CHAPTER SIXTEEN
P
aride swerved into another lane, narrowly missing the adjacent car. I paid it no attention. CJ and I were too occupied with addressing the new threat.
“Do you still have key input control?” His fingers flew across his keyboard.
“No. They are locking me out of access. I can move the mouse, but that’s about it.”
“They probably didn’t want you fighting and reverse hacking them,” he responded, still concentrating on his own screen.
“Can you tell if they’ve accessed the audio component?”
The blackened windows loomed ominously as a flashback of the horrors they could unleash zipped through my mind’s eye. Nausea surged through me, and I didn’t even want to touch the laptop anymore, let alone continue holding it in my lap.
CJ winced. “No, I can’t, so moderate what you say. They’ve masked most of the functions on your device, so they must have caught onto the fact that I was there last time on overwatch.”
“Makes sense, because while I’m locked out this way, there’d be no need to hide the backend coding like that. I can’t even access a task manager, let alone encode a command prompt to scour for abnormalities.”
It occurred to me that if they were listening in through my computer’s speakers, we could bait some sort of trap for them, lull them into a state of false security, but before I could figure out how to voice that to the others without possibly tipping our hand, the topmost window filled with Tarasovich’s face.
“Callie, I warned you about coming after me,” he stated, his voice chiding in a way that chafed my nerves. If he appeared less ordinary, less like a teenage boy transitioning into adulthood, it might not have been so unsettling. The packaging didn’t match the unadulterated evil lurking beneath.
“What’s the matter?” he carried on. “Cat got your tongue?”
I jolted, my eyes round, and I glanced up to meet CJ’s equally startled expression, mouthing, “Is this live?”
“Save your computer programmer toy a headache. Yes, this is a live feed.”
Someone whispered, “Shit,” beneath their breath.
Licking my lips, I replied, “We’re not after you. We’re fleeing the CIA. They decided it would be best to lock me up in a dark hole, and we disagreed.”
Tarasovich squinted. “What a shame that you’re getting better at lying. It makes you seem less vulnerable and innocent.”
As if a monster of his caliber needed his victims any more unarmed. “I’m not lying.”
He paused for a beat. “Maybe you’re not. Perhaps that’s the truth, but it’s not the whole truth. Otherwise, why did you trip my alarms?”
I glanced up, seeing if the others had any guidance or ideas, but that angered Tarasovich. “Don’t look at them!” he hissed. “Pay attention to me. That’s what this is all about. You must be close, otherwise our warning system wouldn’t have engaged.”
I blinked, unable to think of a response.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Tarasovich guessed, reading my facial expressions. He laughed. “Do you believe in kismet, Callie? It would seem that fate or other preternatural forces are pushing us together. Why else would you accidentally end up on my backdoor, none the wiser? I’m afraid I must go and make preparations for this unforeseen circumstance.”
“No! Don’t hang up,” I said hurriedly, knowing before CJ made a circling motion that he would be attempting to back trace the location. The proximity helped narrow down possibilities, because any signal scramblers or bouncers wouldn’t be as effective since we could eliminate the false possibilities and triangulate the actual one.
Tarasovich continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Although, because you didn’t heed my warning to stay far away, I’ll still have to give you a punishment as a reminder.”
“The fuck he will!” Brock barked, the loudest of several protestations.
“Not a harsh one, of course, since it seems this was all happenstance, but I wouldn’t want you getting any ideas in your head about pushing the boundaries because I failed to set firm consequences. My apologies in advance for this unpleasant necessity. It’s been a joy, Callie. Until next time.”
The top screen disappeared, replaced by a woman, her face contorted in a silent scream. It had to be muted, but her pain was so clear in every twist and line that my imagination supplied the blast of sound to match the visual.
I jerked back, and only Corbin’s quick reflexes stopped the laptop from tumbling to the floorboard.
“Callie?” Corbin murmured, his tone uncharacteristically serious.
“Interesting,” a voice remarked, as chilling as Corbin’s had been caring. “Do you suppose that woman will die?”
Ivanov didn’t materialize, or if he did, I didn’t look around to notice. I was too busy focusing on his words. As much as I didn’t want to invite more nightmares into the swarming mass inside my head, a life hung in the balance.
“I’m fine, Corbin. CJ?” The keyboard still didn’t work, so I hadn’t regained control yet.
“Five secs, Cal. Almost—and there. I have them. Well, kind of. I traced the line back—”
“Where?” Jace demanded, interrupting CJ before he could continue in a long dialogue.
“No need to be rude—oh.” CJ stopped when I turned the laptop for him to see. Apparently, he’d forgone my device as a loss and decided to focus on tracking the origin of the phone call. He swallowed thickly. “Uh, they are in an old apartment building ten minutes from here.”
“Which way, kid?” Paride bit out, and as soon as CJ told him, he veered over three lanes to take the exit ramp he’d nearly missed. The whine of the motor sounded as he stomped on the accelerator.
“Should we power down Callie’s computer?” Jace leaned up, wincing when he caught sight of the screen.
“No, we can’t leave her on her own,” I protested, feeling attached to the unnamed woman who was suffering because we’d happened upon Tarasovich’s location.
“She’s not even aware of the camera, luv,” Payton intoned.
“B-But what if there’s a clue the video will give us?”
“It’s only on her face,” CJ whispered. “I have the location.”
“Five minutes out,” Paride informed us, his voice brusque. “It’s probably better if we ditch the computer entirely. He might have closed his video feed, but there’s no guarantee he isn’t still watching yours.”
“That’s it,” Brock growled, leaning over the third row to scoop up the device. “I’m not watching you hurt yourself.”
“Da, same,” Aleks agreed. “Get door, Corbin.”
Corbin popped the door open, and they tossed out our lone connection to the victim.
“I’ll phone the police with an anonymous tip about an abandoned laptop. Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll find something helpful on there,” Payton said.
“Don’t give them too good of a lead,” Paride reminded him. “We’re still on the lam.”
CJ shifted. “Uh, yeah, that might interfere with what I did.”
The van screeched to a halt. “CJ,” Paride began slowly, stretching the two-letter name. “We’re three minutes out. What’d you do?”
CJ rolled his shoulders, squaring up for a fight, something he rarely did. “I routed the address to the local authorities the second I had it.”
Paride nodded, but he didn’t resume driving. Finally, he slapped the steering wheel. “Goddammit!”
Jace jumped to the defensive, CJ’s protector to the end. “Fuck off. He did nothing wrong.”
Duane, up in the front, said, “Yeah, man, what the hell’s your problem?”
Paride spun, a wild look in his eyes. “I’m trying to keep us off the CIA’s radar! That doesn’t involve getting entangled with the locals and offering ourselves up to Rollins on a goddamned silver platter!”
Duane’s thick brows furrowed as his jaw clenched. “Fine. We’ll deal with Rollins then, but right now, there’s someone in danger. Either you move this van, or I’ll move it for you.”
Paride threw the gearshift so hard the van lurched. “Ten minutes! I’ll give you ten minutes. Go in, save the woman, neutralize Tarasovich, and leave the rest to the authorities.”
“Tarasovich won’t be there,” I said, looking at a three-story apartment building with broken windows and a crumbling, moss-stained fa?ade.
“Let’s hope you’re wrong, because we’re staking all our livelihoods on it right now,” Paride groused, parking the vehicle and jumping out while it still rocked on its chassis. “Gear up.”
Brock distributed tactical vests and weapons. I eyed the small handgun Aleks had worked tooth and nail to convince me to use—I still only hit a target half the time. In reality, the gun was more of a liability in my hands.
“Did you know that you’re seven times more likely to get shot just by owning a gun?”
Aleks gave me an unamused look, not retracting his hand. The gun glinted in the light. “Medvezhonok, you tried that track trick already.”
“Track trick?” Paride repeated, slamming his magazine home into the butt of the gun after his inspection.
“Pretty sure he means tactic,” Jace explained, making sure CJ’s vest was properly tightened and secured before moving onto me.
“Either take weapon, or two of us stay here in van with you,” Aleks said, throwing down his ultimatum.
A scream rent the air, eerily loud and desperate. It was the sound of someone in terrible, fatal pain. It was the sound that matched the haunting video that had been playing on the computer.
My palm slapped down and swiped the gun, securing it inside its holster without further debate. Duane and Paride had already kicked in the doors while Payton and Brock breached the building.
Simultaneous, “Clears,” preceded the rest of our entrance.
“This place is huge,” Bryce complained once the sun blindness cleared from our vision.
The scream sounded again.
“Fuck, was that upstairs or downstairs?” Brock growled, slamming his fist into the peeling drywall.
“Why risk it?” Bryce retorted.
“Good idea,” Payton declared and split us in two.
I followed the second group down the stairs, relying on comms to keep in contact with the others.
“The sounds are getting louder,” Bryce informed everyone as Duane and Brock took point.
“Are you sure?” one twin responded. “Because we’re almost to the top, and it sounds like a murder house just beyond this door.”
Our group glanced around anxiously.
Goosebumps raced down my arms, and I closed my eyes, tuning out all the sensory input except for sound.
The screams came from one throat. It wasn’t a chorus of people in agony. It was one woman.
“Everyone stop,” I ordered as loudly as possible.
“Wait, who’s bossing us around? Was that Callie? Our Callie?” the twin in charge of comms on the upper team questioned, probably Jace if the sarcastic question was any clue.
“Do as she says,” Paride ordered needlessly, because my boys knew me, and they knew I didn’t speak up in a group setting unless I had a reason. He nodded, signaling me to continue, but fidgeted and glanced at the door when a loud, ululating scream belted out. The suffering, it seemed, was even cracking through his practicality.
I froze. “Nobody move an inch. Jace, do me a favor—”
“How’d you know it was me?” he whispered.
“Keep your line open.”
“For how long?” Paride demanded, staring at the door as if trying to drill holes through it.
“As long as she says,” Duane snapped. “That’s how long.”
Jace had already connected through.
The voices of those in group two reached me.
“Silence, I need silence.” I closed my eyes, pushing aside the burning need for action. How convenient was it that we just so happened to drive five minutes from Tarasovich’s headquarters and stumbled here just in time to rescue the damsel in distress.
No one survived Tarasovich’s machinations.
My spirits sank as cold terror swept through me when I heard confirmation of my suspicions.
“The screams,” I began, having to speak louder. “They are in tandem. It’s the same person, but in two different places.”
“It’s not real!” Paride realized.
“No, it was very real, but he already broke his track record and lost two victims recently. There’s no way the planets would align enough for us to save a third,” I replied before snapping at the Italian. “I said don’t move!”
“Wh—”
“Shit, man, just listen to her!” Jace barked, having kept the line open now that things had gained a new sense of urgency. “You’re thinking he booby-trapped the place, right, Damsel?”
“Well, bombs are too quick and easy, but I’ve seen a guy get the top part of his head lobbed off by a high-tension wire coiled to spring after a floor plate was triggered.”
Paride stared at me, and then at the rickety stairs beneath us, taking my words a little more seriously. “Shit. What do we do?”
“Let me think.”
“Are you insane? We need to leave!” he demanded, studying the mortar between the crumbling bricks like I’d been doing, looking for any telltale crevices, but I’d already dismissed that as a possibility.
“Don’t bother,” I told him, my mind racing. “Another wire trap would be too obvious to spot with this architecture. He probably fashioned some sort of pikes that would shoot up from below, since the old, dry-rotted wooden tread of the stairs wouldn’t pose much of a hindrance.”
“Jesus Christ,” someone in our group whispered.
“We’ve probably already triggered it,” I carried on.
“What do we do?” Jace murmured.
“Give me a sec. I’m still working on it.”
“Callie, he could have an override and decide to set the trap off any second,” Paride argued. “We need to go in case he installed cameras and wants to kill us off.”
I glanced at an upper corner of the claustrophobic stairwell, but that didn’t feel right. My line of sight lowered to the “duck your head” header, just behind Paride’s shoulder. That seemed better. It would provide more detail than an aerial shot. “You won, Tarasovich.”
Paride swung around but saw nothing.
No response was forthcoming.
I didn’t let that deter me. “That poor woman was never your warning, was she? This was.”
Still more silence.
“My question is, are you going to let us walk out of here, or are you just toying with us?”
The screams ended abruptly, replaced by gurgling sounds. For a breath, I wondered if the victim really had been behind the door, but then slow clapping began, and the door at the foot of the stairs creaked open, revealing a large system of television screens, some with the woman we’d seen earlier, her eyes now vacant and blood splattered, and others showed Tarasovich.
“Come, invite everyone else if you’d like. I only booby-trapped the basement anyway. Couldn’t quite bring myself to trust that dubious framing to withstand my particular brand of modifications,” he confessed.
I nodded Paride forward, because letting Tarasovich have his victory would ensure the greatest chance for our survival.
No sooner than Bryce cleared the last step, a deafening, splintering crack sounded as blades shot up between the step’s cracks. They gleamed, their wicked tips sharp and large enough to shear a bear in half without breaking a sweat.
“By the way, good job on guessing the trap’s location, Callie. Though I have to say, I don’t like it when people can get inside my head. Maybe I’ll just kill you all now.”
That would not be good.
“Inside your head? I can’t even guess at the logistics behind setting this trap in advance, and somehow getting through both CJ’s and my collective computer skills. I have no idea how you pulled this off,” I appeased him, then I went for a bit of false closeness. “But I’d like to think we’ve learned enough about each other to speculate.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Tarasovich remarked before his voice adopted a careless tone. “It’s the others I’m undecided about—whether to live and let free. You have so many loved ones to spare, I’m tempted to show you what happens when you mess with me.”
“Please don’t,” I whispered.
“Give me one reason,” he shot back.
My mind conjured the idea of one of them dying right in front of me. “Because that’s the worst you could possibly do to me,” I admitted on a gamble.
“Exactly.”
I shook my head. “That woman you picked out—petite, brunette, pale. It makes a girl wonder if you’re attempting to flatter her when you kill people that look like her.”
“So? It was a warning.”
“Please. It’s a little late in the game to play coy now, Bokaryov. The truth of the matter is, after a decade of trying to gain access to me, you’ve turned to cheap imitations, but they never come close, do they?”
It made my stomach churn, wondering if there’d been more than one woman killed because they were unfortunate enough to share my small frame and dark hair.
“You flatter yourself.”
“My point being,” I continued, “they don’t make the cut. You can’t scratch that nagging itch. When you do get your hands on me, you’ll want to savor it as much as you can. Killing these people with me now? That’s the worst thing you could possibly do to me, so you won’t hurt them now. You’ll wait to be present in the moment, hearing all the sounds, smelling all the smells—a total immersion in the power rush you get when playing God.”
“Touché, Callie,” Tarasovich conceded. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll let you go, but you better hurry. The locals are on their way, and once you leave, the next people through will suffer this fate in your stead, and that will be your warning. We wouldn’t want you nearby for that. Now thank me.”
“Fuck you, asshole!” Brock burst out. “She’s not—”
A television screen dismounted itself and dropped to the floor in a shower of sparks and sound.
“And that’s your only warning. You think I only put my touch on the stairs?”
“Thank you,” I choked out before anyone else started a testosterone match.
“I’ll be seeing you, Callie. Keep your loved ones close. It’ll make my job so much easier when I get my hands on you.”
The room darkened.
“Callie?” Jace called through the comms.
“What all did you hear?”
“Everything,” he replied, his voice louder. I spun to see both him and Aleks leaning down over the stairs, peering into the basement. “What’s the plan?”
“Run?” I asked.
“Finally,” Paride gritted out, and we moved toward the exit in mass exodus. He pretended to drop something, and since he went to such lengths to make it look natural, I didn’t call attention to it.
The stairs heaved and creaked. We stepped close to the risers farthest from the damage, and they supported our weight until the last person was free and clear, with Aleks heaving Corbin up the final three steps entirely.
The second we were loaded in the van, Payton turned on our driver. “We can’t just leave the Serbian police to be slaughtered. We—”
An explosion rocked the vehicle as we drove, and only Paride seemed unruffled by it.
“Didn’t plan to,” was his glib response. “Nobody will be stepping foot in that place. Problem solved.”
I glanced at the dancing flames engulfing the already compromised structure, wondering what hell we’d have to pay for disobeying Tarasovich’s commands.
It sent chills up my spine.