Chapter 2 #2
I know what that looks like, not from training or intelligence files, but from women who expect the hands on them to hurt because hands have always hurt.
That should make the next decision easier. She doesn’t look like an operative. Everything in the footage says she isn’t. What bothers me is how badly I want to trust that read, because certainty is what killed Daria, and I don’t get to have it anymore.
Nadia clicks open the motel registry file.
“Margot Carlstrom has no recent travel, no clean digital footprint, and no obvious tie to Antonov. She has two old civil filings tied to a marriage in DuPage County and one restraining-order petition that went nowhere. No arrests. No known intelligence training. No passport use in eighteen months.”
Zavid’s expression hardens. “That’s the profile of a woman running from a domestic situation, not a field operative.”
Nathan tips his chin toward the wall. “Or a civilian identity built to read that way.”
Kolya shifts his weight. “Either way, keeping her unsecured is stupid.”
I look at him. “Was there any damage during pickup?”
Kolya’s expression doesn’t change. “No lasting damage. She fought. We contained it.”
I don’t ask what contained means in practice because I already know. Men say contained when they want a decision and not a conversation about it.
Zavid tips the cup in my direction. “You should ask what condition she’s in.”
Nathan looks between us. “Since when are we pretending this is a charity intake?”
“Since the potential hostage started looking less like an enemy operative and more like a woman you can get us indicted for stealing.” Zavid folds one arm across his chest. “I realize you’re not a lawyer, Nathan, but I’d hoped proximity would help.”
Nathan sits back. “Your optimism is touching.”
I cut across them before the exchange goes any further. “Where is she now?”
Kolya answers at once. “Transit room off the garage. She’s hooded and restrained.”
I let the silence sit long enough for all four of them to feel it. “Why is she in a transit room?”
Kolya doesn’t blink. “We hadn’t confirmed placement.”
“Your men default to cages when they don’t have instructions,” Zavid says.
“My men default to control.”
Nadia turns in her chair before the argument can widen. “You need to see this.”
One of the live monitors shifts from motel feeds to a search cascade across scraped security nodes and illicit access points.
Nadia enlarges three search strings and color-marks the overlap.
“Antonov watchers are pulling footage from the same motel block. These aren’t public requests.
They’re dirty access through a contractor shell and two borrowed credentials.
They started scraping twenty minutes after our pickup team arrived. ”
Nathan straightens so fast his chair legs hit the floor. “They’re looking for her.”
Nadia scrolls to the next cluster without looking away. “Or for confirmation of who took her. Either way, the search focus is the same woman.”
Zavid swears under his breath. “That moves the legal exposure from theoretical to catastrophic.”
Kolya doesn’t sound alarmed. “It confirms we were right to take her.”
He’s wrong. It confirms we were too slow.
If Kirill’s people are chasing motel footage before dawn, either the woman already mattered to them or our pickup made her matter.
That doesn’t make her Katya. It makes her part of a board I haven’t seen clearly enough, and I don’t tolerate blind spots in my own operations.
Nadia opens one more still. The woman’s face fills the wall now, turned just enough toward the rear camera that the resemblance hits full force.
She has the same cheekbones, the same mouth, and the same pale coloring made colder by bad light.
The difference is in the strain around her features.
Katya had control behind her expression.
This woman looks like she expects every door to open to reveal the wrong man.
I stand. “She isn’t going to the warehouse cells.”
Nathan raises his eyebrows. “There’s that humanitarian streak you’re famous for.”
I scoff. “It’s not mercy. It’s containment with fewer witnesses and less stupidity.”
Nathan almost smiles, but it doesn’t last.
I turn to Kolya. “Bring her to the lower-level holding suite. Use the clean room with camera coverage and no windows. One medic checks her for injury if she needs it. No one touches her except to move restraints if required.”
Kolya gives a short nod. “Understood.”
I look at him again. “Remove the hood when she’s secured. I want her able to breathe without fighting fabric.”
Nathan watches me. “You think she’ll talk easier if she can see?”
“I think panic muddies data.” That’s true, but it’s not the full answer.
Zavid studies me over the rim of his cup. “So, what is she? Suspect or leverage?”
I hesitate to answer. Nathan waits. Kolya stands ready to move the moment I speak. Somewhere below us, a freight elevator starts and stops, then starts again.
I think of the still from the rear stairs, the bite, the fight, and the fear that doesn’t look rehearsed.
Katya three weeks ago, standing in this same building with proof in her hand and calculation behind her composure, comes to mind, along with Kirill scraping motel feeds while half the city sleeps.
Daria died because I let someone else’s certainty stand where my judgment should have been.
“She’s both until I decide otherwise. Which one depends on what she says when I question her.”
Zavid doesn’t like that answer. He’ll live with it. His retainer ensures that.
Nadia lifts a hand toward the scrolling search strings. “Antonov traffic is increasing. If they get the outside cameras from the block, they’ll know the vehicle package and probable route.”
That settles the rest. I pick up my phone, check the time, and put it back. “Move her now. I want her in the lower-level suite before sunrise.”
Kolya is already reaching for the door when I stop him. “If anyone mistakes restraint for permission, they answer to me before dawn too.”