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And she wouldn’t have Charlie, wouldn’t have Hugo.
Charlie was writing. Sylvia forced down the sick feeling and asked the next question. For an hour, she asked and re-asked the question, but Alicia didn’t reveal any more. Either she didn’t know more, or the drugs weren’t powerful enough to make her reveal things her mind had strong walls around.
Finally, Charlie shook his head. He picked up a needleless syringe, waited for Alicia’s eyes to be closed, and then quickly injected whatever was in the syringe into the port in the IV bag. They sat quietly for several minutes before Charlie motioned it was safe for her to get up.
Sylvia rose wearily, leaning into her fiancé when he put an arm around her. He kissed her head and led her out of the small bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Charlie left the private room at the back of the plane with Sylvia, hating that he’d had to involve her in the interrogation. He’d seen how much each of Alicia’s answers had scared her.
Hugo had been right. Right from the start. They’d asked for too much, taken too much from her. What could they possibly give her to stack up against all the pain and terror they’d delivered right to her front doorstep?
The interrogation had worked, in that it proved Alicia had information they needed. Between what Sylvia had gleaned when she’d been Alicia’s captive, and the name he’d gotten during his brief interrogation, they had more information about the mastermind than they did before.
But it also added a new wrinkle. The cataclysm? What the fuck was that?
Never mind what. When was it going to happen?
Alicia, alive and in their control, was the best hope they had for taking this guy down. Sadly, there wasn’t a way to crack someone’s head open like an egg and shake the information out. Sylvia had gotten more out of her than he would have using narco interrogation, but it wasn’t enough. He was going to have to interrogate Alicia when they got to the Isle of Man. It was never something he looked forward to—he wasn’t a psychopath—but he was dreading it more than normal. He didn’t want to be waterboarding and electrocuting Alicia for days on end, ignoring every humane instinct in his body so that he could torture her with sleep, food, and water deprivation. He preferred to be protecting and loving Hugo and Sylvia.
Sylvia was silent until they were alone in the hallway. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get more from her.”
He gave her a long, deep kiss. “You were incredible.”
Together, they walked back to the main cabin. One of the Spartan Guards, Nikolas, sat in the aisle seat against the bulkhead made by the bathroom wall, where he could see the entirety of the main cabin. The other guard, Marie, was no doubt in the forward cabin, where the first-class lay-flat seats were. He was impressed by how alert, how at the ready Nikolas was. They were all in midflight, so he would have expected the guard to be somewhat more relaxed. Instead, his eyes were scanning the area constantly, as if he expected the enemy to leap out of the restroom or from behind one of the lounge chairs.
Eric and Hugo were sitting side by side in one of the main groupings, a laptop on the table in front of them.
“You heard everything?”
Eric nodded, rubbing his jaw pensively. “We did.”
There’d been a video camera placed in the corner of the bedroom, allowing them to record everything Alicia had said.
Sylvia started to sit down, but Hugo stood, halting her. “Come on, ma cherie. You and I are going to grab a short nap up front.” Hugo ran his fingertip under her eyes, drawing Charlie’s attention to dark circles he hadn’t noticed, given his preoccupation with Alicia and the information she’d just revealed. “It’s been a long couple of days.”
Sylvia waved her broken hand, the purple cast her brothers had made her adding a bright flash of color to the colorless beige interior of the plane. “What? Kidnapping, near drowning, shootouts, and warring secret societies are all just a day in the life of this girl,” she said, pointing her one good thumb at herself.
Charlie and Hugo chuckled. The fleet admiral appeared not to have heard her joke. Instead, he was typing on the laptop’s keyboard.
They only had another hour or so until they’d have to strap in for the descent and landing. Sleep wouldn’t hurt any of them.
“A nap sounds good,” Charlie said.
“Them, yes.” Eric pointed at Charlie. “Not you. I need to speak to you privately first.”
Hugo put an arm around Sylvia, looking back at Charlie as he led her into the other cabin. Hugo looked pointedly at the back of Eric’s head, then to Charlie, asking without words if he needed backup.
If someone had asked him a week ago if he’d want a French political science professor as backup, he would have assumed they were on drugs. Now? Now there was no one else he’d want protecting his back. He made a mental note to train Hugo on some basic disabling hand-to-hand attack moves.
Sylvia, too, though he might stick to guns with her. She was too kind—she might actually try to go for the nonlethal option when faced with danger. He’d rather she shoot first, ask questions later. That shouldn’t be that hard for her to learn. She was an American after all. One of the good ones, but still.
Charlie nodded for Hugo and Sylvia to go on without him, then claimed one of the plush leather chairs across from where the fleet admiral sat.
“Actually, we need to speak with you.” Eric turned the laptop around.
Arthur, admiral of England, was sitting on a couch. His wife, Sophia, the principessa, was beside him. Eric tapped some keys, raising the volume.
