Three weeks into January, and we finally have a name.
I stare at the file on my laptop screen, cross-referencing the intelligence Sully pulled from encrypted communications with what Major Adeyemi's team intercepted from Boko Haram channels. The pieces have been falling into place slowly, frustratingly, but now the picture is clear.
Dmitri Volkov. Russian arms dealer with connections to trafficking networks across three continents. He's been operating in the shadows for years, selling weapons to terrorist organizations while maintaining a veneer of legitimacy through shell corporations and European banking channels.
And apparently, he's very good at holding grudges.
"Got him," I call out, not looking away from the screen.
Jordan appears in the doorway of our Savoy suite, coffee in hand. She's been running her own investigation parallel to mine, coordinating with her network of rescued women, following financial trails through the Orpheus database. Equal partners means we each bring our strengths to the table.
"Show me," she says, settling beside me.
I pull up the composite we've built. Photos, financial records, communication intercepts, witness statements. Volkov is in his fifties, distinguished-looking in an expensive suit kind of way. The kind of man who attends charity galas while funding terrorism.
"He's been selling weapons to trafficking networks for years," I explain. "But five years ago, Orpheus disrupted one of his biggest operations. You rescued twelve women from a compound in Belarus that was also serving as an arms depot. The raid brought attention Volkov didn't want. Cost him millions in lost inventory and several key contacts."
Jordan's eyes narrow as she studies the file. "I remember that operation. We thought it was just a trafficking location. Didn't realize it was connected to arms dealing."
"Volkov’s been waiting for an opportunity to retaliate ever since." I pull up another document. "He's the one who organized the consortium. Convinced Boko Haram and the others that you were a threat to all their operations. Funded the Swiss attack personally."
"Where is he now?"
"That's the interesting part." I switch screens to show surveillance footage. "He's in London. Has been for the past week, staying at the Connaught under a false identity. Sully's been tracking his movements."
Jordan's hand finds mine, squeezes. "Then we end this. Now."
"Not quite that simple." I pull up the tactical assessment I've been working on. "Volkov doesn't travel alone. He has security. Professional, well-armed. And he's smart enough to stay in public places where we can't just extract him without causing an international incident."
"So we need a trap."
"We need a trap," I agree. "And I think I know exactly what bait he can't resist."
She looks at me, already knowing what I'm going to say. "Me."
"You're what he wants. If we can lure him somewhere controlled, somewhere we have the advantage, we can take him." I meet her eyes, letting her see the calculation there. "Permanently."
"Or we can capture him alive," Jordan says carefully. "Turn him over to Interpol with enough evidence to dismantle his entire network."
I study her face, seeing the determination there. The woman who built Orpheus into a legitimate foundation, who wants justice not just revenge. "He tried to kill you. Funded an operation that nearly got both of us killed. And you want to hand him over to the justice system?"
"I want to make sure he can't come back. That his associates go down with him. That we destroy the entire operation, not just cut off one head." She turns to face me fully. "Killing him makes us criminals and doesn't destroy his network. Capturing him alive, with evidence? That dismantles everything he's built. His associates, his funding sources, his entire operation."
She's right. Tactically, she's absolutely right. But every instinct I have screams to eliminate the threat permanently, to make sure he can never come after her again.
"You're certain?" I ask.
"I'm certain." Her voice is firm. "This is how Orpheus works. We do it right, we do it legally, and we make it stick. No vigilante justice. We're better than that."
I'm not sure I am better than that. But she is. And if she's choosing the harder path, the legal path, then I'll make damn sure we execute it flawlessly.
"Okay," I concede. "We do this your way. We take him alive, get him on recording, and hand him to Interpol with a bow on top."
Twenty-four hours later, we're implementing it.
The Cerberus operations center at Baker Street is fully staffed. Sully at his computer array, monitoring communications and surveillance feeds. Adam coordinating with Sawyer's team. Harry and Nigel managing perimeter security. Major Adeyemi and two of her operatives providing additional tactical support.
And Jordan, standing beside me, reviewing the operational plan one final time.
