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“For all intents and purposes, our team is here to provide protection for Luisa Reeve. While that is true, our greater goal is to determine who is behind the auction site where she’s up for bid. Additionally, to identify who wants her badly enough that they’ve offered a quarter of a million dollars.”
“According to the brief, Poseidon and Oleander believe the AMPS organization is behind the auction,” said Magnet.
“That is correct. The timing of it going live, as well as the increase in bids being registered, not just for Ms. Reeve but for the other women, indicates someone is administering the site. Which, in turn, rules out Mithras as our primary suspect.”
“Zin mentioned relocation last night,” said Tank. “By the way, Beau Barrett is scheduled to arrive before eleven hundred.”
“Copy that. As far as the subject of relocation, I support the idea in that the Barretts will likely have family, friends, and neighbors wishing to pay their respects. The last thing we would want—Luisa would want—is to impede that process.”
“Incoming,” Atticus said through the comms. “Do you want me to intercept?”
I looked up and saw Zin stalking across the lawn in our direction. “Bloody hell. Negative on the intercept.”
As was to be expected, Zin didn’t hesitate to enter the guesthouse, nor did he apologize for interrupting what was clearly a meeting. “I’ve made arrangements for Luisa to stay with Laird and Sorcha Butler. She’ll leave this morning.”
Stunned to the point of near-speechlessness, I was grateful when Zeppelin stood. “We’ll take this offline,” he said, ushering Zin out of the guesthouse.
I raised a brow. “As Tank was saying, Luisa Reeve will be relocating…” Those remaining in the room chuckled. “As far as security is concerned, I’m sure everyone here is aware Laird, aka Burns, Butler is the mastermind behind the intelligence technology used by the US, the UK, and our trusted allies. There is no question Luisa will be equally safe there as she is here. More so, in fact.” I turned to Magnet. “In Zep’s absence, can you brief us on the latest developments in the hunt for Pharaoh?”
He stood and gave a rundown on the progress being made by the task forces whose joint command center was in the UK. While they’d had luck finding the first auction’s IP origin, they hadn’t yet with this one. He ended with, “Which means we have no idea where the women offered on the site are being held captive.”
“Are we in agreement that whoever wants Luisa Reeve will stop at nothing to get her?” Atticus asked.
“Affirmative,” I responded, looking directly at each person seated around the table. “And whoever it is will not lay a single finger on her under my watch.”
9
TRYST
I’d just turned the page of the book I was reading when I heard a knock at my door.
“Hello, Brix,” I said, embracing him when he stepped inside.
“There’s no easy way to say this. Susannah Barrett passed away last night.”
“No,” I gasped, grabbing the back of the chair closest to me. “What happened?”
“According to Zin, a pulmonary embolism traveled to her heart.”
I lowered my head. “Martin?”
“He’s devastated, as you know from experience. Thecaballerosandancianos caballerosare gathering in Napa.”
“We’re theviejos, nephew.”
Brix half smiled and nodded. “I’m going to fly into San Luis Obispo tomorrow and drop Addison off with her mother before going to Napa for the services.”
“I will join you.”
During the flight,I thought about theviejos caballeros. When I joined, my brother, Alfonso, was the senior member, thus he led the meetings. He was the first of our generation we lost. Next was Brian Hope, who’d died six years ago, when he was thrown from a horse and suffered a skull fracture.
There were eight of us left—Hewitt Ridge, Michael Oliver, Martin Barrett, Baron Von Orr, George Norman, Malcolm Warwick, Charlie Jenson, and myself. Sadly, Martin was not the only widower besides me. Both Baron Von Orr and Malcolm Warwick had lost their wives in the years since my Rosa passed.
As for theancianos caballeros,I remembered little of them, even of my own father, Cristobal. He was forty-three when I came along unexpectedly. Ten years later, he passed away.
“What?” Brix asked, perhaps noticing my scrunched eyes.
“My father was only one year older than yours was when he died.”
