Chapter 5 #2
Eric flopped back on the ground and started to laugh.
Thankfully, it was a video conference.
Nikolett checked that from the chest up she looked poised and professional. No one needed to know that she was wearing track suit bottoms and instead of sitting at a desk, she was sitting in a comfortable chaise with her leg stretched out, a rolling hospital table serving as a desk.
She’d had X-rays earlier and the leg was healing well.
Keeping it elevated was no longer an issue of healing but more for her comfort.
She only had another week in the cast based on the X-rays, and the wounds were closed and healing, though still tender, she had ugly pink scars forming on both sides of her calf.
She needed out of the cast if only so Grigoris’ eye would stop twitching every time he saw her.
They’d managed to trace the purchase of the drone that dropped the bear trap to Istanbul, and while they didn’t know where the bear trap had been purchased, they now knew it was Russian-made used primarily in Siberia as defense against aggressive arctic predators.
The video call chimed as it connected, and a moment later, the grid of video feeds started to populate with faces.
Grigoris nodded, and Nikolett assumed that was at her.
He was in his office at his and Nyx’s home where he had multiple computers, even more monitors, and according to Nyx, a “serial killer board” that timelined the attacks.
Nikolett held her expression perfectly neutral as Eric appeared on screen. He looked…calm.
That was alarming.
Usually he looked either tense or relaxed, though the relaxation was usually a front.
A show he put on to place others at ease or hide what he was feeling.
But he could never mask the look in his eyes.
He could lean back in his chair, smile and laugh all he wanted, but she could always see the intensity in his gaze even if others apparently couldn’t.
The other rectangles populated with video feeds from other admirals, vice admirals, and security officers.
Everyone who’d had a run-in with the enemy known as the Spaniard.
Xavier and Colum were on screen, the room behind them clearly a high-end hotel. As far as Nikolett knew, they were still in America. Eric wanted Colum as far away from the archive in Dublin as possible until the Spaniard was caught.
Vadisk wasn’t in the meeting. Nikolett assumed he wouldn’t be, but it still hurt a little.
She missed her friend. He’d been with her through more than anyone else, even Nyx and Grigoris.
But he was married and a member of the Trinity Masters now.
He was cutting ties with his old life to focus on the new, and for his sake, she was happy.
He deserved love and the peace needed to enjoy that love.
But Colum was Colum, and despite his social awkwardness that read as standoffish, she’d learned that once someone asked him about a topic he knew a lot about or wanted to research, he could be the most loquacious person on earth.
And for some reason, he was talking about Ancient Rome.
“Caesar was actually the title of the heir, not the emperor. The emperor’s title was Augustus.
Technically not a title the way we’d be having it, but a piece of the imperial title, which, of course, included imperator.
The first emperor to use Augustus was Octavian.
And if you’re thinking ‘sure that’s grand, but why do we all say Caesar when talking about Rome,’ I’d have to be asking you which Rome? The monarchy, republic, or empire.”
“Colum—” Eric’s lips were twitching as he tried to cut the other man off.
“Octavian was named Augustus by the senate. Augustus—Augusti in the plural—was also used for minor gods. It’s of no small note that in the Annals of Ulster, yer man Brian Boru was referred to as August iartair tuaiscirt Eorpa uile, which translates to Augustus of the whole of north-west Europe.”
“That’s fascinat—”
Colum bowled right over Eric. Several people smiled.
“But of course, Augustus comes after Caesar, if we’re speaking chronologically. Octavius, who the senate named Augustus, was Julius Caesar’s grand-nephew.”
Nikolett was now weirdly invested in this information.
“But if you go back to the republic, you had consuls. Two heads of state. Why not three? Well, they did have the tresviri which were groups of three commissioned to be getting on with it. There’s an early precedent for the trinity idea there.”
“This is BCE?” Hande asked. That surprised Nikolett; she thought the other admiral would have been wild with impatience.
“Yes, the republic was 509-27 BCE. But it wasn’t just the consuls.” Colum’s mouth was curved up in a smile. He was handsome in that delicious, nerdy way. Maybe if Nikolett hadn’t definitely labeled him as “little brother” in her head, they could have made their marriage work.
Her gaze slid to Eric’s image. To the amused, exasperated expression on his face.
No, her marriage to Colum would have never worked, even if she could get past the pseudo-brother ick factor. Because looking at Eric made her heart race, and sadly, not solely with rage.
“But that’s when you have the dictator.”
“There’s a dictator now?” Hande asked, apparently as invested in this as Nikolett was.
“In times of crisis or war the consuls appointed a Master of the People—a dictator. The dictator ruled for only a year, but his authority was absolute because it existed outside the structure of the senate. Now, of course the most famous dictator is yer man Julius, who declared himself dictator perpetuo. Dictator in perpetuity, but that’s not what we’re talking about now. ”
“What are we talking about? Better yet, why are we—”
Again, Colum ignored Eric.
“When you think about it, in effect, there were three rulers of Rome—the two consuls, and when needed, the dictator. Also note that Caesar was part of the first triumvirate, and that’s why—”
A male hand clapped over Colum’s mouth, cutting him off.
Nikolett froze. Colum was being kidnapped, he was—
Xavier leaned into frame, whispering in Colum’s ear.
Nikolett relaxed. No kidnapping.
“Thank you, Xavier.” Eric looked exasperated, and it made him seem younger. “I hope everyone was paying attention. There will be a test on the politics of Ancient Rome later.”
A small chuckle rippled through the meeting.
After a few pleasantries, Eric sat forward, that familiar focused intention wrapped around him like a cloak.
“Colum, can you summarize?” Eric paused, then rushed to add, “The current situation, not anything about Ancient Rome.”
Colum, no longer with a hand over his mouth, adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.
“We’re currently under siege by a man known as the Spaniard. We have a description of the man based on an encounter in Crimea, but cannot independently verify that the man who referred to himself as the Spaniard is the Spaniard. It could be the name of a collective rather than an individual.”
“Let’s assume it’s one guy for simplicity,” Eric said.
Colum nodded before diving back in. “The Spaniard is described as a tall man with a distinct Spanish accent. He spoke Russian, but his fluency is in question.” Colum’s gaze shifted and Nikolett was sure he was looking at her.
“He said either ‘say hello to your admiral’ or ‘say hello to the admiral’ to Vadisk, a former security officer in Hungary, during the confrontation in Crimea. Based on subsequent attacks, the most logical assumption is that the Spaniard knew who Vadisk was, knew who his admiral was, and therefore the admiral in question is Admiral Varga.”
Nikolett kept her expression fixed at “mildly interested.”
“The greatest point of concern is what the Spaniard knows, and how he knows it. He appears to have orchestrated the situation in Crimea specifically to lure current Masters’ Admiralty members to a location that is difficult to get in and out of.
While he appears to be focused on Admiral Varga, he knows enough about the society as a whole that he knew about the archive.
Something not widely known even to members. ”
“What does he want?” Hande asked.
“We don’t know for certain. A team of professionals broke into the archive supposedly looking for the same manuscript we were pursuing. But the manuscript issue originated with a git name Dodge. Best we can figure, Dodge hired the Spaniard to help him find the manuscript.”
Colum paused, brows rising to meet his disheveled hair. “Dodge just happened to hire a man who knows far too much about our society to hunt down pieces of a book written by one of our members.”
“Too many coincidences,” Vicente, the security minister of Castille, said.
“I agree.” Eric crossed his arms, leaning on the desk. It made his muscles look huge, straining against his shirt.
Nikolett swallowed hard against the need that swelled in her. She wanted to feel those arms around her. Wanted to sink her teeth into them to muffle her screams as he made her come.
“He’s a member,” Hande declared. “A member from Castille.”
“Who has a vendetta against Hungary’s admiral?” Grigoris asked dubiously.
Vicente stiffened. “We’ve reviewed our membership records and cross-checked the location of anyone matching his description. No one fitting the Spaniard’s description was anywhere near Crimea.”
Hande opened her mouth to argue, but Eric shook his head.
“I trust that Castille reviewed their records and has ruled out all obvious suspects. The real question is what does he want?”
“His ongoing nuisance attacks on Admiral Varda indicate his goal isn’t necessarily assassination of an admiral. Or the admiral, if he thinks Admiral Varda is the single authority over the entire society.”