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Or you could have gone to Rogues.
The Rogues Division was a black box secret spy operation that British Intelligence liked to “consult” with from time to time. Home Office would love to own and control them, but the Rogues were bloody independent.
Gabriel Webb, who ran the division, had been a mate back in the day. We’d come up in a special MI5 training program together. Hell, it had been Gabe that had pulled me out of that hellhole six months ago. His sister, Saffron, was set to run Rogues one day. Unfortunately for me, she still held a grudge from an undercover mission I’d been part of where her parents died. She knew I didn't murder them, but I supposed part of her still felt betrayed by me for the things that I did while I was undercover.
And she didn't know the truth about my undercover status, so she was pretty much a shoot-on-sight person when it came to me.
So going to Rogues for help was a non-starter.
"Liam, did you really think I wouldn't try to come back?"
"I should have known better. Well, you'll be glad you called me. Just so you know, you owe me a bottle of Scotch."
"Whatever you want. My firstborn is yours."
He sighed and I could almost see his slight shoulders hunch. "You know Reina won't let you come back. Things are still too hot."
My handler Reina Torres couldn’t keep me out for long. "I know that's what she’ll say, but I haven't done anything wrong. I want my life back."
"She knows that, but you have to lay low until we can at least find something to plug the hole. You know what the protocol is."
Liam had been in the program just like Gabe and me. His specialty was technology, and he was damn good at it. And well, he was used to doing the occasional favor for me.
"I do know the protocol. But I still need you, mate."
"Fine. But you're not going to like this."
"Give me something."
"All right, the Syndicate is thriving in your absence."
I’d known that, but it still stung to hear. "Ah, fucking brilliant."
"And what's worse, Massimo Igno is working his way up. He's taking out lieutenants left and right, making deals. He's building up power. He doesn't just want a seat at the table. He wants the whole fucking enchilada.”
I whistled softly. Massimo Igno was the son of a major Syndicate player, Antonio. With the help of Rogues, we’d taken him off the playing board last year. Massimo was a minor player though. "He was a sniveling piece of shit the last time I saw him. What's made him so bold?"
"I don't know. Syndicate leadership is meeting at Isola Bella off the coast of Italy in two months.”
I perked up then. “Are you serious? Are they all going?”
“From the chatter we’ve picked up, yes. There is an auction for the final piece of the ledgers.”
“Fucking hell, has he got it?”
“Not as far as we can tell. But there’s something else."
Nothing about this call was good news. "What?"
"A woman. She lives in London. Her name is Daphne Winslow. She's fit too. Looks like that actress, Naomi something-or-other. The Jamaican one."
"Well, what has she got to do with it?"
"I'm not sure. Her name popped up as a search hit for him. He’s been keeping tabs on her."
"How are they connected?"
"She looks normal on the surface. Works for a CRM data company as an account manager. Mid-sized clients. She brings them up to speed on the system. She’s got a sister, a boyfriend, nothing special. I have no idea what he wants with her."
