by Alison Ryan
“Canaan, Annalise, keep your eyes peeled for other boats or snipers up above. We can’t stay here long, but I’ve got to gather some intel,” Nolan explained.
“Where the hell are we?” Nolan barked at the man. When he failed to answer, Canaan repeated the question, this time in Russian.
After he replied, Canaan translated his answer for the group. “Cape Emine. Black Sea. We’re in Bulgaria.”
Nolan made eye contact with his most trusted ally present, Annalise. “Bulgaria?” he asked.
Annalise shrugged. “Not a clue, Weston.”
Canaan stepped closer to the man, interrogating him in Russian.
“Just south of here is the Cape. Past that there are sandy beaches. Public beaches. To the north miles of coastline like this, just rocks.”
“Does he have a phone?” Nolan asked. “I need to check on my family.”
“What we need is a safe house,” Annalise declared. “Do we have any assets in country? Any of us? Turkey is south of here, but I don’t know how much fuel we have.”
Carlton and Nolan both shook their heads. Canaan relieved their prisoner of his phone and two-way radio.
“There’s chatter on this thing,” Canaan said of the radio. Russian mostly. They have a helicopter inbound. We’ve got to move, right?”
“I say we head south to the beach,” Carlton suggested. “Worse comes to worse, we ditch the boat and blend in there while we figure our next move. Besides, I can’t be the only one who’s famished.”
“It’s south to outrun a chopper or we head back to the house,” Nolan pondered. “Ask him how much more security we can expect.”
Canaan put the question to the man, who replied that two dozen men remained on the grounds.
“Shit. That means at least what, forty or fifty probably?” Nolan asked, rhetorically. “Whichever boat has more fuel, we take it and head for those beaches. Right now.”
Annalise reported more in her craft, so they moved into her boat. Nolan rigged the throttle on the third boat to send it out toward the middle of the Black Sea, and Annalise dispatched the Russian mercenary, but not before having him strip out of his dry clothes and boots.
At top speed, the boat zipped toward Cape Emine and just past it the resort town of Elenite, just beyond, with four weary souls aboard.
14
Odin and Atlas worked their phones into the night, desperately searching for a clue.
After hours of dead ends, Richard Hunt contacted Atlas.
“Atlas Titan,” the ex-SEAL answered his phone, as was his custom.
“Camilla is safe,” Richard Hunt announced. Atlas cupped his hand over the phone and mouthed the words to Odin, who gave a thumbs up.
“Go on, tell me everything,” Atlas asked.
“She’s at a police station in Paris. She woke up, tried to contact Nolan, and went looking for him. When she hit the street, she was snatched by two men in a van. Some guy on a bicycle saw the whole thing and took off after the van. He got close enough to get a license plate and called the police. There was a high speed chase, Paris’s finest took it down. She’s fine.”
“Do they have anybody in custody?” Atlas asked.
“One in custody, they’re searching for his partner. The one they have is an Algerian national, he claims he was hired by a Russian. They were supposed to take her to a warehouse in Goutte d’Or and hand her over to the Russian there. Police went to the address but it was empty. Forensics are looking at it. They’re treating it as if it was a human trafficking case.”
“Did you tell them about Nolan?”
“Yes, of course, what I could tell,” Richard Hunt explained. “Just that he was missing. I couldn’t exactly give them Nolan’s resume.”
“No, of course not,” Atlas agreed. “Well, I’m glad she’s alright. Make sure she stays in protective custody. Are you going to Paris?”
“I have people going there to bring her home,” Richard said. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything more helpful.”
“Hopefully they can press the Algerian and get something out of him. We’ll keep you in the loop. Thanks, Richard.”
Atlas turned his attention back to Odin.
“Now what? That just raises more questions. Russians?”
“We might need our Ukrainian guy more than ever now. Stay in touch with him,” Odin instructed.
Just then, the quiet of the condo was shattered by the wail of a baby.
“You’re up, ‘dad’,” Atlas joked.
“Two and a half hours. That’s a new record,” Odin declared. “I bet its Emmie.” Odin pulled a bottle of Clara’s pumped breastmilk from the fridge and popped it in the warmer, then slipped into the nursery. Bundled-up Callum was cranking away on his pacifier, fast asleep, while Emmie had managed to completely kick out of her swaddle and was furiously swinging her arms and crying, pitifully. Odin scooped her up and rocked her, to no avail.
He carried her back out to the living room to find Clara, hair piled up on top of her head, wearing one of his old t-shirts, curled up in a recliner next to where Atlas sat on the sectional.
“Hey babe,” she greeted her husband. “Bring me that hungry baby.”
“I was going to take care of her,” Odin said. “You sleep!”
“Atlas told me what’s happening. I want to help. She prefers it direct from me, anyway.”
Odin handed Emmie to Clara, who shifted into a more comfortable position and produced a breast, which Emmie attacked immediately.
Clara closed her eyes and sighed. “That’s it, sweet girl,” she said to Emmie, stroking her daughter’s hair. “Are we safe, Odin?” She’d survived QB’s attack on the Las Vegas safe house, but she still bore psychological scars.
“We’re staying right here,” Odin assured her. “Atlas has security at his house right now, and when Piper and Lea wake up, they’ll be brought over here. Besides, how can you ever doubt our safety with her on the case?” Odin pointed to Abner II, snoring away in front of the door to the nursery, unmoved by Emmie’s cries, a puddle steadily forming beneath the beagle’s open mouth.
Clara laughed, softly. “Abner is a Rottweiler at heart. Can’t you tell?”
Odin’s phone buzzed, and he exchanged a series of text messages.
“That was Duncan,” Odin explained. “The auction was delayed two hours in the hopes that Odin would surface, but now they’re going ahead with it.”
In the nursery, the feeble cries of Callum Titan alerted the group that Emmie’s brother was also hungry.
“He does better with the bottle,” Clara reminded Odin, who went to the warmer and pulled a bottle and a bib for his son. It figured to be a long night staring at phones and caring for newborns.
15
“It’s nothing! Enough!” Qadim waved his hand, sending the doctor who’d been summoned to examine his head backpedaling out of the room. He lifted the ice pack from the table and held it to where Nolan Weston had pistol-whipped him, wincing at the tenderness.
“Camilla Weston is in police custody in Paris. Her abduction was… unsuccessful,” the man known as QB announced as he set his phone down on the impressive mahogany dining table at which his wheelchair was parked.
“She’ll go directly to Richard Hunt,” hissed the voice of QB’s security chief, Arava. “Her child is there. Send me to Salzburg and let me erase all of them.”
“Emma is there,” Qadim reminded Arava and QB. “She’s married to Hunt. She’s quite formidable.”
“I’m aware,” Arava commented. “Just another reason I want the assignment.”
QB chuckled softly. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Arava.”
“This whole operation is falling apart,” Qadim scolded, pounding his fist on the table. “And all the two of you can do is make jokes?”
The door at the far end of the dining room opened an in sauntered a beautiful redhead in a black, floor-length dress.
“What’s the latest? Have they been recaptured?” she asked.
“Quentin!” Qadim’s voice boomed. “I’m not going to allow your woman to disrespect our sister like that! She should be ashamed—”
Arava leaned across the table toward Qadim. “Shame? We all have our parts to play in this unfolding drama. You speak to me of ‘shame’ when she’s the one who’s only contribution is as a receptacle for Canaan Titan’s cock?”
“You jealous bitch,” Quinn Brentford hissed across the table at Arava as she took her seat next to Qadim. “If you ever had any good sex, it might do something about that stick you have jammed up your ass.”
“Always classy, Quinn,” Arava countered, and sat back with a look of smug satisfaction. Her role as personal security, assistant, and what passed for a “girlfriend” for Quentin Brentford, Jr., aka “QB” meant that she had to sometimes perform unsavory duties that she’d rather not. But the money was extraordinary, and the opportunity to torture and kill without repercussion appealed to her vicious, sadistic nature.
What she never could stomach, however, were Quentin Jr.’s brother and sister, Qadim and Quinn. Especially Quinn, who Arava looked down on as nothing but a glorified high-end hooker, despite her education and beauty.
Quinn Brentford, aka Madeline Carmichael.
“I should know better than to ever have the two of you share the same space,” QB mused.
“Why is she even here?” Qadim asked. “This meeting should be for family only.”
“I’m the patriarch of this family,” Quentin ‘QB’ Brentford reminded his siblings. “And if I’m the king, then Arava is my queen.”
Arava stared daggers at Quinn, who returned an icy glare.
“Weston, Titan, and Rubidoux took a boat,” QB stated. “We sent three teams to recover them; one was destroyed and two fled the scene. One out into the Sea, and the other south, toward Elenite. We have a chopper coming. We can take them whenever we’d like to. Quintus is still ‘Carlton Fox’ to them, if we need to play that card. I say we watch what they do, see who they turn to for help. They may bring more Titans in yet. Or any number of other high-value targets.”
“Do we still have Raven Conway in custody?” Asked Quinn Brentford.
“Indeed. She’s at the safe house in Berlin. We’ll keep her deep up our sleeve,” QB outlined to the assemblage. “Odin cares deeply for her.”
“What happened with Schneider?” Quinn asked.
“There was a disagreement on how best to handle Nolan Weston,” Qadim explained. “Quentin questioned my commitment. I executed Matthias Schneider to demonstrate my loyalty.”
Quinn’s confusion prompted QB to elaborate. “Qadim feels that Nolan Weston did the world a favor by ridding it of Nicholas Mendy. Since Nicholas allegedly killed Quincy.” QB shrugged. “I say leave the past in the past and let Quincy’s soul enjoy the peace it deserves.”
“Allegedly?” Quinn answered. “Are you out of your mind? He butchered him and he was proud of it! If Weston killed him, he deserves a medal. If he hadn’t already been dead when Dad was assassinated, I’d have sent a team to kill Nicholas myself!”
“Quincy was a victim of his own… conscience,” QB replied. “I don’t agree with the way it happened; Nicholas should never have received the contract. But you know how Father was. Sending a message was very important to him. And nobody was better at sending messages than Nicholas.”
“His own son? His own son!” Qadim pounded the table with both fists.
“I’ll hear no more of this. You’ve been poisoned by this harlot,” Qadim pointed at Arava. “And I want no more of your schemes. I have legitimate businesses to run. I’m returning home to the Emirates. Challenge me at your peril, Quentin. Arava, if I see you, I’ll assume you’ve come for me, and I’ll have you trussed up in a slave tent right next to Annalise Rubidoux and Raven Conway. Farewell to all of you. This war will end us if it isn’t ended first. Quinn, I love you. You’re radiant, as always.” Qadim bent to kiss his sister on both cheeks, then he straightened up, grunted at his brother, and left, slamming the door behind him.
“Qadim is a very angry young man,” QB observed. “He ought to work at getting his emotions under control.”
“Maybe he needs some of that ‘decent sex’ you were talking about,” Arava commented. “If you’ll sleep with the brother of the man who killed your own father, then why not fuck your own brother, too?”
Quinn started to round the table, to attack Arava, but QB lifted a hand to urge patience. “Quintus has a phone taken from one of the Russians they killed. He’ll use it to contact us when he can. Let’s let this whole thing play out. The game is afoot, ladies. No reason to topple the board just yet.”
Quinn began to speak, but thought better of it before storming out the same way Qadim had.
“They just don’t share my vision,” QB said. “They lack the stomach to do what must be done in order for this family to be reborn and to exorcise its ghosts. I’m grateful that you don’t share their weakness, Arava.”
“You have but to point me in the direction of your enemies, my love,” Arava replied. “I will be equal to any task you set forth.”
“We will complete the work my father began. Together. The mistakes of the past will be left there and we will burn down whatever and whomever we must in order to build our empire from the ashes.”
QB picked up his phone and sent a text message, nodding to Arava once it had been sent.
Moments later, the sound of Qadim’s helicopter taking off from the roof of the main house in QB’s compound rattled the paintings hanging on the walls of the dining room in which Arava and QB sat. She rose and walked to the far end of the room, opening the curtains overlooking the Black Sea. QB’s motorized wheelchair followed her into position, and they watched the chopper heading out over the water.
Where it promptly exploded, raining fiery fuselage and body parts down over the dark water.
Lightning flashed in the distance.
“Oh, dear,” QB mused. “It looks as though Qadim’s helicopter suffered from mechanical difficulties.”
Arava laughed.
16
Odin had just finished feeding, changing, and swaddling little Callum before setting the twin back in his bassinet. Emmie was still nursing from Clara, who was struggling to keep her eyes open. When Emmie went too long, Clara felt like she’d taken a muscle relaxer and chased it with an Ambien. When she finally finished, Atlas gently reached over and pulled the baby onto his lap and covered Clara, who curled into a ball in the recliner.
Odin returned to the peaceful scene to see his phone buzzing on the kitchen counter.
Duncan Gilchrist was calling.
“Hey, Duncan. Did we get the Gutenberg?”
“Not…well, not exactly, sir. They’ve pulled it.”
“What are you talking about?” Odin pointed to the phone and to the bedroom door and Atlas nodded. Odin walked into the bedroom and shut the door, not wanting to wake Clara or the babies. “Explain yourself.”
“The room was filling up for the auction,” Duncan Gilchrist explained. “Not nearly as many people as yesterday, but they have some cars going up later today, so a few new faces. Anyway, the auctioneer, after the two-hour delay, stepped to the podium and said that ‘at the request of the seller, the Gutenberg Bible was being pulled from the auction’. I’ve never seen anything like it. We were way pass the reserve price, so it wasn’t that. I have no idea. I’ve been asking, but nobody has much to say, just that the Gutenberg is NFS— not for sale.”
Odin stopped in front of the window overlooking Las Vegas Boulevard. “That makes no sense. Unless somebody swooped in and stole it out from under us. Have we taken possession of the First Folio yet?”
“No, no money has changed hands yet.”
“Fine time for Raven to be MIA. Shit. This day just keeps getting better and better, and the sun hasn’t even come up yet her
e,” an exasperated Odin Titan said, sitting down on the edge of his bed.
Duncan began to speak, but Atlas burst into the room, cradling Emmie in the crook of his powerful right arm as if she were a sleeping football. “I have something,” he announced.
“I’ll call you back, Duncan, gotta go,” Odin said, disconnecting his call. “Good news. Give me good news.” Odin implored his brother.
“I don’t have a source on this, or any confirmation. It’s an e-mail, sent to my private e-mail account, which nobody has but friends and family. It was just sent. It says Odin, Nolan Weston, and Annalise Rubidoux are together. In Bulgaria, on the Black Sea Coast, on the run. That they need our help.”
Odin scrunched his face in confusion. “Bulgaria? Black Sea? What in the…who’s it from?”
“It was just signed ‘a friend’. No idea. It’s a throwaway Gmail account, a bunch of random letters and numbers.”
Odin punched up a map of Bulgaria on his phone. “Black Sea…hmm…I mean Bulgaria doesn’t have that much shoreline, but can your source narrow it down any? Did you respond?”
“Not yet. Like I said, it just hit my inbox.”
“If he’s with Nolan and Annalise, he’s in good hands,” Odin opined. “But dammit, so many questions. Can we reroute your Ukrainian guy from Vienna and have him go to Bulgaria?”
“Yeah, I mean if he’s even free,” Atlas replied. “But just telling him ‘go to the Black Sea Coast in freaking Bulgaria’ isn’t going to do much good.”
“Agreed. Work your anonymous source, and I’ll see what sort of satellite coverage we can get on that area. But Atlas…”
“Yeah?”
“Can we put the baby back to bed first?”
Atlas laughed, a rare sound that was one of Odin’s favorites. Atlas always kept his emotions close to the vest, but during times of stress, such as his brother and friends going missing, he fell back on his SEAL experience and the absolute necessity of gallows humor and keeping a light heart until after the mission ends, no matter what’s happening. Compartmentalization.