Chapter 16 Lex
LEX
The Georgian townhouse in Inverness, where Bennett arranged for us to stay, stood nestled among similar buildings on a quiet street. Its elegant exterior concealed a functional, modern interior—a fitting base for our operation.
“Everything’s ready,” Bennett said as he went through the procedures to enter the safe house. “The necessary equipment arrived and has been tested.”
He led us through to what had once been a formal sitting room, now transformed into a command center with multiple monitors displaying various views of the facility outside Inverness.
Con moved immediately to examine the setup. “Impressive modifications to the standard-issue gear.”
“Thank you,” Bennett replied, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “I prefer to enhance rather than replace.”
I examined the satellite feed of our target—a nondescript industrial building surrounded by a high fence and minimal external features that belied its true purpose.
“The structure has three underground levels,” Bennett explained, bringing up the architectural schematics. “Most activity occurs on the lowest floor, where power consumption has tripled in the past seventy-two hours.”
Con and I exchanged glances. The spike aligned perfectly with what we’d expect for neural processor testing.
“Tea?” Bennett asked me. “Or perhaps something stronger after the flight?”
“Tea would be perfect, thank you,” I answered.
While Bennett disappeared to the kitchen, Con leaned closer to me. “I guess what I want doesn’t concern him,” he said with a wink before his expression turned serious. “What’s your read on him?”
“Thorough. Exacting. Possibly overcautious. But it’s early.”
“He’s made quite the name for himself tracking Russian ops,” Con agreed. “Not sure if that makes him an asset or a liability in this situation.”
Bennett returned with a tray of drinks—tea for me, coffee for himself and Con, who raised a brow in my direction. We both smiled.
“Your rooms are upstairs. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging the corner suite for you both. Better sight lines of the street.”
Bennett’s acknowledgment of our relationship was subtle but clear, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks despite myself.
“The facility has unusual patterns of activity,” he continued. “Night shifts have increased, and three specialized technicians arrived yesterday. My assessment is they’re fully operational, which means Aberdeenshire was mostly a smokescreen.”
“My assessment as well,” said Con.
Dr. McLaren joined us from another room, where she’d been reviewing data. “I’ve analyzed the heat signatures,” she said, gesturing to one of the monitors. “The patterns suggest they’re running continuous tests. Likely working in shifts to maintain momentum.”
Bennett turned to check another screen displaying perimeter feeds. He tapped rapidly on a tablet, adjusting camera angles and detection settings.
“We need to recalibrate these sensors,” he said more to himself than to us. “The standard configuration won’t detect the type of shielding Orlov typically employs.”
Con raised a brow. “That’s a highly specific concern.”
“It’s my job to anticipate these things,” Bennett replied tersely. He began typing a series of commands that seemed excessive even by field operation standards. “We’ll need to establish a secondary communication channel as well. And I want biometric checks for all entry points.”
I caught Con’s eye, noting the subtle tension in his expression that mirrored my own thoughts. Bennett’s intensity was rapidly increasing.
As we broke to review our respective assignments, Dr. McLaren beckoned me to join her at a workstation in the corner of the room. Her smile was warm, maternal even, as she pulled up the schematics of the facility’s electrical systems.
“I’ve been meaning to check in with you,” she said quietly. “This mission has unique…complexities.”
I understood she meant more than just the technical challenges.
“Con is quite remarkable,” she continued, her eyes flickering briefly toward where he stood, deep in conversation with Bennett. “I’ve rarely seen anyone adapt so quickly to unfamiliar terrain.”
“He’s full of surprises,” I agreed, unable to keep my admiration absent from my tone.
Dr. McLaren smiled knowingly. “The professional and personal lines blur easily in our work. Sometimes, that’s not a bad thing.” She paused, her expression growing thoughtful. “The right partner can be an anchor in stormy waters.”
“I’m still figuring out the navigation,” I admitted, chuckling.
“You already know what to do,” she said, her hand briefly touching mine. “Your judgment has always been excellent. Both professionally and…otherwise.”
“Speaking from experience?” I ventured.
Her eyes grew distant. “Once, yes. I knew what it was to find that rare connection—when two minds seem perfectly attuned.” She looked down at her tablet, her voice dropping. “But sometimes, the timing fails us. He loved another and still does to this day.”
I started to ask more, but she abruptly straightened, her professional demeanor snapping back into place.
“I’ve said too much.” She looked uncomfortable. “Let’s get back to these access points.”
Across the room, Bennett was spreading facility blueprints across a table.
As Con and I joined him, I noticed the detailed annotations Bennett had already made—patrol routes, camera blind spots, even ventilation access points, marked with a thoroughness that seemed to go beyond the information we’d received from headquarters.
“You seem to know the compound exceptionally well,” I observed.
Bennett barely looked up. “I’ve studied similar Orlov facilities. They follow predictable patterns.”
“Even down to the guard rotation schedules?” Con asked, pointing to the handwritten notes in the margins.
“Educated guesses, based on field reports,” Bennett replied, but something in his tone felt defensive. “We’ll verify once we’re operational.”
Throughout the afternoon, I noticed Bennett making brief calls from the hallway, speaking too quietly to overhear.
Twice, he disappeared entirely for fifteen-minute intervals, returning with no explanation.
When questioned about a camera blind spot, he provided information that hadn’t been in our briefing packets.
“We should eat,” Bennett announced when evening approached. “I’ve arranged for local catering.”
The dining table had been set with surprising formality—polished silver, crystal glasses, and candles casting a warm glow over white linen. Bennett poured amber whiskey into tumblers with the solemnity of a religious ritual.
“Single malt from a distillery just north of here,” he explained. “Family-owned for eleven generations.”
As we ate Highland specialties—smoked salmon, venison with juniper berries, and tatties—Bennett revealed unexpected personal details. He spoke passionately about the region’s history, his knowledge extending far beyond what his career would require.
“My grandmother was born in a cottage not twenty miles from here,” he said, his voice softening. “She used to tell me stories about kelpies that would scare me senseless.”
“You’ve never mentioned your Scottish heritage,” Dr. McLaren remarked.
Something flashed in Bennett’s eyes—a momentary sharpness quickly concealed. “There are many things we don’t discuss, Evelyn.”
Con steered the conversation toward lighter territory. “I was unaware of this particular safe house.”
“I purchased it fifteen years ago,” Bennett replied. “It was originally a standard MI6 property, but I’ve…personalized it over time. Few people know of its existence.”
“It feels more like a home than an operational base,” I observed.
Bennett smiled faintly. “Perhaps that’s intentional. The best cover is often domesticity.”
The conversation remained professional until Bennett, on his third glass of whiskey, began discussing Orlov with an intensity that hadn’t been present earlier.
“He’s methodical to the point of obsession,” Bennett said, his knuckles white around his glass. “Leaves nothing to chance and trusts no one. Breaking into his operation isn’t just about technology—it’s about understanding how he thinks.”
“You sound like you’ve studied him closely,” I remarked.
Bennett’s eyes flashed. “Our paths crossed years ago. Classified operation in Estonia. Let’s just say I have personal reasons for ensuring he doesn’t succeed with this neural tech.”
The revelation cast a shadow over our planning.
This wasn’t just another assignment for Bennett—it was personal.
More puzzling was Dr. McLaren’s reaction.
The more Malcolm spoke, the more uncomfortable she appeared, to the point of anger.
Apparently, Con had picked up on it and attempted to change the subject.
“What led to your interest in joining SIS?” he asked.
My father,” Bennett said, resting against his chair. “He served during the Cold War—Berlin Station, then Moscow. Some of my earliest memories are of him discussing operational security with me at the breakfast table.”
“How fascinating, so you followed in his footsteps, then?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Partly.” For the first time, Bennett’s expression softened slightly. “But more because I witnessed firsthand how Russian intelligence operates. The methods, the mindset, the patience. I wanted to be the counterbalance.”
Con studied him with new interest. “Were you always focused solely on Russian operations?”
“For most of my career, yes.” Bennett’s voice took on a sharper edge. “I’ve tracked numerous GRU and FSB operations across Europe. Including, at one point, Viktor Orlov’s research.”
His redirect back to Orlov piqued my curiosity. “Before his supposed death?”
“That’s right. He was on our watch list due to his connections with military research facilities. Nothing concrete enough for action, but concerning, nonetheless.”
After dinner, we returned to finalizing the preparations for tomorrow’s fieldwork. As the night grew late, Bennett and Dr. McLaren eventually retired to their rooms, leaving Con and me alone in the command center.
Con moved to stand behind my chair, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. “Interesting developments,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
I leaned back against him, savoring the brief moment of connection. “Bennett’s reactions are becoming concerning.”
“Agreed. I sense this is personal for him, and we all know how dangerous that can be.”
His fingers traced a gentle pattern along my collarbone, a quiet intimacy in the midst of our professional setting. I closed my eyes briefly, allowing myself to feel the simple comfort of his touch.
“We should get some rest,” I finally said, though neither of us moved immediately.
Con bent down, his lips brushing my temple. “Tomorrow will tell us more.”
As we made our way upstairs to our shared room, I found myself balancing multiple complexities—the mission, Bennett’s mysterious vendetta, and this deepening connection with Con that seemed to grow stronger amid the uncertainty.
The feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach become heavier, despite Con’s calming presence. While AIWS was horrific on its own, I couldn’t help but think that whatever was actually going on was far worse.