PROJECT ASTERIA

N I N E

Carina had managed to find Alejandro, and over the next three days, tracked his behavior. She had managed to bug his office and his car, and was surprised at his routine. He woke up early in the morning to work for twelve hours straight, answering calls and going to meetings. Then he'd visit some of the oil rigs to check on everything, before he'd head back home. And then he'd go to a club.

He was a very heavy drinker, she noticed, and often had to have his bodyguards bring him back home. Sometimes, there was a lady in tow, other times, he left for home alone. The biggest problem she would have to contend with were the bodyguards. Everything else would be fine—she'd meet him in the club, chat him up, flirt a little, and then go home with him.

She noticed he never went for the girls on the streets, who were mostly younger girls groomed and sold into prostitution by pedophiles. He always went into the clubs and brought home young women in their early twenties. Lucky for her, she was just that. But how was she supposed to get him back without the bodyguards reacting?

Carina walked into the bar on the fourth evening, an hour before Alejandro walked in. Familiarizing herself more with the setup of the place, she paid the bartenderess a large sum of pesos to keep his three bodyguards entertained.

But something kept bothering her. He could've already gone to some agency and brought forth all the evidence of the Seven's crimes, but perhaps Alejandro was holding it over the Seven as a form of ultimatum. She shook that off—she'd have to think about that later. Right now, she needed to focus on the mission.

She contacted her sleeper friends from Colombia's DNI, who would surround the place subtly, just in case anything went wrong. Ordering a martini, Carina kept her eye on the door and the clock.

Alejandro walked in on the dot.

She let him drink a bit, before she approached him with a flirtatious smile. Carina hoped he didn't recognize her, and he didn't seem to. She talked to him the same way she talked to Cyrus, hoping he'd open up. Starting slowly with greetings, names, and positions, she spoke his language as fluently as a native of Colombia.

She kept her eye on the bar, where the bartendress was keeping his bodyguards entertained.

Carina saw his eyes slowly become numb from the alcohol as he fell into the depths of drunkenness, and as he led her to the door, he waved his bodyguards over, who seemed disappointed at having to leave.

"Evelyn," his lips fell to her neck in the car. She knew his home was thirty minutes away, so this was going to be a long car ride if he kept trying to do what he was doing.

Honey traps worked like gold. Carina knew she wasn't the strongest, so doing anything too physical in her operations wouldn't work, especially since most men could easily overpower her. If she tried anything, Alejandro had three bodyguards, plus himself (who wasn't exactly a weakling), to restrain her. But she was smart, she was charming, and she had a way with words—that was why she was America's greatest spy in the modern era. People got close to her, so she easily got through them. Or rid of them.

He kissed her like he had been deprived of affection, hands carefully working themselves across her back.

The car had stopped, and she couldn't help but marvel at the sight of his home once more. She'd seen it already, but it was still beautiful, and even more so at night. It was on its own piece of land, seemingly far away from anywhere else. Painted white with decorative lighting, nicely paved driveway, fountain in the front with a classically themed statue.

"Mm, cariño," he said, bringing her through the door, carrying her bridal style. The interior was even better than she had expected—a glorious crystal chandelier hanging over the vast living room, which radiated money more than anything she'd seen, except for maybe the house of the Seven.

The three bodyguards did not come inside the house, which she found unusual. They merely gave her a little smirk, and shut the door, standing outside to guard it.

He led her up the marble stairs, which had a lush red carpet laid over it. All she could do was hope the drink she ordered for him worked—she'd put a sleeping pill in it. Cliche, but it worked. And the only thing she could do after that was get rid of the babysitters.

Slowly, as she laid in bed with him, she realized he didn't like to get to the "good part" right away. Carina realized he was much lonelier than most realized. And he talked—a lot, just as Cyrus did when he found out there was someone that was willing to listen.

Trusted secrets. His dark history. His family, his deepest regret and sorrow. She almost felt bad. But she had to save those children, suffering, screaming in shitty labs and cellars because of the Seven. And if she had to condemn this man to death, so be it. She watched as his eyes slowly began to loll, and as his eyelids began to close. Stroking his hair comfortingly, he fell asleep in her arms.

Carina waited a few minutes. And then she moved. Checking outside, she spotted the three bodyguards—how she was going to get rid of them, she didn't know.

Her phone rang. She bit back a curse, and picked up. There were several knocks she could hear through the line, and they continued through the call.

"Lily," Andrei's voice was on the other end. "Change of plans."

"What?"

"Get all the information from him, and then kill him," he said. "Now."

Her throat closed up. He couldn't be serious.

"Rin wants the information from you," he said. "Which means there would be no other use for him. He has become a liability."

She sucked in a breath. Alejandro and the Seven had been good friends—Rin trusted him. And here, the Seven was asking for his death as easily as ordering food from the restaurant. If it was so easy to break Rin's trust, then Andrei would be in hot water if she ever found out.

Slowly, Carina realized the subtle knocks she had heard in the beginning of the call were continuing—they were all the same in the same pattern.

Three short taps. One short tap, one long. Three short taps, one long. One short. A short silence. Four short taps. Two short taps. Two long taps.

Morse code.

SAVE. HIM.

She listened harder, and he repeated the same taps. She inhaled.

"Don't question the order," he finished harshly. "Get the information. Kill him. That is your new mission."