Page 25 of Valkyrie


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“Done.”

“On it,” Anubis replied after Fury.

“How long will it take you to set up the invite?” Archangel spoke to her again.

“Could take up to a week. I can’t press too hard. This crowd is spooky.”

“We’ll work the intel until you get an invite. We don’t have a week. Archangel, out.”

“Anubis, get me the requirements, and I’ll work the logistics. The Rose is clear.”

“Alpha out.”

“Dom Ops is clear.”

“Val, would going in alone be better? I can have Harbinger babysit Smith until his clearance is updated,” Anubis asked.

She turned and looked at Smith. “No, he’ll be an asset.”

“All right. Annex is clear.”

“CCS—”

“CCS, could you do me a favor? Can I talk to Bengal?” Val hurried to stop the young man from clearing the line.

“I’m here.”

“I have it on exceptional authority that an anonymous man called the feds about a certain warehouse owned by Mrs. Henshaw’s children. Seems they were into illegal activities. I’m really curious as to how that went down.”

Bengal chuckled. “Smith. I should have guessed. When?”

“About one in the morning, New York time yesterday.” Val glanced over at Smith, and he nodded.

“I’ll look into it. You two stay safe. Don’t play games you don’t need to be involved with.” Bengal warned.

She sighed. “You’ve played with the OPG?”

“Too many times.”

“Once is too many.” Val hated dealing with the Bratva. The Russian Mob was ruthless and would kill both of them if they suspected for a second that either was working for Guardian.

“We do whatever it takes.” Bengal sighed.

“For as long as it takes. Good night.” Val clicked off the call and flopped back onto Smith.

“The Bratva?”

“Yes. We have a lot to talk about. Let’s do that over our dinner, which is no doubt cold by now.”

* * *

Even though thefood was room temperature, it was delicious. Smith took care to use the table manners he was taught eons ago. Val always made him want to be better. Which was next to impossible, but he tried.

“Where did you learn Russian?” Val asked from her side of the table.

“My mother.” He took a sip of his water and leaned back. “She’s Russian.”

Val cocked her head. “Is she a first-generation American?”

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