by Jack Parker
Victor reared back, offended. "Are you shitting me? Because that's where I edited it to end, you f—"
Emery quickly stopped him. "The footage was cut for time and relevance. I didn't think you'd want to watch us all pissing around setting up and tearing down."
Hennessey sneered. "So you admit it's been tampered with."
"Tampered with?" Emery balked. He paused, holding up a hand to regroup and furrowing his brow. "I'm sorry, but my nonexistent trickery aside, does this not prove that these three men are traitors? Is that or isn't that the Dutchman's lackey seated with men you've previously known as your allies?"
Victor didn't like this. The sudden assumption of deceit smacked of ulterior motive.
"It just seems too easy," Hennessey sneered. "Here you are, sittin' pretty with my enemies like it's nothing. Like it's just another night. And maybe that's what it is. Maybe they don't mind you bein' there because they recognize you. Naw, naw, this doesn't convince me."
"You're changing the deal," Emery said sternly. "You agreed to consider an alliance if we procured proper evidence and we've done it."
"I agreed to consider it, sure," Hennessey nodded. "But maybe this ain't the evidence I wanted. I want evidence that convinces me you're on my side. Not the Dutchman's, not the Russians', not even each other's. Mine. Because it's my help you're after, isn't it?"
Emery gave his crew a pensive scan and set his hands on his hips. "We're getting down to the wire, Mr. Hennessey. The Dutchman isn't going to stand by and wait while we bang on—we either band together now or he'll tear us apart. I don't know what could possibly convince you that we're in this to save our own skins when it's so glaringly apparent already, but naturally we're on the side of our only remaining potential ally. What is it you're asking us to do?"
Hennessey sat back, at last looking satisfied. "I want Ludkov."
Emery paused, then shook his head. "Ludkov is already a part of this operation. We've got him."
"Dead," Hennessey clarified.
A breathless silence fell over the room. Well, shit.
Emery's mouth opened uselessly for a moment before he recomposed himself, his tone quieting. "We can't do that."
"And why not?" Hennessey demanded.
"Because Ludkov is too essential he—he possesses too much valuable information," Emery explained.
"So get the information from him before you kill him. Either way I want it done. Then you're as good as one of my own."
Here was the catch. Great, why did no one call this? Victor was really getting to hate this guy. He stepped in to back Emery up. "We're going up against an entire army of trained killers and you want us to thin our own numbers?"
"Ludkov's connection to the Bratva is severed. They want him dead," said Emery. "He's no longer your enemy."
"You're gettin' awfully cocky about tellin' me who my enemies are," Hennessey growled, shoving his papers aside. "I don't care if he took his vows and joined a convent—Ludkov is a shit-eating dog and I want him dead. So he don't work with the Russians no more? Good. Then you shouldn't have any trouble puttin' him down, so what are you waiting for?"
Emery pressed. "There's no reason to even interact with him if you like, but we need him. There has to be some circumstance under which you'd be willing to work with him."
"Not unless he can bring Casey Sheridan back from the dead."
"That's why you wanna kill him?" Victor asked before he could stop himself.
Hennessey jabbed a fat finger at Victor. "You're damn right that's why. Two years ago Casey vanished and I've got it on good authority that he was bumped off by that prick and his posse."
This was tight rope walk. How much did Hennessey know about the circumstances of Sheridan's death? If he knew that the three of them were involved they were all dead. Maybe Hennessey realized who they were at the bar the other night and just decided to use them to sniff out his spies before icing them. But seriously, what the fuck? Victor had kept his ear to the ground for two long years but he'd never heard anything, not so much as a rumor, about what had really happened to Casey Sheridan. How had Hennessey?
"…Why would Ludkov kill him?" Emery asked, testing the waters.
"How the fuck should I know?" Hennessey replied. "Casey hated that big ape as much as anyone. And since when does a Russian need a reason to kill? They're all a bunch of brainless, slavering curs."
Emery's eyes fell to the ground, wide. Clearly he knew that this was an impassable road block. Hennessey generally couldn't be reached with logic on a good day, but when his motive was vengeance? They didn't have a prayer.
Hennessey took this silence as an end to the conversation and made a shooing gesture. "Go on then, get out. When you come back it'd better be with that smirking ponce's head on a platter, or you'd be daft to come back at all."
Before another protest could be made, McDermott was pushing forward, corralling them all back towards the door. Emery looked too stunned to continue anyway and Victor similarly had nothing to offer. They came back out of the mill into a downpour and headed for the car. Victor, Emery, and Kurt all got into the back, but Georgie didn't. Instead she stood outside with McDermott, stopping him with a hand on his arm and saying something that couldn't be heard over the rain. Victor watched carefully, but Kurt got immediately riled up.
"What is she doing?" he demanded in a guttural rumble.
"She's trying to stoke his affections," Emery said, peering out curiously. "It's a smart move. Swaying him could be helpful."
"Try hopeless," Victor said, shaking the water out of his hair. "This is fucked. It's done. Hennessey's out and we're dead."
Emery was chewing his lip. "What can we do? We're as good as refused unless we kill him."
Victor leaned around Kurt to stare at him. "We're not considering that, are we?"
"No," Emery scowled. "Of course we're bloody not. But…well perhaps there's a way to make it look as though we did."
"Yeah?" Victor asked. "How? Find some doppelganger who's probably a lot more innocent than the real thing and cut off his head instead?"
Emery looked back down, face stressed but determined. "We've come too far to give up now. We didn't break our backs and risk our lives just to land back at square one. Dave didn't get shot up for nothing."
"Beletski wanted Ludkov dead because of his name," Kurt said. "Many members of the Bratva still revere him and thinking that Hennessey had him done away with would only rally them further. Pretending that he's dead may well do us just as much harm as actually killing him."
"God I missed your constructive footnotes," Victor sniped.
"As much as I missed your useless sarcasm, I'm sure," Kurt replied.
"Alright, don't quarrel," pleaded Emery. "Our only recourse is to speak to Ludkov about this. He ought to have a say and besides that he's had some good ideas before. We'll find a way."
Putting their faith in Ludkov seemed to be the dictionary form of hopelessness, but Emery was right: there was nothing else to do. A few moments later McDermott and Georgie got into the car and they began to make their way back to their current hideout.
The rain had lightened up considerably by the time they were dropped off. McDermott pulled away and disappeared around a corner before Emery turned to Georgie with anticipation. "Did you get anything useful out of him?"
She looked between them all before casting her eyes down and shaking her head. "The spies are going to be killed. Hennessey doesn't doubt our motives in the slightest, he's just using our perceived desperation as a means to get to Aleksei. I tried to convey the danger of letting the Dutchman's hold on London fester to McDermott, but he says that Hennessey won't relent until he gets what he wants."
"Even two years dead Sheridan still manages to fuck everything up," Victor commented flippantly.
Emery turned to him. "How did Hennessey and Sheridan even know each other, anyway?"
Victor shrugged. "Because Sheridan did every kind of drug known to man and Hennessey gave him his meth fix
. Shitbags attract one another—I don't know their history. Do you?" he looked at Kurt.
Kurt thought for a moment before beginning to walk back into the building. "They knew each other for some years. As I recall they shared an interest in gambling and card games."
"So Hennessey's mad because Ludkov killed his poker buddy." Victor rubbed his aching neck as they began to ascend the stairs.
"Frivolous though that may seem, trusted company is an extreme rarity for men of Hennessey's like. Excuses to vent his xenophobic outrage, however, are not. Perhaps in some respect we might consider it fortunate that he knows nothing of our involvement with Sheridan's disappearance in light of a foreign scapegoat."
Victor stuffed his hands into his pockets and trudged up the steps. "If this is good luck, we're sure as shit not gonna survive the bad."
They all got to the front door and Emery was the first to open it, obliviously walking in to Ludkov sitting at the dining table and holding a gun on him. They all froze.
"What are you doing?" Emery asked.
Ludkov looked around at them, then lowered the gun casually, tossing it onto the table. "Making certain that you did not bring anyone with you I should shoot."
The other four tensely filed into the room and shut the door behind them, Emery wandering over to the table while Georgie approached Ludkov's other side. "It didn't go well," Emery decided.
Ludkov looked up at Georgie, then to Emery. "What does this mean?"
"It means that Hennessey went back on his word," Georgie said.
Ludkov stared back at her for a long moment before a look of loathing washed over his features. "I should have known that the arrogant shit would not hold to an agreement." Ludkov turned away, grasping a nearby beer and chugging it slowly. He definitely seemed like the fire had been taken out of him. Maybe getting canned and almost killed was catching up to him, or maybe Georgie's words last night had cut deep. "So he refuses to lift a finger to defend himself. I am not surprised, the lazy pidaras…"
Emery went on. "The problem is that Hennessey wanted a new arrangement. He's now giving us an ultimatum. If we want him to go after the Dutchman, he wants a favor in return."
Ludkov snorted with disinterest. "And this favor is?"
"Your head," Emery stated bluntly.
Ludkov's beer paused on its way to his lips as he dragged his eyes up to meet Emery's looking down at him. The room was tense, no one clear on just how the big lug was going to react to the news that yet another party was vying for his assassination. After a long moment the Russian simply curled a lip and took another drink. "Zhirniy trus."
Victor didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but Georgie didn't seem alarmed and so he took it to be a curse. Emery glanced to her as well before continuing. "Obviously this puts us in a difficult position."
"Why?" Ludkov asked tonelessly. "You do not think you have me at your mercy?"
Kurt stepped in. "Killing you would be foolish for a great many reasons, never mind the only potential benefit being that it might spare the idiot his pride. There are more troubling matters at hand than this pedestrian feud and Hennessey's got to be convinced of it. We need to find out how."
Ludkov stared at the table for a moment before wiping a hand over his face and crossing his arms where he leaned back in his chair. "Like all weak men, Hennessey is blinded by his emotions. Both the Russians and the Dutchman are targets of his mindless rage, but his vendetta against the Bratva is strengthened by history. Hatred of my people will always remain his priority."
"He doesn't want you dead because you're a Russian," Emery argued, pulling up and turning towards the kitchen after a moment of coveting Ludkov's drink. "Though I'm sure that's no deterrent. He wants you dead because he blames you for killing Sheridan."
Ludkov watched Emery walk into the kitchen with a severe expression. Then his eyes darted about the room and he cleared his throat. "This is his reason?"
Emery nodded tiredly, popping the cap to a beer as he reemerged.
Ludkov stared up at Kurt blankly before leaning his elbows on the table's surface, hunkering down with a strangely uneasy look on his face. Then he blew out a breath, meeting Emery's eyes again. "Then I suppose it is a mixed blessing that I did not."
Victor narrowed his eyes, glancing over to see his confusion mirrored on Emery's face. He looked back to Ludkov warily. "You didn't what?"
"I did not kill Casey Sheridan," Ludkov clarified. "And to the best of my knowledge, no one did."
Chapter 27
No one acknowledged the thud of a stout bottle hitting carpet, or the hiss of carbonated liquid as it came frothing out at Emery's feet. The sting of revelation was too palpable to do anything other than stare. Victor was the first to speak.
"What in the fuck did you just say?"
Ludkov didn't look up. "Eighteen years I have been in this country. I do not feel I misspoke your language."
"Are you saying that Sheridan is still alive?" Emery demanded in disbelief. He could feel his hands shaking.
"He was alive when I saw him last."
Kurt came forward, features rigid and eyes black with anger. "On the day we met you told me that you shot him."
Ludkov nodded. "This is true. But, as I suspect the both of us know, Mr. Gabler, a man does not always die when he is shot."
Emery was certain he was mishearing this, but the look on Kurt's face made it undeniably real. Very rarely could such a carefully composed man be pushed to total shock. "But how?" Emery asked. "How could that be? If you didn't kill him then…where did he go? Why does everyone think he's dead? What the hell happened that day?"
Ludkov could obviously feel the mounting rage of the eyes boring into him from all sides and shifted in his chair with the closest approximation to discomfort Emery had seen this man exhibit. "I was hired by your stepfather to detain the men responsible for your kidnapping. This is what I attempted to do once his investigators uncovered that Sheridan was the man behind the operation. Our initial effort failed. This lead to concern that the young Mr. Eaton may be killed in retaliation, but when we arrived at the site upon which the boy was to be delivered, we found him. And his kidnappers, more or less." Ludkov swallowed, sitting up. "The night prior to this incident, I received orders from my superiors that Casey Sheridan was not to be killed. Instead he was to be captured and sent to Kazamir Beletski for questioning."
"Why?" Kurt ordered.
"I do not know."
Emery stepped closer. "And you didn't think to ask?"
Ludkov looked up at him. "It is not an employee's place to question his employer, Mr. Fletcher. Is this not what you yourself have said?" When Emery couldn't answer, he went on. "I knew that Eaton meant to kill these men, but I was under orders to send Sheridan in alive. I caught the fool fleeing the scene as soon as I arrived and he would not obey my command to stop, so I shot him in the leg. I supposed that I would tell Eaton we were forced to kill him, thinking that he would be satisfied with three remaining offenders to punish. I quickly learned that Mr. Scott was not among them and that Mr. Sterling was already dead. Mr. Gabler—"
"We bloody well know the story from there," Emery snapped. "All this time he's been alive. A man sits out there biding his time with a monumental grudge against all three of us and you decided to keep it to yourself? Why didn't you fucking tell us this before?"
"Because until now it was not relevant," Ludkov defended. "And because you are Hunter Eaton's son. If he was to know that I set the man responsible for your abduction free his reaction may have been unfavorable."
Emery shook his head, his anger sizzling hot in his throat. "That's been a moot point for some time, you realize, with his being dead."
"Yes. But confidentiality is expected within the Bratva. I did not know what they required Sheridan for, but it was a matter of discretion. I was not at liberty to discuss the organization's internal affairs."
"Also moot," Emery bit. "You've been sacked."
Ludkov looked around again to
each face. "And finally…because I anticipated that it may anger the three of you. That it may give you cause to distrust me. And, as Mr. Gabler has said, we are one another's only hope for survival."
"Oh Christ, Ludkov," Victor said, scraping his hands over his face.
"This is all wrong," Kurt said, eyes distant.
Emery turned to him. "What do you mean?"
Kurt looked to Ludkov, then back to Emery. "If Beletski knows that Sheridan isn't dead, then that must mean Thompson does as well."
"I suppose it's possible," Emery agreed without understanding.
Kurt looked as though he didn't know where to begin, but the floor was overtaken by Georgie a moment later.
"I'm sorry, but am I the only one who realizes what an advantage this is?"
All eyes went to Georgie, who stood at the table with a hand on her hip.
She gazed back at all of them before standing up straight. "If this Sheridan character is alive and working under Beletski, then not only does it exonerate Aleksei, but Hennessey's focus can be trained on that treachery. Who is he going to hate more? The man who betrayed him by getting into bed with his enemies or the man whose only transgression was shooting said traitor in the leg? Hennessey will finally have a concrete personal reason to instigate this fight."
Emery couldn't see a fault with that logic. As horrified as he was at the idea that Casey Sheridan yet lived, it may well have been a blessing in disguise. "Can we prove it? Can we prove that he's alive?"
"I am uncertain," Ludkov said, tapping his fingers on the table's surface. "But I have a plan."
"Oh good, you have a plan," Victor said. "Count me the fuck out."
Ludkov glared at him. "My last plan was a success, was it not?"
Emery held up a hand. "Alright, what is it, Mr. Ludkov?"
"I will speak to Hennessey myself," he replied.
Victor turned away, storming off and snatching the beer bottle still draining onto the carpet as he walked by to pitch it hard into the trash. "Great, that'll go over swell."