25. Ember
EMBER
SOMEDAY – NICKELBACK
Head down.
Senses alert.
Always ready for attack.
The mantra plays in my head as bustling traffic covers the sound of me trekking through the busy market. In all directions, local residents and tourists alike barter for their wares, haggling over fresh fruit, hand-carved souvenirs and all manner of intricately woven scarves.
My chin is tucked low, red hair concealed by a dark, woolly hat to protect against the chill. In Eastern Europe, the snow falls thick, and the temperature plummets when autumn surrenders to full-blown winter. I’m learning that first-hand.
“Come in, red. Any luck?”
“Affirmative,” I murmur quietly. “Electrical line secure.”
“Shit. Good work.”
“Did you doubt me?”
Hyland’s deep chuckle echoes through my earpiece. “Not for a second.”
“Well, I was trained by the best.”
Weaving through the chaos of Tallinn’s streets—despite the arctic weather—I keep a wary eye for any tails. We know this capital city belongs to Nolan Madden. He runs the black market behind its beautiful architecture, taking advantage of its strategic position on the northern coastline of Estonia.
Imports and exports.
That’s a polite way of saying that Madden is finishing what his son tried to stop him from starting in the first place. All this time, we’ve been focused on hunting down Gael, but he’s just one of many heads on this snake. A single spoke in a larger wheel.
I’m going to demolish that wheel.
By tooth and nail if necessary.
All this time, we’ve assumed Nolan Madden was squirrelled away by powerful friends. Perhaps we even feared that he would re-establish operations in a new country. After all, the web of human trafficking doesn’t belong to any one country. It isn’t a regional issue.
Wherever humans go, the need to exploit and profit off their suffering follows. This is a global scourge, irrespective of who comes from where. Every nation on the planet will have an underground flesh market, and it looks like Madden has established one of his own right here.
With a crackle, Fox’s voice whispers down the line. “We’re hacking into the fibre optic connection to access the building’s electrical mainframe.”
“In English?” I sigh.
“We’ll have control of any security cameras inside soon,” Rayna answers for her colleague. “Nice job, Ember.”
“Sorry it took so long. The wires weren’t easily accessible.”
“I did see some crazy Tarzan action on a drainpipe when the drone flew over.” Rayna giggles. “Did you almost fall?”
“Ugh. Please delete that video.”
“You got it.”
“Enough back slapping.” Warner sounds unhappy, even as a disembodied voice. “Shift your ass and get back here now, Em. We don’t have long to debrief.”
“Copy that, team leader.”
“You too, Madden.”
“What? Blaine?” I blurt.
“Like I was going to let you wander around an unknown city alone.” His suave, aristocratic drawl drills into my head. “I did enjoy watching you scale that drainpipe though, sweetheart.”
“You controlling fuck. This was my task!”
“And mine is to follow you. Move faster.”
“Obsessive son of a?—”
“Careful,” he warns. “You’re supposed to be stealthy right now.”
“I’ll show you fucking stealthy when I kick your overbearing ass.”
“Sounds intriguing.” He sighs pleasurably.
It’s a challenge to swallow the barrage of indignant insults I want to hurl back. Even more challenging not to whirl around and confront the invisible shadow lurking somewhere behind me. If we’re being surveilled, I can’t blow Blaine’s cover.
“How do we know it’s the right building?” I cough to cover my question.
“Shell corporation,” Warner volunteers. “Gunnar gave us the coordinates his research turned up, and the deed is registered to a nesting doll of companies. Sound familiar?”
“The Madden special.”
“Hey,” Blaine mumbles.
“It’s true.”
“Still, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a more elegant system. No false identities or documentation required. The companies are registered as subsidiaries that collapse into one another. Beautiful.”
“Fucking lovely,” Hyland grunts. “Where the hell are you both?”
“Coming,” I whisper.
The backstreets form a winding maze of cobbled stone beneath tall apartment buildings, all sealed tight to protect against the chill. I’m not an expert, but I can appreciate the eclectic blend of Soviet and Scandinavian architecture.
Only a few brave souls dash down the deserted streets, likely headed for the market to stock up on weekly produce. No one stops me during the half-mile walk back to our base of operations, tucked into a private home paid for entirely in cash.
The world’s least friendly welcome party awaits outside, wrapped up tight in thick, all-black layers to keep warm and conceal their weaponry. Neither Axel nor Gunnar look happy to be stuck in each other’s company while playing guard.
“You two survived a few hours without killing each other,” I remark jokingly.
“Barely.” Axel kicks at a clump of snow. “You good?”
“Fine. Didn’t know that I needed a shadow.”
“Apparently, we all do.” He glowers at his twin.
In response, Gunnar bares his teeth.
“See what I have to deal with?” Axel rolls his eyes.
“At least he isn’t trying to stab you anymore.” I lightly tap his shoulder. “How’s the wound?”
“Burns like a bitch.”
“Be glad I didn’t remove the whole arm.” Gunnar’s smile is far too animalistic.
“Gee, thanks,” Axel drones.
A plane ride with the pair of them trying to avoid another stabbing or going on a shooting spree was difficult enough. For a while, it looked like Axel would be willing to rip his stitches for the chance to hit his brother again.
I’m still not quite sure what to say to Axel, but I make a point of dropping a chaste kiss on his cheek. He’s been isolating himself, staying away from everyone, since the revelation at the hospital. Considering his flat, lifeless demeanour, it’s taking a toll. I’ve never seen him so sullen.
“On my way up, team leader.”
“Bring the twins in too,” Warner orders into my ear. “Don’t let them kill each other.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Ember.” There’s a warning in his tone.
“Yes?” I reply sweetly. “Problem?”
“Just… get up here. For fuck’s sake.”
“On my way.”
Hah. He loves being called that.
Waving for the two seething men to follow, I strip off my warm leather glove to tap in the security code then swing the building’s gated door open. Kade organised secure accommodation for us in Estonia, but I’ve yet to see another living soul on this block.
We traipse upstairs and into the spacious three-bed home currently occupied by Sabre’s might. Our two intelligence droids tap away on their laptops in the corner, surrounded by crushed energy drink cans, while the Falcon Team pour over stacks of building blueprints.
Looking up from his task, Kyle meets my eyes. I nod once, and to my relief, he nods back. We haven’t spoken since he essentially denounced my presence on this case, but at least he’s done arguing for my permanent expulsion. I’ll take that as progress.
Warner presides over the room, bulging arms tightly folded and face set in severe lines. He tugs the earpiece free upon seeing me and quickly scans over my body, searching for any injuries.
“Told you I could do it.” I twirl on the spot to give him a better look.
“Good work.” He smiles faintly. “What’s this about a drainpipe?”
“Ember unleashed her inner Cirque du Soleil acrobat.” Blaine strolls into the apartment, pulling off his baseball cap. “It was quite enthralling.”
“So you were following me.” I spin around to glare at him.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“And you didn’t help?”
“It looked like you had the situation perfectly under control.”
“I was halfway up a damn drainpipe!”
“While I had a wonderful view of your tight backside, wiggling in the air.” He winks at me.
With a spat curse, Hyland looks up at the ceiling as if searching for strength. “If I kill him abroad, I can’t be prosecuted. Right?”
“That’s still premeditated murder.” Warner sighs wearily. “Not even Tom can argue against extradition of a foreign agent who kills one of his own.”
“Great.” Hyland deflates.
Sauntering past the twins, Blaine shucks off a silky-looking, navy plaid scarf then cracks his neck from side to side. God, he shouldn’t look so at home in the chaos. It’s hardly fair.
“Alright, focus up.” Warner claps his hands together. “Let’s go over the plan.”
We all gather around the large, hewed wood dining table that dominates the high-ceilinged living room. It’s layered with organised stacks of maps and paperwork on one end, while a heap of corrugated ammo boxes fills the other.
Given the firepower we’re bringing in to get the job done, the directors needed time to clear our rescue operation with local authorities. I don’t know what kind of incentive Kade offered, but I’ve heard he’s a master negotiator.
“Thanks to our intelligence.” Warner nods towards Gunnar, however reluctantly. “We know that Nolan Madden has a centralised base of operations in downtown Tallinn, disguised as a legitimate storage and freight handling business.”
Rough fingers tangle with mine as a solid weight stops by my side. I look up at Hyland’s stony expression, our hands curling together naturally and without question.
“It seems he was aided in escaping our last investigation by our primary target, Antonio Gael.” Warner grimaces at that. “We’re anticipating that Gael intends to show up in Estonia to purchase Gracie Livingstone so he can eliminate her personally.”
“My sources confirmed that she is still alive and under Madden’s ownership,” Gunnar clarifies, lingering apart from our group. “They’re well paid and trustworthy.”
“With all due respect to your sources…”
“Not,” Hyland murmurs almost inaudibly.
“We have to perform our own verification,” Warner continues with a narrowed look in our direction. “Once we’ve secured the internal video feeds, I want Gracie’s location confirmed before any kind of rescue operation can be launched.”
“What if she’s not here?” I vocalise.