Page 56 of Belgian Betrayal

Anya set the big bowl in the middle of the table, laid a basket full of bread rolls beside it and pulled up a chair at the opposite end of the big table from Ivan.

“Eat,” Ivan said in a booming voice. “Eat.”

Fearghas didn’t have to be told twice. He dug into the thick meat stew and took the first bite, swallowing a moan of pleasure.

Catya didn’t hold back. She took a bite, closed her eyes and moaned softly.

“Good, yes?” Ivan laughed. “My Anya is the best.” He said something in Russian.

Anya’s cheeks blushed a pretty pink.

Fearghas ate every bit of the goulash and two of the bread rolls.

Catya did the same.

By the time everyone had finished the meal, they were fat, happy and ready to deal.

Fearghas rose from the table and collected Catya’s bowl, carrying it to the sink beside the stove.

“Leave it,” Ivan said. “Anya will take care of it. We have other work to do.”

Anya appeared beside him as Fearghas set the bowls in the sink.

“Thank you, Anya,” Fearghas said. “It was good.”

Anya’s brow wrinkled.

Fearghas rubbed his belly and grinned. “Good.”

“Ah,” she said. “Good.” Anya nodded several times and went back to the table to collect the rest of the dishes.

Jasmine, Ace and Dmytro rose from the table.

“Come,” Ivan said. He led the way to a wall with a bookshelf filled with old books that could have been published in the early nineteenth century. Ivan tipped the first novel on the third shelf.

The shelf shuddered. Ivan gave it a push, and the wall and shelf swung inward to reveal a hidden passage lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Ivan led them down the passage to a door at the end. He pulled a key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock and twisted. The door swung open to a darkened room.

Ivan reached inside and flipped a switch. Lights blinked on. He stepped into a room lined with cabinets and drawers. “Take what you will need.”

Dmytro leaned close to Ace. “It will cost. My cousin is a businessman.”

Ace nodded. “My boss will pay.” He turned to Ivan.

Thirty minutes later, Ace had selected long-distance listening devices, a camera with a long-range lens, C-4 with detonators, and ammunition for the weapons they’d brought with them from Belgium.

Ivan promised to help them should they need to be added to any guest lists for upcoming events involving government officials, celebrities, or foreign dignitaries.

Loaded down with what they needed to spy on Cassandra Miles and anyone else she might be associated with, the team thanked Ivan and his wife, climbed into the van and left the warehouse in South London, heading out as darkness blanketed the streets.

The rain had transitioned into a heavy mist.

Streetlights made small circles of yellow light on corners.

“We need to set up surveillance on Cassandra Miles’s apartment,” Ace said.

“I’ll do that,” Fearghas said.

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