Gap Year - 86. Chapter 86

April 2, 2004

The Alhambra Palace

Granada, Spain

Will

“This is kind of strange,” I said, as we walked up to a building that looked completely out of place. We’d spent the morning touring the Alhambra Palace, with its really impressive Moorish architecture, yet there was this one building in the complex that looked like it should be at Versailles.

“This is called the Palace of Charles V,” Grand explained. “It was started in the 1530s and never completed.”

“Why is it built in a completely different style?” I asked.

“This is renaissance architecture, which, as you note, is significantly different than the Nasrid style,” Grand said, then grinned. “I am not privy to the thoughts of His Most Catholic Majesty King Charles V, so I can only speculate on why he had it built in this style.”

“Please share your insights,” I said, mimicking his officious style.

“As the Spanish spent a lot of effort on the Reconquista, conquering Spain’s Muslim domains, I would have thought he intended this structure to emphasize how much better Spanish architecture was,” he said.

“If you say so,” I agreed. “What’s next on our agenda?”

“We are leaving here and going back to Malaga,” he said.

“That will give me some time on the beach,” I said. We were staying at the Grand Miramar in the Royal Suite. It was a pretty cool room, even if the décor was a little old-school for me. The best part was the balcony that had a hot tub and views of the entire coastline. “Or in the pool.”

“You may occupy your time however you choose,” he said. “I may spend some time in the spa.”

“There’s an idea,” I said, and instinctively looked down at my fingernails. I hadn’t had a manicure in a while, and when that happened, I tended to chew my nails off. They looked pretty mauled.

“Tomorrow, we are going to take a train to Madrid,” he said. “I think you will find that interesting. You will get to visit the Spanish palace that our home is named after.”

“Escorial?” I asked curiously.

“Here in Spain, it is referred to as El Escorial,” he said, cracking me up. We had been strolling toward the exit to the Alhambra, and he paused right before we left. “Is there more here you wanted to see?”

“This is pretty cool, but I’m done,” I said. We headed back to our car, a fairly new Mercedes S-Class sedan with heavily tinted windows, and found our driver waiting for us. After that idiot had approached me in the City, it had been explained to me that we had to have a guard with us, so that dude was here too. He was a pretty cool guy named Fernando.

“I hope you are enjoying yourself,” Grand said, as we settled into the comfortable back seat.

“I’m having a really good time,” I said. “Gibraltar was different than I expected.”

“How so?”

“First of all, there was a ton of traffic trying to cross from Spain into Gibraltar,” I said. “I mean, we did the smart thing by walking in, but what’s with that?”

“Many of the people who work in Gibraltar are Spaniards who live in Spain,” he said. “That is their commute.”

“Doesn’t help the congestion that the main road goes through the airport, so every time a plane lands they have to stop traffic,” I said.

“I have never seen that before,” Grand mused.

“But the place is pretty cool, and I could see why it would appeal to you, what with all of its history,” I said.

“It is one of the more contentious parts of the British Empire,” he said. “The Spanish tried several times to reconquer it, and they are still livid that it remains under British sovereignty.”

“Why don’t the British give it back to Spain?” I suggested. “I mean, aren’t they over this empire thing yet?”

He chuckled. “Some in Britain are more than happy to see the last vestiges of the Empire, the last colonies, achieve independence, while others would fight to the last man to maintain them,” Grand said. “There are not as many people in the latter category.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said.

“To answer your question, the UK periodically polls the residents, and the huge majority of Gibraltarians prefer to remain part of the UK,” he said. “The Spanish object to the results of those polls.”

“I guess the good news is that it’s not our problem,” I said. He gave me a dirty look. “Well it isn’t.”

“In any event, I think a relaxing afternoon will do us both good,” he said. “You seem more agitated today than you were yesterday.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry if I’m not the best company.”

“I did not say you were not good company; I said you seemed agitated,” he said.

“I got another message from Travis this morning, saying the same thing: ‘I’m fine’,” I explained.

“You are not happy that he is fine?” he asked, trying to get me to chuckle. It worked.

“It’s not that, it’s just that I have no idea if it’s really him sending me those messages,” I said. “I mean, they could have him locked up somewhere, and then they could periodically send me a message. If it doesn’t come from him, it’s meaningless.”

“Who are ‘they’?” he asked.

“I have no idea, but he’s all alone and his father is probably trying to have him killed, so whoever he comes into contact with could be dangerous,” I said. “Those are the ‘they’ I’m worried about.”

“Miranda Buck said Travis always has a plan,” he said. “I am wondering how this fits into his scheme.”

“Scheme?” I challenged.

“It seems to me that vanishing is a plan, and maybe that is his end game, but I sensed from her there is something bigger afoot,” he said.

“I got that feeling too, but I have no idea what it is,” I whined. I caught myself even as he gave me a nasty look. “Sorry.”

He snaughed, which was hilarious, since I’d just exhibited Robbie’s least attractive trait by whining, and he’d exhibited one of Robbie’s cuter quirks with his snaugh. “So what are you going to do about this?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, part of me wants to just not worry about him, both because it is stressing me the fuck out, and because I want to have confidence that he’s smart enough to handle all of this. On the other hand, if he’s languishing somewhere, he may need my help, and I don’t want to just sit around playing with myself when he could be in serious trouble.”

“Have you responded to his messages?” he asked.

“I was advised to not do that, so I haven’t,” I said.

“Perhaps you should,” he suggested.

“Even if I text him back, how will I know if he’s the one responding to me?” I asked him.

I saw his expression change, the kind of look he gets when he has an idea. “Ask him a question that only he will know the correct answer to.”

I thought about that and smiled. “I’ll do that.” When we got back to our room, I pulled out the burner phone and stared at the message he’d left me:

TRAVIS: I’m fine

I responded, and was surprised to get a response from him almost immediately:

WILL: Prove it.

TRAVIS: ?

WILL: What color were the boards we bought in Newport?

I stared at the phone for a few minutes, then shook my head. Travis would know and would have responded right away. I locked my phone in the safe and decided to enjoy this hotel. I went to the spa and got my nails done, spent some time at the pool, then went back to the spa and got a massage. I got back to the room in time to get ready for dinner.

“I thought we would eat here at the hotel tonight,” Grand said.

“That’s fine,” I agreed. I pulled out my burner phone and froze.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I showed him the conversation, and the latest response:

TRAVIS: Blue.

“The boards were red,” I told him. I started typing again.

“What did you write?” he asked, so I showed him:

WILL: Good answer.

“You are thinking there is no need to tip them off that you are onto them?” he asked.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” I said.

Travis’s Journal: Escape from Buck Mountain: April 3, 2004: Brussells

Will had told me how hard running away had been on him. He’d felt completely cut off from his world, and he’d gotten more and more paranoid with every day. He told me that it got to the point where he was imagining people were following him, and everyone was trying to roll him. He’d been worried that would happen to me, but he was so wrong.

In reality, if it weren’t for knowing how hard this whole situation was on him, I would have totally enjoyed this time, at least up until yesterday. I didn’t like having a bunch of people around to deal with, part of my introversion, so being isolated worked perfectly with that. I’m also really good at keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. I guess that means I’m good at playing dumb. That’s worked really well for me on this trek.

For my entire life, I’ve kept my real thoughts, my real self, hidden behind a wall. Some of my friends, shit, and especially my family, like to showboat how awesome they are, how smart they are. They’re always showing the world their skills and talents, peacocking about how terrific they are. I don’t do that shit. When people look at me, they see a handsome but dumb bro, who’s pretty much only interested in his hobbies and in having a good time.

Most of my friends don’t ask me about my problems, and don’t talk about their issues with me. I don’t pry into their lives because I don’t want them prying into mine. They hang out with me because I’m so fucking rich I can afford to do cool things like surfing, or riding ATVs in the desert, or skateboarding, or physical shit like that. I always make sure to cover the cost if someone goes with me, and that also means that I can limit how many people I have to deal with. A good example: I have two ATVs I can lug around in my truck. Only two. That whole façade probably makes me seem shallow, but it makes friendships easy. Then again, it also makes it so I end up with friends like Keith. What a douche.

I wonder how much of how I am is because I’m gay, and because of how hard I’ve had to fight to keep that hidden. Probably a lot. Probably more than that, though, is the fucking spy regime I live under with my father. When someone is always into your business, always watching what you do to find flaws, it makes sense you'd develop these massive shields. People underestimate how badly parents can fuck up their kids. If they want a case study on that, they should just look at me, Big, and Taylor.

So anyway, going into hiding like I did, I figured that my ‘dumb bro’ act would serve me well, and it has. Since I left, my life has been guided by three people, and all of them think I’m stupid as a fucking board. One of the three of them is always with me. Jacques is a huge French-Swiss skier, and he’s even dumber than I act. He’s clearly supposed to be the muscle that makes sure nothing bad happens to me. Giselle is his girlfriend, and she’s not much smarter than he is. She’s absolutely gorgeous, and normally works as a model. When I go out in public, she’s usually with me, posing as my girlfriend. The strategy with that is that if someone is trying to track me, they won’t be looking for someone who is in a relationship with a hot chick. They’ll be looking for a sort of panic-stricken idiot who looks all paranoid. The final guy, who is never in public with me, is Friedrich. He's German, and he’s the brains of this operation. He’s the one who covers our tracks, he’s the one who plans our travels, and he’s the one who tries to regulate how much I use the internet and other communication devices.

When I’d launched this plan, my main attorney had refused to be involved in me running away, so I’d ended up planning this out with Guy Fellowes. He’s not my favorite person, but he did a pretty good job of setting this up. It was decided that I should hide in Europe. I’m not high-profile, like Will, so it’s not like ordinary people would recognize me in the US, but there was a chance it could happen. No one knows me in Europe. The other thing is that since I speak fluent German and adequate French, that gave me the ability to mesh better into the environment than the typical American. And finally, since I look so much older than 17, Europeans wouldn’t think I was some tweaked out teen runaway. It’s been really effective.

I tell the locals I interact with that I’m taking a break from college and I’m backpacking across the continent, so most of the time I dress and act like a dude doing just that. That means I wear clothes that are pretty worn out, I always wear a hat to cover up my hair (which is all messed up), and I don’t wear deodorant so I smell a little rank. That’s been super-frustrating for me, because I’m usually pretty fastidious about personal hygiene and how I look in general, but at the same time, it’s just another part of my act. It’s like I’m an actor and for years I’ve been playing a dumb bro, and now I have a new part, where I have to play a broke American student who can barely afford to eat.

I guess I am an actor, because I totally dove into this role, and to be honest, this adventure has been a lot of fun. Friedrich doesn’t want us to stay in one place more than three days, so we’ve been moving around a lot. I’ve spent time in the Alps, skiing and hiking around. I traipsed through Bavaria and went to see the castle that was built by crazy King Ludwig. We hung out in Amsterdam and I smoked an amazing amount of weed. Today we got to Belgium, and I’m writing this from Brussels where I saw that statue of the little boy peeing. Dude has a little dick. The funny thing is that even though Jacques is this super studly dude, and even though Giselle is this fit model, they don’t have anywhere near my stamina. That means that when we’re out, they usually end up begging me to take a break. Friedrich is a big pussy, this wimpy dude who looks like he never exercises, which may be why he never goes out with us.

My relationship with the three of them is easy and laid back, mostly because of my dumb act. While technically they work for me, as this trip has gone on, they have increasingly tried to control me and my access to information. It started out as four friends having a good time, then changed to three people keeping an eye on me, then morphed to three people who were trying to isolate me from the world. I recognized what was happening, and could have made an issue out of it, but I really am vulnerable to their schemes. It wouldn’t take much for them to decide that instead of being my guardians, they would kidnap me instead. I also assumed, even though I wasn’t sure if it was a thing, that if I was too big of a pain in the ass, they could turn me into the authorities as a runaway. So like I usually did, I put on my big, huge, stupid smile and went with the flow.

They’d started out by taking my phone away from me, which was really frustrating, but I caved and gave it up. They let me have it for about fifteen minutes every evening, while they supervised what I did on it. They claim that even having it turned on could tip someone off to where I am. They’d almost had a hissy fit when I wanted to text Will, but I’d whined enough that they let me shoot off a few messages. They’d completely forbidden any email exchanges, telling me anyone I sent an email to would be able to find out exactly where I was. They’d tried to keep me from using the internet at all, but I’d been adamant, using my beach boy attitude to tell them I absolutely had to log on and track the surf reports. They’d probably rolled their eyes at me, but they’d agreed to my demand. With those rules in place, they gave me my laptop in the evenings, and didn’t hover over me as I surfed around, checking out what was happening in the world. It didn’t take me long to figure out why they were so easygoing about that. Friedrich was the tech guy, and he thought he had a handle on how the internet worked. It took me a bit to guess his game. All he'd really do was wait until I was done, then go into my browsing history to see where I’d been. I pretended like I didn’t understand how that worked. I noticed that he cleared it every day, probably to make it easier for him. I’d developed a routine for my web browsing after that. Will had hooked me up with a Facebook account, and my guardians had no idea what the fuck that was, so I’d go on there first, check out what Will was doing, then clear my history. After that, I’d do my normal browsing routine. I was totally stoked when I found out Will was here in Europe, going to a bunch of old palaces in Spain, and trying not to get bit by monkeys in Gibraltar.

So up until a few days ago, things were pretty much chill, but then it started to get weird. My guardians had started turning more into my keepers. I pretended not to notice. Then on the 2^nd, they’d gotten that hilarious message from Will, which was so typical of him. He’d realized that it was entirely possible I wasn’t the one who was sending him those text messages, and he’d figured out that it was possible that I was being held captive. He was so fucking smart it was scary. That’s one of the reasons I probably lowered my shields more with him than I’d ever done with anyone. There was no way I could out-think him.

From the way my guardians had changed, I figured that there was some shit about to hit me, and I would probably need Will’s help. I’d typed in the response that our boards were blue, when they were so obviously red. Will had handled that perfectly, acting like I’d given him the right answer, but now he was clued in that I would probably need his assistance.

April 6, 2004

The Four Seasons Hotel

Madrid, Spain

Will

“You sure managed to get us a nice room,” I said to Grand, as I collapsed on the sofa in the Presidential Suite. We’d just gotten back from dinner, and I was strangely content to just stay at the hotel. In the past, I’d have run off and hit some clubs and maybe even gotten laid, but this whole thing with Travis had made me more cautious about being out and about in public. Thinking about that almost made me feel like a pussy, and that should have galvanized me to go hit the town, but I managed to stifle my testosterone-laden instincts.

“I prefer to travel in style,” he said, cracking me up. Despite my happy façade, he knew that underneath it I was freaking out about Travis. I hadn’t gotten another message from him. “Have you heard anything from Jake?”

“He said they were working to track where the message was sent from,” I grumbled. “The good news is that it came from somewhere in Europe.”

“Indeed?” Grand asked. “That is intriguing, to think that we could inadvertently run into Travis.”

“I was tempted to try to come up with some big excuse to go home and find him, but at least now I know I’m on the right continent,” I said. “Jake asked me if there’s anyone keeping tabs on us. I guess we’re supposed to figure out if we are being followed.”

“Fernando is aware that is a possibility, and we have had other people keeping an eye out to make sure we are not being tailed,” he said.

“You did not choose to share this with me?” I challenged. “You have this whole counter-espionage deal going, and you weren’t going to tell me about it?” I was a little hysterical when I said that, but he looked at me indulgently; it was infuriating, but I managed to control my temper.

“If there had been news, I would have told you about it,” he said. “Since there was not, I didn’t think it was important.”

“So we haven’t been followed?” I asked.

“Not that we can tell,” he said.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of odd?” I asked. “I mean, the Bucks seemed totally convinced I knew where Travis was. You’d think they’d at least trail me to see if I meet up with him.”

“That is odd,” he agreed, thinking about it.

“There’s one possible reason why,” I said nervously.

“You are thinking that perhaps Fernando or our drivers have been sources of information?” he asked, then got flustered. “I try not to question the people who are working for us.”

“I think a temporary guard we hire is different than our staff at home,” I said.

“We are due to leave for Paris the day after tomorrow,” he said. “We will have different staff, and I think they will have a harder time tracking us there.”

“It’s going to weird me out, being around Fernando tomorrow,” I said.

“You must remember not to act any differently,” he cautioned. “You do not want to tip your hand.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it; I said it would be difficult,” I said. He gave me a frustrated look.

“I think I will go and see if I have any interesting emails,” he said.

“Come find me if you run across something exciting,” I said. I went in and checked my phone, but I didn’t even have a fake message from Travis. I decided to give my brain a rest and just play video games. I was pretty into it so I was surprised when Grand knocked on my door. “Come in,” I said, even as I turned off the game and pulled myself out of my computer daze.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” he said. I just looked at him blankly, waiting for him to go on, because I didn’t need an apology for his coming to talk to me. “I found an interesting news article that I thought you would appreciate seeing.”

“What’s it about?” I asked.

“Curtis Buck,” Grand said. “There was a lawsuit filed against him today.”

He told me what website it was on, so I pulled out my laptop and found it. “Attorneys representing the trustees of Curtis Buck’s younger son, Travis, have filed suit against Curtis Buck, alleging that his mismanagement has bankrupted Buck Industries,” it said. The article went on to quote Curtis Buck, who vehemently denied they were having any financial problems, as well as a couple of analysts, who suggested that the problems might be as severe as the lawsuit claimed.

My mind was reeling from this, trying to figure out how this played into everything. “How does this help Travis stay hidden?” I asked Grand.

“It does not,” he said. “I would think that if Travis’s advisors are filing lawsuits against Curtis Buck, that would tend to focus attention on Travis, and people will be wondering where he is.”

“So what will the end result of this lawsuit, and this bad press be?” I asked him.

“That question is better asked of Stefan or your father, but I am assuming that it would put enormous pressure on Curtis Buck and Buck Industries,” he said.

“Then let’s call them,” I said. We went into the main room of our suite, where there was a conference speaker phone, and called Dad and Stef at work. It took Grace a few minutes to get them together.

“While it is good to hear from you both, I am surprised to be pulled from a meeting to chat with you,” Stef said, and even though his words were severe, his tone was playful.

“Did you see the article about Curtis Buck?” I asked them, truncating him from wasting time on banal pleasantries.

“I haven’t,” Dad said. I told them where to look, and they were able to pull it up and scan it pretty quickly.

“This is interesting,” Dad said.

“I’m wondering why Travis would do this if he’s trying to stay low-profile,” I said.

“Perhaps he is trying to stir things up at home to distract them from coming after him,” Stef said.

“What is the end result of this lawsuit and this article?” Grand asked, shooting my earlier question to him at Stef and Dad.

“Based on what we know, and what these analysts are saying, I’d say this will force Buck Industries into bankruptcy within the next day or two,” Dad said.

“That is a likely prediction,” Stef said.

I could remember times in my life when I’d have these sudden moments of clarity, when a mystery that had been impossible to solve was suddenly unraveled, and I had one of those epiphanies now. “I know Travis’s plan.”

“I thought his plan was to stay hidden until he turned 18?” Stef asked.

“Miranda said he always has a plan, and she was implying that she thought this whole thing was bigger than just Travis hiding,” I said.

“Do you think she knows what his plan is?” Stef asked.

“Before we go down that rabbit trail, I would like to know what you think his plan is,” Grand said.

“Travis is trying to take over Buck Industries,” I said.

“What? Why?” Dad asked.

“He’s never really talked about the company, but I know that he revered his grandfather, and his grandfather was all in on their company,” I said.

“You think Travis is going to try and save their legacy?” Dad asked. “That really doesn’t make sense, since he’s not part of the family.”

“I think that is an inappropriate comment, especially coming from you,” Grand said, his annoyance clear. “While Travis is not Curtis Buck’s biological son, that does not mean he does not identify as a Buck.”

“You’ve made your point, Dad,” my father said sheepishly, because he was in that same position. He had no blood relation to the Schluters or the Cramptons, but he had been the biggest champion and the toughest fighter for our family.

“So Travis bails, and while he’s gone these press releases hit and create a firestorm, and then when he turns 18, and gets at least partial control of his money, he walks in and buys out Buck Industries for pennies on the dollar,” Stef noted. “That is quite brilliant, but for one problem.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“The timing is off,” Stef said. “This will hit in the next few days, and I am suspecting that the Buck creditors will force a settlement as long as they get a decent offer. This may very well resolve itself before April 20^th.”

“Then why was the lawsuit filed now, instead of in a week or so?” I asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say someone was trying to jump in and snake this deal away from Travis,” Dad said.

“Can we help him out?” I asked.

“Getting involved in the California energy and agricultural industries isn’t part of our portfolio plan,” Dad said. I could have gotten pissed at him, because that was not what this was about, but I knew that he was just thinking out loud.

“Perhaps, but there is no reason we could not step in and make an offer to buy out Buck Industries, and then transfer that interest to Travis when he is of age,” Stef noted.

“The assets should be so discounted, we could bid aggressively and still get a good deal,” Dad echoed.

“I think it will be most interesting of all to see whom you have to compete with when you are bidding,” Grand noted.

“I’ll make this my project,” Dad announced, which meant that he was taking control, and subtly pushing the rest of us to the side.

“That’s fine,” I said, because he knew what he was doing, and he was a warrior. He would win this battle. “Thanks.”

“We’ll talk later,” Dad said, and we ended the call.

I looked at Grand and shook my head. “Now we know why whoever is helping Travis out is keeping him in the dark.”

“I think those people are fools if they think he is that easy to corral,” Grand said. I had been about to go off on a tangent and think that I had to jump in and save Travis, but in his subtle way, Grand had reminded me that Travis wasn’t an idiot, and that he would be watching and playing this game from wherever he was sequestered.

“Good point,” I said. He went back to his room and I went back to playing games, only to be interrupted by him again, about an hour later.

“There is another article about Travis,” Grand said. His demeanor told me this one was going to be bad news.

“Where’s it at?” I asked fatalistically, then went to the website he directed me to. There was a recent picture of Travis, along with a tantalizing headline: TRAVIS BUCK STRUGGLES WITH ADDICTION AND MENTAL ILLNESS; VANISHES WITH STOLEN FAMILY HEIRLOOMS. The article was horrifying.

The Buck Family of Pacific Palisades, California, has issued a press release, revealing that the youngest son of Curtis and Miranda Buck, Travis Buck, has been grappling with significant emotional issues, much of which stem from a dangerous narcotics habit. Travis Buck is currently a senior at Brentwood School, and has been missing since March 24. The family says that he ran away, citing concerns that he was being stalked by imaginary foes and was in danger of being killed. Travis Buck filed a lawsuit today, alleging that Buck Industries was all but bankrupt, a claim the family asserts is further evidence of his delusional state and instability.

Before leaving, Travis Buck apparently took valuable family items, including watches, jewelry, and cash, with an estimated value of over $25 million. Curtis Buck has filed a police report and a warrant has been issued for Travis Buck’s arrest. The family asserts that their sole objective is to find Travis and bring him safely home, where he can get the help he needs to deal with his drug addiction.

“Shit,” I said, shaking my head. “This is not good news.”

“It is not,” Grand agreed. “Up until now, all Travis has had to worry about was being killed by his father’s thugs. Now he has a warrant issued for his arrest, so he must worry about being discovered and apprehended by authorities.”

“He is going to be cornered and isolated,” I said. I was close to complete panic, and felt myself breathing heavier, almost hyperventilating. “Is the warrant valid in Europe?”

“I will check to see if it has been made an international issue, but it is quite possible that such a warrant can be executed in a country with extradition treaties with the US,” he said. “The US has such treaties with most if not all of Europe, as far as I know.”

“Fuck,” I said, and was despondent.

“I will go see what I can find out, then I will come check on you,” he said, which was a small indication of how totally messed up I must seem.

“That’s fine,” I said. I was about to log off from my computer when an alert popped up from Facebook. I’d been on that site earlier, posting pictures of Grand and me at El Escorial, and must have left it open. I clicked on the message icon and was stunned to see I’d gotten something from Travis. “Wait!” I said to him loudly, just before he walked out of my room.

“What?” Grand asked.

“I got a message from Travis,” I told Grand. My mood had gone from despondent to gleeful. Shit, I was almost as big of an emotional basket case as the Bucks were accusing Travis of being.

“What does it say?” he asked.

I opened it up and read the message: “Want to run away with me? 😉 Meet me in Westminster Abbey at Evensong on April 8^th. Pretend you don’t know me until we can escape from the guys watching me.”

“I am assuming you want to meet him?” Grand teased.

“I am going to be there, no matter what,” I said. I was so happy, almost euphoric, at the thought that I’d connected with Travis and that I’d get to see him in a few days.

“Then let us strategize on how this should play out,” Grand said. “I would suggest that we pack tonight and fly to London tomorrow. That way we can make a plan and ensure that we can help Travis escape, assuming such a thing is required.”

“That should throw our spies for a loop, since we’re supposed to be going to Paris on the 7^th,” I said.

“We will see how good they are at sleuthing,” Grand joked. “We will fly to Paris first, so our travel arrangements appear to be the same, then we will go from Paris to London.”

“Good idea,” I said. “What is Evensong?”

“It is an Anglican service that happens at 5:00 in the evenings,” Grand said. “It can be quite beautiful, as it is mostly singing.”

“Then we should probably make sure we get to Westminster Abbey by 5:00 tomorrow so we can see what it’s like,” I suggested.

Grand nodded. “A good idea. Now let us think about how we get Travis away from his guardians, how we will evade the authorities, and then think about what we will do with him once that is accomplished.”

“I know exactly what I’m going to do with him,” I said with a leer.

“I was not thinking of carnal activities,” Grand said, acting annoyed.

“I was,” I teased, then we got down to business, and started crafting our plan.