Chapter 2
The room was windowless, and an air-conditioned chill cooled the servers that hummed in the secure compartmental information facility buried deep below Guardian’s European hub.
Blake King sat in the single chair opposite the briefing table from the screen.
Though his posture was loose, his eyes were sharp.
Across the table, Anubis, the main Shadow coordinator, appeared on the screen.
“Havoc,” the man said by way of greeting.
“Anubis.” Blake nodded in return. “How’s the family?”
He’d been raised around Anubis’s daughter Kadey since she’d lived on his grandfather’s ranch. The girl was brilliant and currently in medical school with Blake’s sister, Beth.
“Healthy and happy, thank God,” Anubis said. “Saw your mom and dad last week. They were here for Amanda’s birthday. Your old man never ages.”
Blake laughed. “He’s too damn stubborn to give in to aging. I called Grandma on her birthday. Sounded like a good party.”
“It was. She’s an amazing woman.”
“Best grandmother in the world,” Blake agreed before refocusing. “Why am I here today?”
Anubis’ face disappeared, and a picture of a man appeared on the screen.
The man was in his late fifties, with iron-gray hair and the kind of smile that was cultivated for appearance.
The smile didn’t reach the man’s eyes. The eyes were where Blake focused.
They were ancient, as if the guy had seen far too much.
He’d seen that look in his fellow assassins and his own father’s eyes.
Below the picture was the name étienne Duval.
“Duval was a French investigative journalist,” Anubis said, his voice low, deliberate, carrying the weight of a man used to commanding assassins and expecting their complete obedience.
“Duval was one of our assets. He fed Guardian intelligence through his work. His articles disrupted trafficking networks in Marseille, exposed port corruption in Antwerp, and came close to gathering information that could dismantle the false charity fronts your target relies on.”
Anubis reappeared on the screen, and Blake shifted his gaze.
“And now, he’s dead.” Anubis’s expression didn’t flicker.
“The Belgian authorities called it an unfortunate mishap. An accidental fall into the water after too much wine at dinner. But Guardian did some checking. His blood alcohol content was zero. The reports were changed. Duval was eliminated.”
Blake cocked his head. “By?”
Anubis folded his hands. “Your target. Marek Zajac. Polish-born shipping magnate and philanthropist. He’s a beloved patron of maritime charities.
To the world, he’s a respectable businessman.
To us, he’s the linchpin connecting South American cartels to Europe.
Specifically, drugs and weapons. Lately, it’s been synthetic drugs that are passing through undetected.
They move through his shipping lanes. In order to get us the information to take to the Council, Duval got too close to the bastard.
He must have said or done something to put him on Zajac’s scope”.
“Zajac had him erased,” Blake concluded.
“Three weeks ago.”
“Was he able to provide the information the Council needed?”
“Yes, in part. Flack and Smithson were able to obtain the rest. Zajac has been coded.”
“Method?” Guardian knew how he killed. Up close and personal.
He used his knife and preferred to let the bastard know they were going to spend eternity running from him.
Guardian had other assassins who could make the kill appear to be an accident, but that wasn’t his forte.
He could do it, but he didn’t like to take the time to cover what he’d done.
In his opinion, a dead bastard didn’t deserve to have his death rewritten so people could mourn them.
“Silent, no other requirement.”
“Good.” Blake leaned back in his chair, absorbing the details.
Anubis continued, “Zajac divides his time between Antwerp and Budapest. Antwerp is his financial hub where his banks, shipping companies, and foundations are located. But Budapest is where he retreats. He owns a private compound outside the city. It’s under heavy security and secluded enough for meetings he doesn’t want on the record.
He visits at least once a quarter under the cover of ‘medical treatments’ for a chronic heart condition.
CCS has confirmed he does have angina. He’s also a hypochondriac.
Still, his pattern is consistent. The next trip to Budapest is expected in just over two months. ”
Blake’s mouth curved faintly. A predator’s anticipation. “You want him eliminated in Budapest.”
Anubis inclined his head. “Precisely. Antwerp is too exposed. Too many eyes. Too much political fallout. In Budapest, he feels secure. That arrogance is your opening.”
“What’s the window?” Blake asked.
“Three days, maximum. He travels with a rotation of security personnel, but the logistics lead, Januse Brzek, has been by his side for a decade. If you see Brzek, you’re close to Zajac.
Our intelligence suggests Zajac spends his first day at the compound in private consultations with his doctor.
Brzek usually visits his elderly mother after Zajac meets with his physicians. That will be your best chance.”
“And Brzek?”
Anubis sighed. “It’s unknown if Brzek is involved with the shipments, but given his proximity and knowledge of Zajac’s business, he could be complicit. He hasn’t been coded yet. Flack and Smithson are still working on that file.”
Blake nodded once. He knew what information he needed. The compound’s blueprints, terrain, guard rotations, and alarm systems. “I want Brzek’s mother’s address, too.”
“Why?”
“You never know when you might need a little leverage.”
“I’ll have CCS put that in your file.” Anubis typed something as he spoke.
Blake glanced at the date on his watch, mentally calculating the days available for travel and groundwork. He had plenty of time to case the compound and learn personnel routines and any vulnerabilities.
Anubis leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “There may be one complication.”
Blake sneered. “I fucking love complications.”
“Don’t we all. This one isn’t on the target’s scope, though, and we want to keep it that way.
Duval had a protégé. Her name is Elise Serra.
When Flack and Smithson were working on Zajac’s file for the Council, they noticed she’s been retracing Duval’s final steps.
She’s also nosing around Zajac’s charity front in Antwerp and recently attended a function.
She doesn’t know Duval worked for us; she only knows he died chasing a story.
If she continues, she may step into the same crosshairs. ”
Blake arched a brow. “You want me to take her out, too?” The humor in his voice was on purpose. He didn’t kill for the hell of it. He was a reasonable person. To an extent. Maybe. Sometimes.
Anubis’s laugh carried through the connection. “Fuck no. The opposite, actually. If she shows up, keep her out of the way and alive until Zajac is eliminated. After that, she’s no longer your concern.”
Blake nodded. “By out of the way, you mean tied up and secured in a location that can’t be tracked back to us.”
Anubis’s jaw dropped, and he shook his head. “Jesus, son, that is not what I mean. Take care of her like she’s your little sister.”
Blake’s jaw flexed. The thought of having his attention diverted from his target grated on his nerves. “That makes me itchy. I don’t like itchy. You know that. I’m not a babysitter.”
“No,” Anubis agreed softly. “You’re Havoc. And when Havoc moves, the world breaks. Keep her safe, scratch whatever itch is bothering you, hit your target, and walk away.”
Blake stared at Anubis. The gray at his temples was more pronounced than it had been when Blake had started work for Guardian. “You know, safe is a relative term.”
Anubis laughed again. “No, it really isn’t.
She’s an innocent. She’s lost her mentor.
From the information Smithson and Flack forwarded, she has one brother who lives in Ireland.
They don’t see each other often, and her telephone records show they don’t talk regularly.
She’s basically alone and probably wants answers.
Keep her from harm, Havoc. Seriously, how hard could it be? ”
Blake tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling. “You could send someone else to babysit her while I do my job. Raven’s good at that shit. She’s a fucking social butterfly.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? However, we’re currently stretched to the limit. We have an active mission in Africa, and three others are gearing up to take up the slack. Raven has her own file. On this one, you’re alone. If you need help, we can send a team to rescue your ass.”
“No offense, but fuck you, Uncle Kaeden. I won’t need help.” Blake flipped off his honorary uncle without any menace. “Marek Zajac’s days are numbered.”
“I knew you could handle one curious woman and a single target. I’ll send the files on the compound, personnel working there, and all information Smithson and Flack have put together to your secure email.
Also, Rook will free up before you go for your target, and he’ll be there to assist if needed. ”
“Thanks.” Blake deadpanned. “Are you sure I can’t duct tape her to a chair?”
Anubis chuckled. “Seriously, how much trouble could one reporter cause?”
Blake flipped the man off again, and Anubis laughed as he cut the transmission.
Standing, Blake stretched his arms out. Hopefully, the woman avoided anything related to his target.
Anubis had said she was in Antwerp, not Budapest. He rolled his eyes.
He could hear his father’s voice in his head.
“If shit can go wrong, it will. Plan for every fucking contingency if you want to live.”
Plan for a fucking nosy, pissed off reporter. Blake opened the secure door. Just how in the hell would I do that? Ropes and a secure room sounded like one hell of a good plan. Anubis wouldn’t need to know, would he?