by Ronie Kendig
“What did you figure out?” came Cell’s voice in his comms.
“Vega never fired.”
“Come again?” Lawe said. “I still have Elvestad’s blood under my fingernails. It’s obvious—Vega shot Elvestad, who was shot by Mercy’s sniper.”
“Do not call him my sniper,” Mercy snapped.
“That’s not what happened,” Leif said. “Angles and wound damage are wrong.” He kept moving, as if it would help him solve this. “I think there was a second sniper.”
CHAPTER 26
THE HAGUE, THE NETHERLANDS
“I think we need to back that villain up.” Cell linked to the satellite in the suite later that night. “First—what you all just went through? That would be why I’m on the safe side of the combat theater nowadays.”
“You mean the cowardly side?” Culver taunted.
“There is nothing cowardly about protecting my assets and keeping them attached,” Cell countered. “Besides, I like being your superior.”
“Superior pain in—”
“Easy,” Leif warned from the couch. He propped his head back and closed his eyes, still thinking. Processing.
“But suggesting there’s two snipers? That’s a stretch. And you figure that on guesswork?”
Leif didn’t take the bait. He knew what he’d seen. And the distance and trajectory math didn’t work.
The din of Reaper’s banter was replaced by a strange, mechanized voice in his head—the initiation voice. He sat forward and roughed a hand over his face, then went to the mini fridge. He tugged out an OJ, uncapped the bottle, and leaned against the counter, guzzling.
Cell powered up the system. “Incoming call from Command.” The screen came to life with the images of Braun and Iliescu.
“How’re you holding up, Reaper?” Iliescu asked as someone out of view handed him a folder.
“Alive,” Leif said, not willing to consider more than that.
“That’s what counts,” Dru said. “Let’s review a few things about today’s events. From what we could discern from surveillance images, Gilliam was shot when he was with Leif on the beach but died in the lobby. Leif, we considered your concerns about the shooters and number of shots. Analysts agree that Vega didn’t shoot anyone.”
No surprise. He’d felt the passing of the bullet that hit Gilliam. Mentally walked it back, tracking himself on the beach. The trail of heat near his face. High. The shooter had been high. Mercy’s sniper. No . . . Mercy had left her post only minutes before. “There was a second sniper,” he said. It would confirm his suspicions about how Elvestad died.
Wary eyes held his before Dru said, “What’s your reasoning on that?”
“Mercy went MIA before Carsen rammed into me, then ran off. Andrew wouldn’t have had time to haul her to his nest and line up the shot that hit Gilliam. Means there was a second sniper.”
Dru nodded. “That’s what our analysts are saying, too.”
“Autopsies should prove it,” Saito said.
“We’ve yet to get access to the bodies, but once we do, we’ll hopefully have more definitive answers.”
“Moving on,” Braun said, peeking over her reading glasses at the notes she held. “Okay, again, reminding you that our intel is based solely off videos and images captured, since we cannot examine the bodies, which I’ve filed a grievance over. After the initiation announcement, it appears Turi Vega was shot through the back. Bullet exited the chest wall. Analysts guess the bullet either ricocheted internally, causing massive internal hemorrhaging, or it nicked an artery for him to die so fast. He was also shot through the neck.” That fatal moment appeared on the screen, showing the blood spray from two wounds. “Second bullet was from Elvestad’s weapon, straight on.”
“So, shot twice,” Leif expounded.
Braun’s head bobbed, but she didn’t divert from her notes. “Elvestad was struck through the chest as well.”
“So Runt is right,” Lawe said, his arm hooked around Peyton where they sat on a loveseat. “Vega didn’t get a chance to fire, so there must’ve been a second sniper.”
“Ballistics confirm Turi Vega did not fire his weapon,” Braun reaffirmed. “Plausible explanation is that one sniper bullet hit them both.”
“So why were the Neiothen targeted?” Culver asked.
“Didn’t want them talking,” Lawe offered. “They did their job taking out the two targets, and ArC didn’t want witnesses.”
“Veratti was pretty calm through it all,” Leif noted. “He knew what was coming.” But what if . . . “Another possibility: someone thought they could get ahead of Carsen, Vega, and Elvestad to stop them.” But who? Andrew? Was he there to prevent the killings? Why?
“True,” Saito agreed. “It wasn’t until after they targeted each other that Willems and Elbert showed symptoms.”
“You seriously think someone tried to stop them?” Culver’s brow furrowed in thought. “Like we were doing?”
“Yes, just like us,” Leif grunted as he leaned forward. “We all failed. He just did it more violently.” And one step ahead. Reaper had come here on Gilliam’s tip but unsure of what they would face. Andrew was there with full knowledge, as evidenced by the setup in his nest.
“He?” Braun repeated. “Do you have someone in mind, Mr. Metcalfe?”
Leif glanced at Mercy, then slowly shifted his attention to Iskra at his side. It was her story to tell.
“I believe so,” Iskra said, adjusting on the sofa. “I am not certain because I have not seen his face up close, but I have reason to believe the sniper may have been my brother, Mitre.”
“Except he said his name was Andrew,” Mercy said, offering a thin thread of hope that this wasn’t what Iskra projected.
“Director,” Iskra said, “I would talk with you privately—”
“No, hold up,” Culver said. “We keep this on the table. All of this. We have lost in some heinous ways. No more flippin’ secrets and running off on private missions.”
Startled at the acerbic tone coming from the laid-back cowboy, Leif considered the others. Did they feel the same way?
“My brother . . .” Iskra drew in a slow breath and let it out. “Since I have not seen Andrew’s face, I have no proof that he is Mitre, but their descriptions are eerily similar. Also, I know my brother was involved in something very dangerous. Vasily told me Mitre was part of a super-army, that I had to find it to find him.”
“Super-army,” Saito repeated. “That’s the Neiothen, right?” He narrowed his eyes. “We’re down, what—four? So six are left? Eight?”
“Six down,” Leif corrected. “The book had nine lines, so three remaining, if nine is the entire complement. We haven’t been able to confirm that a hundred percent.” He focused on Iskra. “If Andrew is Mitre, then—according to your own account—he’s working for Rutger Hermanns.”
She paled. “I hadn’t thought it through that far yet.” She swallowed. “But yes. If true, then . . .” Hesitation tugged on her features. “Yes, he’s under Rutger’s thumb.” She lifted her head. “Each guardian’s mission represents a radical shift in policy or politics and means Ciro Veratti has more power. Veratti controls Trevisan, who—with the death of Amalia Willems—now occupies one of the most pivotal roles in the world: secretary general of NATO.”
“All right,” Culver said, jerking forward, elbows on his knees, fingertips pressed together. “Let’s say all these Neiothen pull off their assignments. I mean, it’s possible—we can’t seem to get a leg up on these super soldiers. If they succeed . . . what does that mean?”
“But Gilliam—we have no idea what his mission was. He died”—Leif shrugged—“for what?”
“What do you mean?” Culver growled. “He was going to kill someone.”
“Their success means the end of the free world,” Iskra said, glancing at Leif, her brow diving toward her pert nose. “Bible prophecy about the end times mentions the inability to purchase food without a mark—”
“Heck no!
” Culver balked. “Ain’t nobody giving me the mark of Satan.”
“He’s trying to beat it, not implement it,” Leif said. “But with his actions, it’s starting to look like he’s determined to revolutionize commerce. That would mean there’ll be a unified community that forces countries together for global trade and economy.” He met their gazes evenly. “It has been suggested before that the UN and NATO would be part of that.”
“And now that Willems is dead and Trevisan in power,” Iskra said, “Veratti sits atop that tower.”
“So maybe it’s time for all of us to go after that book again,” Lawe muttered.
“How can we do that when we can’t even get ahead on the names?” Saito asked. “Gilliam gave you those names, right?”
“I found them,” Mercy asserted. “In the Frankfurt & Stuttgart servers.”
“Gilliam tipped us to The Hague,” Leif said, still withholding the names Akin and Bushi.
You must remember!
“So we haven’t really gotten anywhere, except more dead Neiothen,” Saito pointed out. “How’d Gilliam know who else was a Neiothen?”
“We should check into that,” Lawe said. “We’re the only ones chasing this information.”
“Already looked into the connections—same results. Nothing new,” Cell said. “But now that we’re back to ground zero, I’ll go through it again. Another option we haven’t considered is Iskra’s friend.”
“Her brother?” Adam asked.
“No, the guy with the yacht.”
“Vasily,” Iskra supplied.
Cell nodded. “What if he gave a USB to someone else, too? What if somehow that got to Gilliam?”
“No,” Iskra said, too strongly. “Vasily would not betray me like that.”
“Would he betray you,” Leif asked quietly, “if he thought, in the long run, he was protecting you?” His phone vibrated, and he glanced at it, seeing a new message notification.
Her wide eyes held his, and he could see in them that she didn’t want to answer. She sagged. “He might.”
“Then we have to consider it,” Leif said and stood. “I’ll be back.” He went into the bathroom, locked the door, and opened the waiting video from someone who was supposed to be dead.
***
Iskra was losing this battle. And they were right—she had no proof Vasily had not given someone else that information. She sat in the bedroom, deliberating. There was someone who might have convinced Vasily to share the information. But Iskra was not sure she wanted to open the portal to that woman any more than absolutely necessary.
Which was foolish. Bogdashka had been a lifeline in dark times. And yet there was something about her that always unsettled Iskra, something she couldn’t pinpoint.
Was it worth it? What good could come out of asking if Vasily gave her scans of the book? Bogdashka was known across the Eastern world for her passion in sheltering young girls. And Bogdashka would never admit she had that information. She was a veritable vault. If she had the scans, it was for her use to protect the girls under her care.
And I am no longer under her care.
So Bogdashka would not help.
But did Iskra need to try?
***
Unsettled by the video from Carsen, Leif shut himself in one of the bedrooms to think. On the edge of the bed, he ran his hands over his face and head. Aches wound through his shoulders and neck, squeezing and compressing nerves, throwing throbs up into his temples.
Two. One. Six. Initiate rise. Rise. Rise.
They were numbers. That was all. Just simple numerals.
Dru. Iskra. They’d conspired to keep this from him. He’d tried to let go of that, of being cut out of the chase to find the book, but Carsen’s video changed that decision and unleashed the dregs of nightmares. Made him recall a conversation that now seemed to be an entire fabrication.
“This book,” Iliescu said after a lengthy pause, “has information. I don’t know much more than that.”
“But you do know more.”
Conflict teased the edges of the director’s mouth. “I do,” he admitted.
“And you’re not going to tell me.”
“I can’t. Not yet.”
“Just like the things in the shadows.”
He recalled Dru’s words as if they were being spoken to him right now. The inflection. The intonation.
“This book has information. . . .”
Thinking, Leif pulled himself off the mattress and wandered to the window. Heavy realization thudded against his irritation. Dru knew this book talked about the super-army. That was why he hadn’t told Leif.
That was why . . .
It wasn’t just the Neiothen. It wasn’t just the super-army. It wasn’t just ArC’s pursuit to control the global economy and form a one-world system.
It’s about me.
No. No, no. That couldn’t—
From the depths I will rise.
I will rise.
I will rise.
Breath trapped in his lungs, Leif tried to reach for the hazy threads of the past and grab hold. Those six months. Wreathed in black, they echoed down the long dark halls of his mind. Tossing himself back over the queen-sized bed, he held an arm over his face and eyes. Tried to shut out the events, the betrayal. Especially the voice echoing those words over and over.
Two. One. Six. Initiate rise. Rise. Rise.
It was similar to the chant he heard in his dreams, his own voice and that of many more echoing into infinity: I will rise. I will rise. From the depths I will rise.
Haunted, hating the phrase that would not vacate his thoughts, he yanked himself off the mattress and pushed to his feet. He moved to the window again and folded his arms.
Why had he called Vega “Harcos”?
“Do you remember?” Carsen had demanded, voice like tumbling rocks and panic. “You must remember!”
Leif heard the subtle click of the door. Someone stepping into the room. Another click—the door shutting.
“You okay?” Iskra asked quietly.
He felt her presence but didn’t know what to do with it or with her. She was an enigma. He’d helped free her from Hristoff, and she’d had ample opportunity since to cut tail and run. But she hadn’t. In fact, she’d even come clean about her activities with Dru. Shared openly.
Why? What was her endgame?
His thoughts took a dark turn. Maybe Dru wanted her keeping tabs on him, monitoring him. Dru and Canyon had always been afraid he’d snap again. Come unglued. That was why Dru had gotten Canyon involved, to keep him under watch. Out here in the field someone had to look after the problem child.
The thoughts lit his anger. After four years of being sober, of getting his stuff together, they still expected him to crack.
Leif stared through the sheer curtain to the churning ocean beyond. Coming in, receding. Coming back in. Receding. Like the missing six months of his life, taunting him with closure, then rushing away with maniacal laughter.
Iskra slid around in front of him. Her hair was down—a deliberate act. She’d had it tied back earlier. But he liked it down, and she knew that. He returned his attention to the windows.
“I’ve been on the receiving end of your anger before,” she said, “and it scared me. Once I experienced it, saw that look in your eyes, I knew I never wanted to see it again. Not aimed at me.”
That twisted up his thoughts. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said, touching her upper arm.
She stepped closer, sliding her hand around his waist. He held her but could not look at her. There was a reason Iskra Todorova was known as Viorica, the Wild Rose, a fierce assassin and operative: she knew how to work every angle and every weakness a person had. And she was his weakness.
“I think we should go to Germany,” she said.
Leif gritted his teeth. Was this a plan she’d concocted with Dru? Why are you so freakin’ paranoid? “You’ve been gone for a week this time. I thought you’d want to get back to Ta
issia.”
“More than anything,” Iskra said, resting her cheek against his shoulder, “but what good is it to go back with so much still hanging over our heads?”
Our heads.
“Why Germany?”
Iskra shifted and leaned against the glass. “That’s where Rutger Hermanns lives, and he seems irrevocably tied not only to Mitre, but also to the book, which I believe he has.”
Leif scowled. “Hermanns.”
“He has been my nemesis for as long as I can remember, so it does not thrill me either.” She shook her head and stepped away. Why was she putting distance between them? Was it a psychological thing?
“But he was here tonight,” Leif said. “Why go to Germany when we could probably track him down here?”
“He would not have the book here. Which means it is likely hidden somewhere in his estate. I . . . my brother . . .” Her words trickled off her lips as her expression hollowed. Tears glossed her eyes.
“What?” Instinct moved him toward her.
She touched a hand to her throat. Swallowed. “I’ve been hunting my brother. He is Rutger’s operative who has repeatedly beaten me to targets and artifacts. He got the Cellini. He took the book.” Her cheeks flushed. “My brother stole the book! The brother I’ve tried to save, the one I’ve tried so hard to pull out before it was too late. He is the killer. He’s working against you, against me.”
“Wait.” He touched her arm again, something strange rattling through him at the change in her attitude about her brother. “Hold up. Remember, Mercy said he didn’t get the book. They ran the feeds at the facility. He wasn’t the one who got away with it.”
“But he had it in Paris . . . I think. And he has been one step ahead. At the gala—he was ahead of us. And Mercy said he fired his rifle.”
Leif didn’t want to talk about this. Irritation clogged his brain.
She drew in a sharp breath. “Why would he send Mercy those texts and save her in China if he’s working for Rutger? Why?” Again her eyes widened. “To lure us into a trap? How did my brother become this? He was a good person.”
“He’s ArC!” Leif barked. “He’s never been good.” For some reason, he needed to believe that. Because if her brother had been good, then turned . . .