Chapter 31 #2
It’s a bit late for that. I understand how Eva was coerced into betraying Zinaida’s movements to Kozlov.
She’s shown me the Minos brand on her shoulder, the coarse bull’s head symbol burned into her flesh as if she was a beast sold at market.
She’s told me about the friends still held captive, one released every time she trades information, and about the constant threat she’s faced of being recaptured and forced into slavery.
About the threats to bomb Sophie’s House and torture Zinaida herself.
I know Eva truly believes she had no choice. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a choice now either. She just hasn’t realized it yet.
I try to maintain a steady tone. “You can’t go back to work at Sophie’s House, Eva. Not until we’ve spoken to Zinaida. I will face her with you, and I swear I will keep you safe, but the life you’ve been living is at an end. You must know that,” I finish gently.
Her face is still turned away from me. I watch a lone tear track down her cheek and drip onto her coat.
“Where am I supposed to go now?” Her voice is small and defeated, and despite my relief to finally know who’s been leaking the information, I feel no triumph at all, only sadness.
“I can give you a night,” I say. “One of the Sophie’s House emergency suites is empty.
We can put you there for one night.” I inwardly grimace, but force myself to go on.
“Sal and Ana will have to be told,” I say gently.
“And I’m afraid you’ll be watched quite closely, which I’m sure you can understand.
But at least it will give you time to have some sleep and collect yourself. ”
Not to mention time for me to prepare Zinaida for a very uncomfortable truth.
Of all the possible candidates Zin has considered as being the traitor in her operation, I know Eva is the last person she suspects—and the betrayal that will hurt her the most.
“Sophie’s House.” She shudders beneath her jacket. “What about Sal and Ana? They’ll want to kill me too, when they know it was me who told Kozlov about Avonmouth.”
“They won’t be happy, Eva, it’s true.” She turns to meet my eyes, her expression so defeated and helpless it’s impossible to feel anything other than pity.
“But when we tell them what Kozlov threatened you with, they will understand, just like I do. You’ll be safe, for tonight at least. And tomorrow, we’ll talk to Zin together and make a plan. ”
She sniffs tremulously. “Are you sure?” The wary hope in her eyes cuts me inside and makes me want to murder animals like Kozlov.
“I’m sure.” I do my best to inject my smile with reassurance. “I’m going to call Sal now and tell her we’re coming. I’ll explain enough to her that you won’t have to answer difficult questions—at least, not tonight. Okay?”
Eva nods, looking marginally more at ease.
I stand up. “Stay here,” I say. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
I walk far enough away to be out of earshot, but close enough that I can still take Eva if she tries to run. I’m well aware the latter is a distinct possibility.
“McTasty,” Sal greets me, to a chorus of hoots in the background.
“Christ,” I say. “Not you, too.”
“Too late, my boy,” Sal says cheerfully. “The virus has spread. Your fate has been decided.”
“Good to know.” I watch Eva. “Much as I’d love to return the favor by informing you of all the names Paddy has created for you, unfortunately, this is a business call. Can you take this somewhere more private?”
“Copy.” Her tone alters immediately. A moment later she says, “Go ahead.”
“I need to put Eva in the emergency suite tonight. And I need you and Ana to make sure she stays there.”
“Eva?” Sal doesn’t attempt to hide her shock. “Oh, fuck. You mean it’s her? The leaks?”
“I need to speak to Zin before I go into any details.” I avoid the question.
“And I also need to know that she will be safe. You and Ana have seen enough to understand the impossible pressure she’s been under.
There’s still a lot we don’t know, and I don’t want to scare her off because, chances are, we’re going to be relying on her cooperation to get to the bottom of this.
Can you give me your word you’ll let her have a good night of rest before she faces Zin tomorrow? ”
“Of course,” she answers promptly. “I’ll meet you at the side entrance we use for extreme cases, and Ana and I will run security ourselves. You have my word that she’ll be safe, Luke.”
“Thank you.” I stare at Eva’s bowed head. “I know it isn’t easy, but she’s not in a good way, Sal. The last thing she needs is more intimidation.”
“Understood.” Her tone isn’t without compassion. “Bring her in, Luke. We’ll take care of her.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m not so sure how Zin will take it, though.”
No shit.
I keep my voice even. “Leave Zin to me, Sal. And as I said, keep this tight. You and Ana. Not a word to Zin until I’ve had a chance to fully brief her.”
Unfortunately, briefing Zinaida turns out to be less than straightforward.
A frigid evening has fallen by the time I see Eva settled in the suite and straddle the bike to head back to my apartment. I sit in the darkness and stare at my phone screen.
Zinaida has missed three calls, including one I placed from the Sophie’s House switchboard, and she hasn’t answered any of my increasingly annoyed text messages.
The only reason I haven’t hit the emergency protocol is because a call to Charlie confirmed that she’s waiting outside a Soho warehouse, where Zinaida is at a dress fitting.
I know the place; it’s one of the many businesses Zinaida supports that is owned and operated by an ex-dancer from the Quartier.
Pick up your phone, I text her, not attempting to hide my frustration. We’ve found the leak.
I stare at the screen for a full five minutes, but the message remains unread.
With only days to go until the Winter Ball, I know she’s frantically busy. But that doesn’t excuse her ignoring a security call.
Fuck this.
I call Mak.
“Luke, my friend,” he greets me. For once, there are no sounds of chaos in the background. “Funny you should call. I’ve just landed in London in preparation for the Winter Ball.”
I can almost hear him rubbing his hands together in anticipation. I grin despite my lack of good humor. “I’ll be sure to alert Zin’s dancers to your impending arrival.”
“Ha.” Mak pauses. “What’s up?”
“I’ve found the leak.” I say it without preamble.
“Copy. Go on.”
“I’m sending you a summary now, with everything I know at this stage.” I pause, grimacing as I hit the send button.
This is going to be fucking awkward.
“With the ball tomorrow night, Zinaida’s schedule is extremely hectic,” I say carefully.
“I’ve sent her the same summary I’m sending you.
I’d hoped to debrief her fully today, but she’s been unreachable over the past few hours.
Unfortunately, I’ve got a private commitment this evening.
She may find it difficult to reach me later tonight, so if you’re in London, would you mind being named as the contact for any questions she might have? ”
“Ah.” Mak’s somber tone, followed by an uncharacteristically long silence, is confirmation, if I needed it, that he’s well aware something is badly off. “I take it you and Miss Melikov are not quite as . . . close as when we met in Spain?”
“No.” My answer is harsher than intended. “No, we definitely are not.”
“I see,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry to hear that, Luke.”
The worst thing is, I can hear the sincerity in his voice.
“She’ll likely call,” I say curtly. “Make sure you answer when she does. She needs to know what is going on, sooner rather than later.”
“Of course.”
I hang up without a formal goodbye, call the security team to make sure everything is covered for the night, and confirm Zinaida’s whereabouts and that she is safe.
Then I pull my helmet on, kick the Ninja into life, and turn my fucking phone off.
I can’t brief someone who is determined to ignore me.
For tonight, at least, I plan to get good and drunk, talk bullshit war stories, and do my best to drive Zinaida fucking Melikov out of my mind.
Even if I am horribly aware that, so far, I’ve been unable to forget her for even five minutes.
Let alone for the rest of my life.
“I thought we were gone for sure that day.” Major Ian Welch, our former instructor, better known to us all as the Sandman, grins at me across the table.
“Until Macarthur came over that ridge and started blowing everything hell west and crooked.” He raises his beer to me, then downs the entire pint in a long draft and refills it from one of the jugs on the table.
He’s been telling stories all evening, most of which seem, for some reason I can’t yet work out, to feature me.
It’s starting to get uncomfortable.
“You still doing private contract work, Luke?” one of the other men asks.
“Yep,” I say shortly without elaborating.
“Not me,” says another. “Had enough of sandboxes to last me a lifetime.”
Paddy, shooting me a sideways look, raises his glass to the table. “Here’s to that, o chara. Happy is the man on fields of green, no?”
“Aye,” says Bryan, one of the Scottish lads from our troop. “I’ll drink to that.”
We drink. We’re sitting in a pub in Knightsbridge where phones are banned and SAS veterans are encouraged.
It’s a well-enough-kept secret that military fanboys haven’t yet discovered it.
The private back room, where we’re currently drinking, is by reservation only.
Photos of various troops are pinned to the walls.
It’s tradition that when the last man in a troop has left the forces, a photo goes up on the wall here.
Tonight our troop photo has just been pinned into place, the youngest member, the stocky Scotsman who just drank to Paddy’s toast, being the final one of us to have handed in his cap.
Paddy, in his inimitable fashion, has thrown darts with terrifying precision to make a frame around the photo.