by MB Austin
Her rundown of the property would go into the report to Nigel, and now Dave and Romero would make sure the Gran Balearico’s management implemented the list of infrastructure recommendations. Whether they cleared Erlea of suspicion or not, no whacked-out fan was getting to her on their watch.
Maji pulled the RFID token from her pocket, slotted it into the laptop, and logged in. The I-24/7’s criminal records databases, red notices, and other resources available to law enforcement of partner countries appeared onscreen. Useful, but not at the moment. She found the nondescript-looking icon, clicked through the back alley JSOC maintained for its operators, and with three security questions answered correctly was rewarded with a single folder labeled Blue Beret.
Maji nodded in recognition at the shots of Basque separatists wearing the iconic headgear and studied the ones of Arturo Echeverra. Not that he’d look like himself anymore, if he was resourceful enough to still be alive. The brief biography focused on his involvement in the ETA, the acronym translated from Euskara here to Basque Country and Freedom. The backgrounder on ETA provided a nutshell about Basque regional culture and language, oppression under Franco, and political recognition in the restored democracy. She could empathize with the drive to maintain a unique identity and resist being erased. The rest of it—decades of political assassinations and bombings with innocent collaterals, the dirty war waged in response by the national government, the paramilitary death squads, and Spain’s secret service, and the terrible tangle of communities and families with opposing positions on the creation of an official Basque homeland living together throughout generations of conflict—that sounded all too familiar. It sounded like the stories that refugees from Central America’s civil wars told Maji’s father at their kitchen table, while she played nearby with the kids.
Echeverra spent his childhood on a farm in the mountains near the French border during Franco’s reign, a bleak period for Spain. At college in Barcelona he had promoted cultural recovery after the ban on speaking the Basque language was lifted. After marrying, he got involved in Batasuna, the movement’s political arm, publicly advocating for regional autonomy over secession. With the resurgence of violence, he spoke against the killings and distanced himself from the militarized branch of ETA.
By the time Erlea was born, Echeverra was a recognized figure in the Batasuna’s local politics and helped broker one of the first cease-fires. But then the National Police implicated him in a bombing in Barcelona, and he disappeared before they could arrest him. Given the number of ETA who died suspiciously in police custody, who could blame him?
All that history, tragic as it was, belonged to Romero and his GEO team, who handled counterterrorism for the National Police. Neither Delta nor any US counterterrorism agency would wade in without a legit interest of its own. Maji opened the Homeland intel summaries. And there was the Nuvoletta, a branch of the Italian mafia she’d run into on an op in Ciudad del Este, the notorious hub of organized crime in Paraguay. It figured that they were the link to the guns, drugs, and money flowing between Central America and Spain.
The Nuvoletta had helped Echeverra get a new face and identity. A penniless activist, intel suggested he traded services as a logistics man, moving drugs and laundering money. Not as bad as blowing up civilians, but not a guy with clean hands either. Even if he was innocent of the bombing, earning blood money always changed people. Would he even want to make amends by informing on the Nuvoletta?
The file listed out a number of Nuvoletta leaders Echeverra had dealt with. Did they know who they had helped, years ago, and what he looked like now? If they did, the National Police wouldn’t be the only threat. Spain might let him broker peace talks before prosecuting him, but the Nuvoletta didn’t care about Basque autonomy or peace. They’d kill him the minute they suspected he might turn on them.
Maji read to the end and logged out. Erlea probably had no idea what her father did or didn’t do when she was eight. Or what he’d done since abandoning her. If she had memorialized him as a great guy, then the truth would hurt. And she might help him anyway, might even use a public appearance to send him a message. But not with a paintball gun pointed at her. What had the file said? Not traced to ETA. Not traced to Beatriz Echeverra. Not ruled out as an attempt to draw Arturo Echeverra out of hiding. In other words, the intel analysts had no idea.
Maji wondered if the analysts had thought to rule out stupid music mogul publicity stunts. She made a note to tell Dave every detail of her observations and interactions with Nigel. That man could become a hazard to the mission if they didn’t keep him contained.
Chapter Nine
Maji wore a dress with a leather bolero jacket to meet the crew in the lounge.
“You made it,” Roger greeted her. “And so femme, too. Not that I’m complaining.”
“I borrowed them from wardrobe,” she confessed.
Roger winked. “Girls just want to have fun.”
She smiled mischievously. Parts of the security review had been fun. Not acting like she couldn’t afford to lose a crappy service job when hotel guests were rude to her. But tracing all the ventilation intakes and garbage chutes from their origins to their distribution points wasn’t bad. And climbing up the outside of the building to test the breachability of doors and windows was cool. Seeing Reimi’s reaction to her in the guard uniform? Now that part had been fun. “Well, I owe you one.”
“Lucky for you, the beer is cheap, and I’m easy.”
She fetched him a pint and a caña for herself, the baby draft glass. Just enough to look sociable while fishing for intel. “Introduce me around. I want to meet everyone.”
* * *
Erlea watched Maji toast with Roger. Why hadn’t Celeste arrived with her? If Celeste was her girlfriend, she’d never leave her alone at home. Unless she asked for the alone time. Or didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of musicians and roadies. Or me. Maybe it’s me she doesn’t like. Did she think I was hitting on her? Erlea grabbed the first of the shots lined up in front of her and tossed it back. Just to take the edge off.
Imane joined her at the corner table. “People-watching as usual, eh? Look, there’s your doppelganger, having more fun than you. You should have invited Dr. Sexy Eyes.”
“I did.” Imane’s surprise was gratifying, her delight misplaced. “But it was a mistake. I think she already has a girlfriend, and…” Should she tell her? “Apparently I hit on her once before, at some bar. She must think I’m a creep.”
“What do you mean, some bar? You don’t remember?” Imane’s mouth drew tight with worry. “I thought you swore off clubbing after you got sued by that bitch soccer player.”
“Hey,” Erlea protested. “You know I hate that word. And anyway, I did. It’s been strictly cafés with friends since I got home. So it must have been before that, on the last tour.”
“Or maybe she made it up,” Imane suggested. “She clearly has a crush on you. Maybe she saw you once but embroidered a little to, you know, make a connection.”
Erlea glared at her friend. “Celeste isn’t like that. She’s a grown-up, with a real job. Strictly polite and professional. No fawning, no pandering.”
“Good.” Imane gestured for the server. “You don’t need any more starfuckers after you. Ah, and there’s Dr. Sexy Eyes now. I doubt she wore that to work.”
Erlea followed Imane’s gaze and spotted Celeste scanning the lounge, looking like the essence of springtime in a floral-print halter dress that made her look young and carefree. She raised a hand and waved in Celeste’s direction, catching her eye. When Celeste’s face lit up, Erlea felt the shot of whiskey kick in. “And for God’s sake stop calling her that.”
Imane just chuckled. “Thank God she likes you back. The minute she walked into the theater, looking all Taylor Swift—but hotter, ’cause grown-up and French—I knew she’d push your buttons.”
“I don’t have buttons,” Erlea protested, feeling as adolescent as she must sound. “And stop staring at her.”
“I’m not staring, you’re staring. I’m just being your wingwoman.” Imane waved at Celeste, who gave a polite nod and turned to chat with Roger rather than heading toward them. “On the other hand, maybe she’s straight.”
Erlea scowled at her. “She’s definitely a lesbian. Just not one who’s into me.”
Imane blocked Erlea’s view of Celeste, capturing her full attention. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing. We just talked about shoes, and it came up.”
“Shoes?”
“You know, lesbians and sensible shoes. She made a joke about it, but she was very clear.” Erlea shook her head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. She’s taken.” If not by Maji, then by some other lucky woman. Had to be.
“Yep. She’s definitely your type. Brainy, lovely, and unavailable.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, come on. Have there been women I don’t know about?” Imane stopped teasing and fixed her with that concerned look again. “Have you even asked a woman out, since Laura?”
“I don’t have to. I’m a fucking rock star, remember?” Erlea threw back the second shot and sipped her beer to wash away the sting.
“So you do take one home now and then, at least for variety?”
“Hell, no.”
“But you take the guys home,” Imane pointed out. “Because they don’t remind you of Laura.”
“Don’t start with that,” Erlea growled. “Not tonight.” She reached for the third shot but jerked her hand back when Imane moved to stop her. “Cut it out. I’m fine.”
“Really?” Imane crossed her arms. “Because you’re imploding right on schedule. But not this year. I’m not letting you.”
“Getting wasted once in a while is not a crime.”
“Habibi, assaulting some woman in a club is a crime. She fucking sued you.” Imane threw her arms open and shook them in frustration. “And you could have been hurt. If you don’t face what’s eating you, it’s going to devour you.”
Erlea laughed bitterly and grabbed the shot, downing it with a defiant flair. “Save the lecture. It’s a lousy anniversary gift.”
“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” Celeste said.
Erlea swiveled on her stool to face Celeste. Her smile felt forced. “Not at all. Glad you could join us.”
“Yes,” Imane said, giving Celeste a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for coming.”
“Did I hear you are celebrating your anniversary?” Celeste asked. Her smile looked wooden. “How nice you could be together for it.”
Erlea exchanged a look with Imane. Usually they found it amusing when people assumed they were a couple. Tonight everything was too damn serious. “No, we’re not—”
“An old married couple,” Imane finished for her. “We just act like it.” She glanced at her watch. “And look at the time. My taxi must be here by now.” Imane leaned over and kissed Erlea’s cheek. “Try to behave, habibi.”
Erlea sighed, her anger dissipated. “Give Jordi and Maria a hug for me.”
“I will. And spoil Athena rotten.” Imane gave Celeste a smile and a squeeze on the arm. “Have fun.”
Now that it was just the two of them at the dim corner table, Celeste wasn’t sure what to say. She glanced around the lounge, searching for a safe topic. There was an FC Barcelona banner. No—no sports tonight. Celeste spotted Maji. “Look. Maji’s here.”
“Speaking of girlfriends,” Erlea said. “Is it your anniversary? Let me guess…one month. No, two.” She signaled for the server. “Doesn’t matter. Lemme get you a round to celebrate.”
Celeste warily eyed the empty shot glasses in front of Erlea. “Now who’s making assumptions,” she said. “And no thank you. Excuse me.”
Erlea grabbed her wrist as Celeste turned to leave. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes were sincere, but also a little shiny. They dropped to Celeste’s wrist, and she let go abruptly. “Shit. I didn’t mean to offend you. Or grab you.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “I need to slow down.”
Celeste couldn’t argue with that. “An Aperol spritz for me,” she told the server, “and a Diet Coke for my friend.” At Erlea’s bemused look, she added, “Maji.”
“A pint for me,” Erlea said with evident relief. “Whatever is on tap.”
Celeste gestured to Maji across the lounge, hoping she would come provide a little buffer. “So, how long have you and Imane been friends?” A safe enough topic.
“Since high school. Over a decade,” Erlea said. “Makes me feel old.” The beer and soda appeared promptly, with the spritz promised very soon. Erlea insisted they go on her tab.
“Well, you’ve done well for yourself as an artist,” Celeste said. “Quite an accomplishment, at any age.”
Erlea curled a lip. “It’s not like I have a real job. I didn’t even graduate.” She drank deeply on her pint.
“If you could go back ten years and do things differently, would you?” Celeste asked. “Even if it meant giving up all you’ve gained?”
Erlea looked at her over the top of her beer glass. The server set Celeste’s fruity cocktail down by her, but she couldn’t look away. She’d never seen eyes so haunted.
“Is that for me?” Maji asked, breaking the spell.
Celeste pushed the soda toward her. “Yes.”
Roger hopped onto a stool and reached for the last shot in front of Erlea. “Brilliant. Thanks, boss.”
“Next round’s on you,” Erlea said, without a smile.
“Only fair,” he replied and tossed it back. “Ladies? What’s your pleasure?”
“I’m good,” Maji said, then looked at her watch. “I have to take off in a few.” She touched Celeste’s arm. “You okay getting back on your own?”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Celeste turned to Roger. “Some water would nice, thanks.”
Maji looked to Celeste. “Nice to see you. Unexpected, but nice.”
“Yes, I thought you were out of town,” Celeste said. “I am a bit surprised myself.”
Erlea grinned. “Yep, lots of surprises. I was surprised as fuck when Nigel hired Maji. I’ll be even more surprised if he’s willing to spend any euros to take security advice.”
“Oh, you’re the client,” Celeste told her with genuine relief. “I was afraid the job was something dangerous.”
“Who says it’s not?” Erlea protested, her voice rising. She leaned toward Maji and added, “You could have told her. I wouldn’t have minded. It’s not like the threats are my fault.”
“Of course they’re not,” Maji replied. “But let’s talk about something else, okay?” She gave Roger a polite smile as he returned with water and shots.
Erlea grabbed one, ignoring the water. “It’s all so stupid. I should print the garbage those trolls say about me, show them for what they are. But no, we have to manage the image.”
“I really do have to run,” Maji said, glancing at her watch again.
Roger winked. “Hot date. Am I right? Tell me I’m right.” He raised one eyebrow. “Or tell me after.”
“I’m trained to tell no tales,” Maji said. “Live with the suspense.” She gave him a playful punch in the arm, Erlea a friendly wave across the table, and Celeste a touch on the cheek. “Have Roger walk her to her room,” she whispered before stepping back.
Celeste nodded and smiled. “Have fun.”
Erlea waved loosely at Maji’s retreating form and swallowed a shot. She coughed.
“Are you all right?” Celeste asked.
Erlea squinted at her and laughed. “Oh, you think I’m drunk. Habibi, you’ve never seen me drunk. If you think this is drunk.”
“I should be going, too,” Celeste said, not wanting to witness Erlea like this. “Work tomorrow.” She caught Roger’s eye. “You will see her safely to her room.”
Roger nodded. “Back in a jiff and ready to escort.” He slid off his stool and left them alone again.
Erlea eyed the last shot on the table. “I’ll stop right now if you
’ll walk me back.”
“I don’t go home with anyone who won’t remember me in the morning,” Celeste said.
“No problem.” Erlea grinned. “You’re unforgettable.” She reached for the shot.
“Apparently not.” Celeste slid off her tall stool, ready to go as soon as Roger returned. “You don’t even remember the first time we met, do you? You came to my rescue.”
“No.” Erlea drew the word out, shaking her head. “Impossible. One, you don’t need to be rescued—you’re fucking awesome. And two, I could never forget you.” She threw a third finger out, ready to continue.
Celeste spotted Roger making his way back. She raised a hand to Erlea. “Stop. Just stop. Let Roger take you upstairs.”
“But we were having such a good time,” Erlea said, slumping back. “I really like you. You’re real.”
“Sorry, boss,” Roger said, rounding the table. “We’re all having an early night.” He slipped his arm through hers. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Good night,” Celeste said and hurried away. Outside, the cool air refreshed her. But the walk home was lonely. I’m real? she wondered. What does that even mean?
* * *
Maji paced in her room, looking at the security uniform on the bed. Should she wear it? Reimi found it hot, but what did she expect, exactly? And what if she wasn’t up for it? Self-doubt was a real libido killer.
“Nothing wrong with keeping your physical and emotional needs separate,” Ava had said. And Reimi wasn’t looking for a buddy. But Maji couldn’t even kiss Celeste. Unexpected contact. From a friend. Oh, hell, she should just call Ava.
Maji picked up the phone, found Ava’s number. Was she even allowed to? Technically, she’d been read in to the mission, and Ava lived with Hannah. But Bubbles didn’t. And talking with your best friend about sex was better than talking to your aunt, right? Even if she is your therapist. Maji stared at the phone. Fuck it. She dialed Bubbles.
