Chapter Twenty
The surveillance van was cramped, hot, and smelled like stale coffee, sweat and boredom. Bryn shifted in his seat next to an FBI agent, who’d introduced herself as Beth, and was watching a bank of monitors showing feeds from in and around the Cathedral of the Holy Cross.
New England’s largest Catholic cathedral dominated the corner of Washington and Malden in the South End of Boston, its towering Gothic Revival spires dramatic against the gray sky.
The massive stone structure, with its pointed arches and intricate rose windows, seemed rock solid to Bryn.
He didn’t like that the building might witness violence.
Though it’s probably seen its fair share in almost one hundred and fifty years. Emmett would know.
“Movement on the east side,” an FBI agent’s voice crackled through the van’s radio from her position across the street. “Three vehicles, tinted windows.”
Bryn leaned forward, studying the screen. The images were grainy but he could make out a male driver in the lead van. “That has to be Russo’s men. They aren’t even trying to be subtle, are they?”
“No, they aren’t,” Beth agreed.
“Hold positions,” came the response from Special Agent Bell. “All units, confirm readiness.”
The teams sounded off in rapid succession and Bryn clenched a fist, his stomach knotting.
Things were getting real. Gunnar, crouched beside him in the van, checked his weapon for the third time in five minutes.
He was positioned between Bryn and the door.
It was a tight space for his big frame. “I don’t like this.
We’re too exposed.” He wrinkled his nose. “Also, it stinks in here.”
Beth chuckled.
“We’re a hundred yards away from the action,” Bryn reminded him. “I’m as safe as I’m going to get. This van is supposed to blend in, isn’t it?”
“Famous last words. Any seasoned criminal can spot a surveillance van from a mile off. There are too many civilians around. Bell will have to let Russo’s boys go into the cathedral before he moves in or innocent people could get hurt.”
“It’s a catch-22, isn’t it,” Bryn commented. “Clear the bystanders and Bell shows his hand. Let Russo move his men in and he risks a bloodbath in the cathedral.”
“The Kozlovs aren’t defenseless,” Gunnar said. “They won’t be dropping their weaponry in the collection plate.”
“And somehow, that’s not reassuring.”
On the monitors, the cathedral’s internal CCTV showed that the memorial service was underway.
The Kozlov family and their associates had gathered in impressive numbers—at least sixty people were seated in wooden pews beneath the vaulted roof.
Stained glass windows cast colored light across the assembled, black-clad group.
The altar was adorned with flowers and photographs of Pavel Kozlov.
“It looks so peaceful and I’m starting to feel like a voyeur. Where’s Russo?” Bryn asked, scanning the feeds. “Malavita said he’d be close enough to watch.”
“The observation team tracked him going into the building across the street,” Beth said. “Third floor, northeast corner. We’ve got eyes on the windows up there but there aren’t any cameras. There’s a spotter on another building watching him the old-fashioned way, with binoculars.”
“No drones?” Gunnar asked.
“It would have to hover outside the window and besides, you think we have that kind of budget?”
“I’ll bet Russo’s enjoying this,” Bryn said in disgust. “This is entertainment for him. He must know we’re here by now but he won’t care. People are objects to him. Pieces on a chess board ready to be sacrificed.”
“Targets are moving. All units, prepare for…” Bell’s communication cut off in a burst of static as men poured from the three vans.
“Jesus,” Beth breathed. “Look at them move.”
“If we didn’t know better, they could be military special forces,” Bryn said. Russo’s men were dressed in black tactical gear and carried automatic weapons. They ran at high speed, fluid and smooth.
“He really has created super-soldiers,” Gunnar said. “Apex predators. I should be out there.”
“Or you could avoid getting unalived by staying in here with me and Beth.”
The first soldier hit the cathedral’s heavy wooden doors like a battering ram, splintering the wood with a single strike. The others poured through the breach and the memorial service erupted into chaos. Bryn watched the feeds in horrified fascination.
“All teams move in,” Bell’s voice crackled through the radio.
One of the enhanced soldiers grabbed a man twice his size and threw him across the cathedral’s center aisle like a rag doll, his body crashing into the wooden pews. Another moved in a blur between the massive stone columns, taking down three armed Kozlov men before they could get off a shot.
“This is going to be a massacre,” Bryn said.
“Fire at will,” Bell’s voice was tight with tension. “I repeat, fire at will.”
“This plan is going to hell!” Bryn snapped, watching as another enhanced soldier tore through a group of people trying to flee toward the side chapels.
There was a sudden screech of tearing metal and the van’s rear doors were ripped clean off their hinges. Bryn had just enough time to see a figure in tactical gear, moving with inhuman speed, before Gunnar threw himself forward with a guttural growl.
“Bryn, get down!”
The enhanced soldier was larger than the ones they’d seen in the cathedral.
He reached for Bryn but Gunnar intercepted him mid-lunge.
The two of them crashed into the van’s equipment banks in a tangle of limbs.
Beth was thrown from her seat, hit her head and slumped to the floor unconscious.
Bryn scrambled to get out of Gunnar’s way but in the tight confines of the van he couldn’t avoid the kick that connected with the back of his knee, and he went down.
It wasn’t a fair fight. The enhanced soldier was stronger and faster than Gunnar, and seemed immune to pain. He grabbed Gunnar by the throat and lifted him off the ground with one hand until Gunnar’s head and shoulders were bent against the roof of the van.
Bryn didn’t think—he moved. He ripped off his gloves and his glasses then lunged forward and grabbed the enhanced soldier’s exposed wrist. The soldier dropped Gunnar, apparently distracted by Bryn’s eyes.
What Bryn found in the soldier’s memory was horrifying. He had ripped apart another man at Russo’s command and had enjoyed it.
“Fuck,” Bryn spat out, but his actions had achieved his goal and given Gunnar time to regroup.
“Get out of my fucking head!” the soldier snarled. A backhanded blow caught Bryn across the chest, sending him flying out of the van. He hit the pavement hard, pain exploding through his ribs. Winded, he struggled to breathe.
His dramatic exit gave Gunnar the opening he needed. With a growl, he pounced and grappled with the soldier. They crashed around the interior of the van, destroying equipment and generating sparks from damaged electronics.
Bryn’s chest felt like it was on fire. He could taste blood in his mouth, and when he attempted to stand, the world spun.
Through the van’s shattered doorway, he could only watch as the fight raged on.
Gunnar had managed to wound the soldier.
Blood streamed from several gashes, but the man’s enhanced healing was already beginning to close the wounds.
Worse, he was starting to adapt to Gunnar’s fighting style.
With a violent blow, he knocked Gunnar to the floor.
The soldier turned toward Bryn with predatory focus.
“Russo wants you alive, but he didn’t say you had to be undamaged.”
Bryn spotted movement in the back of the van behind Gunnar. Beth rolled onto her side then fired several shots at Gunnar’s attacker. Bryn lay flat as bullets flew. Behind him the sound of gunfire from in and around the cathedral intensified, punctuated by screams and the crash of falling debris.
“We need to get to Russo,” Bryn yelled. “If he’s directing this, maybe we can force him to call them off.”
With a roar of fury, Gunnar launched himself at the soldier, using all his lupine strength to tackle him. As they rolled in a tangle of limbs, Gunnar yelled, “Go! Get out of here!”
Bryn didn’t argue. He hauled himself up then limped across the street, moving through the chaos as more and more emergency vehicles screamed toward the cathedral.
He made his way to the building that had been pointed out as Russo’s observation post, a red brick office complex from the early 1900s.
Inside, the reception area had been abandoned.
Ignoring the elevator, Bryn made his way up the narrow stairs, his breathing getting more labored with each step.
He wrapped his arms around his torso in an attempt to squeeze away some of the pain.
“Third floor,” he muttered to himself, “northeast corner.” He reached the right floor and moved down the hallway. Through a partially open door, he could hear Russo’s voice. He sounded excited and pleased.
“Magnificent,” he was saying. “Look at them work. Each one worth a dozen normal men.”
“How did the FBI get here so fast?” another voice replied. “They’re making headway.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Russo said. “My men won’t stop until I tell them to.”
Bryn took a deep breath, ignoring the pain from what were probably cracked ribs, and pushed through the door.
The room beyond contained equipment not dissimilar to that in the observation van, with monitors showing feeds from inside the cathedral.
Russo stood by the window that looked across at the cathedral.
He was wearing an earpiece and watching the chaos with obvious pleasure.
“You!” he snarled when he saw Bryn. “The augur. Perfect timing—you can watch your friends die.”
“Call them off,” Bryn said, realizing he had no idea what to do next. He had no weapon and was in no condition to fight Russo or his companion, who didn’t seem to be gene-enhanced.
Russo laughed. “Call them off? Why would I do that? They’re doing exactly as I ordered.”
“Stop and I’ll go with you. Give you what you want.” It was a desperate move.
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth. I appreciate you saving me the time to track you down. I suppose it was you who discovered what I was going to do? You’re the reason the Feds are here making my life difficult. You’ll have to pay for that.”
Bryn glanced around for something he could use as a weapon but there was nothing to hand and Russo’s very large friend was moving toward him. Fuck, I should have thought this through. No more improvising, Bryn, you idiot.
“Kill him,” Russo commanded. “He’s more trouble than he’s worth. But make it slow.”
The hulking man lunged. Bryn jerked sideways but not fast enough to avoid being struck on the shoulder by the edge of a thick forearm, spinning him into a metal cabinet. Pain flared white-hot in his ribs, and he slumped to the floor with a hiss.
“Rude,” he wheezed. “I think that dislodged a kidney.”
The man advanced, looming over him like an angry silverback with a grudge. Bryn braced for impact but then the door he had entered through burst inward with a shriek of torn hinges. Gunnar stormed through, his shirt torn and face bloodied.
“Did someone order a rescue with extra violence?” He growled, already moving.
“You’re late,” Bryn croaked.
“I was kinda busy if you recall, and when I told you to get away, I didn’t mean for you to run straight to the enemy,” Gunnar shot back.
Gunnar and Bryn’s attacker collided like wrecking balls. The force of impact as they hit the wall cracked plaster. Bryn dragged himself upright with a groan. “Can you make this quick?”
“Really?” Gunnar shot him an exasperated look between punches.
This wasn’t a gene-enhanced soldier, it was just a man, albeit a huge one. Gunnar made short work of him with a knee to the groin followed by a hammer punch to the back of the neck. The guy went down like a felled tree.
Across the room, Russo paled. He spun toward the door only to find someone already standing in his path. Giles. The man didn’t walk into a room, he arrived, all cool detachment and immaculate attire. His calm, dispassionate confidence made Russo flinch.
“You’re…also late,” Bryn said, squinting at Giles through a haze of pain.
Giles glanced at him. “You’re bleeding on the floor.”
Russo reached for a weapon. Giles was faster. There was a blur of movement and Giles had disarmed Russo and taken a firm hold of his collar. With the barest effort, he dragged Russo across the office.
“Wait!” Russo shouted.
“Oh, hush,” Giles said and, with less ceremony than if he had been taking out the trash, he hurled Russo at the nearest window.
The strength behind that throw must have been significant because the glass shattered in an explosion of sound and glittering light. A few seconds passed before a sickening crunch sounded from the street below.
Gunnar, his boot pressed into his opponent’s back, stared. “Did he just…?”
“He did. Three floors down. Ouch. That must have bruised.”
“You don’t think holding him for questioning might have been a good idea?” Gunnar asked Giles.
Giles brushed a few bits of glass from his sleeve. “He was boring me.”
Bryn huffed, holding his ribs. “Well, at least that’s one of today’s nightmares over.”
“You’re welcome,” Giles said, eyes flicking to the man on the floor. “Why is this one still breathing?”
Gunnar poked the man with the toe of his boot. “We can interrogate him instead. When he regains consciousness.”
Giles shrugged. “Okay, but the window is available…just saying.”
Bryn limped over to the gaping hole to take a look. Down below, Russo’s lifeless body had attracted a ring of agents and emergency personnel. A red puddle stained the street.
“Gross. Think Bell will want a statement?” Bryn asked.
“He’ll get a shrug,” Gunnar replied, crouching beside him. “Can you walk the stairs?”
“That’s optimistic.” Bryn winced. “I can sort of lean. It’s adjacent to standing.”
Giles picked his way over shattered glass. “You two are incredibly high maintenance.”
“Oh, please,” Bryn shot back. “You haven’t even broken a sweat.”
Gunnar chuckled and put an arm around Bryn’s shoulders. “We done here?”
“For now,” Giles said, already moving toward the stairwell. “We can send the Feds up here to retrieve that pile of meat.”
Bryn and Gunnar followed him into the hallway, bruised and bloodied, but standing. Behind them, a shattered window marked the end of Russo’s reign and the beginning of a huge pile of paperwork.