lips as if I'm a student who's proving to be brighter than she’d originally hoped. "And Temperance, you were recently relieved, shall we say, of your position."

"That's right," he agrees, one leg casually crossed over the other as if this isn't a conversation about treason.

"So…seems like you don't have any official roles here."

"We need your help." Rebecca skips over my point.

"I'm not going to be able to influence anyone you need influenced. I'm a woman—so you know his side isn't going to respect anything I say. Grand would gladly see me dead. My power over elections is nonexistent. I’m not even secure in my role as a government agent. My current handler tried to kill me?—”

Temperance interrupts. “She just wanted to scare you.”

Rage ignites, flourishes, flushes my skin. I glare at Temperance. He appears totally unfazed by my wrath.

"You underestimate yourself, Angela," Rebecca says, her voice calm. "You have ties with English and Jordanian royalty."

I let out a surprised laugh. "Even if I do, which I'm not saying I do. But even if I did, what good would that do?"

They both stare at me. Waiting for their pupil to pick up on whatever it is they are laying down. "What?" I ask, fear starting to tickle up my spine. They wait. "I'm not going to guess." I put my espresso cup down on a side table next to my chair. "You're going to have to spell it out."

“How much do you know about Omar bin Rami’s family?” Temperance asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing. I mean, I know he’s from the royal family of Jordan but not much else. I try not to Google people I…” My voice trails off because my no-Google rule seems suddenly stupid. Painfully stupid and naive.

“Omar’s father is the king,” Temperance says, his voice dropping into a tone I recognize. Professor Temperance has entered the group chat. “His mother is American. A former fashion model who has become a powerful advocate for human rights. They are very progressive for the region. The king and queen of Jordan are powerful allies whose values align with ours. Enough.”

Enough.

“His brother,” Temperance continues, “Crown Prince Elias bin Rami, is the next in line to the throne. And does not share the rest of his family’s values. A devout Muslim, he is a true believer--”

Rebecca interrupts him. “He’s a zealot.”

Temperance tips his head to the side. She’s not wrong, but he wouldn’t use that word. Even here, in this intimate conversation. Always so careful…

“The king of Jordan is sick,” Temperance continues. “Terminal cancer. They are keeping it quiet, but we are sure of our sources.”

“And the queen of England won’t live much longer either,” Rebecca says. “She is in her late eighties—and in poor health. She hasn’t been seen in public since the episode you witnessed. Her son, Prince Edmund, is morally bankrupt. He admires dictators and hates women.”

The media coverage of his divorce swirl through my mind. I was a kid when it happened but remember the scandal. It was a huge story—dominating the magazines in the checkout line for more than a year.

Divorce in the royal family would have been bad enough, but accusations of abuse leveled against the prince brought the media frenzy to a fever pitch. Then the tragic boating accident…that some said wasn’t an accident at all, but rather a way to silence Helena.

Victoria lost her mother and had to grieve with the eyes of the world on her. Sympathy wells in my chest, the heartache of my own loss echoing behind my breast bone.

“I see,” I say. “Two of the United States’s closest allies are about to experience leadership changes. Positions now held by monarchs aligned with your...vision…” I make eye contact with Rebecca. She nods, encouraging me to go on. “ …will be replaced by two men who would support Grand’s aspirations of authoritarianism.”

“Exactly.” Rebecca’s smile is sad. She’s proud her student grasped the concept but regrets the lesson learned.

“I still don’t understand how I can help,” I say.

“You have connections with the two people who would take those roles if something happened to the next in line,” Temperance explains.

“Excuse me?” I raise my brows at him.Are you suggesting those two men arenotgoing to survive long enough to wear the crown?

"You're going to receive an invitation," Temperance says. I take in a slow steady breath. "From Princess Victoria. To join her at Balmoral Castle in Scotland for a hunt. Omar will be there. A larger party will join you, but you’ll have two nights alone with them.” I clench my jaw to keep the scream inside me from slipping out. “We’d very much like you to attend.”

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