“Have you ever been to Russia?” Seamus asked.
“Well, no. But I’m fluent in the language and I know everything about Russia.”
“Then you’re not prepared,” Rhiannon said. Everyone turned to look at her. She blushed and looked down at the coffee cup she was holding in her lap.
“Please continue,” Seamus said with a soft smile.
Taking a deep breath, Rhiannon said, “Just having the language and knowledge of the customs isn’t enough. You’ve never been anywhere remotely like Russia. The people look like us, but they don’t think like us. The culture is truly something between east and west. Not a blend, not a hybrid, but unique unto itself. I don’t know what it was like prior to the Revolution. I don’t know if the Soviet system changed the way people think, but I do know what it’s like now.”
“How much time have you spent there?” Collin asked.
“I’ve been there a half-dozen times, including eight months undercover for Interpol. I was fluent in the language the first time I went, and it was a shock. People picked me out as a foreigner immediately. It wasn’t my accent. It was something about the way I carried myself or maybe the expressions on my face. I don’t know. I do know that after living there for some time, I can pass.”
Collin nodded. “Irina, we have three hundred operatives in Russia, another two hundred in Ukraine, and about fifty more in other parts of the former Soviet Union. All are fluent in Russian. There are five Russian Clans, and Gorbachev is the largest with about fifteen thousand members. Their strongholds are Stavropol, Rostov and Krasnodar in southern Russia, and they also control Moscow. The other Clans are centered in Ukraine, Belarus, St. Petersburg, and the fifth Clan holds territory from Yekaterinburg to Kazakhstan.”
“I know all that,” Irina said. “I don’t need a history lesson.”
“I’m just making sure everyone here has the same information,” Collin said. “Are you aware that the five Clans are all enemies? There’s a mini-cold war going on in the former Soviet Union. Gorbachev controls the FSB, Federal Security Bureau, and is allied with the Kremlin. The Romanov Clan, also called the Russian Mafia by the western media, controls St. Petersburg. But things aren’t very neat and clean geographically.”
“There were eight Clans in the Soviet Union before the Silent War,” Seamus said. “Three were destroyed, and their members were either absorbed by the survivors or they escaped to the west. What Collin is trying to tell you is that independent telepaths are almost non-existent in Russia. If you’re not extremely discreet, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
“But on the other hand,” Rhiannon said, “if we play our cards right, we should fly under everyone’s radar. Beautiful women are sixpence a dozen. The Clans there are completely run by men. No one will pay a couple of women any mind if we keep our heads down.”
“We?” Callie asked, one eyebrow raised.
Rhiannon shrugged. “I speak fluent Russian and I know the country. I’m of some use in a fight. I figured I’d tag along with her.”
“And I’m going,” Rebecca said.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Callie said. “You don’t know the language or the customs. You’d be a liability.”
“I’m going with Brenna,” Rebecca said, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at Callie.
“Brenna isn’t going. She doesn’t know the language, and besides, she’s Clan Chief at O’Neill. Her adventuring days are over,” Collin said.
“Ya gavaryu po Russki,” Brenna said and then turned to Rebecca, “but Collin’s right. I can’t go any more than Seamus can.” Everyone stared at her.
“I didn’t know Corwin knew Russian,” Seamus said with a slight smile.
“He didn’t,” Rhiannon said, “but I do.” She glanced at Seamus. “Grandfather wasn’t very discriminating about who he grabbed onto there at the end.”
Brenna blushed. “I guess I neglected to tell you that Corwin shared his Death Gift.”
“For the Goddess’s sake!” Seamus exploded, sitting bolt upright. He looked from Rhiannon to Brenna. “What in the hell happened?”
The two women exchanged a look but didn’t answer. Seamus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We need to talk after this meeting. Alone.”
In the ensuing silence, Irina said, “Can we get back to my stupid grandfather? Collin, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life in a cage. I understand the risks. I’ve been researching the Russian Clans using every spare minute I can. What I need is a plan to get me face to face with him.”
Pursing his mouth, Collin opened a portfolio and leaned forward. “We can provide you with security. We can both cover you and provide you with a small assault force in limited circumstances. What we can’t do is tell you where Sergei Gorbachev is. No one has seen him in almost a year. Rumor is that he’s in Moscow, but he has a villa on the Black Sea coast south of Krasnodar. All we can do is facilitate a search.”
He turned to Rhiannon. “If you are willing to be a team player, and curb your impulses to fly off on your own, I’ll put you in charge of the operation. But if you are going to follow the pattern you’ve used on your cases in the past, I’ll have you restrained and held until Irina and her team are in Russia.”
Instantly, he regretted speaking so frankly. The look in her eyes caused his blood to run cold and he was tempted to throw up an air shield around himself. Not that it would do him any good. If she tipped to the killing edge, only Brenna might be able to save him. Then she closed her eyes. When she opened them, she had herself back under control.
“You would put me in charge?” she asked. “Don’t you have capable team leaders?”
“I do. I don’t have anyone as powerful or intelligent as you are. I don’t have anyone more capable than you are. But if you don’t agree to be a leader, to think of the team and Irina first, I can’t trust you with the job.”
Rhiannon looked at Brenna, then at Irina. Turning to Collin, she said, “Damn you, Collin Doyle. Damn you and your concubine. The two of you are bound and determined to turn me into a responsible Clan member, aren’t you?”
“If it’s possible,” Collin said.
She deflated. “I don’t like being responsible for other people. But yes, I’ll do it. As long as you tell your team leaders not to argue with me when the shit’s hitting the fan. If I’m going to play general, I expect them to follow the script.”
“Done.”
*Rhi,* Brenna sent directly to her alone, *remember plan T. If things get too hairy, I can pull you and Irina out. If you need me to be your nuke, I can do that, too.*
Rhiannon met Brenna’s eyes and gave her a tight smile. *Thanks.*
~~~
When the meeting ended, Rhiannon moved to leave with the rest. A sharp look from Seamus caused her to sink back into her chair. After the others filed out and Rebecca closed the door behind her, Seamus fixed Brenna with a baleful eye.
“What the hell happened? Why was Miss Kendrick even there? Corwin denied her for thirty-eight years. I find it hard to believe he had a sudden attack of conscience.”
Brenna squirmed in her seat. “I didn’t think that was right. She deserves her birthright. You knew Delilah. I figured that if he actually saw her, he couldn’t doubt she was his granddaughter.”
“And did he acknowledge her?” Seamus asked.
“Yes, he did,” Rhiannon said. “Hugh lied to him all these years. He told Corwin that my mother was a fortune hunter and that he wasn’t my father. As we know, Hugh was one of the greatest liars in history.”
“And how did you manage to get yourselves into the situation of sharing Corwin’s death gift? Do you realize how dangerous that is?”
“Uh, no,” Brenna said. “No one ever mentioned that it was even possible. No one warned me.”
“That’s because it rarely happens. For a reason. History doesn’t document many survivors.” He turned to Rhiannon, closely studying her face as he asked, “Are you all right?”
Ner
vously, she said, “Yeah, I think so. Why?”
“Because in most of the instances that I’m aware of, when two people share a death gift, one or both of them go mad. Some never reawaken.”
Both women’s eyes popped wide open, staring at him.
“You’re not worried about me?” Brenna asked in a small voice.
“Of course I worry about you. All the damn time. But if you’d gone off the deep end, either Collin or Rebecca would have told me.”
He sighed. “There are a number of complications to what you did. Corwin had the O’Neill Gift, which you also have. Miss Kendrick doesn’t. I’m sure that having a seventeen-level mind emptied into hers made for a far more difficult integration than normal. And there are those who go mad from a death gift under the best of circumstances.”
He rose, went to the sideboard, poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, and loaded a plate with fresh fruit. Returning to his seat, he said, “The larger risk is the process of integrating another living mind. When you receive a death gift, you get the person’s memories. But you two shared each other’s living souls. I’m surprised Corwin didn’t take the both of you with him.”
Rhiannon and Brenna shared a look.
“Have you had any issues?” he asked. “Any problems either with integrating his memories or with what you shared of each other?”
“No, I haven’t,” Brenna said. “It’s weird having some of the memories, or meeting someone for the first time and knowing who they are. It’s especially weird to meet an old woman and have a memory of making love to her as a man.”
“Yeah,” Rhiannon said. “That has to be the weirdest. That and the guy who had his head split by an axe.”
Brenna nodded vigorously. “I have dreams sometimes, and that one comes around a lot more that I’d like.”
Seamus shook his head. “Amazing. The only thing I can imagine is that you’re far more alike than even your looks or your power. Your souls have to be compatible. You’re very lucky.”
“Do you know what a Pathfinder is?” Rhiannon asked.
Seamus froze, then turned to her in what seemed like slow motion. “Where did you hear about a Pathfinder? And what was the context?”
“After we woke, after Corwin died, the Goddess said that Rhiannon was the Pathfinder,” Brenna said. “She said that the Pathfinder completed the triumvirate with me as the Power and Rebecca as the Shadow.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m glad I have a strong heart. Granddaughter, I never imagined I would be challenged the way I constantly feel since you walked into my study that night.”
Opening his eyes, he looked at Brenna, then turned his eyes on Rhiannon. “Goddess touched? How in the hell do I manage to live a hundred and sixty years and never know anyone who was Goddess touched, and then meet three of you? Yes, I know what a Pathfinder is. She’s the one who finalizes turning my hair snow white.”
Brenna leaned forward. “Grandfather, please. Be serious.”
“The Pathfinder completed the triumvirate,” Seamus repeated. “Brenna, I don’t know exactly what any of this means. You say the Goddess can’t tell you what your future might bring. I guarantee I can’t. I only know that my memories carry knowledge of two other triumvirates. In each case, they saved the Clans from extinction.”
He looked at Brenna, and the expression on his face was one she’d never seen before. “You’ve been worrying about apocalyptic scenarios since we first met. You don’t have to convince me anymore. I’m on board.”
~~~
Chapter 12
I have learned over the years that when one's mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear. - Rosa Parks
Eating dinner in a small Italian restaurant near the train station in St. Petersburg, Roman said to Irina, “I’m rather surprised at your Russian. For someone who is here for the first time, you have a rather strong Moscow accent.”
“My mother lived most of her life in Moscow before I was born,” Irina replied. “We spoke mainly Russian in my home until I started school. After that, my parents made a point of speaking all the languages they knew. One day would be Russian day, the next English, the next Arabic or German or Dutch. I was expected to keep up.” She smiled. “A girl could get mighty hungry if she didn’t remember the proper words on the proper day.”
“Roman,” Rhiannon said, “I’ve felt a lot of telepaths the past couple of days. Sometimes I feel a really strange, hostile vibe, as though there’s a silent war going on.”
“Yes,” he said, “in part that is a reflection of the conflicts within Russian society. But there are members of multiple Clans here, and none of them like each other. There are also factions within the Romanov Clan that controls St. Petersburg. The rumor is that Alexander, the Clan Chief, is dying. We just have to be careful.”
Irina and Rhiannon had stepped off of the ferry from Helsinki and looked around at the grandeur of St. Petersburg. The spire of the Admiralty and the dome of St. Isaac’s Cathedral rose above the city in one direction, and the steeple of Peter and Paul’s Cathedral scraped the sky in the other direction. The rest of their view was a continuation of the many palaces they had seen on their slow crawl up the Neva River.
Carrying Russian passports identifying them as Larisa Mikhaylovna Orlova and Ekaterina Andreyevna Kuznetsova, they allowed the Protectors who accompanied them to direct them to a minibus that drove them to a flat in an old mansion on a canal near the center of the city. Their internal passports with their propiskas, or residency permits, listed their addresses as being in Moscow.
St. Petersburg was founded as an imperial capital, and palaces built during the Czarist period lined the streets. During the Bolshevik Revolution, most were turned into apartment buildings or offices, but the original facades were still impressive. Traveling through the streets, Irina bounced around and squealed like a kid with a new toy. She’d dreamed of seeing Russia all her life, and now she was there.
O’Donnell had purchased one of the old palaces and renovated it to provide apartments and offices for its Russian operations. Their stay in St. Petersburg was intended to be only a brief stop. The plan was to spend a week, acclimating Rhiannon and Irina and getting to know their team before proceeding to Moscow. The unspoken agenda was for their team to try to train them to work with the team, in the hopes of keeping both alive.
Their first day, Roman, head of O’Donnell’s St. Petersburg operatives, toured them around the city and patiently accompanied them as they shopped. At Rhiannon’s insistence, Irina had packed light. Rhiannon wanted to shop for clothes after they arrived in Russia, intending to ensure their wardrobes reflected current fashion and that the clothing would be of a quality and cut that wouldn’t call undue attention.
The following two days were spent at the Hermitage, the great art museum, and Peterhof, the palace of Peter the Great outside of the city. Rhiannon and Roman agreed that keeping a low profile was critical, so they avoided the upper-scale restaurants and nightclubs. She expected some resistance to this from Irina, but was relieved to discover the young succubus agreed with them.
Roman paid the tab and they rose to leave the restaurant. Ivan, the other Protector eating with them, preceded Rhiannon out to the street. The rest of their team floated toward them from the stations they had taken outside the restaurant.
They had walked about half a block when Rhiannon heard the characteristic spit of a silenced pistol and Ivan crumpled. She turned and saw a man step from the shadow of a doorway toward Roman and Irina. He shoved his hand toward Roman, and Rhiannon heard three more spitting sounds in rapid succession. Roman clutched his side and went down. The man grabbed Irina as more men emerged from an alley and from around the corner.
Covering herself with an air shield, Rhiannon moved toward Irina, extending the shield to try to cover the younger woman also.
The man who had grabbed Irina jerked and stumbled away as the succubus spun toward him. Two other men leaped toward
her and she cut them down with Neural Disruption. Rhiannon saw a flicker of light from the syringe held by another man. He grabbed Irina’s hair, plunging the syringe into her shoulder. Then he jerked and fell on top of Irina as she slumped to the ground. Springing to Irina’s side, Rhiannon pulled the syringe out of her and saw that it was empty.
A curse in Russian and the sounds of blows from behind her caused Rhiannon to glance over her shoulder. A few feet away, one assailant was on top of a face-down O’Donnell Protector, beating him, while another was standing and kicking him.
Rhiannon couldn’t use neural energy without also hitting the Protector. Dropping her air shield, she reached into her blouse and pulled her pistol. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she shot one man and then the other. Beyond them, she saw that her team was badly outnumbered but were holding their own.
As suddenly as they had appeared, the attackers melted away. Spinning around, Rhiannon stared in horror at where Irina had lain. The little succubus was gone.
~~~
*I lost her,* Rhiannon reported to Brenna.
*Lost her? Like you left her on a bus? She wandered off when you were shopping for souvenirs? What do you mean, you lost her?* Brenna didn’t have to ask who the ‘her’ was.
*We were attacked. Badly outnumbered. They drugged her and we couldn’t stop them.*
*How did Gorbachev even know she was in the country? What the hell is Derek thinking? There’s a leak somewhere, and I want an accounting. Show me a landing spot. I’ll ream his ass nine ways from Sunday.* Derek was Roman’s real name.
*Derek is dead. We lost three of his team and four more are wounded. If you feel the need to come here and do something, I’m sure Spencer could use your help.* Spencer, aka Boris, was the team’s Healer.
Through the link, Rhiannon felt Brenna hesitate, her anger diminishing and tinged with sorrow.
*It wasn’t Gorbachev,* Rhiannon sent. *We captured one of them. He’s from the Romanov Clan. Unfortunately, he’s just muscle. He doesn’t know a damned thing except they were told to snatch the blonde girl.*
Succubus Ascendant: An Urban Fantasy (The Telepathic Clans Saga Book 4) Page 12
