The Missing Monarch (3 page)

“How far away do you think—”

Before she could finish her question, the drone roared down
upon them, its wheeled
landing gear piercing the fog like claws above their
heads.

Thad grabbed Monica by the shoulders as he flung himself down,
landing hard on his shoulder, uncertain whether it was more important to shield
her from the hard damp ground, or the threat above them.

The plane swept past them, out of sight again, and Thad pulled
Monica back to her feet. He didn’t recognize
the plane, but it certainly wasn’t
one belonging to his oil fleet, or the plane that had brought them to shore.
“What was that?”

“It looks like the little jet that brought me to Deadhorse.”
Monica stared through the mist in the direction the aircraft had disappeared.
“They told me it couldn’t land on the permafrost. It needs tarmac.”

“So what is it doing?”

“Looking
for us?” Monica’s guess sounded frantic.

The roar of the engine grew louder as the plane bore down on
them from somewhere in the disorienting fog. Since they couldn’t see the jet,
Thad realized the pilot wouldn’t be able to see them, either. Flying by
instruments, the pilot could avoid scraping the earth, but they stood tall
enough off the ground that it could crash right
into them in the thick fog.

“Run!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. They sprinted
at a faster pace than they’d adopted earlier.

Still, Monica looked at him with terror in her eyes. “Where are
we going to hide?”

“Just run.” He could hear the plane bearing down on them again.
“This way.” Tugging her off to the right, he hoped they could lose their
pursuers
in the fog if they veered off the course of the road. Surely the plane
was using the coordinates of the road to find them—the pilot wouldn’t be able to
see anything through the blanketing clouds.

It was all they could do to keep running for Deadhorse. Too bad
the tiny town was still miles away.

Above them the sound of the approaching plane grew louder with
its descent,
but each time he thought they were about to be buzzed, the sound
faded again through the dense fog. Monica’s dead sprint lagged slightly. He knew
she had to be winded. They couldn’t keep up their frantic pace forever.

“What do you think?” She panted, gulping air as she tried to
speak. “They can’t land that plane here.”

Thad understood what she was asking. Even if the plane
had been
sent by Octavian, what was his goal? They couldn’t scoop them up and carry them
off.

“The pilot must have told them we left his plane. Maybe they’re
just trying to keep tabs on us.”

“That fits.” Monica gulped air. “From the moment Octavian’s men
kidnapped me, I never had the slightest chance to escape. I’ve always felt like
someone was watching me. It’s
like he was paranoid that I might slip out of his
grasp, even with the threat he made against Peter.”

“He’s been too close to getting what he wants, and lost it
before,” Thad confirmed. “He doesn’t want to let us out of his sight.”

Moments later the plane bore down on them again, this time from
directly in front of them. The whine of the engine grew louder, impossibly
loud
as it had before. But this time, instead of fading away without a glimpse of the
jet, the nose sliced through the air not ten feet in front of them.

“Down!” Thad scooped Monica into his arms as he lunged for the
ground.

Light flashed around them, and the sound of the plane began to
fade again.

Unwilling to risk standing when their attackers could take
another swipe at any second, Thad rolled onto his side so he could see
Monica.

“Are you okay?”

She panted heavily, but lifted her eyes to meet his. “A little
banged up, but I’ll live.” Thad leaned toward her, as she sagged forward, still
gulping air. He pulled her against the padded arm of his jacket.

Thad told himself the move was simply meant to insulate her
from the cold ground while shielding her from the plane above. It wasn’t as if
he was hugging her. He knew better than to do that.

But as she took hold of his jacket with trembling fingers and
clung to him while she caught her breath, Thad felt the long-dead parts of his
heart lumbering back to life. He could kiss her lips and still their trembling.
He could hold
her until her terror faded away.

Thad pulled away. His love for Monica had created this
situation. If Peter had never been born, Thad would never have left the rig.
What would happen if Thad allowed his old love to be rekindled?

Octavian would use it against him. Monica would be a target. He
couldn’t let that happen, even if it meant denying the longing he felt.

As he rolled to his side, away from her, Thad reminded himself
of the discipline it had taken for him to forget her the first time around. When
he’d left her behind six years before, he’d given Monica clear instructions to
move on as though he’d never been a part of her life. He’d tried to put all
thoughts of her behind him, but in the lonely barrenness of the frozen north,
his thoughts had turned to her more often than he’d have liked. In her absence,
those thoughts did little more than torture him. But with her here, close enough
to touch, even his most deeply buried feelings of attraction became as dangerous
as the enemy he ran from.

Octavian had a history of using honorable traits like love and
devotion as weapons against those who opposed
him. He’d tried to trap King
Philip by threatening his family. He’d dangled marriage before Princess
Isabelle, like a worm on a hook. Octavian clearly suspected that Thad still had
feelings for Monica. That’s why he’d sent her.

The stronger Thad’s feelings were for Monica, the more useful
she’d be to Octavian. The madman would threaten her, endanger her, tie her to
virtual railroad tracks like the moustache-twirling robber barons of old if he
thought he could use her to manipulate Thad.

Thad couldn’t let his enemy have that advantage. The only way
he could protect Monica, and ensure the safety of Lydia, was to feel nothing for
her.

“Are they gone?” Her words pulled his thoughts back to the
present, and Thad realized the sounds
of the plane engine had faded while he’d
been lost in thought.

“Sounds like it. For now.”

“What was that bright flash?” Monica pulled herself to her
feet.

Thad shook his head as he rose slowly, his body weary from
their frantic flight, and a little banged up from diving to the ground. “Maybe
they took our picture.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Octavian
must have asked for proof that we’re still out
here.”

“How did they find us so quickly in this fog? The Alaskan
wilderness is huge. What are the odds that they’d pick us out of nowhere?”

“There’s nothing out here but Deadhorse and the road to the
coast. They can find those with their instruments, same as you can with your
watch,” Thad explained, but he still didn’t
like it. Everything about the tiny
jet, from its close sweep above their heads to its uncanny skill at spotting
them in the wide wilderness, raised his suspicions. He didn’t trust Octavian. At
all. “How much do you know about Octavian?”

She checked her watch and began trudging southward again. “Just
that he’s dead set on finding you. And he’s apparently very, very wealthy.
I
gather he’s the reason you abandoned me six years ago? It would be helpful if
you could explain more about him.” A look of challenge glinted in her brown
eyes.

Thad felt it hit that tender spot in his heart. She was
obviously angry with him, and resentful that he hadn’t explained everything long
before. He figured she had every right to feel that way, but at the
same time,
he doubted there was much he could do about it. The situation was far too
complicated.

And the appearance of the plane out of the thick fog only made
things more complicated. “If Octavian is watching us this closely, it might be
difficult for me to slip away and reach Peter before Octavian makes a move.”

Fear rose to Monica’s eyes. “You can’t let that madman
get his
hands on Peter.”

“I don’t know how I can stop him. We’re too far away. There’s
too much ground to cover between here and Seattle, and Octavian has far more
resources at his disposal.”

“You’ll have to go along with whatever Octavian says, then.
It’s the only way to keep Peter safe.”

“I can’t.” Thad wished there was some way to make her
understand.
“If I let Octavian have his way, then what? All it proves is that he
can bully people, that he can threaten the innocent to get what he wants. It
makes him more of a monster, not less. Do you really think Octavian will just
let us walk away when this is over?” He gripped her shoulders and answered his
own question for her. “It’s never going to be over.”

“Octavian told
me that coming to find you was the only way to
keep my family safe.” Monica pulled her shoulders free of his hands and broke
into a jog, as though the mere thought of their son being in danger was enough
to prod her onward again.

It was certainly enough to spur him into a run beside her. “Do
you have any idea how long Octavian has known about you? Anyone suspicious
lurking around? Any incidents?”

“No, nothing. Yesterday morning, out of the blue a car pulled
up and two men swiped me and put me on a plane to Deadhorse. Prior to that,
there was nothing to make me think I might be in danger.” She looked up into the
dense fog above them. “They came out of the blue. And yet, I wonder if they knew
about me all along, and were just biding
their time....”

Thad’s heart rebelled against the idea that Monica or their son
might have been in danger prior to the recent events in Lydia. “No one knew
about you. If they’d known about you or Peter, they’d have gone after you long
before this.” He’d given up everything to keep them safe. And yet, he couldn’t
deny the possibility that his efforts hadn’t been enough.
He’d been proven wrong
every time he’d underestimated his adversary’s reach.

“I want to call my parents as soon as we reach Deadhorse.”

Thad’s initial impulse was to talk her out of it. “We don’t
want to draw any attention—”

“What do you think that plane was?” Monica protested. “Octavian
isn’t taking any chances. If he’s watching us this closely, I’m sure he’s
watching Peter. We’ve
got
to warn my parents.”

Reluctant as he was to admit it, Thad had been thinking the
same thing. They couldn’t trust Octavian to stay away from Peter. Though
Monica’s parents didn’t have any training to prepare them to protect their
grandson, by leaving them in the dark about the danger, they only made it easier
for Octavian to get to Peter. Would
Octavian make a move on the boy? It was
riskier to ignore that likelihood than to act on it.

Thad pulled his satellite phone from the zippered pocket where
he’d stashed it. “Here.”

Monica slowed her pace. She looked at the phone and came to a
stop, reaching for it hesitantly. “Do you think...”

“I think you’re right. I don’t like it, I don’t know what good
it’s
going to do, but we need to let your parents know to be on their guard—to
hide Peter subtly, if they can.” He handed over the phone. “Call them.”

Monica felt the jolt of awareness that stung her hand as Thad
pressed the phone into her palm, but she chose to ignore it. She had more
important things to think about. And the anger she felt toward him was far
stronger than
any lingering sense of attraction.

Dialing her parents’ home number, she felt her heartbeat
thumping furiously, in spite of the fact that she’d slowed her run to barely a
walk. Peter
had
to be kept safe. She clutched the
phone and waited for an answer.

“Miller residence,” her mother answered with the familiar words
she’d been using for all of Monica’s life.

“Mom?”

“Monica? Are you okay? You said you wouldn’t be able to
contact—”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Monica cut to the reason for her call. “How’s
Peter?”

“He’s great. He’s been swinging on the swing in the backyard
all evening.”

“Are you in the backyard with him?”

“I was watching out the window while I did the dinner dishes,
until just this moment when I answered
the—oh. That’s odd.”

“What?”

“The swing.”

“What? Mom, is Peter okay?”

“The swing is still swinging, but... just a minute.”

Monica wasn’t about to wait a minute, or even another second
for an answer. “Mom? Where’s Peter? Can you see him?”

“He’s not on the swing.” Sheila Miller sounded breathless, and
Monica guessed her mother had run outside. To find Peter—she
had
to find Peter.

“Where is he? Is he okay?” She met Thad’s eyes as she waited
for an answer that would assure her that her son was fine. Thad looked
alarmed—he’d clearly picked up from her side of the conversation that Peter
wasn’t accounted for.

Finally, Sheila Miller answered breathlessly, “The back gate is
open. There’s a car in the alley. They’re driving— No,
no!”

“Mom, what is it?” Monica pleaded for answers, though she was
nearly certain she already knew what her mother was about to say. Thad pressed
his head close to hers, gripping her shoulder with one hand while he leaned
close to hear what was happening.

A frantic sob broke through the phone, and Monica could hear
the breathless panic in her mother’s voice as she
ran down the alley after the
retreating vehicle. “They’ve got Peter in that car. They’re driving away with my
grandson!”

THREE

“G
et the license plate number.” Thad
clutched Monica’s shoulders as she relayed his instructions to her mother. “Have
her call the local police. Get a make, model, color—anything they can use to
track them down. Maybe the authorities can catch them before they leave town.”
Thad felt the futility of his words even as he spoke them. The police wouldn’t
know who they were dealing with. They’d been outmaneuvered all along. Octavian
had probably kept his men watching Peter and waiting for orders to take him.

As Monica repeated his instructions in a choking voice, he
pulled her against his shoulder, as though by holding her tight, he could
somehow keep his son from slipping away. She clung to him for just a moment
before
ducking from his hold and pushing him away. She handed his phone back a
moment later.

“My mom is calling the police.” She glared at him, her eyes
red-rimmed, before turning and running toward Deadhorse again, this time in a
furious sprint.

Thad hurried after her. “He’ll be okay. They won’t harm
him.”

“How do you know that?” She spun to face him, half stumbling
over her own feet in the process. “Octavian said he wouldn’t touch Peter as long
as I did what he asked. I did what he asked. I found you. So why did he take my
son?” Monica’s voice squeaked with panic.

It was all Thad could do to keep up with her. He wished he
could think of words that would reassure her, but he had none. Octavian didn’t
play fair—he didn’t even
follow his own rules. The evil man had used Peter’s
safety to convince Monica to find Thad. No doubt he’d gone in for Peter as soon
as he was certain he’d flushed Thad out.

Octavian was hedging his bets. He had both heirs to the throne
in his hands now.

The madman couldn’t lose.

“Peter has to be okay.” Monica stumbled over the uneven ground.
“Can you promise
me he’ll be okay?”

Thad caught her before she fell completely. “I promise,
he’ll—”

But she didn’t let him finish. “What good is your promise,
anyway? You’ll say whatever you have to.” She tore her arm from his steadying
grasp and darted off again, her accusation lingering in the air behind her.

Thad wavered for a moment as though he’d been struck. He wanted
to
shake off the guilt her words heaped on him, but he found the charges stuck
all too well. Catching up to her again, he attempted to defend himself. “Peter
will be okay.”

She didn’t look at him, but sniffled as she ran forward. “He’s
probably terrified.” She panted as she strained to greater speed. “I’ve got to
get to him.”

Thad was surprised by the effort he had to
expend to keep up
with his wife. “Slow down,” he urged her finally. “It’s a long journey. You’re
not going to be any use to him if you wear yourself out now.”

With stuttering steps Monica slowed, and finally came to a stop
bent double, grasping her knees.

He thought for a moment she was simply catching her breath.

Then she gasped a tear-filled, wrenching sob and sagged
toward
the permafrost.

Thad caught her by the shoulders. “He’ll be okay.”

Wrestling away from him, Monica pushed him back, pounding him
in the shoulder, her small fists hardly making a dent past the thick down lining
of his jacket. “This is your fault. My son is gone because of you. I shouldn’t
have come. I should have tried harder to get away from Octavian. I should
have
told him no. It’s your kingdom, it’s your problem.” She groaned and shoved him
in the chest with both hands. “I should have
never
taken a second look at you.”

Thad realized she’d gone from blaming him for their son’s
abduction to regretting ever befriending him in the first place, at the start of
their friendship that had led to their whirlwind romance and marriage.

He hung his head. Having reached the same conclusion when he’d
left her after their elopement, he’d tried to pretend they’d never been in love.
But the pain that stung his heart told him he’d never forgotten. And this new
pain—the pain for the son he’d never met, and might never meet, now that
Octavian had him.

“If we’d never met, you wouldn’t have Peter.” His words
stilled
her fighting for just a moment.

“I don’t have him now,” she spat back, twisting away with
enough force to tear herself from his arms.

He let her go, and watched as she staggered back down the path,
running through the bleak fog.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. As he pulled it out, he
called to her, “Monica, come back—my phone is ringing. It might be
an update
from your mother.”

The identity of the caller was blocked, but Thad didn’t
hesitate to answer, relieved when he saw Monica emerge from the fog on her way
back toward him, cautious hope welling in her eyes.

But it wasn’t Sheila Miller’s voice that responded to his
hello.

The voice came from his worst nightmares, and echoed with
evil.

It was
the same voice that had banished him from his
kingdom.

“Thaddeus of Lydia?”

He hadn’t answered to that name in six years. “Yes?”

“I have your son.”

Thad met Monica’s eyes for an instant before he had to look
away. He couldn’t let her read the awful news from his face. Instead he turned
his back to her.

Before he could muster up a response, the voice continued.
“My
plane will pick you up in Deadhorse and bring you to my island. You and your
wife must come alone. Don’t try to tell anyone where you’re going. I’ll be
watching you closely. Besides, your destination lies beyond the jurisdiction of
anyone who can help you.” The voice chuckled with far too much pleasure. “If you
want to see your son alive, don’t miss your flight.”

The call ended, and Thad reluctantly pocketed his phone and
turned back around to face Monica.

The furious red that had colored her cheeks moments before had
drained to stark white. “What? Thad, tell me. Is Peter...”

“Octavian has him.” Thad swallowed, the images of the
power-hungry multibillionaire resurfacing from the meetings that had sent Thad
running into
self-imposed exile in the first place.

“Is he okay? Did you talk to Peter? What’s he going to do with
him?”

Monica’s simple questions echoed through his mind, but he had
no easy answers. Was Peter really okay? Thad couldn’t say. He couldn’t predict
what Octavian would do next. How could he try to think like a man so powerful,
so relentless, so
evil?

“I didn’t
talk to Peter.” Thad answered the only question he
could. “Octavian wants us to meet his plane in Deadhorse.” He shook his head.
There was no sense trying to avoid the connection now. Even if
he
managed to sneak away, it wouldn’t accomplish
anything—not if Octavian had Peter. There was no other option for them now but
to follow Octavian’s demands.

“And then what? What’s
he going to do with us?” Monica
asked.

“You’ve met him. Did he tell you what he wants?” They weren’t
going to get Peter back unless they started moving. Octavian had warned him not
to miss the flight. He took a few steps before realizing he’d lost track of the
road as they’d run from the plane. He didn’t know where they were. He didn’t
know what to do, or how he’d
get his son back. Reeling in Monica’s direction, he
lifted her wrist and peered at the face of the watch that was supposed to guide
them back to Deadhorse.

“I didn’t actually meet him. We spoke over the phone while I
was on the jet to Deadhorse.” Monica jerked her hand from his grasp. “This way.”
She set off at a brisk walk, not bothering to run this time.

He suspected
she was exhausted. More than that, he doubted
there was any point in running anymore. And it seemed she wanted to talk.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about this Octavian
person who has my son.”

Thad struggled to think where to begin.

“I’m serious. We need to outsmart this guy, and he already has
every advantage.” There was that commanding tone in her
voice again, that
unfamiliar note that demanded compliance.

“Octavian is the reason I went into hiding. He’s a chess
virtuoso turned billionaire mogul turned...” Thad struggled to think of how to
describe someone so calculating, so determined...so invincible.

“Who
is
he?”

“He’s gone by many names. He was born Demitri Hasangjekaj in
1951. By the age of eight,
he’d risen to international fame as a chess master,
but during that time his parents divorced, and he bounced back and forth between
his parents and grandparents, eventually taking his mother’s new last name,
Korkizoglou.”

“Sounds unsettling.”

“It was. He was eventually barred from competitive chess
because of his violent temper. He couldn’t stand losing.” Thad had
pondered the
man’s history during his years of isolation, and drawn a few conclusions about
the domineering figure. “He still can’t.”

After a moment’s silence, Monica prompted him. “After he was
barred from playing chess...”

“He invested his winnings in real estate and the stock market.
By some calculations, he’d amassed his first hundred million dollars in assets
by the age of twenty-five. The more he gained, the more he wanted. He hates
having his whims denied. After clashing with the governments of the various
nations where he held property, over everything from building code restrictions
to rules about exotic pets, he decided he didn’t want anyone to tell him what to
do. He’s purchased isolated islands all over the world, and applied
to the
United Nations for membership as a recognized nation.”

“What?” Monica interrupted his story. “He applied for
nationhood
status? I thought he was just one man.”

“One very powerful man, who doesn’t want to be controlled by
anyone.”

“So what did the U.N. do?”

“After they got done laughing at his request, they turned him
down.”

“They turned down the guy
who hates being denied anything?
Please tell me he learned his lesson.”

“Unfortunately, their refusal had quite the opposite effect. It
galvanized his determination to buy a seat, no matter what the cost.
Regrettably, when he first approached my father, no one in Lydia realized what
he was after.”

“Demitri?”

“By this time he’d decided he was a reincarnation of
Caesar
Augustus, also known as Octavian. He often goes by the code name 8.”

“Probably as a result of having to learn to spell all those
long last names as a kid.”

“I have no doubt many of his delusions are rooted in the
experiences of his twisted youth. Unfortunately, understanding
why
he’s so determined hasn’t brought me any closer to
effectively defending Lydia
from him.” Thad slowed his steps as Deadhorse came
into view through the thinning fog. “If I had any idea how to stop him, I would
do whatever it takes. Six years ago, when I arrived in Lydia to tell my parents
I had a wife, before I had a chance to introduce you to anyone, my father
brought me to the negotiating table to meet Octavian.”

Thad’s steps slowed to a stop,
and he faced Monica with all his
regrets. “I was supposed to hand over my kingdom to a man who had no concern for
its people. My father got in over his head. He agreed to things before he
understood the implications.
He
had no way out.”

Monica trembled as she looked up at him. “And you?”

“I couldn’t undo what he’d already done, but there was no way I
could go along
with it, either. I was the next cog in the wheel of Octavian’s
diabolical plan. The only way I could keep him from rolling over Lydia with the
crush of his relentless drive for power, was to leave.”

“How did your leaving keep him from taking over the Lydian
crown?”

“When I was twenty-two, my grandparents died in a helicopter
crash, and my father became king. At that
time, he officially named me his
successor. My appointment was formally approved by the royal council, and I
signed the Article of the Crown, a document stored in the Scepter of
Charlemagne. If Octavian were to remove my father from the throne without my
renunciation, I would become the next king.”

“So, Octavian needs your signature renouncing your claim to the
throne.”

“Precisely. In order to prevent that, I hid the scepter and
left without signing anything.”

“That’s why you left.” Monica’s voice held resentment and
confusion. “But I don’t understand. How could Octavian gain control of Lydia? He
wanted to be king?”

“He wanted to
be
king, or he wanted
a king he could control.”

“So, your father...”

“Octavian first approached
my father shortly after he’d been
crowned king, following my grandparents’ untimely death. I believe my father was
emotionally vulnerable at the time, and unsure of himself as a new ruler, so he
was easily swayed by Octavian’s requests. In exchange for opening factories and
financing mammoth building projects, my father granted Octavian royal
titles.”

“Royal titles?”

“He was first an earl, then a duke, but his requests became
more and more demanding. He claimed he’d built Lydia into a financially stable
nation through his investments and deserved to be rewarded.”

“But, didn’t he profit from his projects?”

“Immensely. So did Lydia.” Thad kept trudging. “By the time he
demanded power over the crown, he and his associates had already
been granted
enough titles to make him a very influential member of the royal council, which
validates the king’s successor.”

“I thought
you
were the king’s
successor.”

“Precisely. When I was twenty-two, the royal council validated
my right of succession, should anything happen to my father. The ruling monarch
holds the right to name his successor. Normally there’s
no question. The ruling
king or queen bequeaths the crown to their eldest child. If there were no
children to inherit it, the ruling monarch would select a relative, such as a
sibling or niece or nephew. The royal council always approves the successor,
usually as a formality, as in my case. But in those cases in which the line of
succession was in question—”