Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
A line of sentries. Literally. A platoon.
There is a squad of bodies, maybe ten or so, all male, dressed in something like paramilitary garb, standing in a straight line, facing us, all in an at-ease stance with their legs spread and their arms behind their backs, elbows akimbo.
A proper fucking phalanx of soldiers.
“What the fuck is all this shit?” It just blurts out of me. I can’t keep it in.
“They are here only to ensure the safety of the transaction. Nothing more.”
Transaction. I still have no fucking clue what this transaction entails. None of us do. Based on all the information we had in front of us up until about five seconds ago, I had concluded that the people behind this are the Russians who were expecting the diamond all those years ago, and that this whole big drama was going to be about them wanting to trade Andra and Theo Watson for it.
But they have it. They have it back. It’s here. So what…?
And then I notice something about the guys standing in front of us. They’re the same ones who were at the house. The country estate. The one outside of London from which we rescued or… retrieved… Alec. I’m pretty sure they are, at least. They’re dressed the same. I think I maybe recognize one of them? And then my belief that this is the same bunch is confirmed by Alec saying, “Liam?”
One of the guys, a young guy, no more than a kid really, looks down toward the ground, sheepishly, and adjusts the rifle that hangs at his side. He twists his neck back and forth a little bit, avoiding our eyes and nodding slightly.
Hans lifts his chin and says, “Yes. You may well recognize some of these men. They are the ones who were charged with keeping you and your brother safe.”
Alec is sweating again. I can almost hear his mind racing. I look to Christine, who shakes her head back and forth in an “I dunno” kind of a way.
“Where is my child? Where is my brother?” Eliza steps forward and I swivel my neck to see if anyone twitches or draws a weapon. No one does.
Because they can’t possibly see us as any kind of a threat. Four unarmed, confused, and utterly psychologically overtaxed civilians facing a wall of seemingly trained… whatever they are? We wouldn’t stand much of a chance. We don’t have the element of anything. And they have the element of everything.
I do start running the mental calculus on what would have to happen if shit jumped off, however. Looking at the room, the angles, the formation of the guys. Trying to decide what, if any, advantage we could leverage.
I can’t see it. At least right now, I can’t see it. We remain subject to whatever they are going to demand of us. And I still can’t see what that is either.
And then my calculations and probably-useless scheming are interrupted by a voice. A strong, assured, indomitable-sounding voice.
“No need for histrionics, Ms. Watson. She’s right here.”
Emerging from the shadows of the backstage area is a tall man. Lean. White hair. Dark suit. He has a long, jagged scar running down his face. It disappears inside the collar of his crisply starched shirt, but it gives the impression that it continues running well down his body.
I look to Christine again, this time pointing in the direction of the man in a gesture meant to suggest that I’m asking, That the guy?
She gulps. Her eyes go wide with something like panic. And she nods. She remembers. She knows who this is. She’s met him before. And he scares her.
He walks with a limp and brings along with him… Andra.
He holds her hand. She shuffles out beside him, looking not exactly scared but not exactly not-scared either.
“Andra!” Eliza goes rushing toward the stage but is stopped by a wall of armed guards, one of whom sticks out his hand and pushes her back. She slaps at him. “Don’t you fucking touch me, you cunt! Give me my daughter! Now!”
The man on stage raises a hand to try to calm her. Then one of the soldier boys runs onto the stage and places a chair for him next to the table with the diamond.
He sits and firmly but still somehow tenderly lifts Andra to rest on his knee.
Eliza is doing all she can to hold herself in place, but it’s obvious she wants to charge the stage and grab her kid, consequences be damned.
I’m tense. I’m ready. If this thing flares now, I’ll do whatever I have to to keep Christine, Andra, Alec, Eliza, and myself safe. Probably in that order.
The man on the stage, the man who Christine referred to earlier as Mr. Gorny, speaks again. And what he says this time grabs my attention in a way that, yet once more, completely throws for a fucking loop anything I was thinking up until now.