Page 90 of Forge the Blade

Sevastyan touched his forehead to theirs. “Just don’t repeat all this in front of Lisa.”

“Explain.”

Sevastyan grimaced and soothed himself by running his hands up and down Ellisandre’s body. “He only became a mark because he was alone. And he was alone because he escaped the religious fanatics who adopted him.”

“Easy target.” Ellisandre grimaced. “I thought he was a medic.”

Sevastyan nodded. “That’s what he trained in, but he didn’t make many friends between work and training and then being a medic. One of the few friends he made marked him as a target.”

“I hope that ‘friend’ is on Rei’s list. I’ll leave out Biblical references,” Ellisandre promised.

Sevastyan brushed his cheek against theirs in gratitude. “You still can’t follow me into the Yadro.”

“I can be nearby.”

“Only if you’re not traveling under this guise.” He tugged on their white hair.

Ellisandre drew back far enough he could see their smirk. “I have alternative identities. With paperwork.”

Ellisandre

Ellisandre shook hands with the gruff man who owned the hunting shack. He was happy to accept packages and store them in the shelter in preparation for Ellisandre's upcoming “two-month escape”. The rent they’d offered was generous and probably more than welcomed by the retired geezer. It helped that he had to squint even with his glasses to read anything and almost certainly wouldn’t be able to recognize Ellisandre in a lineup, specifically not in their casual, city man presentation. He’d easily believed them that they were Iranian, looking to have a getaway hole for after the craziness of a business launch.

The best part was that all they had to do was climb a hundred meters to the top of the hill and look down to see the Yadro. Which is what they did as soon as the elderly man got into his rusty car and rattled away down the dirt track that couldn’t be called a road.

Sevastyan was there, somewhere in that sprawling complex on the edge of a ravine. They settled in, staying low to the ground next to the evergreens, their plain green jacket and brown pants blending into the landscape.

The Yadro complex looked like a rich person’s winter resort with a view. There was an airstrip on the flat plateau between Ellisandre and the complex itself with enough room left over for horseback riding, a game of polo, and sheds for the storage of everything from planes to people.

They itched to get closer. What sort of planes were in the larger storage sheds? What sorts of weapons? How many basements had been blasted into the bedrock beneath what looked like an expensive resort?

They settled in with their binoculars. If they were ever here again, the information would be useful. As would the first aid, food, car, and other supplies they were leaving behind. If they could smuggle in a helicopter, they would try, but something like that would be noticed. It would also noticeably drain their personal wealth. Drones would have to suffice.

Sevastyan

Sevastyan landed in Seoul after his first round in the Yadro with crud in his eyes and a burgeoning headache. The meeting in Russia had been council level and full of double speak. Rei was right, there was someone pulling strings, if not more than one someone. What they wanted was still unclear. Which pointed to more than one group at cross purposes.

On the sidewalk outside the terminal, Sevastyan’s men approached. They were all operatives he’d used for years, kept on payroll, and had protected and provided for. Usually they hand delivered items for him or played guard on storage locations. He’d rarely ever called them in as protection for himself. All three of them gave him a once-over with their eyes, looking grim.

“Boss.” The oldest one, Red, stepped forward and extended his hand. He was Canadian in origin, with French Canadian and indigenous features. Sevastyan shook his hand and turned to the other two. Oscar had been in the French Foreign Legion. His English and Russian were basic at best, but he spoke French and Spanish fluently. The last man was Korean by heritage and Chinese by birth. He went by Ma, though Sevastyan wasn’t sure if it was a name he’d picked or a family name. He spoke Korean and some English, though, without any personal ties to Seoul, which was why Sevastyan had included him.

Sevastyan waved for them to follow him to his waiting car. No one spoke until they reached the hotel and all four of them had searched the space for surveillance equipment.

Sevastyan gave them a rundown on the situation with Black Flower and possible local Merchari conflict. “If you want out, you can have it,” he told them as he finished. “I’ve never assigned you this kind of work before.”

“I’ll stay,” Red said.

The other two nodded.

“Then I’ll send a bonus now,” Sevastyan said. “Go buy better suits and get them fitted today. You’ll be using them tomorrow.” He texted each of them a prepared list of addresses and instructions. “Hair, facials, the lot.”

Oscar glared at his phone. “This is girly shit, boss.”

“Not where we’re going,” Sevastyan turned off his phone screen. Taking shit from these three was not on the agenda. “What you look like is a reflection on me.”

Red scowled, then stood and stretched. “Ah, well then, let’s go get gussied up, boys.”

Ma looked at him. Red repeated himself in elementary Russian. Ma scowled.