Duke and Rurik had similar builds. That wasn’t all. It had been pointed out more than once that they had similar features as well. Apparently, their personalities were close too—each being accused of having bad attitudes and hating everything.
Rurik would have protested, but he hadn’t cared enough to bother. Plus, he did sort of hate everything.
Duke winked at him and flicked the lighter again. “Hey, Yankee Doodle Boris, you spent long enough in the shower that we were starting to wonder if you were jerking off—again.”
Rurik made a move to go at the man, only to have Gram Campbell come rushing into the bullpen and jump in his path. Gram, a fellow teammate and operative born during the height of the Highlander era in Scotland, stood there looking anything but concerned with having a pissed-off werebear in his face. In truth, he almost seemed bored by it all.
Typical wolf-shifter.
They didn’t have an ounce of self-preservation.
Rurik curled his lip, staring past Gram at Duke. “I will end you.”
“Och, no killing Marlow,” said the Scotsman. “I know it’s hard to resist the urge. I struggle with it myself on a daily basis. And is it wrong to admit I’m pissed I dinnae see yer face when you saw yer desk? And, by the way, yer Russian is showing, Romanov.”
Confused, Rurik’s brows met. It was then he realized he’d spoken in Russian to Duke when threatening him. Like Rurik, Gram was fluent in a multitude of languages.
“You guid?” asked Gram, stepping back a tad.
Rurik jutted out his chin and gave a quick nod. “Da.”
“Da?” Gram laughed slightly as he moved to Rurik’s side. “Thought they took yer commie card from you when you defected.”
“Says the Scotsman who sounds fresh off the boat despite having lived in this country far longer than me,” reminded Rurik in a teasing manner, though he doubted that was reflected in his voice. “And I did not defect. Not officially or anything.”
“Semantics.” Gram flashed a wide smile. “And I do nae sound like I’m fresh off…never mind. I just heard myself. I do sound like I only just landed. It’s okay though. The ladies here love a guy with an accent. You should see them when I wear my kilt. They cannae get enough of me.”
Rurik slid the man a sideways annoyed glance. “Did you see the captain?”
“Aye,” said Gram, concern flashing through his eyes. “No change, I see.”
Rurik nodded.
“Auberi isnae faring any better,” said Gram, speaking of the other operative who was also being held in the lower level.
Auberi Bouchard was a member of the Fang Gang. The Frenchman and Gram were close friends, though Rurik wasn’t sure how or why that had happened. Gram was carefree and certainly full of himself, but he wasn’t the level of cocky the vampire possessed.
Not many were.
Auberi had lost his shit the same time Garth had, leaving the two in cells that were side by side. It was somewhat amusing, considering how much Garth and Auberi did not get along.
“Vampires are pussies,” said Duke.
It wasn’t as if Rurik disagreed or anything. He merely lifted a brow.
Gram rolled his eyes. “Americans.”
Duke snorted before wiping a hand over his face to hide a smile. “You love me, and you know it, Campbell.”
“Yeah, well, you annoy the fuck out of me, Marlow,” added Striker McCracken from behind the partition nearest to Duke, somehow managing to have a thicker brogue than Gram. The two were teammates and, if Rurik had to guess, he’d say they were best friends as well. One was rarely found without the other.
“Hey, Boris,” said Duke with a half-grin, never taking his eyes from Rurik. “Heard it was your birthday. Figured it was time you had a proper celebration.”
Was it?
Rurik had to think harder on it because he’d stopped keeping track over a century ago. As he thought about the date, he tensed and the sparkler fizzled out, leaving a small bit of black smoke rising toward one of the overhead air vents.
It was his birthday.
How in the hell had the American known that? Had he pulled Rurik’s file? And why would he ever want to celebrate anything with Rurik? It wasn’t like Duke was known for being overly warm or thoughtful; if he’d gone to this extreme, he had a reason. Knowing Duke, that reason was to finally rid himself of Rurik once and for all.
“How old are you now, Boris?” asked Duke, mocking Rurik’s accent.
“I don’t sound like that and my name is not Boris,” said Rurik with a rather loud grunt.
Duke looked to be fighting another laugh. “So you claim. We all know you were tight with the KGB. Who the hell knows what your real name is? Could be Boris, for all we know.”
“And yours could be Dickwad,” returned Rurik.
“Who’s to say it isn’t?” asked another of the operatives, earning the man a sideways glance from Duke.
The man went back to typing what was no doubt a report.
Looking at the pie on his desk, Rurik arched a brow. “Did you poison it?”
Boomer approached, laughing boisterously. He patted Rurik’s back. “He wanted to. That’s why Corbin insisted on handling the apple pies.”
Pies, as in there was more than one?
Corbin Jones was as British as could be, almost a poster child for the stiff-upper-lip mentality. He spoke the Queen’s English and was only missing holding a Union Jack flag to really drive home just how British he was. As a lion-shifter, he was a very capable operative and stronger than his often-reserved personality hinted at. It was rare that he joined in the antics of the men who served under him.
Rurik glanced at Boomer, who was a member of Duke’s team of operatives—Team Five. “Your captain had a hand in this?”
“Dude, be thankful he did. Duke would have so poisoned you. Hell, I even saw him on the internet looking up what foods bears can’t have, and we all know what a luddite Duke is,” added Boomer with another chuckle as he walked toward his team’s area. “As it stands, the pie is safe to eat. Not only that, but Corbin arranged for more pies to be sent over. The break room is full of them. Happy birthday, Rurik.”
Gram eased closer. “We managed to talk Duke out of red and blue glitter. He wanted to dump it all over yer desk and rig something to explode, covering you in even more of it. That would have been Asshole of the Week worthy. So you know, I wasnae opposed to this idea.”
“Thanks,” said Rurik snidely.
One of the halls off the bullpen area was dedicated to awards. There were legitimate ones for valor and so forth, but then there was the not-so-legit one the men awarded each other. Asshole of the Week kept up morale and often gave the men something to work toward together. The goal being to either create a scenario that left a fellow op in a hilarious predicament or catch one in the act of doing so naturally.
Rurik had won his fair share of them since joining the Russian Division of PSI and then moving to the American office. As far as divisions went, Russia was considered one of the newer ones, despite being in existence since the fall of the Soviet Union.
PSI had had a foothold in most countries for an exceptionally long time. But Russia had always proved somewhat elusive. No surprise that they’d had issues getting in the door—there was a time that Russians had issues getting out. His mother country wasn’t exactly known for welcoming outsiders with open arms. And they were no stranger to secret police forces.
He could still recall the start of Okhrana back in the days of Tsar Nicholas II. Rurik had been young for a supernatural during that time, and he’d already had his dreams of following in his father’s footsteps as far as science went dashed. His country wanted him trained to be a weapon and his country wasn’t one to take no for an answer.
That was how Rurik had first been pulled into the secret police. Over the years the secret police had morphed and changed a number of times before becoming the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti (KGB). It was no real stretch for him, moving over to
PSI. Though changing the side that he served had been a leap. One that he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with, but it was what it was.
It didn’t help that the American media liked to make his country out to be the villain in every story. While the Cold War may be over, certain prejudices were hard to dispel. Americans needed someone to rally against and to stand in direct opposition of. Russia had won that title. Were they guilty of everything they were accused of? No. Were they guilty of at least some of it? Probably. Then again, America was no saint. It had its fair share of skeletons in the closet as well.
Every country had dirt on its hands, sometimes coated in the blood of others or its own. To think otherwise was naïve and foolish. Rurik had been alive too long to be either.
He’d seen men he thought of as brothers become hardened enemies who would just as soon kill you if they saw you again than talk to you. And he’d seen men he’d once stood in direct opposition of become family to him—such was the case with PSI.
“You all right there?” asked Gram, still standing next to Rurik. “You zoned out.”
He nodded.
“He’s probably contemplating taking his citizenship test,” said someone from the back of the bullpen. “I know how much he longs to be one of us.”
Rurik stifled a groan.
Duke thumbed toward the pie. “Eat up, Boris.”
“Dick,” said Rurik, in Duke’s direction.
Duke put his lighter in his front jean pocket, took another sip of coffee, and continued to smirk. “Eat the pie. I dare you.”
Duke had no doubt done something to it that would leave Rurik sick and in the bathroom for a week. That or a body bag.
Gram nudged Rurik. “It’s safe. I promise.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?” asked Rurik.
Gram snorted. “Because I’d be thinking the same thing if Duke gave me a pie.”
Chapter Two
A tall man with blond hair pulled back at the nape of his neck entered the bullpen with a pensive look upon his face, breaking up the moment. “The medical wing needs some assistance. Another bus full of children was brought in.”
Rurik merely observed, remaining quiet for the time being.
Boomer was quick to get to his feet. “More? How many does this make, Corbin?”
Corbin shook his head. “I’ve lost count. This group isn’t doing so well. Every operative with medical training is down there, but more hands are needed.”
“No one wants me around small children,” Duke said quickly. “I’m not a fan of them and they don’t like me.”
Rurik wasn’t great with kids either, but he didn’t have it in him to ignore the needs of the children. If this lot was anything like the others, the children would be underfed, with matted hair and other evident signs of neglect. In the last week, Rurik knew of at least three busloads full of rescued children that had arrived at division headquarters to utilize the medical facilities that catered to supernaturals. Additional buses were routed to other divisions across the United States and around the world as more labs were discovered.
PSI had taken to referring to the experiments as The Asia Project, seeing as how that had been where the majority of the testing facilities had been located. Rurik liked to call it the-sick-fucks-who-messed-with-children-and-who-deserved-to-die.
His way was better.
Rurik started toward Corbin at the same time Duke did.
Both men froze, their gazes sweeping to each other in a challenging manner.
Corbin rubbed his brow. “Am I going to have issues with the two of you? The children need our help, not us having to pull the two of you apart nonstop.”
“I can behave myself if the communist can,” said Duke.
Rurik entertained going at Duke but resisted, knowing it would feed into Corbin’s fear. “I can behave as well.”
Gram laughed softly on his way past Rurik. “Sure you can.”
Rurik followed behind Gram, leaving him walking nearly shoulder to shoulder with Duke. He elbowed the man and was shoved back. Within seconds, they were pushing at one another much like they were children. Rurik didn’t care. The man was a dick.
Boomer moved in between them, forcing them apart. “News flash, the Cold War is over. You two can really let it go.”
“Fuck off,” they said at the same time.
Boomer snorted. “Seriously, it’s like you’re twins.”
They both stepped in closer to Boomer quickly, squishing the cat-shifter between them.
He grunted and then shot forward, causing Rurik to snicker.
Duke did the same.
Their laughter faded quickly as they turned the corner, entering the corridor to the medical wing. There were children sitting along the corridor wall, huddled together in small groups. As predicted, they were in much the same shape the others had been in.
There were no infants that Rurik could see, but there were children who looked to be as young as four, while others appeared to be in their early teens. So far, these were the first teen test subjects he’d seen. Fear radiated off the children in waves big enough to cause him to stagger.
Duke drew up short as well, sucking in a sharp breath before whispering, “They’re scared shitless.”
“Not cool,” said Boomer, partially under his breath as he surveyed the situation. “Not cool at all. Captain, where are we needed?”
Corbin pointed to the kids in the hall. “We’re arranging for temporary living situations for them all, but for now, we’ll need to see to it they’re clean and have some food in them. If any require additional medical attention, get them into the infirmary to be seen. We’re assuming they’re all fine…well, as fine as can be, but who knows what they’ve endured.”
Duke grabbed for Rurik’s forearm as he stared at his captain. “We are not supervising any children’s bath time or shower time.”
“We don’t need you to,” said a boy who didn’t look much older than thirteen or fourteen at best. He stood and squared his shoulders, his green eyes ablaze with a challenge, and his black hair hanging just past his ears. “Show us where we can get cleaned up and we’ll handle it ourselves. The older boys and girls can help the younger ones. We don’t need or want any other help.”
Rurik instantly liked the kid. He had a grit about him that was admirable, especially with all he’d been put through.
Corbin stared down at the boy. “We were told none of you have spoken a word since you were found. We weren’t sure you even could talk.”
The boy shot him a hard look. “We can. Well, most of us, anyway. We just didn’t have anything we wanted to say to any of you—least not until we knew what your intentions were.”
With a nod, Corbin bent some to be closer to the boy’s level. “I assure you that our intentions are honorable. We want to help you all—not harm you.”
The boy glanced back at the other children, staring for what felt like forever before several of the older ones each gave a slight nod. He then returned to looking at Corbin. “We’ll accept the help, but we can still handle cleaning up ourselves.”
“Understood,” said Corbin, speaking in a soft tone.
The boy lowered his head and then curled one of his hands into a fist. “When can we see the other kids who came in with us?”
Corbin’s expression remained unreadable. “If they aren’t out here, in this hall, then they’re being treated beyond the medical bay doors there. Right now, it’s chaotic back there, but once the dust has settled, we can make sure you see your friends.”
The boy’s gaze darted to the bay doors briefly.
Rurik assumed the kid would make a run for them.
Evidently, so did Corbin, because he craftily planted himself in the boy’s path. “Tell me, is there anyone in particular you want me to check on?”
“Yes,” the boy said, his voice sounding small. He glanced at two little girls who were hugging each other, watching the operatives like they weren’t sure trusting them was an o
ption. The pair didn’t look much older than five years old.
One of the girls had ink-black hair with vibrant green eyes and the other had hair that was nearly white as snow. She slid her crystal blue gaze to Rurik and then didn’t so much as blink.
At the same second, it felt like a fly was buzzing around his head. He swatted at it and the feeling vanished.
“Our friend. We can’t find her,” said the boy. “She wasn’t on the bus with us. I looked. I think she’s hurt.”
Corbin reached out and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Then know she is getting the best care possible right now and the best thing you can do is see to your needs. I can go in search of her myself.”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “They were mean to her where we were. Really mean. I tried to keep her safe. I tried to keep them all safe.”
“And you did a very good job,” said Corbin. “Most wouldn’t have survived what you’ve all lived through. You should be proud of yourself.”
The boy teared up slightly. “Is she dead?”
The two girls who were clinging to each other made the smallest of gasps. The way the dark haired one tightened her hold on the blonde said she was protective.
Rurik nearly went to them both to reassure them he’d find their friend himself—come hell or high water. As he looked into the little one’s blue eyes again, the buzzing around his head started once more, and the need to stop what he was doing now to go on the search for the missing child was so great he nearly rushed away to do so.
Just then a different little girl darted out from the group and wrapped her arms around Rurik’s thigh, clinging to him. Her hair was a shade or so darker than the blonde girl’s.
Rurik put his hands up, worried about touching her for fear of breaking her. She was so small—they all were really.
She tilted her head back, her hair matted to the sides of her face. The next Rurik knew, the girls who’d been clinging to one another hurried over toward him. They peeled the other child from his leg and pulled her back to the group with them. She looked anything but pleased. The dark-haired one didn’t appear to care.
Act of Surveillance: Paranormal Security and Intelligence® an Immortal Ops® World Novel (PSI-Ops/Immortal Ops Book 7) Page 2
