Page 1

Logan…

It’s all about expediency.

This is what my family doesn’t understand.

Aye, I could spend days and days going over a plan that should be obvious in the first five fecking minutes of consideration, over-plan, then go in all smooth-like and do the job.

Or…

Punching the fifth guard in the throat, I watch his eyes bug out as he gasps for the air he’s never getting back, then snap his neck.

Only five guards? This arsehole’s mighty over-confident, I think as I cut through the steel door. Aye, I could fuss with the biometric locking system and try to override it with one of the high-tech pieces of shite our hackers use. Instead, I use my fiber laser cutter and create myself a wee door inside the giant one within ninety seconds. One solid kick and the steel plate slams onto the floor with a thunderous boom.

Pity there’s no one else to hear it, what with the guards being dead, and all. A giant vault and all its holding is a single file cabinet? Anselm must be over compensating for something . It takes less than one minute to pile all the hard drives into my backpack and one more to fit the plastique onto that truly daft multilayer steel door.

Checking my watch…

I’m still three minutes ahead of schedule, so I look up at the camera in the corner of the room, drop trou and slap my arse as a wee bit of a hello. “Hey, Anselm! Tongue ma’ fartbox, ye walloper! Your security is about as much use as a marzipan dildo!”

Then I’m out of the vault, racing through the tunnel and busting out into the prime fresh air of ?bel? Island off the coast of Denmark. My jet ski’s waiting for me on the beach and it’s a mere ten minutes’ ride to my boat anchored offshore.

A giant fecking fist hits me in the back and I go flying as midnight on the island turns as bright as noon.

Shite. It’s possible I dinnae leave myself enough time to get off this rock before the remote timer set off the plastique.

Eh. Lesson learned.

Hauling myself up, I note there’s a fist-sized length of steel wedged into my bulletproof vest and it’s possible my leg is broken. I know the adrenaline flooding my system is holding off most of the pain, but it’s gonna kick in and I’ll be in a world of hurt if I dinnae hurry to get some treatment. We have a doctor waiting at the jet, fortunate, that.

While I’m hopping down to the beach and starting up my jet ski, my earpiece comes alive, crackling with static and my brother’s frantic voice.

“Logan! Logan, ye better be alive goddamnit!”

“I’m fine! I’ll see ye back on the mainland. Ye gotta relax, brother. All this worry is gonna give ye grey hair.” I’m shouting over the roar of my engine but he must get most of my message, because some choice words are shared.

As I race away from the island, a wide stretch of forest around the vault is blazing away, the sharp scent of pine and smoke traveling across the water with me.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph it’s like ye wanna die.”

My brother Kai finishes shakes his head all sorrowfully. Like he wouldn’t have done the same damn thing.

“I’m alive.”

I nod to the sour-faced doctor patching me up. I was minutes away from inviting her out for a drink when she went all prissy, muttering about, “Irresponsible MacTavishes.” A shame, that. She was a bonnie thing before she got all stern and judgmental on my arse.

“Aye, and barely!” Kai snaps, “That chunk of steel tore through your bullet-proof vest and two inches into your ribcage! And the broken leg?”

“Well, it is a minor break,” the Doc inserts helpfully. “He

will just need a walking boot for three weeks.”

Hmm… I might rethink that drink invitation.

“Thank ye, Dr. Pederson,” Kai says. “The payment is already deposited in your account.”

She leaves in a hurry and I sit up with a groan. “I’m thinking it’s time to stop all the yelling and look through the hard drives. Ye remember the mission, aye?”

“Dinna ye sass me,” he says, though he’s already rooting through my backpack.

“I’m twenty-eight and far too old to characterize my communication as sass,” I say haughtily, knowing my upper crust ‘American Boarding School’ accent is doing his nut in.

“Ah, I hate this,” Kai groans.

“What?” Every one of those fecking hard drives is bulging with Anselm Industries secrets. Bank fraud. Illegal pharmaceutical research and development. New viruses for humans and the internet alike. What’s he crabbit about now?

“Ye got a treasure trove of intel.” My brother’s all sullen, looking like his wee boy Rory in need of a nappie change. “This is grand work, as much as it pains me to say it.”

“Aye, I know,” I offer graciously, getting up with a groan. “Fuel the jet, brother. We’re going home.”

Arabella…

I was fourteen when they finally tested my hearing.

“It’s called Auditory Neuropathy Spectrum Disorder,” the doctor had said, looking down at her iPad. “Your particular form involves the slow degeneration of the auditory nerve. Your ear can detect the sound, but eventually, it will not be able to transmit it to the brain. You’re testing at about 50% accuracy now. This will continue to degrade. This is not a condition that can be improved with assistive technology. A cochlear implant, for instance, wouldn’t help you.”

“How long do I have until I’m completely deaf?” The words wobbled out of my mouth, my whole body shaking.

She smiled at me. No pity, which I appreciated. “Within the next ten years, most likely sooner.”

That was eight years, six months and… twelve days ago.

“You’re doing very well, even with the progressive deterioration of your auditory nerve. Your lip-reading skills are spectacular.”

Dr. Graham’s a good one, always remembering to face me when we talk, which is a blessing. Though I’m thinking it’s not right that a doctor who specializes in hearing issues should have such a quiet, high voice himself. Oh, the irony.

He hands me a prescription. “These drops should help a bit with the dizziness, aye? Be sure to call me if you’re seeing a sudden vestibular change.”

Vestibular… the system responsible for my balance and orienting myself to the world around me. It’s a strange thing, finding that not hearing someone walk by me also means that sometimes, my brain dinnae ‘see’ them, either.

“Is there anything else I can do for ye today, Arabella?”

It’s such a pointless question. Because there’s nothing he can do, and we both know it. I should say something polite though, to set him at ease. “I’m good, doc. Thank ye for the drops.”

Doing his nut in - Scottish slang for pissing someone off

Nappie - a diaper

Crabbit - Scottish slang for cranky