Page 108 of Gates of Tartarus

Tennireef’s in another blasted bollocksy budget meeting. And he’s looking super pleased with himself. It’s like all of his Christmases have come at once, and Santa Claus delivered not only the Malibu beach house but a shiny, new Porsche and a real-life Barbie to go with it. The word from the US team is that he’s going to make a presidential run at the next election, and, judging by the way the other senators are deferring to him, it’s likely to be a success. Fecker. If Kronos really is a branch of the Bratva, then that means the next president of the United States is in cahoots with the Russian mafia. And, at the moment, there’s nothing we can do about it. Fucker.

I take my frustrations out on the punching bag in the gym. Emlyn and Seef are taking things in their stride, but I’m feeling keyed up. Magda, and Tennireef, and Rhea are out there, plotting, murdering, manipulating, and all I can do is catch glimpses. All I can do is react to events they set in motion. And that won’t do. So far, my training has focussed on defensive maneuvers, but it’s time to add some offensive moves, especially if the Bratva are involved. I ask Seef, telling him I want to expand my repertoire.

“Repertoire? This isn’t a cooking class, Driscoll.” But his tone is indulgent. “All right, let’s start with a round kick.”

He takes me through the basics. Holding my hands in a defensive posture, loosely in front of my sternum, I pivot on my left foot. As I spin, I lift my right leg and sweep it around, kicking out with the ball of my foot. I can also use my instep. Seef patiently takes me through the move again and again. I’m to aim for the knees. “Don’t even think about trying to knock a knife out of someone’s hand or kick him in the side of the head.” When I roll my eyes, he gives a pointed stare. “Iknowyou, princess. You’ll watch a couple of videos on YouTube and decide it looks cool and give it a go. Learn to crawl before you can walk.”

“Huh-well-mmm,” I mumble inarticulately, and he grins.

We practice the kick several more times, until Seef decides I’ve done enough for one day. “Don’t want Ryder to accuse me of tiring you out.”

The session’s done me good. I feel bold, like I’m taking control, all “I am woman, hear me roar”; so, on our way to the lobby, I remark, in what I hope is an offhand tone, “You look different.”

Seef glances over. “My face was itching. And I thought it was time for something new. Why? Do you like it?” He bats his eyelashes and simpers at me, pitching his voice high.

“Hah, hah, hah. You look nice. You looked fine before, of course, but this works too.”

He staggers, mockingly putting his hand to his heart: “Did you just compliment me, Driscoll? Was it difficult? Are you feeling OK? Do you need to lie down?”

“Shudduuuurp,” I slur, giving him a thwack.

“Right. If that’s the way you want to play it,” and he puts me in a headlock.

“Oof! Seef, let me go,” I mutter into his midsection.

“Pretty sure assaulting an MI6 officer’s an imprisonable offense, Driscoll.” His hold is gentle but firm, and my wiggling is futile.

“Seeeef,” I say, laughing.

We come into the lobby. “Ryder,” Seef calls out. “Come and help me teach Maela some manners. She struck an agent of the Crown.”

Emlyn raises an eyebrow. “That so?” He strolls over, elegant in his midnight-blue suit, and looks down at me, hands in his pockets.

“Emlyn,” I warn, looking up. I tug on my head, my butt waggling.

“Maela,” he parrots. And then he’s reaching out and ruffling my hair playfully with his knuckles, while I hop about, simultaneously trying to kick both him and Seef, like that scene in The Matrix.

“Aaaaagh!” I can feel my hair coming out of its braid and my face going red. “Let me go! Let me–”I manage to catch Seef on the shin, and he loosens his hold. Backing out, I put several feet between us, hands on hips and blowing strands of hair out of my face. “Honestly! Call yourself agents of the Crown! Aren’t you supposed to be better behaved?”

Emlyn shakes his head seriously. “Not really. No.” His eyes are laughing, and there’s that dimple in his chin.

“Sheesh! Well grow up already.” I’m going to have to re-braid my hair; half the strands, it seems, have fallen out, and I shake it loose.

“But where would be the fun in that?” Seef grins again.

He’s got me there.

???

There’s a surprise waiting for me when we get back home. I toddle through the door and into the conservatory, following the sounds of a Spanish guitar, to find a brown-paper package addressed to “Ms. Maela Driscoll” on the table.

“That was dropped off for you at Thames House earlier,querida,” Jorge stills his fingers and nods towards the package. “The receptionist thought that you and Emlyn were at the SIS Building today so asked me to give it to you.”

I look at the parcel curiously, picking it up to see if there’s a return address. It’s from Gaia. Huh.

“Care package from home?” Emlyn asks, shrugging off his coat.

“No,” I respond absent-mindedly, already starting to tear off the paper, “from Elizabeth, I think.”

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