Chapter 34 #4
“Good men who want a fucking decent paycheck,” Bryan interrupts.
His eyes settle on Rhys. “I know what you and Lowbridge are shipping into the country at those ports, Stewart,” he says coldly.
“There’s no need to go telling us lies, like you did with Welch.
We don’t give a fuck what your business is, whether drugs, guns, or girls.
We’re not Luke Macarthur, pussy whipped by that psychotic Melikov bitch into some kind of misguided savior complex. ”
I tense, glancing sideways at Luke, only to find him openly grinning. Squeezing my hand, he gives me the ghost of a wink, and suddenly, I’m biting my lip to stop myself from laughing.
It’s always like this with him, I think, something warm and delicious uncurling inside me. Somehow he shines so bright that even the darkness seems lighter when he’s in it.
“We want in,” says one of the other men from Luke’s troop.
The group all nod vigorously.
“You hired Welch to run security,” Bryan says. “Well, we want to take over where he left off. Only we’re not just your hired guns, like Welch was. We want a piece of the fucking action.”
“Words don’t count for shit.” Kozlov glares around at them. “I need guarantees.”
“Then how’s this?” Bryan looks between Stewart and Kozlov.
“Tonight is our chance to take over Melikov’s entire operation.
She hired Luke Macarthur to run security.
He’s good, no doubt. But he’s no match for five of us.
We know how he operates, the way he thinks.
Take him out, along with that Irish fucker Paddy, and all Melikov has is a handful of half-trained dogs, all easy to put down. ”
“What about the sacred SAS brotherhood?” Rhys Stewart’s tone is light but incisive. “How do I know you won’t suddenly get struck by a fit of moral conscience and defect to Macarthur?”
Bryan turns stony eyes to him. “We’ve all been in the game too long to be bothered by a moral conscience, Stewart. Men like us only have one code: loyalty to each other. Any man who betrays that is no brother of ours. Not anymore.”
Stewart drops his eyes first. “Fair enough, then,” he says. He looks around at the group. “What’s your price? I will need to take this to Lowbridge.”
Bryan nods. “We’ll run your ports and oversee the movement of your product.”
I don’t miss the way Sophie blanches at the word product. Kozlov, noticing it, begins to regain his customary sneer.
My God, I think, seeing the faint gleam in her eyes. She did that on purpose. It’s a strange dissociation, like watching a younger version of myself I no longer relate to.
“We’ll train a whole private army, if you like,” Bryan is saying. “I guarantee you won’t find better operational security anywhere. And we’ll cover our tracks well enough to keep the NCA off your trail.”
“Half of London’s brass will be at the Quartier tonight.” Rhys Stewart frowns. “It’s not the wisest place for a takeover.”
“Unless,” Sophie begins. Then, biting her lip, she ducks her head as if aware she’s spoken out of turn.
Kozlov glares at her, but Stewart nods. “Go ahead,” he says. “If you have an idea, Sophie, I’d like to hear it.”
She takes a deep breath, as if she’s reaching deep for courage. I can’t help but admire her act.
“What if we could make the whole thing look like a government operation?” She glances up shyly, then looks down again.
“Zinaida and the home secretary meet regularly—it’s in her schedule.
If the home secretary asked Zinaida for an invitation to tonight’s ball, I’m sure Zinaida will give her one.
” She looks nervously around at the assembled men.
“By now, Niamh O’Connell will have told the home secretary the story I told her, about Zinaida being a trafficker and Simon being innocent.
” She turns to Rhys. “I could call Niamh and suggest the idea to her. Guests at the ball are all allowed to bring a plus-one. If the home secretary attends, she can bring Simon.”
Kozlov frowns in confusion. “How does that help us?”
Luke, beside me, shakes his head. “How the hell has this fucker survived so long?” He shoots me a wry look that makes me smile again.
Sophie, I think, watching my cousin with a mixture of admiration and sadness. That’s how.
Rhys gives him an impatient look. “Because the minute Melikov is taken down,” he says, “and we’ve made sure anyone who matters is safely several miles away, a hundred uniforms from Scotland Yard will show up, along with the press, and the home secretary and the minister for business and trade will stand in front of the cameras and talk about how, after a long and difficult covert operation, they just managed to shut down England’s darkest human trafficking operation.
The government will claim it as the biggest political coup of the decade. ”
“And they’ll have me,” Sophie says, and now there’s a glimmer of the underlying steel in her face. “I will tell a great story of blackmail and torture that will keep the press happy for weeks.”
“What about the other girls?” Bryan asks. “The ones at Sophie’s House now?”
Sophie looks up at him, her eyes cold and dead. “I guess,” she says flatly, “that we’ll just have to kill them all. You don’t have a problem with that, boys—do you?”
She, Kozlov, and Rhys all turn hard faces toward the special forces men.
“No, ma’am,” Bryan says slowly, staring back at them. “No problem here.”
The rest of the troop nod coldly.
To their credit, none of them so much as flinch.
“Let me understand this correctly.” The home secretary pins me down with steely gray eyes.
“I am to spend this evening at London’s most infamous club.
A club, I should add, that I’ve repeatedly told the media doesn’t exist at all, or at least, not to my knowledge.
” Her glare deepens. “Not only am I to attend your Winter Ball—which, I believe, culminates in debauchery that would shame a Roman emperor—but I am also expected to invite Simon Lowbridge, of all the despicable creatures, to accompany me. Please tell me if I’ve missed anything, Miss Melikov. ”
“Quite a bit, actually, Agatha.” Ignoring her raised eyebrows at the familiarity, I pour an enormous shot of whiskey into her coffee and raise my cup to her with a wink.
“I’m about to hand you Simon Lowbridge on a silver platter.
Along with Rhys Stewart—who, if you weren’t aware, has been working hand in fist with Lowbridge for some time. ”
“Stewart!” Agatha grimaces. “I should have known that seedy little spy had his hands in this. He was ambassador to Romania back in the day, you know.”
“I do know.” I slide a manila folder across the table to her. “This is a complete brief on everything we know about Lowbridge’s trafficking operations, Rhys Stewart’s involvement, and Minos, their cover company here in England.”
Bogdan Kozlov is a name you don’t need to know, since after tonight, he has no future to consider anyway.
“There’s enough in the file to have both Stewart and Lowbridge locked away for the rest of their lives.” I tap the folder. “It’s the kind of scandal which, should it be made public, would bring down the government—you included, despite the fact that you’ve done nothing wrong.”
Eyeing the manila folder like it’s a poisonous snake, Agatha takes a gulp of whiskey-infused coffee, then another. “A hard copy.” Her eyes flicker to mine. “I assume you have a reason for handing this over to me, Miss Melikov?”
I smile. “Consider it an act of goodwill. I have a digital copy, of course, but it’s safely stored somewhere it won’t ever be found, and I have no intention of sharing it.
” I take a measured sip of coffee, eyeing her over the cup.
“We both need Simon Lowbridge brought to heel, Agatha, but I can’t see how bringing down the entire government is of use to either of us.
I see far more value in a careful process of coercion, followed by the quiet withdrawal of Simon Lowbridge from the political scene. ”
Her eyes narrow. “Somehow, I doubt the press will swallow another story about a major London figure falling from a yacht, Zinaida.”
I hide my smile at her use of my first name.
“Simon Lowbridge and Rhys Stewart are assets I believe we can continue to use to our advantage when this is done. Some of their associates are another matter, but they don’t need to concern you.” My smile this time is a lot colder. Bogdan Kozlov is a dead man, regardless of how this night unfolds.
“Using men like Lowbridge and Stewart is dangerous, Zinaida.” Not even Agatha’s dignity can hide the concerned lines on her forehead. “They fight dirty. How can you be certain you can keep them under control?”
“Oh, I’m certain.” I give her a smooth, slightly chilling smile that effectively cuts her protests short.
“What I need to know is if you are prepared to play your part in tonight’s little performance.
I guarantee that if you do, your own reputation will remain completely free of stain—and that tonight will be the last time you will ever need worry about Simon Lowbridge. ”
Agatha frowns. Her eyes move between the folder and me. Finally she sits back in her chair and gives a curt nod.
“Very well, Miss Melikov. Tell me this plan of yours.” Eyeing the whiskey bottle, she pushes her cup across the table. “And don’t bother with the coffee this time.”
The rest of the day is filled with planning and discussion.
By the time we break for a rest in the late afternoon, before everyone comes back to begin the evening’s festivities, I’m tense and wired as a tightrope.
The staff file out of my office in the Quartier, leaving me and Luke alone for the first time in two weeks.
“I still don’t like the idea of you dancing on that stage at midnight.” He leans back against my desk, frowning, his arms folded.
“I’ll be fine.” I try not to stare at the corded muscles shaping his white shirt or the long, solid thighs beneath his black suit pants.
The long day of conspiratorial planning has breached the silence between us, but we’ve yet to truly lower our defenses.
I’ve remained oddly disassociated since watching Sophie’s performance with Kozlov.
It was jarring to recognize myself in her calculated coldness, to see her as others must see me.
Watching her retreat behind a mask so complete, and manipulate Kozlov with such cold precision, has left me feeling strangely vulnerable, as if she donned my own mask and left me unprotected against the world.
I watch Luke surreptitiously beneath lowered lids.
His protective concern is like a gentle tide washing up against what fragile defenses remain to me.
I want to throw myself into the sea of his care, uncaring of where the tide might take me.
But some old, stubborn sense of self-preservation still clings to the shore, unwilling to trust and unable to surrender.
And now is not the time, I think, studying Luke’s furrowed brow. Tonight we will both be running the greatest game I’ve ever dared. Whatever personal issues lie between us will need to wait until then.
“Do you really believe you can pull this off without disrupting the entire evening?” I meet his eyes and instantly regret it. Luke’s clear, brilliant blue-green gaze settles on mine like a penetrating laser, cutting straight through me to the longing inside.
“I know we can.” His curved half smile twists the pit of my stomach into a knot of fierce desire. “But before we go ahead, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”
He peels off the desk, and my breath catches in my throat. I’m half filled with longing, half with dread. I’m not ready for this conversation.
“I have an idea,” Luke says. “But it’s definitely one I need to run by you before I pitch it to Mak.”
“Mak?” I’m unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed at the change in conversation.
I’m also intrigued. “Go ahead,” I say.
“Well.” His smile has a hard, calculated edge to it that I find strangely thrilling. “I’ve been thinking about Lowbridge Inc.”