Page 22 of The Phoenix (Spy Girl 6)
“You didn’t care when I touched you like that in Montrovia,” he counters, trying to redeem himself.
“Different situation. There, we were flirting with each other. Here, I am your friend who is engaged to be married.”
“It’s bollocks,” he mutters.
“What is?”
“You marrying Daniel. I just can’t see it.”
“Daniel has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen,” I say truthfully.
“You still like Lorenzo. It’s obvious.” He rolls his eyes toward the sky.
“Lorenzo and I are friends. As are Lizzie and I. What’s wrong with you? Why are you being such a jerk?”
“She broke up with me.” He sighs and holds his hands up in front of his chest. “And I probably deserved it.”
“One too many Jodi, Jodi, Jodi and your mates saying, Off with her head?”
“Something like that. She says I’m immature.”
“Do you want her back?”
“My mates say good riddance. They are glad she’s gone and say that I need someone with a sense of humor.”
“And what do you say?” I ask, my eyebrow raised.
“I miss her terribly,” he admits.
“Maybe you should listen to your heart and not to your friends.”
“My heart says she’s a bossy pain in my arse, but I’m in love with her.”
“Sounds like you need to do some groveling,” I say.
As Wesley slinks off, presumably to make a phone call, Peter wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek in greeting.
“You seem to be in an exceptionally good mood,” I say to him.
He glances to the left, causing me to look that way and see Blair. “We’re here together. I’m deliriously happy.”
“Gonna be tough to party with the old ball and chain around,” I tease.
“I’d like to be chained to her all night,” he replies with a naughty smirk.
MISSION:DAY SIX
Royston Bessemer and his wife arrive at the hotel just before ten in the morning. They are quickly escorted to their suite.
While their clothing is being unpacked and steamed by housekeeping, his wife reads the engraved events schedule and has the butler move their welcome gift of chilled champagne served with caviar-topped oysters out to the balcony overlooking the water.
Royston pauses for a moment, wondering why they were invited. Why Huntley, who he barely knows, offered them a place to stay in Montrovia. He takes The Echelon ring out of his pocket and considers wearing it to the wedding, but he’s worried about what they would do. Would he be kicked out? Killed for revealing their secret? He’d really like to determine who the other men in the group are besides Harrison McClellan, Maximillian Olivier, and himself.
Ultimately, he slips the ring on. He knows that Ares Von Allister was a very important influence on this group. Maybe the other members will wear their rings in his honor.
It’s my brother’s wedding day. I’m so incredibly happy for him and Allie, and I can tell he’s so excited. And, although Lorenzo is his best man, Ari asked if we could have breakfast alone, just the two of us.
Of course, I agreed.
We’re in his hotel suite, waiting for our food to arrive, when he sits down across from me and grins.
“You haven’t asked who I invited to the wedding.”
“Are there more people coming? I guess I thought it was just family and close friends. Like everyone who was here last night.”
“I invited some of our father’s friends,” he says smoothly, causing me to realize that he wasn’t just thinking about himself but also our mission.
“As in the entire board of directors of Von Allister Industries and some of The Echelon members?”
“Yep.”
“Even Harrison McClellan? Is he coming? He hates me.”
“At this point,” Ari says, “we just have to figure it all out. What better way for you to get information from them than when they are relaxed and drinking at my wedding?”
I have to give it to him; he has a point.
“You’re right. Are they all coming?”
“Yes. Harrison McClellan, Royston Bessemer, Rutherford Elingston, Maximillian Olivier, Malcolm Prescott, Aleksandr Nikolaevich, Sergey Olander, Zayn Kipling, and the CEO of the company, Henry Canterbury. All should be arriving over the next couple of hours.”
I glance at the events schedule. “Today is going to be jam-packed with the pre-wedding lunch and the pre-wedding cocktail hour, followed by the wedding ceremony, more cocktails, dinner, dancing, and a carnival.”
“It’s going to be the best day of my life,” Ari says, practically swooning over the thought.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what would happen in my mother’s scenario. People in Montrovia start getting sick from poisoned grain. What I don’t understand is the need for a coup. If citizens are dying, what could the military be counted on to do that Lorenzo might not?”
“Kill people?” Ari suggests.
“Maybe, but you couldn’t guarantee that would happen everywhere in the world. It has to be something else.”
Ari holds his finger up when the doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of our meal.
After our breakfast is laid out in front of us and the staff is gone, I say, “Why did Hillford have his own son killed? There’s got to be something the president of the United States must do when it starts. Which means either Daniel’s dad is in on it—”
“Or there’s something they expect him to do naturally,” Ari says before he takes a bite of his omelet.
“Something to do with Daniel?” I gasp, suddenly realizing Lorenzo might not be the only one at risk.
“Yeah,” he says. “But there’s something else to consider. Daniel told me his family as well as the vice president will be attending the Olympic ball. What if they are among the first targets?”
“Oh, wow,” I say, the breath rushing out of my chest. “If they were, what would happen next?”
“The government’s succession plan.”
I try to remember the presidential succession plan. Obviously, the president, the vice president, and then is it the secretary of defense? No, that’s not right because he’s appointed, not elected by the people.
I flash back to Peter taking me to Blair’s engagement party. Him telling me that her grandfather was the third most powerful man in Washington.
“Are you saying that Speaker of the House Royston Bessemer—who announced, much to his wife’s surprise, that they were going to Montrovia at the last minute—is waiting in the wings to become the leader of the free world? The man who is staying in our home? Who took Hillford’s spot on the Von Allister board?”
“It’s definitely a possibility. In theory, he could enact martial law, take control over our military, and effectively become a dictator with no checks and balances.” He pauses to put down his fork and then looks at me seriously. “I’m having a hard time seeing that though. Some of the guys on the VA board, maybe. Like McClellan. He seems power-hungry. But the rest of the members are great people. And Royston is the grandfather everyone wishes they had.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know.” I swallow hard.
“That he’s going to be part of an American coup?” Ari asks incredulously.
“Yeah, because it’s not a coup. It would be a simple succession. A plan that’s been in place for years,” I say. “Him becoming the president would be following the letter of the law, just like when Daniel’s dad was sworn in. Maybe they gave him Hillford’s ring. Or maybe he’s long been a member.”
“If not, they could pressure him in other ways—blackmail, threatening Blair and his family,” Ari suggests.
“I think you’re right though, Ari. Hillford Junior was their plan A. Royston could be their plan B, whether he knows it or not.”
“Maybe we should talk to him,” Ari suggests.
“What? And casually ask if he was given a centuries-old emerald ring and admissio
n into a secret society?” I scoff. “Wait. Do they know him?”
“What do you mean?” Ari asks.
“Was he friends with Echelon members before they offered him the role on the VA board?”
“I don’t know. Should we have the guys do some digging?”
I shake my head. “I’ll do some digging. You focus on getting married.”
“Sounds like the perfect mission,” he says happily.
Allie is talking the whole time we’re in her suite having our hair and makeup done for the ceremony. “I’m certainly not giving up my career,” she says, “but I can’t decide if I want to keep my name. The modeling world knows me as Allie Peterson, but my real name is Alexia. I could go by Alexia Von Allister. It sounds quite regal, don’t you think?” She doesn’t really give anyone a chance to reply. “And, oh my gosh, I got a call from my agent this morning. Gucci wants Ari and me in one of their campaigns! Do you think he will agree to do some modeling?”
“Of course he will,” one of her sisters says. “What else does he have to do?”
