Loyalty’s Betrayal

by Mari Carr

  From the gate, the grounds were a wide, windblown expanse of seagrass covering a small rise. On the left of the drive was a weathered-stone grain barn. On the right were stables that had been turned into garages for vehicles since the salt air wasn’t kind on cars.

  They crested the hill. From here, there was a panoramic view of the sea—gray, wind-ruffled water, a sky that was also gray but a dozen shades lighter, a brighter patch marking the sun’s position beyond the obscuring cloud cover.

  In the middle of that view sat Craigencross House. Mateo smiled despite himself. It wasn’t exactly home, but it was a place he knew well. A place where he’d been happy and fulfilled.

  A breath later, the tension slammed down on him again, heavy as a lead shirt. He wasn’t here to talk to the reserves or train new recruits. He was here to find a traitor.

  Craigencross House was huge—only one story tall in deference to the location, but long. There were evenly spaced windows and two identical front doors, each a third of a way along the building. The drive swung wide to the right before curving sharply to parallel the front of the building before looping back, creating a large oval. The center of the drive was wild and overgrown with bushes and seagrass. Another security measure. There were cameras hidden in there, as well as a mechanical spike-strip launcher that could be shot out, destroying the tires of a fleeing vehicle. He’d wanted a remote-controlled automatic weapon of some sort, but the salty sea air made that problematic.

  Mateo parked in front of the first door. “Stay in the car.”

  He climbed out, pocketing the key fob as he did so. He kept his face up so the camera above the door would get a clear look at him, and made sure his expression was calm.

  That calm cracked slightly when he heard the car doors open and close behind him, then the crunch of gravel under Dimitri’s and Cecilia’s shoes.

  He turned, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

  Dimitri didn’t crack a smile. “Last night should have proven to you that none of us excels at following orders.”

  Before he could reply, one of the front doors swung open.

  “Sir.” Roshanak Geertje was short and compact, radiating the sort of power that spoke of a martial artist. That’s exactly what she was, and she taught Tae Kwon Do in nearby Leswalt once a week.

  “Roshanak,” Mateo said in greeting. He stepped forward and she moved out of the way. When Dimitri and Cecilia moved to follow, Roshanak stepped into the doorway.

  It was rare to bring people not associated with the Spartan Guard to the training facility. Roshanak glanced his way, frowning. Knowing her, she was wondering if this action was part of the training and she was questioning the proper protocol.

  “Who are you and why are you here?” she asked in accented English. Roshanak was the reserve guard from Ottoman.

  Cecilia looked over Roshanak—Cecilia was at least a head taller—and raised both eyebrows at Mateo. Dimitri was staring at Roshanak, and Mateo got the strangest sense that he was assessing her as a threat.

  “We’re his—” Cecilia started to speak, but Mateo cut her off.

  “They’re here with me, to help me investigate.”

  Roshanak turned her head slightly, not actually taking her gaze off Cecilia and Dimitri. “Yes, sir. If I may ask, sir, investigate?”

  He didn’t want to tell one person at a time. He didn’t want to scare the reserve guards. Not that they needed protection—they were all more than capable—but even the most stalwart of guards would react strongly to learning there was a traitor in their midst.

  “Let them in. Tell watch command I want to speak to all of you. In the gym, in ten minutes.”

  Roshanak seemed to consider his command. That was a good thing. The guards were not mindless soldiers who followed orders blindly. It was one of the reasons each guard was from a different territory, and the head of the Spartan Guard was elected. There was an equality among them, a sense of autonomy that made sure each guard assessed every situation and threat individually.

  And yet there was a traitor.

  If she’d been a member of the active guard and not a reserve, Roshanak might not have obeyed. As it was, she hesitated long enough that he knew she was seriously considering her best course of action, and then she swung the door wide, letting Cecilia and Dimitri enter.

  Rather than walk away, Roshanak plucked a phone from her pocket and tapped the screen a few times.

  “I’m going to put them in the parlor.” Mateo motioned for his trinity to follow him. The small foyer let out onto a long hall that ran the length of the building. Identical solid wood doors lined each side at irregular intervals.

  Dimitri grunted in what sounded like approval.

  Mateo led them two doors to the left, and into a small parlor. There weren’t any public rooms in Craigencross House, but this one was rarely used, and because of that, there was nothing of interest. A small, old TV sat in the corner. Mismatched armchairs were gathered around a cold fireplace and three rolled rugs were propped in another corner. A desk sat under the narrow window that had a less than inspiring view of the driveway.

  “Very welcoming,” Cecilia said coldly.

  Mateo shot her a glance.

  “You’re not telling them we’re your trinity,” she accused.

  Mateo made sure no emotion showed on his face. He wouldn’t tell the reserve guard because if he did that, they’d know he was leaving the guard. He had no intention of doing that, so he wouldn’t tell the reserves.

  Just as he wouldn’t tell Cecilia and Dimitri that if he found the traitor, he was leaving the trinity.

  “Stay here. I have to talk to the, uh, guards who are here.” He stumbled over the words, not wanting to say “the reserves.”

  Dimitri stepped in front of the door, preventing his exit. “Why are the guards here and not at Triskelion Castle? That might be why the fleet admiral died. If you have them here and not with him.”

  Mateo ground his teeth, stepping around Dimitri. He was in no mood to resume this game, listening as Dimitri criticized everything he did.

  “I’m guessing these are the reserve guards.” Cecilia sounded nonchalant. “There’s always eighteen guards. Two from each territory. Nine of them are on the Isle of Man, and the rest, the reserves or junior members, are here, at the training facility.”

  Mateo swiveled on his heel. “How do you know that?”

  Cecilia flicked her fingers in the air. “It is not a secret. It’s just not well-known. I told you I like our history. It’s my hobby.”

  Dimitri smirked at Mateo but spoke to Cecilia. “What else do you know about the guard?”

  “Just the basic things. The ages of the guards are twenty-five to forty. At forty, they age out and are placed in trinities. I heard once that the guard trains for six weeks with Russian special forces in Siberia. Is that true?”

  “Russia,” Dimitri muttered, the sound of the word clearly tasting bad on his lips.

  Mateo fought the urge to leap across the room to slap a hand over her mouth. Or maybe kiss her to shut her up. She was right, the structure of the Spartan Guard wasn’t exactly a secret, but it wasn’t common knowledge either. The admirals of each territory knew the details, since they were responsible for nominating individuals to join the guard. The actual selection of new members was left to the fleet admiral and the head of the guard.

  Him.

  It was very possible he’d helped select someone who was a traitor and a murderer.

  “Stay here,” he muttered. “I have to go talk to my people.” Mateo walked to the door, and just as he was closing it behind him, he heard Cecilia say, “Aren’t we your people now?”

  Mierda.

  He closed the door on his trinity.

  7

  Dimitri counted to two hundred in Mandarin. He didn’t know the language well, so having to concentrate on the task kept him focused and calm. While he slouched against the wall and counted, Cecilia paced around the room, touching the weathered pictures
of the Irish Sea and various ships and boats that hung on the walls.

  When he reached two hundred, Dimitri straightened. “We’re going.”

  Cecilia’s brows rose, and she put a hand on her hip. “Going where?”

  “To look around. Come.”

  “We should wait here for Mateo.”

  Dimitri snorted. “You don’t want to wait. But if you want to pretend to be the obedient wife…”

  Cecilia bared her teeth, and when Dimitri opened the door, she was right behind him.

  Dobre. He didn’t want to leave her alone, for her own safety, though he wouldn’t tell her that.

  He didn’t expect to get far; with strangers in their house, the guard would be tense, but it was also possible that everyone in residence would be focused on whatever lies Mateo was telling them. He had no doubt Mateo was lying, if only about who he and Cecilia were.

  The long hallway of doors presented many opportunities for discovery, and just as many opportunities to walk in on the assembled guard—and Mateo—who wouldn’t take kindly to their failure to wait like sheep.

  Dimitri started with the door across the hall. It opened to reveal a large, comfortable sitting room, with a huge TV mounted on one wall. Three narrow windows offered a view of the sea and a small dock. A sweatshirt was draped over a chair by the door, and a half-empty cup of tea sat on a low table. He closed the door.

  The next door revealed a small bedroom, almost like a monk’s cell, with a single bed, chest of drawers and sink. There were night clothes draped over the footboard, and a scattering of personal items on top of the dresser.

  “Oops,” Cecilia said as he closed the door. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

  “Why?” Dimitri opened the next door.

  “Because they live here. If someone walked into my house and—”

  She stopped speaking as she caught sight of what was in the next room.

  The floors and walls were white tile, giving it an almost institutional feel. It was about the same size as the sitting room, and the wall closest to the door had a long counter that ran all the way to the lone window. The others had been bricked over to protect the massive server towers.

  Dimitri smirked at Cecilia, who rolled her eyes then pushed past him into the room.

  “Mateo said we had to come here to check the records.” She stopped in the aisle between the counter—which had four computer terminals—and the black server towers.

  Dimitri closed the door behind him. “This looks like a good place to start.”

  Cecilia hesitated for only a moment before pulling a stool out from under the counter and seating herself at one of the computers.

  Dimitri slipped behind the first row of servers, examining them.

  The closed-in windows had been fitted with fans and filtration systems that pumped in cool air while filtering out any salt or particulates. It was a good setup.

  The door slammed open.

  There was a barrage of angry Castilian. Dimitri leaned back to look around the end of one row to see Mateo, chest heaving, yelling at Cecilia in his native tongue.

  Her eyes narrowed and she rose, oh so slowly, from her stool. She took a deep breath then cursed him out in Italian, complete with a rude hand gesture or two. Dimitri backpedaled so he could take in the show. He knew bits of both Castilian and Italian, but not enough to keep up with two pissed-off native speakers.

  Mateo must have caught sight of him, because he whirled, pointing at Dimitri and biting off a few words. Cecilia grabbed Mateo’s face, his lips squishing up like a fish’s, and forced him to look at her while she continued to hiss at him.

  Dimitri laughed.

  They both stopped and turned on him with predatory malice.

  Dimitri propped his shoulder against one of the vertical server supports. “You both make good points. But perhaps we should do what we’ve come here to do. I assume these servers are part of a closed system linked with whatever is on the Isle of Man?”

  Mateo scowled and it was obvious he didn’t want to answer.

  Dimitri merely held his gaze.

  Finally, he gave him a short, angry nod.

  “How do we get in?”

  “I should do this alone.”

  “No.” Dimitri went and sat down at the computer beside Cecilia’s. “The fleet admiral himself said we’re meant to help you.”

  Mateo leaned over, his shoulder hitting Dimitri’s chest, and typed in a password. The screen clicked on. He turned and did the same for Cecilia.

  “I’m trusting you with the safety of my guard,” Mateo said quietly. “We keep everything in here—personnel files, medical history, work logs, incident reports…” Mateo’s mouth was pinched, a line between his brows.

  Dimitri turned to his computer. He felt for the other man, but he had a job to do. “We’ll start with the day the fleet admiral was killed.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Cecilia looked up from the document she was scanning online, made a note on the pad of paper Mateo had brought her, and then swiveled in her chair. “Mateo, it says in your file that you were elected as head three years ago.”

  “That’s correct,” Mateo said. “The head is elected by all other members, including the nine reserve members. Each person gets one vote.”

  “I always assumed the fleet admiral selected the head of the guard.”

  Mateo smiled at her. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that. You seem to know everything else about the Spartan Guard.”

  Cecilia shot Mateo a dirty look, but it held no nastiness. Dimitri was amused by their banter, though confused by the relevance of this information.

  “Was there some point to this line of conversation, Cece?”

  He’d noticed this morning she had stopped giving him hell for the nickname. Dimitri was starting to think she liked it.

  Glancing back at the computer, she pointed to whatever it was that had caught her attention. “It says that you were elected head of the guard in a two-man race against Derrick Frederick.”

  “So?” Mateo asked.

  “Was Derrick angry that you won?”

  Mateo chuckled. “No. Derrick is my best friend. He didn’t even want to win.”

  “Then why would he run?”

  “It looked better that way. It’s good to have an actual election.”

  “What is required to run?” Dimitri asked.

  “Anyone is eligible, though usually the reserve officers don’t run. Why would they?”

  Dimitri frowned. “Why did only you and this Derrick run?”

  Mateo shook his head. “We’re concentrating on the wrong thing. Cecilia, get out of my file. We need to focus.”

  Cecilia made another rude gesture at Mateo, but put her hand on her mouse and started clicking. She flipped to a different page on her notepad. “There were six guards on duty when Kacper was shot. So they’re the suspects.”

  “Not necessarily,” Dimitri said.

  Mateo talked over the top of him. “Yes. We caught the drone operator, but the timing of the shot was too precise. Someone had to be feeding the operator information. Had to tell him when Kacper was out on the balcony. The windows in the castle are all bulletproof glass.”

  “And that was the first day Kacper had ever sat out there?” Dimitri asked.

  Mateo shook his head impatiently. “No. He wasn’t well and the fresh air helped him.”

  “If it was a habit, a predictable habit, then why are you so sure it was someone who was on the balcony with him?”

  “I told you already. The timing.”

  Dimitri raised his eyebrows. “And what if—”

  “Enough, Dimitri.” Mateo’s jaw muscles flexed. “I know each of the guards. Someone I trust betrayed me! Betrayed the Masters’ Admiralty.”

  Dimitri looked at Mateo and his stomach knotted with tension. Mateo was dismissing anything that didn’t agree with his personal narrative of what had happened.

  Cecilia flipped a page. “There were three p
eople who regularly did errands, which included picking up the fleet admiral’s prescriptions. You, Nikolas, and Marie.”

  Mateo rubbed his forehead. “Three times a week, one guard was assigned to go to the market, pharmacy, and laundry.”

  “You don’t do your own laundry?” Dimitri asked.

  “You do?” Cecilia’s voice was mockingly shocked.

  Dimitri smirked at her. “Of course, I do. You don’t, do you?”

  “Of course not, I’m far too bourgeoisie.” Cecilia tossed her hair.

  Mateo ignored them. “The volume of laundry is high. Clothes, linens. We use the same service the hotels in Douglas use.”

  “And only one of you ever went on the errands?”

  Mateo’s jaw muscle twitched. “Sometimes other guards not on duty would ride in, so they could do their own errands.”

  “They’d be in the car with you and with whatever you picked up. Including the medicine.”

  “Mierda,” Mateo snarled. “Yes.”

  Cecilia checked her screen. “I only see one person listed as going to do the errands.”

  Mateo looked like he was about to curse again, then snapped his teeth together, eyes flicking side to side as he thought. “Exit logs. Anytime someone enters or exits the compound, there’s a log. We can match up the times the driver left with the exit logs to see if anyone went with them. There are cameras too. We can check the cameras to confirm who was in the car.”

  Cecilia flipped to a fresh sheet of paper. “How do we access that?”

  “I’ll find it and read you the names.”

  Dimitri leaned back just enough to see Mateo’s screen, watching what he did. Quietly, he mirrored Mateo’s navigation and opened up the log for himself. As Mateo cross-referenced, Dimitri followed along, making sure Mateo didn’t leave anyone out.

  It took nearly another hour to go through the log, and then cross reference each entry with the camera stills that were recorded every time a gate opened.

  Cecilia’s paper was a mess of names and lines. She ripped the sheet off, then carefully transcribed it into a tidy list.