Chapter 17 Con
CON
Iwoke at zero four hundred, my mind too restless for sleep. Something about Bennett’s behavior and his excessive familiarity with the Inverness facility had bothered me well into the night. Careful not to wake Lex, I slipped from the bed and made my way downstairs.
The formal sitting room—aka our command center—was dimly lit.
A figure stood by the table, hunched over papers I didn’t recall seeing yesterday.
Bennett didn’t notice me as I paused in the doorway, watching him pore over what appeared to be internal floor plans different from those he’d shared previously.
What in the bloody hell was he up to? Sabotaging the mission to fulfill his vendetta?
“Found something new?” I asked.
Bennett’s shoulders tensed before he turned. Nothing in his expression betrayed surprise, but the swift movement with which he gathered the papers told its own story.
“Lord Blackmoor. You’re up early.”
“As are you.” I moved into the room, eyes on the documents he was attempting to conceal. “Those don’t look like the schematics we reviewed yesterday.”
“Supplementary materials,” he replied smoothly. “MI6 sent additional intelligence overnight.”
“At two in the morning?”
“Russian operations don’t adhere to business hours.” He folded the papers and tucked them under his tablet. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
While he busied himself in the kitchen, I glanced at the edge of a document that was still visible from where he’d stashed it. Annotations marked what appeared to be security rotation schedules—far more specific than any information we’d discussed.
“Your intelligence is remarkably thorough,” I commented as he handed me a mug.
“As I said yesterday, Russian operations are my specialty.”
“So specific, though. Guard rotations, maintenance schedules…” I sipped the coffee. “Almost as if you’ve been inside the facility.”
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Good intelligence often provides that level of detail.”
“Of course.”
Bennett gathered his materials. “I need to make some calls before we finalize today’s approach. The equipment I requested will arrive by zero seven hundred.”
After he left, I extracted my mobile and messaged Gus. Need Malcolm Bennett background ASAP. Focus on any Orlov connection.
His reply came a few minutes later. On it. Something interesting in Estonia records. Will update soon.
When I returned upstairs, Lex was awake, hair tousled from sleep. My body responded immediately to the sight of her, desire momentarily overriding my concern.
“You’re up early.” She stretched her arms above her head, revealing a naked breast. I raised a brow, and she covered herself.
“Bennett’s downstairs with floor plans I’ve never seen before.”
Her expression sharpened. “MI6 wouldn’t withhold that level of intelligence from a joint operation.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I sat beside her on the bed. “I’ve asked Gus to dig deeper.”
“Good.” She snuggled against me, further testing my resolve to focus on work rather than her naked body pressed against mine. “What did these new documents show?” she asked as her hand snaked around my waist.
“Internal security protocols, maintenance schedules, and what looked like staff rotations.” I covered her hand, stopping her from venturing any lower. “The level of detail suggests firsthand knowledge.”
“That’s concerning,” she agreed. “Especially given his fixation on Orlov.”
“We’ll need to watch him closely today.”
“Do we?” she murmured, wriggling from my grasp, her palm landing on my hardening cock.
“I suppose Bennett and the demise of civilization can wait a bit longer,” I said, standing to pull my shirt over my head and drop my trousers.
By zero eight hundred, Tag arrived with two Unit-23 operatives. His expression as he greeted me spoke volumes—whatever brought him here wasn’t routine support.
“Typhon sent us,” he explained once we were alone. “Said you might need additional resources.”
“Perfect timing,” I replied, then led him into the command center, where I made introductions to the others in the room. “Malcolm Bennett, MI6.”
Tag shook his hand. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“As does yours, Mr. MacTaggert,” Bennett replied coolly.
Tag raised a brow, then turned to me. “This is Callen Cavendish, code name Renegade, and Kiernan Lockhart, code name Archon.”
After shaking their hands, I looked around for Lex, but when I found her head-to-head with Dr. McLaren, I suggested they get settled and I’d make the rest of the introductions later.
While the two men finalized the equipment checks, Tag pulled me aside. “I received a message that was supposedly from Nightingale. Said to trust no one who ‘claims to know the labyrinth from within.’”
“Supposedly?”
“Still trying to confirm.”
“Interesting.” I glanced toward Bennett, who was now unfolding yet another set of diagrams I hadn’t seen. “Our MI6 colleague seems to have an unusual depth of knowledge about this facility.”
“So I noticed.” Tag’s eyes narrowed.
When we rejoined the group, Bennett was displaying interior layouts showing ventilation systems, power junctions, even what appeared to be staff rotation schedules.
“These are remarkably detailed,” I observed. “Recent acquisition?”
“I have my sources,” Bennett replied, the evasion obvious.
Throughout the rest of the morning, I monitored the intelligence feeds while keeping Bennett in my peripheral vision. His movements carried the confidence of someone on familiar ground rather than an analyst working from reports.
“We’ve intercepted communications about a demonstration scheduled to take place in two days,” I announced after decoding a series of messages. “Zero nine hundred hours. References to ‘observer protocols’ and ‘final integration parameters.’”
Bennett’s reaction was immediate—a flash of what looked like panic before he quickly steeled it. “My God, we aren’t yet prepared to intercept,” he stated, fingers tightening on the edge of the table.
“We will be,” I said, glancing over at Tag and Lex, who both discreetly nodded.
“We’re all aware of the stakes, Infidel,” Dr. McLaren interjected, her tone measured. “However, hasty action could jeopardize everything.”
Bennett turned to her, something unspoken passing between them. “You of all people should understand the urgency, Evelyn.”
The use of her first name hung in the air, laden with history neither had disclosed.
“I understand perfectly, Malcolm,” she replied quietly. “Which is why we must be methodical.”
Throughout the afternoon, we tracked the activity at the facility while Bennett grew increasingly agitated about the impending test. His personal stake became more apparent with each passing hour.
“We need to identify all emergency exits,” he declared, marking points on the facility diagram that weren’t indicated in our official briefings. “Orlov will have contingencies for rapid evacuation.”
“You seem rather certain of his methods,” Tag observed casually.
Bennett’s eyes flashed. “I’ve studied his operational patterns for years. He maintains consistent security protocols.”
“Most scientists don’t have security protocols,” I noted.
“Orlov isn’t most scientists.” Bennett turned to Dr. McLaren. “Tell them, Evelyn.”
She hesitated a few seconds, then spoke. “Viktor always maintained unusual awareness of defensive measures. Even at conferences, he insisted on specific security arrangements.”
“That’s professional caution,” I countered. “Bennett’s describing intimate knowledge of personal habits.”
The tension in the room thickened as Bennett produced yet another set of detailed plans—this time showing what appeared to be the living quarters inside the facility, complete with notations about the surveillance blind spots.
“These aren’t in any MI6 file,” Lex stated flatly.
“My sources are more comprehensive than the official channels,” Bennett replied, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.
“This is unacceptable,” said Lex, raising her chin. “You were the one who insisted we follow strict protocols, yet now you’re the one operating outside of your own ground rules.”
Tag caught my eye across the table, the subtle arch of his eyebrow communicating our shared suspicion.
Bennett shifted on his feet but didn’t speak.
“Malcolm, name your sources, or I’ll call for your immediate removal from the mission,” Lex persisted.
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.” She pulled out her mobile, but before she could place a call, Bennett relented.
“I’ll send you the list.”
“Not only to me, to the entire team.”
“But—”
Lex shook her head. “It’s what you demanded from Con and Unit 23. Either MI6 does the same or, again, you’ll be dismissed.”
He sputtered some more, mumbling unintelligibly.
“Well done,” I said, pulling Lex close to me and nuzzling her neck.
Rather than walk away, she kissed my cheek and leaned in closer. “I’ll admit that felt bloody good. I’ve grown tired of his prevarication.”
While it was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that Dr. McLaren was guilty of the same, at least in my opinion, I kept those thoughts to myself.
As evening approached, Dr. McLaren suggested a tactical approach that aligned with my own assessment—immediate observation rather than intervention, and gathering evidence before determining our response. Bennett argued for more aggressive measures but was outvoted.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said, but ultimately conceded.
Throughout dinner, which Tag’s team prepared, Bennett remained withdrawn, checking his mobile with increasing frequency.
After the meal, we broke into teams to prepare the equipment for tomorrow’s surveillance. Dr. McLaren joined me to calibrate the long-range monitoring devices.
“Bennett’s investment in this mission seems personal,” I commented quietly.
She hesitated before responding. “Malcolm’s history with Russian operations—I’ll just say that some wounds never fully heal.”
“What kind of history?”
“That’s for him to share, if he chooses.” Her tone indicated the subject was closed, but I filed away her reaction for further consideration.
As darkness fell, we established our final protocols for tomorrow’s op. Bennett remained professional despite his earlier outburst, contributing intel about the facility’s perimeter defenses that proved accurate when cross-referenced with the satellite imagery.
When we concluded our planning, Tag and his team took the first watch while the rest of us prepared to get what sleep we could before tomorrow’s critical operation.
Lex and I retreated to our room.
“What a day,” she said once we were alone.
“I’m increasingly concerned about Bennett’s mental state.”
Her eyes opened wide. “Mental state?”
“His reactions are inappropriate.”
“You’re right, I suppose.”
“There’s something else.” I reiterated what Dr. McLaren said about some wounds never healing and that, when I pressed for more details, she said it was up to him whether or not to share.
“I don’t like that one bit.” Lex shook her head. “I’ll see what I can find out from Evelyn tomorrow.”
While we held each other close, we didn’t make love.
We were both exhausted as much as overwhelmed by what the days ahead would bring.
Once I was certain Lex was asleep, I leaned forward and whispered, “I love you.” She hadn’t said those words to me yet, and while that stung a bit, I knew she cared, and that was enough for now.