Wanderer 2.0, Book 1 Of The Wanderer Series

14 • This is How We Are

(A/N: trying a new format. Let me know if you guys prefer it this way or the way I usually format. I've also been using my laptop to write instead of my phone like I've done in the past. Android just isn't creator friendly and the switch from IOS to Android has been one of the main reasons my writing hasn't been as frequent this year. As soon as I can afford it I'm switching back. Let me know if the paragraphs are reader friendly or not. It's harder to judge that with a bigger screen.)

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𝙺𝚢𝚘𝚝𝚘, 𝙹𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚗
𝚃𝚠𝚘 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝙰𝚐𝚘
𝙼𝙴𝚂𝙺𝙰𝙳𝙰 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴
𝟷𝟸: 𝟷𝟻 𝙰.𝙼.

Gabriella and I watch from near the riverside as the Kyoto police raid the warehouse where our mark had hidden away a shipment of illegal military grade weaponry. From what Declan has uncovered, Matsumoto Tokimasa had been in the process of selling this to an underground terrorist group in upper Asia before we'd stepped in and ruined it all. It's not an uncommon process. Crime lords help one another like this all the time for the right price.

It's getting late and a misting rain that's lingered for the past two hours has seeped through my clothes to chill me to the bone. It takes a lot of effort to not shiver and cuss in front of the police force we turned everything over to. Gabriella has no such qualms about showing weakness as a woman around so many men. She's holding herself together, glowering out at them as she shivers like a chihuahua. Her hat even sulks under the weight of the rain, adding to the image. Leave it to her to maximize her moods with her surroundings.

My eyes scan the police as they move swiftly to empty the building of the contraband and boxes of paperwork that will likely lead to his downfall. Their flashing lights beam across the wet concrete, nearly blinding me with the glow and making it hard to get a good visual. On their knees to the left of the chaos, are three men with their wrists cuffed behind their backs. One of the cops paces behind them with his rifle in hand. The youngest, no older than twenty, glares hatefully at any cop that gets in his line of sight. The other two are solemn and tight-lipped.

The guy my age turns his sights on us when he fails to get a reaction from the nearby police. His glare intensifies, particularly when we lock eyes. I stare him down, refusing to give him any sort of satisfaction, and keep my face unreadable. His scowl deepens until there's a deep wrinkle between his brows.

There's always a risk of retaliation when we do any sort of field work. Foiling plans well laid usually pisses them off. Often, when I make eye contact with them like this, I can't help but wonder if this is the face that will end me one day in the future - if this is the person who'll look me in the eyes as they pull the trigger and take me out. Will I see that brief flicker of satisfaction and gratifying vengeance before I'm fully gone? Will they grab a bite to eat like nothing ever happened right after while my body rots in a gutter somewhere? Will everything I've accomplished, everything that I am and all that I have touched in my life, end in a mystery likely to never be solved? Will I be just another cold case Youtubers tell their viewers about for years to come - summed up as a face and a name and a few sweet sentiments captured by my loved ones?

"A gentleman would offer a coat or umbrella. These imbeciles wouldn't know chivalry if it shot them in the foot," Gabriella grumbles out with a pout. My lips twitch in amusement as I look away from the younger man and back to the wide-open double doors that go into the warehouse. Radio chatter and impromptu overhead lighting set up by the police force come from within there. One of the men detained had managed to cut off the power supply to the building before we could fully go in and take them down.

"They seem to be a bit preoccupied at the moment. I doubt most of them even remember we're here," I tease lightly. Every time we go into a new country we've yet to meddle in, there's always concern for how we'll be received. We've had cases where, despite all we've done without compensation, as soon as things are turned over to the local officials, they turn on us. We've also had them pretend we were never there and have had them thank us profusely before offering us sanctuary if we ever need it. Thankfully, the Japanese officials seem grateful and have told us we are welcome guests of their distinguished country.

It didn't escape my notice though that they said 'guests'. Their hospitality and gratitude will only extend so far. Granted, I'll take it over having to figure out how to escape across the border with the full capabilities of their might right on our asses after working relentlessly for days in a row. Still, I'm withholding from celebrating just yet. There's time for them to turn coats. Japan has always strived for a diplomatic relationship with the Big Five since WWII, particularly with the United States, given the history between the two during the war. If it comes down to having our backs or maintaining diplomatic relations, they'll pick the latter.

Gabriella scoffs, sinking lower into her pout and judging them even harder than before. If that's even possible...

"Miss! Miss," a man calls out to me. Gabriella and I both turn our heads to the left. The cop is young, probably my age, and jogging towards us with a waving hand high in the air. Turning my body towards him, I raise a brow in question and ask," Yes? What is it?"

He stops a few feet away, barely out of breath, "The Captain wishes to speak with you. He found something."

Gabriella shares a look with me. Her suspicion is obvious, and her eyes plead for me to be cautious. I give her a wry smile and turn back to the guy, "Lead the way."

He nods sharply once, and spins around to face the way he came. He jogs back too, but I keep a leisurely pace behind him, eyes scanning the faces we pass. I've been doing this too long. Every side glance looks like a suspicious plot to divide and conquer. The men we pass all pause for at least a second to look at me specifically. Some murmur to the others. One pops another on the back of the head and barks something in Japanese that has them getting back to work.

I narrow my eyes at the few who stare too long, daring them to try something on me.

Focusing back on the open warehouse doors when I'm close, I scan the operation within. It's chaos, people everywhere are sifting through massive amounts of paper and trying to communicate their findings to the higher ups with at least a handful of others trying to do the same. A middle-aged woman in a police uniform holds a stack of papers in her hand that she's reading by flashlight. She glances up and locks eyes with me. I nod in acknowledgment and carry on. She follows suit, but the tension in her shoulders doesn't go away.

I imagine my reputation has made rounds already. At least the reputation I've been stamped with by the UN.

The captain is a man in his fifties with just enough wrinkles to tell how stressful his career has been. Otherwise, he looks great for his age. His hair hasn't a strand of grey and his posture is immaculate. He's tucked away in the back, pinching the bridge of his nose as one of his subordinates nervously splutters out what I'd imagine to be an unnecessarily long tangent.

"Konnichiwa," I greet in a low voice, lips twitching in an attempt to smother my amusement. The captain looks to me and then immediately shoos away the still rambling guy. He bows, spitting out quite the adamant apology, and then turns tail.

The captain stares me down, "Callaia Sosa, Commander and co-founder of The Foundation, I presume?"

I blandly taunt him, "Yes. And you are?"

He looks away to the ground and smiles wryly, "Just call me Momo."

I'll give it to him - he managed to throw me off. I look up in thought, imagining a peach wearing a police hat, which embarrassingly tells my age. "Right, " I drawl out.

'Momo' bows his head to me, "I hope you can find it in you to join me on a small matter and overlook any past grievances you might feel we've committed, even through alliance."

He doesn't raise his head yet. I suppose he's waiting on my answer first. Exhaling heavily, I tilt a hip to one side and smile warily, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

Not missing a beat. Momo raises his head and nods, "Thank you, Callaia. Follow me, please."

I sigh as he turns away, but do as he asks. I'm struggling to keep my eyes open at this point, let alone handle anything important. Downsides to the job. Walter is just as much of a founder as I am, but he rarely shows his face in public. Whereas I'm usually in the middle of things. There's always eyes watching me, equating how I act and handle things to our Foundation as a whole. Momo takes us further into the dark where no one else is. My pulse flutters with hyperawareness and that pesky suspicion creeps back in. It's unwarranted as he takes us out back where a techie sits on a plastic crate, typing away at his laptop.

The techie glances up, looking back to his screen once he sees who it is. His voice is deep and the leather face mask over his nose and mouth muffles his words, "This her?"

His accent is there, but his English is flawless. I bypass Momo and stand just behind his shoulder, taking in his vacuum sealed tank top made up of some sort of latex, the belts circling his arms artistically, and the stylish cargo pants. "What do you have," I ask him.

"Oh, just a bit of this and a bit of that," he purrs, winking at me over his shoulder. His choppy hair sways across his eyes as he looks up at me from under his lashes. Charming.

Leaning over with my hands on my knees, I look over his screen. It's as indecipherable as Declan's screens - binary coding and a collage of symbols and letters. "What am I looking at," I ask. He turns back to his screen fully and exits the window to pull up the data it'd been hiding, "That's for me. But this-."

I watch the images flicker as he clicks on them. An old man in a tub of ice with stiches on his abdomen. A little girl in a cage surrounded by other girls in cages. A woman bound to a chair with a masked man holding a blowtorch to her cheek, a hole of melted flesh already visible as she screams. More seriously, the techie finishes his earlier thought, "This is for you."

My jaw clenches, rage blinding me for a moment. "Was he selling or buying?"
"Buying. Doesn't look like he went that far just yet, but he was definitely interested. It's like a Pinterest board for sadists."

Standing upright, I look to Momo, "I trust you'll take care of this?" The unsaid threat comes through loud and clear - I'm going to be pissed if I have to come back and handle this myself. Momo nods, "I'll make sure he goes down to the full extent. I just wanted you to be made aware of the sort of people you are dealing with if you plan on digging further."

"I appreciate it, but for now I'll let sleeping dogs lie. I have people keeping an eye on the situation," I reply. Glancing back at the photo of the woman in a Red Room out of my peripheral, I continue, "Cases like this require time and patience. While I'd love nothing more than to take them down right now, these won't be new to the scene. They're suspicious by nature and always on the lookout for people like us. I'll build the case and contact you if it crosses back into your borders."

Momo purses his lips, choosing his words carefully, "I'd appreciate an update all the same. I don't want this filth to leak into Japan anymore than it already has."

I nod at him, "I can do that."

Stalking towards Gabriella through the thick of the raid, I watch as she stands where I'd left her, still glowering at all of them through her limp hat rim. Hearing my feet splash through a puddle, she glances my way and takes me in from head to toe with a critical eye. Once she's satisfied nothing is amiss, she turns back to glower at the police who aren't paying her a lick of attention. "Anything interesting?"

"He was buying flesh on the black market. Typical," I snort, glaring off in the same direction as her. Her nose wrinkles in my peripheral, "Filthy bastard. They'll be handling it, I take it?"

I nod, "I'll have a team put together to do recognizance on the sellers, but otherwise we'll be staying out of it. That'll take too much of our time and resources." It's not something I like to admit - that we can't take on every single case we come across. It's honestly a hit to my pride. One of the shittiest parts about being the leader is having to make uncomfortable calls like that. If someone else was making the calls and told me I couldn't pursue them because we're drowning in cases as it is, at least I could blame them for it. Instead, I'm the one that gets to live with the guilt and blame.

Big ticket items like a crime lord in the skin market gets government attention if corruption isn't part of the equation. They always do. A warlord overtaking a bunch of tiny third world villages, however, are easily forgotten by the masses. Those are the ones I try to focus my resources on. Usually, it's our team that handles the big cases like this one and unfortunately, we're drowning as it is. The world's a big place.

My phone rings from the thigh strap it's secured on. I've lost more phones than I care to admit because they'd been in a pocket or my bra. Dec finally had enough - between the security risk and the hassle of getting a replacement - and had a sort of thigh holster made for my phone. So far, it's proven effective. Going ten months without a hitch.

I answer the call without looking away, half convinced we're staring off into space more than analyzing the situation. It's been a long couple of days. I don't say a word assuming it's Declan or Walt with an update on their side of things, but the unfamiliar exhale has my hair standing on end. I freeze in place and glare off at nothing in particular, waiting them out.

"Is this The Lily," a heavily accented voice asks me. His Russian origins obvious. He knows my name. My personal code name. Red flags shoot up left and right in my head as I try to figure out why a Russian might want to even the score. To my knowledge, I haven't crossed too many of them that lived to tell the tale. Only those that have worked alongside us or directly against us would be aware of it. Of course, the UN might have a hand in this. What better way to take care of a problem than to let someone else take care of it for you.

Stepping away from Gabriella and the warehouse still being scoured by the Kyoto police, I lower my voice to ask, "Who's asking?"

"My name is of no concern. I have something I think you'll find very interesting."

I raise a brow, "Oh yeah? Enlighten me then." I don't trust this. How did this bastard get my number? What is his objective here? Better yet, how does he know a code name only my Foundation uses for me amongst ourselves? We use military code names on missions. It's vague and near universal. Our personal names are how we single each other out and file paperwork. The UN has us identified by our personal code names - how they got their hands on them still eludes us - but they haven't released them to the public yet as far as I'm aware. Maybe the agents and soldiers have been running their mouths too much. Word has it Gabby, Nightshade, and myself have become a bit of a legendary horror story amongst the ranks.

"There's more to this war than meets the eye. In Russia, one might say it's more perilous than in Ukraine," he says in slow accented English. My curiosity is peaked. A few months back Russia made good on their threats and invaded Ukraine. We've been following the situation closely, but since Russia went dark and cut off the citizens from the rest of the world, we've run into some problems getting much else out of there. The news is the only resource we have, much like everyone else in the world, and it's problematic to say in the least. If there's one thing Russia is notoriously phenomenal at - it's technological warfare. We can't risk infiltrating their servers. To do anything to help the cause over there we'd have to be on the ground and doing things the old-fashioned way.

"Bold of you to say considering the footage I've seen of Kiev just this week," I say dryly. His insinuation that things are more dire than a fucking warzone are brazen. That's my opinion of things anyway. Nonetheless, his perspective, whether he means it to be or not, could be enlightening for us. Any crumb could shift the winds in our favor.

"Da, but that's because nothing gets in or out of Russia without Putin's pet's say-so."

Alisher Usmanov, I think to myself. That man is a terrifyingly powerful Oligarch. Makes sense he'd have a hand in the information lockdown. If I remember correctly, he's the majority owner for most major media in Russia and has his fingers in every major social platform on the market.

Having a bad feeling about where this is going - already bemoaning the delay I can feel coming on the other case we'd intended to pursue next - I pinch the bridge of my nose, "Can you just get to the point?"

"Keep an eye on the French fuck, Phillipe Etienne, and the Ukrainian ambassador, Okasana Markarova. Both stay in the states when doing business. I'd also look into the Russian businessmen who've met unusual ends the last few months. You'll know when you see it."

Then he hangs up without a word. I pull the phone away and stare down at the black screen, pensive and wary. Why would this man contact me specifically? Because I'm the antagonist in the Big Five's story? Because of my reputation? Or is this an elaborate trap?

All I know is that this feeling of trepidation feels tangible, like it intends to linger along my skin for the foreseeable future.

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(The following segment is heavily based on true events. Many names mentioned are real individuals and their fates are just as real.

References:

CNN business article by Ivana Koltasova, 9/2/22, on mysterious deaths of known Oligarchs prior to the invasion of Ukraine - all within approximately 6 months of the invasion. My research into this showed many points in favor of this invasion being set in stone and that many underhanded tricks implemented during the Cold War were in play behind the scenes without our knowledge at the time.

The official CIA report of over 200 known oligarchs of Putin's Russia.

Note: My research stopped at September 2022. As such, Wagner's owner and close friend of Putin was still alive. He stood up to him because of an ammo shortage and poor 'work conditions' earlier in 2023. He even threatened to storm the capital and kill Putin. He died in a plane crash in July of 2023 after he and Putin supposedly came to an agreement. It's suspected to be an assassination but for obvious reasons - no proof of this has come forward. Just because he stood up to Putin does not make him a good person. Trust me when I say he is not redeemable in the slightest. He only did so out of his own interest, not for some moral epiphany about the wrongs his men were committing. Wagner was in the thick of it - killing civilians and likely assaulting women like all the other soldiers. He was a real bastard and deserved a worse end in my opinion. As my research was conducted up to September of 2022, I will be proceeding from that timeline. I haven't yet decided if I'll have his death play out like it did in real life or if at all. He's a major villain in book 2 that also carries on into book 3.)

The events in this section may be triggering to some readers. It discusses suicide, murder, espionage, child death, and war. If any of these things may cause you distress, I urge you to skip past it. This series as a whole may not be for you either as it covers many real world events that have real world inspiration behind them.

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚊𝚢

𝚆𝚊𝚛 𝚁𝚘𝚘𝚖

Alec and I walk side by side towards the conference room where we intend to set up our War Room. We're walking in a comfortable silence, long used to each other's idiosyncrasies and settled enough to not need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. Alec is multitasking as he usually does, going through as many emails as he can while he walks. I'm lost in thought myself, remembering that odd night in Kyoto and everything we've uncovered since that anonymous caller gave me the tip.

I'd followed through on his claim despite not giving it much weight. At most, I expected to just get randomly lucky and find something on one of the people I'd been told to look into. At worst, I expected it to be a misleading call intended to lure me into a trap. Looking into those ambassadors turned out to be a rabbit hole of headache inducing proportions. While not immediately on the bandwagon that they were up to no good, I did proceed with caution and planned it all out under the assumption those men were dangerous.

Go figure, they're both involved. It's almost too perfectly laid out for us. Then there'd been the eight businessmen and their suspicious deaths. All considered to be Oligarchs and all of them died by apparent suicide or unusual accidents. Six were associated with Russia's two largest energy companies. Four of those six were directly linked to Gazprom or one of its subsidiaries, while the other two were linked to Lukoil. Lukoil is Russia's largest privately owned oil and gas company and it just so happened to take an unusual public stance against Russia's war in Ukraine. They'd spoken out, calling for sympathy of the victims and for the end of the conflict.

Lukoil's chairman, Ravil Maganov, fell out of a sixth-floor window of a hospital in Moscow. Lukoil confirmed his death with a very curious statement that mentioned nothing of the fall - Maganov passed away following a severe illness. Yet, according to a source in the local law enforcement, it'd been a suicide. The direct contradictions were an immediate red flag for me. Many totalitarian states have used that old trick before. China being the main one I always think of. My direct history with the country leaves me more familiar with these tactics than I care to be.

In my own research into Ravil, I'd stumbled across a video that sent a chill down my spine. It showed the clear power dynamic. Putin had been giving Ravil an honorary pin. In the video, Ravil's face is tense, and his smile forced. His entire body was stiff while Putin shook his hand and grinned. Ravil's body language was screaming at me as I watched the exchange - how he tried to keep distance between them, how he barely made eye contact, how he kept his head bowed. One foot was already stepping away towards the direction of his exit. He'd scrambled away as quickly as he dared. His fear obvious.

Another Lukoil manager, Alexander Subbotin, was found dead near Moscow after reportedly visiting a shaman. TASS news agency quoted an official as claiming that authorities were called to an unconscious man suffering heart failure.

The four Gazprom deaths were just as curious. Leonid Shulman, head of transport, was found dead in his cottage in the village of Leninsky. Reportedly another suicide, this time with a suicide note found on the scene. Only a month later and in the same village, Alexander Tyulakov was discovered dead in his garage. Also reported as a suicide.

The other two both coincidentally died in murder-suicides, both former VPs for Gazprom Bank. Vladislav Avayev, was found dead with his wife and daughter in his Moscow apartment. A day after the Avayev family was found dead, Sergey Protosenya, former executive at Novatek which is partially owned by Gazprom, was found dead near Barcelona with his family. His wife and daughter's bodies showed signs of severe violence and his body was in the garden outside of their resort home.

Mikhail Watford, a Ukrainian-born Russian oil and gas billionaire, was found dead in his home in Surrey, England though his death wasn't believed to have happened under suspicious circumstances.

Vasily Melnikov was found dead alongside his family in Nizhny Novgorod. Incidentally this was reported on by Kommersant, a Russian newspaper owned by Alisher Usmanov - the one and same my little caller pointed out to me. According to the Kommersant, Vasily, his wife, and their two children - ages four and ten - were found stabbed to death. Interestingly, the local officials are considering this as a murder-suicide as well.

Putin has an odd pattern following him, political enemies dropping dead left and right. What's most nauseating to me is how little value he obviously has on the lives of the children. The message sent taking precedence over an innocent's life.

Alec steps in front a few paces when we arrive at the conference room and opens the door for me. I walk past him, barely noting the shift in the air as he steps in behind me and quietly closes the door. Without a word, we split off and go in separate directions, well versed in this song and dance by now.

War Rooms are what we call our operations meetings. It's during these that we make a battle plan and divvy out objectives to each agent on the team. While we do have a ground team amongst our group, mostly we work in espionage. We play the cat and mouse game, using secrecy and shadows to accomplish our agenda. Sometimes that involves hiding in plain sight in disguise, other times it means taking out a target that is more useful to us dead than alive. We infiltrate, we tear them apart from the inside out, and we do not hesitate to act in the moment. Winds change at their own will, meaning an undercover agent would need to become the assassin in a single shift of a moment.

We call it the War Room for a reason. It's a loving sort of endearment. We tried the whole professional gig, pretending to be serious and mature, even implementing a professional dress code. That lasted all of five minutes before snarky words were exchanged, Ben guffawed at a wise crack by Gabby, someone - we're not sure who - threw a stapler at Declan's head, and Hennessy decided that would be the perfect time to get into an argument with a customer service representative on the phone. Something about his phone bill being more than typical.

If things became too dull, people began drifting off and zoning out. If too much 'appropriate terminology' was used in the presentation, a rubber-band war would ensue. That's when the music started coming into the picture. Which of course led to the mindless dancing. Now, we've somehow evolved into a frat house that uses throwing knives to mark targets on the cork board as they're brought up instead of calmly pinning them, moving them sedately around when their priority changed throughout the discussion.

I don't know why I was ever surprised. I picked them for a reason and it wasn't for their desk skills. Rambunctious we may be, but we're effective.

Alec grabs the plain hardwood table pushed against the wall and drags it over to the massive oval table in the center of the room. He begins setting up the laptop for the meeting. That'll be his role today - securing the room and communication lines, pulling up data on the subject at hand, and filing away the operative decisions we make.

While he's doing that, I drag every chair from around the table to line alongside the wall by the door so the faction men can stay out of our way when they join us. This way they can watch, but not intrude.

Once that's done, I get started on my usual routine of setting up the television screens that are spread around the room and face the table. I pick out one for each agent I have and make sure they allow everyone to see everyone else. Alec will have a camera on each of us separately that'll place us on the screen with the others so they can see us from wherever they are. It's one of the only rules we have for War Rooms - everyone has to show their face and contribute, even if it's just to call one another idiots.

I finally turn them on once I'm happy with the placement and make my way towards Alec. The screens are all blue for now, awaiting a connection that Alec will have to let through manually, one by one.

Nightshade, Ben, Hen, and Walt will be at HQ in the same room but on different screens. However, Gabby and Dec will be at a secured hotel. They won't be on their flight to meet up with the others at HQ until after we're done in here.

Alec hums in thought, eyes scanning his laptop. His hands are bracing against the desk so he can loom over it without issue. "What is it," I ask him calmly, already knowing that expression well enough. He glances over to me just as I get within a few paces from him, "Just got word that Russia shot down more civilians they swore safe passage to."

I purse my lips to reel in the cursing I want to let out. This is the third time that bastard has done this. The Ukrainian government has begged them to please allow for a ceasefire so that civilians can get out safely. Putin pretended to think about it, lauding the power he held over them proudly. When he finally agreed, it was on his terms and on routes he set up. Every time the refugees tried passing through though, they've been shot down like rabid dogs.

It's a mind fuck and nothing more. He gains nothing from doing this except knowing they cower in fear because of him. Too afraid to stay because of artillery blasting around them, yet too afraid to escape because the ones that tried are no longer alive. They're at his mercy, exactly as he wants them to be.

Exhaling through my nose, I let my eyes drift close and thread my fingers through my hair, "This is going to be a bad one, Alec. I can feel it."

As soon as I crack my eyes open, I find them drifting to his computer screen where pictures of the dead lying in droves on a wasteland, glare back at me. Tanks bearing the Russian flag sit prettily and proud in the background, looming over faceless bodies in tattered clothes. War looks the same no matter where it's at.

The intel Declan and Gabriella retrieved is a lot and nothing all at once. The players on the board are many and we're going to have to play this smart to get to as many as possible before we'll ultimately have to flee. There's no way we can take down the government on our own. There's not a good chance of even stopping this war. I'm under no false illusions of what we'll be able to accomplish. So I'm going to focus our efforts on the silent hand of the president - the shadowy criminals thought to be nothing more than a ghost from the past. They're the true menace and reason why no one can get anything done over there. Take out the henchmen and there's no one to do the dirty work.

It's still an insurmountable task to undertake, but I feel this will be the best course of action. If we can take out a few of Putin's closest allies along the way, maybe gather some much needed intel to boot, all the better.

Putin runs a kleptocracy, a society ruled by people who use their power to steal their country's resources. It's a top-down structure of corruption, where the political and business success of elites is dependent almost entirely upon their relationships with the president. The Russian mob is a tale from a time before. They technically no longer exist and that's because they run the country now. As such, I plan to approach this similarly to how I would approach any sort of organized criminal empire.

The main big fish I want to focus on are Alisher Usmanov, Yury Kovalchuk, Yevgeny Prigozhin, Nikolai Shamalov, Alexei Miller, Dmitry Kiselyov, Sergei Chemezov, Roman Abramovich, Kirill Shamalov, Arkady and Boris Rotenburg. It's a lot of men, but not impossible. However, I'd be a fool to not consider the dangers going after them would bring. Mainly with GRE and Wagner. If they even sniff a hint of us, they'll send their best. Then there's the allies Russia has in neighboring countries that could pose a problem to us later down the road.

This tangled web of fuckery is exactly why I'm so antsy. Even I, who have had plenty of experience dealing with complicated missions, am overwhelmed at the prospect of undertaking all of this. The big fish aren't even the entire objective list. Those are more garnish on top of everything else we need to prioritize. Those men are just Putin's closest circle, his media control, his bankers, even his 'chef'. Their loss will hurt him, mostly in his bank account, but they are not my main priority. The underground is. The ones who, even if Putin loses and is taken down, will proudly be forgotten in the shadows while they slowly rebuild in secret.

They are the ones often overlooked by governments and their military. The underdogs have uninspiring names to the public, they're just faces like any other faces. Breaking news is only breaking if an Oligarch's face is on the screen. This is what my people do best though - we're here for the forgotten. Not just the victims, but the criminals as well.

We never forget.

While Declan and Gabriella's report had been enlightening, Ben's simply told me everything I feared - that gaining entrance to the country will be a bitch to pull off. There's not a lot of options for us to pick from and now we have twenty agents to sneak in instead of just six. Thankfully, Walt and Alec will be remaining on the safe side of the border. We need someone to get our SOS if shit goes down, and the probability of it going sideways has increased now that I have the faction to worry about.

Alec stands up straight and stares me down unwaveringly, bordering on looking like a soldier addressing his superior, "If anyone can pull this off, Calla, it's you."

I try to smile, but it ends up being a pitiful twitch, "You put too much faith in me."
"Because I've seen you in action. I don't have faith in you because you're family and my friend. I know you. I know how much sleep you've lost trying to tie off every loose thread you can think up. I know I've seen you nearly lose your life a dozen times over our team alone, trying to get them back safely. I know how you think and how you plan, and I know how both come together for us perfectly every time without fail."

I look to the granite flooring, not completely as assured as he is in my capabilities. He's listing the good, but I can't forget the bad so easily. Many people have died at my side over the last couple of years. "Not always, Alec."

He sighs, voice softening with understanding, "You can't save everyone, Calla. You know better than that. Your team trusts you and they know you aren't God. They don't expect you to be. No one will blame you if one of us goes down."

Looking back up to him, I take in his handsome features beginning to become marred with the signs of age. We've been through so much together, to the point I rely on him to a fault. Softly, I tell him what he already knows, "I will."

His shoulders sag at my response, "Yeah, I know."

Not wanting him to keep rehashing it with me, I turn away from him to get the rolling dry erase board out of the closet. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time, even when I have it near his desk setup and go back to get the rolling cork board.

His solemn voice carries a heavy weight across the room to me, "Do you think it's a good idea for them to come along, Cals? The UN has a permanent Russian seat."
I pause, but don't look his way, "No."
I don't elaborate further, just carry on getting the two boards side by side and move onto grabbing the photos of our major marks and the intel Dec pulled for each of them. Alec went ahead and printed them off for us before we even came here.

My eyes narrow on each photo I pin, even the less publicly known targets.

Vladimir Putin.

Born October 7, 1952 and has two children, Maria and Katerina, through his ex-wife, Lyudmila Shkrebneva. He's continuously served as President or Prime Minister since 1999. Once upon a time, he worked as a KGB foreign intelligence officer for sixteen years, rising to the rank of lieutenant colonel before resigning in 1991 to begin his political career in St. Petersburg.

His presidency should've ended back in 2008, as constitutionally he couldn't serve more than two consecutive terms. However, through some crafty maneuvering and some public outrage over fraud allegations in the election, he got his job back as the president. He signed two amendments into law, one of which would allow him to run for reelection twice more, potentially extending his presidency to 2036. Fraudulent presidency aside, he's been a busy man since then. Annexing Crimea, sponsoring a war in eastern Ukraine, being single-handedly responsible for the financial crisis his people have suffered.

Now here we are, the war spreading to the entirety of Ukraine. It's earned him a nice little arrest warrant for war crimes issued by the International Criminal Court.

Under Putin's rule, Russia has undergone democratic backsliding and a shift to authoritarianism. His legacy is highlighted by endemic corruption and widespread human rights violations, including the imprisonment and repression of political opponents, the intimidation and suppression of independent media in Russia, and a lack of free and fair elections.

He's suspected of interfering with the U.S.'s elections, and trying to use Cold War tactics he learned well while working in the KGB, to influence our politics in his favor.

He's the devil we know, trying to recreate his glory days under Stalin.

As much as I'd love nothing more than to take his sorry ass out, it's unlikely we'll cross paths with him. The risk would be too great to my agents and the cost too high.

Pinning the next photo, I take in the elderly pudgy man who I'm trying my damnedest not to make personal - Alisher Usmanov.

He's known as Putin's favorite Oligarch and as being the country's richest man up until a few years back. His investments are strategic and vast. He owns a majority stake in Russia's second largest phone network, MegFon, and a large stake in the iron and shell giant, Matalloinvest. He's why Facebook is even a thing, investing in the social network back in 2009, when Zuckerberg was having trouble accessing funding. He gave Zuckerberg an astounding $900 million and owned ten percent before selling his stake in 2014 and netting himself billions. He's also a major investor in Apple, Twitter, LinkedIn, Groupon, and Zynga.

He also owns Kommersant Publishing House, and Udokan, which develops one of the largest copper deposits in the world. He purchases strategically, using his power to protect his name and image - such as getting his criminal convictions removed from Wikipedia. If anyone wants Putin's favor, they'll have to go through this man first. He puts out propaganda in his name and with one call to Apple, he can have everything on anyone he wants.

This arrogant fucker I want to take down more than any other, but I can't allow myself to have fantastical daydreams when I have to keep so many alive this time around.

His wife, Irina, seems to be nothing more than a public figure, but she's at least aware of what her husband does. Given their lifelong love story, she's probably more involved than she portrays.

I have a feeling there's more to the Usmanov's than we have here, but we likely won't uncover it until we're within Russia borders.

Yury Kovalchuk.

Russian billionaire, reputed to be Putin's personal banker, Judo partner, and a close friend to him. So close he hosted the wedding of Putin's daughter at his ski resort. If Usmanov is number one, this fucker is number two in the inner circle. His private life and immediate family are kept hidden from the public eye, so outside of the obvious, we know little else on him.

Maria Butina.

While not a big fish, she's a person of interest of mine given her little scandal in our elections recently. A Russian politician, a political activist, and a criminal in the states. She served eighteen months in our prison system for acting as an unregistered foreign agent of Russian within the states - a real life sleeper spy. She'd worked to infiltrate conservative groups in the US, including the NRA, as part of an effort to promote Russian Interests in the 2016 election. She attempted to persuade the Trump campaign to establish a secret communications back channel with Russia, to which they denied. Now she's back in Russia living a grand old life in politics.

Yevgeny Prigozhin. (The man the above note is referring to.)

One of my greatest concerns. He's also an Oligarch and a close confidant of Putin. He controls a network of companies including, Wagner, a Russian state-backed mercenary group accused of war crimes in Africa, Syria, and Ukraine. His operations are tightly integrated with Russia's Defense Ministry and it's intelligence arm, GRU. He's also known as "Putin's Chef" because his restaurants and catering businesses hosted dinners which Putin attended with foreign dignitaries.

Nikolai Shamalov.

Close confidant of Putin, in his inner circle, and a dentist that's fluent in German. He gives Putin updates on the status of his offshore wealth and hidden accounts about three times a year.

Alexei Miller.

CEO of Gasprom, placed there by Putin himself. A minor nuisance at most.

Dmitry Kiselyov.

A Russian television presenter, news executive, and propagandist. In 2013, Kiselyov was appointed by Putin to head Rossiya Segodriya, a Russian state-controlled media group. His show has been accused of being a soapbox for the Kremlin's policies, for disparaging homosexuality, for speculating conspiracies about the West, as well as attacking the political opposition.

Colonel-General Michael Mizintsev.

He was recently accused of ordering bombings of both the Mariupol Children's and Maternity Hospital and the city theatre where twelve-hundred civilians were sheltering. He's been nicknamed 'The Butcher of Mariupol".

Sergei Chemezov.

Former KGB agent and high ranking general. He befriended Putin when both were stationed in East Germany in the 1980s. In 2007, Putin's appointed him as CEO of Rostec, a state-owned defense conglomerate. He's very powerful, very dangerous, and a close ally of Putin. He's been quoted as saying, "Russia will be the victor", in response to the Ukrainian invasion.

Roman Abramovich.

Russian Oligarch and politician. His relationship with Putin is considered a good one. All our research into him points to him being smug, power hungry, and willing to stab his friends in the back. Has been married and divorced three times - go figure - and has seven children.

Kirill Shamalov.

Ex son-in-law to Putin. Son of Nikolai Shamalov. Was married to Putin's daughter, Katerina, and lost half of his wealth in the divorce. Can't imagine he put up much of a fight about it considering who he divorced. He also used to be the former economic advisor for the Russian government. While not directly a target of ours, the sour parting between the two families may be something we can use.

Arkady and Boris Rotenburg.

Brothers born six years apart, both billionaires and Oligarchs. Arkady is the real problem. Boris, while he had trained alongside Putin in Judo when they were young, is mostly content with his lot in life. He's friends with Putin, but it's uncertain if that's to maintain his comforts or if it's genuine. Arkady on the other hand is a very close confidant and business partner of Putin's. They'd been childhood friends and seem of similar dispositions.

Grisha Pavlovich (Non-real character. As the Russian Mafia has been 'erased' and are now underground at Putin's beck and call - by the CIA's reports anyways - there's absolutely nothing on them to find online besides speculation. I had to make up a cast of characters for this part.)

This guy took a lot of digging to get anything on and with good reason. He's Putin's dirty secret, his underground dog. It's speculated he has direct contact with the president and is the Russian mob boss for a mob that 'doesn't exist'. He's known for his Europe-wide human trafficking business, particularly of the tormenting sort. I even have suspicions he's linked to the people Matsumoto Tokimasa had been buying from. I'll do my own digging while in Russia and contact Momo if my suspicions prove correct. Either way...

He's mine.

I just can't let the faction in on that little bit of intel. Politicians are one thing, a mob that for all intents and purposes doesn't even exist will be another. I can't imagine Blackbourne letting me waltz in without a fight if he knew what I was looking for personally. Likely, he'd see it as chasing a ghost or worse, instigating a fight where there isn't one. Just because the fight isn't with the Un or me doesn't mean there isn't one happening in the shadows out of sight.

That's them. The targets. I have every intention of ruining their lives or taking them out. It may not be while we're there. It may mean we gather enough evidence and intel to let someone else hand out their ruination, but without these cards in play Putin will be severely crippled. That alone makes it worth it. It could give the real victims of this conflict a fighting chance.

I don't believe in coddling evil, in giving it a chance to bounce back and regain strength. I believe in cutting that shit at the root and eradicating it for good. It's one of the main distinctions between how I do things and how the Syndicate does things. I've witnessed with my own eyes, a Syndicate agent allowing a ruthless dictator or skin trader get a get-out-of-jail-free card when the right amount of money or a particularly appealing deal can be struck. I don't care if I'm living in a cardboard box for it - I'll finish them if it's the last thing I do.

Steeling myself for the day ahead, I raise my chin high and spin around on one foot. Eyes honing in on Alec, who's shuffling a stack of papers neatly on his desk, I give my first order, "Call Walt."
Alec puts what he'd been working on aside without hesitating and does as I ask.

The television directly before us turns black and lets out a mellow ringing. I roll my shoulders and extend my neck either way, bracing myself to face all of this. I can't grieve for Paw, I can't goof around with old friends, I can't allow myself to falter for a moment.

"Alec. Callaia," Walter greets us jovially. Alec cuts in, "Are you alone in the room?"
Walter nods, "It's just me until you're ready to begin. The others are outside waiting."

Taking a step forward, I take over, "Okay. Let's get the boring shit out of the way first."
Beaming at me, Walter knocks his cane to the floor between his legs twice in agreement. I can't help the half-smile pulling at my lips. Walter has been with me from the beginning. Our story is synonymous with the origins of The Foundation. Together we accomplished all of this.

He's a dear friend of mine and someone I can relax around in ways I never can with the others. Sure I goof off and get black-out drunk with the rest of our agents, but I rarely allow myself to be vulnerable with them. Then again, Walter has seen me at the lowest, just as I saw him the same way. I've been hiding from him though, not wanting him to see the doubt I've been struggling with. Alec's made that his duty.

"Everyone's schedules are cleared. I've sent teams on the other Mid-classed conflicts. I figured you'd want to handle the more severe operations and that we can divvy out the easier ones amongst all of our teams. The plans for departure are already underway at HQ. We'll be ready to go to the meet point tonight after the two troublemakers meet up with us here," Walter reads off from his phone to me.

I nod, satisfied with everything said, "Anything else?"

"Just two things. One of out newer field teams is having problems learning to cooperate with one another. They can't agree on who should lead and who should follow."
I roll my eyes, but hide my face in my hand to get ahold of myself. With everything else going on right now, I feel like throttling the little shits. Some teams mesh well from the beginning and others do not. Either way, I fail to see how that's a 'me' problem.

"Tell them to figure it out or split. I don't care about their drama. What's the next one?"
Walt clears his throat and continues on with a suspicious note of laughter in his voice, "Very well. I'll let them know. The Rolf team needs your direct permission to move in on the Florida child trafficking case. Everything looks in order from what I can see and they have authorities on standby to take over after they've finished up."

Waving off the headache, I say, "Yes, yes. Tell them I approve. When they get back have them pour over the high-risk files. Have them fill you in if anything catches their interest, but they have to take the mandated week in between. No arguments."

Walt nods, typing in my response. When he's done, his attention turns to me and he's dropped his professional facade. My shoulders slump with exasperation.
"How are you doing, Callaia," he asks in the conniving fatherly tone he always uses on me. The Founding Father indeed...

"I'm fine," I clip out.
"It's okay not to be," he soothes in an attempt to smooth my ruffled fur. I turn away from him, pretending to study the board I'd just meticulously put up minutes ago, "I'm always fine, Walt. Quit worrying. Alec, call up the others. Get Dec and Gabby online first so he can help you secure the lines."

Walt sighs, but says nothing else on the matter. I'm unnaturally still as the two join us and they pick up on it, deciding to keep quiet for now. Once Declan confirms the security of the connection, I nod to Alec who permits the other three in. Both Walt and I remain silent as the others all slowly appear on their respective screens. Declan and Gabriella have to share one today since they only have one camera, but the others are all separated. I'm happy to note everyone seems more relaxed than they'd been this morning, the chaos already forgotten.

The silence stagnates, becoming heavy and tangible with tension. I'm making them uncomfortable. Usually I'd already have music blaring and would be goofing off with Alec while we finished up. Usually we'd all be at HQ though and the entire group is helping out.

Turning to face them, my eyes find each one in turn. Declan looks a mess beside the dolled up Gabriella. He looks tired, purple staining the skin under his eyes. His unkept brown waves are longer than he usually keeps them, nearly at his shoulders these days. He gives me a small smile, understanding eyes melting me just a touch. My lips curl upwards and I find myself settled. Declan is dear to me, more than most know. More than even he knows likely. Somehow, that mouthy drunk asshole I drug out of his apartment by force became someone very important to me. While I try to treat him like the others, I think even he's aware that we're closer than the norm, like sharing humorous quips between us even in the most serious moments.

In a way we're very similar. Our views are not so different and our thoughts usually are identical - though he actually voices them aloud. When I look into those snarky grey eyes, more is said between us than the world gets to hear.

He winks one grey eye at me and that bolsters me up enough to turn to Gabriella, my sister-in-law, though she hadn't been when we first met. Meeting her had been like meeting a soul sister from a previous life. I found it easier to let loose around her in public and we still make a wicked team on the field. However, there's been an unsaid distance I've put between us since she married my brother. Perhaps I should've warned her about how he can be, but it hadn't felt like my place and she'd been so unbearably happy. Her pregnancy widened that canyon between us. We grew into separate people in that single year.

She came out of it with twins of all things and she came back to a world-weary commander already becoming jaded. It only became more tense between us when I refused to put her in the field, subjugating her to paperwork with Walter and making a mad dash away anytime our eyes locked across a room. She felt empowered by her motherhood, but her motherhood revealed a chip in my armor I never knew I had. I look at my nephews and see me. I look at her holding them and see my mother. Then I see fire.

I see how quickly mothers can be snatched away from helpless children who need them more than anyone else.

She seems to be in a more friendly mood since I've permitted her to tag along with Declan on his recognizance, but our friendship is still rocky. We pretend like nothing's changed, acting like we've always done, but that fracture still divides us and it quakes whenever our eyes lock.

Her butterscotch eyes hardened briefly when I look her way, but that passes as if it never happened at all, shifting into enthusiasm. She looks tired as well, though she's always bounced back better than Declan...or me for that matter. Her long inky hair is artfully tossed up in a chignon, her makeup light, and a silky off-shoulder top highlights her prominent collarbones. She's as beautiful as ever and seems rejuvenated by her two stints in the field. We'll have to talk about it eventually, but it'll have to wait until we finish this mess in Russia.

As we are, we can work together without issue, but I can't guarantee that'll be the case if we were to try hashing this out beforehand.

Next screen has my favorite gruff soldier-reject, Hennessy. He's a beast of a man, littered with scars, the most notable of which being the unfinished Chelsea smile carved along his right cheek. At seven feet tall, I rarely utilize him on undercover operations, but he's damn handy in a fight and hardy enough to hunker down in the Amazon if he needs to. His hair is recently shorn, always having been more on top of his upkeep than Declan's ever managed to be, and it shows off his scarring even more so because of it. He's a middle-aged brute who has never left me stranded no matter how dire things have become in the past.

He's dependable and someone I trust to have my back. He can be mouthy though. I'm coming to think I prefer mouthy underlings. They're far more amusing and help get me out of my dour moods. Nothing quite breaks the tension like Hen going on about his aching knee foretelling of some unseen trouble to come.

Hennessy grins down at me, blowing out at hefty billow of smoke from the cigar he's got held in one hand. He somehow manages to look even more menacing when he smiles, that grotesque scar on his face stretching until it glistens. I soften a touch more, shooting him my own wink before looking over to Benedict.

I sigh heavily when I take in the beautiful asshole. He's got a no-good look in his eyes that spells out a headache in my near future. One could be forgiven for thinking the little fiasco he found himself in this morning would have him fraying at the seams, but the man is always in the middle of some mess so it figures he'd bounce back quickly. He's got short sandy curls, more beige than Sean's golden locks, and cerulean blue eyes that twinkle with good humor and wit even in the worst of times.

We often get into trouble ourselves in between operations. He's my go-to dance partner and we share the best worst ideas when drunk. Him and Gabriella though are another level of familiar. Both can seduce the pants off a devout priest and they love to gossip about it like schoolgirls. He's about the only one aside from Walter that doesn't butt heads with Gabriella.

Lastly, my gaze finds my sweet Nightshade. Who he hides beneath the armor remains illusive to the rest of the world, but I know what is underneath it. I was there when we had him outfitted in the sleek black getup he wears religiously after all. His loyalty is unquestionable to me, as is mine to him. I admittedly become feral anytime he's at risk or someone slights him.

I hate how isolated he is from the others though. It'd been my hope that maybe he'd bond with them on some level, but he's adamant to only socialize with me. He's seems content with it, but I'm not so sure it's the best for him in the long run. What if something were to happen to me one day? Who'd he have then? Would he become that lost listless creature I'd stumbled upon all those years ago? Would he give up or risk his life to seek vengeance? All of those options make my stomach turn.

The problem is, as well as I know him, I'm still at a loss for how best to look after him. I helped him find purpose. I gave him a way to fight back. Yet when it comes to his heart, I fret and worry about the best path to take. He's my shadow, my silent rock, and I want him to be safe and happy above all else.

My entire expression relaxes as he bows his head to me and I find my mouth curling the rest of the way into a smile. "Nightshade," I greet him. He places his right hand over his heart, his trigger fingers and thumb pointed and the other two curled in.

My heart hears yours.

It's our own version of 'I love you' and 'I've missed you' rolled into one silent gesture. Many assume it's a sort of salute or sign of subservience. Let them assume. We have a language of our own that's no one else's business.

I return the gesture in a more laidback fashion, then abruptly turn away from him to address the room in full. "Alright," I project my voice calmly. "As I'm sure you're aware, shit's crazy on my side of things. I'm going to confirm or diffuse any rumors here and now." My eyes scan them all, making sure they're paying close attention.

"Yes, my grandfather is dying. Yes, a huge ass Syndicate Faction is tagging along as a final request from Paw. Yes, I'm pissed off about it. And no, Hennessy -." I give him a side eye, catching his mouth already open and ready. "We can't kill them." He sinks in his chair, sulking.

He huffs, muttering, "Didn't even let me tell you my plan."

Ignoring him, I carry on, "They'll be joining us here today for the War Room and they will be a part of this operation in Russia." I look into each of their serious expressions, feeling warm inside by the trust they have in me despite the displeasure on their faces. "I'll lay down my expectations now so there isn't any excuses or confusion. Be yourselves. Don't feel like you need to hide who you are or dampen your personalities for their benefit nor mine. You're here with me, on my team, for a reason, and that reason is that everything that makes you, you, is exactly who I want fighting alongside me. However, details about - Benedict, don't preen."

He grins unashamed. I push on, ready to get this over with, "However, details about each other's pasts and on our other operations will need to be kept confidential. Redact your speech on that front."

They each nod at me, determined and battle ready. Dec throws an arm over Gabby's shoulder and she leans into him. Hen cracks his knuckles and hacks a loogie on the floor. Ben leans away from where Hen spit, face twisted in disgust. Walt nods in agreement and Nightshade bows his head.

Feeling bolstered by their show of support, I find my voice steadies and the rasp clears away, "I believe my last request says everything I haven't yet. No, I don't trust them. Especially Commander Blackbourne and Agent North Taylor. I may have singled those two out, but don't let your guard down around the others either. All of them are potential risks and hazards, not just to us but to the entire Foundation and all we do. It's okay to befriend them. It's okay to play nice and be respectful if you feel so inclined. It's also okay to be the exact opposite. But don't trust them. Not yet. Play your cards how you see fit."

"Yes, Commander," rings out in the room.

I take a moment to close my eyes and think over what I want to say and how I want to word it. This likely won't go over well with them, but I've looked at this from every angle and this is the only risk I can live with.

Looking up at them, I brace myself and go on as if nothing just trespassed despite the questioning looks sent my way. "One last thing. On the field we'll all be separated. Likely we'll have mixed teams of us and them. I went back and forth on that, but there's no escaping this without jeopardizing the entire mission."

Declan's snarl almost distracts me enough to stop, but if I stop the arguments will start up and I still have more to say before we hash it out. "If we all pooled together into one or two groups, we can't guarantee those parts will be handled correctly if at all. So I'm asking for a great level of trust from you. So much trust that I'm offering you the option to step away from this entirely. This unwarranted addition to the equation has exasperated the dangers tenfold and I can't in good faith allow you to carry onwards without knowing exactly how dangerous I feel this will be now that we have a faction on our hands."

Hennessy lets our an enraged roar and leans in closer until his reddened face takes up the whole screen. In direct juxtaposition to his body language, he calmly grumbles out, "I'll be damned if I let you go over there with those cunts without me as backup. Ain't happening girly."

Ben is leaning to one corner of his seat. He snaps his fingers and points towards Hen, "What he said."

I glance briefly at Nightshade, but one look at the subtle tension in his shoulders is all the convincing I need to not push matters. I'll never let the others know this, but he's thrown me over his shoulder a time or two when he felt I was being unnecessarily stubborn.

Gabriella scoffs, flicking a rogue lock of her bangs out of face haughtily, "Mi hermana, you insult me." My features pinch in distress. I should've talked to her back at the warehouse in Kyoto. We've been carrying on like everything is fine, but I've obviously hurt her feelings and as she put it, insulted her. I don't think she hates me, but there's definitely a chasm between.

Declan full on throws a fit when I get to him. I cloak my expression, trying not to laugh as he slaps the table with a cloth napkin. "I outta whip ye're scrawny arse! Who do ye think I am? If those pompous twits think they can scare me away then they 'ave another thing comin'! I'm in, lass! I'm always in!"

"Alright, alright, settle down," I coyly placate. Seeing the look in my eyes has him puffing up for another rant, but I look too Walt and Alec before he gets too carried away. Walt chuckles, "I agree with Declan."
Alec smirks, nodding at me.

My lips curl up, "Very well. I won't push the matter further. Now that we know that everyone's in we need to set some ground rules. I'm going to double you up where I can. Watch each other's backs. If those fuckers even look at you in a way that makes you nervous, evacuate with your teammate and contact Walt or Alec immediately. Hen?"

The tank in question perks up, eager for his orders. "You good with being solo? I'm already going to have to let one of the teams be purely faction and I need Nightshade to have his hands free at times throughout this operation."
"Abso-fucking-lutely, Commander," he barks with vigor. I can't help the snort nor the chuckle this time. The tension fleeing the room makes me think I shouldn't have been trying to at all. It's like the atmosphere instantly shifts to that familiar lighthearted spectacle it always becomes during our little gatherings.

"Alright, sounds like a plan then. I don't know the teams yet, only that there will be five. There's only six of us going in and fourteen of them. Which is bad honestly. I've decided team 4 will be the one that's faction only. That team's mission is important but not dire if it goes to shit or they abandon ship. Gabby and Dec will stick together, as will Ben and Nightshade." Heads nods as I issue the pre-game orders. Gabby perks up as soon as she realizes I'm no longer fighting her on going on field missions.

I briefly glance at Nightshade, the next bit strictly for him, "Nightshade, I'll need to discuss things with you privately when I arrive at the setup point." He nods at me without hesitation.

"Hen and I will be going solo. I will be on team five, landing in Mongolia with team four." I barely get that directive out before there's an uproar at this. I cross my arms and wait them out. I get it. No one likes the idea of even Hen going in solo on a team that's full of faction agents, but they know from the the drop-off itinerary they've all been emailed that team five having only one of us is bad placement all around.

It has to be that way though. The other three teams will be dropped off with at least one of their teammates relatively close. The Mongolia drop off point is not only the most rural and temperamental, it's too far away for anyone to be any help for the lone agent chosen. Once I realized the agent count would be severely uneven when distributing them, and that team four would have to be fully faction to lower the risks to the operation as a whole, I couldn't let it be anyone else.

This is my shit show on the board and I won't put them at risk for something they had no part in deciding on. Besides, team five has the riskiest assignment. That's the team that will know the least going in and will be mostly flying blind except for some vague source I'm not sure we can fully trust. I hope it leads me to Grisha, but there's no guarantee.

When the shouts turn into mumbled obscenities, I cut back in, "It's not up for debate. On this my word is final. I've looked this over as best I can in the time I've had. Shit was already sketchy before the faction. With them I'm not taking any risk with any of you. Hen and I can handle ourselves. I'll be sure to have a few I feel will have my back to some extent amongst teams four and five, but I'm not worried about that. I'll be fine. The rest of you need to be cautious and attentive though. Sleep in shifts if you can. One of you keep an eye open at all times and try to keep from separating as much as possible. I know it's unavoidable considering the mission at hand but keep it minimal."

I look to Walt whose face is weary yet accepting, "Anything you want to add, Walt?"
He clears his throat, "Yes. Calla and I have agreed we don't want the faction to know the location of our HQ. After you all meet me here, you'll be joining Callaia and Alec at the setup point in rural Finland since we know that'll be one of the drop off locations. Obscurity is key my friends. The less they know of us, the better."

I tilt my head in agreement, still looking at Walt, "And try not to bring too much attention to Nightshade. I need him to be unnoticeable."
Declan glowers over at Nightshade, "I hate to be tha one to tell ye this, lass, but no one's missin' that fecking man."

Ignoring him, I shift gears and clap my hands, "Alright then fuckers! Let's get the music going and get started. I want to iron out as much of the plan as possible without them. Less headache."

Declan tosses up a lazy salute, "Here, here."

And then we descended into chaos.

🌐

(A/N: This scene was imagined funnier than it turned out. Honestly, I haven't been in a silly mood lately so that definitely affected the turn out of this scene. This chapter turned out to be harder to get through than I first imagined it would be. The six-page outline had me at 11k words prior to this scene alone and I still haven't gotten past page two. There are so many pieces on the board and having 14 guys along with the 7 agents that she works with, is a lot to keep track of. It'll thin out by chapter three of book 2, but there's a lot of pre-game prepping to do on my end of things.)

"Only an idiot would think that's a good idea," Declan bellows indigently. "I told you to quit talking about yourself that way, Declan. It's hell on your self-confidence." Ben sits back in his chair, rocking it side to side with a sneaky look in his eyes. I ignore both of them and get back to reiterating what we've all decided on so far. We still have a ways to go but the drop off plan is at least in order.

"Alright, so we've got Walt at HQ. He's in the safe zone and will be the point of contact for everyone. If shit goes south, if you need an emergency evac, if something feels even a little bit off - you contact Walt and he'll get everything in order to handle the matter. Walt will relay everything to me and the five commanding officers if he deems it necessary. He's also who you'll go to if you need a distraction or something along those lines that can only be accomplished out of bounds. Pretty much business as usual aside from a few new factors," I state while pinning Walt's picture to the far upper corner along with his position underneath it.

"She means tha fourteen fancy peens," Declan says matter of fact while lighting up a cigarette. I shoot him a glare, eyeballing him while Gabby wafts a hand in front of her nose to disperse the smoke. Declan's lips curl up in a languid smile, grey eyes twinkling with mischief. He knows I'm being such a hardass because of outside factors. Usually, I'd be goofing off right along with them, but I can't seem to relax today no matter what I try.

Spinning around on one foot, I pin up Alec's photo next, putting him beside Walt with an airplane pin holding the picture in place this time. Beneath his picture I write out the details relating to him as I did with Walt, "Alec will be on standby in Latvia. Latvia is the closest in between point for most of us after we reach our main destinations. His position won't be known outside of Walt and I for security reasons."

Ben leans forward in his seat, interlocking his fingers and resting his forearms on his knees. His expression has shifted from teasing to serious, "But it's the furthest from the Mongolia drop off point, right? So if you need help you'll be on your own. Am I understanding that correctly?"

I brace my fists on my hips as I look him in the eyes, taking a steadying breath, "You're correct. Alec is there to be helpful in the greatest capacity. He's one man though and can't be everywhere at once. Teams four and five will be in the Russian wilderness. There will be little chance for Alec to get across and get us out even if we wanted him to. He'll be of greater help to stay put in Latvia where the highest number of agents will be concentrated. He'll be in contact with Walt throughout the mission the entire time. That's why Walt is the point of contact. He'll get the ball rolling."

Alec raises a hand before the others can protest too much, "Look. I hate it as much as you guys and we bickered over this all morning, but she's right. From a purely sensible point of view, everyone would be at greater risk if I were to sit tight between Team three's checkpoint and the Mongolia drop-off. Then everyone's fucked. There's twelve hours of flight time between those two points. There's only two and a half hours between all three other points. Thirteen agents will be in that range versus only seven on the other side of the Ural Mountains. We have to prioritize the greatest risk group."

"A little over an hour for Teams one through three is the expected reach time. If he were to perch between Mongolia and team three, we'd be looking at six hours or more. Time matters in the field. You all know this," I tell them calmly. Their faces are drawn in and terse. Maybe Hen's right - we should start allowing alcohol in the meetings.

I knew as soon as I realized what my decision would have to be that this would be a hard sell. Most of the mission objectives will be handled on the Europe side of Russia. Over seventy-five percent of their population is on that side of the country. The Ural and Caucasus Mountains mark the continental divide. Teams four and five will be on the east side of the mountain range. Asia-Russia starts with Siberia, a massive frozen tundra where nature is just as much a threat to us as the people could be. Just below this area of Russia is Mongolia, our only way in.

We went through every possible entry point with a fine-tooth comb. Security is high at most of the borders connecting to Russia. There are very few options for us to work through. The Siberian objective I'll be handling will be rough going.

Hoping to just bulldoze through this part, I continue my earlier statement as if Ben never interrupted, "The setup location is in Finland. All of us but Walt will be present, including the faction. Here we will do final prep, gear up, and board the plane. We will be dropped off in the order of our teams. Team one will be put down in Storskog, Norway. Team two in Helsinki, Finland. Team three in Narva, Estonia. Finally, teams four and five will be dropped off at the Uliastay Airport in Mongolia. Alec will rest the night there with us before turning back around and heading to the undisclosed location In Latvia."

They nod along. Hen and Dec are watching me intensely, mentally taking in everything I'm telling them. Gabby and Ben are writing it down. Walt clicks at his computer as I talk, typing in his own notations. I look back to the map we've pinned to one of the corkboards, "We'll go over the objectives when I invite the faction in. For now, I'm going to run through the checkpoints each team will follow. It'll be up to you guys to fill in who you go in with. I'll have Alec give them a copy of their team's route. Each team will have one commanding officer, one team will have two."

They nod along, Declan narrowing his eyes while taking a long drag off his cigarette. Pinning the neon cardstock that says 'Team 1' beside Alec's picture, I write down everything I'm telling them in shorthand, "Team 1 will need a tech guy on hand. You'll be landing in Norway. From Storskog you'll legally enter into Russia at the Borisoglebsk Checkpoint. It's a three hour drive. Your transport will be waiting for you as soon as you get off the plane. You will go to the designated hideout and wait until everyone has reached their first checkpoints. Team 2 will will arrive in Helsinki two hours after the first drop off. The others will not even be across the border at this point. You will drive to Parikkala, an approximated three and half hour drive, and get on the boat waiting for you there in the Simpelejarvi. The lake has a small section that goes into Russia. So obviously this will be an illegal crossing. We have a connection there that's going to defer border agents to an 'incident' elsewhere. It'll register as a false alarm and they'll be none the wiser."

Ben raises his hand. I raise a brow, "Yes, Ben?" He sets his pen down on the notebook that's balancing precariously on his chair arm, "So we'll be going in under different circumstances? Some legal, some not?" I nod, "It's what we think is best. In the off chance that we set off flags in their system, the ones documented will be the only ones at risk. That serves two purposes."

Walt cuts in here, "The main reason is so you have undocumented backup that can work on getting you out. The other is for research purposes. Calla, Alec, and I are curious about their response. Russia is one of the Big Five at the UN and while we know we're on the UN's radar, we want to see how deep that goes. If we are flagged that means every country that's part of the UN is going to have to be approached differently than those that aren't going forward."

Declan flicks his lighter, "Makes sense."

I pick up where we left off, satisfied that they got the answers they needed, "Once across the border, you'll be taken to your wheels for the trip and will immediately evacuate the area and go to your first checkpoint - Kirpichnoye. It's about an hour and a half drive. It's imperative that you get to this location as soon as you cross. We don't want to catch the attention of the border patrol. Team 2 will wait here until the others have reached their first checkpoint as well. Moving on."

I pin the next team's header up, "Team 3 will land in Narva, Estonia. It'll only take a half hour from the last drop off. Team 3 will wait until Teams 1 and 2 have reached their first checkpoints to make sure nothing went amiss with their entries. Then drive straight to the border and cross legally, then drive the forty minutes it'll take to Kingisepp. They will wait there until the final two teams confirm their first checkpoints. Alec, as well as Teams 4 and 5 will wait until the other three teams have reached their first checkpoint before heading out which will take approximately six hours. Everyone will be spending the night at their current locations while Alec takes the last two teams to their landing zone - a twelve and a half hour flight straight to Uliastay Airport in Mongolia."

God I'm getting a headache just trying to keep this all straight. Moving on to Teams 4 and 5, I pin theirs up simultaneously since half their journey will be spent together. I notice the others perking up at this, far more interested in this side of things than what will be in their own. I get it. I segregated myself from my entire team, which means it'll just be me and whatever handful of Syndicate agents signs up for this part of the work haul. My agents likely want to know what to expect in case it sours on my side of things. They want to know what signs to look out far to abandon ship where they're at and head my way.

"Alec will be sleeping here as I mentioned earlier. The flight back to Latvia is twelve hours and he's going to need to stay sharp. Meanwhile, the faction team and my team will stay with Alec until he leaves. We aren't going to leave him out there alone. Once Alec takes off, we'll both update Walt and head to Tes in the Uvs province of Mongolia. It'll take us twelve hours to get there. We should arrive the same time as Alec and both of us will, again, update Walt. From here Teams 4 and 5 will have to be smuggled in.

We've managed to contact meat smugglers that are willing to do so for the right price. It's complete wilderness so we'll be in carts. Lucky us, there's little to no border patrol in this sector. We will cross over here in approximately four and a half hours. When I send Walt the signal that we made it across the border, he'll tell the other three to proceed. Meanwhile, Teams 4 and 5 will get in their vehicles thirty minutes further in. This is where the next wave will go down. Keep up and take notes, because this gets complicated before it gets easier."

Ben lets out a long breath, "Holy shit this is going to be wild." Alec snorts, but doesn't disagree, "It'll be simpler once you know which team you'll be in."

I nod, "It will be. Back to team 1. Once given the green light, they'll need to leave immediately. I'd like to have either North or Brandon on this team because they'll be driving 990 miles to Yaroslavl. Hen can't be on this team unfortunately and the two options we have aren't my favorites. Car issues will be a huge risk factor for them on this stretch. Here they'll gear up, rest, and top off their supplies. Once they've done this, they will check in with Walt and then proceed to head to their final destination - Moscow."

"The mission objective," Hennessey asks. I look at him directly, "Team 1 is strictly an information gathering team. They're to report their findings, then see if they're needed elsewhere by the other four teams. If not, they're to lay low and get out of the hot zone - and make no mistake, Moscow in its entirety is a hot zone - to be on standby. To repeat myself - this is strictly undercover and espionage work. If you are not up for that do not volunteer. However, I'll admit I'm hoping Gabby and Dec will be up for it."

Both say without hesitation, " We're game."

I look to Alec. He nods at me and writes them in for Team 1. I go back to my presentation, "Team 2 and Team 3 will both be in Saint Petersburg ultimately. We divided them to make it less obvious, but they will be working on the same sector together. It will be easier to accomplish having so many on the ground at this location. It also has the greatest concentration of targets. Those you don't kill, will be taken to a squad that will be camping out along the Estonian border. This squad will take them into custody and straight to HQ where Walt will handle the rest of that shitshow. The rest of you will meet up here with different teams.

Team 2 will leave Kirpichnoye and enter an hour and a half later on the North end of Saint Petersburg. Team 3 will arrive from the Southwest side a little over two and a half hours later. Once you each confirm the other has made it inside the city, you'll meet up at the safe zone that'll be in your mission itinerary. From this point onwards the Commanders will decide the course of action going forward from the objectives they'll be handed. Use your wits and don't blindly listen to them. If something doesn't feel right, tell them. If they won't listen, do it your way anyways. You first, them last. Got it?"

"Got it, Commander," they mumble.

"Team 4 and 5 will travel together until they reach the split in their paths. Team 4 will be another undercover group, going into Omsk to handle the key targets concentrated in that area. This isn't as key to our success as Team 1 which is why I'm making it the faction only team. Team 5 will be in Krasnoyarsk, looking into the claims made by an anonymous tipper. I don't know what we'll find when we get there. I could simply find information to report in or I'll have my own list for target practice."

Walt runs a hand down his face and looks off screen. He disliked this more than he's shown them. I've isolated myself away from any of our people by almost three thousand miles into what is arguably the wild west of Russia, on a mission with zero solid objectives and a thousand ways it could go wrong. The only leads I have are what our anonymous tipper mentioned in a secondary phone call - The dirty secret is in Krasnoyarsk. That could mean anything from the Russian underground to escaped science experiments who eat humans to grannies hosting an illegal gambling ring. I have a few choice words for this anonymous caller of ours if I ever manage to find out who he is.

We've already argued about it a dozen times, but I won't budge. I refuse to cower behind my people like I've seen many leaders do. It's easy to pick a fight when you're sending in someone to fight it for you. A true leader takes the risks upon themselves. If someone has to take the shitty or risky job, it should always be the leader.

I gaze at each of them, waiting for them to protest or speak up, but they're just glowering at their laps or hiding their mouths behind their fists. Good. I don't feel like bickering about it. My mind is made up and perhaps that's why they're staying quiet. They can see I'm not going to budge on this. "Alec, can you get the faction for me? It's time to bring them in. We're going over the targets and they need to be briefed on this. I want them to hear exactly what we're up against. Maybe that'll keep them on the straight and narrow."

Alec nods and heads out, rebuttoning his suit jacket as he goes. When the door shuts behind him there's a heavy silence. I stare at the door, lost in thought.

I've been thinking over what I told Victor and Kota last night, about how much I'm willing to share with them. I hadn't planned on giving them much at all - little more than some made up busy work and a couple of useless targets that mean nothing to the outcome in the end. Then Alec went and talked some sense into me. This mission is a hell of a pill to swallow. Having more hands on deck can only benefit us and who's to say they won't know exactly what I'm doing and interfere on their own.

It's in our best interest to have them where I want them and under surveillance of our own people. They'll be easier to manage if I know where they're at and they can pick up the slack while they're at it. It would be detrimental if they ruined everything on some made up agenda and goal they agreed upon without all the facts. So - Alec and I came to a compromise I could live with.

They'll be given the bare minimum needed. They won't know the main agenda or objectives. They won't know every facet of our mission. I'll give them a chore-list, the targets we'll be going after. I'll even let them integrate into our ranks and think they're leading their teams. In the end, my people answer to me and will put each other first before anyone else. Blackbourne will be easier to manage and observe though, as Alec put it, if he thinks he's in charge. Giving him a false sense of security can only work in our favor.

The Foundation's private matters and intricacies will be kept hidden from them. My people and their private lives will be redacted from the conversation. Our secret programs, tools, and connections will remain 'lost'. Team 5's job, my job, will be kept on a tight leash. The less they know the better, but if I extend an olive branch it just might salvage this mission. It'll be our Trojan Horse.

Turning away from the door abruptly, I pull out my phone and start scrolling through my music for something more upbeat than Hen's rock playlist, "Let's get started then, shall we?"

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One of my go-to dance songs, Breakup Song by Pritam, blares from the sound system as we descend into chaos. Walt's laughing at all of us as I shake my hips and toss down photos of our targets into the appropriate piles while the others call out wise-cracks and bellow out their protests.

"Hell no! I want that one, "Hennessey bellows, standing up from his seat, fists clenched tight. I turn away, rattling my hips like a belly dancer, feet bouncing in time with the beat and slapping against the wood. Ignoring them both, I toss the photo where it belongs.

They'll handle what I tell them to handle.

"Listen 'ere ye damn yank!"

"Ooooo! Please tell me I get to play with that one, "Gabriella croons eagerly, hands clutched to one cheek and eyes widening. "I do love the cranky ones!"

A minute later, whatever Declan and Hennessey were bickering about is long forgotten and Hen is slouching in his seat and rubbing his knee, "My knee feels like it might ache."

I pause, trying really hard not to laugh. He feels like it might ache? That's a new one. Trying to keep the momentum going, I raise my hand in the air that's holding the remote and yell, "Shut up, Hen. You're ruining the chorus!"

I keep dancing, tossing Usmanov himself as well as his family in the Team 1 pile. Once my hands are empty and everyone finally quits yelling nonsense at one another - I'm pretty sure Ben's just screaming the opposite of what everyone else is saying just to get on their nerves - I grab Team 1's stack and go over to the board to pin them under Team 1's section. Spinning around once the music cuts off suddenly, I see the faction has joined us and it appears they've been here a minute.

All are sitting in the chairs I placed against the wall. Some are glaring, some are smirking, a few are mid-chuckle. I end on Blackbourne of all people and narrow my eyes. He narrows his in return. With a haughty hair flip over my shoulder, I look down my nose at him and announce, "Meet my team, boys. Though I'm sure you've already dug up some amount of familiarity."

Kota has the decency to look sheepish and rubs the back of his neck, "We just wanted to err on the side of caution." I can't really fault him for that. Declan leans in until his crazed eyes nearly take up his entire screen. I can pick out all three cavities in his back teeth, he's that close, "Jokes on ye feckers! I looked into ye as well! Ey, lassie! I say feck 'em and be done with it."

Knowing this is just Declan being....well, Declan, I ignore him without missing a beat and point to him with my controller with a bored air, "This is Declan. He's my....tech guy."

Declan falls back in his seat and looks at me as if I offended him, clutching his heart and all, "'ell, whatta oversimplification! I feel 'nsulted!" Sniffing primly, I tell him, "Shut up, Declan."

Luke and Gabriel snicker into their hands. Marc is grinning at Declan and I in equal measure, eyes bouncing back and forth as we trade jabs. Gabriella gets impatient and leans over Declan. Her elbows conveniently bow in, pushing her breasts up. She tilts her head to one side and beams, "I'm Gabriella. I just stand around and look pretty."

I pretend to need to clear my throat to hide my smile. She's being overly flirtatious which tells me all I need to know how she plans to approach them - as her enemy. I carry on to avoid bringing too much attention to Gabriella's antics. Got to let her have her fun somehow. Gesturing lazily towards Alec, who's back in his seat and moodier than when he left, "You know Alec. That's Walt, paper pusher and diplomat."

Walt shoots me an annoyed look, "Yes, well, if a certain someone wouldn't pull a Houdini every time I mention signing her name, I wouldn't have that title. Would I?" I look away, "No idea what you're talking about." Pointing to Ben next, "That's Benedict. Let's just call him a jack of all trades and leave it at that."

I pause on Hen. He's nearly vibrating in his seat. Crossing my arms, I quirk a brow, "Want to do this yourself?" An evil grin twists his scarred face as he cracks his neck with neck-breaking resonance, "Call me Hennessey. Ex-military. Explosives is my game and that's taking names."

"That made no sense, dude, " Ben says blandly, picking at his nails. Before Hen can bellow like a dinosaur, Axel speaks up pulling his attention away from Ben, "Military? What sector?"

While they have a dick measuring contest, my eyes drift over to Nightshade. Imperceptibly, I flicker my eyes to the left. He nods and turns his screen off. He'll still be able to see and hear us on this end, but we won't be able to on his side of things. I want Nightshade to remain as enigmatic as possible. If I'd been thinking straight instead of scrambling to keep my brain cells working together, I would've had him do that as soon as I sent Alec to fetch them.

"Green Beret, mother fucker."

Drolly, I look back to these two. Right. They're doing some sort of he-man challenge. Axel blinks once, unamused. Which, fair. Hennessey's an acquired taste. I don't have time for this though. They can sort their personal hierarchy on the plane. "I had Alec get you all so you can hear the profiles yourselves and be aware of who you're going against. Afterwards I'll fill you in on the rest and you can help me figure out where to put everyone."

Sean nods at me and gestures with his hand, "Sounds fair enough. After you." Victor's mood sours and I don't pretend to not know why. He probably thinks I'm trying to make him look like a fool by changing my stance on things, "I thought we couldn't know what was going on."

I make sure to keep eye contact with him and him alone, "And you won't. Not really. What we're about to go over, any person with even mediocre training could dig up. You have to know the game plan if you're coming along, but you won't be privy to our large scale objectives, not will I let you in on our personal network. Consider this a compromise, Victor. I won't send you on a devil's errand with only a water gun, but you also won't get the map to hell."

His eyes harden, but he doesn't say another word on the matter. Nodding to him, I turn back around to the board and finish pinning up the rest of the photos, "There's five teams. Two will be strictly information retrieval, three will be on the ground doing things a bit more hands on. Team 1 will be in Moscow. There'll be a long list of targets to do surveillance on. This is strictly information retrieval. I believe it goes without saying, don't pursue the president in any context. The less he knows about our presence the safer we'll all be for it."

Brandon gives me a bored look that's just dripping with condescension, "The only thing anyone wants to do covertly in Russia covertly is take out the president. A bit odd that you're leaving him out of it."

I answer him flippantly, "You misunderstand our objective, Brandon. We don't go in to take the glory for ourselves. Ben? Want to explain to them what it is we do?" He winks at me cheekily and turns to them, "We've been watching this situation since he first made his threats last year. When Putin made his big move he immediately cracked down on his borders and information. Nothing got in or out without his say so."

North glares at him, "You say that like that isn't common knowledge."

Rolling his eyes, Ben continues as if he wasn't interrupted, "Because of this, like the rest of the world, there wasn't much we could accomplish without starting a world war. Until we got a call." Kota nods at him, "Callaia mentioned that." Ben beams, "Oh good. I don't have to explain that part. We followed the leads given to us by the anon and it gave us intel we didn't expect. We now have an in."

"And you didn't think to share that with the proper authorities, because?" Blackbourne asks, his tone no different than an adult's when scolding a child.

Walt steps in, seeing what I am - that Ben's about to get eaten alive by Blackbourne. We're both going to try to keep his verbal abuse towards our people to a minimum. Only problem is that one or two of ours will have no choice but to be on a team with him. I'd send Hen or Nightshade if I didn't need them away from Owen's prying eyes. "And have them undermine any progress we could achieve? I think not. Let's not pretend we're fools here. The war industry is a good friend of the government. They gain nothing from ending this quickly and everything from dragging it on. The best thing we can do is to go in and take out as many resources and allies as we can. We intend to look into the claims of corruption and gather as much information as we can to send to the right people who'll share it with the public instead of burying it.

What we achieve over there is speculative at this point. We may succeed at marking off everything on our shopping list or we may fail entirely. Even with our new intelligence, it's going to be a gamble. Our goal is not victory. It never has been. We are there for those forgotten. We are there to do what others refuse to, to help where none dare to tread."

Gabriella adds in with a chirp, "In this instance, it's the Russian civilians. It's easy to put all of them together in one pile - evil or good. But many of them protested and many were imprisoned for it. There's no longer any reports coming out about it and I imagine that's both media suppression and fear. Those people must feel so alone and abandoned. The rest of the world turned away, spurned them all simply because of where they lived."

Marc perks up at this, seemingly genuine, "So what you're saying is - you're trying to weaken them from the inside to give the people a hand up? For them to rebel or-?"

I nod at him, "In a sense. That's definitely a possibility. We have no false pretenses about being able to single-handedly stop a war that's been in the making as long as this one has been. Mainly our objectives all lead to one guaranteed end - it'll weaken the government's capabilities. What results from that is anyone's guess. The people could come together and remove him as president, or they could wait it out. At the least it'll help Ukraine fight back and that's reason enough."

I catch Raven's stare in passing, but don't linger there. There's no telling how aware of he is of the goings in Russia. If he's in any way familiar with the underground, even in passing, he'll know I'm not telling them the whole story. That's not their problem to worry about. It's strictly mine.

Kota and I lock eyes. I hold his gaze, continuing with my previous debriefing before we got interrupted, "Teams 2 and 3 will land separately, but will both end up working together in Saint Petersburg. We want to minimize the probability of being noticed as much as possible. These two will have a hit list so to speak. Take them out, bring them in. I don't care, but they need to be out of commission. I'll leave that to the discretion of whoever is leading that sector of the operation. Walt will walk you through the process we have in place if you wish to bring them in. Keep in mind, they will shoot you. Don't let your morals get in the way at the wrong time or you won't come back alive."

Axel picks up on the tension from many of his own men and walks my way, "What about the other two?"

"Team 4 will be a lot like Team 1 - intel only, nothing hands on if they can help it. They will be stationed in Omsk. Team 5 is my problem to worry about." I watch him glance at the board and notice the dead air beneath that team's label compared to the names and locations under the others. This is going to get us nowhere. They won't be satisfied until they've picked this apart fifty times over. Realizing I'll have to let my people fill in the teams individually once the teams are formed, I look at each of the commanders in turn, "Time to divvy out people, commanders."

All five head towards me. The silence in the room as they move in one synchronized wave is stark from the lighthearted atmosphere it'd been before they arrived. My people are watching all six of us carefully. They're picking up their cues from me and making sure they don't try anything. A quick scan of the rest of the faction shows they're doing the same. The six of us will have to do most of this alone apparently. Outside of the six of us talking, the room is absolutely silent and still.

Kota looks over the map on the table and sees the stars on it. I watch him from my perch on the table while he studies it, likely noticing the entry points and the teams going to which locations. "What are the parameters for forming the teams," Kota asks.

"At least one commander on each team. There's six of us so one team will have two. Teams 1 and 4 will need a tech on board. Declan, Corey, and Victor are the options," I reply, noticing Blackbourne eyeballing Walt instead of listening. I clear my throat, already glaring back when he turns his on me, "Don't look at him."

Noticing the imminent argument, Marc drags our attention back to the plans, "Let's figure out the Commanders first and assign agents from there. I take it you are on team 5? You're adamant about that?" I nod. Kota immediately looks at where 4 and 5 will be dropped off and follows their route, seeing where they split up and where 5 will ultimately end, "That's Krasnoyarsk. It's the furthest from evac and society. You'd be the most at risk, which I'm assuming is your intention."

Clever man. Less than a minute looking at our map and he's already put together the evacuation protocol, the entries, and who knows what else. "Team 4 will be solely faction. I don't care who you put there except Victor or Corey needs to be with them." Remembering Declan volunteering, I add in, "Declan needs to be on Team 1 honestly. He's most familiar with the material and has the skillset needed. Where Declan goes, Gabriella goes. They'll need someone with muscle though to watch her back."

Blackbourne seems to find this suspicious. His eyes lock in on me like a hawk's, "Then you won't mind if North and I join them?"

I do actually, but I can't say that. It'd be best for him to be on an intel team than a ground team. He'd likely sabotage any attempts to detain or assassinate a target. However, my contingency had been Nightshade. Nightshade will get done what needs to be done no matter the circumstance. At the same time, there's a bit of a silver lining to this option. There's also a grey cloud. He'll be nearby the Kremlin if he wants to tattle, but he'll also be so busy trying to outmaneuver my Irishman and Spanish Rose he won't have time to dig deeper into all that we're doing.

Glancing at the two who'd be at his mercy should I agreed, I silently make sure they're okay with that decision. Both look at each other, then to me and nod. I look back at Blackbourne, "Fine. But know this Blackbourne - anything happens to them and I'm coming straight for you."

Axel sighs at both of us, "Do you want any of your team with you?" Shaking my head, I tell him easily, "No, and I'll only allow two of yours with me." Kota gives me a patient smile, "That's fair. Do you have any skillsets you need specifically?"

"No. I'll be going into Krasnoyarsk to verify a tip we received. It'll be the least dramatic gig." I ignore the eyes on me. Some heard the words I didn't say, but they aren't speaking up. Honestly, there's no telling what I'll walk into when I get there. It's actually the true reason I placed myself on that team. The rest is simply a happy coincidence. If anyone is going to put their ass on the line, it won't be my agents.

Raven shoots up out of his seat and yells at me in Russian. I haven't a damn clue what that man is saying, but as pretty as he his, it could be a detailed description of the torture he's about to unleash on me and I'd listen to it happily. When he's done placing a generational curse on me and any children I might have, he turns to his commanders, "I'm going with her."

Axel raises a brow, "Raven? What's wrong?"

Raven looks to me next. His gaze is unwavering and his fists are clenching hard enough to fracture the bones in his hands, "I go with Commander Sosa or not at all." He knows what might be waiting for me there, or he's even certain of it. It scares him enough to refuse any other alternative besides him going with me. "Fine," I tell him when the other five don't approve nor deny his request. I prefer having him along anyways. He seems less likely to throw a fit when I break a law...or four. He'll be a huge asset to have that far east in Russia as well.

Out of all the choices there are among them, Raven is one of the few I might be able to trust to an extent. Others, like Brandon or North, are those I don't trust at all. It's the compromise Walt, Alec, and I agreed to when I told them I'd be going in alone. I have to at least attempt to place the least trustworthy on other teams. I'm honestly hoping they'll figure out most of it for me and save me the headache.

Corey gets to his feet from his seat beside Raven. Gone is the lighthearted man who cornered me in the attic and tried being friends. He refuses to look at me and his eyes are hard, "I go where ever Raven goes." Marc holds his hands up placatingly, "We know, we know. Is that fine with you, Callaia? They work well together. It should make things easier on you until you guys get the hang of each other."

Or harder. Depends on what angle they decided to approach me with. Corey's not a main threat though so it works out. I nod, "That's fine." I notice out of my peripheral, despite Axel trying to hide it, that his lips are curling in a pleased smile. What is he up to now?

A fist hits a table. All of us turn to Hennessey, "I don't like this Commander! I don't like the idea of you stranded thousands of miles from the rest of us with a Russian of all people." Before I can even respond, North jumps to his feet and starts yelling just as loud, "What are you trying to get at? Huh?"

I groan and rub at my temples, mumbling to myself, "I'm going to hate these two before this is over. I can feel it." Marc's hushed chuckles let me know he at least overheard.

"I don't trust you bastards with her! She's the heart of The Foundation. If anyone is going to get out alive, I'll be damned if it's anyone other than her!"

Awww. That was almost touching, but not how this works - at all.

"You think I trust any of you fucking criminals around my family? I'd rather shoot you all now than go through with this!"

Please do. It might manage to get rid of this never ending headache I've had since I've woken up. Hen goes to retort when Kota steps in, "Enough! Both of you!"

Hen goes to cuss him out too, but I cut in as well, "Hen. You heard him." That bastard pouts and makes me feel like an asshole for it. "I'm just trying to look out for you, Commander." I give him a gentle smile, "I know."

Taking a deep breath, I address everyone but mostly my bunch, "Going forward you need to at least respect each other. You don't have to like each other, but I'll kill you myself if you endanger one another or the mission. There will be innocent bystanders that could get caught up in the crossfire of any spats you have and I won't tolerate it."

Sean smiles at me and nods, "She's right. This isn't easy for any of us, but that doesn't mean we get to toss away our training - by whichever method that has been given - and put all of us at risk."

North growls, "That's just it, Sean! We don't know how they've been trained! We know fuck all about these people!"

Something magical happens for all of three minutes - the six of us get our shit together and address the room as one entity. That's the opposite of how I imagined this meeting would go. If I were to place bets, I'd guess they would've joined forces against me. Blackbourne starts us off in a surprising show of self control he hasn't had since we've met, "That may be true to an extent, but I do believe in-fighting will prove more dangerous to us all than whatever mess they're dragging us into."

....well he tried.

I sigh heavily, knowing I need to put away our differences for a moment and get everyone on the same page, "He's right. What's the one thing all of us know firsthand when working together with different divisions or groups on the same side?" I don't wait for an answer, "We know that in the end we're fighting towards the same goal against a common enemy. They may do things differently than us and we may disagree on the technicalities. That doesn't mean we throw it all away to prove a point or inflate our egos."

Sean beams, "Exactly. Just focus on your teams, on your missions, and on getting each other out alive. Everything else is irrelevant."

"We'll get through this everyone. We've gone through worse before," Marc adds in. Kota goes next, "It's only for now anyways. Nothing to get upset about. Nothing we can't handle."

Axel finishes us off, "Yelling at one another won't resolve our differences. It'll only make the divide greater. So be the agents I know you can be, both ours and hers."

Blackbourne mutters under his breath, but the whole room hears, "Besides, we'll settle things with these criminals eventually." Blandly, I take the rubber band off my wrist that had been keeping the map rolled up and take aim without looking away from the agents.

Owen yelps when it pops him on the cheek, completely nullifying our entire speech in seconds. I carry on as if nothing happened, ignoring Gabriel, Luke, and Silas folding in half in a roar of laughter and snickers, "Point is, Team 5 is assembled and that's that. I won't hear anything else about it. Am I clear?"

Hen huffs, but nods. Raven smirks at me as my eyes scan over the room. Marc follows my lead, ignoring Owen as he curses me to hell under his breath and looks over the map, "Alright, Team 1 and 5 are good to go. You said 4 is faction only. Are you sure about that? This looks like a huge ticket item. Are you able to trust us to handle it?"

I shrug, "If you fuck it up it won't be detrimental to the operation." As soon as I say I want to punch myself in the face. Axel, Marc, and Kota all stare me down hard. Sean glances my way over his shoulder as he's trying to placate Owen. Oops. I literally just told them 5 isn't a big deal, but if that was true I would've placed the faction team on that one. Now I've shown my cards like a dumbass and they now know whatever 5 is handling will be bigger than what 4 will be going through.

Marc looks over the map like a mad man, eyes darting side to side, mind in a frenzy. I see the moment he realizes something of note. His eyes widen just before he announces, "I'm on 4." Kota gives him a curious look, "Can I ask why?"

"Because this one will be going in with 5 and be closest to them. Callaia's putting herself in an incredibly vulnerable position because she doesn't trust us and wants to protect her people." Way to undo our entire speech, Marc. "I get that. I'd do the same. So it has to be me or Axel. It has to be someone she trusts enough to not fuck her over. If you're okay with it Axel, I'd like to volunteer."

Axel seems more than a little pleased about the turn of events and it's making me suspicious as hell, "I'm perfectly fine with that. That works out good for Teams 2 and 3. They'll join up eventually which will unite the Foundation agents on both. Having them together should give them all peace of mind." I'm a touch shocked by the two of them, by how they're not just thinking about their own safety, but our peace of minds.

It's a fact that we're outnumbered, two to one easily. The only advantage we have is knowing the battleground intimately and that we don't play by their rules. Whether that will be what saves or damns us, has yet to be determined.

Kota writes it down for me on the dry erase board and then writes his name in, "I'll be on 3 with Sean." "Which leaves me on 2," Axel says, watching Kota write it all out. I nod, pleased with the board. The only concern I have is Owen and North being with my two most vulnerable agents. If it were Nightshade or Hennessey I wouldn't be as worried, but Dec is just a computer guy and Gabriella is a walking mindfuck. If the two Syndicate agents turned on them, they'd be powerless against them. I'll need to personally review their plan of action and escape routes with them when we get to Finland. They'll need every edge possible against those two.

"Ben and Night go in together, so make up your mind on who's comfortable with that, " I say, trying to move this along. Owen's eyes flicker to Ben, but his face turns stormy as he looks at the rest and can't put a face to the name 'Night'. "You didn't mention them. Are they hiding behind the blank screen?"

I play it off as best I can. This is going to be tricky. I need Nightshade to remain in the shadows as much as possible - out of sight, out of mind. "He's shy."

Owen rightly stares me down, suspicion overriding his minute show of decency from earlier, "Sean and Kota. I don't know who he is, but I trust a man who won't reveal his face less than I trust you. The medic will be nearby. I won't be swayed on this." I bite the corner of my mouth to stop the smile. That works out beautifully for me. Bet if I let him know that he'd change his tune in a heartbeat. Axel nods, being fair to both of us as he promised, "You good with that, Callaia?"

I nod.

Kota looks to Silas, "Silas, are you okay with being on our team?" The big teddy bear smiles, "Of course." Kota looks to me before writing on the board, "Team 3 is set."

Axel glances my way when he sees which of mine will be with him. I quirk a brow, playfully challenging him. He snorts in amusement and shakes his head, "Hennessey is obviously going with me." I can live with this setup. Axel is level headed and will make sure my boys are okay. He won't cripple their movements either whereas the other two might. Ben can work a good distraction if the other two need to sneak out to attend to matters I've asked them too.

Marc studies the white board, "I'll need Vic with me....and Gabriel. It's recon and the other two techies are already placed." Sean agrees, "That's a good match, but you'll need backup. Brandon or Nathan needs to join you."

Nathan catches my eye. We stare at one another long enough for me to get the hint that he's gauging how much of a threat I might be to his team. "I'll go. Brandon isn't her biggest fan and I don't want drama to endanger any of us."

Sean acknowledges him, "Okay, you're with Marc. That leaves Luke and Brandon with Axel and Hennessey, which works out perfect because we needed a stealth and muscle man. Any complaints?" The room remains quiet. He grins and claps his hands, "Wonderful. That was more painless than I thought it be." Then he looks to me and waggles his eyebrows, "Look at us working together!"

I snort, just happy to be done with that clusterfuck. After that, the other Commanders seem to take charge on their own, which is admittedly a relief. I'm exhausted and I just want to spend what time I can with Paw. They review the checkpoints with everyone, grouping their agents around the screens of my agents they'll be working with. It reminds of when one of my teachers assigned group projects in class and everyone put their desks together to work on it.

...I can already tell Gabriella and North are not going to be friends anytime soon. Her flirty smile is already long gone, a glare in place as he tries to set a list of rules not unlike the ones Blackbourne tried putting on me last night. Have fun with that, North.

Declan and Victor are bickering. Two hackers with beef could be problematic. One snide comment and the other's systems could get shut down mid-job. Of course, my Declan drags poor Corey into their argument and Corey couldn't look more uncomfortable if I ordered him to dance in a dress. "I donna give a damn! I'm the only tech she needs so donna be gettin' any ideas, ye hear?"

Oh, Declan, you sweet stupid idiot.

Blackbourne lectures his agents on communication options when stranded or in a bind. Sean picks one from each team to review first aid, making sure it's mixed with some of my agents as well instead of focusing on theirs. Axel is talking with Walter about something. Kota and Marc are figuring out what all they need to do to get their men packed and ready to leave tomorrow.

...right. Tomorrow.

I'm lost in thought when Kota and Marc make their way towards me. "Hey, Bombshell Barbie. You up for helping us figure out the flight plan?" I smirk halfheartedly at Marc, "Alec will help you with it. I'm spending time with Paw." Both look at me in understanding and say nothing further. Placing my feet on the floor, I call out to my agents as I walk away, "War Room over. If you need to go over training or whatever else, it can wait until we get to the meet point. Rest up and I'll see you all tomorrow."

One by one they log off, until only Alec and Walter remain. The faction tries to be discreet about watching us, but their eyes give them away even as they talk amongst themselves. "You'll be okay, Calla?"

I smile softly at him over my shoulder, "I'll be fine, Walt. Make sure the kids don't burn down the house." He snorts, "If you can't stop them what hope do I have?" I walk away, chuckling to myself.

Those two will cover everything in my place with the faction. They'll be pretty bored after we land in Russia and will likely be thankful for it. If it's boring, we're still alive.

Otherwise....it means it went to hell.

🌐

(A/n: That last scene between her and the BT guys is why it took so long to get this chapter out. I was dreading it and I might just 'pretend' they have these in the future and summarize it in conversation in later chapters, just so I don't drag my feet like this again. This isn't even the full chapter outline I had written down, but it was cut off at 21k. I'm going to review what's left and see if I can't still keep it to one more chapter in this book before moving onto Russia. There's a few scenes I think we can do without.

So what do you guys think? Did that make sense? Was it a confusing shitshow like I feel it was? lol

Don't forget to vote and don't feel shy about leaving a comment! I love hearing from you guys.)

P.S. I tried uploading the map I made but it wouldn't load. I'll try again next chapter. I've noticed Wattpad wigs out once your chapter reaches 20k)