Blitzed

by Lauren Landish

  Perhaps the solution was in Syeira. Felix's mother, she'd been a princess who'd found herself the main advisor to the next King, but was now suddenly nothing compared to her sister. My mother was finally in the position she deserved to be in her whole life, and it had to eat Syeira up inside. Of course, she had no position in which to attack me, and she loved her sister enough to not try and corrupt their relationship. But corrupting Jordan? That I could see.

  The challenge, of course, was how to remove Syeira from the equation without arousing more suspicion. I thought about it for a long time, long enough to enjoy a second espresso while the Paris traffic whizzed by. There were plenty of options, of course. A banishment would be the easiest in the short run, considering that it would leave her alive. After all, our family had four properties, and I really didn't have any interest in returning to Albania of all places. It was beautiful, but also, a cultural shithole compared to France.

  The problem, of course, would be that by being in Albania, Syeira would be closer to the other heads of the various families that made up our tribe. She knew how to be political, and knew how to make the right connections. The last thing I needed was a traitorous rot spreading through the tribe.

  On the other hand, killing her had its own drawbacks. First of all, there was no way that I could be in the area or even remotely connected to the event. If there was any way that a connection could be drawn, distrust of me would grow not from Jordan, but from my mother as well. I could quickly find myself a King without a country, a scenario that I was not willing to entertain.

  It would have to be death. The question I asked myself, as I sipped my second espresso, was just how I was supposed to go about doing it? Who could I trust enough to get the job done? And how could I arrange it without having Jordan or Charani being put in danger?

  Chapter 35

  Jordan

  I sat in a chair on top of the barge, Syeira sitting next to me, for all the world looking like two women enjoying the unexpectedly pleasant Paris weather and sipping some tea together. In reality, of course, things were much different. In the week since she had told me that there was a chance that Felix was alive, I had felt the ground shifting under my feet almost constantly. Francois being involved in his disappearance? What about Charani? Could I even trust Syeira, or was I somehow being manipulated by a woman who had just lost her son and was looking to blame someone?

  It took viewing the actual message on Syeira's laptop to convince me that, at least on one front, I could trust her. Whether she was being deceived or not, she had reason to tell me about Felix.

  Still, despite the hope that was flaring in both of our hearts, she proceeded with caution, moving at what felt like a snail's pace. She'd been involved at some level with both politics and the underworld for nearly her entire life and knew that rushing could quickly lead to ruin. As such, the only time we even discussed it was when the two of us were alone and in the open air.

  “So how's the search going?” I asked, trying to act casual in case someone was watching.

  “Dnepropetrovsk is a big city, with a lot of area around it,” Syeira replied. “It may not be Paris, but that in some ways makes it harder. There are a lot of dachas, what you call estates, in the countryside surrounding it. And a lot of them are connected to the Russian Mafia.”

  “So what have we done so far?” I asked, then sitting back and controlling my temper. “Sorry. Just . . . the idea that Felix could still be alive has gnawed at my heart, and I find it hard to not want to rush.”

  “I as well,” Syeira replied, slightly mangling the English but still making her meaning clear. She spoke three other languages — I couldn't fault her. She was normally pretty good. “It is doubly difficult because I cannot use the means I would normally go through. The normal method would be to use our tribe's families, who would then use their connections in other Romani tribes in order to find out.”

  “Romani?” I asked, surprised. “How?”

  “We are the unwanted stepchildren of most of the world,” Syeira said with a mirthless chuckle. “And we've been chased off and persecuted almost everywhere. Because of that, the Romani have developed one of the largest diaspora in the world, rivaled and in some ways supplemented only by the Jews. It gives us quite a network to use.”

  “As long as you know how to use it properly,” I commented, “such as someone who was born a princess of the Romani.”

  Syeira shrugged and gave me a cryptic smile. “It has its advantages. In any case, I have had to jump a few steps in the typical process, and do a lot of things that are against the normal protocols. Some of the Romani I have spoken to are not exactly allies of our tribe, but are highly motivated by the idea of quid pro quo.” Syeira sipped at her fruit juice and tapped at the computer next to her. “It is why I keep this computer next to me all the time now, it seems. I too have been desperate for information.”

  I took a deep breath and looked over. “What is the point at which we go there ourselves and try and find out directly?”

  “Not smart,” Syeira answered me, shaking her head. “Neither of us speak Ukrainian or Russian. We'd stick out. And if Felix is in the hands of the Russian Mafia, the people we’d need to approach would be paranoid. They even hear a rumor of two foreigners sniffing around about him, and he would be dead before we even got the first whisper.”

  “So we just hang in here and pray?” I asked, my blood starting to boil. “Not my style.”

  “Trust me, Jordan, I am doing everything I can.”

  I nodded. “This is hard. I still love Francois, but now I have problems trusting him. We have so few details, and I have so many questions.”

  She took another sip of her juice and set her glass down. “I have as well. I find it hard to believe that he betrayed Felix. My anger towards Francois is more in that I think he let his desire for power get the better of him. He may have left Felix behind thinking him dead, when in fact he was merely injured. I’m not saying he did it on purpose either, just that he was making a hasty decision and he may have been clouded in his perceptions.”

  “Perhaps,” I replied, sighing. “This is hard. I still love him.”

  She looked over, her gray eyes wise and full of compassion. “You have said that, and I don’t fault you for it. I have seen too many strange things in my life to ignore the fact that love is often, as the poets say, blind. We love those who we should not, or those who we are not supposed to. People love abusive spouses, even as they are injured and beaten. People are fools, women especially.”

  I sat back and considered her words, but before I could reply, we saw Charani approaching the barge. She’d taken the morning to go out shopping and now came back in the Renault SUV that we were to use during our time in Paris. “When should we tell Charani? She is your sister.”

  “And Francois’s mother. I would never believe she was a part of it, but I wouldn’t expect her to keep it from her son if she knew. When we have an answer from my sources, we will approach both of them, at the same time.”

  Charani parked the car and got out, waving. “Hey you two. Can I get some help?”

  “I'll help,” I said. “Good shopping?” I asked, trying to put an innocent smile on my face. “I know that after last night's feast, my appetite is high for more. Whatever you made, it was delicious.”

  She smiled, her long hair hanging over her shoulders in an ebony wave. “I have worried about you, Jordan. Even though you have improved, I still worry.”

  “I know. But it’s getting better,” I said. Reaching inside, I took one of the bags of groceries and lifted it out and into my arms. “I appreciate your support.”

  Charani took a bag into her own arms and looked up at the barge, where Syeira had turned her head away to watch the river flow by. “My sister is still haunted, despite her efforts to rid herself of the ghosts,” she said sadly. “I will continue to help her, though, and will be there for her for as long as she needs me.”

  I could see in her eyes that
she truly meant what she was saying, and I resolved in my heart that she had nothing to do with Felix's disappearance. Whatever happened, if Francois had done it on purpose or not, his mother hadn’t known. I reminded myself to mention it to Syeira later. The twins had so much in common, and they depended on each other.

  I used my free hand to reach out and take her hand, giving it a squeeze. “You are a wonderful woman, Charani Hardy, you know that?”

  “You will make a wonderful Gypsy Queen,” Charani replied. “Come, let us get these inside and unload the rest. After that, I’m making a late lunch for the three of us. Francois can eat when he comes back.”

  I helped Charani, but Francois came back before she finished her cooking, looking handsome and happy in his suit. I came over and gave him a hug, as my love at least temporarily overcame my wavering trust in him. Maybe it was the rakish slant to his smile or the way his eyebrows framed his dark eyes so well, but I had to admit that my pulse quickened when he raised my chin up and kissed me softly. “I missed you too, mon chere.”

  “I take it things went well at the bank?” I asked, my hands resting lightly on the swells of his chest muscles, and warmth spread through my body.

  Francois nodded. “Very. Our system worked perfectly, thanks to Felix's foresight. I even had time to stop on the way home and have an espresso. I'm glad though that I came home when I did. Mother, that smells divine.”

  “I'm sure you would come over here and criticize me in at least three different ways, probably including the overuse of paprika,” Charani teased, “but thank you. Go, change, and I will save lunch until after you’re done.”

  I set out plates for the four of us, Syeira helping with the glasses while Francois changed, coming back looking like he was prepared for exercise. “Going to do a workout?”

  “I was thinking, after lunch, I would like to get the kinks worked out,” he said, playing with the zipper on his Le Coq Sportif running suit. “My back feels good enough to handle some exercise, and I don't want to lose too much.”

  “Yes, you might go from superhuman to merely human,” I joked, setting the last plate on the table. “You just want to show off, don't you?”

  “Maybe,” he chuckled. “But I would only be able to do that if you were willing to come with me. What do you say? Later I can take you to a little bistro for dinner. Mother, Syeira, you two fine with that?”

  “Enjoy the evening,” Charani said with a smile. “It is good to see the youthful fire rekindle some.”

  “We do what we can,” I said, looking over at Syeira who gave me a small nod. She understood, and I knew that regardless of the situation, as soon as she knew something, she'd tell me. “But first, let's enjoy some lunch.”

  Chapter 36

  Felix

  Trembling, I knocked on Mistress' bedroom door at precisely eight in the evening as she had commanded me to do. Part of my trembling was caused by pure physical exhaustion, as after my normal morning workout, she’d commanded that instead of coming to see her, I was to be working with Sacha. The burly ex-member of the Russian Army was a bear for work, and had taken me along with two other men out into the forest for what he said was both physical labor and training.

  “You three may at some point be tasked with accompanying Mistress Svetlana to cities and other areas off of the property,” he began in his barely understandable Ukrainian. “While she has informed me that all of you have the social grace and skills to be a worthy companion, she can’t evaluate you in the area that I and her uncle Vladimir feel is most important.”

  “Which is?” one of the other men, Yvgeiny, asked.

  “Vladimir Ilyushin is a man whose business puts him in contact with dangerous individuals,” Sacha replied patiently, like a teacher trying to reach a rather dull pupil. “She’s the closest thing he has to a daughter, and sometimes seen as a target of opportunity by Vladimir's rivals. It will be your job, as her companion and escort, to serve and protect her.”

  I nodded, eager to prove my worth. Just the thought of not only being near the Mistress but to stop those that wished to hurt her left my pulse rushing. Sacha, despite his trollish exterior, was intelligent and saw my expression for what it was. “Slow down, pet,” he jeered, refusing to use my name. “Just because you may have the opportunity to be her arm candy doesn’t make you worthy.”

  “I understand,” I said in my best attempts at speaking Russian. My accent was horrible, and I was sure my pronunciation was garbled, but he got my meaning. “What do we do?”

  “First, let's see how well you can keep up,” he said, pointing. He turned and started running through the woods, away from the river and toward the far off mountains, misty and unfocused in the far distance. The three of us candidates were all wearing fifteen-kilogram backpacks, while Sacha was wearing just the hiking boots and Russian Army fatigue pants that we also wore. Still, he set a hellacious pace, bounding over rocks and fallen trees in the old forest.

  It was truly old. Privately owned, the last time someone had cut any significant number of trees here was perhaps when the Soviet Army and the Nazis were fighting in the bitter winter cold, and maybe even not then. Trees fell over when the winter ice and snow bade them to fall, and not before. The foliage was dark, deep, and it was easy to not see where you were going. Ruts in the forest floor weren't visible until it was too late, and in less than a mile, Yvgeiny fell, tumbling to the dirt and screaming. I heard the dry cracking sound that I assumed was his ankle, or perhaps a dry pine branch that he'd stepped on, but I didn’t give him even a backward glance, my eyes fixed on the form of Sacha ten meters ahead of me. Getting lost in this forest was almost a certain death sentence, especially hungry, tired, and with night temperatures dropping well below freezing.

  For some reason, a reason that tickled the back of my mind where my old life lay, I knew that the reason I was able to move so well in the darkness was because I had done blackout training of some type before. I didn't quite remember where, but the scent of wood and dirt was familiar to me as I ran, hopping a branch that was mostly covered in pine needles and then vaulting a fallen log. Sacha spared us a glance back and poured on the speed, extending his gap to fifteen meters before I had a chance to adjust my pace. He was trying to exhaust us, and doing a good job of it.

  My legs were already tired from my morning exercise session, which had thankfully been inside using squats and the kettlebells, but the run was turning the tiredness into white hot agony that coursed through my muscles with every step. Still, I dared not slacken my pace, or else Sacha would disappear into the forest, and if I got back to the house I doubted I would be greeted well if I got back at all. Regardless, I'd have lost my chance to be closer to my Mistress, and that I would never allow.

  Time lost all meaning as we pounded our way through, the sort of place that inspired the old tales of werewolves and vampires. Those too tickled at the back of my mind but were less important than the Russian in front of me.

  Suddenly, we broke out of the woods, into a large open field that looked like it had once been some sort of airport or something. Sacha went on another fifty meters, then stopped. The other remaining recruit and I came to a halt, the breath searing our lungs with every inhalation and exhalation. I wanted to drop face first to the ground, to vomit what I had left of my second meal onto the dirt between my feet. Instead, I put my hands on my hips and forced my shoulders back, both to show strength and to let my lungs gulp more of the precious air.

  Sacha looked, if not impressed, at least less disgusted by us than he had when we took off on the run. “You maggots can at least keep up,” he said. “But can you fight?”

  He turned his back, sweeping his arm to indicate the space behind us. “This area, it used to be a Soviet army base,” he said, indicating the older buildings that were about a hundred meters distant. “Three generations of Red Army soldiers trained and lived here, ready to defend Mother Russia in case NATO or someone equally stupid decided to try what Napoleon and Hitler couldn't. H
ere, boys became men, and men became supermen. The process was simple, not complex, in the way that the Russians have done for millennia. You learn by doing, and let Darwin's laws weed out the weak. That Englishman may have put the rules to paper first, but Mother Russia knew them before paper was even invented.”

  “What do you ask of us?” I asked, happy to be able to form words again. I knew that his speech was mostly for our benefit, to give us a chance to recover some, but there was a meaning in it, words to it that I wanted to get to the heart of.

  “It is simple,” he said, reaching into the right front pocket of his trousers and pulling out a silver plated whistle. “Drop your bags, you won’t need them. Then, the only rule is to survive.”

  Sacha put the whistle in his mouth and blew it three times, the sharp tone piercing the frigid air and carrying for a long distance. The door to one of the abandoned buildings opened and nearly two dozen men poured out, some of them armed, some of them not. Sacha looked at us with an evil smirk on his thick lips and pointed to them with his open hand, as if inviting us to a feast.

  I dropped my bag and assumed a fighting stance, my body falling into patterns that it had known for far longer than I could recall. The first man who approached me I kicked in the side of the knee, buckling the joint and sending him stumbling, grunting at the injury. I stepped back and stomped on his chest, crushing his ribs and driving the wind out of his lungs. He slumped to the turf, and I quickly looked for the next person to fight.

  As I fought, I decided that honorable maneuvers were not to be worried about. Instead, I picked up any dropped weapon I could, used every dirty tactic that I could devise, and offered no quarter. When I saw the other candidate get kicked in the balls before being knocked out by an attacker wearing what looked like lead enhanced gloves, I knew I was making the right choice. At least the chump had taken out four men himself before he went down.