Chapter 7 Con
CON
Ibroke the fragile moment by stepping back, suddenly aware of our proximity in the dimly lit corridor. “Lex, about dinner…I apologize if I upset you.”
She crossed her arms, her expression guarded. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing. You left rather abruptly.” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated at how poorly this conversation was going. “Look, I only accessed your file for practical reasons. I wanted to ensure you had proper clothing that fit well. Nothing more.”
Something shifted in her eyes, a flicker of understanding perhaps. “You could have asked.”
“I could have, yes. I should have.” I took a breath. “The truth is I find myself…” The words caught in my throat. This was territory I vowed I’d never explore again. “I find myself drawn to you in ways I hadn’t anticipated. And after Fallon, I’m not—” I stopped, unable to finish the thought.
Her features softened. “We both have our reservations.”
“Indeed.” I let the silence stretch between us, unwilling to break it with platitudes or demands. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
She seemed to accept my explanation, her hand reaching for her door. “Good night, Con.”
“Good night, Lex.”
She disappeared into her room without another word, leaving me standing in the corridor, with my thoughts.
I entered the earl’s suite and closed the door behind me, leaning against it with a sigh, wondering why I was staying in what was essentially a guest room rather than in my own bed.
“Because you want to be near her, you daft idiot,” I admitted to myself.
Sleep eluded me again. I tossed restlessly, replaying our interaction.
Did accessing her file truly bother her that much?
Perhaps it was the implied invasion of privacy, though in our line of work, privacy was often an illusion.
Then again, her MI6 dossier would contain personal details far beyond what was necessary to order clothing.
Had my admission of attraction further raised her ire? Bloody hell, what had I been thinking? Our focus needed to remain on Labyrinth. The stakes were too high for personal entanglements.
By zero six hundred, I gave up on sleep entirely and headed to my private gym. Physical exertion had always been my remedy for mental restlessness. After a punishing workout, I showered and dressed, determined to reclaim our professional rapport.
When I returned to the main level, I found Lex already in the dining room, studying her tablet while sipping tea.
“Good morning,” I said, pouring myself coffee. “Sleep well?”
She looked up, her expression giving nothing away. “Well enough. You?”
“The usual.” I took the seat across from her. “With the hope you may have changed your mind about leaving, I thought we might establish a more permanent workspace for you here at Blackmoor. The operations hub has a secondary station that’s rarely used.”
She looked up with interest and set down her cup. “It’s kind of you to offer, and it would be helpful. I’d like to begin tracking down the rumors about Orlov.”
“Of course.” I spread marmalade on toast, keeping my tone deliberately casual. “Once we’ve finished breakfast, we’ll get you settled.”
We ate in silence before heading to the operations hub, where multiple monitors hummed as if to say they held answers to yet-unasked questions.
Yesterday was an anomaly. Typically, if I was at Blackmoor, I came down here at least once a day.
More accurately, I spent hours on end in what I considered my domain and no one else’s.
Yet here I was, setting Lex up in her own space.
Why? Because if she could access everything she needed here, she wouldn’t have to return to London to work.
In other words, she wouldn’t have to leave.
“This will be your work area,” I said, gesturing to a sleek setup near mine. “MI6 and Unit 23 databases are available through secure channels.”
She settled into the chair, immediately typing in access codes. “Impressive. Better than my setup at Vauxhall Cross.”
I smiled despite myself. “Don’t let Viper get wind of that.”
For the next hour, we synchronized our systems to facilitate information sharing while maintaining the necessary firewalls.
“You’ve upgraded your firewalls since I arrived,” she noted, eyes on her screen. “New encryption algorithm?”
“Developed it myself after your late-night demonstration.” I couldn’t help the smirk that crossed my face. “Care to test it?”
Her lips curved upward. “Perhaps later.”
I pulled up a secure window and began typing. “While we have a moment, I wanted to show you what I’ve found regarding the message you received yesterday.”
Her expression sobered immediately. “Any luck tracing it?”
“That’s the problem.” I displayed a complex network diagram on the main screen. “I’ve hit a wall. The message appears to have originated from within Blackmoor itself.”
“How odd,” she said, leaning closer.
“That was my initial reaction. I’ve spent hours trying to break it down. Routing suggests it was sent from our network, but I can’t pinpoint a specific device or user.”
“I tried tracing it from my end as well.” She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“It’s some kind of elaborate looping coding designed to create a digital echo chamber that makes the source appear local.” I closed the diagram with a frustrated gesture. “Whoever sent it has considerable technical skills.”
“And access to my secure number,” she added quietly. “Not to mention knowledge of my presence here.”
Our eyes met, both acknowledging the disturbing implication.
“I’ll keep working on it,” I promised. “In the meantime—”
An alert appeared, indicating an arrival at the main gate. “Gus is here,” I said, checking the feed. “Earlier than expected.”
Minutes later, he joined us, carrying a leather portfolio. Despite his unassuming appearance, Gus was one of the sharpest financial analysts I’d ever met, with an uncanny ability to trace money through even the most convoluted channels.
“Morning,” he said, greeting us both. “I’ve got something interesting. Oh, but first, Dr. McLaren asked me to tell you that she and Brose are spending the day in Stirling, followed by a visit to the Kelpies. She said she hoped you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course not. Thanks for relaying the message.” Lex appeared perplexed.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Just anxious, I suppose.” She turned to Gus. “So, you said you had something interesting. Is it connected to Orlov?” Lex asked.
“Possibly.” He spread several documents across the table. “I’ve identified a series of transactions between shell companies based in Cyprus, the Cayman Islands, and St. Petersburg. The amounts are structured to avoid triggering automatic monitoring systems.”
I examined the data. “These originate from the accounts linked to Tower-Meridian.”
“Yes, but I found something else.” Gus pulled up a digital chart on the main display. “These transactions coincide exactly with Tower-Meridian’s shipment dates Sullivan previously documented.”
Lex moved closer, studying the data. “And the receiving accounts?”
“Registered to various scientific research entities, all with ties to a holding company called Nova Perspectives. It’s supposedly a private think tank specializing in AI applications.”
“Never heard of them,” I said.
“Unlikely you would have, given how deep their cover is. Also, while they were incorporated just eleven months ago”—Gus highlighted several transactions—“they’ve moved nearly forty million pounds through these channels in that time.”
“These accounts here follow the exact dispersal pattern I saw in a classified op three years ago. Russia uses a similar structure,” said Lex, pointing to a cluster on the screen.
“Yet some of these transactions originate from London,” I noted. “Specifically, from IP addresses registered to…”
Gus finished my thought. “Firms in the financial district. Several prestigious ones.”
A sudden alert flashed on my monitor, interrupting our discussion. I moved quickly to another terminal.
“Someone’s probing the system,” I muttered, activating countermeasures. “Sophisticated attempt, specifically targeting secured files related to Orlov.”
Lex joined me, her shoulder brushing mine as she leaned in to observe. “Can you trace it?”
“Working on it.” I initiated tracking while simultaneously strengthening our defenses. “They’re bouncing through multiple proxies.”
After several tense minutes, I had a location. “Edinburgh. Northern section of Old Town, near the university.”
“That’s a promising lead,” said Gus. “Too much of a coincidence to dismiss.”
I was already planning our next move. “Lex and I should investigate tomorrow. If Orlov is alive, he might have connections to academic circles where his expertise would be valued.”
“I’ll continue following the money trail,” Gus offered. “See if I can establish actual connections between these shell companies and any properties or facilities in Edinburgh.”
After Gus departed, Lex and I remained in the operations hub, crafting our approach for the following day.
“We should review the full dossier on Orlov,” she suggested. “I knew him professionally before his supposed death.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You never mentioned that.”
“We crossed paths at several international AI conferences.”
“And yet you defended him to Typhon.”
She met my gaze steadily. “I did not. We were discussing Dr. McLaren.”
“Right. My apologies.” The look she gave me was as odd as I was feeling. Maybe the lack of sleep was finally catching up with me.
As evening approached, we ordered dinner to be brought to the ops hub rather than risk another awkward formal meal. Mrs. Thorne sent down a hearty stew with freshly baked bread that we ate while continuing our work.
“What drew you to this field?” I asked during a brief respite. “AI development, I mean.”
Lex considered the question, her spoon hovering over her bowl. “The potential. Not just for weapons systems—though that’s where my expertise lies—but for solving problems beyond human capability.”
“And the ethical considerations?”
“Always present. That’s what separates me from people like Orlov.” She broke off a piece of bread. “What about you? How does an aristocrat end up as a cybersecurity expert and secret intelligence operative?”
“Sullivan’s analysis of Tower-Meridian’s shipping manifests wasn’t just about missing supplies or diverted cargo,” I explained.
“Looking back at her data through the lens of what we know now, those discrepancies align perfectly with components needed for advanced neural processing. The ‘medical equipment’ she tracked wasn’t being sold on the black market—it was being repurposed for Labyrinth’s processing architecture. ”
“That explains your interest in this mission. But what I really want to know is how you got into this in the first place.”
I smiled, surprised by my willingness to share after my diversion tactic had failed.
“I was always fascinated by technology, even as a child. My father thought it a passing phase and expected me to focus on managing the estate. But when I hacked into my school’s grading system at fourteen, he realized it might be more than a hobby. ”
“Did you change your grades?” Her eyes held a hint of amusement.
“God, no. I was top of my class already. I just wanted to see if I could do it.” I laughed at the memory. “Though I did adjust the cafeteria menu to remove Brussels sprouts permanently.”
“A noble cause.” Her laughter joined mine, the sound warming me.
“After university, I was approached by government recruiters who’d been monitoring my…extracurricular activities. The rest, as they say, is classified.”
The conversation continued flowing naturally. We discussed our respective work experience, our educational backgrounds, even our favorite books—finding unexpected common ground in our shared love of classical literature.
“Paradise Lost?” she asked, surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Milton enthusiast.”
“The devil has all the best lines,” I replied with a half smile. “You forget I first studied at Cambridge.”
As midnight approached, I noticed her stifling a yawn.
“We should get some rest. Early start tomorrow if we’re heading to Edinburgh.” I stood and held out my hand, but she didn’t take it.
She stretched in her chair. “I suppose you’re right.”
I found myself smiling as we made our way through the castle corridors.
The evening had been unexpectedly pleasant—not just productive but personally satisfying in a way I hadn’t experienced in some time.
The time spent with Fallon was more about what I’d considered to be playful banter.
In hindsight, “combative” would have been a better word for it.
At her door, she paused. “Thank you for today. The workspace, the collaboration…” Her voice trailed off.
“My pleasure.” I stood closer than necessary. The magnetic pull between us was impossible to resist. “Sleep well, Lex.”
She looked up at me, her dark eyes reflecting the dim corridor lighting. “You too, Con.”
Neither of us moved for a long moment. The tension between us heightened, transforming into something more complex than simple attraction or professional respect. Was I naive to think this could be understanding and recognition—the rare connection between two people who saw each other clearly?
“We have an early start,” I said, taking a deliberate step backward.
“Yes,” she agreed, her voice equally quiet. “Good night, then.”
I watched her disappear into her room before continuing to the one that wasn’t my own but I couldn’t bring myself to leave.
My thoughts were in disarray. The mission remained paramount—Labyrinth posed too great a threat to allow myself a distraction. Yet, as I prepared for bed, I couldn’t dismiss the growing certainty that Dr. Margot Sterling had become far more than a professional ally in my mind.
God, how I wanted to unlock the adjoining door that separated us, climb in bed next to her, leave the mission behind, and get to know each other in the way I was certain fate intended.