Page 87 of Code Name: Reaper
“Hello, Amaryllis,” she said in a British accent she hadn’t used in the meeting with Vasiliev I’d surveilled. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you properly.”
Not only had I signed my own death warrant, but I’d brought Reaper here too. I’d never regretted anything more in my life. For him, not for me.
20
REAPER
The zip ties cut into my wrists as I tested their strength. Military grade—these bastards knew their business. The concrete floor beneath my seat was stained with oil and rust from decades of machinery.
I cataloged potential escape routes. The loading dock thirty feet to my left with a heavy steel door that looked like it hadn’t been used for years. The service entrance behind Prism was reinforced metal with multiple locks. The windows were too high and too small to be useful. Ancient-looking industrial equipment was scattered throughout—some of it heavy enough to use as weapons—and six columns supporting the ceiling structure could provide cover if we got free.
Two guards flanked the entrance, but they weren’t FSB. I’d worked against Russian intelligence enough times to recognize their bearing, their equipment choices, and their positioning. These men carried themselves differently. Private contractors or ex-military from somewhere else entirely. That detail gnawed at me.
Amaryllis sat bound in an identical steel seat three feet away. Her jaw was set in that stubborn line I’d learned to recognizeduring our days of verbal sparring, and blood trickled from a cut on her temple where they’d been less than gentle during the takedown. Her breathing was steady, her posture alert despite the restraints. Pissed off more than afraid—which was exactly what I’d expect from her.
“I do apologize for the dramatics, Amaryllis.” Aldrich smoothed her jacket with manicured hands. Her accent was crisp, upper-class British—not at all what I’d expected. “But you’ve proven surprisingly elusive, and this was the only way to ensure your cooperation.”
The woman carried herself like she’d been born to command rooms. Designer clothing that cost more than most people made in a month. Diamond earrings that caught the light when she moved. A watch that could fund a small country’s intelligence budget.
But there were tells if the observer had the right training—like both Amaryllis and I did. The way she held her left shoulder higher than her right—an old injury. Calluses on her hands that no amount of manicures could hide. Muscle definition in her forearms that spoke of continued weapons training. She might dress like aristocracy, but she was still an operative.
“Where is she?” Amaryllis demanded, testing her own restraints with subtle movements.
“Dr. Henningwill be joining us shortly.” Prism taunted her with the alias. Aldrich moved closer to the older man, who’d been silent since we arrived. “Ember, would you ensure our other guests have departed?”
Ember.I knew that code name from the intelligence briefs we’d received—he was one of Minerva’s council of twelve. The way Aldrich’s voice softened when she addressed him, how her hand brushed his arm in passing, made their relationship obvious. More likely lovers than colleagues.
“Of course, darling.” His accent matched hers. Old establishment through and through. He gestured to the two guards, who left the room. Why would anyone consider us a threat, given we were bound and weaponless?
Ember and the other guy, who’d been with him since the hotel, followed them out, leaving us alone with Prism.
“You founded Minerva Protocol,” Amaryllis said the moment the heavy metal clicked shut. Her voice carried a tone that meant she was about to go for blood. “Was it intended as a criminal enterprise from the beginning?”
Aldrich raised a brow. “Criminal? Silly child, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? I saw you with Vasiliev in London. I have recordings of your communications about eliminating Mercury. Audio, video, financial transfers—all of it.” Amaryllis leaned forward as much as her restraints allowed. “You’re working with Romanov, aren’t you? With Avalon? Had you with Argead too? A traitor not only to your country, whatever that may be, but to the world. You’re no better than any of the criminals you vowed to bring to justice. In fact, you’re worse.”
A microexpression flashed across Aldrich’s face—too quick for most people to catch, but I’d been trained to read the signs. Pain. Regret. She was fighting not to react to the accusations, but Amaryllis had hit a nerve.
“Is that why you disappeared?” Amaryllis pressed, sensing weakness like a shark scenting blood. “Because you couldn’t keep up the facade of being a decent human being?”
Aldrich’s composure cracked for a quick moment, then she rebuilt it with visible effort. Her hands clenched at her sides, knuckles white with tension. “Enough,” she spat. “You’re as irrelevant as your opinions.”
She pulled out a cell phone, and after a moment, she began speaking.
“I have your precious Amaryllis.” She didn’t look away from us for an instant. “Along with her attack dog from the coalition. You have thirty minutes to show yourself, or they both die.”
She ended the call without waiting for a response and tucked the device into her pocket.
“There. Time to finish what we started.” Aldrich stood and left through the same doors the others had.
“Fuck,” Amaryllis whispered, the word carrying all the weight of our situation. She twisted against her restraints, testing the steel frame’s stability. “Kingston, I’m so sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry.”
“Don’t.” I used the word that had gone from annoying the fuck out of me to becoming a way of saying so much to each other.
“I dragged you into this mess. I walked us both into exactly what you predicted.” Her voice cracked. “You told me it was a setup, and I ignored you because I was so desperate to find Mercury that I couldn’t think straight.”
Guilt radiated off her in waves when she looked at me.
