EPILOGUE
One Week Later
Mike suffered the boot, no choice. Her ankle was fractured, not badly, they said, only a hairline crack. But it still hurt like blue blazes to walk on, so they gave her a pair of crutches. How long for her ankle to heal? Not all that long, they said, and after telling her to keep weight off it, sent her on her way—released her into the wild, Nigel said, when he saw the ridiculous boot that marched up nearly to her knee.
It hurt to look at herself in the full-length mirror in Nicholas’s bedroom because all she could see was the boot, black as her dress, so that was something, certainly better than candy pink. No, she wasn’t a pretty sight.
Nicholas and Nigel came into the room. Nigel stopped in his tracks. “Ah, you look fetching, Mike.”
Fetching? She’d like to smack him, but, with the boot, she couldn’t move fast enough. “I look like an idiot. Come on, Nicholas, you need to man up and tell the truth.”
Nicholas said simply, “You look like a hero.”
“That’s correct, Mike, your badge of honor,” Nigel said as he handed Nicholas his jacket.
No, not a jacket, a morning coat. Nigel patted down his shoulders, stepped back. “Very nice indeed.”
Nicholas gave him an incredulous look, shot his cuffs, and walked to stand beside her. Together they studied their fading bruises.
“It’s the Arnica balm,” Nigel said. “The bruises are nearly gone.”
True enough, but the bruises were the least of it. It was the lingering nightmares, Mike knew, filled with mechanical birds shrieking, their razor talons ready to strip off her face.
At least the real falcons had been sent from both of Roman’s estates and given to a falconer in the Lake District, who was reprogramming them. They were far, far away. Even so, she shuddered. “I’m going to have bird phobia for a while.”
“It will pass.” Nicholas kissed her temple. “As for myself, I can’t seem to step outside without studying the sky for drones. Still in all, we survived. We’re quite the team, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” she said. She eyed him up and down. “I’m thinking you could introduce your morning coat to the New York field office, set a new style.”
“My Glock wouldn’t fit well under it, alas. Now, Agent Caine, I lie not. You do look lovely.”
She licked her lips, stopped, she didn’t want to ruin her lipstick. “Well, okay, I’ll admit it, I’m nervous.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “The Queen already loves you for saving her life, and the PM, and the president, not to mention Parliament. It’s a great honor, Mike. And it’s important for the country for us to be acknowledged. My father has been informed by Her Majesty’s secretary that she is very pleased to knight me and dame you. He said the investiture had already been set up, but Her Majesty insisted we be added.”
“Do I have to be a dame? What does that even mean?”
“You’ll make a great dame.”
She punched him in the belly, and he obligingly grunted. He saw her color rise. Excellent, she’d forget her nerves soon enough.
He swept her up into his arms and carried her down the stairs, Nigel following with her crutches.
No nerves now, she was poking his shoulder and laughing, and so was he.
The car was waiting, the baron, Harry, and Mitzie inside. Harry was also dressed in a morning coat, Mitzie in a lovely embroidered white jacket over a sheath dress. She held a huge silk-and-felt hat in her lap.
Mike stared at her. “Oh, my, you look gorgeous. And imagine, your shoes match.”
Mitzie laughed and she said exactly what Nigel had said. “You look fetching, Michaela. Now, let’s get you settled, then we must be off or we’ll be late.”
Once inside Buckingham Palace, Mike tried very hard not to gawk. Now, this place had glamor. Imagine, Queen Victoria had walked through these incredible rooms with all their huge gold paintings, down these wide hallways, up and down the imposing staircases.
Harry steered them to a small staircase, a white sign on an easel in front of it: Recipients. Once again Nicholas carried Mike up the stairs, followed by Harry with her crutches. Mitzie and the baron took a seat in the gallery.
I have to remember everything to tell my grandkids. The Queen, there she is, the Queen of England, and I’m going to be a dame. But what’s a dame? Does it mean free Starbucks?
Mike’s brain continued to squirrel around even when Nicholas took her hand, squeezed it, and the ceremony started with nearly fifty people to be knighted and “damed.” Everyone sang “God Save the Queen,” then they were smoothly settled into place in the line to be presented to Her Majesty.
After Harry went forward to kneel before the Queen and accept his cross and her tap on his shoulder, Nicholas followed, tall, straight, so gorgeous she wanted to leap on him, but that wouldn’t do, not here, not that she could with the cursed boot. He was knighted, he and the Queen spoke, and Mike heard him laugh.
Mike knew she was going to throw up on her boot. Or she’d slip on the crutches, her hands were sweating so badly. Nicholas waited for her down the hall, looking somber as a judge, but then the grand voice called out, “Dame Michaela Caine, for services to the security of the country.” She smiled widely at him and walked forward, didn’t even fall off her crutches. And then she was in front of the grand dame herself.
The Queen pinned the medal to Mike’s left breast and the commander insignia to her waist.
Elizabeth said, “You acted admirably, madam. You saved many lives. We are most grateful for your service to our country.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Was that her voice, all quavery and insubstantial? Oh dear, yes, it was.
The Queen took a long look at the boot, then shook her hand, and looked to where Nicholas stood beside his father, watching. “Take care of our young Brit. His grandfather will have my head if something untoward happens to him.”
This time Mike’s voice was full-bodied American, reaching the entire gallery. “I will be his St. George, Your Majesty.”
She would keep him safe, her Sir Nicholas.
Melinda, Ben, Adam, and Dr. Marin joined their small party back at Drummond House in Westminster. Nicholas saw Adam had moved away from the group, trying, he knew, to protect the fresh, hot chips Cook had made especially for him.
Nicholas nudged him with his shoulder, nodded toward Ben and Melinda. “Hey, you’re getting to be an old man, already twenty. Ready for a girl of your own, Adam?”
“I sort of like that one with Ben.”
“She might be a whisker too old for you. No, better to let my mother find someone your age. What do you think?”
Adam appeared to give that some thought, but he said, “Oh yeah, Nicholas, I forget to tell you, they got Ardelean’s right hand, a man named Cyrus Wendell, and he evidently won’t say a single world. So, Ardelean did have someone loyal to him. The coppers also arrested Ardelean’s manager at his main installation in North Berwick, Scotland, Raphael Marquez. Unlike Wendell, he couldn’t wait to tell everything he knew, which is plenty. Now about your mom on the hunt for me? Okay, maybe.”
Dr. Marin stood nearby, listening and nursing a vodka tonic. Mike said to her, “Do you think Adam will let Mrs. Drummond set him up?”
Isabella smiled. “He did say maybe, and if he’s smart, he’ll at least consider it.” And then her smile fell away, and Mike knew she was thinking about her fiancé and the subsequent nightmare she’d survived.
“When do you plan to go back to work?”
“Next week, I think. There’s so much to do, and glory of glories, Persy didn’t fire me.” She smiled again, and this one wasn’t forced. “Imagine, you found the loose pages beneath the mattress of Radu’s bed. And now we’ve restored the Voynich to the Beinecke. Since I’m the one who made the ‘discovery,’ they’ve asked me to come to Yale and personally inset the pages. They’re talking a big ceremony. They want me to read from the Voynich,” she said, more to herself than to Mike. “The pages will like that. After so many hundreds of years, they’ll finally be together again, back where they belong.”
Mike didn’t want to go there, so she said, “That will sure put the Beinecke on the map. Are you ready to be a world-recognized celebrity? The only scholar ever to decipher the Voynich?”
Isabella shrugged. “Here’s the question. Do I tell them the truth? The whole story going back to Vlad Dracul?”
Mike said, “That’s up to you, but perhaps it’s time. And perhaps there’ll be other special twins of your line to read the Voynich.”
“I do wonder about that. But if I did tell the whole story, they might lock me up in an institution.” And she laughed, a small laugh, but it was a start. “Oh yes, I’ve got something to show you.” Isabella reached into her black handbag and pulled out a piece of newspaper, handed it to Mike.
Mike read, then raised amazed eyes to Isabella’s face. “They’ve found Dracula’s tomb, in Italy, near Naples, of all places? Why in heaven’s name would Dracula visit Naples, much less die there? Not Transylvania? And how did he even die?”
“We’ll see. It’s still more supposition than fact.” She paused a moment. “I wonder what Roman and Radu would think of it?”
Nicholas came up to Mike, took her elbow to take some of her weight off her foot. “How’s the boot?”
“Getting heavier and heavier.”
“Hang in there, as you Yanks say. Not much longer.” He spoke to Isabella, then guided Mike away.
She fingered the medal over her breast. “I sent photos of the medal to my parents. My dad texted to congratulate me and I know he was bursting at the seams. My mom now, I bet she was already out the door showing it to the neighborhood. Hmm, so now I’m to call you Sir Nicholas? Not, say, Sir Lamebrain?”
He smiled down at her. “Both have a ring to them. I was thinking we need to run away from home for a while.”
What was this all about? “As in no bombings, no guns, no birds, no drones for a week or two?”
“Not a one.”
“Yes, Nicholas, that would be grand.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, waved it in her face. “I spoke to Savich and Zachery, and they’ve given papal dispensation for all of us to take some time off. I’ve already booked us a flight. Since you have to stay off that foot for a while longer, I thought maybe floating around some islands on a yacht for a few days, something calm and sedate. Near Santorini.”
“Santorini. Oh yes, Nicholas—ah, Sir Nicholas.”
There was a flash from the window, and Mike started, her heart going into overdrive. “What was that?”
He lightly ran his fingers over her cheek. “Only a swallow from the tree outside. Only a swallow.”