SpySistah Chronicles Spyvella Chapter 4
The long-awaited arrival of Chapter 4 is upon us!CalTechGirl had to bow out due to personal obligations, but I have filled in so as not to leave everyone wondering what would happen next.
In case you missed it, Silk started the story with Ravens and Ghost Stories. Christina provided Chapter Two, and some Secrets of the Night. Theresa turned the story, with The Recruit.
As always, each chapter and title is limited to 1,000 words. I humbly offer you chapter 4:
Blood & Cristal
Samantha sat at the table tapping her foot to “Pink” by Aerosmith. The music was blaring from the speakers at the afterparty. The assembled crowd was a veritable Who’s Who of British Society. Several Lords and more than a few Ladies littered the swanky room, some of them acting decidedly un-ladylike. Samantha amused herself imagining the Queen’s reaction to this hedonistic scene. She suspected that the old lady was unaware that her grandson William was in attendance or that he currently had a certain young Russian vamp on his lap, her hand searching for the royal family jewels. Samantha had to admit it, Natasha could play the role to the hilt.
The Henley Regatta had been very informative. That afternoon, they had played the proper family for the appropriate audience. John had escorted her as her fabulously wealthy British husband. She was the American stepmother to Natasha’s bratty and indulgent daughter. Natasha had done well, belittling her stepmother for all who would listen and comparing her negatively to Natasha’s Russian actress mother. Natasha had even acted out, “punishing” her father through her antics by being a tramp on the dance floor with her “boyfriend,” Edwin.
It had been a miracle that Edwin had been the one chosen for this mission. As a school friend of the Prince, Edwin Frasier’s presence assured them entrée to the most exclusive party.
As they had watched the excitement that afternoon, chatter had been flagged by MI5 that a possible terrorist attack targeting Henley was scheduled for that evening. Cutter had been alerted and the team instructed to hold their position. And so, Samantha sat in her dress and heels while Natasha slutted it up with the Prince.
Cutter returned to her and bent down, ostensibly to kiss her cheek, but informed her, “Nothing new.”
Just then, a rambunctious group of young men entered the ballroom and became the center of attention. They were all dressed well, but one of their party triggered Sam’s radar. He seemed awfully sober and intent on the room and didn’t fit in with the rest of his party.
It was then that Natasha kicked off her shoes and signaled an emergency. Samantha rose and brushed the creases out of her skirt, stalking to the table where Prince William sat sharing a bottle of Cristal with Natasha.
In her best bossy attitude, learned by years of watching her sister, Sam intoned shrilly, “Angelica, that is quite enough. Please peel yourself off of His Royal Highness and come with me.” Sam’s face brooked no argument on the matter.
Natasha rolled Angelica’s eyes for the Prince’s benefit, then petulantly followed Sam to the ladies room. Once behind the safety of the closed door, Sam asked, “What is it?”
“I recognized one of zee boys who came in zat group. I’m afraid he will blow my coveer.”
“Where do you know him from?”
“He used to meet with Constantine late at night after we…”
“Enough said.” Samantha then reached up to the two carat diamond earring in her right ear and twisted it. “Edwin, did you hear that? You need to get the Prince out of there.”
She heard Edwin mutter, “too late.”
Samantha scrambled back to the ballroom, instructing Natasha to get to the car. Cutter was leaning lazily against a pillar near the table where Edwin and William sat chatting with the brooding and sober dark-haired boy of the party of newly arrived rowdies.
“Your Highness.” Ahmed nodded his head to the Prince and his party. “My friends and I would like to invite you to party with us. We have several bottles of Cristal…I see that your’s is empty. May I refill your glass?”
Ahmed lifted the bottle hanging at his side by the neck, his thumb over the opening and made as if to pour it. Edwin leapt to his feet and pulled the Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster and shot the man between the eyes.
Screams erupted when the shot rang out. Ahmed began to fall, but Cutter caught him before he let go of the bottle, moving his own thumb over the trigger mechanism in the neck of the bottle to keep the bomb from detonating.
People raced for the exits, but agents prevented anyone from leaving. Sam had her Walther out and trained on the remaining members of Ahmed’s party.
Once an agent approached her, Samantha explained the young men’s relationship to the suspect and the need to question them. With these additional suspects safely in custody, Sam went over to where Edwin and Cutter were examining the body.
“Good shot, Edwin! But, how did you know he was a suicide bomber?”
Edwin grinned boyishly. “Sam, you know I spent some time with Mossad. I picked up a few things.”
“The Prince is safe?”
“For now. He may start keeping a lower profile, though. He didn’t like the idea of being a terrorist’s target.”
“Well, I’m glad we stopped the attack. Can you imagine a splashier al Qaeda move than assassinating the heir to the throne?” Sam’s perfectly-groomed eyebrow raised.
Cutter wasn’t convinced. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense, though. The boy won’t have any real power. Why target him?”
Edwin spoke up. “He’s a symbol and his death would terrorize Britain. You remember what Diana’s death did to people. Can you imagine if her son was assassinated?”
“Hmm.” Samantha wasn’t convinced it was that simple. “Is there anything other than C-4 in his pockets?”
“Just this” Cutter handed her a matchbook. “Does it mean anything to you?”
“Absolutely! I’m going on vacation. This is a matchbook from the bar in the Palace Hotel in Gstaad. Call Mark and tell him to leave the golf spikes and pack the ski stuff. I’m going after Fayad.”
It was at that moment that an MI5 agent approached them with news. “We’ve found another body.”
“Who is it?” Cutter asked.
“A blonde woman in a dress. On the sidewalk. Three shots to the chest.”
Labels: Fiction
