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Thomas was ready. He knew his job, and he knew it well. On his thirty-first mission with the undercover organization known only vaguely in shadowy circles as the WCKD Team, he was prepared to kill. He was the most effective asset on the team just one year after having been recruited, with confirmed kills in over ten countries. A celebrated lacrosse athlete in college and with a knack for languages, he had been the perfect candidate for WCKD. Especially after his life flew off the tracks and into the shitter when his younger brother, Chuck, was killed in a terrorist attack shortly before graduation. Ever since, he had wanted one thing: retribution. The Team was the most effective way of achieving his goal of wiping out every terrorist cell he could find. At just 24 years old, he possessed a single-minded determination and would take out anything standing in his way.He looked at himself in the cracked mirror of his motel room and breathed deeply. Tonight there would be no hesitation. Bringing the whirring razor to his face, he shaved off his bushy dark brown beard and left just the barest hint of stubble. His brown eyes glittered under his brow and mop of thick brown hair. His olive-toned skin was tanned from doing surveillance under the beating sun of Mexico City for the past two weeks. He needed to do something with his hair, it was a mess. For his cover tonight, he needed to style it back like a waiter.With gel that had been pre-packed in his suitcase by his partner Minho, he finished styling his hair and put on his black tie-occasion suit, with customized bulletproof padding. The fabric slipped over his muscles and clung like a dream, a casual onlooker would never notice the bulge of the bulletproof inserts, nor the various weapons and knives on his person. He’d have to remember to compliment Teresa, who designed his outfit for the night and researched and acquired the weapons. In his holster he placed his trusty 9mm Beretta, cleaned and loaded. Packing up the last of his things he’d need for the mission, he cleared out the room so any last traces of his presence were gone. Baggers would be in later to double-check for him, but he was a professional and could really handle that simplicity himself. Best to make the job easier for the guys. As the sun slipped below the rooflines across the street, he left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.He peeled out of the motel parking lot in WCKD’s shiny black sedan, heading toward a better part of town, Lomas de Chapultepec. This neighborhood was his destination this evening. There, within the mansion, would be success or failure. One step closer to justice for Chuck, or one step back. Every mission had similar stakes for Thomas, and he hadn’t failed yet. This evening there was to be a charity event at the mansion of Mexican singer Yuri to raise money for the city’s dire need of protecting youth in homeless shelters. Politicians, businessmen, celebrities, and other people of high influence would be in attendance, in all their finery.Thomas was particularly interested in one man, Martin Alvarado Ramirez, known as Don Martin, who ran an illegitimate corporation that used victims of youth trafficking as subjects for illegal drug testing. His presence at this charity event would be ironic, to say the least, but diabolical at best. He ran under the radar of the Mexican government, because the profits from his medicines in the pharmaceutical industry greased the hands of those in local government that had the power to make heads look the other way. Over the years, Thomas had noticed that corruption ran rampant, in any type of government, no matter where in the world. People like Don Martin fully took advantage of that, profiting off of it for himself. It set his blood boiling just knowing that children were vulnerable to this man, children like his brother Chuck. Any corruption or wrongdoing, he wanted to clear from this world. To keep it a better place. One he had wanted Chuck to grow up in. Now, he was just doing all he could, to work towards a better future, in Chuck’s name. Even if that meant killing the people who were doing the bad things.He pulled up to the mansion, and parked around back by the service entrance. Some other cars were already parked there, presumably the other waitstaff and chefs and musicians who would be helping run the event smoothly. His plan was to get in, achieve his objective, and get out, hopefully without alerting anyone to suspicious activity while he was still there. In his ear, the surveillance team was talking him through what they’d seen throughout the afternoon and were giving him updates of the layouts of the plans he’d studied earlier that day. Thomas generally preferred to operate alone, but for an event this big and high-profile, he agreed it was better to have Teresa and his mentor, Jorge, talking him through it. His usual partner, Minho, was on backup in a separate van parked on a side street near the mansion. He walked through the back doors to the kitchen, shrugging on his black jacket, game face on.The event was to start in one hour. Thomas helped set up the round dining tables with silverware and plates, he carried vases filled with fresh-cut flowers to various rooms of the house, taking every opportunity for a detour to explore the place in person more thoroughly. The bustling hour passed quickly, and people started streaming in to the grand hall of the mansion. Limos would drop them off in the circle out front and a red carpet led to the door. The lights from the chandeliers and sconces sparkled off of the jewelry, cufflinks, and many shining accessories of the guests. Almost another hour later, as Thomas was holding a silver tray of champagne flutes by the entrance to the ballroom, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his target coming up the steps outside and through the front door. Señor Alvarado Ramirez had a protection detail of three well-suited men surrounding him, and on his arm was his much younger wife Leticia Veltran Ruiz in a glittering red dress. Four people, Thomas noted. Four people he would have to distract and deal with, before he could get to Señor Ramirez. They glided over to the ballroom, Thomas following them at a distance.Inside the ballroom, guests began to twirl to the music from the live band and appetizers were being carried in and out from the kitchen to the side table. Thomas was thinking of a plan. As usual, there were some unexpected instances that popped up that he had not been entirely prepared for. The surveillance from the previous week had indicated that Don Martin usually traveled with only two armed bodyguards, but tonight he had three. Why was that? Thomas could only think that it must have something to do with his wife also being there, but honestly, he didn’t usually have much concern for her. She had her own car and driver, but otherwise she didn’t really do much. WCKD had determined that she was not involved with Señor Ramirez’s business ventures, so therefore was not a threat. So instead of the three people Thomas was expecting, this fourth might be too much. Thomas wasn’t going to let the odds cause him to falter, though. He continued on with the objective as resolutely as ever. To split them up, that was the goal, but how to do it? Thomas had a few tricks up his sleeve; he was going to try the first one. As the ending note of the song faded out and the band began to start up a new one, Thomas brushed his hand over his tray, flourishing his towel from off his arm, in an apparent wiping motion, but which actually distracted from the fact that he had dropped some powder into one of the eight champagne flutes on the tray closest to him. The sleight of hand was something he had picked up from his travels. If the powder acted as intended, the drinker would find him or herself needing to be excused to go to the restroom. It caused quite uncomfortable sensations in the bowel region, and hopefully would put someone out of commission for a couple of hours, ultimately being harmless.As the song began to swell, he made his way over casually towards the glamorous couple and their protection detail. The trick was to offer without seeming suspicious, nor arousing interest from them to notice him any more than they would a normal waiter. His target this time was the wife, Leticia. Approaching them, he smiled gently at the beautiful Mexican woman bringing his tray around in a twirling motion towards her, with the poison-laced glass ultimately directly in front of her, near her right hand. She smiled graciously at him, and took the glass, with a quiet thanks. He nodded serenely, then brought the tray closer to Señor Alvaredo Ramirez. He took a glass with a cursory nod of thanks and Thomas smiled back at him. As the couple were turning away, Thomas also turned away and began towards another couple nearby. He kept to himself his elation that the transfer of poison had gone off without a hitch, and didn’t change his expression until his tray was empty of champagne-filled flutes and only filled with the empty ones discarded from other guests. He walked back towards the door to the kitchens, and allowed himself a small grin.Passing through the doorway, he put down the tray on a waiting table, put the used champagne glasses in the dish receptacle, and headed out a side door into the rest of the mansion. Around the doorway he waited in the shadows, listening. Right on cue, he could hear in the other room, Señora Ramirez excusing herself from the group to go to the restroom. She was mentioning an upset stomach, and whooshed right past Thomas down the hallway towards the restrooms. Thomas congratulated himself that she was now safely out of the way. She would have a rough couple of hours in that restroom, but it was better than being caught in the crossfire, he thought. The door clicked shut behind her, and he quickly snuck down the hall and around the corner and lodged a small piece of wood under the door so she wouldn’t even be able to get out if she tried. It was not noticeable, so hopefully other guests would assume it was just locked if they tried it. “Mistress taken care of, Minho, you are go,” he muttered into his earpiece, allowing for his partner to pick up the next phase of the plan. Stealing back down the hallway, he went through the kitchen, picking up a fresh tray of hors d’oeuvres this time, and entering the ballroom again. He was taking his time replacing the trays of appetizers and arranging them, listening to what Minho was saying in his ear, updates about his part of the operation.“Entering premises, waiting for techs,” Minho was saying. The surveillance and technology team were in the communications for all the security that night, but especially focusing on the separate communications for Ramirez’s three bodyguards. The bodyguards themselves were cut into the lines for the event’s actual security, overhearing everything they were saying too, without them knowing it. The WCKD techs cut into the line that only the bodyguards could hear amongst themselves, and Jorge said, “Civilian on west edge of premises, with backpack, need someone to check. Mid-30’s male with dark hair and sunglasses, dark clothing. Over.” He was speaking as if he was speaking to the actual event security, but had their channel muted, so only the bodyguards would hear. That was Minho’s cue.He straightened up and began walking leisurely and inconspicuously along the sidewalk on the side of the mansion where it butted up to the road. He didn’t whistle a tune, even though he was strongly tempted to. His hands rested on the straps of his black backpack, and he was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark outside. These were designed by Teresa, WCKD’s technology development specialist, to work as lightweight night vision goggles and a video recording device to transmit a visual feed to those inside the van. Thomas confirmed from the balcony of the second floor that one of Ramirez’s three bodyguards was heading out the side door to check out the threat. Apparently they had deemed it of enough risk to check it out themselves and not just rely on the event’s security to pick up the problem, exactly as they had hoped. Minho could hear the man coming down the sidewalk, his gun drawn, and before he rounded the corner, Minho geared up and burst into a running start. As the man was coming through the privacy wall, Minho jumped up and delivered a powerful two-footed kick directly into the man’s chest. He knocked against the wall, immediately unconscious. His gun clattered to the ground. “Shit, Minho,” Jorge exclaimed into his earpiece from inside the van. “Target down,” Minho said breathlessly into his mike. He then dragged the heavyset man out of the way and tied him up under the bushes. He wouldn’t be getting out of the plastic zip ties anytime soon. Minho took his gun, put it in his backpack and headed back up towards the mansion.Thomas nodded from where he was and started walking back down the stairs to the party. Three to go. He observed Ramirez’s two bodyguards whispering animatedly into their mouthpieces, wondering where their third man had gone and why he wasn’t replying. They knew something was up now. Thomas rounded a corner to get out of sight, and bumped into another wait staff member. “Excuse me,” he said hurriedly then kept going down the hall away from the thick of things, without sparing a glance back. The plush carpeted floors muffled his footsteps.Ducking into the doorway of an empty guest room, he shut the door quietly behind him and pulled out a black WCKD-issued backpack identical to Minho’s. Inside it, were more weapons and gas grenades. The plan wasn’t fleshed out to the exact detail, they never were, but he was prepared to improvise, as always. Sneaking down the hall with the backpack over his silk waiter’s suit and dress shirt, he quickly moved upstairs again to the master bedroom. The key here was now to lure the remaining three targets up to this floor and this room. Perhaps not all at once, but if it was then that would be fine as well. When they entered, Thomas could take care of them. Knowing Ramirez’s habits, both his bodyguards, as well as himself, would be armed, despite passing through the security at the front door with no problems.The techs were brainstorming their options for the best way to get the men where they needed to be without also alarming the regular guests and event security. Another tactic like the one to lure the single bodyguard out to the gardens they did not want to risk using again, it was less likely to work now that they were on alert. Having only two, the bodyguards did not want to risk going back outside to look for their fallen comrade but they gathered tighter around their mark, the man they were sworn to protect with their lives and their paychecks.“Minho, go in there and look suspicious, make sure you’re noticed by the bodyguards, but not enough they approach you. Don’t be noticed by the real security and don’t alarm the other guests. I think I have a plan,” Thomas said into his communications receiver. Jorge understood what Thomas was getting at, he was already preparing the techs for their role. Minho was moving back to the front door, entering the grand entry and going through to the ballroom.“All right, boys, we’re gonna drop some panicked sounding security chat in our bodyguards’ ears. Let’s do this right,” Jorge said to the two other men in the van with him. They nodded in unison and got ready with their headsets. Thomas grinned to himself as the channel crackled to life in his ears, the sounds of his WCKD tech team filling the airwaves.
“Hostile in main ballroom. Wearing black. Possibly same suspect as before.”
“Wait, the exits are blocked off. There’s locks on the doors!”
“Confirmation from kitchen, there’s smoke rolling out under here.”
“Protecting my mark. Someone get on those doors.”
“I believe he is armed. He may be working with partners.”
“Unconfirmed number of hostiles. Gather everybody and take them to the safe room in the basement.”
“He’s rolling gas grenades!”Perfect chaos, and Minho confirmed from below that he could already see the heels of Señor Ramirez’s security team heading out of the room and up the stairs to where Thomas was waiting. Before waiting to visually confirm what they were hearing over their earpieces, they were already moving to protect their man.The two men entered the room warily, their Sig Sauers held firmly at arm’s length in front of them. Señor Ramirez followed close behind, looking furtively back over his shoulder. His own gun was in his hand, held loosely at waist level. As soon as they were in the room, Thomas was on them, shooting his silenced Beretta at the first one then ducking behind a tufted velvet sofa to avoid the gunfire of the second one. At a break in the firing, he launched himself up over the sofa and into the man, knocking the gun out of his hand and sending it skittering across the room, landing under an ornate dresser. The second bodyguard lunged at him, empty-handed, and they engaged in hand-to-hand combat, dancing around the room and struggling on the parquet floor. The first man he had shot at had not been fatally hit, so he was still up and causing problems. Thomas needed to finish his objective quickly, but this was a full-fledged three-on-one fight and a little more than he could work with in this constricted room with its tinkly decorations and fluffy furniture. The men were still protecting his target with all their focus.The three men circled around the room, all trying to find an upper hand. As Thomas was delivering a knockout roundhouse kick to the first man, he felt a burning impact and intense pain in his side. He fell out of the kick to the floor and rolled to the side, looking for cover. He had been shot. It was just below where his bulletproof vest protected his torso. The edges of his vision darkened a bit, but Thomas had to stay focused. He shook himself and regained his wits. The bodyguard who had shot him was now coming around the sofa Thomas was hiding behind. Thomas grabbed a small handgun from his leg holster near his ankle and finally shot that bodyguard square in the forehead.Standing up, he pressed his hand to his side, gauging the damage. It had been a clean through and through shot, missing his vital organs, but if he didn't suppress the bleeding quickly, that wouldn't matter and he’d bleed out anyway. He looked to where Señor Alvarado Ramirez stood in the corner, who had his gun trained on him but hadn't shot anything yet. He approached him quickly, dodging all the shots that the Don Martin was now firing. On his way he grabbed the knife from its sheath in his arm and came at him with all the energy he could muster. The man’s eyes widened as his gun clicked empty and he put up his hands and started cursing and yelling in Spanish. Thomas hadn't studied Spanish in school but he understood enough to know the man was calling him unpleasant names and pleading for his life at the same time.“Lo siento, pero usted lo se merecen. Solamente son negocios.” Thomas said as he brought the knife to the man’s throat, his other arm holding the man still across the chest and legs pressed against his body to keep him from struggling too much. I’m sorry, but you deserve it. This is just business. The man started to say something, “Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos--” His prayer cut off abruptly as Thomas slit the the man across the throat. Thomas sprang away from the dead body already falling to the floor, gushing blood, and checked his surroundings for any more threats. He gathered his stuff and any sign that it had been specifically him there, and opened the second-story window. This room faced the back of the house. He slammed the window sash up and climbed out, leaving no fingerprints behind and ran across the second-floor balcony outside and down the steps leading to below, his backpack bouncing lightly on his back. He was encumbered by his bleeding wound but he made it down, running away through the garden behind the mansion.A car pulled up at the edge of the property, Minho driving. Thomas pulled the door open and jumped in the passenger seat, throwing his backpack in the backseat. The car pulled away as police cars with sirens came swarming up to the mansion. Señor Ramirez’s last shots would have attracted the building’s security to investigate the commotion and call for backup. They made it just in time, and Minho and Thomas grinned at each other as they exited the neighborhood, driving just slightly above the speed limit. Thomas winced as the bullet hole in his side kept pulsing blood. He pressed gauzy pieces of fabric into his side as Minho sped on the freeway towards their rendezvous with the tech van and where they could get medical attention for Thomas. Thomas focused on Jorge yelling in his earpiece. He was blathering on about being a dumbass and attracting the attention of everybody in the vicinity and not doing his job properly and blah blah blah. “Hey, I finished it, that’s what’s important,” he talked back to Jorge. "At least I didn't burn this whole mansion down like that last one in Germany!"“But you got shot! We have another mission for you, and it’s urgent. You need to be in top shape for this one. It’s all the way in England,” Jorge retorted.“England? Okay, but you know how many times I’ve worked while injured, I’ll be fine. Besides, after I see a doctor, you won’t have to worry. It’s not major.”“Whatever Thomas, we’ll see you at WCKD headquarters and you’ll be quickly debriefed, but then you’re getting on that plane tomorrow. Best of luck, hermano.” Jorge signed off.Thomas leaned back in his seat as Minho shook his head at him, glancing over from time to time. The car sped under the passing streetlights, headed to their next mission.
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Pulling the window shade down as the morning sun crested the horizon and beamed into the plane cabin, Thomas relaxed in the first class seat of his flight to London, England. After getting patched up by a small medical team, then a lengthy debriefing of the Mexico City mission with Jorge and the higher ups over a video conference call at one of WCKD’s safehouses last night, Thomas had slept for only about an hour before he got on his flight in the early hours of this morning. Minho had gone on ahead to gain an understanding of the situation from the ground, because Thomas was held up by attending to his wound. Jorge had sent Thomas off with a folder of information about this London mission, but informed him that he wouldn’t be joining him this time. Usually they all worked together, but circumstances called Jorge and the usual team away back to the States, and Thomas to the U.K. Thomas would meet up with Minho as soon as he landed. The mission was critically important for time and secrecy. Thomas opened the folder and read. According to this report, which was to be kept top secret, members of the English Royal family had been abducted and were being held somewhere in London. It was undetermined yet if the kidnappers were wanting ransom. A few people close to the family had already been killed, but they weren’t listed here so Thomas wasn’t sure who exactly it was. Thomas’s objective was to find and recover safely the Crown Prince, Newton Isaac Mountbatten Windsor, who went by Newt. To accomplish this, he was to work with members of the British Security Service, MI5, to bring Newt and his family members back home.The next page in the report had grainy black and white security footage photographs of the Prince and his family. Thomas peered closer at the tiny piece of paper. Newt was a slender man with swoops of carefully styled blond hair falling across his forehead in waves. His outfits in the various photos ranged from full ceremonial uniform, with epaulets and double-breasted buttoned jacket, to regular black suit and tie, to casual button down shirt and slacks. He was generally seen out with his younger sister Elizabeth Sonya Mountbatten Windsor, who generally went by Sonya. She usually wore her long blonde hair in a side braid. Their parents were the King and Queen of England, everybody knew them, and loved them.Thomas sighed and put his hand up to his chin, thinking. This was a huge job. Jorge had told him that he’d meet with MI5 and MI6 when he got there, but he didn’t like going into this with barely any more information than that. He felt odd about this one. It was rushed, secretive, and bigger-scale than he normally worked. When he touched down, he’d have to immediately establish a secure line of communication back to WCKD headquarters, meet up with Minho, and figure out their course of action for rescuing the royal family. They’d need resources like weapons, surveillance, and maybe even more manpower. Thomas gave up puzzling about it, tucked the folder of papers back in his briefcase, then leaned back in his seat and rested his eyes. He’d worry about the plan when he got to it.
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Thomas was picked up at Heathrow airport by a man in a suit, who did not introduce himself. They were always men in suits. Thomas never liked men in suits. Usually that meant bad news for him. Couldn't they at least be wearing casual clothes for once? But this man worked for MI5 so, of course, was going to dress for the job. He rode alone in the backseat of the black unmarked car on his way to the domestic counter-intelligence and security agency’s headquarters in north London. He checked his messages on his mobile phone, and saw a couple updates from Minho and one long one from Jorge. He texted them back, then put his phone back in his pocket, sighing. Minho was already on site and would see him once he’d gotten into the field, after more meetings to come. Hoping to catch up to speed, but not with much expectation, he addressed the driver. “Hey, do you know anything about this Prince?” he asked the man driving. All he got in response was a stoic head shake no. He never got answers when he wanted them, only when his higher-ups wanted to give them to him. He’d just have to wait until he got to their destination.The buildings of London slowly crept by as their car inched forward in the late afternoon traffic. Bicycles and scooters wound through the lanes and honks rang out as merges and turns were made. The weak sunlight glinted off interspersed bright white stone facades and uniform windows, adorned by cornices and flower boxes, and sturdy gray concrete building masses with minimal decoration. The visual variety and sights and smells were a new animal to him. Surprisingly, Thomas had never done a mission in London before, the only time he’d been here was on vacation when he was still in high school. Since then he hadn’t been to this city, had never had a reason to come back. He hoped that whoever was meeting him on the ground to work with would be able to guide them towards the solution, because it sounded like he would not have his usual few days to get situated and learn the workings of this place. Normally, he could get into the underworld of any city he was in by the first week, that was his specialty, but now his time was much more limited. He was more than eager to get started, lamenting this wasted time in bureaucracy and procedure. The car reached a driveway and stopped in front of Thames House.Thomas stepped out of the car, shades resting on his nose, his travel bag in his left hand. The car drove off as soon as he shut the car door. He walked alone up the steps to the office building and into an elevator. Exiting the elevator at the designated floor from the building directory sign, he then stopped at a reception desk. After leaving his bag, the receptionist led him down a hall, and he was shown into a glass-walled conference room. The door was closed behind him, leaving Thomas and two other people in the room. A serious-looking middle-aged man stood up to shake Thomas’s hand then sat back down, keying in some commands on a keyboard on the table. A serene but fierce-looking woman nodded at him from her seat next to the first man across the table. Shades lowered over the window walls and a monitor lit up on the far wall. As Thomas moved to sit down, the first man introduced himself and his companion.“I’m Agent Nick Roarch, and this is Special Agent Harriet Lewis from MI6 who will be working with you on this mission. We have a very rushed time frame, so let’s get to business, shall we?” Thomas nodded, and they began the mission briefing.Two days ago, an attack occurred on the tea shop where the Princess Sonya frequents while she and her brother Prince Newt and aunt Duchess Genevieve and various friends were there. The whole city was buzzing about it, but no citizens actually knew what happened. The entire security detail was rendered incapacitated with the result that several civilians were killed and injured from gunfire, as well as their aunt deceased, and the two royal siblings were removed from the location and unable to be retrieved. Some of their detail was able to follow them partially through London to the east but they lost track of them while still fighting with others who stayed behind to cover their tail. They determined that the royals were being held in the Tower Hamlets borough, but agents didn’t know more specifically where. They predicted that it would likely be in a private and unused building, such as a warehouse, large enough that they would go unheard and unnoticed. They didn’t know if they were separate or together, but didn’t think that there would be any particular strategic reason for them to be separated. They didn’t know how many people were involved in the plot either.After the quick but thorough session that divulged all the details Thomas needed to know, yet very little, as it was only what British intelligence knew, Thomas walked out with Harriet, ready to begin the rescue and exfiltration mission. “First thing we need is supplies. I know a guy,” Harriet offhandedly said over her shoulder as they walked down the front stairs of the building. “He’s the best armorer and demolitions expert nearby,” she expanded, as they got into her car, a military issue black [model] coupe. “Buckle up.” They zoomed down the street into the city, Harriet’s driving enough to make Thomas want to reach for the passenger grab handle, and quite glad that he had, in fact, buckled up.They stopped off at a slightly grungier looking part of London, where a tall man stepped out of a concrete building. “Name’s Gally, you can call me Captain Gally.” He shook Thomas’s hand firmly, and gave Harriet a familiar smile. She rolled her eyes, and smiled back. Harriet introduced Thomas, and Gally gave him a once-over then gestured for them to follow him into the building.As Thomas’s eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, he noticed how armed the man was. He could see a vest and harness with gun holsters, leg holsters, utility belt, finger-less gloves, and even a gas mask dangling from the utility belt. And that’s just what he could see; Thomas suspected there was more he couldn’t see. This man was prepared for anything. While it seemed like overkill, Thomas respected that preparedness and was ready to trust the man’s expertise on weapons. He liked to be that prepared as well.They stopped at a swipe-card secured room with a metal table in the center and gun racks and lockers along the walls, storing ammunition, weapons, and explosives. Gally explained that he was contracted to work with the military as a freelancer and was quite used to preparing agents for missions, especially unique ones. He was great at giving insight about which weapons to bring for whatever they anticipate. Thomas didn’t know what to expect on this mission, so he armed himself for a variety of situations, hoping that he got enough to deal with anything. He and Harriet finished up choosing their arsenal, and prepared to leave. On their way out of the room, Gally laid his hand on Thomas’s shoulder and said in a low voice, “You bring them back, you hear? Those kids are the key to everything, get them back safely.” Thomas met his eye and nodded curtly, quickly exiting to the hall and following Harriet out into the evening twilight.Back in Harriet’s quiet car, Thomas called Minho on his cell. He had to touch base with him if they were to make any progress. As Harriet drove them towards where Minho was stationed doing surveillance, he talked with him trying to assess the situation. Minho and a few other agents were canvassing the area they suspected the criminals to be based and keeping the royal siblings hostage. They did not believe they had any other hostages besides the two.