Chapter 3 Nightingale #2
“It runs on diesel, and you’ve got maybe a week’s worth if you’re conservative.
It’ll power the essential circuits like the lights, refrigeration, and water pump.
The heating system has a separate tank that’s fueled by oil, but can be unpredictable.
Some radiators work, others don’t. The ones that do might stop without warning.
That’s castle living for you,” he said, chuckling.
He crouched down and ran his hand along the machine with the familiarity of someone who’d done this maintenance for years. “Been acting up more than usual this winter. Let me have a look while I’m here—see if I can’t coax a bit more reliability out of the old girl.”
Tag and I exchanged glances as Mr. MacLeod opened a panel and peered inside, making thoughtful humming noises.
“These old systems…I’ll do what I can, but no promises. Might run smooth, might give you trouble. Hard to say.”
“Appreciate you taking a look,” Tag said.
“Aye, well.” After a few minutes of looking at it versus doing anything, Mr. MacLeod straightened and wiped his hands on his trousers, though they didn’t appear dirty. “Best I can do for now.”
The supply stores were better stocked than expected, with candles by the box, torches with batteries that Mrs. MacLeod warned might or might not work, and a military-surplus first-aid kit.
There was a shelf of canned goods with faded labels, likely older than me, but according to Mrs. MacLeod, they were probably still edible.
She led us upstairs, with her husband trailing behind us. “The roads will be impassable by tonight. We’ll check on you when we can, but…” Her eyes moved between Tag and me with the kind of knowing look that made me wonder what she saw. “I’m thinking you’ll want your privacy.”
Tag asked a few more questions about security and who else had access to the property.
“You mentioned the area beyond the storeroom. Where does it lead?” I asked.
“Rumor is that you can access the old tunnels,” Mr. MacLeod said almost dismissively, waving a gnarled hand.
“It’s Jacobite nonsense, if you ask me. My da said they were used to hide the Bonnie Prince’s supporters.
Some even tell stories about treasure hidden down there.
” He leveled a gaze at both of us. “You’d be wise to heed my warning about the danger. ”
I filed that information away, catching Tag doing the same. Our eyes met briefly—we’d be checking those tunnels at the first opportunity.
Mr. MacLeod pulled on his coat and checked his watch. “I’ll need to be getting on. I’ve got two other properties to check before the roads become completely impassable.”
Mrs. MacLeod was repacking her basket, adding a few items from the castle’s stores. “There’s a cottage on the grounds—the old gamekeeper’s lodge. We’ve been using it when we come up to tend the place. I’ll be just a short walk away if you need anything.”
“That’s not necessary—” I said, but she waved me off.
“Nonsense. You’re Mr. Cavendish’s guests, and I’ll not have it said we left you to freeze in a drafty castle without proper guidance.
Besides”—her eyes moved between Tag and me with that knowing look—“you’ll want someone nearby who knows which pipes are likely to burst and where the spare candles are kept. ”
Her husband pulled his cap lower against the wind that howled through the door he’d cracked open.
“Ring us if you need anything urgent. Though service is dodgy in weather like this.” He nodded to Tag, then to me.
“You’ll be safe enough here as long as you remember what I said about those closed-off areas. ”
“We will,” Tag assured him.
Mrs. MacLeod busied herself at the AGA, setting a pot to simmer as the Land Rover her husband drove disappeared down the drive.
“That’ll be ready for your supper,” she said, jotting a number on a piece of paper on the counter. “The gamekeeper’s cottage has an old landline that still works when mobiles don’t. Like Fergus said, ring if you need anything.”
After she left, bundling herself against the weather and promising to return as soon as she could, the silence returned—heavier than before. With only two of us in the kitchen, it seemed smaller, and the AGA’s warmth felt almost oppressive.
Tag refilled our teacups, and we sat at the scarred wooden table. “What happened after you left Syria?” he blurted.
The question stunned me. Where did I even start? I wrapped my hands around the warm china, grateful for something to hold.
“It makes more sense to tell you why I was there in the first place. What I was investigating.”
His eyes scrunched, but he nodded.
“When Idris died, I received a letter from him.” I turned away, not wanting to see his reaction.
“It contained information about what he was working on.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I’d never admitted this aloud to anyone, and it was harder than I’d anticipated. Especially to Tag. “Project Labyrinth.”
I heard his sharp intake of breath, but didn’t pause long enough for him to speak.
“I also received an access code for encrypted files he left for me. They mentioned code names—Chimera, Janus, and someone called the Architect. There’s more, but I’ve not been able to decipher the majority of it.”
“Leila?”
My eyes met his.
“Are you saying this is why Idris died?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have—” He stopped himself, and I didn’t interrupt. “I wish you would’ve trusted me,” he added so quietly I almost couldn’t hear him.
“For a long time, I didn’t know who to trust, but it was more than that. What he was involved in, the information he left in my care, got him killed. It was one thing to risk my own life. Another thing to put other people in danger.”
“But, why…?” He shook his head as though he figured out the answer before he asked the question. His eyes bored into mine. “This was the reason you were so determined to join Unit 23.”
“Yes.”
“Does Typhon know about the letter?”
“He does not.” I couldn’t gauge his reaction well enough to determine whether that bothered or relieved him.
“Since then, I’ve followed every lead, every clue. It’s why I spent so much time in Damascus and how I figured out Eric Weber was an alias Fallon Wallace used, then eventually, that she was Chimera.”
“You said there’s more?”
“Yes, but beyond anything I can break.”
“I sense there’s a lot you’re not saying.”
He was right, but even now, I couldn’t confess that Idris had never intended for me to take on the investigation. His letter had been very clear. Take all of this to Niall MacTaggert. You can trust him.
I’d chosen not to for reasons I couldn’t explain. That revelation would have to wait until I was ready for his reaction—which might be never.
“Do you think this is why you’re being followed?” he asked when I didn’t respond.
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But why after all this time?”
“It could have something to do with Fallon Wallace’s death. That you connected her to Weber and Chimera.”
“It’s one theory.”
“What about the Architect? Any theories about that?” he asked.
“It could be McLaren. Or Orlov.”
He nodded. “Neither of which can confirm or deny it at this point. One is dead, and one might as well be.” He sipped his tea. “What really happened in Syria?”
I hated how easily he could read me. Or knew me. Yes, there’d been a coup, but that wasn’t the only reason I’d requested extraction.
“I was able to piece together something else in Idris’ files that I hadn’t understood until then. I received intel about a mole within MI6. Someone on the inside who’d been feeding information to the Labyrinth network.”
“You ‘received intel.’ Let me guess, from Kestrel?”
My gaze remained steady on his, but I didn’t confirm or deny what he’d said. He knew I wouldn’t. Not yet anyway.
“I made Typhon aware of it during my debrief in Glasgow, which is why I disappeared the next day.”
His jaw tightened, and he scowled. “There are times I hate that sonuvabitch.”
“I’ll admit to occasionally feeling the same way.”
“Go on. Forgive my interruption.”
“He arranged for a new location and complete blackout. That’s when Viper took over as my handler.”
His eyes widened. “The chief of MI6 became your handler?”
“It made sense, given the circumstances. If there was a mole, we needed to keep the circle as small as possible.” I stood, too restless to sit. “We spent several days going through everything. Cross-referencing communications, tracking patterns, building a profile.”
“And?”
“We narrowed it down to a handful of possibilities.” I set my cup on the counter. “Eventually, we zeroed in on one name. Malcolm Bennett.”
Recognition flickered across his face.
“He was a mid-level analyst with a cryptography background,” I continued. “And had access to exactly the kind of information that had been leaked.”
Tag stood and paced across the room. “What happened next?”
“Viper sent him to work with Con and Lex to see if he’d make a move.” I stood by the window, studying the sleet as it streaked down the glass. “Then the lab exploded, and Bennett and McLaren died. At least we think that’s what happened. As I’m sure you know, her body was never found.”
Tag stilled. “You think she’s alive.”
“I do.” I chose my next words judiciously. “I told you I thought either she or Orlov could be ‘the Architect.’”
“Go on.”
“There were certain things about him or her, specific skill sets, operational patterns. After the explosion, when similar patterns emerged through fresh intel, I figured it couldn’t be Orlov. The next best guess was McLaren.”
Tag’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a significant leap.”
“It is. But when I began pulling threads, everything fell into place.” I moved to retrieve my tablet from where I’d left it on the counter. “After her supposed death, I went through the Syrian intel again systematically and narrowed it into four categories.”