Kings Falling

by Ronie Kendig

  “It’s what we do, right?”

  “Hooah,” Brandon affirmed.

  Leif tried to figure out how to frame the questions that buzzed his brain.

  “What?”

  “What d’you know about Gilliam?”

  “Carsen?” Brandon’s voice pitched. “He’s a good friend and a darn good soldier. Why? Why’re you asking about him?”

  Something about the way he asked told Leif beyond a doubt that Brandon knew plenty. “Because whoever those people were who tried to kill me and my team didn’t kill you but knew your identity.” He let the meaning settle thickly between them. “Since you’re not wearing name tapes, that tells me you have something they wanted. And since my team is probably after the same thing, I’m going to guess you know something about Gilliam.”

  Brandon swallowed, his gaze traveling to the door, then back to Leif. Reticence tugged at his features, but he said nothing.

  “I don’t think you understand the situation, Sergeant,” Leif ground out.

  “What I understand is that people—you included—have thrown around a lot of weight and firepower to locate one of my guys.” Brandon pursed his lips. “Not exactly a warm invitation to dialogue, if you ask me.”

  Frustration tightened Leif’s muscles, making him check his bicep, where the graze was already scabbing. It wasn’t big, but it stung.

  “You should get that checked.” Saito frowned, eyeing it. Then outright scowled. “That looked bigger in the dark.”

  Leif homed in on the sergeant. “I get that you’re watching out for your guys. When we’re in charge of a team, we take that responsibility seriously. We protect our men, in good and bad times.” He squared his stance. “Even when it calls for breaking the rules or fudging the truth—for the sake of the team. For the mission.”

  Sandy-haired Brandon shifted beneath the blanket draped over his waist and legs.

  Leif leaned on the edge of the gurney, craned his head closer, and lowered his voice. “But what you’re protecting—it’s not Carsen. He’s a pawn in a much bigger game.”

  The sergeant’s cheek twitched. “He said as much.”

  Leif wanted to reach down the guy’s throat and yank out the secret. “I need to know, Brandon. My team is tasked with helping him and others like him.”

  “Others?” Face drained of color, Brandon eyed Reaper. “That’s what she said.”

  Now it was Leif’s turn to be confused. “She?”

  “A woman—real piece of work,” Brandon said, shaking his head. “Pretty, walked in like she owned the place, and I think she did. Then the fighters started arguing, and she told the men to get it taken care of so they could deal with the others.”

  Leif studied Brandon, whose expression guarded more intel than had passed his lips. But the sergeant wasn’t being defensive. It was like he wanted to tell Leif. “I want to help him—protect him against that woman, whoever she was.” He lowered his voice. “What d’you know?”

  Brandon sighed. “I know where he is.”

  ***

  Two failures. Two near-encounters with death. Well, maybe not death, but enough to make Iskra realize two things: she wanted to make it home to her daughter more than ever, and she didn’t want to do another mission without Leif.

  “I almost caught him—and he had it, the book,” Iskra complained into the phone. “In the last week, I’ve been shot underwater, nearly drowned, and now thumped on the head.” The knot Andrew had put on her temple fueled her determination to make good on her new vendetta. “I’m going to rendezvous with Leif and the team.”

  Director Iliescu huffed. “I don’t—”

  “You’re not hearing me,” she asserted. “I’m doing this—going to be there for him. I want him watching my back, and I want to watch his. Then I’m going to rethink this whole operative thing.” She grunted. “Actually, I’m already doing that.”

  “Iskra . . .” The tremor in his words warned of his concern over losing someone as skilled as her. “Yes, go to Leif. Cell’s here with me and is already scouring security feeds at airports, train stations, and ports to find Andrew.”

  Iskra sighed. “He knew I was coming.”

  “Because of New York?”

  “Must be—and he sent Mercy that email, so maybe he wanted us there. Maybe I got there before he anticipated.” But she wasn’t buying that. Her actions had been sloppy, predictable. Another reason she should team up with Leif—he would keep her sharp. She felt the plane descending and ended the call so she had time to prepare herself.

  MPs escorted Iskra to the building where Reaper was holed up. As she entered, she ran into Culver and Lawe, who grinned and welcomed her back.

  “We’re heading to the mess. Chief’s down the hall,” Culver said.

  “Thanks.” She strode toward a lone light in a glassed-off area.

  Palms on a table, Leif was studying whatever was strewn across its surface. A red mark on his bicep, slipping under the sleeve of his black T-shirt, strained for attention. With his tactical pants, blond hair, and strong jaw, he cut an impressive figure. His eyes were torrential, threatening to drown her just like that storm that nearly killed them a few months ago. Never had she imagined she’d want a relationship with a man, and it wasn’t his looks that convinced her to attempt one with Leif. It was him.

  Iskra tugged open the door, surprised when he didn’t even flinch or look up. She eased into the room. “Leif?” When he didn’t respond, she angled her head and noticed that, while his gaze was on the papers, he wasn’t focused on them. There was a distance to his eyes. A weight. What had him so distracted?

  She slipped to his side and touched his arched back. “Leif?”

  Jerking upright, he pivoted to her. Blinked. “Iskra.” The way he said her name stirred a smile in her—which fell away when a cloud passed through his features. “What’re you doing here? Where have you been?”

  The past roared to the fore, and she didn’t want to answer that, didn’t want to feel controlled. But she tempered her reaction and decided to go for everything. “I needed to be with you.”

  He started at that, and then his gaze lit on the knot on her temple. “Who do I need to kill?”

  “Is this you being romantic?” She tried to laugh, but weirdly her eyes stung.

  Leif drew her into his arms. Crushed her against his chest and buried his face in her neck and held her for several glorious minutes. This was what she had longed for, ached for. Relief sagged through her, and tears slipped free.

  Leif angled back and cupped her face. “You’re nearly trembling. What happened?” A ferocity lined his question. “Whoever did this to you—”

  Appreciating his protectiveness, she eased away. Held the hand still cupping her face. “Thank you. I’m better . . . now.” She let the meaning resonate. “And you?”

  He frowned.

  “Your arm.”

  Leif shrugged. “A graze while trying to extract a connection to Gilliam.” He raked a hand over his short crop and leaned back against the table. “What happened to you?”

  She shook her head. “Too much.” Overwhelmed and unsure where to start, she huffed.

  His expression darkened. “Fine. I—”

  She touched his arm. Slumped into him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Please. No fighting.”

  He hooked her waist, and they stood in the quiet, lonely room, holding each other.

  The falling away of tension allowed her to process. “I got close to the book. And got knocked on the head for it.” She moved to a chair.

  A thousand questions glinted in his pale blue eyes. “Veratti?”

  “Not this time,” she admitted. “Andrew.”

  He dropped into a chair and studied her. “You can’t tell me?”

  “No,” she said, and his expression tightened. “But I’m going to.”

  Surprise popped his eyes wide.

  “Before Reaper headed to Taiwan, Mercy and I went to New York. We noticed a company there was owned by R
utger Hermanns, and when she couldn’t access it from home, we figured it had information he wanted to protect.”

  “So you got curious.”

  “Mm, quite. We got her on-site to gain access to their system, and when we left, I spotted Andrew but lost him.” She left out the woman and the vial. “Before that, I’d reviewed footage of the chaos in Cuba when the book vanished. Something kept bothering me, and I haven’t really shared it with anyone, but I grew . . . well, a theory. The Cuba footage hinted that I might be right.”

  He scowled, probably at the mischief she knew to be dancing in her eyes. “About what?”

  “There is an underground facility a couple hundred feet below that mountain facility.”

  “That’s your theory?”

  “Actually, now it is fact. I was nearly killed confirming it.”

  Leif lurched. “Come again?”

  She smiled. “I really do love when you act heroic, but relax. I am fine. Remember what I do for a living.”

  “Used to do—what you were supposed to be leaving behind.”

  “Someday.” She brushed her hair off her shoulder. “Now, my theory—this one unproven—is that someone from the belowground facility retrieved the book and went deep into the mountain with it. I saw a guy round a corner in the surveillance footage, but he never appeared on the next angle, and there were no doors he could’ve used.” She hunched her shoulders. “No obvious doors. I dived down there a week ago and discovered a cave access. So it is there.”

  He grunted, scratching his jaw. “That’s why we couldn’t find it, why there was no trace of anyone leaving with the book.”

  She nodded. “Because it never left. I think that guy used a hidden panel to slip out of sight.”

  Leif frowned. “But how do we verify that?”

  “I have no idea,” she conceded. “What I want to know is who this Andrew is—I mean, he’s obviously connected to Rutger, but how? And why?” She shrugged. “I doubt that is even his name, but I’ve had two encounters with him. He is very good, very fast. And always—always—two steps ahead.” She dug her fingernails into her scalp. “If we can find him, we’ll get all our answers.”

  “You think he took the book from the Pearl of the Antilles?”

  “No, not according to the footage, but I think—like us—he was looking for it. It was taken by that man who disappeared in the passage.”

  “So we find that guy.”

  Iskra sniffed. “He doesn’t exist.”

  “You already checked.” His face screwed up. “So, if Andrew was looking for it, why do you think he’s the one with the answers?”

  “Because he had the book in Paris.”

  “You saw it?”

  She grimaced. “No, but he had a leather satchel, and I am sure it was in there. He’s tied to Hermanns. Veratti told me to look to Rutger for the book, and he was right.”

  “You trust Veratti?”

  “Again, no,” she said, tempering her frustration. He really was so much work right now. “But Veratti was right about the book. And if I can get it, I might be able to find my brother. And that will be a massive leap toward the super-army. When I told the director all this—”

  “So you went to him but not to me.”

  “After all I just told you, you want to be petulant?”

  He flattened his lips and looked away.

  Iskra sighed. “I went to the director because he tasked me with finding the book. It was my job to go to him. And can we not do this again? Please.” She peered up at him. “I need your help, Leif. I think we are very close to finding the book, but it’s all a swirling molten pile of goo right now.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Let’s run through it again.”

  An hour later, having reviewed her intel and told him about her adventure in the sea, she received a text from Dr. Gradeless, the phlebotomist to whom she’d given the blood sample. Earlier, she’d made a commitment to be open and honest with Leif, to try to turn this thing between them toward better ground. Already she wanted to break that.

  She pocketed the phone, feeling his gaze on her.

  “Dru?” he asked.

  Iskra faked a smile. “He never quits. But you know what I think?” When he didn’t answer, when his expression remained flat, she forged ahead. “I think it’s time the whole team saw the intel we dug out of Frankfurt & Stuttgart’s servers. I want to know what Andrew was after.”

  He ran a hand over his hair. “Agreed. What one person misses, another will notice. More eyes, more chances.”

  A man entered the room.

  “Brandon,” Leif said, coming to his feet. “What can I do for you?”

  The guy hesitated, glancing at Iskra.

  “It’s good,” Leif said, reaching toward her.

  This was her out. “I’ll take a break. Use the restroom.” She nodded at Leif. “Want coffee?”

  But he saw through her. Smirked. “No, I’m good.” His gaze shifted to the newcomer.

  Slammed with guilt, she swallowed. Regretted the decision she’d made and the secret she chased. Yet not enough to stay. Or apologize. Shame pushed her out the door.

  “What is it?” she heard Leif ask the guy.

  Once his voice faded, Iskra retrieved her phone. Dialed. “Dr. Gradeless?”

  ***

  Once alone, Leif lifted his jaw to Brandon. “This about Carsen?”

  The sergeant handed him a throwaway phone, then walked out.

  Leif glanced at it, surprised to see a call already in progress. He put it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Why are you looking for me?” Carsen.

  Leif told himself to breathe. “Your name showed up on a list.”

  “You know more than that.”

  “But not much.”

  “I can’t . . . time’s short. If you want to stop this thing, go to The Hague.”

  He paced to the wall and palmed it. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because Brandon said you were a soldier—”

  “SEAL.”

  “We can’t all be perfect.”

  Despite the tension, Leif smiled. “Or failures.”

  Carsen barked a laugh. “You have a team. Spec ops. Go to The Hague. That’s where they’re sending us.”

  “Us?”

  “I can’t say more right now. But go. You’ll know.”

  “Know what?”

  “If you see me—shoot. Shoot to kill.”

  CHAPTER 23

  THE HAGUE, THE NETHERLANDS

  It seemed almost ominously prophetic that Carsen had said to come to The Hague at the same time the Quantum Technology Conference was happening. It wasn’t a coincidence. Couldn’t be.

  The conference was the most significant event happening in The Hague at the moment. Leaders around the world could learn about the latest quantum technology opportunities in areas such as aerospace, specialty chemical, automotive and transportation, R&D, government . . . and defense.

  That smelled a lot like the Neiothen.

  Standing at the window of a hotel that overlooked the North Sea provided the perfect view to clear his mind. But Leif couldn’t shake the nagging at the back of his head after examining the photos Spill sent over of the explosion in Africa. It was wrong—not that explosion, but the other one that didn’t make sense. The one without scorches or a crater.

  Yet he could still see himself waking up, staring at the sky and the geysers of fire. The wreckage. It didn’t add up.

  But he couldn’t do anything about that. Not right now. He had to get his head back in the game. This Quantum Tech conference would draw politicians, nobles, and military alike and had a registration list longer than a roll of toilet paper. There’d be more brownnosing than drunkenness and exploration of quantum advancements.

  His mind skipped back to his conversation with Iskra. Her trust in him had both anchored and unmoored him. Her confidence and desire answered a deep longing in him. But it also terrified Leif that someday, coming out of a bad dream, he’d
seriously injure her or . . .

  Saito had a point. Any one of them could be one of the Neiothen.

  Things were coming to a head. At least, Leif hoped they were. He’d had enough games. It was time for answers. Not just about this mission, the book, or these so-called Neiothen, but about his own life. About the constant buzzing in his skull that wouldn’t quit. That grated and irritated him until he was on the verge of ripping someone’s head off. He’d been petty with Iskra because that vibration never quieted, despite holding her, talking to her, and hearing all her progress.

  At least someone had made progress.

  “Hot dog,” Culver said, striding out of the adjoining room of the suite. He tugged the edges of his tux jacket. “This is slick, but it ain’t me.”

  “Doesn’t have to be you.” Leif went to the mirror above a side table and tied his bow.

  “Dude.” Lawe appeared from the bathroom in a gray suit that probably cost more than he made in a year. “I look good.” He nodded, sliding a hand down the silk blend of the jacket. “She won’t be able to resist me now.”

  Leif snorted. “If you’re staking your relationship on a suit, I have bad news.”

  Unrepentant, Lawe grinned. “Look at me, man.” He held out his palms and thrust his chest forward. “I’m freakin’ irresistible.”

  “I think you mean irresponsible,” Cell muttered from behind the three laptops he had going.

  “You’re only jealous you ain’t got a woman.”

  “Neither does Culver,” Cell asserted.

  “You should get changed,” Culver said. “Maybe drown yourself in the tub while you’re at it.”

  “I only meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” Culver growled. “I’ll find the right girl when I find her.”

  “And technically,” Cell said, “Lawe doesn’t have a girl either. He’s just wishful-thinking himself into that relationship.”

  “After tonight, there will be no doubt,” Lawe said. “Seeing how you’re so good with computers, why don’t you conjure yourself up an AI girlfriend.”

  Culver snorted.

  “You are sick.” Cell’s lip curled.