That person leaned back, and a face appeared.
It was Lia, Loki’s wife.
The blond woman with the dark-green, catlike eyes and the full mouth smiled into the camera, but Tyr saw the worry there, reflected in a visible tension on her face.
“Hey, Tyr,” she said, relaxing back into the chair. “There’s a lot here, so I thought I’d try to make it easier for you. In my last job for Gregor, I was doing surveillance at a kind of ‘banking’ conference in Kathmandu. At the time, I didn’t listen to all of it.”
Combing her fingers through her long, thick blond hair, she sighed.
“Truthfully,” she admitted. “I didn’t listen to most of it. I just bugged the guy Gregor wanted me to bug, did some surveillance to make sure I was getting roughly the intel Gregor wanted, and bagged everything at the end. Gregor had me hire a prostitute and a few other things to compromise the guy further, so I knew I had enough to give him leverage. As for the rest of it, I just copied it all on this drive. I planned to give it to Gregor when I got back to L.A.”
Lia adjusted her back in the striped cushions, folding her lean, tanned arms. She looked off to the side, lips pursed, then back at her laptop’s camera.
“Well, you pretty much know what happened after that. And when Loki got me away from Gregor, and away from that life, I forgot all about it. But the drive fell out of my old travel bag last night. I started listening to some of the files. Loki was curious, too, so we ended up listening to and watching a lot of it. Most was on the corrupt banking practices I mentioned. Money laundering for a lot of super illegal stuff. Trafficking. Drugs. Weapons. Prostitution. Children. Professional hits. Even things that sounded like terrorism, mostly in Africa and the Middle East. But I also found this…”
She reached up for the camera.
The screen cut away to black, showing nothing.
After a blip, another video clip started, this one fuzzier than the previous, and coming from a strange angle, one lower than face-height, but pointed upward.
The lens was wide-angle, so picked up a lot.
It struck Tyr that it must be coming from the front of someone’s body. Given what Lia said, he guessed it was her planted body-cam, a video surveillance bug planted on her target’s clothing to monitor his conversations and meetings.
“That seems risky,” a man was saying in Mandarin. “Are you sure you want to go that far? You could start a war. A real one.”
Tyr leaned forward, his attention sharpening.
Due to who and what he was, Tyr understood and spoke the vast majority of human languages. He knew them well enough to know this man was likely native to the tongue.
The other person in the recording answered in American-sounding English.
“English, damn it!” he snapped. “We’re in here alone now. Don’t make me translate every damned thing you say.”
The other switched languages fluidly.
“I apologize,” he said politely in English. “I am asking if you are comfortable with the risks inherent in this approach. There could be wide-scale consequences… even military conflict.”
“Military conflict?” The second voice grew incredulous, then sarcastic. “Ya think?”
The first voice grew confused. “Sir?”
“Of course it’ll result in military conflict. It’s designed to result in military conflict.” The American snorted, his Southern accent growing more pronounced. “Jayzus on a popsicle stick, Lie Jie. I think you might be missing the point of this whole thing. War isn’t just some acceptable byproduct of this mess. It’s the whole damned point.”
Tyr leaned forward, his mental ears pricked forward.
“…The bastard won’t toe the line,” the second man complained. “We can’t afford to have him obstructing every damn’d thing we try to do. So we send the message. Either he gets off his high horse and learns to play ball, or we’ll burn his administration to the ground.”
Pausing, the American added,
“We have our own reasons for wanting war, anyway. War is good for business. Chaos on the international front is good for business. It sells weapons, Lie Jie. Girls. Drugs. Even apart from Ravenscroft’s bullshit, war is a completely acceptable outcome for the Syndicate. It might even be better for us… even if Ravenscroft were to cooperate. We take the girl, blame it on the Chinese, and he has to declare war.”
The camera shifted angles.
From the way it moved, Tyr guessed the person wearing it turned to face the second speaker directly. It struck Tyr that the man who’d initially spoken Mandarin was likely the person wearing the camera. Lie Jie also must have been the person Lia’s ex-employer, “Gregor,” wanted bugged and surveilled.
Perhaps Lie Jie wasn’t playing ball, either.
The second face swam into view.
Tyr found himself looking at a hard-eyed man with a scar that ran straight down one side of his face, from his forehead to the middle of his cheek. The scar marked him strangely, starting above his eye socket, then leaping over it to continue directly below, drawing a trail down his cheek, almost like he was crying.
He had one blue eye and one brown one, and short-cropped, military-style blond hair.
His heavily-accented voice grew hard as glass.
“In any case, me and the bosses are sick to death of screwing around with this piece of shit Boy Scout,” the man growled. “His daughter is his weak spot. She’s been partying all over Europe for months. We can pick her up easily on the Amalfi Coast. Or in Ibiza, or any number of other resort-type shitholes she goes to flash her tits––”
“But,” Lie Jie cut in. “War or no war, this is not a rival criminal we are talking about. This is the daughter of a world leader. Someone with an entire country behind them.”
At the other’s scowling silence, Lie Jie cleared his throat.
“You are talking about kidnapping the daughter of a head of state,” he reiterated, an audible tension in his painstakingly polite voice. “…Not just any head of state, but that of the most powerful country in the world. A nuclear power. Fooling a country of this size would be very difficult. The people could be fooled, yes… perhaps, through a concerted propaganda effort. But the military? The intelligence services? We would be labeled terrorists. Hunted by the full investigative power of the United States, and likely all of their allies––”
“You’re assuming we don’t have people on the inside already,” the second man said, giving him a cold look. “Don’t assume me a fool, Lie Jie.”
“Okay,” Lie Jie conceded diplomatically. “That would help, certainly. But I think it is foolhardy to assume we would not be found out by those loyal to the administration and the country as a whole. Ravenscroft will want to know the truth before he declares war. He would ask the Chinese. Not to mention, there will be local police involvement. Investigations. That is in addition to whatever military action Ravenscroft feels compelled to take––”
“You really think he’d be measured and rational?” the scarred man scoffed. “With his only daughter’s head on the chopping block? You know he lost his wife and other kid less than a year ago, right? In some car accident? They say his surviving daughter can do no wrong in his eyes. He thinks the slut walks on water––”
“Perhaps,” Lie Jie said, again diplomatically. “But there are other considerations.”
Lie Jie leaned closer, his words soft, yet infused with a darker meaning.
“The Syndicate leaders will not be pleased if we allowed this to get out of control,” Lie Jie said, quiet. “There is a very real danger of exposure risk, of our identity being discovered by the outside world. The Syndicate leaders may find profit in war, but like most business people, they dislike situations they cannot control. When it comes to destabilization, they can be quite… conservative… in their outlook.”
“Then don’t lose control of the situation,” the scarred man growled. “Make sure you’ve got all your I’s dotted and T’s crossed, brother. They need everything l
ocked down and ready to go by the summit at Helsinki. That’s the go-time I was given by the higher-ups. They seemed to think you could handle that, Lie Jie––”
“I am always at the disposal of our leaders,” Lie Jie cut in hastily. “I simply wish them to be aware of all the risks. I would not be doing my job if I did not say these things. If this were to lead to nuclear war, it would not be good for any of us––”
“Well, you just make sure it don’t lead to that, Lie Jie,” the man said coldly.
His mismatched eyes grew flat, empty.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” he added. “I’m here to tell you how it’s going to be. You’ve got until Helsinki. That’s nine months. I’d hate to think someone with your abilities and connections couldn’t get this done in nine months––”
“I will not fail you, my friend,” Lie Jie cut in hastily, now sounding overtly worried. “…Or the Syndicate.”
“Let’s hope not. For your sake.”
The scarred man scowled at the camera, and presumably at Li Jie.
“I’ll let the bosses know I’ve delivered the message… and made you aware of the timeline at Helsinki.”
Those different-colored eyes grew colder.
“I’ll tell them you’re on top of this Lie Jie,” the American added. “That you can handle it. That the job’s not too big for you. In the meantime, I’d get to work, if I were you. If you’re that worried you can’t handle one little girl, maybe you aren’t the man for this job after all. If that’s the case, I sure wish you’d tell me now. So we don’t run the risk of ‘losing control’ of the situation, like you said.”
“I can handle it,” Lie Jie said hastily.
From the way the camera moved, he must have bowed.
“Tell them I understand what is required of me. I wished only to look out for their interests. I meant no disrespect, my friend.”
“I know you didn’t, Lie Jie. I know.”
“I think if we take the daughter, war may not be necessary,” Lie Jie added. “Ravenscroft will be reasonable. For all the reasons you said…”
The second man grunted, but didn’t answer.
It was pretty clear from his expression what he thought of the other’s words.
He didn’t think Ravenscroft would be reasonable.
He didn’t believe that for a second.
Tyr was still studying that scarred face, the empty, mismatched eyes, when the video cut out, leaving a brief fuzz of static.
The screen went dark, then jerked.
Lia’s face reappeared.
With her, the stone balcony covered in vines and purple hanging flowers reappeared as well, showing the morning sun on a fall day in Paris. Amid the potted palms and rose bushes, a hanging tree filled with chirping birds, Lia smiled at the camera.
Her smile looked just as tense as before.
“The Helsinki conference is in two days,” she said, her voice grim. “I’m sure you gathered the gist from the recording, but I’m worried Lie Jie is right, that there could be a real problem if they kidnap that girl. Like a world war level problem. I’d be surprised if it’s not going forward, though, even with Gregor out of the picture. It sounded to me like Lie Jie was too afraid of his bosses to say no.”
Lia continued to frown as she leaned closer to the laptop’s camera.
“…I also think the guy with the scar is right,” she added. “It’s unlikely Ravenscroft will play ball. From everything I’ve read, he’s a white hat. He’s also extremely stubborn. And maybe a bit naïve. I don’t know what the Syndicate wants from him exactly, but I’d be surprised if they got it. Which means they’ll likely opt for war.”
Giving the camera another grim look, Lia fingered hair out of her face, adding,
“I looked up the daughter. Her name is Marion Ravenscroft, and it seems she’s still hanging out with the rich party crowd she latched onto after her mother and sister died. She did go to Ibiza, like the one guy said, but the season there ended in October. It was rumored she went to Los Cabos after that, but images I saw of her from this week were taken at St. Barts. So maybe start there.”
Hesitating, Lia leaned closer to the camera.
“Tyr, I hope you know this might be nothing,” she said, apologetic. “Marion Ravenscroft might be perfectly safe. She’ll have Secret Service protection. She might even have extra protection, if Ravenscroft’s received credible threats. I just know the Syndicate. I know what they’re capable of. Whatever Ravenscroft has keeping an eye on her, it may not be enough––”
Tyr nodded, barely listening to the last of her words.
He got the gist.
He understood everything.
It looked like he was headed for the Caribbean.
3
Marion
She looked out over a crystal blue sea, sighing as she raised a hand to shield her eyes. She tried counting yachts dotting the waters, coming and going from the harbor of Gustavia, the largest town on the small island.
She’d arrived here, via yacht herself, only a week ago.
Already, she was restless.
Her friends, which included the children of rich oil barons and tech giants, and even a few Hollywood starlets and stars, had gone down to cruise the expensive boutiques in the main strip in town, likely to end up having brunch at one of the high-end cafés.
Marion told them she might meet them there later.
Truthfully, though, she wondered what she was doing here.
She’d spent the past year running, running, running.
She’d taken advantage of who she was now, but only to run further and faster.
Of course, she, Marion Ravenscroft, was no one.
All of her fame came by proxy, thanks to her father. Being the daughter of the President of the United States came with perks, and its own set of problems. She loved her dad, but she’d more or less given up trying to toe the line and be the perfect presidential daughter.
She felt immense guilt for that fact, but powerless to change it.
Her reputation as the presidential party girl was pretty much carved in stone.
Marion knew her photo splashed on tabloids was likely an ongoing migraine for him, but she had no idea how to stop it. Even when she tried to keep a low profile, they always seemed to find her. They always seemed to find her at the wrong time.
They also read the wrong things into everything she did.
Marion didn’t feel great about putting her dad in that position.
She knew he didn’t deserve it.
He deserved a better daughter, but the better daughter died… along with his wife, Marion’s mother, on a slick road in upstate New York at ten o’clock on a Thursday.
Marion wished it had been her who died, not her sister.
She wished it had been her, instead of her mom.
But it hadn’t been Marion who died that foggy night.
It had been the two of them, and now her dad was stuck with Marion.
She’d fantasized about disappearing totally, if only to make her dad’s life easier. She’d fantasized about hiding herself away in a mountain monastery somewhere, eating rice and meditating on the nature of things, giving the paparazzi nothing to write about at all.
She knew it was a fantasy.
They would find her.
They’d find her, and within a week, new headlines would be screaming that Marion had lost her mind, that she’d joined a religious cult in the mountains, and was clearly brainwashed by evil, anti-American extremists funded by China.
The tabloids just seemed obsessed with her.
Photo after photo showed up on front pages, in supermarkets all across the country, screaming headlines about her, no matter how hard she tried to disappear.
“MARION DRUNK ON PRIVATE NUDE BEACH!”
“NEW MAN FOR MARION – MARK MODERI, LADY KILLER?”
“IS THAT A RISQUE NEW TATTOO, MS. RAVENSCROFT?”
“MARION DUMPED BY SON OF TECH GIANT!”
�
��MARION ARRESTED IN ROME ON DRUG CHARGES!”
All but the last of those had been more or less true.
She didn’t get arrested in Rome, but she did get questioned by police because of a party she attended by a guy who turned out to be one of the biggest dope runners in Europe. Marion hadn’t known that, of course. It had been more bad luck.
But she couldn’t claim to be entirely innocent, either.
Glancing at the two men in dark suits and earpieces standing just inside the open French doors of her rented villa, she sighed a second time, although she bore neither man any ill will. They were just doing their job. Having twenty-four-hour protection was part of who she was now; Marion would have men like those two shadowing her everywhere she went, likely for the rest of her life.
Ironically perhaps, Marion herself felt mostly unmoored.
It was why she moved around constantly, perhaps, accepting invitations from friends far richer than herself. They invited her to homes in cities and party beaches around the world: Paris, Rome, Ibiza, San Trope, the Seychelles, the Maldives, the Italian Riviera, Los Cabos, Istanbul, Monte Carlo.
Every place was gorgeous.
Every place was filled with beautiful people.
Marion knew how lucky she was, to experience even a fraction of what she’d seen over the past thirteen months. At the same time, all of it felt unreal. Since her mother’s and sister’s deaths in a car accident about a year and a half earlier, Marion felt like she floated through life, without any idea of where she was going or what any of it meant.
She felt horrible guilt at leaving her father alone with his grief, even as she felt abandoned by him, now that he had significantly more important things to worry about.
If she went back to D.C., she’d only make things worse for him.
Out here, she felt like he was protected from her, at least.
Out here, she felt sometimes like she was playing a role in a movie, only no one would give her the script. Being in strange, beautiful places, surrounded by rich people who didn’t seem capable of seeing her, or giving a damn about her, or even noticing her really, at least as an actual human being, felt strangely… safe.
Tyr Page 2
