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“So the intel was good. That’s huge. But also, Sophia and Wajeeb would have nothing to do with him.”
“There’s a woman named Elena Savas. She works in our sphere.”
“Savas, yes, I know her name. It’s an alias. I recently discovered she has a Russian name that I can’t recall right now. An asset was telling me about her recently and filled in some of my questions.” Red licked her lips.
Grey reached over to the side table, poured her a plastic cup of water, and then handed it over. “We have an old school picture that’s getting AI age corrected. I'm going to forward that to you.”
“That’s good because I've never seen her or her picture. So what’s up with Elena?”
Red listened intently as Grey recounted Black’s meeting at Iniquus.
It was a lot to process, given the sedated condition of her brain. It made Red think about a bottle of medicine. The useful stuff at the bottom was tightly packed by a wad of cotton that held it still. Did that batting have its place? Sure. Was it helpful? For a time.
That time was over, and Red needed to be alert.
She pinched her thigh to find something sharp to clear her thoughts. It was an idea that didn’t help. She smoothed a hand over the leg, offering up. “That woman is amazing.”
“Agreed,” Grey said, then his smile fell off. “We’re talking about Sophia here, right?”
“Yes. But Elena is pretty amazing, too. Smart. It turns out that she has a degree in antiquities. Minored in business. Skilled. And angry. So she’s very focused.”
“Tell me about the angry part,” Grey said.
“Her dad is Russian. He worked between Russia and Syria. Elena and her mother were in Damascus. They lived a very comfortable, even luxurious life. Good schools, European vacations. The Civil War broke out just after Elena graduated from university. At the same time, Elena’s mother got an ALS diagnosis. That was when her dad disappeared from the scene. He wasn’t answering her phone calls. Money stopped coming into their bank account. So Elena decided to jump on a plane and fly to Russia. She’s a dual citizen. When she got to Moscow, Elena discovered that her dad had a whole other family—a wife and four children around Elena’s age. Some a little older than she. There are nieces and nephews. As it turned out, her dad had been living a double life while it was convenient for him. When Elena confronted him, he told her he’d have her arrested and sent to Siberia if he ever heard from her again.”
“That explains the angry part, all right. You got this story from your asset?” Grey asked.
“Yes, I was trying to understand why a woman as polished and educated as Elena was reputed to be would get mixed up with conflict relics. And I wanted to know where the money was going.”
“Not to an offshore bank account, I take it.”
“Yes, to that. But also, she can only get to the relics and fulfill her client orders because part of her proceeds goes to supporting ISIS. I thought it was transactional—to trade in the Syrian relics black markets, you also have to be involved with ISIS bureaucracy. I have nothing definitive or actionable, or I would have handed it off to the right agencies. This story of a ring that Sophia told Black … Does that make sense?” She pulled her brow together and tipped her head. “It’s not Elena’s usual M.O. That kind of treasure hunting is a different stomping ground.”
Red paused. “Okay, thanks for sharing the story about Elena. But what has she got to do with dancing?” Had Grey asked about dancing? Or had that been part of her dream? “You started by asking me if I felt like dancing, right?”Right?
“There’s a charity ball on Saturday in Vienna, the annual—"
“Saturday? The Secret Order of the Raven’s Gate Gala? That’s huge. We’re talking about royalty, stars, and the world’s bajillionaires.”
“That’s the one.”
“Nope.” Red shook her head. “We can’t get in. We’d need tickets, and they go up for sale a year in advance. There’s no stealth mode into the ball.”
Grey popped his brows mischievously. “I have two tickets in hand.”
Red’s eyes stretched wide with surprise. “How?”
“The ambassador and his wife.”
Red grimaced. “Making enemies?”
“True, they’re none too pleased. Or so I understand. I didn’t make the ask. A call from the White House was persuasive.”
“The President?” she whispered.
“Secretary of State, but since she serves at the pleasure of the president, close enough.”
“Close enough, yeah. So they’re pissed, the ambassador and wife? Because if things turn to shit—as well they might—the ambassador is our first line of defense.”