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eight | warsaw

eight | warsaw

while being a fact hotly-contested by Russians, it is believed that the first vodka originated in Poland, with earliest records dating to 1405

RAYNA

May 6th, 20:42 (GMT +2)
9 days until it happens

THIS IS WHY I don't bother making elaborate, foolproof plans – no matter how careful you are, they always go to shit.

I'm trying to recalculate on the fly, like a fricking Garmin after a wrong turn. The two international bajillionaires sitting with Jake will probably take their leave in an hour or so; and then, instead of having my way with Sidorov like I envisioned, I'll have to fucking deal with James Bond over there. And he is not gonna be in a merciful mood after I trashed his hotel room and swiped all his valuable shit.

The men make small talk and laugh obnoxiously and sip burning mouthfuls of coffee and vodka. Sidorov instructed me to remain close, so I can't even go raid his study while I wait for his guests to leave.

So, I eavesdrop. Our German friend trafficks millions of weapons across the EU every year. The Frenchie is into cocaine. And my dear buddy Mr. O'Boyle is apparently in the bomb-making business. An explosive industry, I'm told.

I float around the room topping up beverages and clearing plates. Jake is only pretending to eat and drink, I notice. He takes convincing but entirely fake sips; he artfully stashes pieces of crumbled biscuit into his napkin instead of putting them in his mouth.

The motherfucker thinks I poisoned his food.

Damn, I totally should've.

There's not a single mention of Cassidy for over thirty minutes. That is, until Jake casually comments, "Pavel, my friend. The blokes back in Dublin are giving out about this Dalton shite. Nasty business. Is it going to be a problem for us?" Nicely played, Morgan.

"Ouais," Monsieur Cocaine agrees, "C'est un problème. It is... comment-dit-on...? Messy. Distasteful."

Huh, criminals with principles. My job never ceases to surprise me.

Sidorov lifts a dismissing palm. "Niet. It is not a problem. The ransom will be paid. We have bigger concerns."

Cryptic and not at all reassuring. Ugh.

The German guy chimes in next, "Nicht. Be honest with us, Pavel. Is the girl alive? If she is not returned in one piece, Elias Dalton will wage war on your organization. It is concerning. Bad for business."

A triumphant feeling rises. Here we go, this is what we need... I hang onto Sidorov's words carefully. He stretches his arms out wide in an amicable gesture. "My friends. I did not invite you to my home to discuss such a topic. The girl will turn up soon, you need not worry. In the meantime, you will be happy to know that we are working to secure the future of our organization. The details will become clear shortly. Elias Dalton will not be a problem." Then he blatantly changes the subject, "Now... regarding distribution..."

My mind is racing a million miles a minute trying to process it all. A dozen new theories pop up. What if and what about and but maybe.

There are too many different things jumbled in my head right now. Sounds like Cassidy's alive but it also seems like she isn't a priority, which is bizarre. Why is Sidorov being so evasive? Why is he so certain that Dalton won't give him hell? Crap, that coffee sounds really great right about now... When are these asshats gonna wrap it up so I can get on with things? What am I gonna do about Jake? And why the fuck does he have to look so goddamn good in that suit? Speaking of coffee and Jake's suit, maybe I should spill some on him for the fun of it. Bad idea, Rayna, don't draw unnecessary attention to yourself. And so on, so forth.