The Monarch (28 page)

“Nice guy,” Lew said.

“It gets worse,” Jonathan said.

“Doesn't it always?” Lew's grin faded as he looked at Jonathan's face. “Jesus, what—­”

“They've got Natalie,” Jonathan said, his voice quavering.

“Fuck,” Lew said, horror and anger apparent in his tone. He put a hand on Jonathan's shoulder. “No forgiveness this time.”

“Not even a little,” Jonathan said, trying to stay focused. If they let emotions rule their actions they'd never get out of this.

Before they could continue, Emily interrupted.

“Hang on a second. This isn't making any sense,” she said, shaking her head.

Jonathan prepared himself. He'd known this was coming. Emily pointed at him.

“You said you weren't The Monarch.”

“That's right, but—­”

She continued before he could explain. This time she pointed at Lew. “You said you work with The Monarch and you know Jonathan. In fact, you
called
The Monarch Jonny back in New York!”

“Yeah, that's because—­” Lew tried to say, but failed.

Jonathan, despite the stakes around them, found himself smiling at the silliness of the situation. It was like watching a Three Stooges episode and it was just what he needed right now. He also took note that though both he and Lew were offering to explain, she wanted to work it out on her own. He admired that.

“Wait a minute,” Emily said, like a puzzle piece that wouldn't fit had finally been turned the right way and
snicked
into place. “You mean you're
both
The Monarch?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said with a smile. She turned and looked at Lew.

“Bingo,” Lew said with a wink.

“Of course! Oh my God, why didn't I see this. The conflicting descriptions from witnesses, the complexity of the thefts. I thought it was just the unreliability of eyewitnesses or the victims trying to muddle the investigations to protect themselves. It all makes sense now! It would
need
to be two ­people to work at all.”

“You got that right,” Lew said.

“What exactly happened here, Lew? No bullshit,” Jonathan said, referring to his one-­man Monarch job.

“There was . . . an accident,” Lew said.

“What kind of accident? Did you kill someone? George's kid or something?”

“No, jeez, no, man,” Lew drawled out. “I didn't kill anyone. I don't think.”

“Jesus, Lew, would you just say it!”

“I sort of, um, burned down his mansion.”

“Sort of?”

“Well, completely, actually. I was bypassing the alarm and I guess I got the wires crossed or something. I'm pretty sure everyone got out.”

“And his collection?”

“No, no way. I was the last one in there before the roof came down. That's gone.”

“Jesus!” Jonathan kicked the suitcase, leaving a dent in the side. “No wonder he wants us.”

“Look, let's get going while I still remember the way out of here,” Lew said, changing the subject.

“Going? The only place I'm going is up to Canton George's estate,” Jonathan said. “Take Miss . . .” Jonathan looked to Emily to see which name he should call her, but her wide eyes and slight head shake told him she didn't want that information disclosed to Lew just yet. “Take
Emily
out of here, while you can. But watch yourselves. If there was any truth to what Kring said, they'll be looking for us soon.”

“I can take care of a ­couple of well-­heeled hunters,” Lew said. “But why the hell would you go there?”

“I'm staying,” Emily said, both men snapping their heads around when she did. “The deal was for both of us. If he sees just you coming, you won't have a chance, whatever you're planning.” She was right about that.

“The only chance for Natalie is up there,” Jonathan said to Lew.

Lew took a gun out and tossed it to Jonathan. Then he took out another one and pulled the automatic's slide back, loading a bullet into the chamber.

“Mind some company?”

Jonathan smiled, though he'd known all along his friend wouldn't let him down. He slapped Lew on the shoulder and then looked at Emily.

“Okay, here's the plan . . .”

1:45
A.M.

“H
OLY CRAP,”
L
EW
said from his position on the hill looking down over the estate. The jungle ended in a cliff, spilling down onto several acres of flatland. George had rebuilt what Lew had destroyed, but
rebuilt
wasn't the right word.
Manifested
better described what had taken the place of the large ranch-­style home that had been there before. Now it looked like an English castle, complete with observatory dome on top. Huge floodlights illuminated the mansion and the grounds.

In the distance behind the mansion, Lew could see a tennis court and an in-­ground pool complex, the outbuilding looking more like a health club or a temple than somewhere to stow wet bathing suits. To the left of the sports complex was a large grove of mature trees, somehow green on the flat, brown grass that surrounded them. The front of the property was alternating huge patches of grass and concrete, and while there were trees and retaining walls, the trees were decorative, shaped and sparse. With all the windows in the four-­story face of the mansion, a surreptitious approach from the front would be almost impossible. The trees in the back were definitely the way to go.

Lew worked his way along the top of the cliff, looking for guards as he went. He hadn't seen any, yet, but he couldn't believe he was that lucky. Unless the message on the DVD meant all the guards were out in the jungle on the off chance Emily and Jonathan had decided to make a run for it. That would be bad. There'd be no telling how many there were, how they were armed, or when they would decide to come sauntering back to the house.

The plan was for Lew to take out any guards and then work his way into the house to get the drop on George and anyone inside. Jonathan and Emily, as requested, had walked up the road with Kring's payment. But with a place this big, even once he got inside, it could take Lew an hour to find them. He was liking this plan less and less.

Twenty minutes later, Lew had worked his way around back and down into the grove of trees. When he reached the last tree, he was still fifty feet from the house, and as it turned out the back of the place had even more windows than the front. He'd have to take a chance.

Lew crouched and darted out of his cover, heading for the large granite staircase that sloped away from the house into the yard. It was the closest point, and it would get him onto the terrace that ran along the back of the house halfway up. Once inside, moving from the top down was preferred to trying to work his way up.

Lew made it to the stairs and crouched on the first few steps, his back to the solid granite railing, concealing him from anyone unless they happened to come down the stairs just then. He caught his breath, his nose tickling from the heavy scent of chlorine in the air, and then ascended the stairs in a crouch, his gun drawn.

Flattened against the back of the house, Lew peered around the edge of one of the huge, decorative windows. The inside of the house was just as still as the outside. He moved along to the closest of several doors. In the years since the incident at the previous house on this very site, Lew had made it his business to learn how to bypass alarms. At first, he'd tried it the way Jonathan would approach it. He'd studied alarm manuals and schematics until his head hurt—­about a minute and a half—­and realized if he was ever going to be successful at this, he'd have to do it
his
way. And so with that approach, he'd practiced and studied until he'd become a craftsman at his way. And that's what he used here.

Lew raised his boot and stomped down on the bottom hinge of the door. Two stomps later the doorjamb cracked, releasing the hinge. He then pressed just above the height of the busted hinge on the center of the door with one hand, and slipped the fingers of his other hand under the bottom of the door and pulled—­pulled
hard
. His damaged hands ached and throbbed but some grunting made that go away for the moment. The door was metal but hollow, thankfully, and a minute later the entire bottom third of the door was bent out high enough for him to crawl under.

Once inside—­with no alarm sirens sounding—­Lew brushed himself off and looked around. He was going to have to hurry now, before anyone noticed the L-­shaped door sticking out onto the terrace.

He was in the kitchen, or at least
a
kitchen. It seemed too small for a house this large. He figured this must be a guest kitchen. Doorless entryways led off in several directions, but through them was more dark and quiet. Lew was more nervous than when he'd left Yazoo Penitentiary. Something was definitely off. To the left was a small spiral staircase leading upward. He continued his trek to the high ground and quietly ascended the wrought-­iron Slinky.

Lew eased the door at the top of the stairs open and found himself in an empty ballroom larger than a high school gymnasium, the hardwood floor shining in the twilight beaming through several large bay windows. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling and several glass doors displayed the house's top level as empty and dark. He made his way to the far side and was about to open the door when he saw an alarm control panel on the wall. A green LED glowed on the panel. The alarm was off. Lew rolled his eyes.

When he opened the door, he heard muffled voices coming from below.
Finally
. He had started to feel like he was in a horror movie. The circular hallway wrapped around an empty, railing-­lined space that looked down over the main floor. He looked over the edge, feeling a bit of vertigo from the eighty-­foot drop, and listened. The voices seemed to be coming from a doorway one floor down. Slowing his pace, he eased his way down the stairs and peeked around the edge of the open doorway.

It was another two-­story-­high space, a wooden landing running all the way around three sides of the large, square space. Everything in here was shiny, caramel wood—­the walls, the doors, the floor—­everything. A single chandelier hung down in the center. Below was an equally wooded great room, a fireplace set into one wall and a large patterned carpet on the hardwood floor, various sofas, tables, and chairs scattered around it. On the far side of the room, the only way down was another spiral staircase, this one wooden like everything else. This was as close as Lew would get and stay out of sight.

He eased through the door in a crouch and peered down at the odd scene below. Jonathan and Emily were on their knees by the fireplace, their fingers laced behind their heads. The suitcase was on a coffee table, open and displaying the cash. Lew recognized Canton George, the short and thin black man in a khaki safari outfit standing beside the case. The first odd thing was that George too had his fingers laced behind his head. The second odd thing was the three bodies, dressed similarly to George, lying to the side. Lew could see a few smears of blood on the floor, and from their lack of movement, he assumed they were dead. The only other man in the room, also dressed in khaki, was holding a gun on George.

“Claude's taking care of them, don't you worry,” the armed man said. The news didn't seem to console George much. It didn't take a genius to see that one of George's men—­or maybe more, depending on who Claude was—­were cashing in a little early retirement bond. Lew understood. Despite working in such a luxurious environment, furnishings were hard to pawn, especially when you had to haul them hundreds of miles to the pawnshop. A big case full of cash was another matter and obviously too tempting for them to turn down.

Lew knew the smart move would be to stand up and pop the lone thief now before Claude or anybody else showed up. But seeing Emily kneeling down there stopped him. He didn't want her to see that side of him if he could avoid it. It was stupid and adolescent, but something inside wouldn't let him shake the feeling. He'd have to find another way. Lew thought about going back into the ballroom and crossing the wires in the alarm panel, hoping he could set it off as a distraction, but the last time he did that here . . . no, that wouldn't work.

“How can you do this, Dennis? I treated you like a brother!” George said.

“Shut up!” Dennis said, smacking George in the mouth with his pistol. George fell to his knees and held his bloodied mouth. Just then, another man dressed in khakis came in from outside, a rifle slung over his shoulder. “Did you get them all?”

“Aye, mate. They'll be ripped apart by morning,” the rifleman, obviously Claude, said. Lew figured he'd killed whoever else had been waiting in the jungle in case Emily and Jonathan had run, leaving the disposal of their bodies to the wilderness.

Now there were two targets. Things were getting complicated, and his reasons concerning Emily aside, jumping up and shooting was now out of the question.

“What about them?” Claude asked, nodding toward Jonathan and Emily. Lew knew that if they hadn't been searched, Jonathan would still have access to a gun. Lew had put it in Emily's pocket, hoping George would see her as less of a threat. But pulling it now would be a death sentence. Dennis turned his gun toward the kneeling pair, and Lew knew the time for sensibilities and contemplation was over. Out of ideas, he acted on instinct.

Lew crawled up the landing to a set of double doors that led to a sitting room. He opened them both carefully and went in. There was nothing he could use as a weapon, but that wasn't why he'd gone in. He walked as far back as he could, tucked his gun into his waistband so it was snug, and then turned around and faced the open doors.

“Kill them,” he heard Dennis say from down below. Lew summoned his courage and with an emboldening shout, he took off. He ran as fast as he could, his thundering footsteps no doubt garnering the attention of everyone in the great room. When he was almost to the railing, he stomped both feet and dove over the railing into mid-­air, howling like a maniac, his duster flapping in the air behind him.