Code Name: Tiara by Sawyer Bennett
CHAPTER 3
Jackson
“I’ve seen worse places to have a home,” Ladd comments as he stands before a pair of opened French balcony doors. The view is of the city center with the Coral Sea beyond. While Bretaria is only about as old as the United States, the wealth blanketing the island means that all the buildings are pristine, the roads new, and there are no obvious signs of poverty.
From the dossier I read at least ten times during the long flight, I learned that King Thomas uses his ridiculous wealth to manage upkeep of everything. There are no taxes on the people who live here, but then again, their money isn’t needed for the sovereign state. The citizens—which number close to a hundred thousand between the main island and the outliers with mines—fall into two classes: middle working class and the überwealthy.
The working class are those who work the mines, work for the royal family, or those who work to maintain the city-state itself. They are paid a minimum of four times the minimum wage of the closest country of Australia, and that amount goes up depending on job skill and experience.
Privately owned small businesses, including bakeries, restaurants, and retail stores, operate at full capacity at all times of the year. Between private business success and a well-paid workforce, there is virtually no poverty, no slums, and no lack of education. King Thomas even provides private schooling for every single child on the island. If you are lucky enough to have citizenship here, you never want to leave. Truly, the working class is the middle class and the concept of lower class has no standing in Bretaria.
The other part of the citizenry is the überwealthy. Those in banking and finance have flocked here over the last hundred years, the wealth of the ruby mines like a beacon. Others who’ve come include heiresses and one-percenters who wanted a part-time home on a beautiful island with near-perfect weather year-round. With those people came construction of grand homes and mansions, fine dining, couture shopping, and expensive cars. You’re more likely to see a Lamborghini zipping along the narrow-cobbled streets than you are a moped, also a popular means of travel on the island.
Yes, I learned a lot about this very interesting city-state and garnered a modicum of respect that King Thomas spreads his royal wealth to his people. And while he is generous, almost to a fault, with his money, he’s also frivolous. He is splashy and spends on ridiculous things. It’s no secret to the world that he’s so rich, he could pay off a kidnapper every month and still never dent the interest he earns in that same period.
That makes him, and every member of his family, a high-value target, which is why I’m sitting in the security conference room of the royal palace in Bretaria.
We arrived early this morning and met with Dmitri Lebedev, the head of palace security. It’s really not just the palace he’s in charge of but the very personages of the king, queen, and princess.
I can’t get a good read on the dude. He’s old enough to be my dad but I wouldn’t want to tangle with him. He’s reserved and mistrustful, but hell, so am I when it comes to the business of protection. Kynan said he’s former KGB, although you’ll never find that in any public record or résumé. Such information comes straight from our government, as we vet all our clients as thoroughly as they should be vetting us.
I’ve got no qualms with his prior Communist ties, nor with how crooked and corrupt the KGB was. I figure if you’re going to protect a family such as the Winterbournes, you have to be as ruthless as they come.
In addition to Ladd, two other Jameson mates came along to the meeting, Cruce Britton and Dozer Burney.
Cruce will be more of a consultant as we get started. His background in the Secret Service means he’s got loads of experience scoping out places ahead of time and devising protection plans. He’s basically here to verify the final agenda of the princess’s travel in the US, go over the original plan we devised a few weeks ago based on her proposed agenda shared with us, and then head back to the States to finalize plans based on the scouting he’s coordinated.
Dozer isn’t an active agent with the company but rather our resident genius who Kynan stole away from NASA. He’s built like a linebacker, but his brain is bigger than his muscles. He currently helps run the Research and Development division at Jameson, along with our ex-con hacker, Bebe Grimshaw, and they are developing some freaky shit.
They’ve managed to develop an artificial intelligence they’ve named BOB for no particular reason. BOB can predict outcomes based on information fed into the program. Currently we use BOB, and Dozer, to help us plan and carry out missions by building hypotheses based on the information provided. BOB then offers solutions and potential outcomes so we can make well-informed decisions.
Super freaky shit.
Dozer’s currently working on his laptop, diamond studs glistening in his ears. Probably communicating with BOB.
“You got to admit,” Cruce says as he leans back in the leather conference chair, “this isn’t a shoddy job.”
I don’t reply. His job isn’t the same as mine. He’s going to help Ladd and Dozer work out logistics and manage perimeter support along with several other agents that will rotate in. He won’t be stuck babysitting, but whatever.
I can deal.
“Your asset isn’t hard to look at,” Cruce continues, his eyes coming straight to me, and they are alight with mischief and goading.
I shrug but remain silent. Not even going there because in addition to the very accurate and complete dossier I’ve read, which provided plenty of information about Camille Winterbourne, I googled the princess.
There were a multitude of paparazzi-funded photos of her in bikinis, sipping fancy drinks aboard yachts, and a plethora of red-carpet pictures of the princess in couture gowns. Every single picture, she’s smiling perfectly. She emits an air of superiority—maybe it’s the chin lift, maybe it’s my own prejudice, but no matter how gorgeous she is, she’s still a princess without a handle on real life.
At least that’s the prevailing theory I’m going with. I’m willing to keep an open mind, though.
“Stop,” says a female voice just outside the door Dmitri exited through to get the princess more than half an hour ago. Ladd turns from the balcony, eyebrows raised at the command within that one word.
“I am Princess Camille of House Winterbourne. I demand you look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Her accent is beautiful… a slightly dry English tone that’s been passed down over hundreds of years from when Bretaria belonged to the British crown.
Ladd’s gaze meets mine, a sly smirk on his face as he shakes his head. He knows I’m not crazy about babysitting a princess.
Dozer’s head pops up when she continues on. “I also demand that you give me the full details about what the hell is going on. You answer to me as much as to my father.”
“Oh man,” Cruce murmurs upon a chuckle, sitting straighter in his chair. “She sounds like a pistol.”
Like a spoiled brat.
Dmitri answers her, but his voice is too low—very calm—and I can’t hear exactly what he says. But within just a moment, the knob turns and the door swings open. I see Dmitri, but then my vision is filled with Camille Winterbourne as she walks through the door.
My gut tightens, not in reaction to her extreme beauty, which, to be fucking honest, is unparalleled. She’s got golden skin, sun-bleached hair, and light blue eyes. Her face is exquisite, her body perfectly proportioned.
But that’s not what has me doing a double take.
It’s that she’s wearing a pair of frayed denim shorts, an old T-shirt, and a pair of nondescript sandals. Her hair is in a bun with locks of it coming loose to frame her face, and she doesn’t have on a lick of makeup.
She looks … normal.
Although highly irritated.
Her blue eyes sweep the room, passing right over me, Cruce, and Dozer, landing on Ladd to stick there. “I understand you’re part of my new protection detail for my upcoming travels to the United States.”
It’s no surprise she narrowed in on Ladd. He’s the oldest of our crew—not that forty-one is old—but I’m sure his premature salt-and-pepper hair makes him look like he’s the mature one in charge. He rolls with her assumption and steps forward to greet her while Cruce, Dozer, and myself rise from our chairs.
The dossier briefed us on royal protocol, including meeting a royal and how to address them. The Winterbournes aren’t as formal as some sovereign families, so all that is required is a slight bow, really more a bob of the head and Ladd extends his hand to her.
She takes it to shake without hesitation as he says, “I’m Ladd McDermott from Jameson Force Security. I’ll be helping lead a team for your perimeter security on all your stops in the States along with Cruce Britton and Dozer Burney.”
When he announces their names, he tips his head to them and the princess gives each a short smile of acknowledgment.
She then turns those pretty blue eyes my way. “And you are?”
I don’t bow, bob, or offer my hand. “Jackson Gale. I’ll be your personal bodyguard during your trip.”
She takes the higher road, stepping toward me and extends her hand. She doesn’t chastise me for not showing her proper respect, and I’m shocked by that as we shake. “I’m Camille.”
That’s it.
Just Camille.
No Princess Camille. No Her Royal Highness Princess Camille of House Winterbourne, or whatever bougie titles they give themselves.
She releases my hand and turns back to Dmitri who has entered the room and closed the door. “I still don’t understand why you can’t head up my security. You’ve always done so in all my travels.”
Dmitri is one cool son of a bitch and doesn’t hesitate to lie to the princess. “You’ve never been to the United States before, and the American government insists on providing security for your trip. Jameson will cover your cousin’s wedding in London as a means for us to judge their worthiness.”
The lie is that the American government is in no way insisting on providing security. We’ve merely been offered as a kindness, which was accepted, but come to find out today, the reason we were so gladly accepted by Dmitri and approved by King Thomas is that Camille doesn’t have the biggest threat potential right now.
What Dmitri shared with us—and which we’ve been forbidden from revealing to the princess—is that her father has a very active threat of assassination hanging over his head. This was picked up not by the Bretarian security forces but rather by Interpol who caught chatter about a plan forming to take out the king.
Apparently, the status of the royal throne isn’t as concrete as one might assume. When the royal charter was enacted in 1682, an obscure clause was included that provided for stability should a monarch die before his or her heir was sufficiently mature enough to take over duties of not just the throne but more importantly, the ruby mines. Specifically, the charter decrees that if the ruling king or queen predeceases their heir apparent before said heir reaches the age of twenty-five, then the heir is not qualified to assume the monarchy. Instead, the title will pass to the next in line to inherit.
In this case, it’s one of the king’s cousins, who lives in Brussels, although the cousin hasn’t been explicitly implicated in the plot yet. Rather, Interpol picked up vague chatter—assassination of a monarch to disrupt the succession to the throne.
Out of the current list of existing kings, queens, emperors, and emirs, it was easily narrowed down that the Winterbourne family was the most likely target of the plot. Camille will turn twenty-five in four and a half weeks. If her father were to die before her, the cousin in Brussels could make a play for the throne because it’s at age twenty-five Camille is formally named as the heir apparent. It’s not a guarantee the cousin would prevail and it would be fought out in the Bretarian courts, but having Camille out of the way would pave a very clear path for the cousin.
It was all a crapshoot, and the family was never mentioned by name, but it was enough of a threat that Dmitri felt it imperative that he not leave the king’s side for any reason. He told us that the solution was to cancel Camille’s trip and hold her on the island until her birthday. But Thomas is a kind man who loves his daughter and didn’t want to collar her any more than has already been done. She’d been planning this US trip for over a year.
Considering all the factors, it was decided Camille could go on her trip and that Dmitri would focus on the bigger threat to the king’s life.
After Dmitri told us this background, I felt compelled to point out, “Camille could be an assassination target as easily as her father.”
“True,” Dmitri had agreed with that thick roll of r’s from his Russian tongue. “But that is why we have you involved—to protect Camille.”
“Assassination is a lot different from kidnapping,” Cruce added. “You have to get up close to kidnap someone, but you can take someone out from a thousand yards with a high-powered rifle.”
Dmitri gave a sound nod. “Also true. But again, this is why we hired you. Mr. Britton, you were Secret Service. You managed to protect your president from getting killed. I expect the same for Princess Camille.”
“Yeah,” Cruce said with a wry smile. “Our resources were vastly greater when protecting the president.”
“And you shall have whatever resources you need,” Dmitri countered. “King Thomas has authorized an unlimited fund for his daughter’s safe travels through your country.”
“You seem very confident in our abilities,” I said, my eyes narrowed on him. “If that’s the case, why are we here for you to test us first?”
Dmitri laughed low, his eyes flashing with mistrust. “King Thomas is confident in your abilities. Your government spoke very highly of you. I, on the other hand, reserve judgment.”
Yeah… this guy was a piece of work. He was mistrustful and had lied point-blank to the princess that her father could be in danger, but you had to give him bonus points for being absolutely loyal to his employer by carrying out his wishes to engage our services.
I’m jolted out of my memories when Camille gives a weighty sigh. “I still don’t understand why you’re not going to be involved, Dmitri. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
She’s savvy. But just because she has sharp instincts doesn’t mean she won’t be a pain in the ass to watch.
“You’re being told all you need to know,” Dmitri responds icily, and in such a way if a former KGB officer said that to an ordinary person, they might faint from fear.
But Camille narrows her eyes. “We’ll see about that. I’ll have a talk with Father, and he’ll tell me what the hell is going on.”
“By all means,” Dmitri says with an easy incline of his head. And that tells me King Thomas has no intention of worrying his daughter. He’ll lie to her as well.
I hate that this makes me feel bad for my charge. While I’m seeing some of the haughtiness I’d been expecting from this royal, I’m actually seeing more concern for someone other than herself. I hate it because it means I might have misjudged her.
Not that I’ll beat myself up about it too much—we still have a long time ahead of us. Her initial impression so far has been benign, but it’s been a period of less than five minutes. You can’t really tell anything from that.
Without a word of farewell, she turns on her heel and marches for the door, apparently intent on taking Dmitri up on his dare to go to her father.
When her hand touches the knob, he says, “Tonight, Mr. Gale will be accompanying you to the Enovia gala.”
Camille’s head whips toward Dmitri. “I already have an escort. Marius will be—”
“Meeting you there,” Dmitri interrupts. “Mr. Gale will be taking you.”
“But I’m not in danger on this island,” she insists. “And Marius is expecting to pick—”
Dmitri cuts her off again. “Marius has been informed to meet you there. Starting tonight, Mr. Gale will be your personal bodyguard.”
“I don’t need a personal bodyguard here,” she snaps, blue eyes darkening to what I imagine the deep ocean would look like.
Dmitri cocks an eyebrow at her. “Contrary to the fact you went outside the palace walls without permission or protection and were going to dive off a cliff into the sea.”
My body jerks at that revelation, and I see that Ladd, Cruce, and Dozer are all as shocked as I am.
She’s a rebel.
A bad girl.
An adventurous spirit.
Christ, my job just got infinitely harder.
And admittedly, more interesting. Never in a million years did I imagine the princess diving off a cliff.
“Whatever,” Camille snarls at Dmitri and opens the door. She sails through and slams it behind her. There’s the pique I’d been expecting.
Dmitri looks at each of us before giving a small nod. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to continue your plans. We can meet again tomorrow.”
After Dmitri exits, we settle back down in our chairs. Ladd remains standing, arms crossed over his chest. “That was interesting,” he says.
Dozer leans over his computer, typing furiously. The clacking of his keyboard has us all watching him. His head pops up, and he grins at me over the laptop screen, eyes sparkling. “I just put this information into BOB, and it reports back that you are going to have your hands full with this woman.”
I glare at him but Ladd, Cruce, and Dozer have a good laugh at my expense.