Page 33 of Tamed Enemy
12
CAMPFIRE
[TheRealAriadne enters the house]
MamaBear: Welcome, welcome!
TheRealAriadne: I like what you’ve done with the place
MamaBear: So glad you could stop by. As we discussed in email, a couple of my best students are joining us today.
GirlWithGlasses: ::waves madly::
CodeBitch: I’m just happy to be a part of this
TheRealAriadne: I know everyone is busy, so I won’t waste your time. I’ve opened the Labyrinth, a place for us to play in Winter Reckoning. You need a direct link to get there, but once you’re there, you can play like anywhere else in the game. The weapons used throughout the game will give you options in the Lab. Get enough kill points, and you can expand an existing corridor in the Lab, add a new one, or invite someone new to the game.
TheRealAriadne: What am I forgetting MamaBear?
MamaBear: For now, you can only invite people you know IRL. And only women.
GirlWithGlasses: I’m not sure I’m comfortable with no boyz allowed.
CodeBitch: I’ve got no problem with it. We deserve our own fucking clubhouse.
TheRealAriadne: I respect your concern, Girl. But some of our members are SA survivors. We want to give them a safe space. We’ll consider changes down the road, opening our door to allies.
GirlWithGlasses: Okay. I can see the logic of that.
CodeBitch: Like I said, no problem here.
TheRealAriadne: Okay, then. Here’s the link. Welcome to the Lab!
13
COLE
Iboard Trap Prince’s jet at seven in the morning, anxious to fly across country, to meet Jacobson at the Dover airfield and get back to DC. Billionaire’s Summer Camp has paid off. I’m coming away with a dozen invaluable private numbers added to my contacts list. I signed up four new clients for Lone Wolf. And Gage Rider facilitated three separate video chats with Jean-Luc Fournier, the owner of the Albany Empire.
As Rider promised, Fournier is a highly motivated seller. He’s been shopping the team around for a while, but everyone is afraid of the short-term losses the Empire will generate.
I’ve sent basic information to my lawyer and my accountant, pressing them for rush reviews. Fournier and I have agreed that our next step is to meet in person; there’s only so much trust we can build online. We’re looking at dates in the next two weeks.
The other members of the Diamond Ring seem to have been similarly successful at making deals in Sun Valley. Instead ofthe usual boisterous chat, everyone is settled in a leather chair, staring at a computer or phone, quietly intent on getting back to whatever made each of us a billionaire.
I wait until we’re somewhere over Iowa before I make my way over to Sawyer Best. The former soldier sits straight in his chair, eyes laser-focused on the computer in front of him. He makes a point of blacking out the screen as I sit beside him, but I don’t take offense. In his line of business, lives weigh in the balance.
Which is exactly why we need to talk.
“Got a minute?” I ask.
“Of course.” When he takes a sip of coffee, the white mug frames the stump of the missing joint on his left pinky.
“Jacobson’s been providing twice-daily reports on security back home,” I say.
Best waits.
“Our Russian friend hasn’t been seen anywhere near the premises.” There’s no reason to believe anyone on this plane is doing business with Nikolai Tarasov. But there’s also no reason to say the pakhan’s name out loud.
