Page 25 of Ready For His Rule

What the fuck was going on?

“Just make shit happen, Franzen,” the man rasped as if facing his own gallows. “Take them all dark. Do it now, and don’t tell anyone. Do you copy me on that? Nobody. Can. Know. Not even me. Christ, especially not me.”

“Kanapapiki.”

Sonofabitch.

That part, he stowed under his breath with the phone against his chest. With the device back at his ear, he growled, “You going to feed me a scrap of what’s going on here?”

“It’s our only chance.”

“A bigger scrap than that?”

“You’re our only chance.”

The guy’s breaths were now harsh slices through the line. Franz envisioned him tearing through the convention center at a full sprint.

Shit on a shingle.

It was a good one, so he borrowed it. Not that he wanted to. He liked his melodrama performed on a stage, thank you very much, not plunked in his lap and open for insane interpretations.

“Just get them out of here,” Wrightman dictated again. “While they all still think…”

“What?” John sliced into the man’s deliberate pause. “They all still think what? And ‘they all’ who? What the fuck are you talking about?”

The man let out a strange sound, grunt and groan mixed, before uttering, “Wish I knew the full answer to that, Franzen.” A rough inhalation. A harsher breath out. “On the other hand, maybe I don’t.”

“Christ.” He rammed the top of the phone against his forehead. “You seriously pulling an X-Files on me? I’m not in the alien baby business.”

Wrightman snorted. “Just promise me you’ll get her out of here. Luke too. I need to know I can trust you on this. There’s no one else right now to trust. I know you’ll stay this course. You do the right thing, Franzen—even when the fine print orders you to do otherwise.”

Wasn’t that the candy treat moment of the day. Shiny compliment as it went down; fucked-up stomachache as it became reality. “Yeah,” he muttered. “The fine print.” Grinded the phone into his temple again. “So you’ve done your homework.”

“And damn glad I did.” From his end of the call, sirens swelled louder. “I have to go, man,” Sol stated. “And so do you. Quickly.”

“Sol—”

“You have to move, Franzen.” The sirens were shrill and close, nearly drowning his words now. “Take them,” he shouted. “Hide them. Get someplace nobody will think of. Once that’s happened, contact me—but use deep cover protocol. Do you understand?”

For a long second, he didn’t respond. Just sat unmoving, thankful for the shell of the car for once, feeling like the mortals from Ghost after something from the other side had barreled through them.

“Franzen.”

“What?” It stumbled from the ice cavern of his senses. Chunks of the frozen stuff broke off into his stunned senses, making his head jerk.

“Do. You. Understand?”

In a hot blast, the ice melted away. Strength surged over him, as ingrained as the blood in his veins, a default mode eleven years in the making.

Mission mode.

So yeah, he did understand. Could do this shit in his sleep—not that a lot of that had been happening lately—but maybe even that was a good thing. Sleep wasn’t going to be a luxury on an assignment like this, perhaps the craziest he’d ever been handed. He was leaping into a bottomless black hole, dug by the man to whom he was speaking, who wasn’t even handing him a flashlight for the trip. Why not? And did Franz really need to know? He was just the guy who made the mission happen. The bigger picture didn’t have to be his concern. Couldn’t be.

Hadn’t Kaesong taught him that?

Kaesong. The mission that had changed everything.

That, in no small way, had made it possible for him to be here right now.

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