Free From Manhattan with Revenge (The Fourth Book in the Fifth Avenue Series) by Christopher Smith Page A

became
roadkill, I contacted Katzev and promised I could deliver you to him. I told
him I knew he wanted me dead, but to give me a chance to prove my loyalty to
them. So, I used my contacts. I found you. I bought time. When you left me at
the bar alone, I answered their text, left you a note, and got the hell out of
there before they arrived. You and I both know that when you’re targeted for
elimination, that’s it with them. Sure, I found you for them. But they’ll still
try to kill me.”
    “So, in other words, you set me up for
nothing.”
    He studied her over his coffee. “No, in
other words, I bought myself time. You’ve been around long enough to know this
isn’t personal, Carmen. You also know I owe you nothing. My first
responsibility is to myself. Same goes for you. If I can buy myself time to
figure out a way to get out of this city and away from Katzev and the rest of
them, that’s what I plan to do.”
    “And yet here you sit,” she said. “Why?”
    Babe McAdoo turned in her chair and looked
at Carmen with delight on her face. “Finally,” she said. “The best part.”
    “What’s the best part, Babe?”
    “We’re going to have an adventure,” she
said. “My biggest and most aggressive one yet.”
    Carmen saw it and waited for it.
    “It’ll be fun,” Babe said. “Just the three
of us, with Spocatti a phone call away to offer guidance should we need it. Oh,
and so long as we call him with daily updates to feed whatever part of him
needs to be fed in order to keep him alive, Gelling has promised us access to
his contacts. And of course we have mine, which dig deeper into the roots of
New York than Katzev ever could imagine. This isn’t, after all, my first time
at the rodeo.”
    Carmen held Babe’s gaze and sat unmoving.
She looked at that weird little Zen bird sitting before her—her red hair
and yellow caftan clashing against this room she had sheathed in gold—and
couldn’t help feeling her gut sink. Go on , she thought. Just say it.
    “Don’t you see?” Babe McAdoo said. “Gird
your loins, Carmen. We’re going to take down the syndicate.”
     

 
 
 
 
    CHAPTER ELEVEN

 
    While Carmen met with Babe McAdoo,
Illarion Katzev prepared to address the syndicate.
    On the massive stainless steel wall before
him were thirteen flat screen monitors. In the center, one was left dark out of
respect for Jean-Georges Laurent, whose face was blown off at the Four Seasons
several weeks ago in ways that demanded a closed casket at his funeral, where
people clucked their tongues in pity not because he was dead, but, some felt,
because they were cheated out of seeing the ruined nature of what rested
within.
    The other twelve monitors, on the other
hand, were alive with images of unhappy people from around the world, all
locked in their safe rooms and transmitting across secure lines.
    In the wake of Laurent’s death, these
people comprised what was left of the syndicate—three women and nine men.
None was pleased to be here now, though at least they understood the importance
of why they were asked to leave behind their heady lives to deal with a
potentially dangerous situation before it became too late to do so.
    For Illarion Katzev, that understanding
would make the meeting more productive and, when decisions were made, easier to
deal with when plans were put into motion.
    In the wake of Carmen Gragera’s escape
from the Waldorf Astoria the night before, Katzev decided to call the meeting
in an effort to get in front of the situation before Carmen got in front of it
herself.
    Each person who looked back at him now
knew the extent of Gragera’s skills, which were impressive. She wasn’t somebody
they took lightly—some feared her—which is one of the few reasons
they marked her for death several weeks ago, thinking it was time to destroy
her connection with them and sow fresh talent elsewhere.
    But what concerned them most was her
romantic relationship with Alex Williams, whom they