Chapter Text
Masquerade
Entering the conference room that was now serving as a room for the appetizer buffet, Jim frowned at the decor. The German embassy in St. Petersburg seemed to exemplify the worst traits of both cultures in his mind. Jim had to suffer through one more meeting and make an appearance at the masked ball while Sebastian finished a job. Then they could leave. He was more than ready to return to the solitude of his home on the outskirts of Tartu, Estonia.
Under the guise of Viktor Chelyadnin, the now-deceased James Moriarty’s Russian bookkeeper, he’d spent two weeks, first in Kiev and now St. Petersburg, solidifying the position of Moriarty’s heir, Charlie Masseria, an American mobster with ties to the old Italian LCN families, with the Russian mob. Charlie Masseria was one of his favorite aliases. That evening, he was meeting a diplomat, Nikolai Brouchkov. The young man was an attaché to the Russian consul in Seattle and was very amenable to installing software at the consulate.
Jim had gone through significant effort to have the evening’s fête changed to a masked ball so that there would be more anonymity. Surprisingly, the German ambassador had been most amenable when he’d heard of the suggestion. That in and of itself warranted investigation. There could be potential for intriguing cases for a retired and apparently dead consulting criminal. He and Nikolai found a discreet corner and engaged in a seemingly casual conversation interrupted with appropriately timed visits to the caviar appetizers.
The distinct beep from his cell phone, indicating a priority text from a client, interrupted the conversation. Jim wanted to growl. The job that was currently underway had proved to be the most utterly tedious and annoying opprobrium. The client, one Fridrik Tikhonovich, was an absolute disgrace beyond the likes of which he normally dealt. The only reason Jim, under the alias of Wassily Kabakov, Charlie Masseria’s lieutenant in Moscow, had accepted the case was because of the incredible fee that the client had been willing to pay up front and the timing coincided perfectly with this meeting.
As the case progressed, Jim had considered eliminating the man simply on point for the number of times that he had been bothered and badgered with incessant fretting, worrying, and micromanaging. The amount of the retainer was becoming increasingly irrelevant to the client’s continued existence.
“{Excuse me for a moment,}” Jim said. His Russian was perfect; it spoke of Moscow or east central Russia with hints of Kiev.
“{Of course, Viktor,}” Nikolai said. Jim found his charming innocence combined with a willingness to be bought utterly adorable, and useful. “{I have a gift for you. I didn’t want to be late so Gregor, one of the guards, is bringing it. I’ll go get it while you attend to matters.}” Jim smiled congenially. “{We got in a shipment of Iordanov and I brought some for you.}”
“{Iordanov?}” Jim asked and chuckled. He was rather fond of the German vodka for many reasons. Truly a thoughtful gift. “{My favorite. How did you know?}”
It was Nikolai’s turn to chuckle. “{Skulls.}”
“{You’re good,}” Jim said while realizing that he needed to eliminate that Moriarty trait a bit more. “{Which one did you get?}” He was also rapidly calculating how he could move this young man back to Europe. He was much smarter than he seemed and could prove to be quite useful.
“{That will have to be the surprise since I couldn’t resist telling you what it was.}”
“{I will be pleased no matter what,}” Jim said and smiled again as Nikolai bowed his head and walked away. He then pulled out his phone and checked the message. It was Fridrik Tikhonovich.
{Done?!?} -FT
Forcing himself to inhale, then exhale deeply, Jim counted silently to ten. Three times. Tikhonovich was an insufferable boor. One more asinine text and Jim was redirecting the hit.
{Please review your contract. CM will be displeased if I have to inform him of your useless prattle.} -WK
The case was fairly simple. A man named Pyotr Kulibin had seduced the client’s daughter under the pretense of marriage. Once he’d slept with her, he’d cancelled the wedding, broken off the engagement, and disparaged the family. Tikhonovich had sought revenge at any price, even the one demanded by Charlie Masseria.
{I demand to speak to the agent that will be avenging my beautiful daughter!!} -FT
{I paid the fee well in advance!!!} -FT
{Our family demands justice for Tatiana!!} -FT
{I’ll inform CM.} -WK
{Politely, of course. Firmly, but politely.} -FT
{I’m going to relate every text that you have sent me since the inception of our communications.} -WK
{Perhaps it is better to wait for the report of your success.} -FT
{Of course.} -WK
“{Fucking barbarian,}” Jim muttered under his breath but then smiled pleasantly, put his cell phone away, and eased his way to the devilled eggs with caviar. No one noticed anything other than Viktor Chelyadnin, mild-mannered bookkeeper. He texted Sebastian for an update on the assassination. Pyotr Kulibin was an arrogant bastard and, therefore, an easy target.
*~*~*
“This is utterly ridiculous,” Mycroft grumbled miserably. He was in a foreign country instead of home in London. He was MI5 not a field agent from MI6. Therefore he was the last person who should be galavanting around Russia, even in a secure embassy. He’d just been informed that the high-level meeting was actually an embassy ball and that said ball had been changed to a masked occasion at the last minute leaving him no room to pay his respects and decline.
“It’ll be fun, Mycroft,” Franz, the German liaison to England, said and smiled complacently as though he were relishing Mycroft’s discomfort. Mycroft made a mental note to make the man’s life as miserable as possible when he returned to London. “And with the masks, you have a certain degree of anonymity. Even you can see the benefit of that.”
Mycroft refrained from swatting the man with his umbrella. Or stabbing him with the hidden blade. “There is that but it is all just so ridiculously frivolous and time consuming. Only tedious little minds find enjoyment in this sort of thing.” He glared at the man, who had the decency to wince. “If we could just have the meeting discreetly, in a private room, then those of us who do not wish to be inconvenienced with such foolishness as a ball can be on our merry way.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Franz muttered and handed Mycroft the box he was holding. “Here’s a mask for now. The ambassador sent it.” The fulminating glare that Mycroft leveled at him caused the man to cringe visibly. “I’ll work on the meeting, right away!” After bowing politely, he almost ran out of the room.
Mycroft sighed and opened the box. It contained a feathered and glittery green, gold, and purple monstrosity that was reminiscent of the masks that he’d seen in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. He pulled it out and shook his head in disgust. “No, I surely cannot. Absolutely not. It will be the rubbish bin for this immediately.”
As he turned, a man almost ran into him. Panicked. Trying to hide. Guilty. “{Oh, I’m sorry,}” the man said a bit breathlessly. Moscow accent. “{I wasn’t paying attention.}”
“{Of course,}” Mycroft said flatly and in a manner that intimated his annoyance. The man looked behind him as though he though he were being followed. “{Is there a problem?}”
“{No, no,}” the man said. Lying. “{Just trying to avoid an encounter with my ex and not making a minor indiscretion worse.}” Truth. The man eyed the mask in Mycroft’s hand. “{Can we switch masks?}”
Mycroft wasn’t sure what to think but didn’t see any reason to deny the request. Properly telling off someone’s ex might relieve some tension. On top of that, no mask could be worse than the one that he was holding. “{Of course,}” he said in his most charming voice. “{I would be very happy to help you escape this debacle.}” Inspiration struck. Perhaps there was another way out of this farcical charade. “{Do you need a driver, by any chance?}” His security detail would have an absolute fit but Mycroft needed to leave, meeting be damned. He’d reschedule the meeting for later the following day.
“{No, no,}” the man said and quickly grabbed Mycroft’s mask. He tossed a bag at Mycroft and then ran out of the room.
Mycroft barely managed to catch the bag and not crush it’s contents. He glared at the retreating form. What a bother. “Perhaps I can find some other desperado that needs a ride out of here,” he said quietly to himself as he pulled the mask out of the bag and then rolled his eyes. It was a minor improvement. A black and gold “V” mask. He found the concept of a minor government official such as himself wearing that mask intriguing and utterly ironic. It did match the tuxedo and gold cufflinks that he was wearing. The prime minister would be horrified. Grinning slyly, he put the mask on and strolled purposefully into the grand ballroom.
*~*~*
Sebastian watched the man make his way through the ballroom and grinned ferally. This was the type of assignment he relished. A quick assassination. Jim had said that if he could capture the mark and torture him before the kill, that would be preferable. However Jim wasn’t there and was probably drinking vodka with his mob connections or whatever Jim did at these functions to entertain himself. Sebastian preferred the potent adrenaline rush of a quick kill.
He’d baited the target, seen him panic, and now waited for the perfect moment. When he saw the man wearing a ridiculous mask move into the perfect spot, he fired. One shot.
Down.
Almost as good as sex with Jim.
*~*~*