In Chaos (Undercover Book 3)

by Adalind White

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  Petrov raked his hands through his hair before answering. His temples were growing white. More than half his black hair was now grey.

  “I think she’s in the Spice fog,” he said.

  The Spice fog. My new specialist subject. So that was why he was here. A few days after the Conference, I got my transfer to Cole’s team. I’d been working to unlock the minds of the agents affected by Spices for as long as Skye had been on her own mission.

  “Some varieties of Spice were developed in Russia,” I said. “Early versions date since the Cold War. What we’re seeing now is so refined, we lost agents without realizing, but now we’re catching on.”

  “They didn’t use a massive dose on her, right?” he asked.

  “The result of a massive doss is severe paranoid behavior,” I said. “Complete break from reality. Cole studied the effects on their brain. The autopsies were very revealing.”

  Petrov shivered, but didn’t interrupt me.

  “The ones who survive are getting better. The damage to their brain seems reversible, but it’s a slow process.”

  The result of a massive dose was damn clear, a severe breakdown or death.

  “She doesn’t look paranoid,” I said, watching the muted recording playing on a loop on the screen.

  “Not everyone believes in the Spice,” Petrov said. “There are people who think she went native. That, for fear or for money, she switched sides.”

  I shook my head, unconvinced. The woman on the screen was not Detective Walker, master of undercover police work. Had she switched sides, I was confident that I’d be able to see a glimpse of the real her.

  An ice claw gripped my heart. My mind shaped the question without mercy. How much of Skye was left?

  “How much do you know about the fog?” I asked.

  Petrov raised an eyebrow and looked at me with curiosity and hope.

  “They’re highly functional,” I said, as if lecturing a new student. “If they are administered micro-doses regularly, they can be kept under control. Their real memories fade and they believe whatever the programmer tells them. We had a measure of success treating them if we get to them in time.”

  “What’s the time limit?” he asked.

  “A month,” I said. “We didn’t manage to get back anyone who had Spice in their system for more than a month.”

  “This recording is from three weeks ago,” I said. “If she was fed Spice from the beginning, now she’s in the last week.”

  He opened his beer. The scar on his left cheek looked like an upside down logo for Mercedes Benz, or a star with three rays. Under his grey jumper, he carried other stars. Did he still have the hard earned tattoos of the Vor? Marrying Alexandra Walker made him an American citizen. I doubted that the Agency would allow such an experienced field operative to go to waste.

  “She hasn’t contacted us after Szeleky was killed,” Petrov said. “She didn’t follow any procedure to ask for an extraction. She’s acting suspiciously. Stone is trying to get approval for an operation.”

  “Trying?” I asked.

  His jaw tensed for a moment before answering.

  “Some people,” he almost spat the words, “point out that, if the fog is real, she couldn’t have been in the fog when Szeleky was killed. It happened in the first hours of their mission. She was with him all the time. Like you said, she didn’t get a shock dose because she’s still functional.”

  What if there were other options? What if there was a middle ground, between a massive dose and micro-dosing? What if Russian scientists had come up with their own Spices, that acted fast but didn’t push the subject into a meltdown?

  “What do you think the Agency will do if they have proof she has passed the point of no return?” Petrov asked although he knew the answer as well as me.

  “Instead of an extraction, they will organize an execution,” I said. The words came out calmly, as if I weren’t talking about Skye’s life. “They haven’t done it yet because she hasn’t been here long. She doesn’t know enough to make her truly dangerous for us. But they can’t let her simply switch sides.”

  “Stone is arguing that she seduced Prince Aleksei,” Petrov said pointing with his chin at the imposing young man who was frozen in the middle of the screen. “He parades her like a trophy everywhere, but she’s on her own a lot. He set her up in an apartment. We have reports that she can come and go without supervision. She had plenty of opportunities to contact us. She only goes alone to the beauty salon or to restaurants owned by the Stepanovs. She never paused in front of cameras again.”

  Could Skye really betray everything she held dear? She could fall in love with her enemy. No matter how much it hurt, it didn’t make it any less true. But would love or lust overpower her core values? On its own, emotion wouldn’t be enough for that. What if love or lust were aided by chemistry?

  “She has less than one week left,” I said. “Tell Stone to send me there.”

  “What was the last time you were in the field?” Petrov asked.

  “That doesn’t matter,” I said. “The only one who knows more about the mechanisms of Spice is Cole, and he’s a chemist.”

  No one could even consider sending into the field the aging doctor, with bad eyesight and an ability to throw his back when he picked up a book. The only way I’d be more useful in this mission was if she were already at home, and I deprogrammed her.

  “If he sends anyone else, she will resist the extraction.”

  Skye resisting extraction had the potential to turn into a blood bath. She might get herself killed or kill whoever tries to help. Her reality right now seemed to be the life she had with Aleksei Stepanov.

  “It’s not Stone who needs convincing,” Petrov said. “There’s something big going on in Moscow and they don’t want to pull people off that case.”

  Something big in Moscow. No wonder they didn’t sanction an extraction. If something big went wrong in Moscow, the Agency could be responsible for bringing about the Third World War. They wouldn’t spare a single operative to bring back someone who was, in the most optimistic scenario, already damaged.

  “I don’t need anyone else,” I said. “Just a legend and the chance to be alone with her in the next five days. I can bring her back.”

  “Three days,” Petrov said darkly. “In three days, they will issue a kill order.”

  My mind raced. They didn’t have people to send for a rescue, but a kill order could be something as stupid as a contract on her head. Something that could be subcontracted to any low life with a gun.

  “Three days,” I said with a nod. “If the Russia division is busy, we’ll do it.”

  Cole’s research would greatly benefit from having a fresh subject. Fresh enough to have the Spice in their bloodstream. We had developed an experimental procedure to help someone overcome the effects of the drug while they were still taking it. We never got the chance to test if an adrenaline spike would neutralize the Spice. This test case would benefit hundreds, maybe thousands of people.

  I knew Skye’s body and mind better than anyone’s. I would be able to cause adrenaline to flood her system. Her heartrate would be an excellent indicator. Thanks to our games, I knew I could do it because I had done it before.

  “Good,” Petrov said. “Stone can assign me to you. My contacts in the FSB said they will allow a small operation in St. Petersburg. They will offer minimal support because the Stepanovs have people deep in the FSB.”

  Emotion had clouded my mind. Petrov hadn’t come here looking for a second opinion. I was a last ditch attempt to save Skye.

  Professor Cole was asleep when I called. I asked him to meet me outside the Director’s office. He sensed my urgency and didn’t ask stupid questions on an unsecure line.

  I set the watch on my phone on Moscow Standard Time. From now on, every second counted.

  Chapter 14. Skye – “Home”

 
Going to the gym with Aleksei was such a “normal couple” thing to do. He doted on me, like a proud boyfriend. He showed me how to use machines, changed weights, brought me water. I sometimes wiped his forehead between sets and held the water bottle for him to drink. He enjoyed the pretense as much as me.

  I was always careful not to touch his skin or to allow him to touch me, even in passing. All my power over him hung by a thread. I could control him, as long as he believed what I offered him was better than sex.

  He needed to submit to someone. I could sense him willing, even eager to accept pain, but when it came to sex, he was inflexibly traditional.

  Maybe part of me was getting hooked on the sensation of control.

  His strong back muscles shifted when he bent over to arrange the dumbbells I had used. The dozens of mirrors in the gym allowed me to watch him while I went through my short cool down routine. He was attractive, no doubt about that. I checked out his ass in the mirror behind him when he turned to me.

  “Sauna?” he asked, and his eyes flickered over my breasts.

  That was not good. Not good at all.

  I shook my head.

  “Shower,” I said.

  I finished stretching and he handed me the towel.

  “You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll wait for you in the cafe.”

  We walked out to our lockers. I took a quick shower and got dressed, pondering my next move. I had to do something to release the pressure building up in Aleksei. Getting him to come without touching him was pushing the limits of my imagination.

  The cafe at the ground floor served a good breakfast, but they didn’t have a tea as good as the one I made myself at home.

  “Espresso macchiato,” I told the waitress looking at the menu. “And a French breakfast.”

  People rushed past the window. I looked through them as if they were ghosts. My mind was busy turning around the issue of Aleksei’s release. How could I get him to come without getting very directly involved? He liked being controlled but not humiliated. Demanding that he jerked off in front of me would cross the line. I had to offer him a more consistent satisfaction than requesting him to get himself off.

  I had half a chocolate croissant left when Aleksei showed up. He sat across from me and ordered a traditional Russian breakfast.

  “What are we going to see?” I asked.

  “A ballet tonight,” he said. “La Belle au Bois Dormant. And next week, an opera. La Bohème.”

  He spoke both titles in very clean French, without the Russian accent present when he spoke English. The Sleeping Beauty ballet I could figure out, but the opera seemed familiar and unknown at the same time.

  “Is it in French?” I asked.

  “Italian, with—”

  “Russian subtitles,” I finished his sentence and sighed. “You’ll have to tell me everything about it.”

  Aleksei took a sip of his coffee and looked out the window. I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to answer.

  “It’s about a group of friends,” he said. “Four young people who live in an apartment in Paris. They’re all artists in their own way. The main character is the poet. They’re so poor, they can’t afford to warm up their apartment during winter. The poet sacrifices the drama he’s writing to keep the fire going, feeding it to the flames one page at a time. They live from day to day, dodging rent and trying to make money on their terms.”

  While he spoke, I seemed to remember the plot. I remembered wondering why rich people flocked to see an opera about starving artists.

  Listening to a man who had all the money and power he could possibly want, talk about the poor artists, I realized why he was drawn to this story. The people in the story were more free than Aleksei would ever be. He was a prince, even if his kingdom was one of crime. He couldn’t afford to abandon his responsibilities to pursue anything else.

  “Do you play any instruments?” I asked interrupting him when he was telling me about the love story between Rodolfo, the poet and Mimi, the seamstress.

  “Piano, a little,” he said. “I took lessons as a child.”

  “I’d like to hear you play,” I said.

  His arctic blue eyes studied me curiously for a moment.

  “I haven’t played in a long time,” he said.

  “Do you miss it?” I asked, and immediately I realized it was a wrong step.

  Even if we were alone at our table, with no people in the vicinity, this counted as a public place. Aleksei couldn’t afford to show weakness in public and my question must have touched a nerve. He didn’t answer and I didn’t press the point.

  “Let’s go home,” he said.

  Home was code for the dungeon. Who would be in chains this time? Even after all these weeks, I couldn’t help the feeling that one day I’d be the one submitting to him.

  I did not want that. More than anything, I knew that I had to stay in control. If he ever got me to submit, something terrible would happen. My brain wasn’t helping me on this. All it did was to put up this massive flashing warning sign, that stood out clearly from the dense fog: don’t have sex with him.

  He was quiet on the drive home. Home… I shuddered inwardly at the thought. Our home was that room in his basement. The only place where he could be free.

  He drove the hulking jeep through St. Petersburg in rush hour patiently. The bodyguards followed us in another car, but Aleksei only said important things at home. Even this car could be bugged, by a rival gang or the FSB.

  I played with my phone to pass away the time. The phone with its diamond studded case was a present from Aleksei along with the apartment. I lost game after game, not paying attention to anything but the pretty colors on the screen. In my mind, I created other games.

  Aleksei changed the station while we waited for the light to turn green. His gaze slid from the radio to my knees. I had to find a game that would distract him.

  Chapter 15. Skye – “Miss”

  The layout of the Mariinsky Theater was vaguely familiar although it was my first time visiting the old building.

  I resented the stiff lace collar of my dress. It looked wicked cool, but it didn’t allow me to turn my head left and right more than a few degrees. It gave me the urge to slink along the walls to be sure my back was safe.

  The mysterious concubine of the man who would be king couldn’t afford such suspicious behavior. It wouldn’t do any good to Aleksei’s image and it would damage his respect for me as his Domina.

  “Mashenka, what do you want to drink?” he asked.

  His eyes glinted and his pupils expanded momentarily when he used my code name.

  “Champagne,” I said.

  It should be light enough to handle. Vodka would suit my mood better if it weren’t for this incessant fog in my brain. This stupid déjà-vu sensation didn’t help either. Why did I feel like I’ve already been here?

  He hesitated before taking my hand. It was sweet of him to want something as normal as that. He decided to offer me his arm, and I looped mine through his. For us, it felt like a guard escorting a queen. For the rest of the world, I was almost literally, arm candy.

  “I beg your forgiveness, Mashenka,” he said. “I have to talk to some people.”

  He was really taking to playing these games in public. His words had sounded perfectly polite, but underneath them, he was asking permission from his Domina.

  I made a regal gesture with my fingers, signaling my consent at the very edge of seeming dismissive. He nearly clicked his heels when he gave me a small military bow.

  The champagne was good, the chair was comfortable and I loved my new dress. I loved how it looked on me and I loved that it covered so much of me. It was an odd sensation of safety to know that people would remember the dress more than me. The hemline floated a couple of inches off the ground only because I wore my highest heels. Its lace collar, glittering with gems, covered part of my face

  From my bar stool, I swept my gaze
lazily over the large room. I could recognize faces from the papers. Some were politicians, other were businessmen. Some were with their wives, others with their mistresses.

  Feigning boredom, I swiveled on my chair to face away from the crowd. I was able to survey the scene behind me using the large mirror on the wall and keep my face turned away from them. Not many people took the trouble to look at someone else in a mirror.

  Aleksei was talking to a shorter man in an expensive but ill-fitting suit. With an effort I remembered he was an elected representative in the lower house of the Parliament. As far as Mikhail Stepanov knew, his son came here for these seemingly accidental conversations. He would never understand that Aleksei sincerely enjoyed opera.

  Not a muscle twitched on my face as I smiled inwardly at the thought. There was so much more to Aleksei Mikhailovich Stepanov than met the eye. And there was a lot that did meet the eye, as the waitress who approached them clearly noticed.

  She was carrying a tray of drinks and she nearly dropped it when Aleksei turned toward her. He took a glass and thanked her in an offhand manner. She stood there a moment too long, drinking him in with her eyes. The politician who had already taken his drink shot her a harsh look. She slunk away, blushing.

  I followed her progress through the crowd while I pretended to be engrossed in my image in the mirror. What did I see in her?

  A young waitress, working at the Mariinsky Theater to pay her way through college.

  A girl attracted to powerful men. She liked Aleksei thanks to his striking physical presence, and she was smart enough to fear him. I was certain she was aware of what he was. She couldn’t help noticing the bodyguards even if she missed the expensive clothes and accessories.

  I closed my eyes, pretending I was savoring the champagne. Could I use the girl? Aleksei had been a good boy for a long time and no matter how well I played the Domina, I might lose control of him if I didn’t find another way to offer him release.