Rand rose from his seat. “Thank you for the delicious lunch. The sooner I get to work, the sooner I’ll be free to enjoy the afternoon with Kira. When I’m done, I can take a look at your gym and talk to your son about his routine if he wants, as a thank you for the meal and letting me use your office.”
Grigory nodded toward a servant who stood in the corner, waiting to serve. “Show Mr. Fallon to the conference room.”
Rand bent down and pressed his mouth to Kira’s, giving her a long, lingering kiss that was entirely inappropriate, but perfect for laying claim. He’d understood the subtext about Aleksandr.
Good.
He then left the room, following the servant down the corridor in the opposite direction from where Nadia had led Kira earlier.
Alone with Grigory and Juliette, not even a servant to overhear, the oligarch studied her. “He really is an author?”
She rolled her eyes. “You were a fool to listen to Reuben. Of course he’s an author. I’ve spent my career vetting provenance, and I know how to spot a fraud. That includes clients and potential dates.”
“You aren’t bothered he followed you to Malta?”
“I’m not convinced it wasn’t a coincidence.”
“According to Reuben, he didn’t contact the gallery to ask about the reception until hours before his arrival.”
“Yes, his trip was last minute when plans to meet with a friend to hike in Portugal fell through—the friend fell off a ladder and broke his knee. He reached out to Gillibrand—the auction house we worked with last year—to ask about art in Malta and learned of the reception.” She rose from her seat. “Besides, I don’t see how it’s any of your business even if he did set up our surprise meeting. If I’m fine with it, what’s your problem?”
“Your father has billions.”
“My father is dead. I inherited his house and life savings. He had thousands.”
“Reuben thinks you’re here to claim your birthright.”
“So I’m Daenerys Targaryen now?” She rolled her eyes. “I have no birthright. The only thing I want—from Reuben, or even you—is to see the art my father brokered for you. To understand how and why he hid that part of his life from me.”
“I think that’s obvious at this point.”
“Perhaps the why, but not the how. As I mentioned, he was worth thousands. In the mid-six-figures range, but that’s not accounting for brokering foreign art deals. So maybe I am here for the money. But money that’s legally mine as his sole heir. Did my father have a bank account here in Malta?” She crossed her arms. “I can’t imagine he would hide his money in Russia.”
Grigory’s smile was almost feral. Good. This was something he could believe.
“So little Miss Innocent is here for the money after all.”
She could remind him that she didn’t know about the art brokering until Juliette mentioned it on Friday night, but that would undermine her purpose now.
She waved toward the arched doorway. “Take me to your art room where you’ve got my mother’s painting and, I’m sure, an extensive collection of Nazi-stolen art.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The room Rand was provided to work in was located in what appeared to be the office wing of the mansion. He was led down a hall with doors on either side, one of which was ajar, and he spotted a man in a suit at a computer.
They continued down the corridor, and Rand was presented with a glass-walled conference room with a table that seated ten. Ornate double doors at the end of the hall likely led to Grigory Laskin’s personal office.
Rand would be working in a fishbowl, but he was prepared for that. The servant who’d led him to the room gave him a card with the guest network name and password printed on it, then left him alone.
He chose a corner seat that was least exposed to the windowed wall and set up his laptop. He popped on his bone-conduction Bluetooth headphones with ear hooks. The headphones were military grade, but looked like basic sport earbuds. With these, he would be able to listen in on Kira and talk to Freya. The Zoom meeting would be conducted using the computer’s speaker because he wanted his fake agent’s words to be audible to the camera and microphone that monitored this room.
He grumbled about the laptop’s built-in mic being broken and did a sound check with the headphones, which would serve as his mic with FMV and his fake literary agent.
Kira didn’t have an earpiece that could be hidden behind or in her ear, especially given the climate, where she’d been wearing her hair up most of the time, so communication with her was one-way except for texting. They had a short list of code words. Rand hoped to hell they wouldn’t need them.
He grabbed a screenshot of the active Wi-Fi networks before logging in. Once he was online, he used the link Freya had set up that gave her remote access to his computer. He then clicked Print for the editorial letter from hell. He checked the list of available printers and found what he needed—a multifunction device with fax machine and scanner. It was the scanner that was important because that meant two-way communication between printer and computer. If the device was plugged in to a modem, they were in business.
He sent the print job, then watched the printer queue, waiting for the status to change from sending to printing. He stepped into the hall and wandered down the corridor, listening for the sound of pages being sent through a laser printer. He hit paydirt for the room across the hall from the one office that was occupied.
He turned the knob and entered the room and had to suppress a smile at what he found. This was the network hub for Laskin’s home office. Modem, routers, a selection of different printers including the all-in-one he’d selected. A large desktop computer had multiple hard drives and cables running to and from it.
“What are you doing?” The male voice had a thick Russian accent.
He turned to see a man standing in the open doorway of his office across the hall. Rand stepped deeper into the tech room, out of sight of the curious employee before answering. “Picking up the document I’m printing.”
The printer was still spitting out pages. Rand spotted a blue cat 5 cable that connected the printer to the cable modem with a row of flashing green lights. This was going to work.
“Who are you?” The man followed him into the room.
“A guest of Grigory’s. Who are you?” Rand plugged a USB drive into the front port of the multifunction device and pressed buttons on the screen to call up a file to print.
“I work here. You can’t be in here.”
“I can. I even am. Grigory is letting me use the conference room to work while he and Juliette entertain my girlfriend.” He hit the Print button on the only file on the drive, which was a large graphic. It contained a trojan that would give Freya’s tech team—the Navy approved the hacking, but wasn’t doing the dirty work—access to Grigory’s entire network and every computer on it as soon as they broke through each device’s password protection.
Freya had brought in some tech wizard who did consulting for Raptor and the military for that task.
