Hey Guys

Just a quick AN. I have changed somethings on this but as you can see from my disclaimer i do not own a thing in this story. It all belongs to Stephanie Meyers and Linda Winstead Jones. Consider it a crossover if you will.

I hope you like it. When i was reading this novel i thought that the characters from Twilight would go well with it so i thought why not write it.

And i do understand some people will not like this. But that is OK. That is your way if you will.

Mystik..

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. All is owned by Stephanie Meyers and Linda Winstead Jones.

Summary: The future of his; the Volterran people rested on his mission; Prince Edward Cullen's mission: infiltrate Swan Oil and confirm that they are a front for the terrorist group suspected of kidnapping the crown prince of La Push. But his contacts had left out one important fact.

The company CEO was a woman – the stunningly beautiful, seemingly innocent Isabella Swan. Courting Isabella was the safest way to learn corporate secrets. But as passion between them raged, instant and hot, Edward fought a losing battle against falling for the daughter of his country's deadly enemy…

Secret Agent Prince

Prologue

*Third Person*

Edward hurried down the corridor toward the study that adjoined his parents chambers. The thud of his heavy work boots on ancient tile resounded off the walls. His shadow, cast by soft lamplight that lined the hallway, followed him, dancing over the colourful mosaic that depicted the opulent palace lifestyle of another time.

He had been summoned and because he had spent the afternoon at the refinery in Voltar, the southernmost island of Volterra, it had been several hours since his father had sent for him. Their meetings were usually tense enough, without Nathaniel Cullen's agitation being heightened by his having to wait.

As Edward approached, the guard at the massive engraved door of King Nathaniel's study opened it for him, nodding silently as Edward stepped inside. Nathaniel Cullen was seated at his long mahogany desk, imposing and impatient as always. Edward's mother, Elisabeth Cullen sat in her favourite place, a padded chair by the arched window that looked out over the sea. Silently stitching on her latest embroidery project, she paused long enough to lift her head and give Edward the welcoming smile of a loving mother. She returned to her work without saying a word.

King Nathaniel did not remain silent long. As soon as the door behind Edward was closed the old king stood, looked his second-born son up and down and snarled in disgust. "You look like a common labourer."

"I was told this meeting was urgent," Edward replied sharply. "If you'd like to wait a while longer, I'll bathe and change…"

"We do not have time to wait."

His mother surreptitiously lifted a finger to her own face, pointing to her left cheek Edward raised his hand and wiped away the smudge of grease there. Thirty four years old and still he had to explain away something so simple as evidence of a day's hard work!

"There was a small accident," he said as he glanced down at his stained tan coveralls.

"Was anyone hurt?" his father asked tersely.

"No"

"Good." The old king retook his seat, and indicated the leather chair on Edward's side of the desk.

Edward gratefully approached the desk and took that seat. It had been a hard day long before his father had summoned him.

"A proper wife would make you behave as a member of the royal family should behave," he old man muttered.

"Then I am doubly glad I do not have a proper wife," Edward responded.

His father clenched his jaw, "Tanya Denali is a lovely young woman, and her father has political connections…"

"She laughs like a hyena," Edward interrupted.

His father's nose twitched, just slightly. "Well, that might be true. Lauren Mallory's family also has useful connections," he said insistently, "and for all I know she has a lovely laugh."

Edward's own laughter held no humour. "How will we ever know? I don't think she laughs at all. Or speaks. Look at her the wrong way and I'm quite sure she'll faint dead away."

"Jessica Stanley…"

"Has a nose longer than yours," Edward interrupted, annoyed that his father's urgent summons was about this tired old subject. They'd had this conversation before, and it always ended badly. On this subject, as well as many others they would never agree. "I have no desire to marry, Father. And if I ever do succumb to the temptation, I will not choose a bride based on her family's political connections."

"It is your obligation."

Edward shook his head and pushed back his mussed hair with both hands. "Women have their place." In his bed, though since his mother was present he would not offer that assertion aloud. "If I ever meet one who does not bore me after a day or two, perhaps I will consider marriage." He doubted such a woman existed. While he adored women-their beauty, the softness of their skin beneath his hands, the warmth of their gentle smiles-he could not imagine spending his life with just one.

The old king slapped his hand on the desk. "I never should have allowed you to attended university in America! Those years made you insolent."

Edward's mother cleared her throat, and both men turned their eyes to her. She did not lift her own eyes from the embroidery in her lap. "I feel obligated to remind you, Nathaniel, that Edward was insolent at the age of three, long before he went to university."

Edward smiled at his mother. No one else could reason with Nathaniel Cullen the way she did. No one else dared.

Edward waited for his father to continue, but the old man placed his folded hands on his desk and waited. For what, Edward did not know. A few moments later the door behind him opened and Carlisle walked in. As Edward's older brother closed the door behind him their mother rose, taking her embroidery with her and exiting through the side door. Edward glanced up at Carlisle, who shoes to stand beside their father's desk rather than taking a seat of his own. One look at his brother's face and Edward know something was up. Something big.

"I did not summon you here to have that tired discussion again," Edward's father said softly. "I have a mission for you, something to which you are so well suited that Carlisle and I agree you are the only man for the job."

Edward leaned forward, his entire body tensing. "What kind of mission?"

The strain between them was not gone, but it simmered, unimportant for the moment. "We have evidence which suggests that an oil refinery in Chicago is serving as American headquarters for The Volturi. We have no concrete proof, but if our intelligence is correct, information on the location of the missing prince of La Push might be found there."

"Why not pass this information on to the American authorities? Their FBI, perhaps?"

The old king snorted, "I trust my own son. I do not trust the American FBI. Also, our active involvement in such a pursuit will show our goodwill, our desire to mend the unsteady relations with La Push."

"Until you return, no one outside this room is to know the real reason for your trip," Carlisle added. "There's a leak somewhere. I want to believe that the traitor is someone inside the La Push Palace, not our own, but we cannot rule out the possibility that the traitor is among us. Until we find the culprit we can trust no one."

Edward nodded. Whatever his father asked of him, he would do. The fact that the old man had actually admitted aloud that he trusted his second-born, often disobedient son, was enough. But Edward had other reasons for taking on this task.

If his mission strengthened Volterra's ties with the West, all the better La Push. If he could do something to end what tension remained with La Push once and for all; He would have made a true and important contribution to the welfare of his country. Recovering the missing price, alive and unharmed, would heal a lot of old wounds.

La Push and Volterra, countries that had been at odds for Edward's lifetime and more, now shared a common enemy. Their determination to destroy the Brothers brought them together in a way nothing else could.

"I want you to infiltrate the oil refinery," Nathaniel continued, "under the guise of a possible merger. Your interests in the business, and in the American refinery methods, are well-known. Your defiance of me is also common knowledge," he added with a short-lived wry smile. "No one will suspect your motives to be anything less than sincere, since you have recently made it clear that you wish to own and operate your own refinery."

Carlisle tossed a large envelope at Edward. It slid across the desk until Edward stopped it with the palm of his hand. "The company is owned by Charles Swan, but the actual operation of the refinery is left to his CEO, an I. M. Swan."

"A family member?"

Carlisle answered, "I would imagine, yes. We could not arrange a meeting with Charles Swan himself, but you have an appointment with the CEO for Tuesday afternoon."

Edward grinned, "You knew I would say yes."

"Of course." The old man answered, completely in control, showing no emotion, "Inside the envelope is what little information we have on Swan Oil. They are a small company, but quite successful."

Edward opened the envelope and spilled the contests on to his father's desk. "Do you suspect that the CEO I will be meeting with is involved with The Volturi?" The terrorist group had made it impossible for their home country, Priea and Volterra to find peace.

"We have no way of knowing that," Carlisle said. "All we know is that someone within the Swan Oil organization has ties to the Brothers. Unfortunately there is no time for a thorough check on everyone involved in the company, and with the breach in security we thought such an investigation might be more dangerous that helpful. In these circumstances we thought it best to proceed with what we have, as discreetly as possible," Carlisle added with a lift of his eyebrows. It was an admonition, of sorts. Edward was not known for his discretion.

"This is all I need," Edward said, sifting through the scant of information that had been gathered. Apparently Swan Oil was a major contributor to the Priea National Trust, a well-known financial front for The Volturi. Edward returned the papers to the envelope. He'd study them more carefully in his own apartment, and later on the jet that would take him to Chicago. As he shifted the papers, a photograph fell onto the desk.

"Who is this?" he said, tapping the grainy profile of the man in traditional Prieaian dress.

"El-Malak," His father said hoarsely.

Edward lifted his eyes to study his father's stoic face. "The Ghost?"

Carlisle leaned over to study the photograph himself. "They call him the Ghost because he has been fortunate or skilled enough to elude almost certain capture more than once, when the authorities closed in on the Brothers in Priea. Makes more sense if we assume that he doesn't spend all his time in his home country, but actually lives in America. El-Malak is the only name we have, and that is the only photograph known to have been taken of him. He is most surely in charge of the American faction of the Brothers. You will find more details on his past included in the information you have been given."

The old man's nose twitched. "It is not much, I'm afraid."

"My appointment with the CEO is Tuesday afternoon," Edward said, returning the photograph to the envelope. "When do I leave?"

"You will fly out tonight," Carlisle answered. "Arrangements have been made. We will talk before you leave, concerning communications."

Edward stood, more than ready to return to his suite of rooms in the royal apartments to look over the information needed to get started.

His father rose, too. There had been a time when Edward and Carlisle both had to crane their necks to gaze up at their imposing father, their little hearts full of love and fear and respect. Today it was the old king who had to look up at his sons, but the love and respect, and sometimes a trace of the fear, the children had for their father remained. They did not speak of the emotions and ties of their family, but even in times of conflict the feelings were there.

"Inside the envelope there are also intelligence photographs of other known members of The Volturi," his father said solemnly, "Study their faces, Edward memorize them. The names we have will likely do you no good, but remember their faces. And look for El-Malak in Chicago."

AN: Yes this story is basically "Secret Agent Shiek" by Linda Winstead Jones, it is a crossover between it and twilight.