CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Once all eleven of us had squeezed inside the tiny campers, elbow to elbow, Callum began explaining the connection he’d formed.
“So the apartment in Serbia was obviously a trap, right? But it wasn’t the only one. I uncovered three other buildings purchased through the same name, scattered throughout Europe. You tripped the one that was closest.”
“Wait, he bought them under the same name?” I repeated, staring at the information he’d displayed across the screen. “Oh, using a corporation,” I answered myself.
“Yes, a shell company, actually. A deep one for sure, but one nonetheless if someone knows how to use a shovel.”
I shrugged, straightening up. “Whatever you think you uncovered, it’s a trap. He wouldn’t be sloppy enough to acquire multiple properties for a single job under the same alias.”
“Ah, and that’s where the information from that case about the female firefighter who survived comes into play.”
I opened my mouth and shut it, my mind racing. “CJ and I delved into that angle for weeks. The warehouse that was used was purchased by subsidiaries and trusts that eventually tied back to the younger Rossi siblings.”
“Sure, but that messed up fire maze was a pretty large contraption. When completed, the thing weighed at least forty tons if the on-site forensic team’s notes were accurate. It was big and flashy for maximum impact, which seems to be the only similarity among all his death traps, and—”
“You tracked the deliveries,” I murmured.
“I tracked the deliveries,” he agreed, clicking his computer, “and traced it back to a shipping company owned by a shell company, linked to a fake business in possession of one condemned Serbian apartment building where Tarasovich tried to trap you.” He pulled up the file with the purchase agreement and picture of the structure, displayed side by side with the name “Bold Brandings, Inc.” highlighted. “What are the odds of that?”
“The case with the firefighter in Idaho and that property in Serbia are about as disconnected as one can get. It has to be Tarasovich,” Payton agreed.
I nodded. “That’s great. We can use Bold Brandings to track down his haunts, and if there’s enough data, we could even pinpoint his—”
“Headquarters?” Callum interrupted, pulling an aerial shot of a gigantic, white-roofed warehouse. “Like I mentioned, I had plenty of time on my hands.” He clicked again and the deed expanded with the same name highlighted. “Now, this could just be a hub, but of all the tertiary properties I tracked down, this one receives the most action.”
“Where is it?” I asked, afraid to breathe.
He zoomed out, and I realized it wasn’t an aerial shot but the map in satellite view. “Russia, in the woods about thirty minutes from his hometown in Demya, if your records are accurate.”
“They are,” I replied. Tarasovich wanted to dig in his roots and be sentimental, and so now, I did too. “Why is it always Russia?”
“Chin up, Callie,” Paride prompted. “This is the best lead we’ve gotten in weeks. Let’s roll out.”
“I’m coming with you,” Callum demanded, snapping his computer shut.
Paride shrugged. “It’ll be a tight fit. Three cars traveling together are too noticeable, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned your keep.”
Two days of cramped driving later, where I’d always had a ready-made excuse not to be in the same vehicle as Callum, we pulled up outside the warehouse connected to Bold Brandings, Inc.
While the residential buildings in the surrounding areas had displayed signs of neglect and poverty, the towering building in front of us was immaculate, with pristine steel siding and lime green accents surrounding the multitude of loading docks, their retractable doors all shut and barren despite the rest of Russia coming alive as the late May weather stirred the hibernating bears and melted the deep snow.
Brock looked through his binoculars. “There’s no visible security. Are you certain you found nothing?”
“No,” CJ replied. “Callie, her dad, and I scoured everything in connection to this place. There are a few leads to check if this turns out to be a dud, but nothing here suggested a digital footprint of any kind.”
“And honestly,” I began, “despite joining up with an unknown hacker, the lack of technology is telling. If this building is important to him, then he probably wanted full control of its protection.”
“Agreed,” Callum added. “Even the mom-and-pop gas station down the street has an antiquated CCTV system I can access. Considering the cost and immaculate state of this structure, it’s a purposeful blackout zone.”
“So we’re in the right place,” Paride concurred, lingering hope shining through his tone. “Let’s find somewhere to stash our vehicles and gear up. We’ll inspect every inch for physical traps and breach after dusk.”
The next six hours crawled by, weighing like an unsettled shiver creeping along my spine. A nonstop loop of everything that could go wrong jockeyed for the title of most grotesque and nausea inducing. Having been refamiliarized with the depths Tarasovich could sink to from my years of research, there was no shortage of bad and ugly that my imagination took me to.
My guilt and fear must have gotten the better of me.
Ivanov materialized, a pleased expression on his sharp features. “Well, this is cozy,” he commented, basking in the tense silence of the van.
No, no, no, no, I hissed to myself. Only five minutes remained before we were due to breach. I could not afford to lose focus during such a critical time.
“You okay, Callie?” Callum asked.
My cheeks heated, unaware that anyone had been watching me. “Fine.”
Despite, or due to, my brief answer, Ivanov’s interest piqued. “And who is this?” Ivanov drifted closer, heedless of the physical plane as he passed through Corbin. After a moment, a dangerous spark lit his features, morphing them into grotesque, inhumanly lines, as if his anger was too great to contain within the limitations of human anatomy. “Wait, I recognize him. He was one of my hackers after you turned into a rat.”
My heart thudded, narrowing my perception of the world to the thought emotions crossing Ivanov’s features.
He can’t hurt you. He’s dead. He can’t—
Ivanov rushed me, stopping inches from my nose. “Who is he to you? How is he connected? I missed something!”
“Alright.” Paride’s voice rang in my ear. “We’re go time, people.”
The van door slid open, and they began filing out.
“Callie?” a voice called as they hovered near the opening. Despite none of the guys using their normal endearments with me, I recognized Duane’s unique timbre.
“Hm?” I asked, pinned in my seat due to the weight of Ivanov’s volatile anger.
The vehicle rocked as Duane climbed inside, closing the door for privacy. “Hey, babygirl, look at me,” he murmured.
I couldn’t move until he touched a fingertip to my chin. The contact beat away the frigid chill that had left me frozen, and I was able to follow his guidance until his dark orbs met mine.
He searched my face before asking, “Are you okay, Callie?”
I nodded, breathless from the imaginary exertion. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Duane hesitated, glancing out the window before he threaded his fingers into the hair at the base of my neck and pulled our foreheads together. “Are you sure?”
“Sure, there’s just a lot going through my head about what could go wrong and, well, Russia.”
He nodded, tilting his jaw up and placing a lingering kiss on my forehead. “I think all of us are leery. We’d be stupid not to be after the close call in Serbia. If Tarasovich wasn’t so obsessed with playing these damn mind games, that might have been the end of the line for us, and we get that, babygirl. We know what’s at stake here, and we’re in this one hundred percent, but we’re worried you aren’t.”
I caught his hand as he started to leave, clinging onto the warm connection, a tether to my last line of hope. It helped. “Thanks. You helped a lot.”
He scanned my face again before nodding. “Good. Now, don’t shoot the messenger, but they paired you with Aleks.”
“Okay?”
“And Brock.”
I blinked. “Oh. Uh, okay…” Neither Brock nor Aleks individually were the problem. Together, though? That was a volatile mix in need of mediation.
He gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. As far as I can tell, there’s only one thing in the world those two hotheads agree on, and it’s your safety. You’ll be the most protected thing in a hundred-mile radius.”
“A hundred miles? I think you’re severely underestimating the measures they take to keep me from harm.”
His thick, S-shaped brows rose.
“Have you forgotten Brock’s knee-jerk response when we first met was to swaddle me in bubble wrap?”
He chuckled on an exhale. “Yeah, I did, actually.” He patted my shoulder in a friendly manner. “Well, have fun with that.”
I followed him out of the van, not releasing his hand until we’d left the claustrophobic tin can, even if it meant catching Callum’s attention on our clasped hands.
Luckily for my dad, he didn’t comment on it, though his eyes wandered to Duane throughout Paride’s spiel of marching orders. CJ and my dad would remain in the two vans, ready for surveillance and a quick getaway. Since anytime I touched a computer these days, hellfire seemed to rain down from above, I’d opted to accompany the others, and sure enough, Aleks and Brock bookended me like overgrown sentinels the second we prepared to split into our assigned groups for the raid.
“Be careful,” Callum called out, trailing off awkwardly when he went to say more.
I felt weird about that, so I just nodded my goodbye, unable to speak past the lump of dread that had been growing.
After that, we were on the move, approaching in different directions.
Our progress was painstakingly slow because Tarasovich’s ability to create deadly, gruesome contraptions knew no bounds. We gained a foot, only to pause and test out the next segment as thoroughly as possible before moving on. Every step could be our last, and that weighed on our stamina until we arrived at the building, already worn and weary. Considering Tarasovich hadn’t bothered with perimeter traps throughout the woods, it was likely he’d ensured his protection within the walls, and we were bringing less than our A game.
My hands shook, and a heavy weight settled low in my stomach.
Aleks picked a random point along the eastern wall far from prying eyes, and Brock pulled out the incendiaries.
“So,”Aleks began in Russian, powering off his earpiece as Brock worked on outlining a rectangle to blast through the wall. Our comms were open-lined tonight, so he must have wanted privacy. “Does anyone want to discuss how our new liaison got his hands on ten blocks of Semtex while abroad and on the run from the CIA?”
“Worry about it later,” Brock suggested, his voice gruff as he climbed to his feet once more and guided us a safe distance from the upcoming explosion.
“Worry about what later?” Corbin piped up.
“About his hangnail,” Brock answered in a no-nonsense tone. “Beta Team is in position and ready. Waiting on your count.”
The rest checked in as well, and when the last one verified their readiness, Paride counted us down. “On my mark.”
The incendiary performed its job in a controlled explosion, perfectly timed to match the responding echoes from the other three walls. It was loud, but people were more likely to write off a singular noisy boom in the middle of the night as nothing than they were if they heard four.
“Move, move, move!” Paride ordered before the smoke cleared.
The idea was to hit quick and hard to overwhelm any personnel, because while I never thought Tarasovich would give up his lone wolf persona, he’d already proven me wrong once in that regard. We weren’t taking any chances, and carving our own entrances inside would bypass any points of ingress that would be booby-trapped.
My heart raced as I eased through the ragged opening behind Aleks and Brock, my hand propped on Brock’s tactical vest so we wouldn’t lose each other in the low visibility.
We entered and fanned out, putting enough distance between us and the commotion to sneak attack anyone coming to investigate.
My shoulder bumped into something wooden, and I figured it would suffice for coverage. I crouched down and waited.
Even the waning thumbnail moon outside provided more light than anything inside the warehouse. I waved my hand in front of my face but couldn’t see a thing. The encompassing blackness caught the others’ attention as well.
“Dog-diggity dragon balls! You could swing every piece of tactical equipment and weapons known to man except night-vision goggles?” Corbin’s voice tickled through the earpiece.
“Feel free to give up your vest and guns if you’re going to complain,” Paride chirped before stating the obvious. “Guys, our plan’s not working.”
“Time for Plan B?” one twin asked.
“No,” Corbin complained. “I liked Plan A, picking them off one by one as they came to investigate. Plan B’s more likely to end with someone getting shot in the foot.”
“Maybe no one’s here,” Duane suggested, and I jumped as a hand brushed my arm.
“Shh, it’s just me, du?o,” Brock whispered. “The stupid Russian too. Say hello.”
“Privet, medvezhonok.”
Brock continued. “If we’re doing Plan B, we’re sticking together.”
“How’d you find me in the dark?” I questioned, trying to calm my racing heart.
With his proximity, I felt more than saw Aleks shrugging his shoulders. “Moon is on our side of building. I see reflection off your weapon. Snipers train to look for shiny things, da?”
It’d been a while since he held a sniper rifle—the last time being when we’d fought our way tooth and nail out of Estonia. We’d had to jump from the second story, knowing there might have been a sniper with our window in his sights, but Aleks provided enough cover that all the shots the sniper took missed their mark as I fell to the ground.
He’d had my back then, just like he’d have my back now. My shoulders relaxed.
“Or,” Jace began, and I scrambled to catch up to the conversation, his heavy sarcasm denoting his identity, “they could be waiting just for that. Maybe Tarasovich figured only the people who knew him could find this place. Only an idiot would be brave enough to stroll through the front door.”
“A trap within a trap?” Corbin gasped. “What the inception crud is this?”
“A smart one,” Payton replied. “Arrogant opponents assume their enemies are dumber than them. If we thought of it, surely Tarasovich would have as well. Aleks, would infrared scopes work with this amount of lighting?”
Aleks shifted beside me, angling toward our hole in the wall where I could see scant traces of moonlight shining in. “Not before we made Swiss cheese of walls, but moon is on our side. If they had snipers capable, we would be dead two minutes ago.”
“What a cheerful thought,” Bryce drawled. “Don’t sugarcoat things on our account.”
The only one who hadn’t spoken so far was CJ, and he chose that moment to chime in. “There could be computer programmed guns activated by motion. Maybe they’d need more light to engage.”
“Hmm. Fairly point, computer twin,” Aleks acknowledged.
Brock huffed beside me. “It’s fair point, and what the fuck are you doing?”
I didn’t realize it until light blinded the area, but Aleks had taken a small flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on before tossing it away from us. “Hit the ground!” he bellowed in Russian.
“Shit,” Brock swore before he dragged me to the dusty concrete hard enough that my spine twinged, especially when he landed on top of me, followed by what I assumed was Aleks’s weight.
The comms went crazy as people demanded to know what was happening, asking what Aleks had yelled and what Brock was currently yelling because when no gunshots lambasted our area, Brock realized it was safe enough to chew out Aleks for his recklessness—in Russian so that Aleks couldn’t pretend not to understand.
“Can’t. Breathe,” I wheezed, struggling to draw breath.
“Shit! Callie, are you hurt?” Jace demanded, causing another indecipherable uproar through the earpiece.
Even though Brock and Aleks rolled off and helped me sit up, I couldn’t answer because my eyes, drawn to the only visibility in the area, locked onto where, or rather what, Aleks’s flashlight had rolled against.