Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Four
Bexley

Stretching out on the lounger, I reached for the tall glass of mimosa. The sun’s rays caressed my skin with fiery kisses, and now and then a subtle breeze would drift by to soothe me. A Latin pop song filtered from the pool speakers, an evocative, upbeat rhythm that made me want to get up and dance. I took a generous sip of the zesty orange beverage to quench my thirst, noticing Asher lurking in the background.

“Darling, have you forgotten why we’re here?” he mentioned, stepping out onto the balcony to admonish me. “To find the clue, remember?”

I flopped back onto the padded lounger and groaned. “Just five more minutes,” I pleaded. "This might be the last time I'll ever get to enjoy the sunshine."

He rolled his eyes, huffing a lopsided smirk. “I’m just going to put on some shoes and grab our tickets, so start getting ready.”

I opted to wear denim shorts, flat jewelled sandals, and a purple strappy top. Asher assured me he was packing the relevant spy gear into his backpack, and not to waste mine. We would need it for Paris. Dad was sending us on another mission, but I wasn't sure what it was. I would have all my men under one roof again. It had only been twenty-four hours since we parted ways, but I mourned their absence as if they had gone to war.

“Are you ready, Mrs Stanley?” Asher asked, standing at the door waiting for me.

I crossed the cream floor tiles and planted a kiss to his lips. “I would rather be called Mrs Wolfe, but yes, I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

Something glimmered behind Asher’s eyes, as if he was holding out on me. It aroused my suspicions. But as much as I begged him to reveal what he was hiding from me, he kept dodging the subject. I continued to peck for crumbs as we made our way down to the lobby.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me, George, I can tell by the expression on your face,” I accused, not letting it drop.

Asher chortled as we vacated the lift and stepped out into the busy lobby.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, half laughing.

“You’re a terrible liar,” I told him. “I saw that look in your eye.”

He held my hand as we ventured through the glass doors and into the blistering sunlight.

“Maybe we have a surprise arranged. Have you thought about that?” he retorted, shutting me up.

Have they planned something romantic for me?

“Really? In Paris?” I fawned, wondering what wonderful treat lay in store for me in the city of love.

“Yes, we were thinking we could kill two birds with one stone,” he muttered, not giving anything else away.

Asher looked from left to right, waiting for the stoplight to change from green to red, then led me across the street. We arrived at the bus stop and stood a short distance away from the other tourists.

“Killing birds is not romantic,” I uttered, impatiently.

Asher chuckled, drawing me in for a hug. “You’ll see when you get there. I’m not spoiling anything. All I can say is, you shall go to the ball.”

I knew what he meant, and I snatched in an excited gasp. “The Versailles Masquerade Ball?” I whispered, pulling back in a lover’s embrace.

Asher nodded, and I grinned, gleefully. I always wanted to go because my mother and father went there for their first date. It held a special place in my heart. I had a good feeling about Paris. Our coach arrived and took us on a sight-seeing tour of the area. They dropped us off outside the Reina Sofia National Art Museum, and we fell into line at the back of the queue. Asher handled our tickets, taking back the stubs as a souvenir. I linked arms with him as we perused the spacious exhibit, looking for something eye-catching and relevant to my mother’s past teachings.

The serious frown on Asher’s face showed me he meant business. We passed comments on the art, trying to see if we could make sense of it all.

“Braxton said he discovered his item beneath a font. That could mean a test of faith or something unorthodox. Dominic found his inside an antique doll, so that represents a deceased infant, or a child who was presumed dead. I still don’t know if Aunt Safi was casting light on the illegitimate baby theory. Cruz claimed she hid his clue beneath a cave. And I know from my research that Zofia Potocka acted as an agent in the Russian secret service. So, we have an agent, an illegitimate child, and a fall from grace. Let’s hope this clue gives us something more to work with. Where would your mother choose to hide a memory stick in an art gallery?” he muttered, trying to rationalize things.

We kept moving, analysing each painting to see if we could solve the puzzle with logic. There was the Guernica by Pablo Picasso; one of the most iconic pieces produced by the Spanish painter that represented the Spanish Civil War. We studied it for a long while, but nothing seemed to fit. Juan Gris’s “La table du musician” didn’t fit either. I wasn’t sure about Salvador Dalí’s “Grand Masturbator”. I hoped Mum wouldn’t be so crude.

“Babe, come look at this?” Asher alerted me to Braque’s painting of “Cards and Dice”.

I hurried over to admire the artwork.

“Braque painted this before the First World War,” Asher explained. “He and Picasso were artistically comparable at that time, but both artists progressed differently. This piece illustrates a civilization revolving around games of chance.” He narrowed his eyes on something, then pressed his forefinger against one dot on the dice.

I glanced around to make sure no one was looking. As if activated by a spring, a memory stick emerged from the canvass. Asher was quick to retrieve it and push the clear compartment back into place. No one would ever guess someone had tampered with it.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Asher urged, shoving the memory stick into his pocket and making sure he secured the zip.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed around the gallery, then we spotted armed guards, dressed all in black, heading straight for us.

“Run!” Asher yelled, taking me by the hand, so we could escape.

We pushed past the jostling crowd, fighting to get outside, the sight of the guns caused people to react with terror. Their screams rattled through my ears as we darted across the busy courtyard. My heart exploded with trepidation, scared shitless of getting caught.

A taxi slowed down for a guy who was waiting at the edge of the road, but Asher nudged past him and stuffed one-hundred euros into his fist.

"Hey!" he yelled in protest.

The guards filtered through the doors, parting the crowd of tourists like The Red Sea.

“Thanks, but we need to leave quickly,” Asher rushed the words, desperate for us to make a getaway. The guy glanced over his shoulder, then ran away.

“I’ll give you one-thousand euros if you can get us to The Ritz in one piece,” he bargained with the taxi driver.

"Get in," he offered.

The guards opened fire, narrowly avoiding the speeding taxi as it ushered us to safety. Asher and I collapsed back against the seat, panting for air.

“We grab our things, and we get the fuck out of Madrid,” Asher advised.

“Who were they?” I asked, realizing they were not like any Spanish police I had ever seen before.

The pinched expression on his face told me this was bad.

“Agents from The Spanish Secret Service,” he replied, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “The ministry is on to us. They know we’re alive and now they will know that we're onto something.”

“Shit,” I hissed. “How did they recognize it was us?”

Asher exhaled heavily. “It has to be someone close to your mother. In her messages, it’s as if she’s trying to warn us about someone.”

“But who?” I huffed the words in frustration.

“That’s what I’m struggling to figure out,” he muttered, sombrely. He leaned forward to speak to the cab driver through the gap in the headrests. “I will give you fifty-thousand euros for your car, and another fifty-thousand for your silence. Do we have a deal?”

The flustered Spaniard shrugged. “Sure, I could use the extra cash.”

We parked a short distance from the hotel, just to play it safe.

“Good, wait here. I’ll be right back,” Asher promised.

Asher made me remain inside the taxi as he scaled the hotel walls like a spider monkey, climbing and leaping from balcony to balcony until he reached our room. I could see him from the backseat window, my stomach twisting into knots in case he fell. He wasn't gone for long. I noticed him using a zip wire to lower our luggage down to the poolside. My paranoia was on high alert, scared stiff of getting caught. Just as I was about to get out to help, Asher hurried back, then shoved our cases into the boot of the car. He paid the cabbie his money, then drove us away from the city. Blue and red flashing lights appeared in the side mirrors, detonating my last nerve.

"We're being followed," I panicked, checking behind us.

Asher accelerated, manoeuvring past the traffic in a blare of honking horns. I screamed as I jostled from side-to-side, seeing the landscape whizzing by in a streaky blur.

Asher maintained our velocity, not even breaking a sweat. "Bexley, take the wheel," he ordered, rolling down the window.

I grabbed it with shaking hands, terrified of crashing into another vehicle. The rear window shattered, and a vortex of cool air rushed inside. Asher took out a pistol and started shooting back in retaliation.

"We're gonna die. We're gonna die," I whimpered.

The high-speed chase lasted moments, but it felt like an hour. I swallowed my heart several times as our car swerved from left to right to avoid slow-moving traffic. Asher fired shot after shot, then dived back into his seat as the police cars collided and rolled onto the dusty roadside. And just like in every action film Dad had ever forced me to watch, flames engulfed the scene behind us. My face contorted with horror.

“Asher, what are we going to do?” I asked, unable to stop myself from shaking. “We’re in so much trouble.”

He placed his hand on my knee, circling his thumb in a gentle caress.

“Don’t worry. We did what we had to do for our queen and country. Don’t fall apart on me now, Bexley. We must stick to the plan. I have other ways to get us to Paris,” he assured. “There’s a bloke called Emilio who owes me a favour, now it’s time for me to collect the debt.”

“Can we trust him?” I asked, doubting everything.

Asher flashed me a reassuring smile. “I should hope so, he’s like a cousin to us.”

“So, he’s another Navy brat,” I assumed, trying to recall which one of our father’s friends had spawned offspring. I only ever met the Wolfe brothers.

“Good old Uncle Ted sewed his wild oats back in his heyday,” Asher told me. “You remember Teddy, don’t you?”

Of course, I did, he was my favourite. A huge smile spread across my face. As soon as he mentioned Uncle Ted, I knew we were safe, although it would take more than making a pound coin appear from behind my ear to pull us out of this mess. He would have to work a miracle.

“Emilio is his son. Uncle Ted retired to cultivate a lemon orchard in Torrelodones two years ago. He trained his son to fight for the cause the same as ours did for us,” he explained, putting my mind at ease.

Asher called ahead, planning to obtain us a plane, a chopper, anything to take us off the ground. He took me to Uncle Teddy’s villa, which was a rundown shack in the middle of nowhere. The rickety door burst open before we got the chance to park, and Ted ambled out to greet us, followed by a dark-haired Adonis.

“Asher, Bexley,” Uncle Teddy exclaimed. “It’s been a long time since I saw you, kids. You were this tall,” he said, lifting his hand to measure how big we must have been back then.

The tall drink of water loped forward and shook Asher’s hand. He turned to me and flashed a welcoming smile.

“You must be Bexley. I’ve heard so much about you,” he mentioned in a deep Spanish husk.

Asher draped his arm across my shoulders, protectively. “Easy, Emilio. She’s taken.”

I saw his eyes bulge wide and realized he knew what that meant; that I was claimed by the entire Wolfe pack, not just Asher.

“Come inside and have something to eat before we leave,” Uncle Ted offered. “I’ll need an hour to get the old girl up and running.”

I hoped to God he was talking about his aircraft and not Emilio’s mother.