Alpha Squad: Prince Joe / Forever Blue

Chapter Five

“And never, ever open the door yourself,” Veronica said. “Always wait for someone—a servant—to do it for you.”

Joe gazed at her across the top of his mug as he sat on the other side of the conference table in Tedric’s royal suite. “Never?” he said. He took a sip of coffee, still watching her, his dark eyes mysterious, unreadable. “Old Ted never opens the door for anyone?”

“If he were with a king or a queen, he might open the door,” Veronica said, glancing down at her notes. And away from those eyes. “But I doubt you’ll be running into any such personages on this tour.”

“What does Ted do when he’s all alone?” Joe started to put his mug down on the richly polished oak tabletop, but stopped as if he were afraid to mar the wood. He pulled one of Veronica’s file folders closer and set his mug down on top of the stiff manila. “Just stand there until a servant comes along to open the door? That could be a real drag if he’s in a rush to use the head.” He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow on the table, as he continued to gaze at her.

“Your Highness, an Ustanzian prince never rests his elbows on the top of a table,” Veronica said with forced patience.

Joe smiled and didn’t move. He just watched her with half-closed bedroom eyes that exuded sexuality. They’d been working together all night, and not once had he let her forget that she was a woman and he was a man. “I’m not a Ustanzian prince,” he said. “Yet.”

Veronica folded her hands neatly on top of her notes. “And it’s not called a ‘head,’” she said. “Not john, not toilet, not bathroom. It’s a water closet. W.C. We went through this already, remember, Your Highness?”

“How about I call it the Little Prince’s Room?” Joe asked.

Veronica laughed despite her growing sense of doom. Or maybe because of it. What was she going to do about Joe Catalanotto’s thick New Jersey accent? And what was she going to do about the fact that this man didn’t, for even one single second, take anything they were doing seriously?

And to further frustrate her, she was ready to drop from exhaustion, while he looked ready to run laps.

“My mother’s name is Maria. She was an Italian countess before she met my father. My father is King Derrick the Fourth, his father was Derrick the Third,” Joe recited. “I was born in the capital city on January 7, 1961…You know, this would be a whole lot easier on both of us if you would just hand me your file on this guy, and give me a videotape so I can see firsthand the way he walks and stands and…”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant.” A FInCOM agent by the name of West stood politely to one side.

Joe looked up, an instant Naval Officer. He sat straighter and even looked as if he was paying attention. Now, why couldn’t Veronica get him to take her that seriously?

“At Admiral Forrest’s request, Mr. Laughton requires your consultation, sir, in planning the scheduling of the tour, and the strategy for your protection,” West continued. “That is, if you wish to have any input.”

Joe stood. “Damn straight I do,” he said. “Your security stinks. Fortunately those terrorists took the night off, or I’d already be dead.”

West stiffened. “The security we’ve provided has been top level—”

“What I’m saying is your so-called top-level security isn’t good enough, pal,” Joe countered. He looked back at Veronica. “What do you say you go take a nap, Ronnie, and we meet back at…” He glanced at his watch. “How’s eleven-hundred hours? Just over two hours.”

But Veronica stood, shaking her head. She wanted desperately to sleep, but unless she attended this meeting, the visit to Saint Mary’s would be removed from the tour schedule. She spoke directly to the FInCOM agent. “I’d like to have some input in this meeting, too, Mr. West,” she said coolly. “I’m sure Mr. Laughton—or Admiral Forrest—won’t mind if I sit in.”

Joe shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Princes don’t shrug, Your Highness,” Veronica reminded him as they followed West out into the corridor and toward the conference room.

Joe rolled his eyes.

“And princes don’t roll their eyes,” she said.

“Sheesh,” he muttered.

“They don’t swear, either, Your Highness,” Veronica told him. “Not even those thinly veiled words you Americans use in place of the truly nasty ones.”

“So you’re not an American,” Joe said, walking backward so he could look at her. “Mac Forrest must’ve been mistaken. He told me, despite your fancy accent, that you were.”

Joe had talked about her with Admiral Forrest. Veronica felt a warm flash of pleasure that she instantly tried to squelch. So what if Joe had talked with the admiral about her. She’d talked to the admiral about Joe, simply to get some perspective on whom she’d be dealing with, who she’d be working closely with for the next few weeks.

“Oh, I’m American,” Veronica said. “I even say a full variety of those aforementioned nasty words upon occasion.”

Joe laughed. He had a nice laugh, rich and full. It made her want to smile. “That I won’t believe until I hear it.”

“Well, you won’t hear it, Your Highness. It wouldn’t be polite or proper.”

Her shoe caught in the thick carpeting, and she stumbled slightly. Joe caught and held her arm, stopping to make sure she had her balance.

Veronica looked really beat. She looked ready to fall on her face—which she just about did. Joe could feel the warmth of her arm, even through the sleeve of her jacket and blouse. He didn’t want to let her go, so he didn’t. They stood there in the hotel corridor, and FInCOM Agent West waited impatiently nearby.

Joe was playing with fire. He knew that he was playing with fire. But, hell. He was a demolitions expert. He was used to handling materials that could blow sky-high at any time.

Veronica looked down at his hand still on her arm, then lifted enormous blue eyes to his.

“I’m quite all right, Your Highness,” she said in that Julie Andrews accent.

“You’re tired as hell,” he countered bluntly. “Go get some sleep.”

“Believe it or not, I do have some information of importance to add to this scheduling meeting,” she said hotly, the crystal of her eyes turning suddenly to blue flame. “I’d truly appreciate it if you’d unhand me so we could continue on our way, Your Highness.”

“Wait,” Joe said. “Don’t tell me. A prince never offers a helping hand, is that it? A prince lets a lady fall on her face, right?”

“A prince doesn’t take advantage of a lady’s misfortune,” Veronica said tightly. “You helped me—thank you. Now let me go. Please. Your Excellency.”

Joe laughed. This time it was a low, dangerous sound. His hand tightened on her arm and he drew her even closer to him, so that their noses almost touched, so that Veronica could feel his body heat through the thin cotton shirt and dark slacks the tailor had left him with after the early-morning fitting.

“Babe, if you think this is taking advantage, you’ve never been taken advantage of.” He lowered his voice and dropped his head down so he was speaking directly into her ear. “If you want, I’ll demonstrate the differences. With pleasure.”

She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck as he waited for her to react. He was expecting her to run, screaming, away from him. He was expecting her to be outraged, upset, angry, offended.

But all she could think about was how utterly delicious he smelled.

What would he say, what would he do if she moved her head a fraction of an inch to the right and pressed her cheek against the roughness of his chin. What would he do if she lifted her head to whisper into his ear, “Oh, yes”?

It wouldn’t be the response he was expecting, that was certain.

But the truth was, this wasn’t about sex, it was about power. Veronica had played hardball with the big boys long enough to know that.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested—he’d made that more than clear in the way he’d looked at her all night long. But Veronica was willing to bet that right now Joe was bluffing. And while she wasn’t going to call his bluff, she was going to let him know that merely because he was bigger and stronger than she, that didn’t mean he’d automatically win.

So she lifted her head and, keeping her voice cool, almost chilly, said, “One would think that a Navy SEAL might be aware of the dangers of standing too long in a public corridor, considering someone out there wants Tedric—whom, by the way, you look quite a bit like these days—dead.”

Joe laughed.

Not exactly the response she was expecting after her verbal attack. Another man might have been annoyed that his bluff hadn’t worked. Another man might have pouted or glowered. Joe laughed.

“I don’t know, Ron,” he said, letting her go. His dark eyes were genuinely amused, but there was something else there, too. Could it possibly be respect? “You sound so…proper, but I don’t think you really are, are you? I think it’s all an act. I think you go home from work, and you take off the Margaret Thatcher costume, and let down your hair and put on some little black sequined number with stiletto heels, and you go out and mambo in some Latin nightclub until dawn.”

Veronica crossed her arms. “You forgot my gigolo,” she said crisply. “I go pick up my current gigolo and then we mambo till dawn.”

“Let me know when there’s an opening, honey,” Joe said. “I’d love to apply for the job.”

All humor had gone from his eyes. He was dead serious. Veronica turned away, afraid he’d see just from looking at her how appealing she found the thought of dancing with him until dawn, their bodies clasped together, moving to the pulsing beat of Latin drums.

“We’d best not keep Mr. Laughton waiting,” she said.

“Your Excellency.”

“Damn,” Joe said. “Margaret Thatcher’s back.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Veronica murmured as they went into the secret-service agents’ suite. “But she never left.”

“Saint Mary’s, right here in Washington,” Veronica said from her seat next to Joe at the big conference table. “Someone keeps taking Saint Mary’s off the schedule.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Kevin Laughton said in his flat, almost-bored-sounding Midwestern accent.

“I disagree.” Veronica spoke softly but firmly.

“Look, Ronnie,” Senator McKinley said, and Veronica briefly shut her eyes. Lord, but Joe Catalanotto had all of them calling her Ronnie now. “Maybe you don’t understand this, dear, but Saint Mary’s doesn’t do us any good. The building is too small, too well protected, and too difficult for the assassins to penetrate. Besides, it’s not a public event. The assassins are going to want news coverage. They’re going to want to make sure millions of people are watching when they kill the prince. Besides, there’s no clear targeting area going into and out of the structure. It’s a waste of our time.”

“This visit’s been scheduled for months,” Veronica said quietly. “It’s been scheduled since the Ustanzian secretary of press announced Prince Tedric’s American tour. I think we can take one hour from one day to fulfill a promise the prince made.”

Henri Freder, the Ustanzian ambassador to the United States, shifted in his seat. “Surely Prince Tedric can visit this Saint Mary’s at the end of the tour, after the Alaskan cruise, on his way back home.”

“That will be too late,” Veronica said.

“Cruise?” Joe repeated. “If the assassins haven’t been apprehended before the cruise to Alaska is scheduled, there’s no way in hell we’re getting on that loveboat.” He looked around the table. “A cruise ship’s too isolated. It’s a natural target for tangos.”

He smiled at their blank expressions. “Tangos,” Joe repeated. “T’s. Terrorists. The bad guys with guns.”

Ah. There was understanding all around.

“Unless, of course, we’re ready and waiting for ‘em,” Joe continued. “And maybe that’s not such a bad idea. Replace the ship’s personnel and passenger list with platoons of SEALs and—”

“No way,” Laughton said. “FInCOM is handling this. It isn’t some military operation. SEALs have no place in it.”

“Terrorists are involved,” Joe countered. “SEAL Team Ten has had extensive counterterrorist training. My men are prepared for—”

“War,” Laughton finished for him. “Your men are prepared and trained for war. This is not a war, Lieutenant.”

Joe pointed to the cellular phone on the table in front of Laughton. “Then you’d better call the terrorists. Call the Cloud of Death, call up Diosdado. Call him up and tell him that this is not a war. Because he sure as hell thinks it’s one.”

“Please,” Veronica interjected. “Before we continue, may we all agree to keep Saint Mary’s on the schedule?”

McKinley frowned down at the papers in front of him. “I see from the previous list that there weren’t going to be any media present at the event at Saint Mary’s.”

“Not all of the events scheduled were for the benefit of the news cameras, Senator,” Veronica said evenly. She glanced around the table. “Gentlemen. This rescheduling means hours and hours of extra work for all of us. I’m trying my best to cooperate, as I’m sure you are, too. But I happen to know that this appearance at Saint Mary’s was of utmost importance to Prince Tedric.” She widened her eyes innocently. “If necessary, I’ll ring up the prince and ask for his input and—”

“No need to do that,” Senator McKinley said hastily.

Getting self-centered Prince Tedric in on this scheduling nightmare was the last thing anyone wanted, Veronica included. His so-called “input” would slow this process down to a crawl. But she was prepared to do whatever she had to do to keep the visit to Saint Mary’s on the schedule.

McKinley looked around the table. “I think we can keep Saint Mary’s on the list.” There was a murmur of agreement.

Joe watched Veronica. Her red curls were up in some kind of feminine arrangement on the top of her head. With her delicate features and innocent blue eyes, she looked every inch the demure, cool English lady; and again, Joe was struck by the feeling that her outward appearance was only an act. She wasn’t demure or cool, and if his gut feelings were right, she could probably outmanipulate the entire tableful of them. Hell, she just had. But she’d done it so subtly that no one was even aware they’d been manipulated.

“About the Alaskan cruise,” Senator McKinley said.

“That’s not until later in the tour.” Joe leaned back in his chair. “Let’s keep it off the public schedule for now. We don’t want the T’s—terrorists—choosing that opportunity above everything else. We want ’em to strike early on. But still, we can start making arrangements with the SEAL teams, start getting ’em prepped for a potential operation aboard ship.”

“No SEALs,” Kevin Laughton said tersely.

Joe gave the FInCOM agent a disbelieving look. “You want high casualties? Is that your goal here?”

“Of course not—”

“We’re all on the same team, pal,” Joe said. “We all work for the U.S. Government. Just because I’m Navy and you’re Fink—”

“No SEALs.” Laughton turned to an aide. “Release this schedule to the news media ASAP, keeping the cruise information off the list.” He stood. “My men will start scouting each of these sites.”

Joe stood up, too. “You should start right here in this hotel,” he said. “If you’re serious about making the royal suite secure, you’re understaffed. And the sliding door to the balcony in the bedroom doesn’t lock. What kind of security is that?”

Laughton stared at him. “You’re on the tenth floor.”

“Terrorists sometimes know how to climb,” Joe said.

“I can assure you you’re quite safe,” Laughton said.

“And I can assure you that I’m not. If security stays as is, if Diosdado and his gang decide to come into this hotel to rid the world of Prince Tedric, then I’m as good as dead.”

“I can understand your concern,” Laughton said. “But—”

“Then you won’t have any objection to bringing the rest of my Alpha Squad out here,” Joe interrupted. “You’re obviously undermanned, and I’d feel a whole hell of a lot better if—”

“No,” Laughton said. “Absolutely not. A squad of Navy SEALs? Utter chaos. My men won’t stand for it. I won’t have it.”

“I’m going to be standing around, wearing a damned shooting target on my chest,” Joe retorted. “I want my own guys nearby, watching my back, plugging the holes in FInCOM’s security net. I can tell you right now, they won’t get in your boys’ way.”

“No,” Laughton said again. “I’m in charge of security, and I say no. This meeting is adjourned.”

Joe watched the FInCOM chief leave the room, then glanced up to find Veronica’s eyes on him.

“I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way,” he said.

The man known only as Diosdado looked up from his desk as Salustiano Vargas was shown into the room.

“Ah, old friend,” Vargas greeted him with relief. “Why did your men not say it was you they were bringing me to see?”

Diosdado was silent, just looking at the other man as he thoughtfully stroked his beard.

Vargas threw himself down into a chair across from the desk and casually stretched his legs out in front of him. “It has been too long, no?” he said. “What have you been up to, man?”

“Not as much as you have, apparently.” Diosdado smiled, but it was a mere shadow of his normally wide, toothy grin.

Vargas’s own smile was twisted. “Eh, you heard about that, huh?” His smile turned to a scowl. “I would have drilled the bastard through the heart if that damned woman hadn’t pushed him out of the way.”

Diosdado stood. “You are lucky—very, very lucky—that your bullet missed Tedric Cortere,” he said harshly.

Vargas stared at him in surprise. “But—”

“If you had kept in touch, you would have been aware of what I have spent months planning.” Diosdado didn’t raise his voice when he was angry. He lowered it. Right now, it was very, very quiet.

Vargas opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but he wisely shut it tightly instead.

“The Cloud of Death intended to take Cortere hostage,” Diosdado said. “Intends,” he corrected himself. “We still intend to take him.” He began to pace—a halting, shuffling process as he dragged his bad leg behind him. “Of course, now that you have intervened, the prince’s security has been strengthened. FInCOM is involved, and my contacts tell me that the U.S. Navy is even playing some part in Cortere’s protection.”

Vargas stared at him.

“So what,” Diosdado continued, turning to face Salustiano Vargas, “do you suggest we do to bring this high level of security and protection back to where it was before you fouled things up?”

Vargas swallowed, knowing what the other man was going to tell him, and knowing that he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

“They are all waiting for another assassination attempt,” Diosdado said. “Until they get another assassination attempt, security will be too tight. Do you know what you are going to do, my old friend Salustiano?”

Vargas knew. He knew, and he didn’t like it. “Diosdado,” he said. “Please. We’re friends. I saved your life—”

“You will go back,” Diosdado said very, very softly, “and you will make another attempt on the prince’s life. You will fail, and you will be apprehended. Dead or alive—your choice.”

Vargas sat in silence as Diosdado limped, shuffling, from the room.

“Tell me what it is about Navy SEALs that makes Kevin Laughton so upset, Your Highness,” Veronica said as she and Joe were delivered safely back to Prince Tedric’s hotel suite. “Why doesn’t he want your Alpha Squad around?”

“He knows his guys would give him problems if my guys were brought in to do their job,” Joe said. “It’s a slap in the face. It implies I don’t think FInCOM can get the job done.”

“But obviously, you don’t think they can.”

Joe shook his head and sat down heavily in one of the plush easy chairs in the royal living room. “I think they’re probably top-notch at mid-level protection,” he said. “But my life’s on the line here, and the bad guys aren’t street punks or crazy people with guns. They’re professionals. Diosdado runs a top-notch military organization. He’s a formidable opponent. He could get through this kind of security without blinking. But he couldn’t get through the Alpha Squad. I know my SEALs are the best of the best. SEAL Team Ten is elite, and the Alpha Squad is made up of the best men in Team Ten. I want them here, even if I have to step on some toes or offend some FInCOM agents. The end result is I stay alive. Are you following me?”

Veronica nodded, sitting down on the sofa and resting her briefcase on a long wooden coffee table.

The sofa felt so comfortable, so soft. It would be so easy to let her head fall back and her eyes close…

“Maybe we should take a break,” Joe said. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”