Royal Protocol

“THERE ARE THREE BOMBS in the building,” the voice said on the other end of the line, playing his trump card over and over again, sounding triumphant and frustrated at the same time.

The call had come in on a red cell phone someone had left in the security office. Nobody there now knew who it belonged to or how it got there.

The dozen men inside the opera’s security office watched Benedek intently, hoping for a resolution at last. He silently shook his head. That first bomb outside had exploded an hour ago and they hadn’t yet gotten anywhere.

“Almost a thousand innocent people are in this building. Your quarrel is with the monarchy. This has nothing to do with tonight’s audience. I’m the only member of the royal family here. You let these people go and I will willingly give myself into your hands,” he repeated his best offer, and the men around him protested again.

Negotiations were at a deadlock. He’d been trying to talk reason into the man on the other end of the line on and off for the past hour, to no avail.

The enemy was frustrated because they’d expected six princes and got only one instead.

“You say your revolution is for the people,” Benedek reminded the man. “Then don’t hurt the people, Mario. You can’t think that the publicity to your cause would be anything but negative. If you want to gain public support, murdering a thousand innocent civilians is not the way to go about it. This isn’t a glorious battle for freedom, you and I both know it. It’s mass murder. Somebody is using you as a means to an end.”

Dead silence on the other end.

“I’ll let them walk out unharmed,” the man said after a full minute, probably as frustrated with the stalled negotiations as Benedek. “But you will not leave the building. Not you, not that American singer.”

And for the first time, Benedek relaxed. “She has nothing to do with this,” he offered a token protest to make sure the man didn’t become suspicious. Thank God, Rayne had left before the building had been surrounded.

Two thousand rebels circled the opera house; five hundred police as well as royal guards, investigators, antiterrorist unit agents and other security circled the rebels. Helicopters hovered in the air above—he could see and hear them through the window. He imagined the scene must look like a giant bull’s eye from the air. With his opera house smack in the middle.

His muscles were tight with outrage.

Security forces couldn’t move without risking that the rebels might set off the bombs. They were at an impasse.

Which would remain the same even after the people were let go. Security forces wouldn’t risk the lives of their prince and a high-profile American by rushing the rebels. The rebels knew this.

“In exactly five minutes, a gap will open in our ranks directly across from the main entrance. Anyone who wants to leave the building, can walk through. They’ll have five minutes to leave before the ranks close. Anyone outside after that, between us and the building, will be shot at,” the voice on the phone said.

“There are a thousand people in here—” Benedek argued, wanting to negotiate for more time, but the line had already gone dead.

He glanced at his watch as he ran for the door. “In five minutes, they’ll let everyone leave,” he said, explaining the rest as he went.

Security followed behind to help.

He rushed downstairs and straight to the stage, flying up the steps Rayne had stumbled on not long ago, falling into his arms. Thank God, whatever was about to happen here, no harm would come to her.

The sound was on, everything was ready for her performance. The audience was in their seats where they’d been asked to remain for their own safety. Benedek addressed them, explaining everything in two minutes flat. The next three were spent lining everyone up in front of the door in a tight line, ready to go.

His phone rang.

“What can I do to help?” his brother, Miklos the Army major, asked.

“Do not come here. They’re letting people go. I’ll call you back later.” Benedek opened the front door, making sure that if there was foul play involved, his body would shield those behind him.

His security guard pushed him out of the way the next second, putting himself in front of Benedek. “This is what they want, Your Highness. Don’t make yourself a target.”

They watched as the rebel forces parted, leaving a five-foot gap to freedom.

“Run!” was the last word of advice Benedek gave to the men and women before stepping away from the door completely.

And they did, helping each other, careful not to cause a stampede, many speaking words of encour-agement to their prince as they left. He’d never been as proud of his people as he was at that moment.

“Go!” he said again when he looked back inside the lobby and spotted the royal guards and a couple of other men who hadn’t come up to the door.

He glanced at his watch. “Thirty seconds.”

The rest of the staff and audience were already crossing to freedom, clearing the ring of rebels. A lady of his mother’s age brought up the rear, running with her granddaughter in her arms. The little girl slowed her down too much, as did her gown. Benedek watched them, while yelling at the men who’d stayed behind. “You must leave! There’s no time.”

Two royal guards separated from the group and dashed out the door. One grabbed the young girl and ran; the other tossed the stately lady in her full-skirted brocade gown right over his shoulder and dashed forward with her.

They made it before the rebels closed ranks.

Benedek stepped away from the door and let it close, foreboding filling him as he took in the nearly empty space, the remains of his grand opening night. In hindsight, his hope that the delay wouldn’t last more than an hour was probably too optimistic. He glared at the men.

“You should not have stayed.” He drew a deep breath. “But I thank you for your loyalty,” he told them.

“Should probably go back upstairs, Your Highness, ” one of the older royal guards recommended, and they followed him, seeing no purpose in lingering just inside the entrance.

When they made it back inside the security office, two of the guards immediately went to monitor the cameras set up inside and outside the building. Eight royal guards had remained, plus his personal security guard, plus the director, plus three civilians.

“Peter Havek, retired police officer,” one of the civilians introduced himself.

“Tamas Havek, from Havek Construction. Brothers, I have some demolition experience. We could go and look for those bombs. With your permission, Your Highness.”

The director handed them each a headset, then they were on their way even as Benedek thanked them. The royal guards followed, except for the two who manned the monitors, looking for the bomb with the help of the security cameras. Over a hundred cameras had been strategically placed throughout the building.

“Craig Miller.” The third civilian spoke with an American accent. “Rayne’s agent. Where is she?” The man’s lips were tight with worry, making Benedek wonder just what his relationship was with Rayne. He looked distinguished with just a touch of gray at the temples, wore an expensive tux and an expensive watch, standing apart from the others. “She doesn’t answer her cell.”

“My secretary escorted Miss Williams to the palace an hour ago.” As soon as he had a second, Benedek was going to call and check on them. Maybe even now. He reached for his cell phone, then let it drop back into his pocket and turned when the computer behind him sounded a series of beeps.

The two royal guards at the main console were desperately pushing buttons.

“Security lockdown just self-initiated,” one reported, casting about a wide-eyed look, disbelief in his voice.

“Impossible. It can’t self-initiate.” The director rushed over.

“Someone hacked into the system.”

“I’ll recall the damn lockdown.” The director’s voice rose, along with the color in his cheeks. “I apologize, Your Highness.” He moved to a free console immediately. Seconds passed. “Whoever initialized it already changed the password.” His tone was filled with outrage.

Benedek left Rayne’s agent and stepped up to the director. “What does this mean, exactly?”

“We’re locked in,” the director told him. “Nobody goes out, nobody comes in.”

“What do they want now? With them out there, we couldn’t leave anyway—”

The red cell phone rang, cutting him off.