Page 8 of Undercover Infidel
“Infidel,” the digitally altered voice greeted me. “I see you have company.”
“She’s cleared,” I replied tersely. “What do you have for me, Kestrel?”
“Shipments of specialized neural processors through Hamburg, destined for a shell company in the Cayman Islands but diverted to St. Petersburg. Three such shipments in the past week.”
“Quantities?”
“Enough to build a dozen prototype systems, based on what I understand of the technology.”
“Any names associated with the receiving end?”
There was a pause, and I sensed Kestrel weighing how much information to sell. “This one’s on the house, given our history. The paperwork referenced a research division headed by Dr. Viktor Orlov.”
Beside me, Lex went rigid. “That’s impossible,” she said. “Orlov died in a laboratory explosion five years ago.”
Kestrel laughed, the sound distorted by the voice modulator. “The rumors of his death were greatly exaggerated. He’s very much alive and working on a project that has every spy agency from Moscow to Beijing scrambling to catch up.”
“You’re certain of this?” I pressed.
“I’d hardly say it if I weren’t.” While his image was pixelated, his head shake was visible. “Until next time.” The transmission ended abruptly.
Lex stood and paced the length of the room. “If Orlov is alive, we’re facing a much bigger threat than we initially thought. He was brilliant but utterly without ethics. His neural-network designs were years ahead of their time, but he was censured for violating every standard of conduct in the field.”
I checkedthe time—zero hundred hours. I’d been up for twenty-three straight, and given the exhaustion shadowing her eyes, Lex hadn’t slepteither.
“It’s late,” I said.
She rested against her chair and looked at her watch. “Yes, well, I suppose I should…”
Clearly, she hadn’t made a plan for either staying in Scotland or returning to London, not that she’d be able to do that tonight.
“Stay at Blackmoor. I’ll have a room prepared.” As soon as I made the offer, I wondered how quickly I’d regret it.
She hesitated, then accepted. “Admittedly, I hadn’t given it a thought. Your hospitality is appreciated.”
I called Bastion and instructed him to prepare the countess’s suite in a wing that was typically unoccupied apart from infrequent guests—although that hadn’t applied to Fallon Wallace, who stayed in the part of the castle where my quarters were. A decision I now regretted.
“I’ll show you there myself,” I said once Bastion confirmed the suite was ready.
We walked in silence through the dimly lit corridors of Blackmoor, passing portraits of long-dead Carnegies. I wondered what my ancestors would make of me, the current earl, whose business dealings sometimes skirted the edges of legality.
“This is it,” I said, opening the heavy oak door to reveal a spacious suite decorated in shades of blue and gold. Though traditional in style, it had been updated with modern amenities. “The bathroom is through there, and Bastion will have left everything you might need.”
“Thank you.” She looked around the room, her expression softening slightly. “It’s beautiful.”
“The countess’s suite has always been considered the most elegant in the castle. Though there hasn’t been a permanent occupant in years.”
“No aspirations to change that?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.
“None whatsoever,” I replied more sharply than intended. “My work requires a singular focus.”
She studied me with those perceptive eyes. “Or perhaps the recent betrayal has left its mark?”
“Good night, Dr. Sterling. I’ll see you in the morning.” I turned to leave, unwilling to discuss Fallon Wallace or my personal life.
“Con,” she called, stopping me at the door. “Thank you for your honesty earlier. It makes working together…easier.”
I acknowledged her words with a slight tilt of my head and left before I could say something foolish.
