Chapter 27Elena
27
Elena
I finish my rotation an hour early, surprising myself with my efficiency. The last patient had been straightforward, just a simple case of bronchitis that didn’t require extensive workup. I pull my phone from my pocket and text Valeriya and Fydor that I’m ready for pickup.
My phone buzzes almost immediately, but the number isn’t one I recognize. I read the message twice.
Regular team delayed. Replacement driver sent. ETA 5 minutes. –Security
Something about the message makes me pause. The wording seems off. Damir’s security team never refers to themselves as “Security” in texts. They always use names or code phrases we’ve established. I start to type a response when Dr. Patel’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Dr. Clarke, glad I caught you. We need a consult in room twelve.”
I slide my phone into my pocket. “I was actually heading out early today.”
Her expression shifts to apologetic. “I know, but this patient has symptoms similar to the Ramirez case you handled last week. Your insight would be valuable.”
I nod, pushing aside my unease about the text. “Of course.”
The consult takes longer than expected, with thirty minutes spent examining the patient, reviewing lab results, and discussing treatment options with Dr. Patel. By the time we finish, I’m running behind schedule.
I hurry to the locker room, changing out of my scrubs into jeans and a sweater. My fingers brush against the emerald necklace Damir gave me, and I fasten it around my neck. Having it against my skin is reassuring and a constant reminder of his protection.
The pregnancy makes me move more deliberately these days. I’m not showing much yet, but I’m acutely aware of the precious cargo I’m carrying. I gather my belongings and exit through the emergency department—a habit I’ve developed since marrying Damir. The main entrance is too predictable and too exposed. The emergency exit offers more cover and escape routes if needed.
A black SUV idles at the curb, similar to the vehicles in Damir’s fleet but lacking something crucial—the second SUV that always accompanies my transportation. Damir’s security protocols are meticulous, never changing. Two vehicles, and a minimum of four guards, though I rarely interact with the team in the second SUV. Sometimes, I see Lev, but the fourth driver/guard often varies.
This is just one car and one driver.
The man steps out as I approach, dressed in the same style suit as Damir’s security team—black, tailored, and professional. He’s tall with short dark hair and a clean-shaven face. There’s nothing remarkable about him, which somehow makes me more suspicious. “Dr. Clarke,” he says with a slight nod. “I’m here to take you home.”
I stop several feet away. “Where are Valeriya and Fydor? Or Lev?”
“Reassigned by Mr. Antonovo for a special task.” His pronunciation of Damir’s surname is slightly off—Antonovo instead of Antonov. “I’m Ivan. I’ll be handling your security today.”
I don’t move closer. “I wasn’t informed of any changes.”
“Last-minute adjustment.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I have my credentials if you’d like to see them.”
He reaches into his jacket and produces an ID card that looks authentic, containing the same security company logo, and the same formatting as the cards I’ve seen Valeriya and Fydor carry.
“You can call Mr. Antonovo if you’d like confirmation,” he offers, pulling out his phone. “I can dial him for you.”
My instincts are screaming at me that this is wrong, but I don’t want to reveal my suspicion too openly yet. “Actually, I just got a call from a colleague.” I hold up my phone, pretending to answer it. “Dr. Patel? Yes, I’m on my way back in.”
I step away from the car, turning slightly as if for privacy. My fingers move quickly across my phone screen, pulling up Damir’s contact. I type rapidly: Unknown driver at hospital. Says V & F reassigned. Something’s wrong.
Before I can hit send, a strong arm wraps around my waist from behind. The phone slips from my grasp as a cloth presses against my face. The smell is sickly sweet and brings a surge of nausea I haven’t experienced in several days.
I struggle, connecting my elbow with something solid. The man grunts but doesn’t loosen his grip. My lungs burn as I try not to breathe, but it’s impossible. My vision blurs at the edges. My phone clatters to the pavement. The last thing I see is the message to Damir, unsent, as darkness closes in around me.
The first sensation that registers is the vibration, which is a steady rumble beneath me, and the unmistakable rhythm of tires on asphalt. My head throbs with each bump in the road in a dull ache that radiates from my temples. I keep my eyes closed, fighting the urge to open them as consciousness returns in waves.
I’m in a moving vehicle. The memory flashes back of the hospital parking lot, the fake security driver, and the cloth pressed against my face.
My hands won’t move. They’re secured to something solid—the door handle, I realize, as I carefully test my restraints without making obvious movements. Zip ties. The plastic bites into my wrists when I pull, so I stop immediately.
A voice breaks through my assessment. It’s male, speaking rapid Russian into a phone. I don’t understand the words, but the tone is clipped and professional. I crack my eyelids just enough to see through my lashes without being detected.
The driver is the same man from the hospital—Ivan if that’s even his real name. He’s holding a phone to his ear with one hand, while the other remains on the steering wheel. Through the windshield, I glimpse a highway sign for I-95 South.
I struggle to remain calm while doing a self-assessment of my condition. The sweet chemical smell from the cloth was trichloromethane, better known as chloroform. It metabolizes quickly, which explains why I’m regaining awareness faster than my captor likely anticipated. My mouth is dry, and my limbs are heavy but responsive. No signs of additional drugging.
The baby. My free hand instinctively tries to move to my abdomen, but the restraint stops it. Panic threatens to overwhelm me, but I force it down. Stress hormones aren’t good for the baby. I need to stay calm, think clearly, and be alert. It’s unlikely one dose of chloroform will hurt my pregnancy.
I take inventory of the SUV from my location in the back seat. Standard issue, with leather seats and a black interior. My purse is nowhere in sight. The doors have child locks engaged. I can see the switch position from my angle. The windows are tinted, making it difficult for anyone outside to see in.
The driver’s voice rises slightly, a hint of frustration coloring his words. He checks the rearview mirror, and I close my eyelids completely, letting my head loll against the window as if still unconscious.
A few seconds pass before I hear him shift in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him. Then he speaks again. “ Da, ona yeshche bez soznaniya .” His words are followed by a pause. “Nikolai budet dovolen .”
Nikolai. The name makes me shudder.
The car slows, merging into another lane. I risk another peek through my lashes. We’re passing a sign for Delaware, so we’ve been driving for at least an hour, and maybe more.
The driver ends his call and tosses the phone onto the passenger seat. He glances at me in the rearview mirror again, and this time, I’m not quick enough to close my eyes.
“Ah, our sleeping beauty awakens.” His accent is thicker now and no longer disguised. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Antonova?”
I don’t respond, keeping my breathing steady despite the fear coursing through me.
He reaches over to the passenger seat and picks up my phone. “Your husband must be worried by now, yes? Let’s send him a message.”
He pulls over to the shoulder of the highway, puts the car in park, and turns toward me. The movement reveals a gun holstered at his side.
“Your thumb, please.” He holds up my phone, screen facing me. “Facial recognition is too tricky with you looking so...disheveled.”
When I don’t comply, he sighs dramatically and reaches for my bound hands. His grip is firm as he forces my thumb against the home button, and the phone unlocks. “Much better.” He types something quickly, then holds the screen up for me to see.
Surrender everything, or she dies.—Nikolai
He hits send, then rolls down his window. The rush of air fills the car as he tosses my phone onto the highway. I watch it bounce twice before it disappears beneath the wheels of a passing truck.
“No tracking now,” he says with satisfaction. “Just you and me for the next few hours.”
My mind races through options I don’t seem to have. I need to buy time and gather information. “Where are you taking me?” My voice comes out raspy, and my throat is dry from the chloroform. One of its effects is dehydration. That random medical factoid from my training flashes through my mind.
He starts the car again, pulling back onto the highway. “Somewhere safe. Nikolai is eager to meet you properly.”
“I need water.” I make my voice weak and vulnerable. “Please.”
He reaches into the center console and retrieves a water bottle, uncapping it one-handed. “Here.”
He brings his arm back as I lean forward and holds it to my lips. I take small sips, careful not to drink too much. I need to appear more disoriented than I am.
“The baby,” I whisper, letting my head drop forward. “I’m pregnant.”
“I know.” His tone is matter-of-fact. “That’s what makes you so valuable, carrying Damir Antonov’s heir.”
I let my eyes flutter closed again, as if struggling to stay conscious. “How long... until we get there?”
“A few more hours. Rest while you can.”
I slump against the door, appearing to drift off. In reality, I’m working my wrists against the zip ties, using a technique I learned during a hospital safety course on patient restraints. The key is to create space within the restraint before it’s fully tightened, then work the teeth of the zip tie against the binding mechanism. I need to work slowly to avoid detection.
The driver turns on the radio, and classical music fills the car. Tchaikovsky. The irony of Russian music accompanying my kidnapping by Russian mafia isn’t lost on me.
“Nikolai has been watching you for months. Ever since you married Damir.” He says that conversationally, as though we’re discussing the Eagles’ latest game.
I remain silent, continuing my subtle work on the restraints.
“He says Damir has gone soft because of you. The mighty pakhan , brought low by a woman.” He chuckles. “And now a baby? He will give Nikolai everything to get you back. Even his life.”
I need to keep him talking. Information is power. “Damir will kill you,” I murmur, making my voice sound weak. “He’ll kill all of you.”
The driver laughs. “Perhaps, but first, he will surrender his territory, his businesses, and his men. I do believe Nikolai also wants his life. By the time he reaches you, there will be nothing left of his empire.”
“Where are we going?” I ask again, hoping for more specific information.
“A property on the Chesapeake. Very private. Very secure.” He glances at me in the mirror. “Don’t worry. You’ll be comfortable. Nikolai wants you and the baby in good health.”
The Chesapeake Bay. That narrows it down somewhat. Maryland or Virginia, most likely.
“How did you know I’d be leaving early today?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He smiles. “We have someone inside the hospital. They’ve been reporting on your schedule for weeks. He texted me when you were leaving and then again to let me know you’d been delayed.”
A mole at the hospital. The thought makes me sick. Someone I work with, someone I trust, has been feeding information to Nikolai. Immediately, I suspect Justin. “Who?” I demand, momentarily forgetting my act of weakness. “Justin Kehlan?”
“That would be telling.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Let’s just say, money…or anger…can buy almost anyone’s allegiance.”
Definitely Justin, who’d have no need for money, but who must still be angry enough with me and Damir to betray us. I return to my feigned semi-consciousness, letting my head roll with the movement of the car. The zip tie on my right wrist is beginning to give, the plastic mechanism weakening as I work it back and forth.
We pass another highway sign for Baltimore, thirty miles away. We’re getting closer to the Chesapeake.
“You should eat something,” says the driver, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a granola bar. “For the baby.”
He unwraps it one-handed and holds it back toward me. I take a small bite, chewing slowly. I need to keep up my strength, but I’m also buying time and working on the restraints. “Thank you,” I say, injecting gratitude into my voice. Building rapport with a captor can be a survival strategy. “What’s your name? Your real name?”
He hesitates, then shrugs. “Alexei.”
“Alexei,” I repeat. “How long have you worked for Nikolai?”
“Five years.” He seems pleased by my interest. “In the beginning, I worked for both of them. Many of us did, until Nikolai showed us a better way.”
“Better how?” I ask, genuinely curious about what could make someone betray Damir.
“Nikolai understands ambition. He rewards it.” Alexei shrugs. “Damir wants control. Nikolai wants partners.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity. “Partners who kidnap pregnant women?”
His expression hardens. “This is business. You’re leverage and nothing more.”
The zip tie gives slightly more. I’m making progress. “Does Nikolai know I’m a doctor?” I ask, changing tactics. “That I save lives?”
Alexei shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what you do. It only matters who you are to Damir.”
The reality of my situation hits me anew. To these men, I’m not Elena Clarke, fourth-year medical student with dreams of becoming a surgeon. I’m not even a person. I’m property—Damir’s wife, the mother of his child, and a bargaining chip.
The car exits the highway, turning onto a smaller road. We’re getting closer to wherever they’re taking me. I need to work faster on the restraints. “I need to use the bathroom,” I say, making my voice urgent. “The baby presses on my bladder.”
Alexei frowns. “We’re almost there. You can wait.”
“I can’t,” I insist, shifting in my seat. “Please. Just a quick stop.”
He sighs heavily. “There’s a gas station in two miles. I’ll stop, but don’t try anything stupid. I’m not the only one watching you.”
That gives me pause. “What do you mean?”
“Nikolai has men everywhere. Even if you somehow got away from me, they would find you before you made it a mile.” He taps his earpiece. “And they’re always listening.”
I nod, feigning resignation while continuing to work on the zip tie. It’s looser now, the plastic giving way millimeter by millimeter.
The gas station appears ahead. It’s a small, rundown place with only two pumps. Alexei pulls in and parks away from the building, out of direct sight of the cashier.
“I’ll cut your restraint, but remember…” He pats his holster meaningfully. “One wrong move, and things get unpleasant.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small knife. As he leans over to cut the zip tie on my left wrist, I keep my right hand still, hiding the progress I’ve made on loosening that restraint.
The plastic falls away from my left wrist, leaving an angry red mark. I rub it gingerly, playing up my discomfort while assessing my options.
The bathroom will give me privacy and a chance to fully free my right hand, but Alexei’s warning about other watchers gives me pause. Is he bluffing? Or are there really other men tracking us?
“Let’s go,” he says, opening his door and coming around to my side. He opens my door and helps me out, keeping a firm grip on my arm. He presses his gun against my side, though it’s hidden by his jacket. “Remember, nice and easy.”
I nod, allowing him to guide me toward the gas station bathroom. My right hand remains at my side, the zip tie still attached and trailing behind me. I’ll need to break it free before we reach the bathroom.
As we walk, I scan the parking lot. There are two other cars. An old pickup truck and a minivan. A mother with two young children emerges from the minivan, which seems like an unlikely spy for Nikolai. They head into the convenience store, not giving us a second glance.
Alexei guides me toward the side of the building, where the bathrooms are located. The zip tie trailing from my wrist drags on the ground. I need to snap it free without him noticing.
“Hurry up,” mutters Alexei, glancing around nervously.
I stumble slightly, using the movement to yank my right hand forward sharply. The zip tie breaks free with a small snap, but I keep my wrist positioned as if still restrained, the broken tie dangling from my wrist.
We reach the bathroom door. Alexei looks around once more, then curses when the door is locked. He knocks, and I point to a sign that says to get the key inside. “I can wait here.”
He smirks. “I’m not a fool.” Instead of going for the key, he steps back and kicks the lock and handle, splintering the wood before gesturing for me to go in. “Five minutes,” he says, pushing open the door. “I’ll be right outside, and the door doesn’t lock now.”
I step into the small, dingy bathroom. The door closes behind me, but there’s a gap where it should meet the jamb, letting in light. I quickly examine the bathroom. There’s one small window that’s too small to climb through. No other exits. My hands are free, but will that do me any good?
I turn on the sink, letting the water run to mask any sounds. Then I examine my reflection in the scratched metal mirror. My face is pale, hair disheveled. A small bruise is forming on my cheek where I must have hit something during the abduction.
“Think, Elena,” I whisper to myself. “Think.” Unfortunately, I really do need to pee, so that takes another minute of my allotted five minutes, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I can’t think of any way out of this bathroom and maybe not the entire situation. Defeat tastes bitter, and I nearly choke on it when he hammers on the door, signaling my time is up.