Page 28 of The Eagle (Spy Girl 2)
"Angry Birds?" he asks with a grin.
"Yes, you can play whatever you want. I'll be right back."
I crack the windows, take the keys, and lock the boy in the car. Since I'm still wearing workout clothes, I jog up the street, taking note of a black SUV. I drop down behind a hedge, following it around to the side of the designer's cottage, where I left the French door to the terrace unlocked.
Not ready to commit yet, I sneak back to check on the SUV. As I pop my head up from the hedge, I see a man wearing a captain's hat pulling a wheeled suitcase down the driveway, followed by a distinguished looking elderly woman.
I let out a sigh of relief, thankful it's not an assault team searching for me.
I run back to the house, sneak in the door, retrieve my bags without incident, and race back to the car.
The boy is still where I left him, happily playing his game. I grab one of the phones, call Juan, and ask to speak to Lorenzo.
"Are you safe?" he asks.
"Lorenzo, are you in London?" I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I just lied to one of the most elite covert operations in the world. I have to be very careful about what I say and do next.
"Yes, we arrived this afternoon. Where are you?" He lowers his voice. "And are you safe?"
I know what he's asking. And even though no one can trace this burner because I'll be tossing it out the window the second I finish the call, I don't know who's listening in on his end. It probably wouldn't surprise Black X if I took a few days off to be with the Prince, but I don't dare say anything else.
"Yes, I am. Where are you staying?"
"We have a lovely place in Notting Hill."
"Could you text the address to this number?"
"Of course, and I shall be awaiting your arrival on bated breath."
"Lorenzo, I'll be there late. Will you meet me alone?"
"Of course, my darling," he replies. I feel bad for giving him the wrong impression, but I didn't have a choice.
I have no idea what I'll tell him when I get there. Or, quite frankly, how I'm going to get there.
I toss the phone out the window, make sure the boy is buckled in, and drive north toward Le Cannet.
Then I use another burner phone.
"Gallagher," he answers.
"This is bag girl, I need your help."
"You must have the wrong number." He hangs up on me.
I hold my phone out in front of me, staring at it, not sure what to do.
When he doesn't call back, I tell the boy we're going to drive for a while.
"Can I keep playing my game?" he asks.
"For as long as you want."
A few minutes later, the phone rings.
"It's Gallagher. I wasn't in a secure environment," he explains when I answer. "I don't know if you've heard the reports, but the assassin who killed the President is dead."
"I heard that," I say. "However, there was a complication. I may need you to, like, smuggle me and possibly someone else into your country."
"You couldn't do it, could you? Did you kidnap him instead? Did you lie about his death?"
"I don't have a lot of time to explain. Can you help me?"
"Where are you?"
"Close to where he was killed. Where are you?"
"Monaco."
"Vacation?"
"I brought our mutual friend here."
"Can I meet you?"
"Go to the Colline du Chateau in Nice. Walk around the grounds. I'll find you."
"I'll be there in less than an hour."
I check the road signs ahead and see that the A8 autoroute, known as La Provencale, is a few miles ahead, which will take me northwest toward Nice.
"I'm hungry," the boy says, looking up from his game. "Are we in London yet?"
"No, we are going to see a castle. Have you ever seen one?"
"I've been to many castles. I want to be a knight when I grow up. Knights protect the people."
What he says makes me smile. "Want to hear a secret?"
"Yes, I'm good at keeping secrets."
"I'm a knight."
"Girls can't be knights."
"They can if they are very brave."
"I'm very brave," he says.
"I know you are. You knew to get the backpacks and took me to see your daddy's friend."
"That was our escape route. You only take the escape route when things are bad. My house exploded. That was bad."
"Yes, it was. I'm going to take you somewhere else to live."
"While Daddy is on his trip?"
"Yeah," I say. "While Daddy is on his trip."
The boy nods in understanding, puts his head back down, and focuses on his game. I stare at his little dark head and pray I can pull this off without getting us killed.
We arrive in Nice, park near the beach, and then walk up the stairs to the castle, stopping to view the waterfall and lookout along the way. I took a bottle of water and some snacks out of his backpack, and he's happily chomping away and running through the ruins of the castle. I curiously watch as he sneaks around the edge of a doorway, his fingers forming a gun, then pops out and pretends to shoot. I wonder just what other skills his father taught him.
A memory flashes in my brain. The painful kind that I usually block, but this one comes at me with too much force. My mother is trying to take a photo of me, but I keep popping behind the castle wall, hiding, then leaning my head around the corner and sticking my tongue out at her. "You should let me take your picture, Lee," she says, her voice like music to my ears. "I want you to always remember our visit to the Palacio de la Vallenta."
"Huntley," Intrepid says, startling me.
I frantically scan the ruins for the boy, quickly spotting him, still playing. I take a deep breath and rub my hands down my face.
"You look tired," he says. "Who is the boy?"
"His son."
"The Priest's son?"
"Yes."
It's Intrepid's turn to rub his face. "Bloody hell. I just got rid of one of your problems, now you bring me the assassin's son?"
"I just need you to get us to London. I'll hire a nanny and hide him at Lorenzo's place there."
"I can't do that. You can't do that."
"I promised I would, but I understand if you can't help. I'll make other arrangements. Thanks for coming."
I stand up and walk away.
"Playtime is over, Chauncey. Let's hit the road again."
"Okay," he says, slipping his little hand into mine and squeezing it. "Even though I want bangers and mash, we need go to Zurich. That's where I'm supposed to go next when things get bad."
"You're right," I say, thinking about my own key. "Let's go there."
"I know how to sign my name," he says as we're walking away.
"That's good," I reply, finding his comment very random.
"Daddy says you have to be able to sign your name to use a credit card," he finishes. And I realize I might just be able to do this on my own. Zurich is only six hours by car, and if we drive, I don't have to worry about using my passport. The kid is smart.
Intrepid is waiting for us at the bottom of the steps. "Fine. I'll do it."
I turn to the boy. "What is in Zurich?"
"Safety net," he answers.
"Feel like going for a ride with us first?" I ask.
"Where are we going?"
"To a bank in Switzerland."
I get the boy loaded into the car and turn it on to get the air-conditioning going.
"Why Switzerland?" he asks.
"He has a safety deposit box there. He knows how to sign his name and what to do. He says it's his safety net."
"It's too dangerous to take him now. Word is getting out about his father's death. They could be watching the account."
"I don't think anyone knows about it. And the faster we move, the better. Before someone does figure it out, we'll have the box emptied and will be gone. We can open the boy another account in London or, better yet, Mo
ntrovia. There's a phone number on the key. We have to let them know we are coming, particularly after hours."
"How do you know that?" he asks.
