by J. B. Havens
****
It was the day after Christmas and most of the team was gathered in the war room going over the new client profiles. A group of Secret Service agents were scheduled to arrive tomorrow for intensive training. We didn’t have an official contract with them, but once word had gotten out regarding our facilities, the Secret Service began shipping over agents who would be on Presidential guard duty.
Aunt Beatrice and Jackson had left for the village and some sight-seeing. No shops were open on Boxing Day as they called it here, but there was a war memorial Jackson wanted to see and something about a sculpture Aunt Beatrice was interested in. Blairgowrie was an amazing place, full of history and dripping with old-world charm.
“Jones, let’s get started.” Sitting back in my chair, I fiddled with a pen as Jones put the profiles and accompanying photographs on the large monitor. Looking around, I noticed that Nickoli was missing. “Where’s Nick?”
“Not a clue. He knew we were meeting in here at nine.” Jones answered without looking away from his screen.
“Someone go find him before we start. He’s going to be helping with the training more; he needs to be here.” Tapping my pen on the table impatiently, I tried not to get pissed off. We’d all been cutting him slack, given what he was dealing with, but we were trying to build a business.
“No need.” Rook spoke as Nickoli entered.
“You need to be on time for meetings. I know you can tell time,” I snapped out of frustration.
“I have something important to tell you all,” Nickoli replied, completely ignoring my ire. “I received a call from a contact in Russia on Christmas Eve. I wanted to wait until after the holiday was over to tell you about it.”
“Well? Don’t keep us in suspense here, buddy,” Flynn prompted, spinning back and forth on his chair until Red grabbed his arm, jerking him to a stop. I hadn’t had the balls to object to her attending our briefing. There wasn’t a viable reason to make her leave and I didn’t have the energy to fight with Flynn.
“My best friend, Alexei, was kidnapped, tortured, and murdered by the Bratva.” He stood at rigid attention, forcing himself to maintain a blank expression when I knew he was anything but calm. “He was my closest confidante and fellow soldier in Spetsnaz. They were likely looking for you; for us, I mean. What they did to him—no one could have kept silent. We should operate on the assumption that they know where we are.”
“Mother fucker.” I didn’t bother to shout; my tone was enough. “Did he know where we are?” My voice was like ice, hard and devoid of emotion.
“Nyet. I hadn’t given him our location. But he did know that we had traveled to the UK. They will narrow it down, and soon.”
“This information would have been useful two days ago, Nickoli.” Rook’s expression was a mirror of my own. Furious.
“I know how much the holiday meant to you. Christmas for me is a good time, but Russians get more excited about New Years. I didn’t want to ruin the day and it turns out my decision was a good one. This is all beside the point. What do we do now?” Nickoli was trying to deflect and change the subject.
“He’s right. It doesn’t matter. We need to focus on assessing the threat and neutralizing it.” Pierce, as ever, was the voice of reason.
“Spoken like a true bomb whore.” Flynn punched him in the arm, earning a shove in return.
“Fuck faces,” Red snapped, shutting them both up quicker than I’d ever managed to. “Please, Mic, continue. The children will be quiet now.”
“I need all the information you’ve got, Nickoli, right fucking now.” I stood and walked to the head of the table where a whiteboard was set up. “Spit it out! Put your guilt or whatever you’re feeling aside. I’m sorry about your friend, but I don’t have time to hold your friggin’ hand right now. We’re all in danger and I need to know how credible this threat is.”
“It’s fucking credible! They are the Bratva, the Russian mob. The most powerful, wealthy men in Eastern Europe. Their pockets are deep and their reach wide. You of all people should know that!” Nickoli lost his composure; it was the first and only time I’d ever heard him raise his voice. “They butchered my best friend! He’s in pieces! You have no concept of the horrors they put him through, all to get to you. And me…” He collapsed into a chair and folded his arms, resting his head on them.
“Nickoli. We’ve withstood attacks before and we will again. The difference now is that we are civilians and can’t have bodies on the ground. First step—Rook, you and I will need to meet with the local PD. I want them apprised of the situation, as much as we’re able, in the event we do have to kill someone or several someones.” I fell back into command with ease; handing out assignments and orders was as natural as breathing. “Jones, get with Egghead or whoever at Trident is available. These bastards have to get into the country somewhere. I don’t care how many favors you have to hand out. This is a fucking island; they can’t just appear here out of nowhere. I want eyes on them every step of the way. Pierce and Flynn, reschedule our clients if you can. Training is closed for the foreseeable future. Roza and Red, logistics. I want ammo and weapons inventoried. Anything we’re low on, see that it’s purchased. If you have trouble, contact Liam. That bastard still owes me some markers. Tell him I’m cashing it all in.” I paused, realizing that I hadn’t assigned Chris anywhere. “Jordon, you’re with me and Rook. Unless one of you needs him?” Heads around the table shook no. “Okay ladies, get to work.”
All either reached for their phones or left the room. Roza led Red out, clipboard in hand. “Flynn. Come here a minute.” I stepped to the side and waited for him to join me.
“Yeah, Mic?” He was serious for once, worried as the rest of us were.
“Red. What’s the deal?”
“What deal? She’s here. For now. There isn’t much more to it than that.” He shrugged, attempting to brush me off.
“If she’s going to be here helping, I need to know. I don’t really have a problem with her, but I need to know that she’s solid.”
“We haven’t really discussed it, Mic. I mean…” He ran his hand over his hair nervously. “I don’t know what we are yet; I don’t think she knows either. It was sort of sudden, ya know? She’s loyal though, you have to know that.”
“Sure… sure. Find out, Flynn. If she’s not going to be staying, I’d like for her to be kept out of this. If she’s any sort of security risk…” I hated doing this to him, I really did. They’d just met or decided to fuck regularly or whatever they had going on, and here I was, demanding a commitment or something.
“Fuck you very much. She’s not a fucking risk! I don’t know if she’s my girlfriend or partner or what the fuck ever the term is, but I know what she’s not. She’s not a goddamn spy or traitor.” His face was red with fury, not that I could blame him.
“Okay then. I’m off to town with Rook and Jordon. Hold down the fort.” I patted him on the shoulder and grabbed my Jeep keys. “Let’s go, guys.” I didn’t get the opportunity to drive the Jeep much, so I relished every opportunity to do so. My boots echoed and rang out on the stone floor with each determined step I took. If this was going to happen again, I would take care of those bastards on my terms in my way. My hands might be tied to a degree as a civilian, but I’d be twisting and loosening the bonds as much as I could. I knew that going up against the Russians again would require every scrap of wit and every favor I could muster.
“Just what do you think the local fuzz is going to be able to do?” Chris asked, holding the seat forward for Rook to climb into the back.
“You know, it makes more sense for you to ride in the back, Mic, since you’re the shortest.” Rook grumbled, attempting to find a comfortable position for his long legs.
“Sure. I’ll ride in the back just as soon as you suck my cock.” Smiling as prettily as possible, ignoring the stretching of my scar, I slid into the driver’s seat. “Ah, it sure is comfy up here.” I was tempted to slide the seat back as far as it wou
ld go, crushing Rook’s legs, but decided we probably had more important things to focus on.
The drive to Blairgowrie was uneventful and brief. I pulled up to the police station with its line of white cars painted in florescent yellow and blue checkerboard. They were jarring in their appearance, incredibly different from the black and whites back home. I hadn’t yet gotten used to the village. Postcard-perfect and layered with untold history and old world charm, it was one of the most beautiful places I’d even been. Most of the buildings were made of stone; the narrow streets and war memorial in the town square made it feel like home, even if you weren’t from here. With churches almost as old as North America, and the town nestled at the foot of the Highlands, every time I came here I looked around waiting for pipers to march into the street playing A Call to Arms. The mixture of modern vehicles and technology with the old buildings was unlike anything I’d ever seen.
“So, how do we want to play this?” Chris reached for his door handle, but correctly guessed that we needed a game plan before going inside.
“Not sure. We don’t know them and they don’t know us. We should be as honest as possible and respectful. Building a good relationship with them now might save us an arrest later.” Shrugging, I stepped out into the cold, holding the collar of my coat closed against the wind and leading the way into the station.
Inside was set up like a typical police station. A beat-up white counter ran almost the length of the room. Hard plastic chairs were lined against the wall; it was quiet except for the ringing of a distant phone. A fresh-faced, somewhat heavy woman manned the desk. I felt more than saw Jordon and Rook stand in a loose formation at my back. We were probably a strange sight. Huge, fit, and dressed in our standard black, we looked exactly like what we were: soldiers.
“Can I help you?” Her accent was thick and lyrical, her tone suspicious. Her black hat covered her hair well enough that I couldn’t quite make out the color. Rosy cheeks and light make-up complimented her appearance. I took notice that she had no sidearm; just a baton, mace, and cuffs.
“Yes. My name is Bea Michaels; this is Chris Jordon and Matthew Riley." Saying our names without our ranks was incredibly strange. “We need to speak to whomever is in charge, please.”
“In regard to what? Do you have a complaint to file?”
“No, ma’am. At least, not yet. It’s somewhat complicated.”
An older man came out from the back hallway, his thumbs tucked into the front of his belt. “What’s all this now?” He left off her name, deliberately I thought. After years in the military, I knew a chauvinist when I saw one.
“These Americans wish to speak with you. We were just getting around to what it is in regard to.” She didn’t budge; I admired that.
“Well, now. Why don’t you show them on back to the interview room and fetch us some tea.” He patted her on the shoulder and left without another word. I wished that I could just speak with her. Rook was practically grinding his teeth and when I glanced at Chris, his face told me all I needed to know. They didn’t want to deal with that excuse of a man either. In our line of work, you gain the ability to judge the measure of a person quickly; in most cases, mere minutes. We didn’t need to talk to him any more to know that he looked down on her, resented having a woman under his command, and had the intelligence of a flea.
“Lead the way, I suppose, and we don’t need any tea. Thanks anyway,” I said kindly. I hoped she’d pick up on the apology in my voice.
She lifted a section of the desk up, waving us through. “This way, then.”
We followed her past a few old metal desks with computers and down a narrow and short hallway. Opening the first door on the left, she motioned to us to enter. “Go on and have a seat.” There was a battered wooden table in the middle of the room with four chairs, two on either side. I sat in one chair, while Rook and Jordon again took up positions at my back. She moved to leave.
“Please, stay. Officer?”
“Grant. It’s Constable Emily Grant. Here, a constable is the equivalent of your American police officer.” Accepting the invitation, she took a seat across from me.
“Pleased to meet you, Constable Grant. My apologies on the rank, we’re still getting used to the local terminology.” I extended my hand; she took it and responded with a firm handshake, not one of those limp wrist, girly handshakes, nor did she attempt to grind my knuckles to dust.
“Likewise, Ms. Michaels.”
“Please, call me Mic. Everyone does.” I smiled warmly and watched her eyes track to my scar. I wasn’t going to mention it unless she did.
She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the opening of the door. Sliding back a chair with a horrible screech, the other officer took a seat. “Now, your names?” He had a pen and pad of paper. This was probably the most excitement he’d had all week.
“Like I told Constable Grant, I am Bea Michaels; these two men are my colleagues, Chris Jordon and Matthew Riley. We are Americans, yes; here on special visa from MI-6.” The mention of the UK version of the CIA had his eyebrows shooting up to his sparse hairline.
“MI-6 you say? Now why would they have anything to do with Americans?”
“We’re former military; that’s all you need to know. Now, your name?”
His face was beet red and he began to stutter. Used to being the head cheese, he didn’t much like being shown up in his own police station. I sent Constable Grant a wink that had her choking on a cough.
“Sergeant McFlannery.” He was on the defensive. “Just why are you here?”
“I have a problem that you and your fellow police for this ward need to be made aware of. Some nasty guys from when we were still in the military have an ax to grind. They may be making a play against us here. I want to be proactive and establish a working relationship with you before said individuals find us here. We’re going to do everything in our power to keep that from happening; but as you know, often criminals do the unexpected. I want you to be prepared for a phone call.” I surprised myself with my professionalism. I didn’t say fuck once.
“Who are these individuals that are coming after you?” Constable Grant cut right to the heart of the matter.
“Jordon? Rook? Your thoughts?” They knew what I was asking; did we trust them with the truth?
“We’re civilians now; you said it yourself. I say come clean. We need the law on our side.” Rook shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tucking some of his hair that had come loose behind his ear. I caught Chris’s eye and he nodded his agreement.
“Well?” McFlannery demanded, impatience seeping from every pore.
“Russian; specifically, the Russian mob. I can’t say more than that.” McFlannery’s eyes grew wide.
“The fucking Russians? Are you having one over on me? Because if you are, it’s not bleeding funny!” McFlannery’s face was slack with shock; fear was likely tightening his balls too. The Russians were heavy hitters for a cop who didn’t even have a gun.
“I assure you; this is no joke. We have connections that are going to be assisting us in dealing with these bastards, but if they somehow manage to find us and come here, I need you to know that we have the means to use deadly force. I don’t want to be thrown in jail for self-defense. We have special permission from the government for the weapons we possess at Castle Steel. As you may be aware, we are running a specialty tactical training compound for professionals in our line of work. In exchange for your cooperation, I’d be willing to offer free training for your people. Ours is the best training available.”
He stood so fast the chair fell over. Slamming his hands on the table in front of me, he leaned forward close to my face. “I don’t know what you’re going on about and I don’t rightly care, but I will not accept a bribe from some scarred-up twat of an American!”
Giving him my best smile, I leaned in. “This is no bribe. It’s a courtesy. Because if these fuckers find us, and they very well might, you and your team are going to be so far out
of your league that you may as well be a bunch of twinkle-toed schoolgirls getting their braids pulled. They don’t care about you, your laws, or the lives of your officers. They care about one thing, and one fucking thing only. Revenge. Now, if you feel like you can handle that, by all means, have the fuck at it. But if not, please give me a call and I’ll make arrangements to have your people trained properly, with real guns.” I stood and placed a card with my numbers on the table and calmly walked out.
“Mic, that could have gone better,” Chris said as we climbed into the Jeep.
“True enough, but the man is a first-rate fucktard if I’ve ever seen one.”
“He’s lucky I didn’t break the table with his face. The bastard,” Rook mumbled from the back.
“I think we did what we came here to do; let’s get back and see if Jones has an update for us.” Starting the Jeep, I pulled out into the light traffic and headed back to the castle. If I was the praying type, I’d be begging the man upstairs to keep the Russians in freaking Russia. The last thing I wanted to do was fight another battle or risk the lives of my team. For once, the future looked promising for us. I refused to compromise it for the likes of those fuckers.
Chapter 12
We arrived home as uneventfully as we’d left. Knocking the snow off our boots, we headed directly for the war room. Jones was in the midst of a video chat with Egghead, aka Brody Evans, from Trident Security in Tampa.
“We’ll do what we can on our end. We have a few names, a start at least. What’s Mic thinking?”
“I’m thinking we need to be prepared here, but I would love to deal some justice out to these fuckers long distance. How would they get into the country? It’s not like the rest of Europe; this place is literally an island. They have to come in from somewhere.” I waved to Egghead and took a seat at the conference table. Nickoli was in his chair near Jones, looking at mugshots. The signs in the photos were all in Russian. “Did you tap into the Russian prison database or something?”
