Chapter 8 Elias
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELIAS
The guard at the main gate barely glances at the paperwork before waving me through.
His eyes slide lazily across the delivery manifest, then across my face, and in that instant, I see exactly what I expected: dismissal.
Contractors in this part of Moscow are invisible.
They arrive, unload, and leave. They don’t draw attention unless they give a reason to.
I ease the truck forward through the gates and feel the automatic tightening in my chest that happens whenever a plan leaves conceptual safety and drops into reality. There’s no turning back now.
I pull around to the side entrance, and a pair of guards wait, already impatient that I’m not out of the truck yet.
I step down from the cab with a slight hunch to my shoulders, the universal posture of a man paid too little to argue with anyone, and hand them the clipboard they expect.
They don’t even acknowledge me. They just read over the clipboard, then instruct me to unload everything inside.
I lift the back door of the truck, grab the first small crate, and carry it inside.
I glance over my shoulder and see they both stayed at their posts outside, facing the truck. I tuck the empty crate in the room with the first open door I see, then pull out my silencer.
We agreed on no tasers as the men would be able to bounce back from that after a few minutes, and we can’t afford any of these guards waking up and alerting anyone we’re here. But these men are all criminals; they are knowingly working for the worst mafia in the entire world.
Ivan is known globally for his illicit trades, criminal network, and weapon distribution.
However, no organization had been able to pin him down for the crimes yet, mostly because the Russian government wasn’t willing to play ball with the Americans.
When I was working his case with the FBI, our team had suspected he had support in the Russian government, so any attempt to take him down was met with resistance, or some poor councilman would suddenly end up in a terrible car accident.
That’s why I knew bargaining with the FBI would work. If they had that list, they would know who to trust and who to keep in the dark. Nobody was willing to risk talking to someone who may rat them out and make them Ivan’s next target.
With all that running through my head, I slip back toward the entrance, gun raised, and in two quick, quiet shots, both guards have crumbled to the ground with barely a noise.
“It’s clear,” I call to the truck.
I keep my eyes on the surroundings until the three of them move the crates and step forward, jumping down from the back of the truck.
“Dex, Pete, cover us,” I tell them quickly. “The guard was about Sly’s height, so he’s going in with me.” I’m surprised when nobody argues. Pete moves to the door and watches inside while Dex gives us his back and scans outside for anyone coming our way.
Sly and I make quick work of stripping the guards of their uniforms and putting them on. We toss our spare clothes in the back of the truck, then drag the two bodies inside, dumping them in a small side room where they hopefully won’t be found while we’re still here.
“You know the drill,” I tell them. “Keep our exit clear.”
Pete steps inside, and Dex climbs into the back of the truck with his back pressed to the side. I’m surprised they aren’t throwing jabs around or making jokes, but I appreciate their seriousness when it’s needed most.
Dressed in the guards' uniforms, Sly walks behind me as I head down the hall and pull my phone out of my pocket. My tracker app is already up on the screen. The blinking dot shows her still in the same room, one floor above us. I nod to Sly, to let him know there’s no change, and we head out of the service corridor and into the main hallway that connects several large rooms to the front foyer.
I head in that direction, knowing that’s where the stairs will be.
I keep my pace steady and unremarkable as two guards exit a side room as we approach, speaking with the casual entitlement of men who feel safe.
I keep my chin even and my stride exact.
One glances my way, but his eyes skim over the uniform before returning to his conversation.
I don’t feel relief, not yet. Not until we’re all out of here safely.
The stairs appear, grand and curved, leading up to the second floor. My hands tighten on the strap of my gun hanging at my side as I walk to them with purpose.
As we near the top, I know this is going to be one of the hardest parts. I glance to my left and see a guard stationed outside a door halfway down. That must be Jagger’s room. To my right, about the same distance away, is another guard.
Wren is right behind that door. The only thing separating us is that man. His back rests against the doorframe, his eyes half-focused on nothing. He’s not alert, but complacency does not make him less dangerous.
I catalogue his posture, the tilt of his chin, the way his arms hang at his sides. One quick strike to the throat, one twist of the wrist to disarm him, and he will be on the ground before he understands what is happening. But the other guard will see it happen.
Sly and I have to split up. I start to turn my head to tell him so, but stop when I see Wren’s guard lift his radio to his ear.
His expression sharpens instantly as he listens, eyes widening and shoulders tensing.
He almost drops the radio in his haste to turn around and open the door with sudden urgency.
I take a step in that direction, unsure what’s going on but wondering if his being inside that room is my chance to act. Then the guard shouts in a burst of raw panic, Russian spilling out in frantic waves. “She’s gone!”
He rushes into the hallway again and, upon spotting us, yells in Russian, “Search her room for clues!” He gestures back to her door as he runs toward Jagger’s room. We watch in confusion as they shove it open and yell that he’s escaped, too.
My eyes meet Sly’s as I whisper, “Escaped?” Not wanting to get caught standing there, we hustle into her room and shut the door. Sly starts searching everywhere while I pull up the app.
“Shit!” I hiss when I see her red dot moving through the backyard. I run to the open window and peek out, holding my phone up to try to figure out where she is.
“She went out the window,” Sly says, his voice a mix of surprise and awe.
“I think they both did,” I tell him, my eyes scanning the app.
“Wait, she’s turning around.” I look out at the yard, trying to figure out where she is, then I see the sudden movement as two figures dart behind one of the small outbuildings.
“There!” I point at where I just saw them, my mind racing to come up with a plan.
“We need to let them know we’re here, and to head for the side entrance,” I say in frustration.
“Why are they coming back this way?” Sly asks when they move closer again.
“I don’t know. But standing here, we can’t do anything. She won’t be able to tell it’s us from here.”
“And if we yell out to them, everyone will know where they are and that we are here,” Sly adds.
“Come on,” I say, turning back to the door. “We need to get out there.”
We didn’t come this far to lose her now. If I had to shoot every man in this place to get to her, I would do it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.