"Any word from our foolhardy protagonists?" Niles asked from behind the crystal rim of his wineglass.
Lilith glanced at her phone and shook her head.
She, Niles, and Jonathan were gathered at the round, outdoor table behind the apartment building, the hour approaching noon and the weather warm enough to enjoy the garden. After Cal and Frank had dashed out the door, the remaining confederates paused their discussion and decided to await word from Frank.
Lilith had enough information to head back to Washington and set up a proper investigation into this Valeri Solonik and his smuggler brother—who were very likely linked to her Blackfish investigation and the UH-60 Black Hawk that went down in upstate New York with a dozen soldiers onboard, the very bird that had flown off course into the side of a mountain.
Just like the helicopter Eeva's brother, Jaan, had piloted across the Russian border.
Exactly the effect that the EWD on Frank's little table was designed to create.
At least, that was, according to the former Special Air Service soldier named Jonathan who'd fixed the device. What a motley crew Frank had assembled here in his little paradise along the French Riviera. Typical Frank. And—just like typical Frank—any plans she made right then would immediately be demolished by his investigative impulses. This was familiar territory for her, Frank and his crusades, and she had to admit that, sometimes, they worked out.
It was those other times that worried her, and now dear Cal was caught in the middle.
She'd be angry later, but right then she couldn't deny the anticipation growing inside her. Her job was to keep safe the armed forces of the American military and to give them enough information to make smart decisions, both on the battlefield and on the global chessboard. Blackfish wasn't just a stain on her agency's record; it was a dagger in the heart, one dagger for each of the service members killed in that crash. These Russian brothers might not be attacking America directly, but what did she call someone who's arming terrorists?
Terrorist.
And then you call them dead. Unless you could squeeze some information from them that would lead to even more dead terrorists. Arrests and trials? Those were games for the FBI. For any Iranian insurgents inside the United States? Sure—find them, arrest them, and make a show of it for public consumption. But terrorists outside the States, in the field? The United States military and—by extension, her DIA—lived by another anacronym when it came to terrorists: KED.
Kill 'Em Dead.
It wasn't very PC, but nothing about the War on Terror had been. Even as the wars overseas had wound down and politicians no longer used the threat of terrorism in their stump speeches—the fight hadn't ended. It had just vanished from the front pages, leaving hunters like her to continue their work in the shadows and back alleys of the world.
Or the French Riviera. The life of an intelligence officer sure brought her to strange places.
And here she was again, back with Frank, and the thrill of a righteous hunt was in front of them. Protocol required her to fly back to Washington and send this up the chain, but the trail was still too fresh, and Frank was bounding down that trail in search for a bear.
Who was she to keep him on a leash?
Like she'd ever been successful at that, anyway.
The question now was, where the hell was he? She messaged him again.
Update.
It wasn't a question. She set down her phone and drained the rest of the white wine Jonathan had poured for her earlier. When in France, she mused and was tempted to ask if anyone had a cigarette. Also, she wasn't drinking on the job, she was—
—Her phone buzzed with an incoming call, and she snapped it to her ear.
"Frank, what's up?"
He told her everything. Eeva's apartment. Eeva's plan. Their plan to follow and stop her.
"Negative, Frank! Get Cal back here and we'll figure it out. I want the Russian on a platter, too, but you and Cal are going to get killed going after this Eeva woman. No, Frank, listen—uh huh—I get that, but—*damn it, Frank—*okay and, Frank? Be careful."
She ended the call and noticed both Niles and Jonathan staring with questioning eyes.
"Goddamn cowboys," she said. Frank and Cal were going after the girl, she explained, and if the Russian brothers got in the way? Then so be it—according to Frank. The two Brits around the table shared her concern. It was going to be a disaster, but what could she do?
Think, bitch, think.
The last thing she wanted was for Frank and Cal to be on that boat as it sailed off into international waters. It was a long way back to shore and Frank couldn't swim for shit. Never mind that Cal was in way over his head.
He was a goddamn schoolteacher, for Christ's sake.
Now, there were US naval assets touring the Mediterranean, but the red tape to pull them in would take forever. The closest US consulate was two hours away by car, in Marseille, but maybe she could call and get the consul involved; maybe get some French coastguard pointed in the right direction. Lilith shook her head. That'd be great, but too slow. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen fast.
She needed to act.
"Ms. Lilith," Niles prodded while Jonathan watched and waited. "What is the plan?"
It came to her then.
"Are you boys ready to saddle up?" she said and then glanced at Niles's wheelchair and grimaced at her choice of words. Niles only smiled.
"My electric wheels will be my steed," he said, "And Jona'fin my Excalibur. We serve at your pleasure, my lady."
Cowboys and English knights. She shook her head at the mixed metaphor but smiled just the same.
"Then God bless America and God save the King," she said. "Now, let's nab us some Russians, shall we?"
Jonathan stayed silent but looked determined, standing now like a giant next to his companion's seated figure. Niles looked up at him with determination and then he nodded at Lilith, his eyes shining behind his enormous grandpa-glasses.
"Bloody fucking Russians."