Page 11 of Viking (Dixie Reapers MC #24)

Viking

The tech room was a new addition to the compound.

Wire’s domain where few brothers ventured unless they needed something specific.

The soft hum of cooling fans provided a constant backdrop to the clicking of keyboards as I leaned against the back wall, watching father and son work their magic.

Wire’s fingers moved with practiced precision, while Atlas, his teenage son, remained utterly focused on his own screen, his face bathed in the blue glow of multiple monitors.

“Before we get into what I’ve found in regard to your friend, there’s something else you need to know,” Wire said. “You know I run checks on everyone who comes here, and that includes Karoline and Athena.”

My eyebrow arched. “You ran a check on a toddler? Are you expecting her to be a diabolical genius who’ll blow up the compound or something?”

Wire snorted. “No, smartass. But I looked into what happened to her. The woman Kris normally left in charge of Athena became gravely ill and was hospitalized. Her sister took over Athena’s care for the last few months he was gone.”

“Okay. What am I missing?” I asked.

“The sister is bad news. She’s never been convicted, but I found complaints filed against her for child abuse spanning several years. The courts couldn’t ever make anything stick, so on the surface, she just looks like she was misunderstood. In truth, she was a clever bitch who hid her tracks.”

At least we now knew what happened to Athena.

I’d known it seemed odd for Kris to leave her to someone incompetent.

If he’d taken the time to make sure Athena would go to Karoline, who in turn would come to me for safekeeping, then he had to have loved his little girl a lot.

Which was in keeping with the man I’d known.

“Now for why you’re here. Kris Kringle,” Wire said, reading the name off the screen. “Your boy was into some serious shit, Viking.”

I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s why I need you to dig deeper. His sister and niece are staying at my place. According to his letter, they might be in danger.”

I thought about things Kris had told me, and a flash drive he’d given me last time I saw him. I hadn’t looked at the contents of the drive and wondered if it would be helpful in this situation, but something held me back.

Wire pushed his reading glasses higher on his nose, the silver in his red hair catching the light from the monitors.

Unlike most of the brothers, Wire kept his hair short, practical.

Said it was easier to think without hair in his face.

His son had inherited that pragmatism, though Atlas’s hair was slightly longer, falling just over his ears.

“How much danger are we talking about?” Wire asked, eyes never leaving his screen.

I pulled Kris’s letter from my cut and handed it over. “Read it yourself.”

Wire scanned the letter, his expression growing more serious with each line. “Government black ops. That’s a whole different ballgame than our usual trouble.”

“Can you find out what he was involved in?” I asked.

Wire handed the letter back with a snort. “Can I find out? Who do you think you’re talking to?” He turned to his son. “Atlas, start with financial trails. Government contractors, offshore accounts, anything unusual.”

Atlas nodded once, already typing. The kid was quiet, always had been, but his mind worked like a supercomputer. At sixteen, he could hack systems that even his father approached with caution. Now at eighteen, he was close to surpassing his dad in some ways.

I watched them work, the father-son team that had saved the club’s ass more times than I could count.

Wire was all intuition and experience, following hunches and making connections that seemed to come from nowhere.

Atlas was methodical, working through problems step by logical step, never missing a detail.

“Tell me about the sister,” Wire said as his fingers flew across the keyboard. “And the kid.”

“Karoline’s Kris’s younger sister. Preschool teacher. The kid, Athena, is three. Kris’s daughter, but no one knew about her until after he died.”

Wire let out a low whistle. “Secret kid? That’s some soap opera shit right there.”

“Tell me about it.” I moved closer to the screens, trying to make sense of the information flying past. “Anything yet?”

“Patience,” Wire muttered. “This isn’t like looking up someone’s Instagram.”

Atlas suddenly straightened in his chair. “Dad, look at this.”

Wire rolled his chair over to his son’s station, studying the screen. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What?” I moved to stand behind them.

“Your boy was officially assigned to the Military Intelligence Brigade,” Wire explained, pointing to a personnel file Atlas had somehow accessed. “But his paychecks tell a different story. Look here.”

Atlas had pulled up a series of financial records showing deposits to an account under a name I didn’t recognize.

“Sean Mitchell?” I read.

“Alias,” Atlas said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Standard practice for operatives working under deep cover.”

I stared at the kid, sometimes forgetting how much he knew about the shadowy world of government operations. Growing up with Wire as a father meant absorbing information most teenagers couldn’t imagine. Then again, his mom was just as lethal with a keyboard.

“The deposits come from a shell corporation,” Atlas continued, clicking through several screens. “Traced it back to a defense contractor that doesn’t officially exist.”

Wire had returned to his own terminal, following a different lead.

“Got his service record. Well, the official one anyway. Communications specialist with a background in cryptography. Fluent in three languages, specialized training in counterintelligence.” He looked up at me.

“Your friend was a spook, Viking. High-level intelligence work.”

My gut tightened. I’d known Kris was involved in something classified, but this was beyond what I’d imagined.

He’d shared a lot with me or so I’d thought, but now I wondered if he hadn’t shared nearly enough.

The Kris I remembered was a straight-shooter, always honest to a fault.

The thought of him living a double life, operating under aliases, didn’t feel right.

It was different from the Kris I’d known when we were younger. Then again, I’d changed a lot too.

“Last known assignment?” I asked.

Wire and Atlas exchanged a glance, some unspoken communication passing between them.

“That’s where it gets interesting,” Wire said. “There’s a gap. His official record shows him stationed at Fort Meade for the past two years, but the financial trail tells a different story.”

Atlas pointed to his screen. “Multiple flights to Eastern Europe. Secure accommodations in cities known for intelligence activity. Equipment purchases consistent with field operations, not base assignment.”

“He was running an op. Something off the books.”

“Not just off the books,” Wire said, his expression grim. “The kind of operation that doesn’t exist until it goes wrong. Then suddenly everyone’s looking for someone to blame.”

I hadn’t realized just how deep Kris had dug the hole he’d found himself in.

While he’d talked to me a little about his situation, it hadn’t prepared me for this.

Sure, he’d said things might end up bad, but I’d thought maybe he was being overly paranoid.

If Kris had been involved in an unsanctioned operation that went sideways, the people hunting for him -- and now potentially Karoline and Athena -- wouldn’t be following any rules.

Was that why he’d asked me to take care of Karoline if anything ever happened to him? Had he known he was on borrowed time?

“Atlas,” Wire said, “check for any unusual activity around the time of Kringle’s death. News reports, intelligence chatter, anything that might give us context.”

Atlas nodded, already typing with renewed focus. I’d never seen a kid with such intense concentration, able to tune out everything around him when he was working.

“You think someone took him out?” I asked Wire.

He removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I think your friend was playing a very dangerous game. And I think whoever he was playing against didn’t want to lose.”

Atlas made a soft sound, drawing our attention again. On his screen was a news article from a small Eastern European publication, dated three days before Kris’s death. The headline, translated to English, read: “American Tourist Dies in Suspicious Hotel Fire.”

“That’s not Kris,” I said, noting the name in the article.

“No,” Atlas agreed. “But the deceased was reportedly staying in the room next to one registered to Sean Mitchell.”

The alias Kris had been using.

“Collateral damage,” Wire said quietly. “Or a warning.”

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to process what we were learning. “So Kris was there, witnessed this, and then what? Ran? Gathered evidence?”

“Probably both,” Wire said. “And then they caught up to him.”

My fists clenched at my side. Kris had been dealing with this alone for the most part, keeping these secrets, carrying this burden without being completely honest with me.

Had our friendship deteriorated so much that he couldn’t trust me with this?

If he was going to tell me even a little of what he was doing, why hadn’t he just confessed everything?

“We need to figure out what he found,” I said. “What made him dangerous enough to kill.”

I had a feeling he’d stumbled across more info since the last time I’d seen him, something that put him on the radar of some really bad people.

Wire nodded. “It’ll take time. These people know how to cover their tracks.”

“But they’re not as good as we are,” Atlas said, a rare hint of confidence in his quiet voice.

Wire smiled, a flash of pride crossing his face. “Damn straight, son.”