Black and Brown: Raven Assassins (Ravens #1)

Chapter Seventy-two

Mirage

Mirage and Grace accepted the drinks the hospitality assistants dropped off, ignoring what Paul had asked.

“Are you here for a debriefing of the mission or to frighten and alarm us? Because the four of you here right now is a bit intimidating.”

“Good,” Ex answered.

Paul sighed with obvious frustration and dropped his pen onto his notepad.

“Fine, we’ll wait until you’re ready to start,” Spectre placated.

“The hell we will. I have my own meeting this evening that I have to prepare for.”

Grace set his drink down on the table with a bang, then stared at the director through his hood.

“I agree with my partner,” Mirage said. “Who are you meeting with, Director?”

“Excuse me,” he stuttered. “Are you fuckin’ serious right now?”

Grace and Meridian shot to their feet in a way that made everyone sitting around the table rear back in their seats. Spectre put his one hand up in a placating gesture.

“I don’t like to ask the same question twice. It annoys me.” Mirage gestured to Grace and Meridian. “But it really pisses these two off.”

The director shot a worried look toward Spectre’s arm and seemed to decide it was in his best interest to answer.

He knew what kind of men he’d made. Killers who didn’t give a fuck who they wounded or offended. And they especially didn’t care whose feelings got hurt by their actions.

“I’m meeting with some investors. This place costs a lot of money to remain operational.”

Mirage eased Grace’s drink closer to him in a silent request for him to sit back down, with Meridian following suit.

Meridian pushed a button on his fancy Hart locator watch that looked to be an upgrade from his own.

Meridian’s voice was raspy and full of authority.

“Yeah, Corvo, we did request it. Bring with you who you need to debrief us. We won’t be at our scheduled one at eighteen hundred. And fuckin’ move it. You know I hate waiting.”

Meridian pressed the disconnect.

“Another bourbon,” Mirage said to Tiffany when Grace shoved his empty glass aside.

It was less than five minutes before the Blacks’ team came into the room, looking confused and leery.

“You never fail to shock and awe, Meridian,” Corvo said after he and their manager took a seat while the others in the team stood behind their chairs with recorders.

“Now, can we get down to business? I mean, if it’s all right with you, Grace?” the director sneered.

He got no reaction from any of them. And his contorted grimace indicated he didn’t appreciate being ignored.

As planned, Ex took the lead.

“Yep. Let’s get down to it. We have even less time than you, Director.”

Ex leaned back in his chair, with one hand under his chin, mimicking the thinking man’s pose, and asked through a clenched jaw, “Let’s start with who were the mercenaries that got the drop on us? They knew our mission times and coordinates of the attack. Was it a setup or an ambush by another organization we were not informed existed?”

Mirage almost smirked, but Ex’s voice was serious, his mouth set in a straight line.

Ex had spoken the truth. He was a serious bullshitter. He talked circles around the debriefing team, keeping them on the defensive.

“They were able to disappear with our marks before we even realized what the hell was happening. They even knew our communications would be delayed,” Mirage growled. “Can any of you explain that shit?”

Mirage slammed his fist on the table, emphasizing Ex’s rage. When he removed his hand, a sleek, double-edged black knife was stuck into the solid wood table.

“Looks as if Mirage agrees with my line of questioning. The next blade he produces will be in someone’s mouth for not speaking up.” Ex leaned in, still speaking in that deep, menacing tone. “You guys dropped the fuckin’ ball. We wanna know right now who the fuck it was.”

Ex’s tactic and the way they played off each other’s reactions were borderline genius.

As Mirage had hoped, the teams appeared to shake with fear as they all began blurting out possible scenarios while apologizing and promising to get them answers.

Panic equaled chaos.

Mirage needed everyone pitted against each other to find the rat hiding within their organization.

Self-preservation always trumped loyalty.