Page 2 of Bonded in Death

He stood now, gray hair shaggy, his face lined with time and duty, and scanned the table. All battle-scarred, he knew. Some physically, and every one of them in heart and mind. But they’d fight on. He trusted them as he trusted himself.

They’d become, over these ravaged years, family.

“Before we begin briefing on this mission, a bright spot. The intel on North America, and this has been confirmed by the Underground and MI6. While pockets of enemy activity remain, the tide’s turned. Revolutionary headquarters in several major cities have been infiltrated or destroyed.

“Mole.”

The heiress nodded. “I can confirm. My contact in New York reports the city is in the hands of our allies, enemy forces are surrendering. Washington, D.C., reports the same, as does Los Angeles, Chicago, Dallas, and up into Canada—Montreal, Toronto.”

She brushed back her fall of icy blond hair. Though studs sparkled at her ears—she’d come from a dinner party—they pretended to be diamonds.

She’d sold most of her jewelry to buy food, medical supplies, weapons—whatever those suffering required. She glanced at the dancer they called Panther.

“My sources also confirm.” Her accent came from Eastern Europe, her birthplace, and the birthplace of her illustrious career. “Cease-fires are being negotiated even now.”

“Good news, but you wouldn’t know it from London.” The thief, Magpie, shrugged. His voice reflected his life on the streets.

“Not yet.” Under the table, Fox took Fawn’s hand. A connection of hope. “But North America stabilizes, Europe will follow, and the world follows that. I’ve treated more enemy wounded than our own these past weeks.”

Like Panther, Fox’s accent spoke of his homeland in Ukraine.

“Some are deserting, retreating,” Fawn added. “Running out of London.” Her hand tightened on her husband’s.

“Our baby’s fine,” he assured her. “If they run, they don’t run to fight but to survive.”

Because they were a family there, he lifted her hand to his lips. “We’ll see our girl very soon. And your sons, Panther. We’re grateful you gave us a safe place for our daughter.”

“Fawn hid my sons here before London became too dangerous for them. We—we all—look out for each other.”

“And the innocent,” the scientist called Owl added.

“Always.”

The tech called Wasp lifted a hand. “And Italy? I haven’t heard from my brother in Rome for more than a week. My wife and my mother in Tuscany can’t reach him.”

“The fighting is intense in Rome,” Panther told him. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thank you.”

“I spoke with my sister this morning.” The other tech, Cobra, lit a cigarette. “She says, as does Fox, she’s treating more of them than us.”

Beside him, the detective constable known as Shark lit his own cigarette. “My intel says the same. On the run, outnumbered. Supply line issues on all sides, but we’re used to that. We may not have hit flash point yet, but we’re close.”

“We’ll be closer when we complete our next mission,” Rabbit said. “Wasp, if you will.”

He rose to man a computer.

“If we could have the map on-screen. Our target is here. Beneath these buildings, evacuated early in the conflict, is Dominion’s London headquarters.”

A murmur went around the table.

“This is confirmed?” Fox demanded. “Our last intel indicated the West End was more likely.”

“Misinformation—likely deliberate.” Chameleon pressed her lips together. “I don’t like being duped. If we’d moved on it, as I pushed for—”

“Your cover would’ve been blown.” Shark gave her a cheeky grin. “Cooler heads, my lovely.”

“Normally I say bollocks to cooler heads, but in this case…” Now she shrugged, tossed back her bold red hair. “I can’t, yet, confirm the target.”

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