by Ronie Kendig
Elbert. Who’d been poisoned in The Hague, saved when Saito trach’ed him. The same general who’d told Peyton that Sienna had been assigned to Nesto. Why would Elbert know about that?
Unless they were all connected. Egypt. The Meteoroi. Sienna. Nesto. General Elbert. All interlocked into one gigantic entity.
ArC.
* * *
Holy prince of Egypt! How had they missed that?
The tide had turned. In fact, it’d turned so many times, Cell had no idea if he was about to hit shore or drown. He was pretty sure he knew what Leif had figured out, and to anyone who knew Reaper’s prodigal leader, it was written all over his posture. His tone.
“You’re associated with a man who altered the environment of an Egyptian village, killing dozens,” Leif bit out.
“You have no proof—even if you did, what’s your point? The Neiothen are associated with you, who went rogue and committed numerous crimes. You should be locked up!”
The tension simmering in the hub was developing into a full boil with a back-and-forth between Leif and Nesto.
Wounds aching, Cell noted the zero distance between Saito’s fingertips and his thigh-holstered weapon. Same with Culver, only the big guy had no problem resting his palm on the grip.
“Cell,” came Mercy’s hushed whisper.
He angled toward her, but something about the standoff caught his attention. What was it? What had changed? Cell peered from behind the oval conference table and past Leif’s shoulder.
Braun.
His heart thumped. When this mess started, Braun had been at Nesto’s side. Now she’d moved a couple of feet. Her features tightened, and she drew up her shoulders so much her neck disappeared. Though good with politics and diplomacy, she didn’t have a poker face. The nearest Marine eyed her, then homed in on the ensuing argument between Nesto and Leif. As he should—Leif was volatile. In most situations. But not this.
It was his spidey sense, Mercy would tell him. But something was definitely tingling—no, crackling like a live wire, bouncing and jumping all over the place—at the back of his mind.
“Cell,” Mercy hissed.
Enough to pull his gaze. He diverted but not all the way.
“Look.” She surreptitiously scooted a tablet across the table.
Eyes on the showdown, he slid his fingers over and caught the edge of the tablet. Pulled it to himself. Braved a glance down at the split map. Half the screen showed Cuba with numerous dots. The other half . . . Maryland—here. Two red dots glared like the eyes of a serpent ready to strike.
No, not a serpent. Neiothen. His blood ran cold. Mercy had been working to isolate the Neiothen RFID signals.
She shifted to him, then turned her back to the others and whispered, “Once Leif showed up, I started searching for an RFID signal here so I could figure out how to isolate the others.”
Cell leaned closer, watching the team, but especially Nesto and Braun. He didn’t miss the way Baddar positioned himself behind Leif and the others—yet directly in front of Mercy, blocking Nesto’s view of her.
“There’s two,” she hissed, her hazel eyes wide. “Here.”
His heart beat a little faster. Not just Leif’s. Who else? “Can you pinpoint who it’s coming from?”
She gave a quick shake of her head.
“It was you!” Leif’s voice cut through their conversation. “When I was here with the Neiothen—”
“You mean when you attacked a U.S. military installation?”
“—the sonic resonance in my head—it was you. You had the device. That’s why she”—he indicated to Alisz—“knocked into you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Alisz jutted her jaw. “It was in your hand.”
Nesto stabbed a finger at her. “I don’t know why you’re here—”
But Cell saw the trouble—his gut clenched with shards of agony, paralyzing him. Preventing him from warning the others. No!
Braun snatched the Marine’s weapon, pivoted, and fired.
THIRTY-ONE
REAPER HEADQUARTERS, MARYLAND
Leif rushed Braun, who seemed stunned by her own actions. He placed a hand on the back of her neck, and with the other, he held her hand that had the weapon. Firmed his grip. “Give me the gun, Admiral,” he insisted, relieved when she released it.
Culver and Saito hurried to render aid to Nesto, who was bleeding out. Mercy ran for the doctor.
Leif was relieved when his brother slid up and secured the admiral—with a firm but gentle hold on her arm and the back of her neck—as Leif handed the weapon to Cell, who walked away with it, ejecting the cartridge and clearing the round in the chamber as he headed to the weapons locker. Rescue breaths and chest compressions were performed by Saito on the dying colonel.
Braun stared at Nesto, gaping and face flushed.
Needing to secure her, Leif guided her away from the scene. “This way, Admiral.” He led her to the back of the hub as the doctor rushed past them.
“You have to detain me.” Her words were quiet and . . . empty as she moved under his direction without resistance or, it seemed, will.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She’d shot a man in cold blood. Committed murder. Of course he had to secure her to ensure she didn’t harm anyone else or herself.
He gently directed her to the holding cell.
“I had to. I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I knew when we were in the medical bay.” Her eyes came to his. “You know, don’t you?”
What was he supposed to know? Had she put together the same pieces he had about Nesto? But shooting the colonel point-blank without warning or provocation . . .
He gestured to the MP at the holding cell, who hesitated with a frown, then hurried to open the cell.
Resigned, Admiral Braun stepped inside. In the middle of the cell, she stopped and turned. Her short hair seemed unusually dark against her stunned pallor. Her gaze met Leif’s, and she lifted her chin. “Someday I hope you’ll understand and not think the worst of me.”
“I don’t think the worst of you.” He’d had his own misgivings about Nesto, but she must’ve had more than misgivings to shoot him. He eased away as the MP started closing the barred door.
“Leif.”
He held out a hand to the MP.
“Bring in Admiral Manche. Don’t trust Elbert.”
Interesting. He’d met Manche on the Mount Whitney. He’d handled Andreas. If Braun was saying that, should he listen or ignore her?
“I know you don’t understand,” she said softly, “but . . . for Dru’s sake, trust me.”
“He said to watch out for you, so I will.”
Her expression seemed to crumble, and Leif could relate—he knew what it was like to fail Dru. He nodded, then stepped back as the door groaned shut.
What in the insane world was going on? Alene Braun was the epitome of self-control and wisdom, so trying to align that with the woman who had coldheartedly killed a colonel . . .
“Could you send word up the chain about this?” Leif asked the MP. “See if you can get hold of Admiral Manche.”
“Yes, sir.” The MP strode to the small office connected to the holding area.
After one final glance at Braun seated on the bench, Leif turned and saw Iskra lingering near the juncture of the hub and the rear passage. She was propped against the wall, hugging herself. When she noticed him, she sagged a little deeper.
“You okay?” he asked.
Her dark eyes were glossed with unshed tears. “It is just so much. Director Iliescu, Braun and Nesto, when you left, Taissia . . .”
“Taissia?” Something in him tightened.
Squeaking wheels rolled past—the Marines and Saito rushing Nesto into the medical bay, Dr. Dodson riding the gurney and continuing compressions.
Leif urged her around the corner and back to the hub. “What about Taissia?”
She wilted. “I took her to Bogdashka because Dani was gone and I had to
find you. It went against everything I believed, but I knew Bogdashka would at least keep her alive. When I went back to get her, they were gone. All of them. The entire building was empty.”
Shock and rage jolted through him, thinking of that little, beautiful imp caught up in their nightmare. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Why couldn’t he breathe?
“I did!” Iskra railed. “I left messages on your phone, begging you to help.”
Leif hung his head. Hated himself. “I ditched that phone.” He pulled her into his arms. Held her close. The only thing he could do. “I’m sorry, Iskra. We’ll find her. I swear.”
Every corner he turned in this maze of death delivered another blow, another way he’d hurt the ones he’d meant to protect. “I’m so sorry, Iskra.”
He wasn’t sure how long they stood in the corridor like that, but his mind never slowed, exploring scenarios and tactics to find Taissia.
He shifted in front of her, his instinct to get a plan together to retrieve her daughter. “What do you know about Bogdashka?” They started back toward the hub.
“Besides the fact that is not her name? That she went by the code name Bodhan when I was still with Hristoff?” She wrapped her arms around herself as they walked up the ramp. “She is terrifically cruel in a very subtle way. For a long time, I thought she was a saint, my savior. But I quickly grew suspicious that she was the cause of . . . many situations. I believe she is how I ended up with Hristoff.”
“Why do you think that?” Leif walked around the wrought-iron rail that cordoned off the conference area.
“Everything Hristoff knew, she knew. Or vice versa.” Iskra nodded to him. “When we were in Istanbul, she knew many things she should not have, including my location. Then Hristoff showed up. She called me while I was on the run—just before I saw you. It was a huge mistake on my part.”
“Maybe,” he said with a teasing grin, “but it gave me a chance to get to know a beautiful Bulgarian brunette.”
She slid him a coy smile, but her gaze hit something to the side. She sucked in a breath. A storm burst across her features. “What are you doing?”
Confused, Leif followed her.
She stomped forward. “Are you trying to get my daughter killed?”
His heart skipped a beat at those words, his mechanisms erupting and demanding he protect the little girl. But what stalled him was the person she aimed her words at. The only person Iskra called friend.
“What?” Mercy’s expression held shock, hurt, and defensiveness. “What’re you talking about? I’m sitting here, minding my own business with Barc—”
“This!” Iskra snapped her hand to the monitors, where the face of a woman in her midsixties stared out with no little amount of condescension. She looked like someone used to being in control. “Why are you looking into Bogdashka? I told you she would hurt Taissia!”
“Hold up,” Cell said. “Mercy didn’t put that up there. I did—for Admiral Braun. Right before everything went to crap.”
“And second,” Mercy said in a tight, controlled voice, her eyes flashing as she shrugged off Baddar’s placating touch, “never in my life would I do anything to hurt your daughter—she’s like a niece to me. That you think I would cuts at the very fabric of our friendship. Ororo Munroe knew the difference between friends and enemies, and I thought you did, too.” She drew in a long breath. “Finally, I have no idea who Bogdashka is, but that”—she nodded to the wrinkled, tired, shockingly pale face framed by hair too dark for her age—“is Mina Schultz. The woman who turned me into a machine and ruined my life. The woman I got away from over ten years ago and vowed never to cross paths with again.”
Wide-eyed, Alisz slid into the confrontation. “You know her?”
Iskra shifted, swallowing as her gaze hit Leif’s, like she was looking for backup or assurance. When he moved closer, she peered up at the screen. “That is Bogdashka.”
Leif stilled, glancing at the screen. “You sure?”
A mocking laugh trickled out of her. “I know the woman who feigned being my advocate only to exert control.” She nodded, her nostrils flaring. “That’s who I left Taissia with two weeks ago.”
“Her full legal name,” Cell said, his voice heavy with the news he was about to deliver as he retrieved his laptop, “is Wilhelmina Maria Schultz.”
“Wilhelmina,” Leif repeated, recalling the phone call. “Rutger said she was in charge of the project that created the Neiothen. She killed his sister.”
“Katrin,” Alisz supplied, looking at Mercy. “Like I told you.”
“Bogdashka?” Iskra squeaked, her features a tangle of confusion. “Bogdashka is Wilhelmina?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Cell pulled something up on his system. “Check it out—she sits on the board of Hermanns’ company, Frankfurt & Stuttgart Biologics.” He waved at the laptop. “As well as over twenty other businesses and organizations. Look at the list. You’ll recognize a few. Like Aperióristos Labs.”
Leif eyed Iskra. The place they’d first met. Which might sound romantic had they not been trying to kill each other.
“Yep, same lab that had the book,” Cell said. “Also of note, how about the Quantum Technology Conference?”
The Hague incident.
“It’s a Who’s Who of ArC operatives,” Mercy mumbled, shaking her head, then exchanging a haunted look with Iskra.
Leif checked Iskra. Her expression was blank, stricken. Hand to her stomach, she shook her head. He could only imagine what she felt, realizing the woman who had Taissia was directly connected to ArC, possibly a key figure. It sickened him. Worried him for Taissia. The spry little five-year-old had stolen his heart. Anger vibrated through his system.
“I knew,” she said. “I knew I shouldn’t leave her there, but I was too busy trying to find you.”
The stab of that expertly placed truth struck Leif center mass.
“I stood in that attic room and felt it—the chill, the warning.” Iskra shoved her hair off her forehead, her palm resting there. “I knew it was wrong, and what did I do? I walked out and left my daughter with that monster! Willingly!” Her shout echoed across the bunker, stilling the team.
Because of him. Because Leif had left to find his own way, his own answers. And now a five-year-old child was paying for that.
Her gaze was skewering. “You had better be worth it, because if she—” A sob choked her words. He started for her, but she stopped him. “No.”
Harangued by guilt, Leif stared at the floor. He looked at her, hating himself. This was the very reason he’d tried to separate himself from them. To save them. Protect them. And what a sick, twisted, ironic fate that his attempt to protect them had put them in grave danger.
“I will never forgive you—”
“Hey,” Mercy said quietly.
Though she meant well, Leif held up a hand. “She’s right. I’m to blame. I deserve her hatred and anything else she wants to throw at me.” He glanced around at the others. Landed on Cell. “All of you have a right to hate me.”
“It occurred to us,” Cell conceded.
“I screwed up. Thought I knew what I was doing, so freakin’ determined to get answers, I didn’t care what it took or who it hurt.” He lowered his head and steadied his breathing. “I was wrong. And I regret it.” He considered the friends he’d let down and knew it was time to make amends. “Ask what you will of me, and I’ll answer as honestly as I can.”
“Not sure we have that much time,” Culver snarked, his movements stiff. “And I don’t appreciate getting shot.”
“You ditched us, went against us, attacked us,” Saito said slowly, methodically as he gave a grave shake of his head, then pursed his lips. “That’s not easy to come back from.”
Leif hated how true those words were. “Understood. I own that blame. I’m sorry.” His own words sounded cheap, despite being sincerely spoken.
Culver nodded.
“What’s to keep you from ditching us again to do what y
ou think is right?” Saito’s candor was appreciated.
“Fair question,” Leif conceded. “I’d like to say I won’t, but I don’t know what’s coming. What will hit us. But after losing Dru, I can say I’ll do whatever it takes to protect each of you. This isn’t about me, though I thought it was.” He sniffed. “It’s about all of us.”
“Yes,” said a gravelly, unfamiliar voice. “Agreed.”
Leif turned in that direction and found a brawny blond admiral. “Manche.”
Behind him trailed a half-dozen operatives dressed in black tac. Easy to recognize his own kind—special operators, likely Navy. Maybe black ops. They’d sure gotten here fast.
“Am I supposed to like your presence here?” Mercy asked petulantly, scanning the newcomers.
“Nobody has to like anything as long as orders are followed.” Manche strode to the hub and pointed to the table. “Have a sit. Let’s talk.”
The team filled in the seats, though it was clear Iskra wasn’t entirely pleased about having to do this with the face of her daughter’s kidnapper hanging over them.
“Mr. Purcell, take that down, please.” Manche indicated the screens as he lowered himself into a chair. Without the glare of the monitors, the room darkened ominously. He sat straight, arms on the slick surface and fingers threaded. “I’ll be directing operations for Reaper until such time as the DIA and CIA can choose appropriate replacements for Iliescu and Braun. Any objections?”
Mercy folded her arms, eying the ops team that arced in and leaned against the walls. “Does it matter?”
“Not in the least, young lady,” Manche said curtly. “But I like to know what I’m dealing with coming into an active team.”
Leif wondered how the admiral’s abrasive nature would integrate with Reaper’s unique, dynamic personalities.
“We don’t have a lot of time for meet and greets, to stroke egos and wag tongues about who we like and who we don’t.” Manche’s expression was taut, focused. “Reaper—heck, the whole world—is faced with an enemy that isn’t slowing. Who has once again one-upped you. Anyone have a problem if we skip platitudes and get to work?”
“Prefer it, sir,” Leif said.