48. Laszlo
Zach arrived outside of the window, and I turned off the cameras that might catch their escape. The external system was more complicated than the internal one, and I erased the last thirty seconds of recordings.
Lyn was almost done her part. Soon she’d be out, helping Zach to the van we’d parked on the other side of the woods. The caterers were leaving.
That left the hard way.
I plugged the USB stick into the device. My virus bypassed the air-gap security system. Decoding. Decrypting.
The fake Wi-Fi network I’d set up earlier had already grabbed vital details from those stupid enough to connect on an unencrypted network.
The ballroom was all clapping. Vasilyev’s speech was done. On the exterior security, I watched as an expensive car stopped at the gate, speaking to Rurik. I turned on the volume for that camera and tossed my mask to the side.
“Mr. Winslow, you’re leaving?” Rurik asked. I couldn’t hear what the other man said, but I recognized his voice, the limo.
What was the police commissioner doing at this party?
Fuck, the Bratva’s corruption always dug deep.
I grabbed a cable, plugging it into the NAS so I could see what was going on. My virus wasn’t done.
I opened my phone, watched the dot that was Lyn. She was still in the room with the kids. One hour and two minutes until the eclipse. I didn’t hurry her. Instead, I said, “You’re doing great, Angel. I’m proud of you. Of the woman you’ve become.”
“Two won’t leave,” she returned.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “Why?”
“They… they want their parents.”
I didn’t blame her for hesitating telling me that.
What could I have said, all those years ago, that might have made me leave the room?
It had all seemed normal. I thought I had two parents who loved me.
We travelled. We lived in manors, castles.
We visited the mountains, and I saw the Pacific Ocean, and then the Atlantic, and life was good.
No doubt those two kids could have a similar story.
Or maybe they were raised by abusive pieces of shit who loathed them. Tormented them even before this night.
“Haughty or shy?”
“Shy.”
The latter.
“Okay, tell them their parents are disappointed in them. That this is a test, to see how well they can listen, and if they don’t obey, they’ll be punished.”
“La—Python!”
“I know. I know, Angel, but we need them out. We can deal with everything else after.”
She did as I said. Somehow, she didn’t sound anguished, threatening those little children, though I knew she felt it. She always was great in moments of crisis, in becoming the woman that the situation called for.
Even if it called for her to be a monster.
“They’re going,” she said, relieved, and I let out my own held breath.
“Okay. You next. Tell me when you’re at the van.”
“Hurry,” she said, and I wished I could say I would, but I was a slave to the transfer speed.
One hour until the eclipse.
The caterers were all gone. Most of the bodyguards had exited. The guests dwindled down to the elite among the Bratva, the chosen few who could know the darkest secrets of how they operated. Three dozen people.
Static behind me.
Fuck. The security guard’s headset. Of course they’d have checks.
I grabbed the device, slick with blood, and put it on.
“Gate three, check.”
“Rear exit, check.”
“Southern exposure, check.”
Fuck. What would he have called this room? Security? What order?
There was a pause.
“Sovietnik, check,” I said in a gravelled voice.
Another pause, and I hoped to a god I didn’t believe in that I didn’t give myself away.
“North gate, check.”
Oh, thank fuck.
The rest of the checks continued, and nothing seemed to be amiss. The men I’d killed outside the door must have been counted for through the Sovietnik, part of the Two Spies watching over everything.
My vision was filled with red, and I had to push down all my fear. I scanned the crowd as they filtered through the hallways, towards the tunnel. Towards the darkest part of my memories, the greatest horrors I could ever know. It was a ritual, and they marched in pairs.
Urvan was two behind the Pakhan, though I didn’t know who it was at his side. He glanced over his shoulder.
Looking for me. Looking for Lyn.
His partner gestured him forward, and he dropped his curiosity.
The computer monitor flashed.
A password box popped up, asking for admin root access.
I plugged in my other USB stick, an automatic program opening, running, searching for the encrypted password file.
It was stored in the fucking top-level folder.
Amateurs.
I opened the program, added the password file. Typing in some commands, I got the list of the file hierarchy, selecting those I needed to prioritize.
There was endless data to go through. So many crypto wallets. Decades of emails, of letters, of blackmail material. The Pakhan was planning to work out of the mansion for a while, and he brought all the valuable material with him to this den of vipers.
No.
The den of one Python, and his prized egg.
I looked at my phone, spotting Lyn’s GPS signal in the forest. She was moving away from the van.
“Angel?”
My program stopped again, hit another barrier.
A folder.
Szász.