“Which I think he means dragon,” Gem said, retying her kimono. “Not a real dragon. It’s probably a metaphor.”
Viktor returned to the table. “Shifters were gaining power, and war broke out when the oligarchs were envious of our land and wanted to wipe us out. Freedom was at stake, and not just for Shifters. All were at their mercy. And then there was an uprising. My family sailed to America, and I stayed behind. Some of us formed a group and decided the way to victory was not to fight a battle but to cut every head off the dragon. We killed ten, and the remaining three fled the country. They were never seen again, but rumors have always existed. For many, they became a fable. There are no photographs in this time, and they would have changed their names.” Viktor clicked the mouse and expanded the picture of three men standing by a car. Two were clasping arms, something I’d seen Breed do instead of shaking hands. “This photograph was taken three weeks ago.”
Shepherd leaned forward and squinted. “You think that’s them? How do you know?”
Viktor gestured to the only visible face. “Because I have seen their faces. And then there is this.” When he clicked the mouse and the picture disappeared, he cursed.
Wyatt jumped out of his seat and tapped on his computer until it zoomed in on someone’s hand.
Viktor pointed out a tattoo of three interlocked triangles located above the thumb. “They all have the Valknut marked on their right hand. No one knows this except those of us who were in the room that day. We knew it would someday lead us to them, and if we were not careful in keeping it secret, their followers would have gotten the same mark. That is what people do—they copy their leaders. These men did not want others to see the marks.”
Blue tilted in her chair. “How could peoplenotsee it?”
“Because they always wore gloves. Always. They also had masks. They were shrouded in mystery, which made them feared. We only uncovered their secrets during the assassination. Before burning the remains, we noticed the marks.” Viktor pointed to a man with short grey hair and a widow’s peak. “This one went by the name Borislav. He is a Vampire, and his name suggests he is Russian. The tall man on the left is Ivar, and he is a Chitah. He was the only one we heard speak, and none of us recognized the language.”
“Ivar sounds like Old Norse,” Gem suggested.
“The other on the right with the short black hair is a Mage. His exact name is uncertain. One woman heard someone call him Li Han.”
“That’s Chinese origin,” Niko said, water dripping down his chest from his long, damp hair. He and Gem must have been in the pool. “Apologies for interrupting—how did these men communicate with one another? Did they share a common language?”
“There was one interpreter,” Viktor answered. “We were going to extract information from him, but someone killed him. It was not one of us, so we can only presume one of the thirteen knew how valuable he would be. The interpreter was a Relic with inherent knowledge of many languages—like Gem.” Viktor walked to the chair in the dark corner and sat. “The fact these men are together has me worried they might once again be conspiring; only now, I cannot imagine for what. We no longer live in simple times.”
As Wyatt panned out, I stared at the tattoo and put it to memory.
“These men cannot be captured,” Viktor said, watching Wyatt take his seat again.
Christian eased back in his chair. “Then why are we here?”
Viktor said something to Gem in Russian, and they conversed for a minute or two.
Gem nodded and then spoke on his behalf, perhaps to better translate his true meaning. “What he means to say is that our orders are not to capture these men alive. It’s a tremendous risk since they have immense power and wealth. Their influence is beyond simply buying their freedom. People fear them—even our leaders. Not because they themselves are especially powerful or skilled warriors, but because if the masses found out they were alive—especially the ancients—many would follow them. They’ve risen to power in the past and had a legion of loyalists—people who would fall on their sword for them. That’s not easy for even the richest man to claim. That’s why they can’t escape. They have the potential to organize and galvanize because people are afraid of their following. And we don’t know what they might already be planning.”
“Spasibo,” Viktor said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We must use what time we have to track them down before they leave the country. Each man will likely have underlings. There are bounties on their heads, but they are brushed away…” He and Gem shared a short exchange as Viktor struggled with his words after a long day of beer and food. “Like cold case file. No one is actively looking for them.”
Shepherd took another drag off his cigarette. “What’s the payout? Do we get a cut of their wealth?”
Viktor rose from his chair and approached the table, the light from the projector shining on his face. “In cases like this, any recovered fortune goes to the authorities. They decide how to distribute the money. Victims deserve compensation, and they must research many centuries back to locate. In this case, I would assume Russian leaders who oversee Breed will demand ownership. Wyatt will research the reward from Russian higher authorities. I also want to compare it to ours to see which is more, and that is how we will determine who we work with. We will only take a percentage.”
Niko tipped his head to the side. “Percentage? Is your contact asking for a cut of the reward?”
“I did not receive this tip from the higher authority. It was from anonymous.”
“He calls himself Mr. X,” Wyatt chimed in. “Not very original. I got the private message on the dark web for Breed.”
Blue folded her arms. “How do you know it wasn’t a joke?”
Wyatt coughed as if choking on something. “Because someone sent over a hundred large to Viktor’s banker. Nobody puts down a deposit for a job, especially when they’re not the ones paying the reward. That’s ludicrous. They want a slice of the money pie, and my guess is it’s a big pie.”
Viktor stepped out of the light. “Mr. X is anonymous because they know how barbaric these men are. If this person made their identity known, and we failed in our mission, they would be hunted by supporters of the final three.”
I tapped my hand on the table. “And we won’t?”
Viktor shrugged. “Perhaps. But that is a risk we are willing to take. Not many others can say the same. How many organizations would seize this opportunity? No matter how noble, the risk is too great. In the end, it is those who hired the hit that will be remembered, not the hitmen. Besides, this case is personal to me.”
Shepherd stubbed out his cigarette.
I thought about how rich these guys must be. They probably spread their wealth out all over the place, so I had doubts we would ever get our hands on it. “How do we find them?”
