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I looked into her eyes, eyebrows raised. “A bad thing, yes.”
“It’d have to be dangerous for them to be asking yer bawbag, Caelan.” I loved the way she said his name. Thickly, barely pronouncing it, she sounded it outK’luninstead ofKay-lun.
Chuckling, I admitted, “Yes.”
“Och, weeel… seems there’s nought to do but wait for ye big idiot to arrive home. And we can have fun in the meantime, right? Young master?” She cradled him tightly, looking down into his sleeping face. “While I’m babysitting, why no take yourself to Balmoral and such.” She gave me a determined look. “Mark my words, that lad’ll be back. Tough as auld boots and them some. The thick-eared wee bastard. He’ll be back.”
I truly, truly hoped so. Or, I didn’t know what I was going to do.
Chapter Five
~ Caelan ~
The plane they’d caught a ride on was carrying humanitarian aid to Ukrainian refugees who’d crossed the border into Poland. His team had dressed in the bibs of one of the charities coordinating this aid but at some point, Caelan and his men would quietly break off from the unloading party. After they crossed into Ukraine, they would be outlaws, or as good as. This was a mission of the utmost secrecy. No trail, no evidence, no record of their trip whatsoever. It was a diplomatic mission of the tallest order.
Thankfully they were able to slip away from the refugee encampment they’d been “helping” at without notice, the aid workers they’d flown in with all having been sworn to secrecy.
After trekking through wilderness from late evening and into the night, Caelan and his men found a spot to take a few winks of sleep, huddling in their fur-lined, all-weather jackets beneath a dying willow tree, the stars up above out in full force.
“Wants me some filth,” complained Cain, his voice full of grit.
Caelan sat next to the pockmarked East Ender whose reputation for ruthlessness preceded him. He was two stones heavier than Caelan, but much less clever.
“Take five winks, ye wee piece o’ shite,” Caelan growled, and Cain grumbled, responding to the order.
Even he wouldn’t cross the boss. Caelan didn’t just have a rep; he was a legend.
They had a long day ahead of them tomorrow. A day of reconnoitring and sussing the landscape. Five winks… or maybe two for Caelan, would have to be enough.
At dawn they relied on their army rations to get them moving, chomping and drinking as they went. It wasn’t difficult to find an abandoned vehicle, and once they were on the road, Caelan instructed their driver Cliff where to go. No main roads.
Cliff, an army driver with fifteen years’ experience, had retired a couple of years ago. The man had got himself involved in some shady stuff since finding civvy street a tough adjustment, so Caelan had had to get him out of jail for this—because, Cliff could really drive. He could take anything across rugged terrain, much to the chagrin of Cain, Chuckles and Richards in the back, grunting every time the crappy SUV they’d piled into nearly lost suspension due to a pothole or an unavoidable boulder.
It was hours before they made it to Lviv.
Everyone sat supremely still then and watched out for any kind of threat. They were wearing generic army wear and had the yellow and blue patches of Ukraine displayed on their jackets. People in the streets gawped at five huge men packed into a relatively small car, but they also nodded and waved them on.
The city was one of the least affected by the war, but still, the cultural heart of Western Ukraine was damaged here and there.
“We stand out too much, boss,” Cain grumbled.
“There’s nae time to lose. Beggars canna be choosers,” said Caelan, ever the optimist—or maybe he just enjoyed hurling himself into danger.
“Here,” said Caelan eventually. “Stop here.”
They came to an abrupt halt on a long, tired street dominated on both sides by towering apartment buildings, all in the Soviet-era style.
Trash lay in the streets, debris and God knew what, plus an air of something hung about the place. Perhaps the people they were here to see had been tipped off by spies at the refugee camp.
Caelan turned to Cain and nodded. There was understanding and a plan they’d made earlier. Richards and Chuckles would go their own way, and they, theirs.
“If things go wrong, dump this and we meet at the rendezvous,” Caelan reminded Cliff, though he didn’t need a reminder. They’d all taken note when Caelan had warned them back in London:“This could see ye all deid, but ken the Treasury will see ye families right if it do. And it’d be a hero’s death at that.”
Indeed, Richards and Chuckles were mercenaries the British government had been looking for forever. It had taken Caelan two days to find the inseparable friends lurking in a cave in deepest Wales. He’d contacted them through their radio. Even the most cloistered of people have need of some connection to the outside world.
“Aye, boss,” said Cliff, a fellow Scot Caelan met years ago in Afghan.
Cliff, despite his foibles, had saved a dozen lives that tour with his driving skills.
