All the air in Teague’s body left him at once. He’d known Laskin had a golden passport and a home on the island of Gozo, but he’d never considered this.

His gaze scanned the faces of the people in the room, nearly all of whom outranked him. By far. He was going to have to tell them about Nadia and hope he wasn’t kicked off his new team.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Kira braced herself for the coming questions, even as she reeled from learning who Grigory Laskin was. Fortunately—or unfortunately—she didn’t have to wait long.

“Dr. Hanson,” one of the officers she’d met on Tuesday said, “what’s your connection to Laskin?”

“None that I know of.”

“You said on Tuesday that your trip was personal in relation to your father. Was he an associate of Mr. Laskin?”

She hesitated for a heartbeat. She had to tell the truth. She knew it; Rand knew it. But for a moment, it felt like stepping into a trap. If Kulik’s goal was to keep her in Malta, this could play into his hands, introducing a legal limbo that could make her passport invalid.

They’d set the laptop on an upside-down garbage can, so even while sitting on the couch, the camera would be at face height. This meant their bodies below the chest were off camera. Rand’s hand found hers, offering support as he threaded their fingers together. 

She cleared her throat and stepped off the cliff, taking an ungraceful plunge into the abyss. “It depends on which father you’re asking about.”

It took less than ten minutes for FMV’s operations manager Freya Lange to be authorized to join the meeting so she could provide the intel she’d gathered on both of Dr. Hanson’s fathers. Now the screen was split as Teague took in the convoluted story that began with art theft and ended with what appeared to be a CIA-sanctioned stolen mother and child.

“I’ve reached out to my contacts in the CIA, who are trying to track down paperwork on Hanson’s handler in the early nineties, when Alesya Ivanova Kulika and Kira Lukovna Kulika went missing and were presumed dead. So far, all they’ve been able to do is confirm there is a file. The Navy will likely have better luck than I in getting them to release the information as it relates to the shooting and ongoing operational security.”

“I don’t suppose they’ll talk to me?” Hanson said.

“Unlikely, except in relation to your dealings with your father’s Russian handler who claimed to be your cousin. They will want to know everything about your interactions with him.”

There was a bitter twist to Hanson’s lips, and Teague supposed he felt sorry for her, but right now, he had bigger questions. “What does that have to do with Laskin?” The words sprang from him without thought. It was Laskin who mattered here. Only Laskin.

Commander Gleeson tapped a button, and a photo of Ben Kinder filled the blank spot on the screen next to the windows that showed Lange in one and Hanson and Fallon in the other. “This morning—before Lieutenant Fallon was introduced to Laskin—Ms. Lange submitted a brief to NSWC outlining her theory that it was the FSB agent who claimed to be Dr. Hanson’s cousin who tipped off someone in Malta—most likely Luka and/or Reuben Kulik—that Dr. Hanson would be on base on Tuesday. This intel appears to have resulted in Kinder stealing a vehicle and entering the base with an M4 and a plan to go after Dr. Hanson.”

Captain Huang picked up the thread. “From the start, we’ve wondered, if Dr. Hanson was the intended target in an organized attack, how did they have someone in place who already had base access when no one—not even Hanson—knew she’d be here until the day before? But with Lieutenant Fallon providing the connection to Grigory Laskin, we have a new framework.”

A new photo, this one showing Laskin and the Russian president, replaced Kinder’s image on the screen.

“We’ve long known Laskin is looking for his next SEAL target—with a preference for an attack on US soil—as revenge, but also to get back in the Russian president’s good graces after he dabbled with changing allegiance when his daughter was a hostage. With the attack last week being executed at the last minute by a man who must have already been in place, we believe we’ve identified Laskin’s next SEAL target. What could be better than the base that’s home to Naval Special Warfare Group 2 and its SEAL teams—2, 4, 10, and 18—along with Naval Special Warfare Group 4. Plus, if they target the Dam Neck Annex, DEVGRU.”

DEVGRU—Naval Special Warfare Development Group—was more commonly known as SEAL Team Six.

Chapter Forty

Memories whispered at the edge of Kira’s mind. The only strong part of the vague sensations and fleeting images of Luka and Reuben that carried through was how much she’d feared her father and loved her big brother.

Had Reuben protected her from their father? Or had he simply been her playmate? She remembered other children—three or four, close to her age and older—who played hide-and-seek and other games in the large villa with so many excellent hiding spots.

That same brother she’d adored could be behind the shooting at the base. On one level, she understood—he’d been left behind in the boat, terrified and full of grief, only to find out his mother and sister had survived.

Of course he would hate their mother. Part of her felt the same way. But it wasn’t Kira’s fault. She hadn’t even known. Was it simple concern she’d take a chunk from his future inheritance, or was it a festering hate that went far deeper?

She was the spitting image of the mother who’d abandoned him.

Reuben’s hate for Kira likely had no bottom.

A sudden rush of tears had her bolting from her seat on the couch. She couldn’t bawl like a baby while participating in a meeting with NSWC.

That was not Valkyrie behavior.

In the bathroom, she closed and locked the door, then leaned against the sink and stared into the mirror, wondering if she was going to cry, puke, or do both.

As always, her mother’s face stared back at her.

Bile surged, and she flipped the lid on the toilet just in time to lose the contents of her stomach. After the spasms passed, she heard Rand outside the door. “Kira? Can I help?”

Just his voice was a balm. She wasn’t alone in this. She’d blithely walked right into a trap, but Rand had chased her across an ocean and was there to whisk her out of her biological father’s house and get her back to a safe house she’d never even considered she might need.

What would have happened that first night if she’d accepted Reuben’s invitation to walk her to the hotel? What if Rand hadn’t been there yesterday when she’d actually met with him?

He hadn’t wanted her to meet their father. Hadn’t wanted her in Malta at all.

The text she’d received her first night in Malta: You shouldn’t have come. It must’ve been sent by Reuben.

“Kira?”

She rose to her feet. “I’m okay.” Fine would be an overstatement, but okay felt close enough. “You need to get back to the meeting. It’s important.”

“You’re important.”

“I am. But not in the same way. I’ll get myself together and rejoin as soon as I can, but you need to be there now.”

“Take all the time you need.” His footsteps retreated down the short hall.

She splashed cold water on her face and gave herself the pep talk she usually reserved for social anxiety. This was an entirely different kind of anxiety, but maybe it would respond to the same deep breaths and affirmations.

She remembered her break in the gallery, another pep talk she’d given herself, when she was feeling the loss of her beloved parents.

Were Conrad and Anna the actual monsters?

Another memory from that night at the gallery tickled the back of her mind. All at once, she remembered Laskin. She hadn’t met him, but she’d seen him.

Forget self-affirmations, those wouldn’t help, but this would. A purpose. A proactive role. As Rand had said, it was time to play offense while they had the ball.

She no longer wanted to cry or puke. No, she would rejoin the meeting and be the Valkyrie they needed. There was a new threat to Little Creek, and she could help.