Sherrilyn Kenyon - Silent Truth

Ostrovsky addressed his question. “I did some checking and believe the ‘accidental’ bombing in a small Ukrainian town a month ago was the test for Bardaric’s bomb. I don’t know that the bomb material is going to be our issue. My sources tell me Bardaric’s sniper told the U.S. authorities where to find Bardaric and where he hid his research facilities. I would say if we wait a week or two, our contacts within the intelligence organizations will be able to confirm if Bardaric’s UX reserves were located.”

Ostrovsky waited until everyone agreed, then added, “We’re fortunate the MI6-turned-assassin working for Bardaric was stopped. Our intention was never to start World War Three.”

“Not at this time,” Vestavia joked, clearly happy now that his nemesis had been neutralized. “Let’s get back on track and continue dismantling each continent in an orderly way.”

“Speaking of getting back on track, what has become of Peter Wentworth and his daughter?” Derain asked, his tone bulging with suspicion.

Ostrovsky had been waiting on Stoke to ask that so he didn’t have to, but Derain was even better.

“Peter and Gwen disappeared, along with all of his Fratelli staff, before Bardaric’s assassin was caught,” Vestavia answered, clearly not happy to be put on the spot. “I have no idea. The secret wing in Kore burned to the ground, damaging part of the public area of the women’s center. All records relating to the Fratelli were removed. Bardaric might even have them stashed somewhere, if they’re still alive. He was hell-bent on ensuring I would have no allies here, but if he thought removing Wentworth would cripple me he underestimated me and the extent of my resources.”

“Speaking of which, have you located your mole, Vestavia?” Stoke asked.

“Yes. I’m taking care of that as soon as we finish here.”

Ostrovsky finished up the meeting and ended the call. He sat back in his overstuffed office chair, contemplating the sun burning off the fog in downtown Boston outside his living room window.

The Denver mission was not an entirely successful operation but was also not a complete loss since Jackson had pinned the whole mess on Bardaric, right down to the attempt on the prime minister’s life.

Jackson had told the authorities Bardaric had been the person directing him. Yes, Jackson would have told the FBI and anyone else that he’d been a paid killer for some crazy guy who believed he supported a cause. The name Fratelli never came up in the report Ostrovsky had gotten his hands on.

He’d chosen well twenty-seven years ago when he killed Jackson’s father and became the boy’s benefactor, guiding his education and destiny.

The greatest casualty in all of this was Jackson.

He’d served Ostrovsky exceptionally by convincing Vestavia that Bardaric had been behind the unauthorized killings in the U.S.

Jackson was loyal to the end, sending the U.S. after Bardaric, which took care of Ostrovsky’s problems. Then Jackson ended his own life, as they’d always discussed. He’d used one of his small fingernails to slice his wrist.

Vestavia had been right to worry about Bardaric being the most dangerous of the seven on their Angeli council… until now.

None of the other five had considered who the second-most dangerous one might be. Ostrovsky pressed the speed dial on his cell phone and waited until the clicking finished so he could speak over a secure line.

When his Asian contact answered, Ostrovsky told him, “We will have a new UK representative soon. How is my project coming?”

Linette walked into the reception area outside Vestavia’s office, where Basil and Frederick waited. She took stock of her counterparts and the past twenty-four hours.

The mission had failed according to Fratelli terms. She and the other two had to answer for their parts.

She’d worn a windbreaker over her blouse and slacks. Vestavia had called her twenty minutes ago and ordered her to his office. Bed heads and casual clothes on the other two meant they’d also received little notice. She’d grabbed the first thing she could find that would hide any trembling.

Basil looked grim, but when he caught her eye he shrugged, as if to say “Some things are out of our control.”

Not true. She’d been in full control of sending the bomb locations the minute she could. If she’d been able to leave Vestavia faster once she had the information she might have gotten it to them in time to disarm all five bombs. One had gone off, but there had been only one casualty. Not thousands.

Still, someone had died because she couldn’t give them five or ten more minutes’ notice.

Vestavia would not be forgiving.

Her conscience would have been less forgiving if she’d allowed thousands of innocent people to die. She steeled herself to face her punishment for failure and prayed he hadn’t discovered that she’d leaked the information.

Basil lifted his eyebrows suggestively and winked. So sure of winning something-her-out of this mission.

She ignored him.

Vestavia opened the door and walked away-their sign to enter.

Linette tried to breathe normally but all she could manage were painful little drags of air through her constricted throat. She took her usual position next to the brass statue, standing with straight posture, eyes staring dead ahead.

Basil and Frederick filed in behind her, closing the door, then standing next to her. Three lieutenants in a line.

“Fra, I know there were problems-” Basil started.

Vestavia held up his hand, which brought immediate silence. “Actually, this project went better than I anticipated.”

Linette blinked twice quickly but maintained her stance.

Vestavia went to his desk and lifted a file. “Yes, in spite of the underwhelming results of the Chicago bombing, I did get something I’ve been searching for.”

Basil and Frederick relaxed immediately.

Linette had worked with Vestavia long enough to understand the meaning of his deceptively happy voice. He was anything but.

“I’ve kept close tabs on all of you.” He strolled along in front of them, holding the file behind him in the image of Hitler addressing his men. “One of you has been a very busy person.”

Frederick’s skin seemed to shrink and lose color.

Linette’s hands were icy and damp. Had Vestavia found a second ghost on the computers? She’d been forced to wait until the very last minute to send her online contact the coordinates, and routing the post had taken extra time.

She’d been careful, but maybe not careful enough.

Vestavia smiled at Basil. “I’ve seen you here late at night putting in overtime. Long hours every day.”

Basil’s cheeks puckered, but he didn’t smile, though she could feel how much he wanted to gloat at what he clearly perceived as a compliment.

“You’ve certainly worked hard to show me how bright and dedicated you are.” Vestavia’s voice lightened, as if he were happy about something. “I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, Fra,” Basil said.

When Vestavia turned to stroll back the other way, Basil sent Linette a confident leer.

And here she’d been worried about getting caught by Vestavia. That disgusting toad Basil was making mental plans for how he’d abuse her. She could see it in the liquid slime gleaming in his eyes.

No, not again. Never again would she let some animal use her. The last one had been too old to hurt her more than three or four times a week.

The animal standing at her elbow would hurt her that many times a night.

Vestavia stopped and wheeled back around. “You covered many parts of this mission, didn’t you, Basil?”