Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Catya didn’t like leaving Madison after all she’d been through, but they had to move on. If she’d felt the least bit uncomfortable passing the reigns to Hank and Sadie, Catya would have stayed with Madison until her father got better, disk data be damned.
Before they left the hospital, Sadie set Madison at ease. Hank checked on Atkins’s status. All was as well as could be expected with a gunshot wound to the gut.
Fearghas and Catya took the train back to Brussels and were met at the station by Ace in a rented sedan.
Catya insisted on Fearghas sitting up front with Ace. She could eavesdrop on their conversation from the backseat.
“Any closer to deciphering the encryption?” Fearghas asked as he slid into the sedan and buckled his seatbelt.
Catya leaned close to the back of Ace’s seat.
Fearghas’s boss shook his head as he pulled away from the station, heading back to Lucie’s apartment. “Dmytro’s friend Lucie has been working nonstop since we left. She’s tried everything she knows and then some additional techniques she learned from online friends. Now, she’s working some dark web magic, hoping to break through.”
“We need to get into that data,” Fearghas said. “I bet it points to the people responsible for what’s been happening.”
Catya agreed. Whoever wanted that disk knew it contained important data. Maybe even damning information for criminals disguising themselves as patriots and trusted government officials. Folks who would kill to keep that information from being shared with the wrong people.
Jasmine led them into the basement apartment where Dmytro and Lucie huddled around the monitors, both talking at once.
Ace and Fearghas hurried to join them.
“Anything?” Fearghas asked.
Catya came to stand beside him.
Jasmine joined Ace.
“Just got an IP address from the Trojan I added to the disk,” Lucie said. “Searching for that IP address now.”
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and she clicked the mouse several times before she paused, her eyes narrowing. “The IP address is in London. I’m trying to locate the name of the owner or renter.”
She clicked more keys and sat back. “I have the name Casandra Miles as the owner of that IP address. The street address is in London. A flat a couple blocks off the Thames close to 10 Downing Street.” She glanced up at Fearghas.
“The Prime Minister has an office at 10 Downing Street,” Fearghas said. “Everyone knows that. But having a flat nearby doesn’t mean the Prime Minister has the disk.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Ace said. “Who is Cassandra Miles?”
More keyboard clicking commenced. Moments later, Lucie’s fingers stilled. “Cassandra Miles appears in a number of magazines and London tabloids.”
“ That Cassandra Miles?” Fearghas shook his head.
Catya turned to him. “You know her?”
“Not personally. Lucie’s right, though. Cassandra Miles is a notorious London socialite who frequents formal state and royal gatherings,” Fearghas said. “Her name and face are in the tabloids often with her latest male escort, usually a Cabinet minister.”
Lucie brought up an image of a striking woman with bleached-blond hair, wearing a designer formal dress and dripping in diamonds and gemstones. “Here she is attending a state dinner at the palace with the Prime Minister, the King and the Queen Consort.”
Despite being in the company of royals, the woman took center stage in the group, her makeup flawless and her lipstick a bright red slash across her beautiful face.
Catya couldn’t tell exactly how old the woman was. She could be anywhere between her late thirties and fifty with her flawless skin and lack of wrinkles.
Lucie switched to another photograph. “Here’s another picture of her printed in The Sun.”
Cassandra Miles stood in the middle of a group of men, all wearing tuxedos. She wore a shimmering silver dress that hugged her body from her breasts down to her thighs before it flared out at her feet.
“She likes an audience,” Fearghas said.
“Who are the people with her in the photograph?” Jasmine asked.
Fearghas leaned closer. “You’ll recognize the Prime Minister, Kenneth Needham, on her left.” He pointed to the man on Cassandra’s right. “The Deputy Prime Minister, Reginald Blackhurst, is on her right.” His brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure of the guy to the Deputy’s far right. He looks familiar.”
“And he should…” Lucie opened a new screen on her computer and moved the display to one of the monitors. “That’s Lord Jonathan Stanhope, one of the richest men in Europe.”
“The same Stanhope who owns the tabloids, most of the shipping industry in Europe and has connections across the globe?” Catya asked.
Lucie nodded. “Looks like it.”
“Why would Ms. Miles move in those circles?” Jasmine shook her head. “What does she hope to gain?”
“Everything,” Fearghas said. “She inherited money from her late husband. If she gets on the right side of Stanhope, she stands to increase her investments exponentially.”
“I knew there was a good reason for us to have you on the team,” Ace said. “Besides getting us out of a compound in Greece, you know the British pecking order.”
“I don’t know about that,” Fearghas said. “I’ve been away awhile. Things can change quickly on the political front.”
“We’ll have Dmytro work with our other computer guy back in Montana to see if they can dig up any dirt on Miles and Stanhope,” Ace said.
“Have them look at all the people she’s been seen with recently,” Fearghas said, “and if she has any connections with anyone in MI6.”
Catya’s hands curled into fists. “Don’t underestimate her just because she’s female. If she is the one who sent people out to kill Gia Rosolino and my parents, just to get that disk, she’s dangerous and has an army of killers at her disposal.”
“Which brings us back to the question of why she would want the disk…” Ace said.
“And why MI6 sent me and Atkins in to kill Gia.” Catya frowned. “Does the Miles woman have a mole in MI6? Or was someone in MI6 trying to get that information back to keep from exposing people doing bad things in high places? Perhaps Cassandra Miles got to it first.”
“Maybe she made a grab for the disk to use it as leverage to get what she wants from the people determined to get it back,” Fearghas said.
“We really need to see what’s on that disk,” Ace said.
“I am working on it,” Lucie said. “You know, if Cassandra Miles stole the disk, she might not have the password as well. Even if she does, it could take her just as much time, if not more, for her computer people to decrypt the data.”
“Less talking,” Dmytro barked. “More decrypting.”
Lucie cast a side-eye at Dmytro. “Grumpy bastard, aren’t you?”
Dmytro crossed to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You know I care about you. Just focus and do the best you can. I believe in you.”
Lucie reached over her shoulder and patted Dmytro’s hand. “For you, I would do anything.” She went back to work trying to decrypt the data.
“We need to go to London,” Fearghas said. “The sooner the better.”
Catya nodded. “Yes. We need to follow Cassandra Miles and see who she is consorting with. We need to know whether the team of killers belongs to her or if someone’s manipulating her. Either way, we need to observe and know for certain.”
“Agreed,” Ace said. “Dmytro, can you fly your plane into the UK?”
Dmytro nodded. “I can have it topped off and ready to go in less than an hour.”
Ace glanced at his watch. “Good. If everyone is ready, we can leave in five minutes.”
“Do not mind me,” Lucie said with a wave of her hand over her shoulder. “I’ll be here, working on the decryption.”
“I would take you, but it will be dangerous,” Dmytro said.
Lucie glanced back at the big man. “I have no desire to be a bullet catcher. I like my internal organs just where they are. Now, once we get this figured out, I would enjoy a trip to London on your plane.” She grinned at Dmytro. “There is a pub that makes the best fish and chips I have eaten anywhere—and the bands play heavy metal.”
Dmytro shook his head. “I’ll get you there, but you’ll have to go in alone. I do not need heavy metal music to make my head hurt.”
“You do not know what you are missing,” Lucie said, turning back to her monitors.
“I know exactly what I would be missing,” Dmytro grumbled. He faced Ace and Fearghas. “I have contacts in London who can arm you with weapons and false passports. If there is a special state event, he can even get you on the invitation list.”
Lucie called over her shoulder, “There’s a state event happening in three weeks at Windsor Castle in Berkshire. Wait,” Lucie clicked several keys and grinned. “Lord Stanhope is hosting a gala at his French Chateau in Buckinghamshire three days from now. He’s entertaining royalty, cabinet ministers and representatives of countries from all over the world.”
“Let’s get to London and take it from there,” Ace said.
“What about our weapons?” Jasmine asked.
“Bring them,” Dmytro said. “I have a place to put them on the plane where they won’t be found.”
They gathered the handguns, rifles and a submachine gun and packed them into Ace’s duffel bag.
“Lucie,” Ace said, pausing behind her chair, “thank you for helping us.”
“You are welcome. I will continue to work the decryption. I have yours and Dmytro’s numbers. I will let you know when I get through, and I will let you know if anyone else accesses the disk.” She pushed to her feet and hugged Dmytro. “Do not get yourself killed, my friend.”
“ Aye, mo ghràdh .” Dmytro hugged her tightly.
“Tell your wife and daughter that I miss them.”
“You will come to visit us in Zurich?”
Lucie nodded. “I will as soon as you are settled. Hopefully, your daughter will be back from Los Angeles.”
Dmytro’s lips thinned. “My girl is chasing dreams.”
“I hope she catches them,” Lucie said. “Now, go so I can get back to work.”
Fearghas slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.
Catya followed him out to the sedan. Dmytro rode in the front passenger seat next to Ace. Fearghas held the door for Jasmine and Catya to slide into the back seat and then climbed in beside Catya.
They rode in silence to the airport, where Dmytro performed his pre-flight check and filed his flight plan.
Soon, they were on their way, flying across the channel to England.
Catya had spent more time with people than she had in a very long time. At first, she’d been anxious, ready to be away, alone again. After so many years of looking over her shoulder, she had difficulty trusting others.
Being around Fearghas, Ace, Dmytro, Jasmine and Lucie, Catya could see how willingly they trusted each other, and even relied on each other to come through for them. Lucie’s hero-worship of Dmytro spoke of her love for the big man and Dmytro’s dedication to seeing that Lucie was safe from whatever trauma she’d experienced in her past.
Catya had grown up as the only child of a pair of Russian spies. She’d been raised to rely on herself and to never trust anyone else with her wellbeing.
She cast a glance toward Fearghas. The man wanted her in his life. She wanted to be with him. Why couldn’t she allow herself to be with him? He’d stated over and over that he could take care of himself. Couldn’t she take him at his word and just live a life worth living with him?
He reached over and took her hand in his as the plane took them to the next dangerous mission.
Could she live with herself if something happened to him because of her?
Now that they were back together, could she live without him?
Fearghas held Catya’s hand all the way to London. Rain fell steadily as they taxied to the general aviation terminal and were guided to a stop on the tarmac.
No sooner had Dmytro shut down the engines than a UK customs agent appeared outside the aircraft.
Dmytro climbed out of the cockpit. “Do not worry. Let me have your passports. I will handle customs.”
Fearghas handed over his passport as did Jasmine and Ace. Catya dug into her backpack and shuffled through a handful of passports in various colors and languages, coming up with one. She handed it to Dmytro.
He flipped it open and cocked an eyebrow. “Natalie Gooding from Portland, Oregon?”
“Born and raised there,” she said in a perfect Pacific Northwest American accent.
Fearghas grinned.
Dmytro nodded and opened the hatch, lowering the stairs to the ground. He descended to the tarmac and stood in the rain with the customs agent.
When the man asked for the passports, Dmytro handed them over. He waved for his passengers to exit the plane.
As they stood in the cold rain, the agent glanced at each one of them individually, stamped their passports, handed the passports to Dmytro and left in a hurry.
A van arrived on the tarmac, stopping next to the plane. The driver handed the keys to Dmytro and walked back to the terminal.
Ace and Dmytro quickly transferred their “luggage” from the plane into the back of the van while the others got in and found a seat.
Fearghas shook the raindrops from his hair, wiped his hand over his face and glanced at Catya.
Her dark hair lay plastered to her head, and raindrops clung to her thick eyelashes. She shivered.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I am.” Catya gave him a quick smile. “Is this what they call liquid sunshine?”
He nodded. “A beautiful day in Great Britain.”
“I like Athens better,” she murmured.
Dmytro climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Where to from here?” Ace asked as he settled in the front passenger seat.
“To my contact’s warehouse in south London,” Dmytro said. “We’ll need more than weapons if we’re going to spy on people.”
Ace shook his head. “Is there any place you don’t have contacts?”
Dmytro shrugged. “It helps to have friends in this business.”
Ace nodded. “Yes, it does.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Speaking of friends, I need to let Hank know we made it here and see how Atkins is doing.”
Dmytro drove out of the airport as Ace placed the call.
Fearghas strained to hear Ace’s side of the conversation, but road and rain noise made it impossible.
He took Catya’s cold hand in his and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He’d slept a little on the flight. When he’d been in the SAS, he’d learned to sleep whenever he had a chance. If they were going to follow Cassandra Miles, it could mean staking out her apartment for long, boring hours, and he'd need to remain awake.
All too soon, the van slowed to a stop in front of a brick warehouse with two large overhead doors.
Dmytro pulled out his cell phone, sent a text and waited.
Moments later, one of the doors rolled upward. When it was just high enough, Dmytro drove the van inside the dark interior.
As soon as the door rolled down behind them, lights blinked on, and a barrel-chested man with a shock of white hair appeared beside the van.
Dmytro stepped out, grinning.
Immediately, the man engulfed him in a tight hug, pounding his back again and again, speaking in a language that sounded a lot like Russian.
“He’s Ukrainian,” Catya whispered.
Jasmine slid the van door open and climbed out.
Fearghas and Catya followed.
Dmytro and his friend stepped back.
“This is my cousin, Ivan,” Dmytro said.
Ivan opened his arms wide. “Welcome to London. Come. Come. You need sustenance.” He waved them through a door into another part of the warehouse that had been converted into living quarters.
The smell of cooking food filled the air, making Fearghas’s stomach rumble. They’d snacked at the hospital, but it had been a while since they’d had a full meal.
Ivan led them into a room with a kitchen and a long table made from an old door that had been sanded smooth. Benches lined each side of the table.
A thick woman wearing a cotton dress and an apron turned, smiling. She said something in Russian and waved a wooden spoon toward the table.
“Sit. Sit,” Ivan said. “Food is ready. My wife, Anya.”
Fearghas smiled at the woman and waited until Catya climbed over the bench and settled in front of a deep, chipped bowl, mismatched silverware and a plastic cup.
Fearghas slid onto the bench beside her.
Ace and Jasmine sat across from Fearghas and Catya. Dmytro sat on the other side of Jasmine, and Ivan pulled a chair up to the end of the table and sat.
Anya poured the contents of a stockpot into a huge bowl and grabbed a ladle from the counter. She carried the bowl to the table and scooped heaping helpings of what appeared to be goulash into the bowls in front of each person at the table.
“It is not much,” Ivan patted his belly, “but it is good.”
Anya set the big bowl in the middle of the table, laid a basket full of bread rolls beside it and pulled up a chair at the opposite end of the big table from Ivan.
“Eat,” Ivan said in a booming voice. “Eat.”
Fearghas didn’t have to be told twice. He dug into the thick meat stew and took the first bite, swallowing a moan of pleasure.
Catya didn’t hold back. She took a bite, closed her eyes and moaned softly.
“Good, yes?” Ivan laughed. “My Anya is the best.” He said something in Russian.
Anya’s cheeks blushed a pretty pink.
Fearghas ate every bit of the goulash and two of the bread rolls.
Catya did the same.
By the time everyone had finished the meal, they were fat, happy and ready to deal.
Fearghas rose from the table and collected Catya’s bowl, carrying it to the sink beside the stove.
“Leave it,” Ivan said. “Anya will take care of it. We have other work to do.”
Anya appeared beside him as Fearghas set the bowls in the sink.
“Thank you, Anya,” Fearghas said. “It was good.”
Anya’s brow wrinkled.
Fearghas rubbed his belly and grinned. “Good.”
“Ah,” she said. “Good.” Anya nodded several times and went back to the table to collect the rest of the dishes.
Jasmine, Ace and Dmytro rose from the table.
“Come,” Ivan said. He led the way to a wall with a bookshelf filled with old books that could have been published in the early nineteenth century. Ivan tipped the first novel on the third shelf.
The shelf shuddered. Ivan gave it a push, and the wall and shelf swung inward to reveal a hidden passage lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Ivan led them down the passage to a door at the end. He pulled a key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock and twisted. The door swung open to a darkened room.
Ivan reached inside and flipped a switch. Lights blinked on. He stepped into a room lined with cabinets and drawers. “Take what you will need.”
Dmytro leaned close to Ace. “It will cost. My cousin is a businessman.”
Ace nodded. “My boss will pay.” He turned to Ivan.
Thirty minutes later, Ace had selected long-distance listening devices, a camera with a long-range lens, C-4 with detonators, and ammunition for the weapons they’d brought with them from Belgium.
Ivan promised to help them should they need to be added to any guest lists for upcoming events involving government officials, celebrities, or foreign dignitaries.
Loaded down with what they needed to spy on Cassandra Miles and anyone else she might be associated with, the team thanked Ivan and his wife, climbed into the van and left the warehouse in South London, heading out as darkness blanketed the streets.
The rain had transitioned into a heavy mist.
Streetlights made small circles of yellow light on corners.
“We need to set up surveillance on Cassandra Miles’s apartment,” Ace said.
“I’ll do that,” Fearghas said.
“ We will do that,” Catya corrected.
“You’ll need a vehicle,” Ace said.
They headed back to the airport, where Fearghas rented a small car.
He and Catya would stake out Cassandra Miles’s flat and follow her wherever she went.
Ace, Jasmine and Dmytro would rent a room nearby and rest to take the day shift.
Fearghas drove from the airport to the address Lucie had given them for Cassandra Miles’s flat in London.
Finding a legal place to park was a challenge. Fearghas ended up parking just around the corner from Cassandra’s flat in a no-parking zone. Far enough away to be out of sight, yet close enough he could run back should the police find it and make a fuss over his choice of a parking location.
They walked to the corner where they could observe the flat without drawing too much attention to themselves.
Fearghas took a position leaning against the corner of a building, thankful the mist had abated, and his jacket kept him warm enough for the moment.
Catya leaned against the wall next to him and crossed her ankles. “Best goulash I have ever eaten.”
“Same,” Fearghas said. “Not Ukrainian, was it?”
Catya shook her head. “Ivan and Anya might be Ukrainian, but that was German goulash.” She rested a hand on her midsection. “No matter. German, Russian, Hungarian... It was good goulash.”
Fearghas studied the building across the street from where they stood. “Do you think Cassandra Miles sent those people to kill your parents or Gia Rosolino?”
Catya crossed her arms over her chest. “In my experience, women can be as ruthless as men. Do I think Cassandra Miles sent those men to kill us?” She shook her head. “The fact is, I don’t know.”
Fearghas nodded. “Me either. Cassandra has remained in the limelight along with many members of the different cabinets.”
“Until we witness a flagrant action, we can’t move,” Catya said. “We cannot assume Cassandra is involved in what has been going on.”
“At some point, we’ll need to pull her aside and ask her the hard questions, like, did you send armed assassins to Bruges to kill a man and woman to gain possession of a small disk the size of a man’s thumb?”
Catya leaned her head over and stared up into Fearghas’s eyes. “I don’t know if she’s involved or not.”
“Maybe when we see her in person,” Fearghas said, “we’ll get a better idea of her involvement.”
“I hope so,” Catya said. “If she’s not involved, we need to find other places to look. The time we have left to nail this investigation, and the people involved, is short and getting shorter.”
Movement out of the corner of his eye made Fearghas turn his head in the direction of Cassandra’s apartment. “We have company.”
Catya stiffened and moved into a ready stance, muscles bunched for fight or flight.
A sleek black limousine rolled to a stop outside Cassandra Miles’s place.
A man exited the building, his gaze darting right, then left and right again. He climbed into the front passenger seat and glanced over his shoulder in Catya’s direction.
Catya muttered a curse. “He’s looking this way.” She stepped into his arms. “Kiss me.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Fearghas pulled Catya into his arms and kissed her long and hard, his mouth claiming hers.
For a moment, she lost track of their mission, their purpose for standing on the corner and sank into his kiss. Her hands slid up his chest and locked around the back of his neck, urging him to take more.
His tongue dove between her lips and swept across hers in a languid caress that set her blood on fire.
Fearghas was the first to break the connection. “The car is leaving. It’s time for us to move,” Fearghas said. “Will you be okay with staying here and watching which way he goes while I get the car?”
She nodded, her lips and mind a little numb and tingly. His kisses were dangerous. They scrambled her thoughts and destroyed her focus.
“Go,” she said and forced her gaze to the limousine pulling away from the curb.
Fearghas ducked around the corner, his footsteps pounding the pavement as he ran to where he’d parked the car. He was back in seconds, the rental car pulling up next to Catya.
She jumped in. “They turned right on the next street. If we hurry, we won’t lose them. Douse the headlights. We don’t want them to know we’re following. Did you get a good look at the man?”
Fearghas nodded, his brow furrowing. “If I’m not mistaken, that man was Reginald Blackhurst, the Deputy Prime Minister.”
“Interesting,” Catya said, her eyes narrowing. “Just how deep into the government does the betrayal go?”
“I don’t know,” Fearghas said, his jaw tight. “But we’re going to find out.”