Griffin
I don’t know if the others can tell.
But something’s not right.
I had felt it from the moment I woke up. Even though nothing has changed—I execute my morning rituals like I’ve done for years now—there’s something in the air. It’s electric and tense; it sits heavily on my chest, and I know exactly what it is.
It’s Kalista.
It’s her smile; it’s her laugh. It’s the way she was so eager to learn. It’s the fact that I had finally found a woman who could match me in every fucking way.
It’s the memory of her body under me, of her lips.
And I had sent her away.
No, worse.
I made her want to leave.
Good fucking job, Griffin. Ever the gentleman.
I look in the mirror, and I see the memory of her face. How hurt Kalista had been, when I all but told her she was another payday for me. The fire and ice in those eyes still burn deep in my chest.
I’ve got to talk to her. If she can ever bare to see me again, I need to talk to her. To tell her that I fucked up, and that doesn’t happen often—but I did definitely fuck up. I want her by my side here in Marrakesh, and I want her by my side for every other heist to come.
But it’s too late now.
I’ve got to focus on the job ahead. I might want Kalista by my side today, but Jackal, Leviathan, and the Manticore all need me to be there. They need my head in the game, and I’ve never been known to disappoint.
I pat myself down before I leave the apartment, making sure that I’ve got everything. Our rendezvous point is a little family-run café near the museum, where we’ll go over the plan one last time and probably get a coffee whilst we scope out the scene.
The plan’s flawless, but it never hurts to be sure.
I take a taxi to the café; the Manticore is bringing our get-away car—not that we should have to drive fast to get away from the police. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll just walk out the back door without anyone in the museum noticing until they check their inventory for the night. By that point, we’ll all be long gone.
But it never hurts to keep a fast car and a driver with nerves of steel on hand, just in case everything doesn’t go according to plan.
When I get there, the Manticore is already sitting, sipping at an Americano, and Jackal is at the counter, paying for his tea—Earl Grey, one sugar and the barest splash of milk. If he can, he’ll take a biscuit, but I doubt we’ll find a plain old Rich Tea in a place like Marrakesh.
I order mint tea. It’s practically the national drink, and it doesn’t hurt anyone to get into the right mindset of a country or city when you’re going to steal from them.
We sit around the table, sipping in silence for a moment. I’m watching the busy streets, waiting for the Leviathan’s familiar crop of ginger hair to part through the headscarves and hats. But he has yet to appear.
“Has anyone heard from Levi yet?”
“Not a peep,” Jackal says.
Manticore’s jaw clenches, and he blows on his coffee. This isn’t normal; it’s unsettling. Manticore’s already on edge.
“Where is he?” Manticore hisses, and Jackal and I both shrug.
“Maybe he just slept in?” Jackal suggests.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Leviathan wouldn’t. Not on a heist day,” Manticore snaps, and he places down his cup with an audible clatter.
“Maybe the traffic is just shit. It’s not the end of the world, Manticore,” I say, but the former spy shakes his head.
I understand it, though. In his line of work, I wouldn’t be surprised if something like this was the first sign of the cover being blown and the whole job going to shit around you.
But maybe he’s right. First, Kalista, now, Leviathan?
Our team members seem to be dropping like flies. I know the first one was my fault, but I can’t remember saying anything to Leviathan that might make him want to fuck off back to his parents.
“Oh, look,” Jackal says, pointing to and nodding his head at other side of the road, “there he is.”
And there he is indeed. Leviathan is all but running through the crowds—even though none of us have seen him run for anything in years. His face is as red as his hair, and his laptop satchel is swinging wildly at his side.
“At least, we won’t be too waylaid. It never takes him long to drink an espresso,” Jackal quips to diffuse the tension.
But Manticore has already stood up from his seat, his eyes surveying every angle, scanning over shop fronts to find the threat and, failing that, an exit strategy.
“Guys!” Leviathan pants as he comes into range. I kick out a chair for him, and immediately he collapses into it. “Guys, guys! It’s Kali, it’s Phoenix.”
My heart leaps into my throat, and I grip at the flimsy linen tablecloth until my knuckles turn white.
“What’s happened, Leviathan?” Jackal asks; he can sense my rising anger, and yet he remains calm.
Good, one of us needs to.
“So, I was keeping an ear on chatrooms and a tap on the phone we gave her and the one on her father. You know, so it’ll ping whenever someone mentions her name or something to do with her—”
“Get to the point, Levi,” I interject, leaning toward him slightly.
“Right! Yeah, so...” he begins, then pauses and looks at me. “She’s been kidnapped. For real. On the way to the airport last night.”
The taste of blood seeps into my mouth as I clench my jaw, biting my lower lip in the process. I jump to my feet, and Leviathan and Jackal stand with me.
“That’s not all, Griff. I’ve been keeping an eye on her father, too—Mr. Von Knopf,” Leviathan explains, looking over his shoulders to check that no one else is listening.
They’re not, and we know that this café has no security cameras. No one will know we were here.
“He’s taken out the ransom money.”
“Yeah, of course, he has,” I say. “She’s his daughter.”
“No, but Gryphon,” Leviathan continues, “he took it out of his account before the ransom demands were made. As though he knew what they were going to ask for. Down to the last penny.”
Everything begins to make sense now: the repeat attempts at kidnapping; how the kidnappers knew we were in Barcelona—right after we saw Kali’s father at the auction; why a public campaign to get his daughter back hasn’t been launched; how the kidnappers could get past Kalista’s extensive team of bodyguards in the first place.
It’s an inside job.
It’s him.
It’s her father.
“And I did some further digging,” Leviathan says, touching my arm to get me to sit back down.
I do, and I’m grateful for the aluminum chair that stopped me from falling on my arse.
“What’s worse is that Mr. von Knopf is in deep with the debt collectors, and the ransom money is equal to everything he owes—with interest.”
“Do you know who’s holding her, Levi?” Jackal asks as my mind ticks over the possibilities of what comes next.
Do we continue the heist? If we don’t do it now, we’ll never get another opportunity like this.
“Of course, I do.” Leviathan sighs and, somehow in the Moroccan sun, grows paler. “She was taken by Tartarus. The Tartarus.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” the Manticore chimes in suddenly. He snaps his head from the streets around us, then back to Leviathan. “Well, of course, Daddy Von Knopf would only want the best in kidnapping for his little princess. Anything to make it believable.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Tartarus is known for being the best and meanest in mercenary work. Lost count how many times they’ve tried to recruit me—but they’re also known for their cruelty. It’s no coincidence they take their name from a prison for titans,” Manticore explains. He downs the rest of his coffee and looks to the Leviathan.
“She’s not been with them too long, but it looks like her father is going to leave her there for a little while. To make it look believable to the press or whatever.”
“He’s going to put her through that?” Manticore asks.
The disbelief in his voice is unsettling. He knows more than he’s telling us, but I know he’s trying to protect me. Trying to stop me from flying off the handle and doing anything rash.
I can’t believe it.
I almost want to be sick. Kalista deserves the goddamn world and yet the man she thought she could trust the most has turned around and done this to her? My hands tremble with rage as I sip my tea and consider what to do next.
This heist is one-of-a-kind.
But so is Kalista.