Chapter 8 Lex
LEX
Despite the late hour, once inside the room, I reached for my mobile. Viper answered on the third ring.
“Lex, is everything all right?” Her voice was crisp and alert.
“Yes. I, err, wanted to update you on our plans to visit Edinburgh tomorrow.”
A brief pause hung between us. “That doesn’t warrant a call at this hour.”
“There’s more.” I lowered my voice. “Someone sent me a message. A threat.”
That caught her attention. “Go on.”
I recounted the words verbatim, explaining how Con had traced it to his own network.
“Curious,” she said. “The part about ‘not everyone at Blackmoor is what they appear’ is quite ominous, isn’t it?”
“My thought too. It could be trying to point me toward someone in Con’s inner circle.” I hesitated. “Or…”
“Or warning you about Carnegie himself,” Viper finished. “I’ll have MI6’s technical division look into it. Keep your guard up, Lex.”
“I always do. Oh, and you’ll never guess who turned up.”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Dr. McLaren. Turns out she was friends with Alexandria Ashcroft as well as Ambrose. They attended university together.”
“How interesting,” she said in a way that told me she was likely tapping her lower lip with her index finger. “So, are you meeting?”
“We are, but I don’t know when yet. She and Ambrose went to Stirling today.”
“Yes, well, like I said, interesting. Keep me posted, Lex.”
After ending the call, I stared at the ceiling. Sleep came reluctantly, and when it did, I dreamed of stone walls with secrets and dark tunnels that led nowhere.
Con didn’t look up when I entered the dining room at zero six hundred and found him there, already sipping coffee.
His attention was fixed on a tablet, giving me a moment to observe him unnoticed.
The morning light streaming through the windows highlighted the strong line of his profile—the straight nose, the sharp cut of his jaw now shadowed with stubble, and those impossibly deep sapphire eyes focused intently on whatever he was reviewing.
It was as though some Renaissance artist had decided to carve the perfect balance of strength and refinement, and the result was Conrad Carnegie.
His white dress shirt stretched across broad shoulders as he leaned forward, revealing the physical strength that matched his formidable intellect.
I’d worked with attractive men before, but something about Con’s particular combination of aristocratic elegance and raw power was uniquely distracting.
He raised his head but didn’t speak. What was that all about? Here I was, ogling the man while he was giving me the cold shoulder.
Rather than ask outright what was wrong, I observed him as I poured tea.
“We should get on the road soon if you still intend to travel to Edinburgh with me,” he said abruptly.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He set his cup down. “I thought perhaps you’d prefer to return to London.”
“I’m baffled, Con. You’re again assuming I want to return to London? Why would I have agreed to you setting up the workspace yesterday if that was my intent?” I studied his profile. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about our collaboration?”
“Not at all.” There was something closed off in his manner that hadn’t been there the night before.
“When will the helicopter arrive?” I asked, looking out the window to the pad where it usually sat.
“I prefer to drive. Traveling by air is too visible for what I have in mind.”
The prospect of spending hours confined in a car with this cooler, more distant version of Con wasn’t appealing, but I agreed anyway. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
The drive began in strained silence. Beyond the windscreen, the Highland landscape rolled by, hills giving way to farmland as we moved southeast. After nearly an hour of neither of us saying a word, I couldn’t bear it any longer. “Is there something you want to tell me, Con?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Such as?”
“You’ve been…different since this morning. Are you still upset about me conferring with Dr. McLaren?”
“That isn’t it.”
I raised a brow. So there was something. “Go on.”
His hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly than seemed necessary. “I received an alert last night. Someone from MI6 attempted to access my system.” His eyes flicked to me briefly. “Unlike your successful breach, they failed.”
The subtle accusation hung between us. “I assure you it wasn’t at my request.”
“I never suggested it was.” He returned his gaze to the road. “Though the timing is curious, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” I said under my breath.
For the remainder of the journey, we slipped into professional mode, discussing potential locations connected to the suspicious transactions Gus had identified. Con knew Edinburgh intimately, mapping out observation points and possible approaches to each target.
By early afternoon, we were staking out a high-end art gallery in Edinburgh’s New Town.
The elegant Georgian building housed exclusive collections that, according to Con’s research, frequently changed hands through private sales rather than public auctions.
What made it even more interesting were the many well-dressed figures who came and went while we sat at a café across the street, watching the entrance.
“I haven’t seen anyone I recognize from previous or current briefings.”
“I haven’t, either. However, it’s the perfect setup for money laundering,” he said as I sipped my tea. “Artwork values are subjective enough to justify almost any price.”
After an hour with no significant activity, Con suggested we move to our next target—a private club with known connections to Russian business interests. Located in the Old Town, the club occupied a building with medieval foundations, its entrance discreet and unmarked.
“How do you propose we get in?” I asked as we observed from across the narrow street. “I doubt they welcome walk-ins.”
The smile that curved his lips held a hint of mischief. “We won’t be using the front door.”
Con led me through a series of winding closes and wynds—narrow passages between buildings that dated back centuries. We descended worn stone steps into what appeared to be a dead end until he pressed against a particular section of wall.
“Edinburgh’s underground history is one of its best-kept secrets,” he explained as a hidden door swung inward. “The Old Town is built on layers of earlier structures. From what I read, if you know the paths, you can move beneath much of the city. That’s not even taking the tunnels into account.”
We navigated the damp passageway illuminated by the flashlight function on Con’s mobile. The stonework looked ancient, and water was seeping through in places, forming small rivulets along the floor.
After fifteen minutes, Con stopped, placing a finger to his lips. Above us, muffled voices became audible through what appeared to be a ventilation grate.
“The club’s private meeting room,” he whispered. “It’s directly overhead.”
We listened intently. The conversation was in English, but with heavy Russian accents. They were discussing shipments, delivery dates, and defensive protocols using coded language that, nonetheless, made their meaning clear to trained ears.
“The package from St. Petersburg cleared customs yesterday,” one voice said. “We are pleased with the components.”
“And the integration?” another asked.
“Progressing according to schedule. Our contact says we’ll be ready for the demonstration within the month.”
A new voice joined the conversation, Scottish and refined. “The consortium is growing impatient. We’ve invested considerable resources.”
“Your impatience is noted but irrelevant,” the first Russian voice replied coldly. “Our developer works at his own pace. Push him, and you risk everything.”
Suddenly, a mobile rang above us, followed by a hushed conversation.
“Patrol identified intruders,” the Scottish voice said.
Con gripped my arm. “We need to move. Now.”
We retreated down the passage, but the footsteps overhead tracked our movement. A door somewhere ahead of us opened, light spilled into the tunnel, and Con pulled me into a small alcove barely large enough for one person to squeeze into, pressing me against the wall and covering my body with his.
In the darkness, every sensation was intensified—Con’s heartbeat against my chest, the warmth of his breath on my neck, the tremor in his hands as they braced against the wall on either side of me. My own pulse raced, partly from danger but more from his proximity.
While one person stopped briefly, shining his light in our general direction, the alcove’s depth kept us hidden in the shadows.
When the sound of footsteps faded, neither of us moved immediately. Con’s eyes found mine in the dim light, questioning.
“We should go,” I whispered, yet made no attempt to move.
“Yes,” he agreed, his voice rough. Still, he remained where he was, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fleeting instant before he stepped back, releasing me from the confines of our hiding place and the spell of the moment.
We made our way back to street level in silence, both of us processing what we’d overheard—and what had nearly happened between us.
“We got what we came for,” Con said, checking to see if the alleyway was empty before we emerged, blinking in the late-afternoon sunlight. “Time to return to Blackmoor.”
“If the developer they mentioned is Orlov and he’s preparing to test Labyrinth’s capabilities, we’re running out of time,” I said once we were in the SUV.
Con nodded grimly.
“With Janus at the helm,” I added quietly, the name sending a chill straight through me.
Just as Edinburgh faded from view behind us, Con’s secure mobile buzzed with a distinct tone.
“Something from Kestrel,” he said, passing it to me.
The message was brief but significant. Confirmed Viktor Orlov alive. Brother Oruzhiye deceased. “Good God,” I muttered, then read it aloud.
Con gasped. “Viktor is Oruzhiye’s brother?”
“According to Kestrel, yes.” Sergei Orlov, whose code name meant “the Gun,” had worked for the KGB for many years before becoming a freelance assassin. He was killed a few years ago in a shootout in Islamabad.
“Familiar with him?” Con asked.
“Isn’t everyone?” I said under my breath, already scanning the files I could access via my secure mobile to see if I’d somehow missed the connection.
“I first saw his name in a briefing that crossed my desk during an op I was supporting in Ukraine. He was ruthless, effective, and for sale to the highest bidder.” I frowned.
“Something he and his brother apparently have in common.”
“If Viktor moved in his brother’s circles, the consortium could be building a dangerous network,” Con finished grimly.
We drove the rest of the way in silence. The clues we collected today were troubling yet got us no closer to Labyrinth.
When we arrived at Blackmoor, I was too exhausted to put two thoughts together.
“You should get some rest,” Con said as we entered the castle. “It’s been a long day.”
“What about you?”
“I have some work to follow up on.”
“Anything I can assist with?”
He shook his head. “Not necessary. We’ll regroup in the morning.”
The dismissal stung more than it should have. After our moment of connection in the tunnel, I’d thought perhaps the barriers between us were lowering. That no longer appeared to be the case.
As I climbed the stairs alone, disappointment mingled with doubt. The warning echoed in my mind—not everyone at Blackmoor is what they appear.
Not for the first time since arriving, I wondered how wise it was to trust Con Carnegie.