Page 13 of Wild Thing

The cell is quiet. I hold my breath.

O’Shea looks way too relaxed. Slurring, he almost sounds high, but his words are coherent, and there’s a permanent smile on his face. Whatever concoction Archer got ready for him must have multiple effects.

“I know I’m fucked.” O’Shea looks around aimlessly, then tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

After a prolonged silence, Bishop asks, “And your buddy, Cunningham?”

“He’s in for the ride. We wanted to do an extraction and sell Milena—if we were to find her—to the highest bidder. I’d kill Tsar if I had a chance. Her? We are not women-killers, but we’d make money, and whoever bought her, she’d deal with them, and they’d deal with her father.”

O’Shea sniffles and smiles broadly, blood on his teeth, drooling onto his shirt.

“Tsar is desperate,” he continues in a slow raspy voice. “She’s his only child. He’s getting old. His wife has cancer and is dying. Why his daughter is in hiding—well, I can imagine. Aleksei Tsariuk is not a fucking saint. Not even to his wife or daughter. But things change. She might be dead—he’s not stupid. Hundreds and thousands went missing during the bombings. He’s been searching the mainland—shelters, hospitals, internment camps, prisons, survivalist compounds. You name it—Tsar has already looked into it. And the only thing that can stop him is her dead body and DNA proof. But this island, it’s of special interest.”

The cell is too quiet and motionless except for the smoke from Raven’s cigarette curling into the air.

“Here’s the thing.” O’Shea licks his lips for the longest time. He’s thirsty—must be the effect of the drug. “You think Tsariuk sent people here? I bet he did, through any hole possible, Zion has many. But… So did the Cosa Nostra, who had a falling out with him. So did the Arabs, because they want leverage. So did the Chicago Outfit, because they want to kiss his ass. Yeah. You guys became the most targeted island in the world. Finding Milena Tsariuk is like the almighty’s most exciting Easter egg hunt. Zion security?”

He laughs, loud and long, then goes into a long coughing fit. Bishop stands with his arms crossed. Raven lights another cigarette.

“Security is fucked, ‘cause there are probably more moles there than you think. Your surveillance team—same-same. Staff and service people—that’s your weak spot, and there’s no chance in the world you’ll catch anyone. Because guess what? The old lady who cleans your house—she could be a spy. The gardener—could be a snitch. The kid cleaning the dishes at Tapas notices every person who goes in and out and marks down their names—probably works for the locals.”

My insides grow cold.

“If Milena is here, she doesn’t have a security entourage. She could be snatched away, and Tsariuk will never find out. That’s the trick. She could be a weapon against him. Even the—” O’Shea coughs loudly. “What’s that thug’s name? The mayor? Butcher, right. He announced a bounty on Milena’s head about half a year or so ago. Guess what? To any average fucker in town that’s on your payroll, it’s like winning a lottery.”

O’Shea isn’t giving any concrete info, nevertheless, everything he says is like opening a can of worms.

“There’s only one thing that can keep your island from everyone in the world sticking their noses in. If you find that fucking ghost girl yourself. Or someone does. Or her body. Show Tsar the body of his daughter—case closed. Until then, Zion is an open target.”

6

KAT

“It’simpossible to change the entire security and surveillance team in one go. It’s hundreds of people,” Dad says when I get on a video call with him.

For the first time, he looks worried as he rubs his forehead.

I don’t say much when we talk about Tsariuk business. Not when I’m at my desk, and though I use headphones, technically anyone within earshot can hear what I say. Suddenly, O’Shea’s words acquire a new meaning. Being in the Center is like being in a den of vipers.

So I limit my responses to occasional nods.

“The only way to make sure Milena Tsariuk is not on Zion is to go through every female resident’s file and confirm her identity. For that, Archer is the only one who can give clearance. I’ll talk to him.”

Everyone talks to Archer, but I’m a no-no. Our messages don’t go beyond me asking how he’s doing and him responding, “Fine.” Nor does he say when he’s coming back.

“I have info on Raylin Reyes, Ty’s lost sister,” Dad says, changing the topic. “She was at the Bryne’s Hospital right after the bombings. For half a year.”

My heart pounds so strongly that I forget all about Tsariuk and O’Shea. “She didn’t die?”

“Well, not during the bombings. I found medical records. She was badly injured, incapacitated. She was transferred to a physical rehab facility, which was shut down due to the increased radiation levels and relocated, and that’s when she went missing.”

“What do you mean missing?”

“Kit-Kat, look it up in the dictionary.”

Jesus, whatever. “So, now?”

“So, now we need to dig more. But not a word to her brother. There’s no hope until…”

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