Page 55 of Dalla's Royal Guards
Harlem Jones
Lily O’Donnell
Rune August
Dalla Bogadottir
Beside the first name, her predecessors had scribbled notes in looping handwriting. Dates. Locations. Code phrases. The next two names had been added just a few years ago. She had added the last name a few days before.
The first name, Harlem Jones, had a list of prominent people under it. All successful, wealthy, powerful. All tied to the same man.
The next two, Lily O’Donnell and Rune August, had the names of powerful people who were wealthy—but not in the same way as the names under Jones. No, the names under Jones were those that he had direct contact with—for the past century or more.
She had just begun her research on the men involved in Lily and Rune’s lives. The last name on her list, Dalla Bogadottir, had come onto her radar after a message from Sergi Vasiliev and Dimitri Mihailov both requested information about her from a hacker called Bugs when ‘Dalla’ had contacted them.
In reality, they had been dealing with Allison Turnwell, but their inquiry into Operation Rebirth and the name Dalla Bogadottir had given her a new lead to follow.
Still, everything came down to another common thread. At the bottom of the page, in the lower right corner, were three bold letters:
C.R.I.
Debra ran her fingertips across the words, her voice barely above a whisper.
“What are you hiding… and why does the government not want you found?”
Her lips thinned with resolve. She slid the file into a manila envelope, grabbed her coat and purse from the rack behind her, and strode to the door.
Let Kindred play golf and protect his secrets in D.C.
She had a trail to follow, and she wasn’t stopping now.
Sixteen
“Are you sure this is where he said to come?” Nasser asked in a skeptical tone nearly four hours later.
“I don’t like this,” Musad muttered, gazing across at the hotel.
“We should call Raja,” Nasser muttered. “To hell with it. Iamcalling Raja. He can send in the military.”
“No! Please…” She reached forward and laid her hand on Nasser’s arm. “Harlem said he would meet me here. He… doesn’t know about you two. If you are worried, you can watch over me, but I must meet him alone. This is too important to me.”
Dalla looked across at the hotel, staring at the people entering and leaving. She nervously fingered the leather strap on her quiver. The drive through the capital city of Simdan had offered a bittersweet glimpse of a country caught between scars and survival.
