Department of State, Washington, D.C.
Zoe Somersby tugged at her blouse once more. She hated suits, any kind of suit. They were made as a torture device by men to ogle women’s asses, and she wasn’t even talking about the pain of wearing high heels! And it was difficult enough to find a skirt or pants that could fit said ass! One of the downfalls of having curves in the modern world.
But convention was to be dealt with, and she knew that sometimes, looks could give a necessary edge. So, she used it, with every last one of her own talents.
Stretching her arms over her head, she winced at the kink in her neck. That was the trouble of being back in front of her computers. But when she was in the field, Zoe longed to be in front of her computer. One of her many quirks.
Looking at the clock, she grabbed her file to head for her meeting. As she proceeded through the hallways of the building, Zoe smiled at the so-serious smart suits walking by. In her opinion, they all appeared to be continuously constipated for the last ten years. People underestimated fun and whimsy, and that was so sad.
Rounding the corner, she saw her boss still sitting in his office. She pivoted gracefully.
“Hey, Mark! Aren’t you coming to the weekly meeting?”
The older man with impressive bags beneath his eyes lifted his bloodhound face to her. “What meeting?”
Zoe smiled affectionately at the man who put up with so much. “Weekly meeting? Meeting room D? Now?”
Mark tilted his head to his phone and looked back at her, shaking his head. “I have no meeting scheduled, Zoe. I don’t know what meeting you’re attending, but I’m out! Hallelujah! For once, I’ll be able to meet my deadline!”
Zoe was confused and readjusted her tortoise-shell glasses. “I thought it was our weekly meeting. So what meeting am I going to?”
Leaving without listening to Mark’s incoherent mumbling, she walked back to her cramped temporary office, one that changed every time she was back in D.C. and dropped her file before sitting back in front of her computer.
When she opened the appointment in her calendar, she blinked. The subject read Meeting about the Meaning of Dark Sparrows. Her heart somersaulted in her chest at the reference. Bolting from her chair, and despite her high heels, she walked briskly to the other end of the corridor, towards Meeting Room D. She was tempted to ditch the shoes and start running, but it would have raised suspicions. Tendrils of red hair escaped from her neat bun, but she couldn’t care less. Disheveled looked better on her anyway.
When she pushed open the door, a smile bloomed on her face at the sight of the slender woman with spiky red-haired standing there.
“Beatrice! Beatrice Dante, my friend!”
“Crazy Zoe!” Zoe launched herself into her arms, surprised by the sudden rush of emotions clogging her throat.
“Bea. It’s so good to see you!”
From the corner of her eye, Zoe saw a blonde woman step aside, giving them a little privacy and closing the door.
Giving her one last squeeze, Zoe let her go. “You don’t know how happy I was when I just read your superhero code name on my computer.”
The older woman laughed and shook her head. “You may be the only one who thinks that me contacting them would be cool.
Zoe shook her head. Beatrice was an intelligent woman, the founder of Purgatory, an organization dedicated to rescue missions when official alternatives were tied. When she had been saved by her all those years ago, and Beatrice had asked for her to return the favor some day, it was clear in Zoe’s head that she would jump at the chance. “Nah! I’m suffocating now in my office, and I want out! It’s only a temporary assignment, but after being stationed in the Middle East and making some significant contributions, being cooped up in this dungeon will be the death of me.”
“Well, I may have something for you.”
Zoe shot her hands in the hair, making a whooping sound. “Oh yeah! Anything to get out of this suit and killer pumps.”
Beatrice winced. “Well… what I need you for might require them.”
Groaning, Zoe let her arms and head fall back in defeat before looking at her friend again. “Will it be in a closed office space without any windows?”
Beatrice hesitated, and Zoe groaned. At the sound, the older woman smiled apologetically. “There will be windows. I promise. Please, let me introduce you to the one who’s supervising the whole thing. Gabrielle Thorne.”
Zoe smiled and took the offered hand of the beautiful blond woman before her. “Blonde, tall, beautiful, and probably deadly. Women must hate you.”
Gabrielle blinked before bursting in laughter. “Well, I don’t know about that. I never admire myself in the mirror. Does it bother you?”
Zoe looked her up and down before shaking her head. “Not really. My type attracts another demographic.”
It was Gabrielle’s turn to assess her before angling her head. “What is your type? High-powered business women?”
Zoe smirked. “Sometimes! Don’t let the look fool you. I’m what we call a geek or a nerd. Dork is another good one. I’m a bookworm, with a big brain, and Spiderman underwear.”
Zoe found it highly amusing to watch Gabrielle trying to wrap her mind around what she had said, trying to figure out if she was making fun of her, or not.
Gabrielle stuttered a little, probably not something she did often. “Really? That’s a joke, right?”
Beatrice sighed. “If only. Can we get back to business? Unless you want to stay here, Zoe?”
“God, no! Where I am going?”
Gabrielle blinked. “Would it be more relevant to know what you would be required to do first?”
Zoe sat at the meeting table followed by the other two women. “I will be required to wear a business suit and not camo. It can’t be that dangerous or different from what I am doing here. Right?”
Gabrielle lifted her hands. “Don’t look at me, I just got in. I’m in the same position as you are, meaning totally in the dark. I don’t even know what the mission is yet, or what your skill set is.”
Beatrice put a file in front of her. “I’m sorry about keeping my cards close to my vest, Gabrielle, but I only had a few hours to turn things around. To bring you up to date, one of my dear friends, Lazarus King, is trying to bring his father down, a dangerous psycho in my opinion, with too much money and power for his own good.”
Zoe pursed her lips. “We all have family problems. Who is he?”
“Jamieson Finch.”
It was Zoe’s turn to be speechless for a moment or two. “The big ass business man plastered in the papers every other week? Really?”
Beatrice nodded. “Business man alright, but with megalomaniac tendencies to boot. And a darker side too. A couple of months ago, he tried to overtake the entire Chicago syndicates.”
Whistling, Zoe leaned back in her chair. She only knew what was published in newspapers or on the Internet. Finch appeared polished and clean, a family man with political aspirations.
“It may sound stupid, but the two men, don’t have the same last name.”
Beatrice looked at Gabrielle before focusing back on her. “To put it diplomatically, Finch has many illegitimate children.”
Zoe replaced her glasses, hiding a grin. “Pray continue, I’m falling in love with this adorable womanizer already.”
“Wait, it gets even better. Finch isn’t too keen on his illegitimate offspring, especially Lazarus since he has made it his personal mission to stop his dear daddy.”
Gabrielle snorted. “Yeah, and as Oz is smart and cunning, it makes him a difficult target for retaliation.”
It didn’t take a genius to understand Finch’s next step. “And let me guess, if he can’t get little Ozzie, he will target his other kids. That’s sick.”
“Family is Lazarus’s Achilles’ heel. And as he tried to get to his son, Aleksei Voronov, one of Oz’s half-brothers, and failed, he decided to target another one.”
Gabrielle scowled. “What do you mean another target?”
Instead of answering, Beatrice opened the file on the table and Zoe, curious, leaned forward. There, in front of her was the picture of a man in a three-piece black suit, coming out of a building. For the first time, Zoe was speechless, no smart-ass remark at the ready. She’d always disliked men in suits, maybe because she was surrounded by them and they were a pain in the ass most of the time. But there, in the picture, appeared a force of nature. The line of his powerful jaw was set with determination. The image was static, but she could imagine him moving. No nonsense, purposeful. His dark hair seemed ruffled a bit by the wind, and his eyes were an amazing gray. Like a pond reflecting a clouded sky. Something swirled in them, a mystery.
Gabrielle missed Zoe’s unusual stillness, but Beatrice subtly shifted. Eyeing her as if asking her a question before dropping it.
“After his mob flop, Finch started threatening Lazarus again, even more directly, before stopping abruptly. That’s when he went into full alert, and we started analyzing who might be the next target. And our most probable guess is Archer Blackwood. Archer is the same age as Lazarus, also born in Britain but on the wrong side of the tracks, as you Americans say. He married young, into money, and had an opportunity to buy oil rigs in the North Sea fifteen years ago. That was the first step of his empire. He’s one of the most powerful tycoons in the world.”
Zoe shook her head. “I never heard of him before.”
Gabrielle agreed with her and analyzed the picture even more. “How can a man so rich and influential stay under the radar like that?”
“It stems from more than ten years ago. Blackwood was suspected of killing his wife for her money. The accusations were dropped, but that was when he ceased all media appearances or social functions.”
“And why would he be the next target?”
Beatrice continued. “Blackwood is in the process of selling most of his installations and refineries. He has set up meetings with many potential buyers in Chicago next week, many from the US, but most from the Middle East and Russia. Finch’s name popped up, almost completely hidden in the multiple layers of one of these companies and we know he has ties with many of them. It can’t be a coincidence. Finch is about to strike, we just don’t know who and what yet. That’s where you come in.”
Gabrielle turned toward Beatrice, but her eyes were on Zoe. “And where does Zoe come in exactly?”
“Blackwood is searching for an assistant and interpreter, and my dear Zoe has a talent for languages. She’ll fit right in, keep an eye out, and report to us. If Blackwood is ever physically in danger, we will intervene.”
Zoe lifted her hand as if asking a question. “Wait a minute. Why doesn’t Lazarus ask his brother to be careful, warn him of Finch’s threat?”
“Blackwood doesn’t know about Finch being his father or that he has siblings for that matter. Lazarus only wants to protect him, make sure he’s alright. However, Archer Blackwood is suspicious of any strangers in his surroundings, that’s why Zoe must appear to be a usual hire. The timing is perfect for her to infiltrate his life.”
Beatrice pushed the official job offer in front of Zoe. Gabrielle who peeked over her shoulder whistled at the long list of requirements. “Whoa. Have you seen the list of languages Blackwood requests? Some of them are obscure tribal dialects. How will you be able to fake all of those?”
Zoe almost flinched at the remark. She wasn’t keen at admitting her freakishness, the more people knew, the more dangerous it became. And Beatrice was deeply aware of it too.
“I know most of those on the list. And if need be I can manage with the others.”
Gabrielle’s blue eyes popped out. “You can’t be serious?”
It was Beatrice who came to the rescue. “She is, Gabrielle. Zoe has a peculiar talent for languages. It’s as if she can decipher most of them like a computer. One of the many reasons she’s working as a consultant for the Department of State, the Army, the Navy, the Marines, and many embassies.”
“Wow! And I thought having to learn more than three was a pain in the ass. You’re so lucky!”
Zoe sighed. “Yes and no… Let’s say that if I didn’t have that peculiar skill, I wouldn’t have met Beatrice.” And before more questions poured out of the blonde, her gaze flitted back to the man in the picture. Zoe was obsessed by puzzles, and something about the image made her wonder what kind of puzzle the man was.
“So? Where do I apply for the job?”
Beatrice slipped another sheet from the folder and pushed it in her direction, a smug smile on her face. “Everything is done, all you have to do is present yourself to that address on Monday morning for the final interview in Chicago with Archer Blackwood. Bring your suit and your kick-ass heels. And if what is said is true about the man’s temperament, put on your Hulk underwear. You’re gonna need it!”
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