Chapter 15: Stolen Intel
The kiss tasted of smoke and adrenaline. Behind them, the warehouse groaned, a deep-throated roar of surrendering steel and exploding glass as the fire took proper hold. Heat washed over their backs, a sudden, aggressive push that made Toni break the kiss, her hazel eyes reflecting the blooming inferno.
“Time to go,” she said, her voice rough with approval.
They moved as one, two shadows detaching from the wall of flame and melting into the labyrinth of rusted containers and rotting dock timbers. The night air, cool and salty, was a shock after the furnace. Sirens began to wail in the distance, a chorus of official futility.
Alex’s hand went to the inner pocket of her tactical vest. Her fingers brushed the hard, rectangular edge of the encrypted drive. The act of palming it had been pure instinct, a blur of motion hidden between Toni pulling her close and the world burning down. The MI6 logo, a tiny, embossed crown on the casing, had felt like a branding iron against her skin. Now it felt like a lead weight.
They didn’t speak until they were in the back of a nondescript van, peeling away from the docklands. The driver was one of Toni’s, a silent man with watchful eyes. Toni stripped off her heavy outer jacket, the firelight from the blaze they’d created dancing across her sharp features through the window. She was buzzing, a live wire of victorious energy.
“Clean,” she said, more to herself than to Alex. She kicked a duffel bag at her feet. “Lucia’s memory is now a barbecue.” She leaned back, letting out a long breath that was almost a laugh. “You move fast, McKenna. I saw you in there. Like a ghost.”
“Ghosts don’t leave fingerprints,” Alex replied, forcing a casual tone. Her mind was screaming. The drive. She had to exfiltrate it. Her scheduled dead-drop check was tomorrow. “Or evidence.”
“Exactly.” Toni’s eyes found hers in the dim interior. The triumph in them softened, just for a moment. She reached over, her thumb tracing the edge of the fresh bandage on Alex’s arm, over the bite mark she’d placed there hours before. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Sore. Worth it.”
A genuine smile touched Toni’s lips. “Good.”
The dead-drop was a cracked tile in the men’s restroom of a busy, mid-range hotel near the Piazza del Plebiscito. Alex, dressed as a tourist in linen trousers and a loose blouse, sunglasses perched on her head, felt a nauseating cocktail of guilt and duty churn in her stomach as she slipped the drive into the shallow cavity.
It’s the mission, she told herself, wiping her hands on her trousers as if she could scrub away the action. It’s why you’re here. To dismantle them. All of them.
But the memory of Toni’s forehead resting against hers in the sterile safe room, the lost sound she’d made during that tender kiss, wouldn’t be silenced by mantra.
The response came faster than expected. A text to a burn phone, two words: Caffè Gambrinus. One hour.
Her handler, a man she knew only as Edgar, was sitting at a small marble table when she arrived. He looked like what he was: a mid-level bureaucrat, slightly rumpled, nursing an expensive coffee. He didn’t look at her as she sat.
“The material was valuable,” he said quietly, stirring his cup. “It contained operational details on several of Lucia’s offshore banking routes. Also personnel files. Photos, addresses, habits.”
Alex kept her face neutral, sipping her own espresso. The bitter liquid grounded her. “And?”
“And we acted on it. This morning. Coordinated with the Polizia di Stato. They picked up seven of her key lieutenants. The financial crimes unit froze three major accounts.” Edgar allowed himself a small, tight smile. “Lucia’s operational capacity has been reduced by approximately sixty percent in one day. She’s furious. And exposed.”
A cold wave washed through Alex. She’d expected analysis, a slow bleed of intelligence. Not a swift, decapitating strike. “That was quick.”
“The intelligence was clear. Actionable. Your work inside is proving exceptional, Carlin.” For the first time, he glanced at her. “How is Romano?”
The use of her real name was a jolt. “Secure. Confident. She believes the warehouse fire was her victory alone.”
“Good. Let her. Her war with Lucia simplifies the landscape for us. Keep her trust. This…” he paused, “partnership, is yielding high-grade results. Higher than anticipated.”
Partnership. The word stuck in Alex’s throat. “Understood.”
“There’s a concern,” Edgar said, his voice dropping further. “The rapid arrests… Romano may suspect a leak. Be cautious. She is not a forgiving woman.”
Alex thought of the bite on her shoulder. Never bleed for anyone but me. “I know what she is.”
Toni was in her study, not the opulent living room. This was a smaller, more personal space, lined with books that looked actually read. A laptop was open, news sites displayed showing the arrests. She looked up as Alex entered, her expression unreadable.
“You’ve seen the news,” Alex said, stating the obvious.
“I have.” Toni leaned back in her leather chair, steepling her fingers. “Seven of her top people. Poof. Gone.” She didn’t sound triumphant. She sounded pensive. “It’s too clean. The police don’t move that fast, not on financial crimes. Not here.”
Alex leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. The movement pulled slightly at her wounded shoulder. “Maybe they had a tip. A disgruntled accountant. It happens.”
“It happens in movies.” Toni’s gaze was a laser. “This was precision. Someone gave them a roadmap.” She stood, walking around the desk. She stopped close to Alex, too close. The scent of her, sandalwood and unresolved suspicion, filled the air. “The only people who knew the full extent of what was in that warehouse were me, you, and Lucia.”
The silence that followed was a physical thing, thick and heavy. Alex held Toni’s stare, her own blue eyes giving nothing away. Her heart was a hammer against her ribs. This was the test. Not in a firefight, but here, in a quiet room with books.
“You think I’m a rat?” Alex asked, her voice flat, Derry accent a little harder.
Toni studied her face for what felt like an eternity. Then, slowly, her expression shifted. The suspicion melted into something else—exhaustion, maybe, or a strange form of respect. She reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Alex’s cheek.
“No,” Toni said, finally. “If you were, you’d be richer. And I’d be dead.” She let her hand drop. “Lucia was getting sloppy. Arrogant. Maybe she did piss off the wrong bean-counter.” She turned back to the window, looking out over the city. “Either way, it’s a gift. We should celebrate.”
But the seed was sown. As Alex agreed, as she forced a smile and accepted a glass of whiskey, she felt the new fissure between them. Not a crack of distrust, but a hairline fracture of doubt. Toni had looked at her and seen a possibility. That possibility now lived in the room with them, a silent, third presence.
Later, when Toni slept, curled with a possessive arm thrown across Alex’s waist, Alex lay awake. The city lights painted shifting patterns on the ceiling. She could feel the warmth of Toni’s body along her back, the steady rhythm of her breath. She thought of the encrypted drive, now a void in her pocket. She thought of the seven faces, probably sitting in cold cells, because of her.
The job was a success. The mission was advancing.
And Alex Carlin, staring into the dark, had never felt more like a ghost. A ghost who was becoming too real, too solid, in the one place she was supposed to be just a shadow. The weight of Toni’s arm was both an anchor and a shackle, and she had no idea which one would pull her under first.