Judd put an arm around her shoulders, trying to offer support as she broke down. For a man who treated women like objects, this was way, way out of his comfort zone.
“What should I do?” he mouthed at the screen.
Alaric was just about to suggest tissues when the doorbell rang. Judd fiddled with his phone, checking the cameras.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Who is it?”
“My mother.”
Fuck indeed. “Isn’t it almost midnight there?”
“Eleven o’clock. She’s probably on her way home from work.”
“Hide Hevrin. She does not need an interrogation from your mom.”
Even the most casual conversation with Stella Millais-Scott felt like the Spanish Inquisition.
“Gemma?” he called. “Gem? I need a hand here.”
The screen jostled, leaving them with a view of Judd’s living room as he went to deal with yet another problem.
Emmy just chuckled. “Wow. Life with Sirius has more drama than a senatorial debate.”
CHAPTER 23 - ALARIC
“WHAT HAPPENED LAST night? Or can’t you tell me?” Beth asked as they left Lone Oak Farm late on Sunday morning. Even with three cups of coffee inside him, Alaric could barely keep his eyes open. He’d only managed to snatch two hours of sleep.
Plus he felt guilty for leaving Beth in the dark last night, but things had gotten kind of intense, especially after Judd’s mother turned up. Of course, with Stella Millais-Scott being Stella Millais-Scott, she hadn’t just taken Judd’s claim of a fake marriage for a job at face value, and she’d done some digging. Dodgy passport photo in hand, she’d ventured into the bowels of MI6 and consulted Gwyneth.
Judd had told Alaric about Gwyneth years ago. While the CIA relied on a network of supercomputers and millions of dollars’ worth of software to identify unknown subjects, MI6 also had Gwyneth, a fifty-something chain-smoker with an eidetic memory and OCD. Woe betide anyone who interfered with her filing system. Anyhow, Stella had consulted with Gwyneth, who thought that Hevrin-slash-Nada bore an uncanny resemblance to a top SDF intelligence officer known only as al Ghazal. The Gazelle.
The Gazelle had gone missing over a year ago, presumed dead after Turkish forces blew up a Kurdish base, a move that led to a diplomatic disaster and more coalition ground troops being deployed. Confronted by Stella, a tearful Nada, as they’d now agreed to call her, had broken down and admitted fleeing after her husband was killed in the bombing, convinced that with the Turkish army on the move, she and her unborn baby would be next.
Then the arguments had started.
Stella began asking questions; Nada didn’t want to answer them. Judd told his mother to back off, and when she didn’t, he threatened to throw her out of the house, physically if necessary. The baby started crying. Stella pointed out that “Hevrin” had lied on her asylum application form, and the authorities wouldn’t look on that too favourably, but perhaps if she cooperated, someone could put in a good word. Gemma called her a mean-ass bitch, and Judd pointed out that as far as the world was concerned, Hevrin was in fact Nada Millais-Scott, and he’d introduce her to the family as his wife if Stella didn’t leave her alone.
Because Judd had forgotten to turn off his webcam, Alaric, Emmy, Black, and Dan had front-row seats for the whole argument, which as arguments went, had been pretty spectacular. If someone had thought to hit record, they could have shopped it as the pilot for a new reality show. MI6: Behind the Scenes.
Halfway through, Emmy had grabbed a couple of cold pizzas and a bowl of popcorn, and when the squabble showed no signs of abating, she’d hopped onto the internet. Only when the Deliveroo guy turned up at Judd’s door with a “Congratulations on Your Marriage” cake for him and Nada plus a bunch of sour grapes for Stella did they remember they had an audience.
“Can we focus on the important things?” Black asked, and Stella’s face would have put a gargoyle to shame.
With Black leading discussions and James Harrison joining the call on a secure line, everyone had agreed they had a common goal: to bring peace and stability to Northern Syria. The region had problems, and not all of its own making.
World leaders had hindered the provision of aid and troops to the area for their own political ends, an issue compounded by the previous US president meddling with the military justice system. As a result, both morale and discipline had suffered. In recent years, the situation had settled somewhat, but President Harrison acknowledged there was still work to be done. Cowboy outfits like EBR Group weren’t helping matters—in volatile situations, they acted as a match to the powder keg, and those gathered for the discussion concurred that hauling Ridley before a military judge for his past transgressions would send a message that such misdeeds would no longer be tolerated.
In the early hours, they’d hashed out a plan, one which nobody liked but everybody agreed was necessary. Nada and Judd would be taking a trip to Syria. Nada hadn’t wanted to go. She hated the thought of leaving her daughter, she didn’t trust Americans, and there were people in Syria who’d kill her on sight. But Alaric saw in her eyes that she wanted justice for those who had died. Judd wasn’t keen to go either because he hated working for his mother.
But going they were.
Their objectives? To find a cache of documents and data Nada’s husband had once hidden as a bargaining chip, plus locate the teenage girl who’d witnessed Ridley’s atrocities and convince her to testify against him. That was why Nada needed to go, why she couldn’t just give Judd directions to the cache and stay at home—she knew the witness, and if anyone could gain the girl’s trust, it would be her.
Stella was facilitating their exfiltration and providing a nanny, Harrison had
