Penny shrugged, making no promises.
Seichan sighed and stood. She cradled her belly with one hand as the room spun slightly, an aftereffect of the tranquilizer. The baby shifted inside her, putting more pressure on her bladder. Not that she minded. She had been relieved to find the child still kicking inside her, apparently unharmed from the assault.
Still, she hurried to the toilet. She had planned to use the bathroom anyway, not that she had much choice. She loosened her maternity pants, all too appreciative of its thick band of elastic stretch. Using her long blouse as a privacy screen, she sat and relieved herself.
Once finished, she stood and twisted around to flush, only then noting the blood in the bowl. Not a lot, but enough to set her heart pounding. Still, she kept her features calm as she turned to Penny.
“See. Nothing to worry about.”
Seichan knew that wasn’t true. Not for herself, certainly not for the child. She moved woodenly back to the bed.
Seemingly satisfied with everything, Penny hurried to take her place on the toilet. She talked the entire time. Do turtles poop in their shells? How come cats don’t bark? I think Bobby from school is a stupid fart head.
Seichan barely heard her.
Unlike Harriet, who cast her sister a withering look.
Penny got the message and lowered her voice as she finished and pulled up her pajamas. “Mom doesn’t let us say fart. But Dad does it all the time. Says the word fart and does it a lot, too.”
She giggled at this and hurriedly joined Seichan and her sister on the bed.
Harriet was not amused, her expression darkening. She suddenly pulled from Seichan and looked back at her. “Were we bad?” she finally asked, speaking for the first time. “Did Santa take us . . . instead of giving us presents?”
The young girl’s guilt and fear drew Seichan’s full attention back to the pair. Clearly the kid had been searching for some explanation for their circumstance, and Penny’s illicit use of a forbidden word had offered a possible reason.
“Harriet . . . no, of course not.” She scooped up her tiny body and drew her closer, then did the same with Penny. “None of this is your fault.”
Voices sounded from the door. The tiny window slid open as someone checked inside, then the door was unlocked and opened.
The person who was at fault entered.
Valya Mikhailov wore a fur-trimmed silver coat, shaking a dusting of snow from its fringes as she stepped forward. Her white hair, gelled flat to her skull, was far shorter than how the woman had last worn it. Her hairline came to a sharp V between icy brows. Her skin—as white as polished Carrera marble—had been dusted with a matching powder. Still, in the bright light of the doorway, a shadow marred the right side of her face.
Seichan pictured the black tattoo hidden under the powder: a half sun, with kinked rays extending across her cheek and shooting above her eye. Her dead twin brother had carried the other half of that black sun, only on his left cheek.
Seichan knew whom Valya blamed for the death of her sibling.
The woman’s pale hand rested on the black hilt of a dagger sheathed at her waist. Seichan knew the story behind that old blade. It had been passed down from the woman’s grandmother, a village babka—or healer—back in Siberia. The knife was called an athamé, a dagger used in magical ceremonies.
Valya glared as she entered. Her spite went beyond her brother’s death. Seichan and Valya had both been assassins with the Guild, sisters in the same deadly profession. After Seichan had helped Sigma destroy the organization, Valya had survived, bitter and vengeful. In the power vacuum left behind, Valya had gathered new forces, slowly rebuilding the organization under her own merciless leadership.
Penny leaned toward Seichan. “Is she the Snow Queen?”
Seichan could easily guess the source of this question. Last night, Kat had finished the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale of the same name, the story of a frost-hearted queen who steals a young boy. And certainly Valya’s snow-white countenance matched the villain in that tale. The woman suffered from albinism. Yet, defying the assumption that all those afflicted had red eyes, her irises were an ice blue.
Valya definitely fit the part of the Snow Queen.
Still, Seichan reassured Penny with a pat on the hand. “No, she’s not.”
She refrained from telling the girl the truth.
This woman’s worse . . . far worse.
Valya stalked inside, flanked behind by two burly guards, one carrying a cattle prod, the other a tranquilizer gun. She ordered the guards in Russian. “Davayte sdelayem eto bystro,” she said. Let’s make this quick.
She switched to English with Seichan, her accent remaining distinct. “We’re running behind schedule this morning.”
Seichan stood to face the witch, waving the girls behind her. “What do you want?” She glanced over to the unmade bed. “And where’s Kat . . . Captain Bryant?”
“Last time I checked, the woman was alive.”
Seichan inwardly sagged with relief.
“If she had not been so obstinate,” Valya explained with a scowl, “she would be here. No one was supposed to be harmed. It’s why I left her alive. We certainly don’t have the ability to care for the comatowe.”
Seichan translated the Russian, her fear returning.
Comatose . . .
“I did go to the hospital,” Valya said. “To make sure she wasn’t going to talk anytime soon. I even brought ice chips for her husband.”
Monk . . .
“He was most grateful.”
Seichan balled a fist, imagining Monk at Kat’s bedside while the woman who put his wife there stood at his elbow. Beyond her skill as an assassin, Valya’s most vaunted talent was at disguise and mimicry. Long ago, the woman had learned to use her pale countenance like a blank slate, a palette upon which she could paint any face.
Still, this information told Seichan that they were still in the States, likely somewhere in the Northeast. But it didn’t answer her most important question.
“Again, what the hell do you want?” she asked.
Valya shrugged. “I need Sigma’s help.”
“Then this is a strange way of asking for it.”
“Nyet. It’s all a matter of inspiring cooperation.”
Seichan glanced back to the girls.
“There was an attack four days ago in Portugal,” Valya explained. “Involving an unusual AI project. Someone went to extreme measures to secure it. Even murdering a U.S. ambassador. It drew our attention. No one goes through such effort unless there was something of true value.”
Seichan knew the former Guild had often scoured the world for cutting-edge tech—then sold it to the highest bidder to fund their terrorist activities or twisted it to their own ends, which was often far worse.
Clearly Valya intended to follow the same playbook.
“That technology is now up in the air,” Valya said.
“And you want it.”
“Da, but not just me. Komandir Pierce is already headed to Portugal.” She glanced to a wristwatch. “He should be touching down in another dva chasov.”
Two hours?
Seichan failed to hide her surprise. She had assumed Gray and Director Crowe were turning over every rock to find her and the girls.
Why is Gray off on this mission?
Valya answered, “Sigma believes the murders in Portugal are tied to our attack. And they’re right, but for the wrong reason.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Something strange happened during the assault in Portugal.” Valya went on to explain about the discovery of footage after the attack, of a Sigma symbol appearing on a computer monitor. “By the time the recording was found, I already had operatives in the field, investigating what happened. They were one of the first to see that footage, before it even reached Sigma. I knew such an oddity would draw Direktor Crowe’s attention. So, before he could act—”
“You grabbed us.”
“I’m glad I had such foresight. Seven hours ago, my operatives in Portugal suddenly went silent.” Valya frowned, clearly unhappy with this change in circumstance. “They had a lead on the group who might have orchestrated the attack at the university. Some fire-and-brimstone sect who dress up in robes. But before they could pursue this angle, they crossed paths with another shadowy group. A new and unknown player in all of this. My operatives had been looking into them—then went silent. My guess. Someone else is after that tech.”
“Which means you need more boots on the ground.”
Valya shrugged. “Our organization is still growing and has only a fraction of Sigma’s resources.” Her gaze shifted to the two girls. “But the right motivation might persuade Sigma to work for us.”
Seichan understood. Valya intended to co-opt Sigma to her own end.
“They’ll never agree,” she said.
Valya shrugged. “We’ll see. We merely want the device, along with a copy of the AI program. They bring me those items, you all go back to your happy lives.”
“And if not, you’ll kill us.”
“That’ll be my bluff.”
“Bluff?”