The Monarch (27 page)

 

PART SIX

Wednesday

 

42

Canton George Reserve

Thirty miles north of Sydney, Australia

12:30
A.M.
Local Time

D
ISORIENTED DIDN'T EVEN
begin to describe what Jonathan was feeling. With a booming in his head louder than a steel drum, he'd pulled the bag off his head and opened his eyes to a wild and wondrous moonlit world. He was deep in some kind of jungle, but it was like no jungle he'd ever seen. And for Jonathan, that was saying something.

Greens so deep and rich they were almost black painted the alien foliage around him. Strange-­shaped trees stretched up toward the sky, ankle-­deep in what looked like giant ferns. A creek babbled in a meandering line through the small clearing, making the scene almost idyllic.

Jonathan touched the back of his head and felt lump number two left by his Australian friend. After being led into what Jonathan guessed was a plane, the Australian had leaned in close and said through the black bag “One more time, asshole,” and then Jonathan had momentarily felt pain explode at the base of his skull before losing consciousness. He put his anger and pain away for now.

On the edge of the clearing, standing out like a rock in a carton of eggs, was a large metal suitcase. It stood on its end, and on top of it was a clamshell DVD player. A little yellow Post-­it note was stuck to the screen with two words printed on it: “Play Me.”

But the most bizarre sight in this tropical oasis was what lay at his feet. Emily Burrows struggled against her bindings, periodically moaning softly.

How the hell is she still alive?

“Miss Burrows, I need you to get up on your feet. Can you do that?” Jonathan said after untying her and removing her gag and blindfold. He didn't wait for her to agree. He put her arm around his shoulders and gently worked her up. She must have been trussed up longer than he because she was having trouble keeping her legs under her.

Jonathan walked her back and forth along the creek bank, which at first was more of a drag, but eventually she started to work her legs. A few minutes later, she pushed off Jonathan to stand on her own.

“What's going on? Where are we?” Emily asked groggily. Jonathan tested the creek water—­a complicated process of him tasting it. It seemed okay, sweet and cool. He scooped some up and splashed it on her face, then scooped some more and let her drink it. When the water hit her system, she suddenly stared in shock at Jonathan. “Oh my God!” she said, backing up, her eyes widening.

“Take it easy,” Jonathan said.

“But you're . . . you're
him
. You're The Monarch.”

“Please calm down, Emily. We're in a situation here. A bad one. But there's a little girl out there who's in a worse spot. Her life depends on what we do next. And for the record, I'm not The Monarch.” She seemed to work that over in her mind for a bit, seeing how it tasted.

“Then who are you?” Emily asked.

“My name's Jonathan Hall. I was at that press conference with you in New York, there was an explosion and then I woke up here. That's all I know,” Jonathan said. He was trying to align himself with her. Make her believe he was in the same situation as she, hoping that would break down any defensive walls and get her to trust him quicker. “That and I think we should obey the sign,” he said, pointing at the DVD player she had yet to notice. He didn't know what they'd see, and he was pretty sure whatever it was would almost instantly deconstruct his little psychodrama, but it might have the answers they needed.

Emily agreed, though Jonathan noticed she was still casting the odd sidelong glance at him. She was more savvy than she appeared. They took the Post-­it note off the DVD player and pressed play.

The screen came to life, showing Nathan Kring sitting behind his desk, bookcases behind him displaying a wide variety of tomes. He'd obviously taken a dose of the serum before turning on the camera, as the wheelchair was nowhere in sight. Nathan seemed to contemplate the camera for a moment before speaking.

“Hello, Mr. Hall. Miss Denham,” he finally said, leaning forward and tenting his fingers.

Denham?

“One of two things is about to happen. Either you're going to not only save yourselves, but myself and young Miss Hall in the process; or you're going to be delivered into the clutches of someone vastly worse than how you must currently view me. Which path you take is completely up to you.”

Jonathan meticulously analyzed everything in the image, from the background to the facial cues Nathan displayed as he spoke. He couldn't afford to miss a thing. Emily's breathing had quickened and she was leaning heavily on him for support.

“First off, allow me to apologize for my ruse, Miss Denham. As you can see,” he said, motioning behind him, “my admiration for your work was disingenuous, though I did come to like you in our short exchanges. You have a keen mind, and in a different world . . . well, there's no point in reverie now. Canton George, the man you are about to meet, is indeed a fan, but not in the way you would hope, I'm afraid. Ever since The Monarch came into his life, it's been his singular goal to erase him from existence. Unfortunately, when your book came out lauding The Monarch for his endeavors, the crosshairs fell on you, as well.”

Typical of his ilk, Jonathan thought. He was trying to focus but he couldn't help but wonder what the hell Lew had done to enrage George so.

Jonathan put his arm around Emily reflexively. Despite her shock, he thought she was holding up remarkably well. Meaning she hadn't passed out or thrown up.

“Mr. Hall, it was a pleasure hosting you for the little time you were here. But on to the matter at hand. The assignment I laid out for you wasn't a complete deception. Should you choose the right path, there will indeed be a job for you. Dare I say, the most important job of your life. Now for the choice.

“Option number one—­the path I hope you choose—­is for you to indeed break into Canton's estate and steal the item we discussed. Of course, this will be no mean feat, since he knows you're coming. But I'm sure you're up to the task. Bring it to me intact and I promise to release all of you, including your daughter. I'm afraid this is the only option that ensures her safety. Miss Denham doesn't really have a role in this option, but of course you can use her as you see fit.”

“Use me?” Emily said, but Jonathan shushed her.

“I'll have my man wait with the plane until sunup. You'll find a map in your pocket with the location indicated. Show him the item and he'll fly you all back here. Show up empty-­handed and he'll kill you all,” Kring said without emotion. Jonathan checked his pockets and found the folded map he hadn't even known was there.

“Option number two is more straightforward, but less . . . fruitful. In the suitcase you have with you is three million dollars. Head up to Canton's estate and deliver the money, Miss Denham, and yourself to him. Please don't attempt to run off. I'm pretty sure that's what he wants. You see, this is a hunting reserve. Canton has always seen himself, despite being black as night, as the great white hunter. He's placed men throughout his reserve to hunt you down, though he'll no doubt want to execute the kill shot himself. He has promised that if you take the payment directly to the house he'll make . . . it . . . quick and painless. I highly doubt this will be the case. He's also promised to deliver the item to me if you do this, but I hesitate to believe him. Oh, and be aware that if you choose this option I will do my best to care for young Miss Hall. She'll want for nothing as long as I draw breath, which unfortunately won't be long without the item. Which would mean—­well, you've met Lara.”

Emily had her hand to her mouth and was having trouble breathing. Jonathan's concern for her lessened when Natalie was mentioned. He was fighting a powerful combination of fear and anger, digging his nails into his palm to keep it in check. He figured it was a pretty good bet that regardless of the option they chose, Natalie wasn't going to get much older.

“Choose wisely, Mr. Hall. I hope to see you again. For everyone's sake. Good-­bye and good luck.” The screen went dark.

Jonathan laid the suitcase down and opened it. It was overflowing with euros. He closed it and picked it up.

“Come on. We better get going,” Jonathan said, holding his hand out for Emily. He had no idea how to get out of this, but he knew the first smart move was to not have seasoned hunters chasing you for kicks. Then of course there was the issue of not having any idea how to get to the estate, since he'd never been there before, but a path leading out of the clearing seemed to be the best place to start.

“Are you insane? I'm not walking to my own bloody funeral!” Emily spouted. “Who's Natalie? And how do you know where to go?”

Jonathan could tell by the way she crossed her arms and planted her feet, they weren't going anywhere until he answered at least a few of her questions. He put the case down and took a deep, cleansing breath. With Natalie in the balance he just wanted to run—­run and kill. He knew that wasn't the way to anything good, but the urge was overwhelming. Emily needed answers and he needed to calm down. He knelt down at the creek and splashed cool water on his face. It helped a little.

“Natalie is my daughter,” Jonathan said, trying to bottle up the emotions hooked to her name. “Kring is holding her hostage on his island. If he doesn't get what he wants . . .” Jonathan trailed off, unable to voice the obvious.

“Your daughter?” Emily said, her tone changing.

“But Kring's wrong on one count, at least. I've never been here before.”

“Then why does he think you have?”

“It's . . . complicated. What did Kring mean by his short exchanges with you? What's your involvement with him?” Jonathan asked.

Emily told Jonathan about her encounters with Nathan over the past few days. Everything from the limo enlistment to the bug she planted on him. Through the explanation, Jonathan just listened and nodded, taking it all in. He was fitting it into his current knowledge and trying to figure out if there was a way to use the information. He had no doubt that the limo in her story was the same one that had abducted him.

“And why was he calling you Denham? I thought your name was Burrows?” Jonathan asked, aware of the time passing.

Emily explained her background, leaving out the part about hunting for The Monarch and throwing her degree away.

Jonathan reciprocated with his story of what he had seen in Nathan's complex. He told her about Lara and Sophia and the mice in Sophia's lab. He even told her about the serum that, for a short time, cured Nathan's symptoms.

“He's in a wheelchair?” Emily said. Jonathan could tell she was picturing the man as she'd met him on the beach. She told him about Nathan's stumble near the end of their encounter.

Jonathan had more questions but before he could ask them, they heard the sounds of someone crashing around in the brush just beyond the edge of the clearing. The hunters were starting already. Emily backed up and then stepped behind Jonathan.

Jonathan picked up the DVD player. He hefted it a few times. It might make a satisfactory weapon if he hit the mark. It might at least slow them down enough so Emily could get away.

“Get behind the tree,” Jonathan said. When she just stared at him, not understanding, he pointed to the tree then swung the DVD player like a club. She nodded and scampered behind the tree. He moved over by another tree closer to the noise. “When I tell you, start making a racket back there.”

“What kind of racket?”

“A loud one. Recite the Lord's Prayer, scream like a chicken, I don't care. Just get their attention.”

“Oh, right,” she said.

Jonathan ducked behind his tree and listened. When the thrashing was about to break into the clearing, he gave the signal. Emily started making a racket like none he'd ever heard. She seemed to be imitating a whooping crane. Badly.

Jonathan raised the DVD player over his head and was about to step out and hurl it when he heard the sweetest sound in the world.

“What the fuck is that?”

Can it be?

Jonathan's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open when he heard Lew's voice. He stepped out from his hiding place and couldn't believe his eyes. There he was with that same wise-­ass grin he'd always had. It was obvious he'd been through the ringer to get there; both hands were bandaged, his duster looked like it had gotten caught in some machinery, and he had a welt over one eye. Jonathan's first impulse was to run over and hug the big lug, but he stuffed that down, cleared his throat, and did his best to act unimpressed.

“About time you showed up,” Jonathan said. He smiled despite himself and shook hands with Lew. “I was starting to think they'd popped you when you were on the roof of the limo.”

“Yeah, I love you too,” Lew said, pulling twigs and vines off his duster.

“It's all right, Emily! You can come out,” Jonathan said, letting himself chuckle at her diversion now. Emily stepped out from behind her tree. “This is—­”

“Lew!” Emily shouted, rushing by Jonathan and throwing her arms around Lew.

“Easy,” Lew said, though he hugged her back. “I'm still recovering from that rocket we rode over here.”

“I take it you two have met,” Jonathan said.

“Yeah, when we were looking for you, back in New York,” Lew said, still having the stuffing squeezed out of him.

“How hard did you look?” Jonathan asked, eyeing the embrace. They finally let go and both of them seemed extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“What do we got?” Lew finally asked.

Jonathan and Emily brought him up to speed on Kring and the deal he'd made with Canton George. They told him about the DVD recording, the suitcase full of cash, and the options they were presented.