Page 5 of The Last Kingdom

“Not really. Everybody needs help some time. Isn’t that what you like to say?”

“I do. And I’m glad you remembered. Tell me what you need.”

“These people are intent on doing some bad things to the US. So far, it’s all big talk. But now they are in motion.”

Something lay hidden within an old desk that had been sitting inside the Herrenchiemsee Palace for the past one hundred years. The possibility of a discovery had only recently come to light and the information seemed credible enough that some of those he’d been dealing with had been dispatched to investigate. If true, Luke had to obtain whatever was there to be found. But he also could not blow his cover. So he’d asked Malone to cause enough of a disruption so that they could learn the hiding place within the desk without allowing anything to actually be retrieved.

At least not until the bad guys were long gone.

Two of the team had ventured inside and taken the final tour of the day. He’d drifted around to the rear of the enormous palace and found a way inside near an elaborate marble stairway, where glass doors led out to a rear courtyard. Darkness had aided his prowling, as had the lack of outdoor lighting. He’d then made his way up to the second floor and over to the north wing, waiting for Malone to do his thing.

Which happened with flashes from a camera.

Inventive.

But he would have expected nothing less from ol’ Pappy.

He’d waited a few moments, then appeared and fired a shot at Malone, high enough not to hit him, but close enough to get everyone’s attention.

“We need to leave,” he called out to his two compatriots. “Now.”

Malone had dropped the camera and disappeared beyond the doorway into the next room, but the gunfire had surely alerted others downstairs. He’d been privy to some of the intel on the island and the palace. There was almost no security, few cameras, and the local police were nowhere near. Still, people would be headed this way.

Which was fine.

That was exactly what he wanted.

“Let’s go,” he said, motioning at them.

“One second,” the woman he knew as Lexi Blake called out.

He darted toward the desk, his gun still aimed at the doorway where Malone lurked. “We don’t have a second.”

“Thanks to you firing that gun,” she spit out.

“That guy is an eyewitness to what you’re doing. He snapped pictures. We have to go.”

He watched as they continued to fiddle with something beneath the rolltop desk, jiggling, pounding the ornate wood with their fists. Probably trying to release some sort of switch or lever. Finally, the guy whom he knew as Christophe stepped back and slammed the heel of his boot into one of the marquetry side panels. The old wood cracked but did not yield.

A second blow shattered it.

Christophe’s assault had revealed a small compartment hidden within the desk. Apparently they’d known where it existed, just not how to open it without being destructive. Inside lay a book, which Lexi retrieved. Okay. Time for plan B. Whatever that might be, which he would worry about later.

“Now we go,” Christophe said.

But first Luke ran across the room and grabbed the camera off the floor. “We can’t leave this.”

They then raced from the study, back toward the staircase they’d first climbed.

Luke had been a Magellan Billet agent now for a few years. Malone liked to call him Frat Boy, surely a reference to youth and inexperience, and an excellent counter to his label of Pappy for the older former-agent. They’d first met in the cold Baltic Sea north of Copenhagen. Ever since, their paths had seemed to periodically cross. Along the way he’d handled some difficult assignments, notching his share of successes. His Army training helped, as the Rangers taught him how to handle himself in tough situations. But being a product of east Tennessee, growing up in the Blue Ridge mountains, wasn’t a liability either. You figured out how to take care of yourself fast there and, with three older brothers, he’d learned at an early age how to hold his own.Talk slow, clear, and smart. Ifyou can’t do all three, keep your mouth shut.Good advice his father had taught him, which, the older he got, the more he tried to practice. He was definitely no longer a rookie and, as much as he hated to admit it, Cotton Malone was a wealth of knowledge and experience. Someone to learn from. The man was good. No question. A bit of a legend within the Magellan Billet.

So who better to help him out.

Ingratiating himself with these crazies had not been all that hard. Industrious bad guys were always on the hunt for good help. Especially reasonably priced help. So he’d made himself available and they’d hired him. But keeping their trust might prove more vexing. Especially since this operation had not gone according to plan. But at least they’d retrieved what they came for.

Which should count for something.

They kept moving through the rooms, each brightly lit, the windowpanes black to the outside. Before entering he’d located a work truck that would make the perfect getaway vehicle, parked conveniently just outside in the courtyard with the keys in the ignition.