Page 28 of Stay Close
“BLUSH wants you back, anytime you care to go.”
For the first time in my career, I want to break some heads. “Real work,” I say, “Not this rent-a-cop stuff.”
“Erik Donovan is headed to Berlin. He’ll be acting as the PPO for one of our clients at a rare antiquities auction. If something like that comes up, you’ll be the first one I call.”
That’s all I needed to hear.
“Sondmark police haven’t found the guy from the harbor,” I tell him. “He’s gone underground.”
“It happens,” Gideon says. “Is it anything to worry about?”
“He’s started doing live video feeds from secret locations while wearing a mask. Uses a new VPN each time.”
“Delusions of grandeur?”
It’s more than that. “He’s got a rudimentary bunker in one of the forest preserves. A few weapons.”
“And you said you weren’t in the field,” Gideon grins. “Have the Sondish national security team been notified?”
“Yes. They tell me it’ll be hard tracking him down with all the snow.”
Gideon swears, low and fluently. “If he’s got a car, he can be anywhere in the country in, what, four hours? Keep your eyes open and your head clear. You think it’s more than talk?”
“I have to treat it like it is,” I say, signing off.
Just weeks ago, I would have bet that the danger to Edie would be to her dry-cleaning bills, but I’ve been closely monitoring the message boards and social media groups. Most posts and comments vent typical frustration, but lately a handful of darker elements have been percolating, unchecked, in the same environment.
Heads of state tend to be the lightning rods—focusing collective wrath around a symbolic figure—but Queen Helena has a crack team who doesn’t play around with removing dangerous elements. King Otto is beloved in Vorburg and the target of keen interest in Sondmark. Prime Minister Torbald is a blowhard with significant electoral support. I expect threats against each of these figures, but they’re not out of hand.
More unusual is the growing number of people who are beginning to cast Edie Spencer, international lawyer, in the role of villain. She’s the most prominent American at the negotiatingtable, and no one wants to be told what to do with their own territory by an American.
Should I recommend she be removed? I toggle across several open tabs on my computer, each with a post threatening violence toward Edie. The names are different on each one, but that doesn’t mean anything. They're probably burner accounts.
I know without having to be told that if I contacted Knickerbocker, Gouss & Astor and made a recommendation to have her supplanted, she’d never forgive me. A woman who takes her job as seriously as she does won’t allow anyone else to do it in her place. I beat a tattoo of frustration on the desk with my fist. I remember how furious I was when Gideon pulled me from the BLUSH tour, citing too much fan notoriety. I’d been doing good work there, neutralizing several threats, heading them off before they bubbled up into the public consciousness.
It only took one fan filming me at a venue, absentmindedly singing along to the sound check, to pluck me out of obscurity. That’s the death knell in security work. When you’re no longer able to blend into the wallpaper, you get all kinds of attention you don’t need.
Same goes for diplomacy, I suspect. Edie wants to do this work long-term, and having these negotiations revolve around how to keep her safe will impact her ability to do the job. I shove away from the desk and reach for my workout clothes, making my way to the employee gym. A few rounds with a punching dummy will take the edge off.
Nils, the head of security, is there before me. His hair is silver, and his skin is sweat-drenched, but I assess his frame. I could take him, but with his years of experience, it wouldn’t be a walk in the park. He waves me over.
“Castillo, perfect timing. You can spot me.”
Like many people we’ve encountered at the palace, his English is excellent. American power ballads blare from hidden speakers.
“I saw the news,” he says, settling down on a weight bench, twisting until he squares up under the metal bar.
He gives me a sharp nod. “One, two, three,” I count off. He takes a sharp breath and lifts. My hands hover under the bar. “Yeah, not ideal.”
He does five reps and, muscles straining, slots the bar into place. “I don’t agree. The assailant’s face was blurry, but you got his build, and you got out of there without a scratch. That’s a lot of information he gave up without laying a glove on you.”
I hold up my hand with the scabbed knuckles. “I don’t mind grappling. I’ll win 99 times out of 100. I’m worried about a more dangerous weapon next time.”
“He has them?”
I nod, my face grim. “His video feeds suggest a cache of weapons. They aren’t the best firearms—”
“They don’t have to be.” Nils presses another two rounds, wiping his face when he’s done, and leans forward. “It’s hard to procure guns in Sondmark, so it’s fair to assume he’s broken several laws already. He’s not just talking.” He wipes down the bench and follows me to a row of dumbbells. We lift in unison.
