Chapter Eighteen

I'm hoping these chapters get longer as the story progresses, but I can't make any promises.

A/N: This chapter is written in third person POV.

Lukas entered his office, closing the door with more force than usual behind him. He walked over and slumped down into his chair, raising his hands to rub the sides of his head. His usual headaches had been getting worse recently, and the stress brought on by the conversation he'd just had wasn't helping him feel any better.

He'd been worrying about the plan he'd gotten himself dragged into ever since he realized what it entailed. He figured it could go wrong in more than a dozen different ways, but he'd been assured that everything had been taking care of thusfar, and would continue to be done so as long as he did his part. The assurances didn't do much to calm him. He was not a calm, collected person by nature, and it was often a difficult task to keep himself together under stress. This was an unfortunate byproduct of his childhood, when he'd witnessed his mother being beaten by his Moroi father every time he visited. Lukas wondered why he'd even bothered, although he later found out it was because his own wife had left him and he was just looking for someone to take the anger out on.

Pain split through his head again, and his arms dropped from his head to the desk, the head soon following them. The action knocked the empty glass that had been sitting next to his keyboard to tip over and roll to the floor, cracking, but luckily not shattering. Deciding that the pain was too much for him to function, Lukas raised his head quickly, causing the pain to multiply. He reached down to the fridge next to the desk and weakly opened the door, reaching into the back for the small bottle in the back. Holding about as much fluid as a shot glass, it was filled to the brim, it's contents a strange green-red colour. It was made of glass, and had a wax-sealed cork closing the top.

He pulled the cork out and greedily swallowed what was less than a mouthful of liquid. His headache instantly subsided as the salty, slightly metallic tasting liquid flowed down his throat and reached his stomach. Breathing a sigh of relief, he slumped back in his chair as the headache quickly dulled and disappeared. The bottle dropped from his hand to the floor, where it rolled a short distance until coming to rest against the glass that had fallen earlier.

Finally able to think clearly, Lukas sat up straight and reached forward to move the computer mouse which sat on the desk in front of him. It caused the monitor to power on, bringing up his login screen. He quickly entered his password and looked for the icon he'd always dreading clicking on. He found it in the bottom corner of his desktop, it was an icon consisting simply of the symbol you'd see in an e-mail address. The text attached to the icon simply consisted of the letters "CSIM."

He double clicked it.

After loading for a second or two, a small window appeared. It had a single line entry field to type text into and two buttons underneath the field: "Cancel" and "Connect." He typed the usual address into the box and hit "Connect."

The box disappeared, and a few seconds later a simple instant messaging window appeared on the screen. The person on the other end would have received a request to start the conversation before the box would appear on Lukas' end, so he knew the recipient was there. He started the conversation, like always.

"Marie called. We may have a problem."

After a few seconds, a reply came.

What sort of problem?

"Enquiries are being made at the court. Enquires about Alexandra."

What sort of 'enquiries?'

"They're asking where she is, what she's doing, if she's safe, can they talk to her, when will she be back in the US. That sort. Marie made it clear the people asking around were very persistent and that it wasn't likely they would stop."

Wait, people? As in plural, more than one? I thought there was only one person asking about her.

"There was only one. Was. Now there's another. She said his name sounded like it was from one of those old Soviet countries. Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, somewhere around there."

I know exactly who it is. They won't be a problem.

"Are you sure about that? Remember the trouble we almost had with the girl? This guy could be a really big problem."

I said they won't be a problem. I told you from the beginning, I'll take care of issues like this. Trust me, by the end of the week, this guy won't be asking any more questions about her.

"What exactly, if you don't mind me asking, are you going to do?"

Less you know the better. Let's just say, unlike the other one, he might be useful to us. I'll give you his name later, I want you to pull his records from court when you're there this weekend and give them to Erich. I'll let him know what to do with them.

"Alright, I guess I can do that."

Good to hear. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss? I have other business to attend to.

"Yeah. Considering this guy has been snooping around court and asking questions, and I'm a senior record keeper who deals with transfers, what do I do in the off chance this guy finds me during my visit?"

I never even considered that, but it's a possibility. Don't give him any info, tell him the last you heard she was still in the US. That should keep him busy asking around until we get things in order.

"Alright, I'll try my best with that if it happens. One other thing, though."

What is it?

"How much longer until we're ready to act? I'm not getting nervous or anything," that was a lie, "but I'd like to have a better sense of how close we are to actually moving."

Not long. All we have to do is deal with our friend and get a few more people in position. When we're ready, you'll know.

"Alright. That should be good for me."

Lukas, I'll be blunt. This plan has been in the making longer than you've been in existence. Much longer. You need to keep your head straight and focus. I know you are, in fact, nervous, and that there's not much short of serious counselling that can fix that, but read carefully. You can do this. I'll repeat that. You. Can. Do. This. You are one of the smartest men I know when it comes to technology. I mean, you're responsible for the entire security system at Charigos. You're also a very good talker, as much as you refuse to admit or accept it. Just stop, breathe, think, and do what comes to mind. If you can pull this off, you're going to have nothing to worry about for the rest of your life.

"Uh, thanks for the inspiring words, I guess. I never knew you had it in you."

Not a problem. Just remember what I taught you, and you'll do fine.

The IM window gave him a message that the user on the other end had disconnected, so he closed the window on his computer. He knew the hardest part of his job was likely behind him, and that this would probably be the last thing he really had to do. And he was thankful for it.

Reaching down his shirt, Lukas pulled on the chain that hung lightly around his neck and lifted it out. A simple gold ring dangled at the bottom of it, it's colour and shine dulled.

He remembered Marie, who was posted at court in the US. Now, sitting here, realizing that he would get the chance to speak to her in person this weekend, made him feel as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hadn't wanted her to go, but Viktor insisted that she do. After all, they needed someone who could get to know people, and if necessary, get information out of them.

He just wished that someone wasn't his wife.