Chapter 46 #2
Finding three doors lining the corridor, I kick open the first one to reveal a basic storage room.
Dusty shelves sit stacked with cleaning supplies, but the room is empty.
The second door is locked tight. Shooting the metal handle off, I kick the wood inward to find a large wine cellar filled with racks of expensive bottles. There is no panic room.
The third door sits at the dead end of the hall. The frame holds reinforced steel with no visible handle, a digital keypad resting on the concrete wall beside it.
"Panic room located," Marko reports through the earpiece. "Breaching now."
Stepping back to give him space, I watch Marko plant a heavy shaped charge directly on the steel door. We both move down the hall to find cover.
The charge detonates. The explosive blast is deafening inside the enclosed space. The heavy steel door blows inward, the metal landing twisted and smoking on the floor. I walk straight through the thick gray cloud with my combat knife already drawn in my hand.
Levan Janelidze sits calmly behind a metal desk, holding a half-finished glass of red wine between his fingers. He takes a slow sip and sets the crystal down.
"Pakhan Roma…" Reaching under the desk, he pulls up a hidden pistol and fires twice.
I move fast. The first round punches a hole into the wall exactly where my head just was. The second bullet splits the air right past my ear. Closing the distance between us, I watch him fire a desperate third time and miss completely. His hands shake. His eyes stream with smoke.
I reach his desk before he can pull the trigger a fourth time.
"Has your aim started deteriorating along with the rest of you?" I ask.
He swings the hot barrel toward my chest. Slapping the gun hard from his grip, I send the weapon skittering across the concrete floor. He stumbles into the desk, knocking the wine glass over to spill dark red liquid across the metal surface.
I grab his collar with both fists, jerking him forward to head-butt him square in the face. The sickening crunch of bone echoes off the concrete walls. His head whips backward as his knees buckle, and he slides down the edge of the desk with thick blood pouring from his ruined nose.
Throwing him flat on his back, I drop my full weight right on top of him. I dig my knees into his ribs to trap him - pinning both of his wrists above his head with my left hand while my right hand readies the combat knife.
"Talk," I demand.
"Fuck you."
Driving the knife deep into his left shoulder, I push the blade slowly. It tears through tight muscle and grinds against his collarbone. He screams in agony, and I pull the bloody blade free.
"Give me your trade routes," I say. "Tell me about every corridor you built."
"I'll tell you nothing."
I stab him again, targeting the same shoulder to slide the steel in half an inch from the first wound. He shrieks.
"Give me your sabotage plans."
"Kill me. Just…"
Stabbing him again, I sink the blade deep into the destroyed shoulder to spray fresh blood across the floor. I pull it out and stab him again. And again. And again. His left shoulder turns into a butchered ruin. He sobs heavy tears between his screams.
Raising the knife for another strike, I pause.
Addison Rae starts playing loudly from my tactical vest pocket.
The chorus to "Diet Pepsi" rings out bright and bouncy in the bloody room.
Levan chokes on his own screams, falling into a stunned silence.
I look at the bloody knife, glance down at my ringing pocket, and then stare right into Levan's terrified eyes.
"Shh," I whisper. Pressing one blood-soaked finger against his pale lips, I lean closer. "My wife is calling. So you better shut up. If she hears anything that upsets her, I'll do things to you that haven't even been invented yet."
Pulling the knife free from his ruined shoulder, I watch him gasp in pain but hold the scream behind his clenched teeth. I wipe the wet blade clean on his dress shirt and sheath the weapon at my side. Pulling the ringing phone from my pocket with blood-slicked fingers, I answer.
"Hello, Vedma."
"Alexei, thank God." Her voice comes through the speaker, frustrated and out of breath. "I need your help - the TV logged me out, and I can't figure out the damn password. It's driving me crazy."
"It's VedmaMoya," I tell her. I keep my tone entirely even while my knee grinds down into Levan's broken ribs. "Capital V, capital M, and then eight-one-four."
A brief beat of silence passes on the line. I hear the clicking of the remote.
"Wait," she murmurs. "Did you make the security password about me?"
"Every password I have is about you."
"It worked. Oh, thank God."
"What are you up to right now?" I ask.
"Just finishing some work." She replies as I hear her sit on the couch.
"When are you coming home? I found a movie I want us to watch."
"Give me a couple of hours. I'll be quick."
"Okay. Wait - on your way back, can you get me a chicken pizza? And Alexei, you have to make sure they don't put onions or pineapple on it, or I swear to God I'll lose it."
"Alright. No onions. No pineapple. What else?"
"Oh, I really want that fizzy peach drink. The Polish one."
"The one in the glass bottle?" I confirm.
"Yes, but do not buy it from the store near the highway. Their fridge is always broken, and the bottles are warm. Go to the Kirov market."
Snapping my bloody fingers to catch Pavel's attention, I watch him cross the concrete room. He steps over Levan’s shaking legs to grab a pen and notepad from the metal desk before handing the items down to me.
Wedging the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I balance the notepad right on Levan’s chest to start writing.
His broken ribs flinch with every stroke of the pen.
"Fizzy peach drink in a glass bottle, Kirov market, and a pizza. What else do you need, Vedma?"
"Chips. And grab a tub of sour cream for dipping. Make sure the chips are the ones in the purple bag - the green ones taste awful. And ice cream. Vanilla with the chocolate swirl. Actually, you know what? Just buy a three-liter tub. One is never enough, and you always eat half of it anyway."
"Okay. The massive tub of ice cream. Anything else?"
"Hmm... can you grab something from the bakery right next door to the Kirov market? I want a custard-flavored pastry. If they have the raspberry custard cake, get a couple of those too, but only if they look fresh. I don't want them if they look stale, but I really do want them."
"Custard pastries. Raspberry if fresh."
Levan coughs, red blood bubbling from his pale lips. Muting the phone call, I grab his jaw with my free hand and squeeze hard until his teeth grind together. His eyes bulge in panic.
"I'm having a loving conversation with my wife," I hiss at him. "We're discussing pizza and pastries. If you make one more sound - if you cough, or if you breathe louder than I think is necessary - I'll cut your tongue out and feed it to the guard dogs upstairs. Nod if you understand."
He gives a frantic nod. I unmute the phone.
"Sorry, baby. I dropped my pen."
"You're so clumsy today," she sighs. "Are you even writing this down? I'm going to forget everything I just asked for the second I hang up the phone."
"Don't worry, baby. I'm writing it all down right now. I got every single word."
"Wait - do we have toilet paper?"
"I'll add it to the list."
"Okay... yeah, I think that's everything. For real this time."
"Alright, my love. If you need anything else, just call me back. Relax, put your feet up, and start another movie. When I get home, we'll watch your pick together. I'll bring all the snacks."
"Okay."
"I love you."
"Love you too," she murmurs, her voice softening. "Hurry up and finish your work. I miss your face."
"I'll be home soon. I promise."
Hanging up the call, I set the phone down on the notepad resting on his chest.
Levan stares up at me with blood-filled eyes.
"What do you take me for?" His voice comes out raw and enraged.
"A fucking writing desk? A piece of furniture?
You sit on my chest - taking a grocery list from your woman - while I bleed out underneath you?
You take a phone call about pizza and pastries while I lie here with a destroyed shoulder and a broken nose?
You treat me as nothing! I'm Levan Janelidze. I killed your fath…"
Pulling my knife free, I drive the steel deep into the center of his chest. I avoid the heart and aim lower. The blade punches through the hard sternum, angling straight toward his windpipe. His mouth drops open, but he makes no sound. Escaping air whistles wetly from the fresh wound.
Pulling the blade out, I stab him again. I sink the metal an inch to the left.
"You could've stayed quiet," I tell him. "You could've kept your mouth shut for thirty more seconds. This execution would've been clean."
I stab him directly in the face, the long blade piercing his right cheek to punch all the way through his left cheek.
Ripping the knife free, I drive it into his chest again.
And again. His weak arms drop to the floor.
His broken body stops fighting me. The violent convulsions slow down to mere twitches before fading into complete stillness.
Stopping my attack, I breathe hard in the quiet room. Fresh blood coats my knife hand all the way to the wrist. The notepad resting on his chest is soaked through, Zoya’s grocery list blurring beneath the dark red stains.
Peeling the notepad off his shirt, I tear the top list free. I fold the paper carefully and tuck the list into my vest pocket right beside her panties.
"Bring me the bag."
Pavel brings the heavy body bag over. My men wrestle Levan's form into the black fabric, shoving him feet-first to pin his legs, torso, and arms tight inside.
The pooling blood makes the plastic slippery.
By the time they zip the bag up to his chin, he's somehow still breathing.
His eyes roll back, showing nothing but white and red.