Page 102 of Gates of Tartarus

Shiiiiiit! Bad ass bitch!I think, trying to get my thoughts in order. She notes my look of respect and raises a single brow at me, before shaking her head slightly and walking away.

The guys and Gemma are crowded around my stretcher, and I sigh from pain and exhaustion, starting from the beginning for the third time.

“All she said was, ‘you’re not with Gaia, are you?’ I said ‘no,’ and she said ‘thank God.’ That’s it. The whole thing.”

“What was your read on her?” Smith says, looking intent.

“Are you fucking kidding me,Madds?” I whisper, voice shredded, eyes darting toward Gemma, who looks like a zombie but is still numbing me, albeit weakly. “If Gemma weren’t shielding, I’d be on my ass right now. My walls are shit.”

Shivers run continuously through my body, skin almost rippling from the movement. Blood fills my mouth, and I start to choke on it ‘til Walker pushes roughly past Maddox and helps me sit up slightly, supporting me with surprisingly gentle arms. I let my head fall against him with a small, pained sound, and his arms flex lightly as he cradles me closer, bringing one hand up to carefully hold my head, pushing my tangled, filthy hair back from my face.

“Reed, I need you to focus–” Smith begins, when Walker suddenly roars to life beside me, lit up with barely restrained fury.

“Youneedto SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Walker all but shouts, quieting with noticeable effort when he feels me curl away from his anger. Maddox sits in stunned silence as his loyal second unleashes on him. “You’veliedto the team, you’ve keptvitalinformation from us, and you’re putting a team member at risk right now because you can’tshut the fuck up!She is infucking pieces!” His voice cracks unexpectedly on the last word, and he takes several, measured breaths before turning to wave at the EMT, who was already in motion the second she heard Walker yelling. Pushing my wheeled stretcher gently, he shoulders past Smith with a hard, intentional hit and passes me to the nurse, indicating she should take me. Maddox and Hideo step forward as they see me being loaded into the ambulance, but my self-appointed guard dog growls at them so fiercely they stop mid-motion. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he snaps out when they start to move.

Gemma hovers uncertainly nearby, exhaustion written on every line of her face, then drags herself toward the ambulance, climbing up with a visible effort.

Walker opens his mouth to yell but stops as soon as I lay a gentle hand on his arm. “I need her here,” I say painfully. “I don’t want to, but I do.”

He nods shortly and moves to give her space, albeit reluctantly, and growls at her, “Don’t even breathe too loud.”

He leans over me, hands hovering anxiously, unsure of what to do.

“What... how can I help?” he asks me, voice quiet and hesitant, and I sigh, brain refusing to work. I can’t even form words. He frowns and then reaches to gently hold one of my hands as the EMT starts taking my stats. “Okay, Kai,” he whispers. “I’ll just... I’ll just be here.”

Squeezing his hand once in thanks, I close my eyes and try to disappear into the emptiness. But the gaunt and hollow faces lingering in the consuming blackness won’t let me rest.

Hell’s Bells

Monday, 26 November – Maela

Sunday passes quietly, as the guys are nursing epic hangovers. Seef ended up staying over in the spare room, the Tube having stopped running for the night. When I find him in the kitchen, he explains, grey-faced, that they polished off two bottles of brandy after I went to bed, an impromptu taste-test seeming like a good idea at the time. “Best laid plans…” Emlyn shakes his head and immediately winces.

I, miraculously, am feelingmarvelous, fantastic sex clearly being an effective defense against the morning after, at least if taken post-libation. Remembering how Emlyn treated me when I was feeling crapulent, I lose no time in asking, in a heartily jocund voice, if hewould likesomeTea or Coffee?and get banished to the library for my efforts. Kavi is holding his head in his hands, as if he can keep his brains from spilling out, and Jorge gives me a weak smile as I go. I’d give him a gentle kiss if the others weren’t looking.

???

The next morning, I’m taking a moment to stretch my toes, watching the soft, opalescent light filter in through the tall window and listening to a cheerful blackbird busy about the garden, when my phone rings. It’s Elizabeth.

“Maela! Not too early, I hope?”

“No, not at all. But isn’t it late for you?” What’s the time difference, seven, eight hours? Eight. So it’s–

“I’m about to finish up. But some information’s just come in that I think you’ll want to have right away. It’s too late to call Kailani, but your team will be starting work soon.”

“Oh! Right, OK. What is it?” I sit up in bed, wondering if I should grab some paper and a pencil. I haven’t had coffee yet, and this sounds important.

It is. One of the managers at a New York Gaia Center reported seeing a tattoo that could have been a sickle on a homeless woman, who came in for a meal but left without giving a name. That’s not unusual, Elizabeth says. Names get you logged into the system, and many of Gaia’s clients prefer to remain anonymous. The woman was high on something and not reacting normally, jittery, staggering about, and mumbling something about “White Russians”. It could have been the drink, but she had track marks on her arms. Maybe a new type of drug? She offered a blowjob for some cash – again, not unusual, Elizabeth says sadly. The manager wanted the woman to stay overnight, but she slipped away.

This is big. After saying goodbye to Elizabeth, I race downstairs, still in my pajamas, hair forming a mad halo about my head. To my surprise, Seef’s sitting at the table with the other guys again. He’s come by to drop off some papers before going to MI6. Apparently, he doesn’t live too far away.

I’m so excited I can barely get the words out, and the effect is electrifying. Seef jerks and spills his coffee, and Emlyn sits bolt upright. While the homeless woman could have been talking about cocktails or drugs, everything points to “White Russians” being the name or code-name of a crime syndicate. The Russian economy, Seef says, is basically run by the mafia, the “Bratva”, and corrupt oligarchs. Gangs flourished in the unstable conditions following the collapse of the Soviet Union, becoming quasi-military operations with the recruitment of ex-KGB agents and war veterans, and today the Bratva, the “brotherhood”, have a global reach. Extortion, racketeering, fraud, money laundering, drugs, arms trafficking, murder, prostitution – the Bratva has a hand in them all. Under the leaders, the “Vory”, the Russian mafia have become mobsters to the mobsters, offering services to other organizations. Could Kronos be a Russian group? It would make sense. Ratko’s gang was Serbian and could have been supplied with drugs and arms via Russian channels. Magda’s in the Caribbean, and the Cayman Islands are known for money laundering, offshore tax havens having long been a favored place for criminals to clean their ill-gotten gains. Some two trillion US dollars are deposited in banks in the Cayman Islands alone. Magda – well, we thought she could be Greek, but so far Athens has found no record of her. “Magda” is a Greek name, yes, but it’s also Northern, and Eastern, European. And “Androphonos”, Emlyn adds, a grim set to his mouth, is probably an alias. It means “man slayer”, he says, her idea of a little joke, and was an epithet for Aphrodite, goddess of love, beauty, and sex. So Magda could just as easily be Eastern or Northern European, or not at all. Her parents may have just liked the name. “White Russians”, though, would tilt the balance towards Northern or Eastern Europe. And Russian gang members frequently sport tattoos – the Atlanta Bratva using them as ID – although the designs are usually more elaborate than the Kronos symbols, Seef says.

My head’s spinning. Kronos a Russian syndicate! I take a big gulp of coffee and fiddle with my hair. I don’t know why, after everything that Ratko and Bojan did to me, but the thought of Kronos beingmafiamakes them seem more menacing. Maybe I’ve seen too many films.The Godfather, andGoodFellas, and “say hello to my leetle fren”. I shudder.

Seef’s frowning. “Babylon doesn’t have connections in Russia. I wonder if Tennireef has business interests there? I’ll ask Maddox to follow it up. It’s odd, though. The Vory usually prefer to act as dealmakers and contractors. They have bases worldwide, but they haven’t shown much interest in taking over territories or wiping out other organizations. If Kronos is an offshoot, they’re following a new pattern.”

Emlyn nods, looking troubled. “I’ll see what I can find out. Lots of Russian expats in London.” He sighs: “As a first step, Jorge and I had better have another meeting with that member of Ratko’s gang.” He throws back the last of his coffee and gets to his feet, Seef and Jorge following. Jorge trails his fingers down my neck as he goes.

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