Page 57 of Mayflower

No one is moving or making a face. This is almost comical if it weren’t so sad. Tsariuk knows everything about Zion except probably how to manufacture Gen-Alpha’s most profitable drug. Or how to make his daughter happy.

And his guards look like they chop others’ heads off for entertainment. His team is a mix of Eastern-Europeans and other ethnicities that all speak English, but combined, speak ten different languages.

“I am sending a container with military aid to Ayana,” Tsariuk says, checking again with his guy.

“What sort of military aid?” Archer asks.

“We will discuss it with Mr. Ortiz and Mr. Bishop. They will be most helpful in determining if what I have is enough. Then… Let’s see…” Tsariuk doesn’t even look at any of us, checking something in his lists. “Then, I need you, Mr. Crone, to work with my colleague on a chemical formula.”

Archer looks like he is about to punch the wall and shifts in his seat uncomfortably, frowning. “What sort of formula?” he grits out.

“It’s a chemical formula my chemist has worked out and sold a number of years ago. To the US military.” Why am I not surprised Tsariuk has a chemist on call too? “He wants to run it by you—confidentially—and discuss the precautions of using it at Ayana.”

Now everyone at the table exchanges worried looks. It sounds dangerous if not illegal. But then, his daughter is on Zion. Tsariuk might be a psychopath, but he would never do anything that would harm her.

“For what?”

“Again, confidentially first, then we discuss it with the team.” He checks the watch on his wrist. “Unfortunately, I have to go, gentlemen. If that is okay, I will message you about the next meeting to coordinate a convenient time. Yes?”

Without any more words, he rises from his seat and walks out, his assistant following him, his guards outside the conference room escorting him like an army.

Marlow throws his hands in the air. “Did he literally just tell us how he is going to handle the security on this island, without even asking permission, but then asked permission to coordinate the next meeting? Is he fucking insane?”

Archer rubs his forehead. “He has an upper hand right now, and he knows it.”

“He is smart,” Bishop says.

“He is right,” Ortiz says.

I smile to myself, wondering which part of him my sweet Maddy inherited.

I disregard the rest of the meeting and text Maddy.

Me: Had a meeting with your father. Is he crazy or just wickedly smart?

Mayflower: Both.

Me: Which part did you inherit?

Mayflower: I’d love to say the latter, but most probably the former.

She sends a smily face with the tongue sticking out.

Mayflower: Everything is fine?

Walking out of the Center after the meeting, I get another text.

Mayflower: Everything is okay?

I don’t answer. I’m driving my Yamaha home, wanting to surprise her. Also, hoping that Sonny is not there so I can get her naked and explain how much I missed her for the four hours I didn’t see her.

I walk into the house right when she sends me another text.

Mayflower: You okay???

I check it as I walk through the door.

“Really?” she snaps, setting her hand on her hip. “You couldn’t just reply?”

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