“I knew Anselm was an impressive piece of shite, but this…” My cousin Michael shakes his head. “How did he get so deep into the organ business without anyone catching on?”
“We were hyper-focused on more pressing matters.” Da says. “We sent in Logan six months ago after Anselm stole three patents from our medical research division, and he’d just put his new computer virus up for the highest bidder on the dark web.” He gives me an approving smile. “Logan came back with a treasure trove of additional information, including the research and development numbers from a side of his medical division we’d not seen before.”
Xenia clicks a remote and the monitor on the wall shows images of happy patients, grinning at the camera like fecking eejits and hovering models in doctor’s coats. “This is from one of the brochures his people have been distributing in South America,” she says. “They’re recruiting subjects for a new ‘research study,’ supposedly for one of his pharmaceutical trials. What they’re really testing for is organ compatibility for specific clients.”
“Anselm’s running a boutique organ harvesting operation for rich arseholes?” I say. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he’s outdone himself.”
“He started with the ‘grab and slash’ style some of the cartels used,” Xenia says, looking a little green around the gills. “I have pictures, but you don’t want to see them. Then, he moved up to simply buying them from desperate people in Asia and Europe. It looks like that business model was too expensive for him. One of the key requirements for the applicants for the clinical trials is a lack of family or friends who’d raise a fuss if they disappeared.”
“We need more information,” Da says. “Xenia’s done a masterful job of picking up what she has, but we dinnae have any credible intel on where he’s running these clinical ‘studies.’ Until we do, there’s no stopping him.”
“Oh, I’ll be stopping him,” I say. “Ye storm the compound looking for what ye need and I’ll pick up Anselm after I’ve got Arabella to safety.” Pulling my KA-BAR knife from my boot, I rummage through my jacket to find my whetstone block and begin sharpening it. The stone makes a low, scraping sound as the steel passes over it.
“We’ll do the frontal attack with the drone flyover,” Kai says, “dropping the charges over the-”
Scrrrrrch.
“Over the guard’s building and the IT section Xenia’s located in-”
Scrrrrrch.
Kai glares at me, but we’ve worked together too long for that to be a deterrent.
“Once the tech net over the compound is-”
Scrrrrrch.
“Logan, haud yer wheesht, ye nyaff!”
One more pass with the stone to make sure the blade is sharp enough to cut through bone and I stop, smiling pleasantly. “Ye were saying?”
“Are ye remembering what we’re doing here?” Kai snaps, “The rescue plan?”
“I’m thinking ye dinnae bother to check Xenia’s latest scan,” I say calmly. “Take a look at the 3D topography.” Xenia shoots me a wink, the wee shite. She was gonna let Kai walk through the whole thing before correcting him.
“All right, ye slinky minx,” he sighs, “what did ye uncover?”
She taps the east corner of the island. “See the variation of the shoreline? It’s artificial, there’s a tunnel there. They must use it to offload shit they don’t want to take through the front gate.”
Da’s watching the exchange, running his finger along his lower lip to hide his grin. He finds Kai and me facing off a highly entertaining thing.
Kai shoots me the middle finger and changes the plan, dividing the crew up. “Who do ye want at your back, brother?”
“I might be utilizing some explosive rounds of ammunition in my approach,” I admit. “Best I work alone.”
Even Da lets out a groan at that. “Son, as much as I appreciate your ‘Take no prisoners’ approach, your ma’s gonna kill me if I bring ye back as a charcoal briquette.”
“No faith in your son,” I tsked. “So disappointing.”
It takes the full three hours and twenty minutes to Copenhagen for my pompous arsehole of a brother to make sure “everyone was on the same page,” but finally that shite was over and I wrestled myself into my wetsuit.
“Two island missions in less than six months,” I grunt as Michael zips up the back of my suit.
“Eh, you’ve always been a fish,” he says. “Remember that vacation to Italy where ye snorkeled into the underwater caverns that wereabsolutely forbiddenby our folks and the tide came in?”
“I will always maintain that the rest of ye missed out.” I check my waterproof kit bag and add two Glocks and stuff in more ammunition. “It was fecking beautiful, though that dive mask was more useless than the ‘g’ in lasagna.”
“Ye got out by holding your fecking breath and your sense of touch!” Da says irritably. “Now hush it. I dinnae need the stress of remembering that day.”
