The cold night air hit my face as we stepped onto the wet street.

A black sedan was idling at the curb, its exhaust rising in the damp air.

We drove in silence to the military airfield.

The transport plane was a C-130, its gray metal skin glistening under the airfield floodlights.

I boarded the plane and took a seat on the nylon red webbing along the fuselage.

The engines roared to life, a deafening vibration that shook my teeth.

During the eight-hour flight, I kept the forged military document on my lap.

The document was a masterpiece of deception.

It claimed I had been court-martialed for selling naval secrets to foreign agents.

It had my signature forged at the bottom.

Rachel had planned this for years.

She knew that if the royal family ever looked into her background, they would find me.

By making me look like a disgraced traitor, she ensured that any warnings I gave them would be ignored.

I looked at the Polaroid of my mother again.

She was wearing a faded gray sweater I remembered from my childhood.