Warning: This novel deals with the subject of organized sexual violence. If this topic is difficult for you, I recommend avoiding it entirely. The subject is handled respectfully and with tact, but it is one that speaks for many women.

  Chapter Five - Taking Back Control

  May 29th, 2014 - Min, Italy.

  Min’s Piazza del Duomo was baking in the blistering midday sun. Almost every square foot of the grand square was clogged with tourists jostling for photographs of the ancient city’s sights. With Béatrice at the house with Francesca, Ryan found it far easier to move about without a small child holding him back. Even if just for a short while, that allowed him to start the search for answers. With the situation they now found themselves in, information could save their lives.

  Ryan had changed his clothes and was now dressed like any number of tourists wandering the city streets. With his cargo shorts, T-shirt, and a floppy sun hat, he was about as non-descript as it was physically possible to be. In his hands, he held a map of the city sights, a piece of tourist tat that acted as setdressing. It was something designed to help him blend in with the American and European travelers who were blindly wandering around, their noses in phones and guidebooks.

  Ryan dialed a number into a cheap prepaid cellphone from memory and put the phone to his ear as he strolled across the square. If his call was traced, then CCTV footage of a packed sea of tourists would make identifying him so much harder.

  “Suthernd.” A voice answered.

  “Hi Pete, how are the kids?”

  The voice on the other end didn’t miss a beat, “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  “Want to tell me what the word on the grapevine is?” Ryan pushed, hoping that the man would give him the opportunity to expin. “I can tell you if any of it’s true.”

  “Let me get somewhere a little quieter, and we can talk about your homework, Sarah,” the man answered cryptically. From the background noise, it sounded as though he was on an aircraft. There was rustling on the line before Ryan heard the sound of a door closing.

  “Right, I’m here,” Pete Suthernd answered. “You stirred up a real hornet’s nest with whatever the fuck happened down in Nice. The stink from the French authorities is so bad, even us gundogs are getting spshback. The State Department is leaning on Langley, and they want your ass real bad. They have my team is on its way to Min to join Rome Station and elements of your lot from Paris.”

  The Company was already in Min. It was very likely that they had been waiting for them at the station as Ryan predicted. While it was something that he had expected, knowing it for certain validated his decision in the moment. Just how close they were now was yet to be determined.

  “So what’s their story?”

  The man chuckled, “That you assaulted a senior officer, ordered a drone strike on a friendly nation, and went off the rails while taking Ahmad’s surviving child and vanishing into the night. Their working theory is you’re on someone else’s payroll. How much of this is true?”

  “I have the child, that much is true,” Ryan admitted. “If I hadn’t taken her, then she would have been dead before we made it back to Paris.”

  Suthernd tutted, “If that’s true, then they’re all singing a tight song. What did you do to piss them off?”

  “I called them on it,” Ryan admitted. “I have an audio recording of Edwards authorizing the strike.”

  The man chuckled, “Kid, you sure know how to put your foot in it. You know that they’ve convinced everyone that you’re public enemy number one.”

  “They’re keeping everything in-house, right? They’re not involving local authorities?”

  “Right,” Suthernd agreed. “That’s what my boys are coming in for. Rather us come after you than the Carabinieri cornering a CIA Officer on the ground in yet another friendly country. Your images got put out to local authorities, but on observation only.”

  “They tell you anything so far?”

  “That you were expected to arrive, but you never got off the train. Not sure why they expected you to just step into their arms.”

  “Edwards,” Ryan growled.

  “You safe, kid?”

  “Yeah, Pete, I am. I’m out of sight and leaving Min as soon as I sort out some business. I’m not telling you where.”

  “I wouldn’t tell me either,” the man chuckled. “Look, for what it’s worth, I do believe you. You call if you need help. Remember, I still owe you one, kid.”

  “Stay safe, Pete,” Ryan murmured affectionately, ending the connection and tossing the cell in a nearby trash can.

  As Ryan walked down the steps to the Metro station below the square, he considered the old soldier’s words. He was being used as a patsy, and Langley had clearly not authorized the hit. As bad as it looked, they were the best circumstances he could have found himself in. What he did not know yet was why.

  The Company had pyed host to enough trigger-happy officers over its lifetime, but very few were insane enough to fire a missile at an allied nation. Edwards’ cims had been strange; he had offered an excuse that he did not want to risk lives by sending in a ground team to snatch the terrorist. The problem was that it was their entire mission goal. It was almost as if he didn’t want to risk the man being taken alive at all.

  As he stepped onto the metro train, Ryan had a sudden and terrifying realization. They had never known the children’s names, and yet despite that, Edwards had referenced them specifically. They had known that Ahmad had two children with his mistress, Marianne, but beyond that, they had no details. The first time that Ryand had heard the names Martin and Béatrice had been from Greg Edwards’ own mouth. Ryan always read the briefing material, and there had been no reference at all; that meant that he had information that they as a team had not

  Boarding the subway, Ryan took a seat as the train accelerated away from the station and into the darkness. Closing his eyes, he pictured the operations room and the events that had taken pce. There had been five of them in the room at the time of Laurent’s death: himself, Edwards, Steve Carter, the drone tech, Anders the medic, and Nate Christansan, one of Edwards' main guys.

  While there had been more people involved in the operation, those who were direct witnesses to what had gone down were limited; had that been intentional? Other than himself and Edwards, three people had been in the room to witness the drone strike and the shooting. According to Suthernd, they had corroborated Edward’s false version of events. If that was the case, Christiansan, Anders, and Carter were involved in whatever was going on, or Edwards had enough on them to force them to toe the line.

  Clearly, if they were trying to burn him, then they had something well worth hiding. If the kill wasn’t sanctioned by Langley, then it was to serve a different and more personal purpose. If Edwards didn’t want him taken alive, then Abbas Ahmad knew something that could not be repeated, something dangerous to Edwards himself.

  Ryan slipped his memory card into a new cellphone and pulled up the file before slipping in his headphones.

  “Confirmed on target, Ahmad.”“Ok, we have an asset in the airspace?”“Sure do.”“Send it, authorization gamma twelve ultima.”“Are you kidding me, Mike? With his kid and all those civilians there?”“We send in assets, and we risk him martyring himself and even more civilians. This way, it’s contained.”“But we promised her… He’s an innocent kid, Mike.”“Shit happens, I’d rather some terrorist’s kid bite it than any of my guys, send it Steve.”“Roger, rifle one.”Ryan pocketed the device and sat back to ponder what he had heard. Why was an armed asset even present in friendly airspace, and how the hell did the French not know about it? On top of that, Edwards had specifically vetoed the idea of a ground team because of the risk of martyrdom. That was never Ahmad’s style; the man was a stone coward according to his Agency profile. When you added the fact that he was pying with his infant son, there was almost zero chance he would take such action. The way it seemed, Edwards had intended to kill him from the moment the operation began.

  The real question was what was motivating Edwards to silence Ahmad. It was beyond doubt that he needed to prevent him from talking, but the reason was as yet unclear. What was abundantly clear, however, was that taking Béatrice had been the right choice.

  *        *        *

  It was a little after one in the afternoon when Ryan made it back to Francesca Ricci’s pce. He hated calling it a brothel, even if that was what it was. Somehow, even though it was consensual, it still managed to remind him of the events in Riyahd. Unlike his experiences, the women and men who worked for Signora Ricci all did so voluntarily, and they were paid extremely handsomely for their talents.

  None of Francesca Ricci’s employees would be caught dead on a street corner or getting down in the back seat of an Impa in a poorly lit alley. No, this was a different world when it came to paying for sex. No matter how well you dressed it up; companionship, spiritualism, it was still sex for money. A lot more money.

  Entering the property through a rear door to open avoid running into any of the clientele, Ryan found his way through to the house’s private kitchen. Unlike the rest of the carefully curated decor of the establishment, the space had a warm and familial air that was worlds apart from the building’s central purpose. Knowing how Francesca operated, he expected that this was entirely purposeful.

  In the kitchen, Ryan found Francesca’s two assistants sitting with Béatrice at the rge central table. The girl had a gss of milk and a pte of cookies beside her, and she was gleefully describing a drawing to the two women. Rather than interrupt the moment, Ryan remained outside the doorway, watching the scene before him. She was happy, despite the horror of the st twenty-four hours. He felt truly awful that he was going to have to shatter that life into pieces.

  “She has been as good as gold,” Francesca offered, appearing beside him in her uncanny, silent manner. Ryan wasn’t sure how she often moved so quietly despite the viciously spiked pumps she wore.

  “I have to tell her the truth,” he admitted, still watching the child drawing happily. “The sooner I do, the sooner she can begin to process what happened and move forward.”

  “And just what does that future entail?”

  Ryan gnced over at the woman beside him and shook his head, “You know that I don’t have the answer to that.”

  “You cannot destroy her world a second time,” Francesca warned.

  “Yeah,” Ryan sighed, watching the child. “I know.”

  At that moment, Béatrice gnced over and caught sight of him watching her.

  “Reine?” she called, waving happily.

  “Ryan,” he corrected, walking over to the table. “How are you, sweetheart?”

  “I’m drawing a picture of us on the train,” she proudly told him and turned the paper around. The image showed stick figures of what he assumed were meant to be himself and Béatrice holding hands above what could only be described as an impressionist's recreation of a train. It was adorable, even if it wasn’t the most visually accurate depiction. Seeing it made what he had to say to the girl even harder.

  “Hey, can I have the room, dies?” he asked, addressing the two women.

  “Of course,” the one he assumed to be Isabel replied politely. “We shall be outside if you need us.”

  Ryan smiled his thanks and took their pce beside Béatrice, his heart thumping in his chest. He hated what he was going to have to do, but he hoped she was young enough to not fully appreciate the weight of it yet. Lord knows, he hadn’t been afforded the same luxury.

  “Hey, how is the drawing?”

  “I drew us on the train,” Béatrice smiled proudly, showing Ryan the image. “When are we meeting, Mama?”

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about,” Ryan began hesitantly. “Something bad happened when we were in Nice. It means, well… It means that you won’t be going home again.”

  Béatrice looked confused. “But what about Mama and Papa?”

  Ryan sighed and rubbed his temples. “Your mama and papa are, ah… in heaven, chérie.”

  “Heaven?”

  “It… It means that they’re sleeping for a very long time and they won’t wake up again.”

  The girl frowned and looked down. After a moment of staring at the coloring pencil in her hands, she looked back up at Ryan and inclined her head. “Will I go to heaven with them?”

  “Not for a really long time,” Ryan offered, trying to control his sudden desire to cry. “Not for many, many years until you’re very old.”

  “Oh,” Béatrice answered ftly, her face a mixture of uncertainty and confusion. “So I won’t see them?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Ryan replied weakly.

  “Where will I live? Will I have to live on my own?”

  “No, gosh, you’re…” Ryan froze, looking down at a pair of bottomless, hopeful eyes that bored directly into his soul. They were the same eyes that had stared at him with fear in the back of the van in Nice. The same eyes that had gazed up at him on the train to Italy, and they were the same eyes that now hoped for an answer. “You’re going to be living with me.”

  “Forever?”`

  “I ah…” Ryan frowned, his heart thumping inside his chest. Francesca’s words were bouncing around inside his mind like atoms inside a reactor. “I… We’ll be going somewhere new to live together, a really big adventure.”

  The girl seemed to ponder the idea for a minute, “What about Martin?”

  “I’m sorry, honey, but Martin is with your mama and papa in heaven.”

  “Oh,” the girl replied sadly, “am I going to be lonely?”

  One sentence fractured Ryan’s heart into pieces. There were many things he had been trained to resist, that he had learned to deflect and avoid. He had learned to limit his emotional processing, but one sentence from a four-year-old girl shattered all of that. Leaning forward, he enveloped the child in his arms and hugged her to his chest. “No, Béa, you won’t be lonely. I’ll be there for you, I promise.”

  *        *        *

  Francesca Ricci’s personal residence was located on the far side of the park from the Bordello itself. The apartment was spread across two floors of a four-storey building that was situated above another of the district’s many fashion emporia. Ryan wasn’t sure of the property values in the area, but it seemed somewhere equivalent to living on Rodeo Drive.

  It was the first time that Ryan had visited Francesca’s personal residence. In his previous interactions, she had come to them, and not the other way around. As closely as they had worked during his first operation, he had never once been granted access to her personal life. He suspected the child sleeping peacefully upstairs was part of the reason why this had now changed.

  “What did your friend tell you?” Francesca asked.

  Ryan shrugged and stared at his wine gss. They had retired to her sitting room after dinner. It was the first time he had been able to let his guard down in almost forty eight hours.

  “As far as I can tell, it doesn’t reach the Station Chief, but Edwards is dirty for sure.”

  “How so?”

  “The strike he called in is now being put on my head. That means that everything that happened in that room was off the books,” he sighed, gazing out into the darkness beyond the window.

  “Can you contact his superiors?”

  Ryan nodded, “Suthernd thinks that the Chief will listen, I’m going to put out feelers in the morning; try and arrange to meet with him. Tom’s a good guy, I think he will listen to the truth.”

  “If they accept your version of events, what then?”

  “I don’t know,” Ryan admitted. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  Francesca gnced up at the ceiling and raised an eyebrow, “And the girl?”

  Ryan didn’t have an answer for that. He wasn’t sure what would become of her. There was every chance that she might be returned to a retive in Nice or a home would be found for her elsewhere once things had calmed down. It would be difficult, but she would adapt; kids always did.

  Behind the practical considerations, there lurked a tiny voice that asked a question that Ryan had no desire yet to answer. What would happen if Béatrice could stay with him? He had risked everything to protect the girl, and somehow, it had created an unusually tight bond between the two of them. It had been scarcely a day, but Ryan felt closer to the girl than he had to anyone before in his life.

  “What are you thinking about?” Francesca asked.

  Ryan shook his head, “Her, myself, and everything that I’ve done. I have no idea what drove me to grab the kid; I just felt this overwhelming urge to make sure she was safe. It seems silly, but all of a sudden, I had one focus.”

  Francesca smiled slightly and nodded, “Perhaps an unusual reaction from someone in your line of work. I think, however, that I know you well enough to say that it was entirely in character for you, Mia Cara.”

  Ryan frowned at his companion’s choice of words, “Not now, Francesca.”

  Francesca’s lip quirked. “You never did tell me what happened with your mission. What was it, Operation Orsino? So apt a name for such an enterprise.”

  “I’m still alive, sadly,” Ryan frowned, draining his wine gss. “Does that answer your question for you?”

  “Perhaps,” Francesca replied reluctantly. It was clear that she wanted to know more, but seemed willing to wait until he was ready. How long that would st, Ryan had no idea. He was never really able to keep secrets from her before.

  “You and the Bambina, you can stay with me until you have your answers, capisci?”

  Ryan felt a mixture of relief and guilt, “I really am sorry that I just turned up on your doorstep after all this time, Francesca. You deserved answers, not me turning up after years with trouble on my heels. Thank you, Francesca, I really mean that.”

  Francesca stood and regarded him for a moment, a gentle smile on her lips, “It may have been years since I see you st, but that does not mean that I did not think of you. You were quite hard to forget, Mia Caro.”

  *        *        *

  September 20th, 2007 - Min, Italy

  Ryan Knight stepped out of the car and regarded the domicile before him with trepidation. The house was rather typical of rural northern Italy; sandy stone walls with tall shutters and creeping vines that were doing their very best to recim the structure. It was a rather innocuous appearing pce to prepare for an undercover operation.

  Behind him, the car pulled away without a word from the driver, leaving Ryan standing on the driveway by himself. He had no luggage; he had been told that everything he needed would be provided on site. Given the nature of his assignment, that fact alone filled him with trepidation.

  This was his first assignment from the Agency; an undercover assignment on special attachment. Big shoes for a newly minted Field Intelligence Officer, it was the sort of job that could make his career, and equally, break it. This was his chance to prove himself. Now that he was standing here, however, he was not entirely sure that this was the right way to do it.

  “Are you going to come in or will you wait out here all day?”

  Ryan snapped out of his daydream and looked over towards the house. There was a dark-haired woman standing in the doorway with an amused look on her face, “Signora Ricci?”

  The woman smiled, “Signore Knight? You may call me Francesca.”

  “Ryan,” he offered, stepping forward and offering a handshake. The woman was beautiful, but he had difficulty pcing her age. From what he could tell, she was somewhere between thirty-five and fifty, but it was hard to say with any real certainty. She was tall and had smooth olive skin. She was wearing a pair of bck scks and a silk white blouse over a trim athletic figure that belonged on a model. If what he had heard about her was true, then this woman was not one to be trifled with.

  “You will come in?”

  Ryan nodded and followed the woman inside, entering the cool shade of the atrium. The house was decorated rather pleasantly, although it cked the personality of a home that was actually lived in. The woman led him through to the living room before stopping at a drinks cabinet. Reaching in, she selected a bottle of wine and pursed her lips. “Your bosses have not skimped on the selection.”

  “They don’t tend to worry about saving money,” Ryan conceded as she handed him a gss.

  Francesca Ricci turned around and regarded Ryan quite openly as she sipped her wine. For a moment, she simply absorbed his form, her eyes freely roaming his body, her expression analytical but neutral, “You are aware of what this mission requires of you?”

  Ryan swallowed and nodded, “Uh, yes, I know what it involves.”

  “You have ever crossdressed before? Perhaps as a child?” Ricci asked, tossing aside any pretense of delicacy.

  Ryan colored up and shook his head, “Ah, no.”

  Ricci raised an eyebrow and inclined her head; the gesture reminded Ryan of a hungry predator working out how to best start on dinner. “You are prepared to do everything I ask of you, the clothes, lessons, tasks; all of it, yes?”

  Ryan knew what she meant, and he had already agreed to it long before he left the United States. He knew why he was doing this, but it still felt strange and unbelievable. Despite that, here he was, preparing to accept something he was still convinced was doomed to failure. The reasoning was good, even if his confidence in himself was not.

  The entire operation centered around the illegal sex trade and its connection to major Middle-Eastern pyers in the money world. Sex trafficking was a heinous crime by any measure, and one that was rampant the world over. In this particur case, the network was tied to incredibly influential people with information and reach. Its client list was one that would open doors for the Agency’s other operations in the area. Dismantling and ending the network’s operations were, at its core, a side benefit and not the main objective.

  Unlike many groups of this type, this organisation dealt specifically in one type of girl that their clients desired; ones that were born as boys. It seemed that certain figures with extremely deep pockets really had extremely specific sexual desires. Networks like this were notoriously sinuous and difficult to track back to their true core. The only way that worked was to insert an operative and trace them along the pipeline. Naturally, a female Agent wasn’t going to cut the mustard when it came to infiltrating a group of this nature. It was for this reason that Ryan now found himself in Signora Ricci’s clutches.

  The pn was simple for everyone that wasn’t called Ryan Knight: take a male agent with androgynous features and the correct build, and give him the knowledge, looks, and training to pass himself off as a transgender woman.

  This woman, under the legend Alessandra De Luca, would be dangled for the group to snatch. At that point, she would be followed closely by the support team until the group led them all the way back to their source. It would be difficult, and it would be dangerous, but it had the potential to do a great deal of good.

  Why had he agreed to do it? It was easy for Ryan to admit that it was an opportunity to prove himself; to show that he was capable in the cutthroat Directorate of Operations. More importantly, it was a chance to do good; to take down influential people who caused harm to America and save innocent lives.

  Ryan swallowed and gave Francescca Ricci an uncertain nod, “Let’s do this.”

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