This means the attacks weren’t state-sanctioned by a foreign-power—this was home-grown, in partnership with unsanctioned foreign agents who wanted to conduct similar attacks in Russia. The named oligarchs responsible for funding everything will likely never be brought to justice here in the US, because Russia will probably kill them all within twenty-four hours of the evidence being made public. I know damned well the Russian president won’t fuck around with even a sham of a trial in this case—he’ll want them all dead for daring to betray and turn on him when he’s allowed them to grow fat and rich over the years.
Knowing he was betrayed and dying, Belyaevskin opted to deploy a nuclear option of his own and burn all the players.
The problem is while the video lists several names, it doesn’t show all the proof. Belyaevskin claims that information is all in the journalist’s hands. Meaning we need to get our hands on it, or at the very least get the hands of our allies in the Argentinian government on that proof so they can share it with our intelligence services immediately before it has time to disappear.
Or before someone “disappears” the journalist.
Director Kensington stands there, stunned as the video ends and Leo adds other details about Belyaevskin’s current condition.
“I’m not even going to ask how or from whom you received that intel,” Kensington says as he turns toward the phone sitting on the end table by one of the sofas. “I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me even if I did ask.” He picks up the receiver, gets an outside line, and makes a phone call.
Leo smirks at me from the sofa. “Told you so,” he silently mouths to me, where I’m now sitting behind my desk. I’d roll my eyes at my husband except this isn’t a playful situation.
This is deadly serious.
And actually, while Leo once held this level of security clearance he currently doesn’t. Technically. I mean, his security clearance was never revoked but as my spouse he’s not a government employee. I really should get him out of here.
That’s when a phone in Jordan’s jacket rings with a tone I know all too well—my personal cell phone. Only a few people have the number to that phone. He removes it from his pocket and now his face transforms into a practiced mask as he answers what appears to be a video call.
“President Woodley’s phone.”
It’s Stella. “I need to talk to Elliot immediately,” she says. “Please! It’s urgent!”
He looks at me and I nod. “Hold on, please.”
Something about Stella’s tone sends that cold, jangly ball of nerves at the base of my spine into full overdrive with a side order of screaming fits. Jordan walks over to my desk and hands me the phone.
“Stella? What’s going on?”
She looks horrible. She appears to be moving fast, the phone in her hand and the picture bouncing around. “I need your help! I need a detail here immediately. Or the cops,please!” She looks like she’s locking herself into a room. “Anyonearmed!”
Director Kensington’s off his call now and has gathered at my desk, along with Casey-Marie and Declan. Jordan pulls out yet another cell phone, probably his personal phone, and starts filming the phone in my hand.
I’m glad I have witnesses to this because, honestly? I wouldn’t believe this if I didn’t have witnesses.
“Stella, talk to me. What’s going on?”
Kensington grabs my desk phone receiver and makes another call, all as he keeps his gaze on my phone.
Stella looks like shit, her eyes red and nose puffy, mascara smeared like she’s been crying. “Please, Elliot, youhaveto call them for me!” She jumps at the sound of a loud noise in the background, from somewhere else in the house. She races across that room and closes herself in another area. Wherever she is, the space is dark and tiny.
“Are you…are you locking yourself in yourcloset? What’s going on?”
I hear several phone alert tones go off at once and Leo, Declan, and Casey-Marie all pull out and look at their phones. Jordan’s still filming with his but I see him reach up with his free hand and flick an alert banner off the screen.
“Oh,shit,” Leo mutters. Casey-Marie’s expression goes tight and blank.
Declan’s normal poker face dissolves as his eyes widen. “Fuuuck me,” Declan whispers.
“He’s going tokillme!” Stella frantically whispers. “Elliot,please! Ineedyour help!”
She sounds genuinely terrified and I know this isn’t an act because she never sounds like this.Ever. “They’re making the calls now. Who are you talking about, honey? What happened?”
“Ellis!” She sniffles. “I just posted a video of him a few minutes ago. Of him and some of his friends and what they did. I thought he headed to Ft. Lauderdale today and I would be out of here before he returned. Iswear, I hadnoidea they were behind it all! But he came home before I could leave. He must have been over at the country club.”
“You’re not making sense. What video? He was behind what?”
“The attacks!” We hear another noise in the background and she flinches, looking toward what I assume is the closet door before she drops her voice again. “Please! Call the Secret Service! I’m at the Palm Beach house. I don’t know what he’s going to do!”
