London Calling

by Veronica Forand

  “What are you talking about?” Hanson’s jowls became more pronounced as he shifted position.

  “He has a prison tattoo on him, one that wasn’t put on recently. I need his entire history to proceed.”

  “You’re not getting it.” He blew away Macknight’s request with a wave of his hand.

  “No information. No work.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared his boss down.

  “I can’t work without him,” Jack added, risking not only his career, but his friendship with Derek, as well. Yet his stand cemented his place on the team.

  Derek remained silent, always Switzerland.

  The freeze continued for almost a minute.

  Hanson buckled first. “What do you need to know?”

  “Is he Russian?”

  A long pause, a sip of coffee, and then, “Yes and no. British mother, boarding school here, but his father was Russian. Ross studied in Moscow for two years of university.”

  “When was he last in prison?”

  “When he was about twenty.”

  “So you knew he had divided loyalty when you recruited him?”

  “I encouraged it. He’s never betrayed us. Ever.”

  “What about Emma?”

  “What about her?”

  “Does she know?”

  “No. That’s all I’m going to say about the matter. You have everything you need to accomplish your task—Ross dead, maybe Owen freed. Be ready to move. You have three days, and then I’m ordering the Special Forces to handle the matter,” Hanson replied. “They don’t require as much hand-holding.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Macknight shook his head. “That’s not enough time.”

  Hanson glared at him with the expression of a man who always got his way. “It’s all we’ve got. We wouldn’t be in this predicament if you’d taken out Ross as expected.”

  “I didn’t have a chance,” he lied. He’d hesitated one second too long and blown his opportunity.

  “If you fail this time, we have no choice but to leave Owen inside and to incinerate the section of the prison housing Ross. He’s good at resisting torture, but no one can hold out forever. On that subject, how is his daughter? As long as Ross is alive, her survival creates a bit of a dilemma.” Hanson’s cheeks drooped in a guilty looking frown, as though he’d known about the Windfield attack and did nothing to stop it.

  Macknight didn’t think anyone would risk a safe house and the men and women inside to protect government secrets, but then again, he’d always believed he was fighting for the greater good. Grace’s death could have been a means to an end. Kill Emma, protect the assets in Russia. Hanson’s callous disregard for the lost lives incinerated Macknight’s calm.

  He could barely breathe. Hanson had placed the lives of so many at risk. Ian. Grace.

  “You knew Dawson was a traitor. That was your plan all along—to protect your assets and entrap Dawson, you’d sacrifice Emma.” A roaring fire burned through him. Emma was now attached to him in a way he couldn’t explain, and he’d take down anyone threatening her before allowing her to be harmed. He started toward the bastard. Jack grabbed Macknight from behind before he could swing.

  Hanson stood up, his arms in front of him, waiting. “You little shit. I wouldn’t betray my people any more than you would betray your team. If she is captured because we can’t hold her, then we can kiss thirty years of work building a network in Moscow goodbye. We can’t risk that for anything or anyone.”

  Jack and Derek wrestled Macknight back into his seat as Hanson backed away to the window and tried to act as though Macknight wouldn’t have beat him to a pulp.

  “I don’t believe you. If she’d died at Windfield, half your problem would be gone.”

  “You’re quite wrong. Ross has the information. She’s an issue, but he’s the cancer that needs to be removed,” Hanson replied from the other side of the table. “I had an idea that Dawson was feeding information on the occupants to enemies for a few months, especially after several men were located soon after their stay at the cottage. We handed him some false information to keep him occupied and waited. I expected him to sell the information, not Windfield. Great loss for us and all the men and women who lost their lives, but on a good note, we have three GRU officers in our custody and lots of negotiation power. Overall, the situation worked to our benefit.”

  Macknight reached for his weapon, but it wasn’t there. Hanson had forbidden guns at his meetings after an unfortunate incident a few years earlier. “Is Emma one of your newest tools? Will you be negotiating her freedom away?”

  “The leak’s gone. She’s fine and can remain untouched at the infirmary until we have a resolution on Ross. I don’t see Emma as either a pawn or some Russian mole, no matter what is in your head. Once Ross is eliminated, she’s safe.” Hanson’s words held a touch of sincerity.

  “Then Ross will die. Don’t touch Emma.” Macknight’s threat was empty, but it was all he had to protect Emma.

  “I have a hard time believing Ross would betray his own country. The man has been loyal and dedicated to his job for decades,” Derek said. “If we can rescue him, we should.”

  “Now that they know his involvement with us, they’ll never stop looking for him,” Hanson replied. “Regrettably, he has to die.”

  Macknight agreed. “I’ll take care of it, but I need your word that Owen’s one of your highest considerations, and Emma will remain in the infirmary.”

  “When did you get so soft? Follow orders, stay alive, receive new orders. That’s all I expect of you. Ross is a huge liability. Owen is secondary. I’ll demote you to mailroom boy if you risk the service’s years of work in order to save him. As for Emma, she’s not going anywhere until the situation with Ross is fixed.” He headed to the door.

  “I’ll take that as a promise that you’ll protect her.”

  Hanson paused at the door, his cheeks redder than normal, his eyes narrowed. “You have one task. Don’t mess it up.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Emma had been stuck in a hospital room without a window for so many days that she’d lost count. Crazy for a breath of fresh air. They’d kept her inside for her own protection. Protection disguised as a punishment.

  From what Macknight had told her, she was staying in the basement of MI6. No windows or internet access, but she was given a daily newspaper and a pile of books. Books. The books especially were her escape. She traveled back to Regency England, flew off to space with The Martian, and fell in love with a book called Cocky Bastard, which was the way she would have described Macknight when she’d first met him. Now, he was more a damaged soul.

  Her knee had healed to where she could walk around without crutches, but with a pretty obvious limp. The bruises on her face had faded into something less black and blue and more pink and red. Without the heavy wrap, she could also wear regular clothes. Someone had provided her with a small wardrobe, and a woman arrived one morning to cut her hair to an inch below her shoulders, something more manageable than the long hair she’d had.

  Physical therapy included working on a treadmill and on a bike. A nurse had even brought her a few plants so she didn’t feel as though she was actually living underground.

  Besides the medical staff, her only visitor had been Macknight. She begged for him to take her outside, but he offered a million excuses. His secrets and silence formed a heavy curtain blocking any meaningful conversation. Emma hated secrets, especially if they related to her father.

  She’d never been away from Dad for so long with no idea where he was and if he was safe. For most of her waking minutes, all she did was wonder about him. Patience wasn’t her superpower. Productivity was.

  Which meant these four walls had become Kryptonite to her. Each day, the boredom burrowed further into her psyche. As her physical strength increased, her mental status deteriorated.

  Someone knocked on her door.

  “Come in,” she called out, as though she had any say in who barged int
o the room.

  Macknight opened the door carrying a bouquet of flowers in a glass vase. Black-eyed Susans, daisies, carnations, and daylilies, yellow and white, to brighten her room.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said, pointing to a free spot on her dresser.

  He delivered fresh flowers to her room all the time, which meant counter space in her room was at a premium. Each bouquet had a different color scheme, most likely guilty offerings to ease his mind after leaving her at Windfield. The thought was wonderful, but a walk in the park, even on a cold, rainy day, would have been preferable.

  “The peonies wilted,” he said, as though he needed an excuse to bring her more flowers.

  “Maybe they require sunlight. We should move them near a window.” Up a few floors where windows existed.

  “Cut flowers don’t need sunlight.”

  “I do.”

  He nodded. “Once you’re healed, I’m sure they’ll switch you to a better location. HQ wants you in tip-top shape before finding a more permanent location.”

  “Permanent?”

  “Until we find your father.” His face revealed nothing but a professional concern for her. Occasionally, he acted like he cared, truly cared about her as a person, but lately, his mind was somewhere else when he visited. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t as though they were destined for each other. He had a job to do, and she had a father to locate. That had to be her only focus.

  She allowed her feelings for Macknight to wither but didn’t dissuade him from visiting as she searched for facts and updates, anything of importance she couldn’t access locked inside this room.

  Macknight paced from vase to vase, picking out dead stems and throwing them away. She couldn’t help but wonder if they were bugged or had a camera, which was why she now changed inside the bathroom with the door closed.

  “What if you never find my father?” she asked, more than curious about his answer.

  He picked out a dead bloom from the roses he’d delivered three days earlier and tossed it into the trash. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,”

  That could be weeks, months. “I understand my safety is important to keep my father from spilling names. I get it. Really.” When this nightmare ended, she had to return to Essex. The people cared about her there, and she cared about them. Working in the SWAT unit would prevent her from thinking about everything she’d lost in the past few weeks. If her position was still there when she returned.

  He moved the new flowers to her bedside table, placing some dying peonies on the dresser. He’d heard her complaints before but never responded. The silence hurt more than any lies he could use to placate her.

  During past visits, he’d tried to entertain her with anecdotes from his childhood in Glasgow. He’d played football, or soccer, as Americans said, and learned the guitar from his father. She didn’t share anything new with him. She went through the motions of being attentive, acting like a pathetic girlfriend who waited patiently for her traveling boyfriend. Acting was the operative word. She wasn’t a girlfriend, and he had zero boyfriend qualities. Except he did, and her heart ached for something he couldn’t give her.

  Wanting him had no basis in reality. In reality, he was an operative sent to make sure the GRU never got their hands on her. Only in a fantasy would a woman crave sex with her captor while imprisoned in a basement. Nothing was romantic about a relationship with a screwed-up power dynamic.

  When he sat on the bed, he wrapped an arm around her and gave her a quick kiss. He’d taken to kissing her hello and goodbye when visiting, as though they were an old married couple. She didn’t complain. That was his secret weapon. Affection. Being alone so much and missing her father, she’d attached herself to the first available male in the vicinity. That would be Macknight. Handsome, confident, and the perfect personality to keep her in a trance as the world passed by on the other side of these walls. As the walls became more impenetrable, however, she craved far more. She didn’t want his warmth. She wanted out.

  She remained silent, gave one-word answers, or an occasional attempted smile. Encouraging him would only keep him around. She had plans to make, and he’d be in the way.

  About a half hour into their visit, he finally reacted to her withdrawn personality.

  “I have to attend a meeting, but I’ll visit again tomorrow.” He kissed her goodbye. Another not-quite romantic kiss. She didn’t kiss him back. He noticed, because he pulled back for a moment and stared into her eyes. His hand lingered on her shoulder, but the intimacy was one-sided.

  “Okay. See you later.” She gave him a shallow wave.

  “Maybe we can do something special tomorrow.” He smiled, his mouth closed, his eyes analyzing.

  “Fantasticka. Can we tour the locked down area of the basement? That would be such a treat, even better than my visit to the staff room a few days ago.”

  His sigh said it all. He remained at her side. He probably hated leaving when she wasn’t wagging her tail like an adoring puppy. “I’ll find a way to get you out of here as soon as possible. You have to trust me.”

  “No worries. I’m just having a bad day. See you tomorrow.” The fake smile she’d perfected when confronting men offended by female police officers gave him the confidence to leave.

  After he closed the door to her room, she cracked it open and paused in the shadows. He’d stopped to speak to Becca, one of the floor nurses.

  “She’s getting antsy. Can you give her something to ease her nerves and keep her sleeping tonight?” he asked her.

  “I’ll ask Dr. Bradshaw.”

  “Thanks. My presence alone isn’t keeping her comfortable. Maybe access to fresh air will help keep her more contained. I’ll ask Hanson about moving her to a more secure location tomorrow. It doesn’t make sense to keep someone in need of supervision in this area if there are decent alternatives.”

  Realization broke through Emma’s puppy-love mind-fog, as his statement doused any warmth lingering between them. That son of a bitch had been pretending to like her, getting close enough to keep an eye on her. No wonder his affection seemed feigned. It was.

  Becca stared up at him, all entranced with the man who looked like a balding ex-con. He looked kind of scary without his gorgeous long hair, but Becca worked all day in a basement, so this might be as good as it got for her. “If you need anything else, just contact me.”

  “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.” He nodded and disappeared down the hall.

  Emma sat on her bed and thought about her options. She could remain here indefinitely, or she could escape. Permanent incarceration was not an option, so she chose the latter.

  When Becca arrived to give her the pain medication, Emma hid it under her tongue and swallowed the water. The second the nurse left the room, Emma spit it into the toilet and flushed it away and then rinsed her mouth out. Although she craved the pain relief, she couldn’t risk being unconscious. Sitting in bed, she thought through every possible exit strategy until one stood out as the least dangerous.

  As long as she didn’t think about the amount of security inside of MI6, she could create a plan without losing her lunch. Yes, she understood there was a price on her head and no one could find her father. She was either damned to be imprisoned indefinitely as Macknight had said or used to break down the person she loved more than anyone. MI6 hadn’t proven they could protect her. In fact, she was almost killed by their security flaws. Twice, if she counted the car that chased her and Macknight to Windfield.

  She hopped into the shower a few hours earlier than she normally bathed. The heat relaxed the tension growing inside her. When she finished, she threw on her bathrobe and slippers over her normal outfit of leggings and a T-shirt and waited until Becca finished her shift. Everyone was used to seeing her wandering around the floor, but Becca expected her to be sleeping.

  The infirmary was small, with about ten patient beds only a few of which had occupants. From what the nurses had told her, patients needing arme
d guards were housed on the other side of the basement in a more secure area. She was located with members of MI6, generally injured in the field and unable to head to a regular hospital without unwanted questions.

  The infirmary also included a workout room, a sauna, and a whirlpool. The small pantry with food was her favorite place to raid, although a person could only eat the same three snack foods—dry cookies, dry crackers, and dry crisps, aka potato chips—for so long before dying for a Snickers bar.

  She shuffled down the hall and into the staff lounge. Being on the long-term resident plan, she often joined staff members for coffee or to watch television. No one was in the room when she arrived.

  One of the physical therapists had left an extra lab coat behind the door. It had been there the entire week. No one should miss it at this point. She took off her bathrobe, slipped on the lab coat, and covered herself up with her bathrobe again. Her muscles tensed at the sound of footsteps outside the room, slowing her actions. When the person passed by, Emma grabbed a cup of coffee with one of the personal staff mugs, instead of a disposable cup, and headed back to her room.

  She kept the lab coat inside her bathrobe hanging on a hook on the back of her door. In her bathroom, she rinsed the coffee cup and placed it inside her dresser drawer.

  The corridors always contained a larger group of employees milling about on weekdays, so she changed back into her normal clothes and resumed her typical day of reading, eating, and sleeping. Tomorrow was Saturday, and the staff would be minimal. She had to move at the most optimal time.

  A nurse opened her door and checked in on her at four a.m. A ridiculous time to be her human alarm clock, considering her leg was almost healed and she didn’t take medication that early in the morning. It was more the type of action a security guard would take. This morning, however, the woman was part of Emma’s plan. Once she placed a checkmark in her book to note Emma’s presence, they’d leave her alone for a few hours.

  After she left, Emma changed into all black—leggings, a T-shirt, a sweater, and flats—and twisted her hair into a tight bun to give her a professional appearance. She added makeup that someone had provided but she’d refused to wear. Makeup was completely impractical in a basement. Hopefully, her now-smokier eyes, rosy cheeks, and glossy lips appeared different from her everyday look.