Rhiannon let a bit of her weariness and frustration leak through the link. *Brenna, what’s so damned special about Irina that every Russian Clan seems to want her?*
*I don’t know,* Brenna answered. *We don’t have a clue why they want her. You said she was drugged?*
*Yeah. I can feel her when I try, but I can’t make contact. She burned out four men, but I saw one of them inject her with something. She went down like Sleeping Beauty biting the apple. If she comes out of it, we’ll find her, but after the performance she put on here and the one in London, I wouldn’t count on her kidnappers giving her the chance to do anything.*
*I’ve been drugged before,* Brenna said. *The stuff the slavers use is a complex cocktail that’s meant to make it difficult to decipher. You can’t detoxify it quickly enough to prevent it knocking you out. Damn! I can’t believe you exposed her like that.*
Rhiannon caught herself before she reacted and took a deep breath. *Well, too late to worry about what we should or shouldn’t have done,* Rhiannon sent. She had Brenna’s memories from the kidnapping that had landed Brenna in the hands of a homicidal sadist. *Can you let Moscow know what’s happened, and ask them for reinforcements? We have about forty-five operatives here in St. Pete. I could use a couple of hundred if we’re going to find her and get her back.*
*I’ll see what I can do. Are you safe for right now?*
*I think so. I doubt anyone will bother us. We lost people, but their losses were greater. Even if they know where we are, I don’t think Romanov would be very anxious to tangle with us again.*
*Okay. Hang tight and let me see what I can do about getting you some help.*
~~~
O’Donnell Protectors flooded into St. Petersburg from Moscow and other Russian cities, along with a contingent of O’Neill Protectors from Helsinki.
“Andrei Galkin,” the head of O’Donnell’s operatives in Moscow introduced himself. *I’m Jerome Murphy, District Manager of O’Donnell Russian operations.*
“Ekaterina Kuznetsova,” Rhiannon replied. *RB Kendrick. Brenna O’Donnell’s representative on this mission.*
Murphy’s hair was iron-gray but he carried himself with the grace of a trained fighter. RB conducted him to a small parlor. Over cups of strong Russian tea, she filled him in on the disaster the operation had become. After some discussion of the overall mission, and his status update on the situation in Moscow, the talk turned more personal.
“Collin said you’d been in Russia a long time,” Rhiannon ventured.
“Almost sixty years. I came here with Seamus during the Silent War.”
“Were you ...”
Andrei sighed. “Yes, I was at the Battle of Leningrad. Everyone asks.” He smiled. “A lot of the current situation has roots back to that battle. I assume you’ve either read the history or heard the stories. What is important for this situation is that the Russian Clans were decimated. Over ten thousand dead while our losses were a couple of hundred with a few hundred wounded. We decapitated their leadership structure. The top seven Romanovs were killed. The Clan Chief of Gorbachev, along with his two brothers and three oldest sons, were killed. Sergei was holding down the fort in the south and inherited by default.”
“The numbers have always seemed staggering to me,” Rhiannon said. “It’s difficult to wrap my mind around a battle that lopsided.”
“Picture the battle at Ayr on a grander scale,” Andrei said, watching her carefully.
She jerked, spilling her tea. Setting the cup down, she reached for a napkin and mopped up the small mess. Not looking at him, she asked, “What have you heard about Ayr?”
“The official report, and a conversation with Collin before you came to Russia,” he answered. “The battle here was kind of like that. It lasted three days, and we were outnumbered, but man for man, we had superior strength. We also had Seamus and Jack. The first night, Seamus found the enemy commanders, and in the early hours of the morning, he killed them all. And yes, the legends are true. Their camps were between one and three miles away.”
He caught her eyes. “The difference in power from one telepath to another isn’t just a minor difference. If Jack’s O’Donnell Gift was a bazooka, Seamus’s Gift was a howitzer. And my power is that of a musket. I have twelve Gifts, and there are few men I fear, but the kind of power you wielded at Ayr is truly unique.”
Rhiannon picked up her teacup and took a sip to hide her embarrassment. “You were saying about how that battle influences our issues here?”
“Yes, well, you know that the distribution of Gifts isn’t uniform. I’ve never heard of a Russian having one of the Rare Gifts, or a Russian succubus. Sergei used to have one, but she ran away.”
“Irina’s mother,” Rhiannon said. “But she was born in Ireland.”
Andrei nodded. “He’s been buying them recently.” It was Rhiannon’s turn to nod. “Anyway,” Andrei continued, “the Russian Clans rode out the Bolshevik Revolution and had an alliance with the German Clans until the Nazis invaded Russia. That fight was costly to both sides. And then the battle here crushed them. Alexander was a third son, and the weakest, but he was the only one left to inherit.”
“Like Sergei,” Rhiannon said.
“Exactly. They’ve built up their numbers since then, but the gene pool is thin. If I could pick our ground, I wouldn’t be afraid of taking on either Romanov or Gorbachev at five to one odds.”
He leaned forward, waiting until he was sure he had her full attention. “Rhiannon, what are we going to do if we do kill Sergei? He’s never named an heir, and I don’t blame him. There’s no one to name. I could have taken him out several times over the years, but the thought of who might succeed him stopped me. It’s a topic that’s above my pay grade, but you should discuss it with Brenna and Seamus. And with Fergus, I suppose. There’s going to be a civil war here at Romanov. Is that what we want at Gorbachev? It could have some nasty repercussions.”
She thought about it. “I’ll talk with Brenna. You never did tell me why you’re still in Russia. No offense, but you’re a little old to still be a Protector.”
He chuckled. “My title is Director of Russian Operations. You gave me an excuse to get back in the field for a while. But the answer to your question is that after the battle, I was part of the units that Seamus detailed to keep an eye on the retreating Russian forces. One night in Pskov, I took advantage of a pretty young Russian girl. A year later, I asked her to marry me. A couple of years after that, I began to question who took advantage of whom. That was fifty-five years ago. We have three grown children, and a new one in the oven. I’ve never regretted a minute of it.”
~~~
Donald O’Conner, operational name Vladimir, was a few years older than Rhiannon. O’Neill’s Chief of Operations in Finland, he and his team had taken the ferry in from Helsinki. Tall and powerfully built with dark blond hair and pale blue eyes, he stopped a few feet away from her and gave a slight bow.
"Lady Rhiannon, I'm Donald O’Conner. Lady O'Neill asked us to lend you any assistance you may require," he said. His body language struck her as almost too casual for his words. For some reason, he put her off stride, as though he was mocking her.
"Thank you for coming," she said, trying to regain her balance. "Andrei is out right now, but I can brief you and then we can discuss strategy when he gets back."
She led him into the office she'd appropriated. It had been Roman's. O’Conner’s shields were very good, shutting off almost all emotional output, but she still sensed amusement from him, and that he was diligently studying her ass as he followed her. Sitting behind Roman's desk, she gestured to a chair and he took a seat.
Leaning forward, she began filling him in on the events leading up to Irina's disappearance. He didn't even glance at her breasts. Not once. Not even when she took an unusually deep breath. Not even when she arched her back and stretched and leaned back in her chair. His eyes never left her face.
And why the hell does that matter? she asked herse
lf. Why is that suddenly so important? It normally bothered her when men focused on her body, treating her like a sex object. Here she was practically begging this guy to do it, and it irritated her that he didn’t.
As they talked, she found herself overly conscious of his broad chest and shoulders, the high cheekbones and straight, narrow nose. And his eyes. While his face showed complete seriousness, his eyes made her think he was secretly laughing at her. She tried to work up some indignation, some anger, but the effort was a complete failure.
“You know that Gorbachev has the Rivera Gift, don’t you?” he asked.
“I’m aware of his Gifts,” she said. “She’s a succubus, and I’m here to make sure she succeeds.”
“Yes, and she’s only twenty-five years old, still a little girl. Do you have the O’Neill Gift?”
Rhiannon shook her head.
“Well, if you manage to find him, I don’t even want to be in the neighborhood when they cut loose on each other.”
“Andrei will provide the support we need,” Rhiannon said, irritated at O’Conner’s attitude. “We just need your manpower to help us find her, then you can go back to Helsinki and do whatever it is that you do there.”
He stood up. “Miss Kendrick, Lady O’Neill said that you’re in charge here. The only thing I have to say is that you’d better get your shit together. It appears this has been a pretty slipshod operation so far. I won’t put my men in danger for you and some succubus with delusions of grandeur.”
Rhiannon felt her emotions hit a slow boil as he turned and sauntered out the door. But she found herself distracted by his ass. Shit, RB, he’s right. Get your act together.
A large conference room had maps of Russia and St. Petersburg on two of the walls. A third wall was covered with a white board. Rhiannon met with Vladimir, Andrei, Spencer and Mikhail, O’Donnell’s Kiev team lead, to attempt to work out a strategy for finding Irina. Spencer provided a quick briefing on Romanov properties and interests, colored pins marking their locations.
Then Andrei provided a high-level overview of the relations between the Romanov and Gorbachev Clans, and shared the intelligence profiles O’Donnell had built on Alexander Romanov and his children.
Alexander Romanov was the Clan Chief. He had three sons and a daughter, who intelligence had identified as the strongest and smartest of the lot. His oldest son, Viktor, was the named heir, but he was generally considered the weakest of the candidates to succeed his father.
“The old man’s dying,” Andrei finished. “He hasn’t been in good health for years, and the bickering between his kids has been building the whole time. As I was telling RB, there are very few truly strong telepaths in the Clan. The Silent War decimated their strength. Alexander has seven Gifts, and the strongest of his sons, Alexander, has seven. Viktor, the heir, only has five. And I would be ashamed if any of my kids were that stupid.”
“What about the daughter?” RB asked.
“She’s another story,” Andrei said, running his hand through his hair. “Twelve Gifts, including the air, fire, water trine. No Rivera, no Krasevec, no Rare Gifts. She also got all the brains in the family, Goddess knows where. Her mother was a party-minded shopaholic. My wife speculated once that the mother was screwing around when Galina was conceived.”
“Your wife is Romanov, isn’t she?” Vladimir asked laconically.
“She was. She married into O’Donnell fifty-five years ago,” Andrei said, a dangerous glint in his eye.
Vladimir smiled. “Not casting aspersions, old man, simply providing some context and credibility for those who don’t know Yelena.” He turned toward RB. “Yelena is Alexander’s great-niece. As I’m sure you know, the women’s gossip network often produces more credible intelligence than all the time and money us men spend attempting to justify our existence.”
Andrei chuckled. “You have that right. Yelena’s sister is married to a guy who is one of the Romanov insiders. An accountant. Under-appreciated and under-compensated.” He shrugged. “You know how it is. In Russia, you marry a girl and you marry her family. I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t help the poor guy out occasionally. And his information is always rock solid. As to the gossip, I never discount anything my wife tells me. It wouldn’t be healthy.”
Looking at the map of St. Petersburg, Vladimir said, “So, we have the manpower to put all those locations under surveillance, but how are we going to know if this girl is inside one of them?”
“I spoke with Thomas earlier today, and he’s sending a plane load of equipment that will arrive in the morning,” RB said. “The latest laser and parabolic microphones, tiny wireless bugs that can be attached to clothing or under a table, equipment for cell phone monitoring, that sort of thing. He’s also sending a dozen technicians to set it all up and train your people to use it. The techs don’t speak Russian, so this is an in-and-out for them. And we can repurpose the equipment when we move from this operation on to Gorbachev.”
Vladimir stared at her. “Thomas?”
“Yes, Thomas O’Neill.”
“Hell. How did you do that? I’ve been trying to get new equipment for the past two years,” Vladimir said.
She smiled at him. “I just batted my eyelashes. Try it. Maybe you’re his type.”
“Bullshit.”
Spencer turned to him, a puzzled look on his face, and said, “She’s the heir.”
“Huh?” Vladimir stared at him, then turned to RB. “The heir to what?”
“Are you sure you’re in the right profession?” RB asked with a smirk. “Are you so far out in the hinterlands that you don’t know what’s going on at home?”
His eyes grew large. He opened his mouth and shut it. Then tried again. All of the others watched him in amusement. Finally, he said, “Lady O’Neill has named an heir?”
“Over my strident objections, I assure you,” RB said dryly. He continued to stare at her, rapidly blinking his eyes. For some reason, she was finding immense pleasure in his reaction.
Finally, Andrei took pity on him. “Vladimir, she’s Hugh’s daughter. Corwin’s granddaughter and Brenna’s cousin. I thought you knew.”
“Didn’t you hear about the operation at Ayr?” Spencer asked. “Hell, I’m not even a member of O’Neill and I heard about it. The operation that broke Hugh’s rebellion?”
“I heard something about a massacre,” Vladimir said. “I didn’t pay too much attention to the details. I just made a note to myself to stay the hell away from Ulster and not to do anything to get on Brenna O’Donnell’s bad side.”
RB felt her face heat. To hear someone actually come out and call what she had done at Ayr a massacre triggered even more guilt than she already felt. “Brenna wasn’t there,” she said. “She didn’t order that. No one did. It just sort of happened.”
Vladimir looked at her incredulously. “It just sort of happened? As to your question earlier, yes, I do pay attention to things outside of Finland and Russia. I was told that over three hundred rebels were slaughtered without mercy. They weren’t even given an opportunity to surrender. How does something like that just sort of happen?”
Biting her lip, she looked down at her lap. The room was dead silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andrei looking at her, waiting for her response. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and looked directly at Vladimir.
“I hated Hugh O’Neill. The bastard shamed me and treated me like crap. He refused to acknowledge me, and lied to Corwin that I wasn’t his daughter. He denied me my birthright. He treated my mother like a whore.”
She took another breath, looking around at the other men. “There were heavy machine guns and light artillery defending his position at Ayr. They were dug in, and it was pretty obvious that we were going to take casualties. As to an opportunity to surrender, that they were given. Their response was to commence firing. I broke down one of Hugh’s men and discovered Hugh wasn’t even there. He’d gone to Belfast to meet with Finnian to wreak more havoc on perfect
ly innocent people. And I lost my temper. I swore that no more loyal clansmen would die because of my fucked up father. So I ended the battle.”
“I don’t understand,” Vladimir said.
“I killed them all.”
“Three hundred men?” Vladimir’s face turned pale.
“From three hundred yards away,” Andrei said. “Collin told me the story when he briefed me for this mission.”
Vladimir turned to him, searching his face. Turning back to RB, he said, “You lost your temper?”
“Yeah. And when we find the cute little succubus we’re searching for, tread lightly. She’s got a hell of a lot worse temper than I do.”
~~~
After three days of discreet searching, they had turned up no sign of Irina. Rhiannon was increasingly frustrated and called a meeting with all the team leads.
“We’re not getting anywhere with our current approach,” she told them. “I think we need to ramp things up a bit.”
“What do you have in mind?” O’Conner asked.
“Start identifying mid-level leaders of Romanov teams and rousting them. Someone knows something.”
“Not a good idea to get Romanov stirred up,” he said. “They have at least three thousand bully boys in this city and we have three hundred. One-on-one we may be stronger, but you see how they fight. We’ll be going up against people who have no compunction in using submachine guns in public.” As the head of O’Neill’s security force in Finland, he had more than two decades of experience operating in Russia. Even O’Donnell’s Protectors tended to defer to him.
“Vladimir’s right,” Andrei said. Rhiannon knew Andrei had twelve Gifts, including Distance Communication. He very well might be the strongest telepath, other than her, in the city.
“What we have picked up,” he continued, “is that there are some deep divisions within Romanov at the moment. One of my men confirmed the rumor that Alexander Romanov is severely ill, possibly dying. If that’s true, then the jockeying for position among his sons may be the reason the city feels so unsettled.”
Succubus Ascendant: An Urban Fantasy (The Telepathic Clans Saga Book 4) Page 13