Mikhail
I do not know how long Taylor has been missing. It feels like an eternity. Whatever it is, it is long enough.
My men tear through the private treatment wing while Arkady divides the search below us. Half move toward the ambulance bay. The rest sweep the service garage, opening every ambulance and dragging drivers from behind their wheels.
The cameras give us nothing. Every feed covering the private corridor, service elevators, and ambulance level went dark at the same moment.
Seven ambulances entered the grounds for the event.
Two belong to the hospital. The remaining five carry the names of private contractors that may not exist by tomorrow.
“First vehicle clear,” a man reports through my radio.
“Second?”
“Empty.”
“Then open the third.”
A second voice cuts through the channel. “No sign of them in the treatment rooms.”
I move faster.
“They cannot have left the grounds,” Arkady says through the radio.
“They can if they are already inside an ambulance.”
“The ramp is being sealed.”
“Being sealed is not sealed.”
Static cracks across the radio. “Third vehicle clear.”
No Taylor. No Mother.
My mind supplies images faster than I can stop them. Taylor forced onto the floor of an ambulance. My mother bleeding beside her. A vehicle passing through the service gate seconds before my men close it. I crush each image beneath the next step.
Panic is useless unless given orders.
“Search beneath the vehicles,” I say into the radio. “Open every compartment. Verify every driver against the original staffing list.”
“We are doing it.”
“Do it faster.”
The unfinished wing stretches ahead of me, dark except for temporary work lights hanging from exposed wiring.
Orlov came here himself. He stood in the public hall after hiding from me for months. He watched the emergency begin and moved deeper into the hospital instead of toward an exit. He would not risk appearing here merely to trust someone else to tell him whether the extraction worked.
A voice moves beyond the plastic sheeting ahead. “You should already have them downstairs.”
Orlov.
A second man answers too quietly for me to understand. Orlov’s voice sharpens. “I do not care what happened. Which ambulance?”
He does not know whether they have Taylor. But he knows where they are supposed to take her. That is enough.
I raise my weapon and step through the plastic.
The first man turns with his gun already coming up.
I fire. The shot takes him high in the chest and throws him backward into the unfinished wall.
The second reaches beneath his jacket. I fire again.
He drops beside an uncovered drain, his weapon skidding across the concrete.
Orlov does not run. He’s standing inside an unfinished treatment room beyond them, waiting for me. I point the gun at his chest. “If you shoot me,” he says, “you do not find her.”
My finger tightens against the trigger, my thoughts racing. “I have a feeling you will not tell me where she is anyway, Orlov.”
He looks at me simply, plainly, devoid of feeling. “Are you willing to risk it?”
“Where is she?”
“I do not know.”
“Where is she GOING?” I growl, lunging toward him, feeling my control slip. My trigger finger is sweating.
He looks at me. “My nephew used your routes, and you killed him. Blood for blood, Mikhail. You know this.”
“He stole from me, Orlov. He knew the rules. YOU know the rules. He was greedy, and he paid for it.”
“He moved drugs through your territory.”
“On your orders, I suppose. So all this is because you feel guilty? Is your sister angry with you?” I ask. He glances at the gun in his face, and a muscle in his cheek twitches by his lip. “I did not kill your nephew.”
“No, I know that. You never get your hands dirty. But you had him arrested, and you knew the street would take care of the rest.”
I smile at him, a sheen of sweat falling over my lip. “Not entirely true. I killed that young man you had taking photographs of my mother.” I jut out my chin. “Your nephew just was not worth it to me.”
Orlov gives a short laugh. “Do you think your American is worth it to me? Or will I let someone else kill her for me? Maybe I will look away and let them do what they want with her for a few minutes first.”
My nostrils flare, rage blanking my mind, but he moves first. He catches my wrist and drives it hard into the edge of a metal cabinet. Pain flashes through my fingers. The gun falls from my hand and strikes the concrete, sliding beneath a plastic-covered cart.
Orlov drives his shoulder into me. I hit the wall hard enough to knock dust from the unfinished plaster. His fist catches my jaw.
I catch his coat and drive him backward into the cabinet. He grabs at my throat. I strike him once in the ribs, then again. His elbow catches the side of my face. I hook my arm around his and wrench until he loses his footing.
We go down hard. He tries to roll away. I catch him by the back of his coat and drag him upright. There’s a heavy chair against the wall, left behind by one of the construction crews. I throw him into it.
He kicks at me. I catch his ankle and wrench it sideways until he curses and folds forward.
I drive my knee between his legs and pin him there long enough to grab his tie.
Orlov catches my wrist immediately. I drive my elbow into his face.
His grip loosens. I rip the tie free, wrench both of his arms behind the chair, and bind his wrists to the frame before he can recover.
He jerks against it, still dazed from my elbow. The chair scrapes across the floor. I tighten the tie. “Where is she going?”
He spits blood onto the concrete beside my shoe. “You always were impatient.”
I hit him. His head snaps sideways. “Ambulance number.”
He smiles through the blood. “You have men everywhere. Surely the great Mikhail Korolev can find one American girl.”
I grip his hair and pull his head back. “I am certain that I can. But if my men find her before you answer me, there will be nothing left to keep you alive.”
His breathing changes. Only slightly.
“Are they still inside the hospital?”
Nothing.
“Which exit are they using?”
He looks at me and smiles again. I take his hand and bend one finger backward until it breaks. His scream fills the unfinished room.
“Which ambulance?”
He clenches his jaw. I break a second finger.
A voice behind me says, “Mikhail.”
I turn.
Olga stands beyond the plastic sheeting, breathing hard.
For a second, neither of us speaks. I did not tell her where I was going.
Her eyes pass over the two bodies in the corridor.
Then me. Then Orlov tied to the chair with blood running from his mouth and two fingers hanging wrong from his hand. “Mikhail,” she whispers.
Orlov laughs weakly. “Minister,” he says. “You took your time.”
Olga’s face hardens. “Shut up.”
“You knew he would be here,” I say.
“I knew he was inside the hospital.”
“How?”
“This is not the time.”
“It is exactly the time.”
Orlov looks between us with exhausted amusement. Olga steps farther into the room. “I have spent months following his contractors, police officials, and ministry accounts. Hospital contracts. Charitable foundations. Companies that existed only long enough to receive money and disappear.”
“You asked about the private contractors this morning.”
“Yes.”
“The security route.”
“Yes.”
“Whether Orlov would attend.”
“Yes.”
My hand tightens around Orlov’s broken fingers. He inhales sharply. Olga watches me. “I was trying to determine how far his network reached.”
“And you found me.”
Orlov laughs again. “She thought we were partners.”
Olga looks at him. “I thought Mikhail was protecting you.”
“Does this look like protection?” I ask.
“No.” Her gaze moves over the bodies outside the room, then back to me. “It looks like a dispute between men who belong to the same world.”
The conclusion settles between us. “You were investigating me.”
“I was trying to determine if you were a corrupt politician using criminals or not.”
“Am I?”
“No.” Her voice is hushed. “I think you are a criminal using politics.”
“She is very pretty when she is frightened,” Orlov says. The room vanishes around his voice. I close my hand around his damaged fingers and twist. He screams.
Olga goes pale. “We have to let the police take him now.”
“The police are incompetent. They will get Taylor killed.”
“He may not even know where she is.”
“He knows where she was supposed to go.” Orlov breathes heavily through his nose. I crouch in front of him. “Which ambulance?”
Nothing. I break another finger. This time, Olga does not look away. “This is not justice,” she says.
“I am unconcerned with justice.”
“That much is obvious.”
Orlov laughs weakly. I grip his jaw. “Which exit?”
My radio cracks. Arkady’s voice comes through. “Pakhan, we have them.”
Everything inside me stops. “Too late,” I say to Orlov, and I watch his face turn white. I seize the radio. “Taylor?”
“Alive. Nikita too. Taylor has injuries to her face and knee. Medical staff are with them.”
“The baby?”
“Unknown.”
My hand closes around the radio. “Bring them to me. Bring a doctor with them.”
“Yes, Pakhan.”
The room returns slowly. They are alive. Orlov no longer possesses anything I need. Olga hears the change in my breathing. “They found her.”
“Yes.”
“Then step away.”
I look down at Orlov. He smiles. He believes the danger has passed.
Olga moves closer. “He is under arrest.”
“No.”
Her expression hardens. “He can identify every contractor, police commander, judge, and ministry official in his network.”
“He will identify whoever benefits him.”
“He will be held under federal authority.”
“He owns men inside federal authority.”
“Then we isolate him.”
“He will continue giving orders.”
“Not after we dismantle his organization.”
“That will take years.”
“And killing him takes seconds. Is that the appeal?” she asks. I say nothing. She mistakes it for hesitation. “You have Taylor back. Your mother is alive. Whatever immediate justification you believed you had is gone.”
“He will never stop.”
“He will be imprisoned.”
“He does not need freedom to order another attack.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I know him.”
“So do I.”
“No. You know his accounts. I know what he becomes when he is humiliated.”
Orlov strains against the tie.
“Mikhail.” His voice has changed. Not yet frightened. Personal. Olga hears it. The familiarity between us answers whatever doubts remain about our connection. “You kill me,” Orlov says, “and my men tear apart your government.”
“Your men failed to remove two unarmed women from a hospital.”
His face twists. I look toward the cart where my gun disappeared.
Olga follows my eyes. Her expression changes. “Mikhail.” I cross the room. “Mikhail, don’t.”
I crouch beside the cart and reach beneath it. My fingers close around the weapon.
Olga’s voice rises. “Do not do this.”
I stand. Orlov stops smiling. Olga steps between us. “He is under arrest.”
One of my men appears at the edge of the room, weapon drawn. Another stops behind him. Neither speaks. Olga looks toward them, then back at me. Everyone in this room knows whose orders they will follow.
“Lower the weapon,” Olga says.
“No.”
“If you shoot him, this becomes an execution witnessed by a government official.”
“It is an execution whether you see it or not.”
“You understand what this will cost you?”
“Yes.”
“Your office. The reform. Every alliance you have built.”
“Yes.”
“You will expose everything you are.”
I almost smile. “Arkady already handled that.”
“This is not a joke.”
“No.”
Taylor is somewhere injured because of him. My mother is likely terrified. My child may be hurt because Orlov decided they were leverage.
Olga lowers her voice. “If you do this, I cannot protect you.”
“I did not ask you to.”
“I can guarantee he never leaves a cell.”
“You cannot guarantee he never reaches Taylor.”
“I can try.”
“That is no longer enough.”
Orlov jerks against the chair.
“Mikhail, think.”
“I have.”
Olga’s eyes stay fixed on the weapon. “You need him. His organization will survive without him. He can give you names.”
“I already know most of them,” I say. Her eyes narrow. There’s the final confirmation. Not connected to the criminal world. Not compromised by it. Above it. Pakhan.
Orlov sees the decision in my face. “She chose you,” he says quickly. “The American. She escaped, and she came back for your mother.” I lower the gun slightly. “She could have run. She went back. She loves you.”
“I know.”
“You kill me, and you lose everything. You make what she did meaningless.”
I think of Taylor telling me the baby is not a leash. Of her saying I do not know the difference between helping and taking. Of her admitting that she is afraid of me as a man.
Olga takes another step toward me. “Mikhail.”
I look at Orlov. Then at the gun.
Olga is close to shouting now, panic laced through every syllable. “Put it down.”
I return the gun to its holster. Relief flashes across Orlov’s face. Olga exhales.
“You are wrong,” I say. I walk behind him. The tie is wrapped around the chair frame, binding his wrists. I unfasten it.
Orlov laughs shakily. “There. You see? You can still be reasonable.”
I loop the silk around his throat. Olga moves. One of my men steps between us. “Mikhail,” she begs, her voice frantic.
I cross the tie behind Orlov’s neck and pull. His body snaps backward against the chair. He claws at the tie, but his fingers are broken and useless. They mash against it, unable to pull it away from his throat.
Olga shouts for me to stop. Orlov kicks against the floor. I pull harder.
His men will not receive another order. Not from him. Taylor will never again go home to find her room raided or photographs of her throughout the day. My child will never become a message delivered to me through blood.
Orlov’s movements weaken. His heel strikes the concrete once. Then again. Then stops. I keep the tie tight until I am certain. When I release it, his body folds forward.
The room is silent. Olga stares at him, her face drained of blood, her eyes wide. They slide to me, and horror enters her face slowly.
Not because I killed him. Because I picked up the gun. Because I put it away. Because I chose to feel him die. Because Taylor was already safe, and I did it anyway.
I drop the tie beside his body. “Where is my family?”