MORGAN WALKED OUT of the building and into the cool summer air. Blood pulsed in his temples. It wasn’t from the admission of the soldier that he had planned to help Flex do harm to Morgan—in his line of work, he was used to that enough not to take it personally. The quickening of his heartbeat came at the thought of being one step—a big step—closer to Flex.

Morgan pulled out his phone. A few seconds later, he called Peter Knight’s personal number.

“Jack, are you OK?” Knight asked, hopeful.

“Yeah. How are things going back there?” Morgan replied.

“Everyone’s safe, but we’re banging our heads against a brick wall trying to find leads.”

Morgan could hear something in his friend’s voice. Something that hadn’t been there when they had parted company. Was it suppressed anger? Grief?

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m OK,” Knight replied. Morgan was sure then that he was lying. “But we need a lead. Anything to get this moving.”

“I’m taking care of it,” Morgan told him, then regretted his choice of words. “We’re going to take care of this,” he assured his friend. “I’ve found out who was leaking information to Flex. Maybe he can lead us to him.”

“I’ll come with you.” Morgan could swear he heard the sound of car keys being grabbed.

“No. I need you to organize eyes onto Flex’s London offices. There’s always a chance he’s hiding in plain sight.”

“The hell with organizing, Jack. We have staff who can do that for us,” Knight protested firmly. “I’m not sitting here whilst you’re on the street doing God knows what. I sent an agent out to check on the car’s location, expecting to find you dead behind the wheel, and they come back telling me that two streets over was cordoned off by police because of a shooting. I suppose that’s totally unrelated though, isn’t it?”

“I need you calm, Peter.”

“And I need you alive, Jack. Private needs you alive. Hundreds of people, all counting on you. You can’t do this alone.”

Morgan knew that was the truth, but he pushed it from his mind. One person who had counted on him was dead.

“Watch Flex’s office, Peter. And track this phone if you need to, but don’t interfere,” he ordered as he heard footsteps coming toward him.

“Hooligan’s already tried, but the system must be throwing false echoes. It says that you’re in the Tower of London.”

Morgan almost smiled. “Then the system is working perfectly. Goodbye, Peter. I’ll contact you soon.” He ended the call and turned to face the source of the footsteps.

“Your Highness,” he greeted Princess Caroline, surprised to see her alone.

“Don’t worry about me,” she told him, sensing his unease. “This is the safest place on earth for me. The Beefeaters are as loyal as anyone can be.”

“So Colonel De Villiers told me. What can I help you with, Your Highness?”

“Just take a short walk with me. I’ve run out of grants to sign, and I think some air would do me good.”

Morgan looked toward the door of the building that housed the cellar. There was no sign of De Villiers and the answers he would bring, so Morgan agreed, falling into step alongside Princess Caroline as she paced the courtyard between the Beefeaters’ tightly packed homes.

“There are thirty-five families here,” she told the American beside her. “Some have children, and they live in the bigger houses. Then there are the smaller apartments, for the single ones. There’s more and more of them, I’m afraid to say. Service in the military seems to take a terrible toll on families.”

“It does,” Morgan agreed, his eye following a large black raven that hopped across the open courtyard, pecking between paving stones.

“Legend says that if the ravens leave the Tower, then the kingdom will fall.”

Morgan sensed that the royal was making small talk to delay divulging what was really on her mind. “You can say what you need to say. It’s just us here, Your Highness.”

“OK then, Jack. I’ve lost someone whom I loved. Thanks to you, the person responsible for taking her from me is now in custody. He will receive justice, and he will do so through the British legal system.”

The implication of the words was clear for Morgan, and he held the woman’s gaze. “Of course.”

“Do you know who brought law and order to this country, Jack? It was the monarchy. It was the Crown. Sophie? Jane? This all started with me, Jack, and I want to end it before violence is brought to our streets. I am hurting, Jack—you know how much I am hurting—and the only thing that can hurt me more is to see more blood spilled.”

Morgan took a deep breath. He respected Caroline, and his words came out evenly and under control. “I will not stop looking for Flex.”

“I’m not asking you to stop looking. It’s what you plan to do when you find him that’s scaring me. Please, promise me that when you do find him, you’ll let the police take it from there. Promise me that you’ll let the British legal system do its job.”

Morgan could see genuine concern in the woman’s earnest eyes. Concern for his own safety, but also for a greater cause—that of law and order in the country she was sworn to serve.

“Does your country have the death penalty?” Morgan asked.

“It doesn’t.”

“Then I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. I want justice, and that isn’t it.”

“Then we may find ourselves at odds, Jack.”

“Maybe we will. And I’m sorry if we do.”

“So am I.” She smiled sadly. “Good night, Jack. Whatever happens, thank you for finding Sophie.”

Morgan tried to smile in return. Then Princess Caroline turned and walked away.