process.
* * *
Still in the backseat with Stevie, Charlie focused on her baby sister and ignored whatever the man in the chopper was saying. Most would be concerned with the chopper guy, but he was the least of her problems. Already Charlie could see the panic welling up again in Stevie. And if Stevie snapped . . .
“What’s going on? Who are these people? They’re not from the center! What did Dad do now?” Stevie spit out in rapid succession. Then she asked, “Why are they doing this? What are we going to do?”
There it went. That high-pitched squeal that said Stevie was moments away from going into full panic mode.
“Don’t worry about them,” Charlie told her sister. “Let’s focus on your breathing.”
Stevie calmed down enough to glare at Charlie. “Seriously?”
“I’m trying to help.”
“I’m not an infant.”
“Fine. Then balls the fuck up!”
“Don’t snarl at me!” Stevie shot back, her panic finally overridden by anger, which Charlie welcomed. “If you only would—”
Both sisters screamed and ducked down, hands over their heads; the entire SUV bucked from the explosion. They waited a few seconds before sitting up and staring out the front window with their mouths open, as the remains of the chopper landed all around their vehicle.
And with the chopper were the remains of several men, their charred bodies—and pieces from those bodies—banging against the vehicle and ground with nauseating thuds.
Charlie heard Max humming and turned to see that she had the back door open and was returning the weapon she held to its case.
“A rocket launcher?” Charlie exploded.
“Oh, my God!” Stevie gasped.
“Have you lost your mind?”
Max shrugged. “What? I wasn’t about to get into a shoot-out with them. That’s a military chopper. Did you see the Gatling guns on the sides?”
“I don’t care, you idiot! What are we supposed to tell the Swiss authorities?”
Frowning, Max asked, “Why would we talk to anybody about this?” She closed the back door, went around the SUV, and got into the driver’s side. She stared out the front window for a moment, got back out of the SUV, and walked around the front, kicking bodies and big, burning chunks of the helicopter out of the way to make a path through the debris.
When Max returned to the vehicle, she buckled her seat belt and glanced back at Charlie and Stevie. “Ready to go?” she asked, smiling. Chipper even. In fact, extremely chipper. Like they were going to brunch.
How did she do that? Unlike her sisters, Max was all honey badger, and yet she had the most pleasant, happy, almost sunny disposition Charlie had ever known.
Charlie had never met another honey badger like her.
“Stop smiling,” Charlie ordered her sister.
And, of course, Max’s smile grew until it took up most of her face.
Charlie nearly had her hands around Max’s throat but Stevie wrapped her arms around her and dragged her back against the seat.
“What are you mad at me for?” Max asked, oblivious as always.
“Just go,” Stevie ordered. “And shut up.”
“Both of you are so moody.” Max took the car out of park and drove through the path she’d created until she was able to enter the woods. This got them off the road and, hopefully, away from any law enforcement who’d be heading this way.
* * *
So this was what it was like to be a true “maestro.” Berg thought he’d “gotten it” before, but he hadn’t. Not until men came from the Vatican, sent personally by His Holiness so that they could escort Coop to his next venue.
Even cooler? They were waiting to board a private jet that was only used for His Holiness. The Pope had sent it to transport Coop and his entire team, and apparently he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Coop had tried. Politely. Not wanting to put the Pope and his attendees out in any way. And Coop wasn’t bullshitting. He really didn’t like to put people out, but again . . . His Holiness wouldn’t hear it.
Of course, Coop had not asked for any of this, but his sister. . . ?
Well, Toni Jean-Louis Parker Reed was a different matter. Plus, she was trapped in Siberia at the moment and couldn’t make her way to Italy just now. At least not in time to help. So she’d called the Vatican herself—of course she did—and had them make all these arrangements. For her brother’s safety, she’d said. A sentiment that Berg could only roll his eyes over.
“Hey, Berg,” Coop said next to him.
“Huh?”
“My sister is sending even more backup, to get us home.”
Berg rolled his eyes again. “Oy.”
The jackal chuckled. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just my sister’s way. She can be obsessive when it comes to her siblings. Among jackal families, she’s considered the gold standard of proper older sibling behavior.”
“Is she sending someone I’m going to hate?”
“I don’t think so. But I can never tell with you and your brother, which people you guys hate. Unlike your sister, who is very direct about her hatred.”
“You do always know where you stand with my sister.”
“I heard she’ll be the one ‘handling’”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“Toni when she gets here.”
“Well, Dag and I weren’t going to do it.”
“Nope,” Dag muttered.
“I don’t blame you. She wanted to fire you guys, by the way. But I said, ‘Absolutely not. They’re my friends. And so what if they put me in grave danger and put my life and, more importantly, my God-given gifts at risk? A loss that would deprive the entire world, maybe even the universe, of something truly amazing. They’re still my friends.’”
Berg gazed down at Coop. “How big of you.”
“I thought so.”
“We’re friends?” Dag asked.
“The jet is ready, Maestro,” one of the Vatican’s men announced.
With Dag on one side of Coop and Berg on the other, the trio began to walk toward the door that would lead them to the private airstrip. But as they passed the front desk, Berg caught sight of the TV behind the attendant.
Both he and Coop stopped
