5. Hornet
5
HORNET
T he FSB team converged faster than I’d anticipated. Three agents blocked our primary escape route through the service corridor while two more advanced from behind, their polished shoes clicking ominously on the marble floor.
“I count five,” Kima murmured, her gaze darting around.
“Seven,” I corrected, noting the two by the exit. “We need to get out now.”
“Which direction?” she asked.
“Maintenance closet, second door on the left.”
The first agent lunged, his hand going for Kima. She used his momentum against him despite her formal attire. Her evening gown restricted her movements, but she compensated by driving her knee upward, sending him bent over to the floor. I took out the second with a knife-hand strike to the throat, catching him before he hit the ground to minimize the noise.
“Go,” I whispered, covering our retreat as she moved toward the closet.
The lock gave way under my specialized pick, revealing the equipment bag I’d hidden earlier—a precaution that now seemed prophetic.
“You anticipated this,” Kima said, genuine admiration in her voice as she quickly assessed the contents.
“I anticipated something,” I admitted, passing her a set of tactical gear. “Never underestimate the FSB’s surveillance at presidential events.”
She disappeared behind a storage rack, emerging moments later in black pants and a fitted top, her elegant gown abandoned. She’d somehow managed the transformation in under a minute, a skill she’d perfected during countless missions.
“That was a twelve-thousand-ruble dress,” she remarked, checking the Glock I’d brought for her—the model with the custom grip she preferred.
“Bill Typhon,” I suggested, changing my own clothes. “He can afford it.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “Movement. West corridor,” she warned, hearing footsteps before I did.
“Ready?” I asked, impressed by her acuity even after our time apart.
The service tunnels beneath the palace were a labyrinth of concrete and pipes, designed to allow the staff to move unseen while serving the elite above. Security cameras dotted the ceilings at irregular intervals, but I’d mapped their blind spots during my earlier recon.
“Left here,” I directed, leading us down a narrower passage that smelled of industrial cleaner. “Camera blind spot for the next eighteen meters.”
“You’ve been busy,” Kima observed, keeping pace easily despite the darkness.
“Reaper provided the security schematics, and I memorized them on the flight over.”
“The entire palace layout? In hours?”
I shrugged. “Didn’t have much else to do while tracking you across Europe.”
We paused at an intersection, listening for pursuit. Distant shouts echoed through the tunnels—they’d found the unconscious guards.
“They’ll lock down all official exits,” Kima said, her mind clearly running the same calculations as mine.
“Which is why we’re taking the unofficial one.” I pointed to a maintenance shaft that wasn’t on any of the blueprints Reaper had acquired. “Old Soviet-era emergency escape. Only the original construction crew knew about it.”
“And you learned about it how?”
“Baikal.” I didn’t need to explain who he was. In the world of intelligence, the man was legendary. It was said he had a photographic memory that hadn’t diminished with age.
Five minutes of careful navigation later, we emerged into the frigid night air through a rusty grate hidden in a landscaped hillside. We slipped past the perimeter guards during their scheduled rotation and raced toward the tree line.
“Vehicle?” Kima asked, her eyes scanning the darkness.
“Two options,” I replied, leading her deeper into the woods. “Motorcycle for speed, SUV for comfort and storage. Both clean, untraceable.”
She considered for only a moment. “SUV. It’s too bloody cold for a bike.”
I chuckled and motioned to the black Lada Niva SUV waiting exactly where my contact had left it, hidden under a camouflage tarp beneath a stand of pines.
“Keys?” she asked.
I tossed them to her without hesitation. “You drive. I’ll navigate and watch for tails.”
The easy division of labor spoke to years of partnership. She’d always been the better driver in unfamiliar territory, while my situational awareness made me better at lookout duty.
We drove in silence for the first twenty minutes, following unmarked forest roads that wound away from the palace complex. I left the headlights off, forcing Kima to navigate by moonlight and the dim glow of the dashboard GPS.
“Three kilometers ahead, there’s a fork,” I said, studying the secure tablet. “Take the right branch. Overheads indicate it’s a maintenance road, but it connects to a regional highway.”
“Pursuit?”
I checked the thermal scanner. “Nothing yet. The FSB is probably still trying to figure out how we got out.”
Once we reached the highway, Kima got around to broaching the subject that we needed to address. “You shouldn’t have come after me.”
“Yet you made it relatively easy,” I countered, watching her profile in the dim light. “The biometric profile, the pattern of your movements. You knew I’d track you.”
Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “I needed to do this alone.”
“No, you thought you needed to.” I kept my voice even. “There’s a difference.”
“Typhon ordered you to find me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” I shifted to face her more directly. “But I would have come anyway.”
She glanced at me briefly. “Why?”
The question carried everything we’d left unsaid for too long. I thought about all the reasons I should maintain a professional distance—protocol, duty, the parameters of our mission. None of them mattered anymore.
“Because when you left, I realized I’d been lying to myself for far too long,” I said, the words coming easier than I’d expected. “About what you mean to me.”
Her breath caught, but her eyes stayed focused on the road, giving herself time to process my words.
“We’re getting close to the safe house,” I said, allowing her that space. “We can continue this conversation once we arrive.”
The dacha was nestled in the hills, twenty kilometers from the nearest town. Typhon’s network ran deep—the property belonged to a retired KGB officer who’d owed him his life since an operation in the eighties.
We approached cautiously, following standard clearing procedures. I took point while Kima covered the rear, our movements complementing each other without the need for instruction.
“Clear,” I announced after we’d secured the final room. Kima holstered her weapon.
“Perimeter alarm system is still operational,” she noted, checking the security panel by the door. “No signs of tampering or surveillance.”
I activated the signal jammer from my pack, creating a temporary bubble of electronic privacy. “We’re secure for now. I have Reaper monitoring overheads.”
Kima moved to the window, calculating sight lines and vulnerabilities—always the tactician. The moonlight cast her features in silver relief, highlighting the determined set of her jaw.
“You should rest,” I suggested, noting the shadows beneath her eyes. “I’ll take first watch.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, but the way her shoulders hunched betrayed her exhaustion.
“Thirty-six hours without sleep isn’t fine, Kima. You forget I know your tells.”
She turned to face me fully then, something vulnerable flashing on her face. “Do you? Because for two years, I thought I knew yours too. Until I realized I didn’t know what was real and what was duty.”
“Everything was real,” I admitted, closing the distance between us. “That was the problem.”
She studied me, then turned and paced in the narrow kitchen. “The FSB’s response was too fast,” Kima said, stopping near the window as she thought out loud. “That wasn’t standard protocol for a security breach.”
“Seven agents does seem like overkill. They were waiting for something.”
She faced me. “Jekyll was supposed to be at the gala, but isn’t he on their side? Or at least supposed to have been?”
“You think he’s being set up?”
“I think…” She paused. “There’s a lot more going on here that we haven’t scratched the surface of.”
“While in Moscow, I met with Baikal.
Kima’s expression sharpened with interest. “What did he say?”
“That intelligence agents were being moved through the Balkans. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now…”
“As I was aware,” said Kima, motioning to my tablet. “Wasn’t there a huge undercover mission a few years ago in the US where Irish Warrick’s investigation took down more than half the CIA?”
I pulled up the investigation she referenced. “It went far deeper than that. Interpol was involved. In fact, Boris Antonov, then vice president of the organization, vanished shortly after the CIA sting. Rumor was someone gave the Russian president compromising photos of his wife cavorting with Boris.”
Kima pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table. “From what I remember, agents were being reported as having been killed in the line of duty, but instead, so-called friendly fire took them out.”
I paraphrased what was in the top-secret brief. “The op was called Argead, after the code name given by its founders. It involved decades of corruption at the highest levels of government. Billions of dollars lined the pockets of bureaucrats, all at the expense of the lives of men and women committed to protect and serve their country.”
“Do you think Russia is merely continuing what Argead started?” she asked.
“Or it served as impetus for an entirely new op.”
“How far back did Irish’s investigation go?”
“There’s nothing in the brief that gives a definitive answer. However, the first date referenced was fifteen years ago.”
Kima rested against the chair and brought her index fingers to her temples. It was a tell I knew well. She was processing what she’d learned. “If this pieces together the way we think it might, why didn’t Jekyll involve Typhon? SIS? Why turn double agent? It doesn’t make sense.”
“These operations span too many agencies, too many governments. High-level officials were being bought, threatened into compliance, or murdered,” I said, meeting her gaze. “He didn’t know who to trust. Even his closest friend.”
“The same reason I didn’t—” She stopped.
“Trust me?” I finished, the admission stinging more than I expected.
“Couldn’t risk you,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
The distinction mattered. “You were protecting me.”
“In the same way you’ve been protecting me.” Her voice softened. “Even when I didn’t want it. I also couldn’t risk myself, Devin. I need answers. Regardless of whether Jekyll ultimately lands on the side of good or evil, I need him to look me in the eye and tell me why he believed the good of the many was worth sacrificing my mother. She might not have become a shell of the vibrant woman she once was.”
I reached across the table, covering her hand with mine. “I’m sorry, Kima.”
“What for?”
“Maintaining distance when I should have been honest. For letting orders become an excuse.”
She turned her hand to clasp mine. “I understand why you did it. Typhon?—”
“When it came to love, he would’ve disregarded every edict. Quit the unit if it came down to it.”
Her eyes bored into mine. “And if you’d done the same, would you have taken me with you?”
“Taken? No. Invited? I’d like to think so, not that it matters now. I didn’t man up when I should have.”
She raised a brow. “You were protecting me.”
I grinned. “I believed that’s what I was doing.”
Kima squeezed my hand, her thumb tracing patterns against my skin. “I’ve never needed your protection, Hornet. I needed your partnership.”
Partners,” I said as relief flooded through me.
“Partners,” she repeated, her expression softening. “But I need to know if there’s more to it than that. Because if we’re going to work together on this, I can’t afford uncertainties.”
The directness of her question shouldn’t have surprised me. Kima had always valued clarity above comfort. I stood, walking around the table, and when I held out my hand, she got up.
“There is more,” I said simply. “There always has been.”
I cupped her face with my palm, giving her every chance to pull away. Instead, she rose to meet me. When our lips finally met, it felt like the resolution of a tension that had been building for years. The kiss was gentle at first, a question being answered after too much uncertainty. Then it deepened, becoming something fierce and honest and long overdue.
Her hands found my shoulders, pulling me closer as mine slipped to her waist. When we broke apart, breathless, I pressed my forehead against hers.
“We should have done that a long time ago,” I murmured.
“We have a lot of time to make up for,” she agreed, a genuine smile spreading across her face, warming places inside me I hadn’t realized had gone so cold.
“Starting now?” I suggested, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Her smile widened. “Starting now.”
The harsh buzz of my mobile shattered the moment. Reaper’s emergency code flashed on the screen.
“Urgent,” I said, answering immediately. Kima leaned in close to listen, instantly transitioning back to operational mode despite what had transpired between us.
“Updates,” Reaper’s voice came through. “Jekyll’s on the move. He was spotted at a private clinic outside Sochi three hours ago. Security footage shows him meeting with a woman known to broker intelligence between agencies. They left separately.”
“Any indication why they met there?” I asked.
“Known rendezvous point, apparently. Medical care makes good cover for information exchanges.”
“Next destination?” Kima pressed.
“Satellite tracking shows he’s headed toward a coastal estate near Gelendzhik.”
I looked at Kima, seeing the same calculation in her eyes that I was making. “We need to be at that estate when he arrives.”
“It’s a private compound,” Reaper warned. “Heavy security, invitation only. Some oligarch’s birthday celebration.”
“Our cover identities from the gala won’t work any longer,” Kima said thoughtfully.
“Copy that. I’ll work on replacements,” Reaper responded.
“They’ll have to involve elaborate disguises in the event the FSB is in attendance. Which I would assume they will be.”
“Actually, they would be the last people on either the guest list or as hired guns.”
“Right. An oligarch,” I muttered.
“By the way, Typhon wants an update on your progress,” Reaper said. “What should I tell him?”
Kima raised a brow at me, a silent question about how much to reveal.
“Tell him I’ll report in with concrete findings within twenty-four hours.”
“Right,” he said, chuckling before ending the call. “Glad he isn’t my boss. I appreciate life too much.”
Reaper’s comment was right on the money. Typhon knew damned well Kima and I were together, which meant he was also fully aware I was disregarding something he’d made abundantly clear. “Your orders stand. Find her. Extract her. Bring her the fuck home. Nothing else matters,” he’d said. I’d accomplished the first objective. I had no intention of completing the others. And that meant I was at the top of his hit list.