Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
Dimitri
A very satisfied Katya snores quietly, more like a kitten purring. Do otters snore? If they do, then this is how they would sound.
Next to her, I’m buzzing with nervous energy. I can’t sleep, but I don’t want to leave this space we’ve created together. Waiting for what happens next feels impossible as I stare at the clock, willing each minute to go by. At two forty-five, I nudge Katya awake.
She rubs her eyes and does some spy shit with my brother’s phone. We’re watching a live feed of the house, switching from camera to camera. Mikhail isn’t in the house, and he doesn’t seem to be on the property either. One of my brother’s cars is missing from the garage, so it’s safe to say I know who took it. There’s a guy with a blowtorch still trying to get into the room. The walls are all singed, metal cylinders of what I assume are empty acetylene canisters lie scattered around the hall. Another guy is sleeping on the couch, while two others are doing patrol.
But I know this operation. One message will trigger a landslide of hell from Mikhail’s loyal men to come storming in.
“The security sensors were already cut off hours ago,” Katya says in a sleepy voice. Is she talking to me? Nope she’s on the phone.
The woman’s voice says, “It’s a three-person team. Lance and I are going to bring the kid and mother to Helsinki, but my other companion has business in Russia. He wants transportation as payment.”
Katya’s eyes ask for permission. “He can take a car and whatever cash he needs,” I say.
Seconds later, we watch the back window slide open, and three bodies step in. Two are obviously men. One is dressed in all black, mid-twenties, walks like a trained soldier. The other man is in street clothes and a vest. I notice his arm tattoo—it’s a hammerhead shark. And it’s in the same style as my own octopus. He’s got good taste. The last body is a woman. No, correction—“She’s a fucking child.” I whip my head over at Katya.
“She’s in her twenties. Back off.”
The woman pauses, gives me the finger in one of the cameras, and continues to move through the house. The three of them move silently, wraiths on the prowl.
The guards on patrol appear on the screen. I squint, trying to decipher which one of Mikhail’s he is. Dennis, maybe. “There’s a hostile in the next hallway,” Katya says. The woman steps forward and out of frame. I see Dennis drop to the floor. The tattoo guy shoots one of Mikhail’s men with a silencer.
Katya informs the team, “Three more hostiles in the living room.”
They move like ninjas through the hallway, but it’s the stairs that prove to be a problem. The man in black steps on something, and all of Mikhail’s men jump to their feet. Mikhail’s men were trained by former KGB or other mercenary groups. There’s no way these three will be able to take them.
And never have I been happier to be proven wrong.
The woman goes in first, moving fast and snapping the legs of one of the men. Arms, legs, throat—each movement is precise and designed for pain. Another guy grabs her from behind and slams her to the floor. He stomps on her leg, but the man in black puts the assailant in a chokehold, restraining him until the woman gets back up and breaks both of his arms. But she doesn’t put any weight on her leg. The hammerhead shark guy is beating the hell out of one of the men behind a couch. The camera angle makes it hard to see.
And within forty-five seconds, all of Mikhail’s men are out cold.
The hammerhead shark guy raises his gun, but the woman puts her hand on his shoulder. I can hear her voice through the phone. “Wait until the kid is out of the building.”
Well, I appreciate her compassion. She moves a painting off the wall to expose a panel—something Mikhail’s men never thought about.
“I need you to talk to the victims.” She hooks her phone to the panel.
Katya hands me the phone. “Go ahead.”
“Nadia, are you there?”
There’s a sob and crackle of static. “Uncle Dimitri?”
Oh thank God. “Ian. I need you to open the door so my friends can come get you.”
“Momma... She’s cold.”
Katya closes her eyes and exhales. “Shit. I’m so sorry.” She reaches for me and squeezes my arm.
Nadia’s fight is over, but my son still needs to live. “Ian, I need you to type in the code.”
He’s sobbing, hiccupping, crying. “No.”
“I need you to try.”
“No,” he cries louder.
Alana raises her hand. “Ask him why.”
“Why can’t you type in the code?”
“Two more tries,” he sobs.
Katya squeezes my arm tighter. “Is there a kill switch?”
Fuck my brother’s paranoia. “There are five chances to enter the code before it sucks the oxygen out of the room.”
“That’s the worst fucking panic room I’ve ever heard of.”
“It’s designed to keep people trapped in as well as safe.”
Alana interrupts us. “Ask him which codes he’s already done.”
I scroll through my brother’s phone, trying to deduce what he could have set the code to. Each minute feels like ten years.
“Do you know what codes you already put in?”
Ian’s tiny voice cracks through the speakers. “Mama fell on the board.”
How could she do this? How could she leave her son in a panic room just to die? Why wouldn’t she give him the code to escape? Unless she thought he wasn’t going to be saved. Oh god, she knew her husband was already dead. I can imagine how terrified she must’ve been. What were her last thoughts?
“Are the codes numbers or letters?” Katya asks.
“Numbers,” I answer. “Birthdays, anniversaries would be public knowledge, so he wouldn’t use any of those.”
“What languages were they fluent in?” Alana asks.
“Russian, English, and French,” I reply. At least my sister-in-law was.
Katya sits on the bed. “Were there any words she repeated?”
Ian sniffles. “Snuggles.”
She raises an eyebrow at me, like she’s not sure if she heard it right. I supply the missing piece of information. “Snuggles? It’s a stuffed octopus he used to carry around with him.”
“76844537,” she whispers. “Ian, this is Katya. We met at your grandpa’s party. Remember?”
“Un-huh.” His voice hitches as he says, “Hi.”
“Hi, sweetie. Okay, this is what I want you to do. I want you to find the numbers and press exactly what I say. Are you ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
She takes every number slowly and has him repeat it back to her before he presses each button. The moment he presses the last number, we hear a series of clicks and gears moving, and the door pops open. Alana and the man in black vanish through the door. The hammerhead guy grabs a blanket off the couch and follows behind them as Katya reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
It feels like ten lifetimes, but Alana comes up the stairs with Ian clinging to her. She unhooks the phone from the panel and says, “Target in hand.” She wraps his arms around her neck and presses his head to her shoulder, steps over the injured men, and carries him out the front door and away from the carnage.
The man dressed in black carries a wrapped body and moves out of the frame. The hammerhead man and the man in black follow Alana through the door, pulling it closed behind them. A moment later, it flings back open as the man in black sprints up the stairs. He’s in and out of frames until he reaches Ian’s room. Seconds later, he has a bundle of blankets in his arms and runs back out the front door.
“We’re en route,” a male voice says. And the phone disconnects.
We wait for a few more minutes, watch the hammerhead return, and follow his progress as he shoots Mikhail’s men in the head, dragging their bodies out to the shed in the back, and dumping them one by one. He wipes every room our rescuers were in. The security system reports a fire on the property and asks if we want to report it. I decline. One minute later, there’s a notification that the garage door opens and shuts.
Katya presses her lips to mine and holds me. “Time to pick up your son.”
It’s early, but we flag a cab to drop us off a mile away from the airfield. I look at the sky and watch as the three dots of lights get closer and finally land. The stairs take forever, and I sprint to them. Ian—that’s all I care about. His tiny, tear-stained face contorts as the sobs start all over again. He’s small and pale, and he wet his pants at some point, but he’s here, alive and safe.
Alana is even younger than the screen showed her to be. Beautiful, blonde, and with a face that doesn’t seem to smile. “I have a secondary mission I need to fulfill while I’m here. I need to find the body of Uri Koslov.”
I don’t understand. “His body? He’s not dead, he’s on his way now.”
She furrows her brow and glances around the plane. “What?”
“Uri is my cousin. He and his handler are on their way now.”
The man in black extends his hand. “Small fucking world.” He peers at Ian, who has me in a death grip. “Freaking world.”
But Alana frowns more. “I don’t like it. Too convenient. But I’ll take the win.”
Where’s Katya?
On the tarmac, headlights race toward us. The car stops at the base of the stairs, and out comes one man, who calls out something. Katya runs toward him and throws her arms around him. It hits me how I’m not jealous. This has to be Markus, and he’s no threat. She’s mine, after all.
She runs to the passenger door and helps Markus lift Uri out. Holy shit. He’s so pale his skin has a blue tint to it. He stumbles getting out of the car, and my heart is in my throat.
They bring him up the stairs, and he crashes onto one of the leather seats. He’s sweating and shivering, his shirt stained a deep rust color. He gives me a half-smile. “Fuck, you look good.”
“You look like shit, so it’s not a fair comparison.”
“Found my watch.” He tries to raise his hand to show me, but groans. Uri blinks a few times at Ian in my arms. “You got the band back together.”
“Katya did.” I turn my head toward her.
She’s standing in the corner, talking with Alana, who looks even more somber than before. Katya hugs her associate and slowly walks over to me. She tilts her head, her lower jaw quivering. “I need to stay.”
I didn’t hear her right. There’s no way. We’re here, on the plane. Safe, alive, and free. “No. We’re leaving.” I inch toward her, but she steps out of the way.
“You’re still in danger, all of you.” Her voice cracks. “I can’t protect you from it.”
“I don’t need you to.”
She laughs. “Shit, you really are funny.” She shakes her head. “Whatever happened, it’s bigger than your family. It’s bigger than my team. I’m convinced it’s connected to Majesty somehow.”
This doesn’t make sense. “Fine, but that doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“There’s a mole in the agency. That’s the only explanation for my team’s attack. I’m the only one who knows, it has to be me who investigates.”
“No!”
Markus steps forward. “Katya, what are you doing?”
“I’m going back in. It’s the only way to make sure all of you are safe.” She waves her hand around the cabin of the plane.
Alana steps in, arms crossed, addressing us. “You’re all under my care for now. Katya will keep the alphabet agencies off your scent. Fresh start, new lives.”
I pull away from her. “I thought you loved me.”
Katya breaks. Her chest heaves, and she tries to regain control. She peers at me like her brain is buffering. “I do,” she confesses. “And this is how I’m showing you.” She jumps into my arms and kisses me, but it tastes like salt. “I’ll come find you. I promise.”
She runs off the plane as the pilot starts the engine and begins his preflight check.
The man in black hands me a blanket. “Name’s Lance. It’s gonna be a long flight.”
I sit in one of the leather chairs, staring out the window at Katya. She’s rubbing her arms and tries to smile, but it contorts into a frown before she turns away.
She said she loved me.
I love her.
But then I remember I’m in love with a liar.
PART 2