27. Alexei
Alexei
“You fucking heard me, Mak.” I pace across the deck of the Quantum Drift. “I want a team on the ground in Granada, right fucking now.”
“I’m already on it.” He speaks calmly. “Now tell me again exactly what happened after you hung up with Sergei.”
“Ofelia was already gone.” I run a hand through my hair agitatedly.
“I swear to Christ, one minute she was sitting at the piano, and the next she was leaving the villa. I tried calling her, using Andrew’s phone, but her phone was switched to silent.
I tried Teresa and couldn’t get through.
I got through to Julia, but we hung up because Ofelia was calling her. ”
“And Julia didn’t call you back,” Mak says.
“No. And she didn’t answer when I tried her. Teresa did call back, but as soon as I picked up, the fucking line went dead.”
“Both Teresa’s and Julia’s phones are still showing up as being in the Albaicín,” Mak says. “They haven’t moved since those calls. My people are closing in on them.” I hear the sound of radio comms in the background. “We just found the phones,” he says. “They were dumped. Ofelia’s, too.”
“Fuck.” I close my eyes, sick horror churning inside me.
“They can’t have taken her far, Alexei. We’re within a ten-minute window here. We’re going to find her.”
“I’m leaving this line open, but I’m giving it to Andrew.” I hand the phone to my captain without waiting for an answer. “Don’t hang up,” I warn him. “I need to call someone from the secure room. Bring that phone with you.”
Andrew follows me below deck, waiting outside the door as I open the line. I punch in the number of the Armilla air base that I scribbled down for Ofelia, what seems like an age ago now.
It picks up immediately. “Red 24,” says a blunt Australian accent. “Code, please.”
“0701.” I give my identifying number.
“What is your location?”
“Granada, Spain.”
“Service?”
“Evacuation. I don’t know if my passenger will call in advance or if they will make it to the airbase, but I need you to be ready to go immediately in either case. I’m sending a photograph of your passenger.”
“Prep for evac, ETA unknown.” His cool response is reassuring. “Just one passenger?”
“One, but possibly three. All women. And the situation could be hot.”
“Copy that: three women, possible incoming. Destination?”
I hesitate.
Give him Roman’s address.
It’s the only reasonable option.
And I still can’t quite bring myself to do it.
“Destination?” the man on the other end of the line asks again.
“It’s up to her.” The words come out before I can stop them. “The passenger whose picture I sent you. She may give you directions within Spain. If not, I’m sending you my coordinates on the encrypted line. It’s her decision, but fuel up for both options.”
“Copy.”
“Let me know if she arrives.”
“Copy that.”
I cut the line and pluck the phone from Mak’s hand. “Where are we, Mak?”
“Good news. We have a possible sighting.”
“Tell me.”
“Hang on.” He covers the phone, and I hear voices in the background, then he comes back on. “Are you in the secure room?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sending you some CCTV footage.” My screen pings, and I open the link. “It’s from the Mercadona supermarket near the Genil bridge,” Mak says. “Watch the black sedan in the middle of the road, southbound lane.”
I press play and zoom in. The door closest to the center of the road opens, and two figures tumble onto the asphalt, both with their hands tied behind their backs.
One of them is unmistakably Ofelia.
“Christ,” I say flatly, as I watch her zigzag through traffic, then race for a set of stairs and disappear from sight into the channel.
“Where the fuck did she go?” I scan the screen, but I can’t see anything at all.
My eyes go back to the car. A man leaps out, yelling something into his phone, and tries to follow them across the road.
But the lights have changed, and the vehicles start moving, impeding his progress.
“Fuck you, you dead motherfucker,” I mutter as I watch him.
“Where did she go?” I bark down the line.
“I can’t see her. And who is the other woman? Is it Teresa?”
“I don’t know is the answer to your first question. There’s no CCTV beneath the bridge. And the other girl with her is Seline, the Duval gypsy you told me about.”
“Fuck!” I clench my fists in utter frustration. “The Duval girl is the fucking problem, Mak. We need to get hold of her, you understand me? She’s working for the Novikovs. We need to know what she does.”
“I’m aware.” His voice remains as calm as if he’s having a martini.
I watch the man onscreen finally make it to the bridge. He leans over the concrete wall, then races around it, toward the steps in the distance.
“Why the fuck is this prick still walking?” I snarl. “Where the fuck are your people, Mak?”
Before he can answer, a Guardia Civil vehicle pulls out across the intersection, sirens blazing, and blocks the passage of the black sedan. A group of uniforms spills out, covering the bridge on both sides, others racing for the stairs.
“They’re on him, Alexei,” Mak says. “They have him in sight now. He’s running into the water. They’ll have him soon.”
“Ofelia.” I’m gripping the phone so hard it hurts my hand. “Where the fuck is Ofelia?”
Mak is silent for a moment. I hear the crackle of radios in the background.
“They have the Duval girl,” he says finally. “And the Russian chasing them.”
He pauses.
I wait, every nerve in my body strung tighter than piano wire.
“They’ve lost Ofelia,” Mak says.
“What the fuck do you mean, they’ve lost her?” I stare at the screen. “There’s a bridge, Mak, and a river. Not even a very deep one. Where the fuck can she have gone?”