Page 62 of The Crimson Lily
After five good minutes and the rest of my whiskey, I eventually muster the will to speak. “What the fuck does that mean?” I’ve officially lost all trace of patience.
Giovanni intervenes to save Chiara. He puts his hand flat on the table as an invitation for me to listen carefully. “The Russians built a system to operate weapons that can destroy satellites.” He pauses, waiting for a nod on my side, which I eventually grant. “The dagger contains a digital key to access that system.” He pauses again, and I nod. “Now, imagine for a second that an international criminal organization like the Syndicate gains access to that system. Just imagine.”
I lean back, crossing my arms, maintaining Giovanni’s gaze. I begin to think, collecting all evidence I’ve acquired so far.
But I have to ask two questions first.
I turn to Chiara. “How do you know about all this? How high are you in the Syndicate?”
“I’m not supposed to know,” she replies, then purses her lips nervously. “Which is why I’m hiding here.”
I veer to Giovanni. “I found that dagger in a tomb in Siberia. Why the hell would there be an authentication key to a weapon system in that dagger?”
“Some Russian hacker wanted to be funny, I don’t know!” he answers. He almost sounds cynical. I can see he has absolutely no idea.
All right, say all of this is real, and I didn’t end up in a Hollywood movie. What could the Syndicate achieve withaccess to anti-satellite weapons? The answer is actually pretty clear. Chiara even mentioned the balance of power being in danger. An international crime organization with the potential to destroy satellite communications, navigation systems, and weather predictions will have a hold on the world’s throat. They will have all the necessary power to make the world bow at their feet. Could they even kill the internet? Indirectly, maybe. That would make things ten times worse.
No, not the internet!a little voice in me shouts, possibly to add a little humor to this funky situation.
“So, what?” I blurt. “All the mafias worldwide are racing to get that access themselves?”
Giovanni dismisses my hypothesis with a motion of the hand. “Crime groups don’t bother with things that have a global impact. We want the world to stay the way it is.” He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “The Syndicate got political the minute they got their hands on that dagger. They got firepower to threaten entire nations. That’s a threat against all of us, and that’s why you, as the Bratva’s civilian informant, are sitting here, in the Mafia Capitale’s quarters.”
I collapse in my seat, twitching little nos with my head, not knowing what to say or do. Mr. Zhang, back in Paris, was right. This is far bigger than I imagined. I welcome back that feeling of numbness I rely on every time things get too complicated for me.
“What’s my part in all this?” I ask Giovanni, exhausted from this Mount Doom of information.
Chiara lays a hand on my arm to get my attention. “You are one of the two people who know how to retrieve that key from the dagger.”
“Who’s the second one?” I jerk, knowing darn well the answer is…
“William de Loit,” Chiara replies.
I fall silent. Not that I have thoughts in my head, just a constant buzz and whirling. I take my empty glass in one hand and stare at the bottom of it. The music is what hauls me back to the speakeasy. It’s no longer jazz. A classy blonde with a Betty Boop figure is singing soft blues tunes by the bar. I peek over my shoulder to examine her and how the many men in the Gatto di Strada seem mesmerized by her, Giovanni included.
“If the Bratva want their dagger back, wouldn’t they have access to the system?” I ask as I turn back, ticking the glass on the varnished table, catching Giovanni’s attention again.
Giovanni shakes his head. “They’ve had it for years and have done nothing with it, but just to be sure, we’ll figure out a way to erase that key. Just…keep that detail to yourself, okay?”
Great, now I have to keep a secret. Not that I mind, but if Maksim asks me, I won’t be able to lie. Speaking of Maksim, I miss him so much right now, more than ever before.
“So,” I tick my glass one last time and straighten my posture, ready to ask my Liliana Springfield question. “What’s the plan?”
Chiara looks away for a second. She has a purse against her left flank, which she furiously searches through. I hear some rattling of plastic, papers, and maybe keys. I think she’ll pull out a phone or an important piece of paper. Maybe a picture, or even a rabbit. She turns back to me and, against all expectations, places a brass coin before me.
I don’t dare touch it, so I just gawk at it.
“This is the token they use to identify themselves during gatherings,” Chiara explains.
“Don’t they know each other’s faces?” I murmur the question in a tone that is way too evident.
Chiara chuckles a little—something I did not expect either.
“The Syndicate likes to make things dramatic,” she says. “They meet outside the city at night. Sometimes in a forest, othertimes in abandoned houses. They’ll wear coats and masks to be unrecognizable.”
I take the token in my hands and fiddle with it. I flip it and look closer, noticing how rough the edges are and how imperfect the art is. It’s supposed to be a quill, I think, not a banana leaf. The four dots should be stars. This coin is definitely handmade.
“I was finally granted my own token. Now I know where they’re made,” Chiara says. “The next meeting is this Thursday,” she announces, and I instantly look back at her. “It’s time to end this.”
