Page 27 of The Valiant (Spy Girl 4)
"Not right now. These bombs won't be used unless needed. They are for what you would call a slight of hand."
"And then you're going to rub your hands together with an evil chuckle and take over the world?" I'm completely out of character now, but at this point, I don't really care. It's pretty clear I'm not getting out of this one alive.
Dupree laughs again, making me wonder if he's losing it.
"You are your father's daughter," he says, wrapping his arm around me from behind, pushing me to my knees, and shoving the gun into my temple. "Ares had a fearless curiosity."
I was going to use this moment to make a move in an attempt to control the situation, but when his hand flashes by, I'm distracted by the ring on his finger--a green pear-shaped stone with gold scrolling in a design I recognize.
"That's Lorenzo the Magnificent's personal crest," I blurt out.
"Your father had a ring just like it. Do you recognize it?" He doesn't wait for my reply; he just presses the gun harder against my head. "It's my own fault really. They said it would work without the devices, but I insisted on a backup plan. When the world goes kaboom, you can quickly get governments' attention." He lets out an villainous laugh. "Your passive father would have fully disapproved, and the rest of them will never forgive me for this mess. It's really too bad you got caught up in it. You were destined to marry Lorenzo and become the Queen of Arcadia while your brother would have taken his rightful place at our table."
He's pushing the pistol against my temple with so much force, it brings tears to my eyes. At least when he pulls the trigger, it will be over fast.
At Blackwood, they taught me how to prepare for my inevitable demise. How I would feel only a flash of pain if I were lucky enough for it to be over quickly. Or how I would have to block out the pain, trying to leave my body, if it were slow and torturous. What they didn't tell me was that all I would see in front of me was the man I love. Although they were right about one thing. In the end, we're all reduced to beggars.
"Please, don't do this," I beg.
"I have no choice," he says, taking a resolved breath. "To Arcadia."
I slam my eyes shut as the sound of the gun firing fills my ears.
Ari is hurting but still pacing. He was nicked by a bullet while chasing the SUV and knocked off the motorbike. He's got serious road rash, two broken fingers, and numerous bruises, but they don't compare to the pain in his heart. He understands now why Huntley was trained to have no emotional entanglements. He should have been able to stop the men from taking her. He should have stopped their car.
Instead, he lost her.
He wasn't armed for the party, only had a Glock 43 subcompact pistol holstered at his ankle for backup.
Because it wasn't supposed to be that kind of night.
All they needed was a little reconnaissance. For Huntley to flirt with a man, go home with him, and retrieve information.
He knows he needs to call Lorenzo and tell him what happened. He knows even Intrepid thinks they've lost her. That the men will kill Huntley as soon as they find out she's not important to Worthington, who somehow managed to escape.
Intrepid has been trying to rally the entire British intelligence agency into searching for any sign of Huntley, but with the backpacks still in play, it's not their top priority.
Ari picks his phone off the table, takes a deep breath, and makes the call.
"I was hoping to speak to you in person," Lorenzo says when he answers. "For I have something important to discuss with you."
"What do you need?" Ari asks, anything to stall the inevitable.
"I know it's old-fashioned of me, but I'm planning to ask for your sister's hand in marriage, and I would appreciate your blessing."
"You can have my blessing if we find her," Ari blurts out, feeling sick to his stomach.
"What happened? She told me it was just an intelligence gathering."
"It was, but then men burst into the pub, and it turned into a shoot-out."
"Are you talking about the terror attack at the pub in London? The one on television where they are reporting eighteen dead?"
"Yes, that one." Ari gulps. "It wasn't a terrorist attack but rather a team of men with automatic weapons. A turf war or a drug deal gone bad, we assume."
"And those are the men who have Huntley?"
"Yes, they kidnapped her. The man we were targeting managed to slip away. Huntley was speaking to him at the time, and we think they assumed she was his girlfriend. She was the only woman in the room at the time."
"And what about the high-speed chase with the authorities?" Lorenzo asks, watching the live coverage of the aftermath on a London news channel. "So, you're saying, if she managed to survive a bullet-ridden, high-speed chase and a car crash, they will probably kill her when they discover she's not who they think she is?"
"Basically, yes."
"She can handle herself quite well," Lorenzo argues, as if saying it will make it true.
"It's her against eight armed men. No one is that good."
"Chances of survival?" Lorenzo dares to ask, but Ari can't say anything. He can't speak the words. "You are working under the assumption that she's already dead?"
"Intrepid wants to at least be able to recover her body," Ari says, defeated.
"Was she wearing the necklace I'd recently given her?"
"The golden heart?" Ari asks. "Yes, she was."
"It has a tracking device in it, if she didn't take it out."
"Can you pull up the program and see what it says?"
"Uh, yes. Give me a moment." He puts Ari on speakerphone and then yells for Juan, quickly explaining the situation. Together, they open the program on Juan's iPad.
"We have a last location," Juan says, "but then it's like she disappeared."
"You mean, she stopped moving?" Ari asks.
"No, I'd say there was some kind of equipment malfunction," Juan replies, "or they entered a countersurveillance zone."
"How big could the zone be?" Lorenzo asks. "She must be close to her last location."
"Maybe," Juan says hopefully. "Ari, I'm texting you the coordinates."
"Thank you. I'll let you know anything I find out."
After the call ends, Lorenzo drops to his knees and prays.
I open my eyes when I feel Dupree's grip on me loosen. I touch the side of my head where the gun was a few moments ago, expecting to feel a hole.
When I don't, I move my hands in front of my face, looking for blood but finding none.
I get a glimpse of pooling red in my peripheral vision, making me turn my head to the left, as I quickly put together what just happened. My mind speeds up, knowing there are still two gunmen in the room, both with assault rifle
s. I assume they are standing there, wondering why Dupree just shot himself instead of me. I'm pretty sure I already know the answer, but it's the least of my worries right now. The men are well trained and will recover quickly, probably deciding to seize the opportunity to take off with the backpacks and sell them to the highest bidder.
I slam my hands onto the once-pristine white marble floor, causing the spike to pop out of the black diamond ring I'm wearing. With the way my wrists are bound, I can't quite reach the trigger on my dad's watch. So, as I stand, I stamp my left foot, popping the blade out of my shoe.
Then, I scream.
This seems to take the men out of their trance. One rushes toward his boss to see if he is indeed dead. It's funny, the tricks your mind can play when you see horror and gore. The man knows without a doubt that Dupree is dead. No one can survive when their brains are literally splattered across the room, but the man bends down, putting his hand on Dupree's neck, checking for a pulse. I give him a quick jab with my ring.
He looks up at me, his face quickly frozen in paralysis, and then drops over.
Dead.
"What the hell?" the other man says, heading toward his fallen comrade.
When he's close enough, I kick my leg, roundabout-style, sending the blade sticking out of my shoe across his femoral artery with precision. His first reaction is to cover the wound. When he does, I strike my palm into his face, shattering his nose and sending him falling backward. He tries to reach for his gun, which is now behind him, but his hands are slick with his own blood.
I pick up the gun that Dupree used to commit suicide and point it at the man.
"What was Dupree's plan?" I ask, watching the color drain from his face as he bleeds out.
"Bombs. Multiple cities. Martial law."
"What's the real plan? Come on, don't you have people you love? People you care about?"
He nods slowly at me, his eyes showing nothing but regret.
And I know how he feels.
I almost died. And, for the first time in my life, I didn't want to.
I slip the ring off Dupree's finger, find my purse on the floor by one of the dead men, and try to use my phone. For some reason, I have no signal. With the stuff that he was involved in, the house probably has countersurveillance built in.
Fortunately, there's a landline that I use to call Intrepid.
While I'm waiting for it to connect, I see a map on Dupree's desk, marked with eight locations.
