CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
After four hours of researching recent activity in a fifty-mile radius of the address, CJ and I passed the baton off and crashed, sleeping thirty-six hours straight. We’d done our parts, and we’d rely on our team for the rest, even if it left us out of the loop.
It was to my complete shock when I stumbled from the bedroom CJ and I had claimed for our mini hibernation and saw Paride Coppola sitting in the dining hall with a cup of coffee and the local newspaper.
CJ crashed into me, having been mid-yawn when I drew to a halt. “Cal, what… Oh.”
Vasily Petrov was laughing at something Paride Coppola had said.
“CJ, how long were we asleep for?”
“Are we entirely sure we’re awake?” he countered.
“Callie-Cat!” Corbin shouted across the cavernous room as he spied us standing flabbergasted in the doorway.
His call drew everyone’s attention, including one overeager giant Russian. “Medvezhonok!”
I was engulfed in an all-encompassing hug, my feet losing contact with the ground, which I’d already been thinking had fallen out from beneath me.
“I—oh, ease up, big bear.” His arms loosened, and I gasped in some much needed air. “Spasibo, thanks. Um, hey, Aleks?”
Aleks had buried his nose in my hair, so his voice came out muffled. “Da?”
“Is that Paride sitting next to Petrov?”
Aleks scoffed. “Who? Lying Italian man? Da, but he is not of important.”
My cheeks burned as Aleks pressed his lips close to my ears and began whispering all the dirty things he thought were more pressing instead. The tickle of his beard against the sensitive shell of my ear and delicate skin on my neck lit my nerves with a thousand erotic caresses. “Uh, maybe not right now? I—we haven’t eaten much and—”
“Of course, we get you food, medvezhonok, so you have energy for—”
My eyes rounded as I slapped a hand over his mouth because he’d been booming, and I could never truly discredit something as being too embarrassing for the crazy man. I wouldn’t put it past him to say everything out loud that he’d whispered so seductively, despite the very mixed company. “Right. So, can you put me down?”
He couldn’t, apparently. Aleks carted me over to the table instead, jostling Brock’s bowl of cereal and earning himself a glare that he ignored in lieu of preparing a plate for me.
When he shifted his gray eyes to me, Brock’s stormy expression softened to a light drizzling overcast day, perfect for snuggling. “How are you feeling, du?o?”
“F—” I frowned at the alarming amount of food Aleks had towered onto my plate in such a short span of time—one-handed. “That’s enough! Uh, I mean, thanks, Aleks, but that’s plenty.”
“You are sure, medvezhonok?” Brows scrunched in concentration, Aleks bounced his leg, jostling me. “You feel… less.”
“Uh-oh, friend,” one of Vasily’s men said from three seats down, his Russian accent heavier than Aleks’s, but his grammar was much better. “It is a dangerous road you walk, discussing a woman’s weight.”
“Bah!” Aleks dismissed the caution with a careless wave before switching to Russian. “It is not a problem to discuss weight if they are underweight, Dmitri.”
Dmitri, whom I’d never met before, didn’t seem convinced. “You sure about that? Because she looks about two seconds away from pouring her cup of orange juice over your hair.”
“She is,” I agreed.
“And I’ll help hold you down,” Brock warned. “In fact, it’d be my pleasure.”
Aleks turned. “Boulder, it is not the place to talk so freely about your desires in the bedroom. Shame on you.”
“Okay,” Jace interrupted, pointing his fork between the four of us. “We might not know exactly what you’re saying, but whatever it is, change the subject before Brock murders Aleks.”
“Sure,” CJ agreed wholeheartedly, glancing between Vasily and Paride. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s Coppola doing here? Didn’t we excommunicate him, or as close as, when we found out he was secretly Rollins’ puppet?”
Jace nudged his groggy twin. “Not bad, brother.”
“Believe me, I thought so too, CJ,” Paride answered. “Apparently Petrov wanted to put me through a little test.”
I glanced at Vasily before wincing. I just couldn’t call him by his first name. It reminded me too much of Veseli, especially since he’d taken on more of a fatherly role.
Petrov cut into his breakfast steak. “What, lisichka? I had to be sure. Your safety is precious to me.”
He hadn’t conscripted my help for any deep hacking into the Italian’s background, and CJ appeared just as confused, if not more so, which told me he sought help elsewhere when rifling through Paride’s history.
“And you’re sure now?” I left the “how” implied.
Petrov shrugged. “I had him followed. He never once sought or met up with anyone. Not to mention, the news stations never revoked his ‘wanted for questioning’ status from the local headlines. If the CIA knew the charade was over, they would have pulled that immediately rather than continue to burn the identity of one of their higher-up, undercover agents.”
Paride cocked his head. “How did you know I was high up?”
“The director has a personal vendetta against me.” Petrov shrugged. “Not that I blame her. I wrongly killed a number of her agents while operating under the mistaken belief they’d gotten my only daughter—at the time—blown up.” He paused. “I was… less than rational.”
Paride snorted. “That number is nine, and yeah, I can see why you’d be in a fucked up headspace.”
I nearly dropped my fork at the understanding that passed between the two. Was Paride’s claim of having no family a cover? Or was he putting on an act, pretending to commiserate with the loss of a father, because he was still working to get Petrov handed over to the CIA?
My brain hurt. I didn’t want to think about convoluting things further by attempting to parse out Petrov’s motives for bringing Paride in out of the cold.
I decided to ignore it for now, exercise caution, and be prepared to roll with the punches. “So when are we leaving for Russia?”
Papatonis nodded at my plate. “Just as soon as you finish your meal, clever fox.”
There was another problem. How did Papatonis feel about his supposed ally rolling out the welcome mat to the CIA?
Just adapt to it for now, Callie. We can’t fight a war on two fronts,I reminded myself before I paused with the pancake halfway to my mouth. “Wait, we’re making our move today?” My voice grew squeaky as it climbed the octaves. “After breakfast?”
“Of course. You two have recovered your strength, and we’ve researched everything that could possibly be researched. We even sent out two scout teams to verify our findings,” Papatonis responded. “If we wait much longer, we’ll risk discovering that they move shop every so often.”
“Y-Yeah, but…” I trailed off when I realized that even my boyfriends agreed. “But ALPHA can find them anywhere. Moreover, does anyone honestly think the location we found is just a random safe house in a vast list?”
Papatonis’s attention sharpened. “What’s so special about this place?”
Leo frowned at his boss. “I told you about it back then, right after…” He trailed off, glancing in my direction.
Gdov, Russia, is where Ivanov had stored me, only to be taken out and used in a cycle of fear, guilt, and pain. For years, he kept me under his thumb, exposing me to countless moments that invaded my nightmares to this day.
I had to give Tarasovich credit where credit was due. He’d guaranteed I wouldn’t come without certainty beyond a sliver of a doubt. Paired with my sister’s all-seeing eye program, they ensured that would never be the case.
Understanding lit in Papatonis’s eyes. “Ah, sorry. It must have slipped my mind.” He sipped his coffee. “So this is his primary base of operations then.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “So don’t we need more time to prepare?”
“Luv,” Payton began, “even if your trick worked once, we don’t want your sister to realize you found a workaround for her safety net and cast her own. The sooner we deal with this, the better.”
The small bites of breakfast I’d managed in between conversations turned to lead in my stomach. “Okay,” I said, and no one called me out when my voice shook. “Sure, let’s get ready for Gdov.”
The jet we took differed from the first one. It was larger to accommodate the influx of people—at least according to Corbin’s energetic chattering throughout the flight’s three-hour duration.
His constant stream of excitement kept me from retreating too far into my head. Unfortunately, it also failed to help Duane endure the rough farmland landing in the middle of nowhere.
“Come on, man!” Duane barked out in his deep voice that had climbed uncharacteristically high. “You can’t afford to put some gravel down?”
Petrov shrugged. “The landowner farms this field. The agreement is that I have access to it outside of growing seasons.”
Duane gave him an incredulous look, not relenting his death grip on the armrest and overhead vent as the plane bounced and bumped along, taxiing toward the tree line. “It’s the middle of June.”
“Yes, and Oleg hasn’t grown a single beet since our arrangement saw him earning three times his annual income when breaking his back, sowing his field, but that doesn’t prevent him from being a stubborn bastard with illusions of grandeur about one day turning this sad field into a tulip farm for his old lady. That year is not this year, though, so here we are.”
Papatonis laughed. “Do you or do you not control most of Russia?”
Petrov scoffed, climbing to his feet. “Not by brute force, Ares, I can tell you that. If we meet him, you’ll understand. We have access to this remote field so long as we don’t destroy the grass too much, and he gets to keep his outlandish dreams. There’s no point in threatening him to turn our arrangement sour when it functions just fine.”
We did not run into Old Oleg or his tulip-loving wife, and a short drive later, we were hiding our vehicles in the brush outside my own personal hell on Earth as my heart attempted to punch its way free from my chest.
Paride cleared his throat. “Alright, remember, we’re hitting this in two teams. However you divvy up your groups is your choice.”
We’d already synced our comms on the drive over and geared up as they discussed layouts and approach formations. Despite vehement opposition from Petrov and my team, I’d ended up teamed with Papatonis and Leo.
Eventually, Leo’s argument settled the debate. “Look, we have a plan. We know there’ll be some sort of trap on the off chance she makes it to him, and we’ve covered all our bases, but why not shoot for as many advantages as possible? Tarasovich wouldn’t guess that Callie isn’t with her own team—a blind person could see how protective they are of her. If he sees her, he’ll assume you’re hiding nearby. She also needs to be on the team raiding the primary location because she distracts him. That’ll leave you boy toys free to make your move.”
My team’s role was an important one.
“Since Papatonis wants his revenge, he’s the main team too, and I’m one of the few people here who can talk him back from a cliff if he reaches that point.”
“You’re totally convincing us to let our girlfriend stay with you,” Jace snarked. “Please, do keep talking.”
“There’s no letting about it,” Leo retorted. “She’s already—”
“Enough,” Papatonis cut in before more bickering arose. “Are you in position?”
They sent their affirmatives.
“Don’t forget,” Paride added, “with a hacker involved, our communication may be compromised. It’s not something Tarasovich would have done on his own, but it’s something Callie thinks she would have insisted on if the roles were reversed.”
“Not think,” I corrected. “I did insist on. Scramblers and signal disrupters were a large part of my responsibilities when I was tasked to secure Ivanov’s stronghold.”
“So basically, if that happens, we’ll turn into a big, blubbering mess without knowing you’re safe, right Callie-Cat?” Corbin teased.
“That’s a two-way street,” I reminded him softly.
Nobody argued.
After a minute, Bryce drawled, “The last time we came here, we were dodging Bouncing Bettys while taking heavy fire. Think we can top that?”
“You never know,” I chirped, inserting an extra dose of energy just to annoy him. “Ivanov commissioned Tarasovich to install the Bettys, so the odds are probably in your favor.”
He groaned in response.
“Bouncing Bettys?” Papatonis questioned, his mouth shaping the words as if they were unfamiliar, even if his English accent was flawless.
“The English name for those nasty landmines that jump in the air to maximize their field of destruction,” Leo explained. “I didn’t recall the American name when I filled out my report.”
“Oh, Schrapnellmines,” Papatonis realized.
“Any thoughts on how to circumnavigate that obstacle this time?” Brock questioned. “It’s a safe bet the CIA would have cleared those out when they combed over the site, so if Tarasovich reapplied them, they’ll be in different locations.”
“S-mines,” Papatonis spat. “So cowardly.”
“How good are your throwing arms, boys?” Leo asked.
“You mean set them off?” Jace or CJ asked.
“Only if there are some there, and let’s be honest, if he has the place wired, it can’t hurt to toss about some nonliving cannon fodder rather than sacrificing our own balls to the gauntlet.”
“True, but it’d kill our surprise advantage,” Payton countered.
Duane’s deep voice came through next. “Eh. Where would he retreat to if he hears us coming? He makes damn well sure the odds are in his favor. He’ll want to fight on his turf, instead of losing his home court advantage.”
Unable to listen to the argument anymore, I cleared my throat. “Uh, guys? Not to rain on your parade or anything, because while I have no doubt some of you could chuck a projectile that weighs more than whatever weight limit Tarasovich might have used to avoid having local wildlife set them off on accident—oh, and don’t forget you’re chucking that weighty rock the length of a football field to be one hundred percent certain you’re outside the danger zone for being maimed—”
“Whoa, whoa, did Damsel just use sarcasm?” His nickname for me identified him as Jace. “Ow! Christ! What the hell was that for?”
Brock growled, “Du?o has been spending too much time with you. You’ve corrupted her.”
“Hey, she could have picked up the habit from Bryce, genius!”
“He’s on the other team. You’re not.”
Bryce suddenly yelped. “Whoa, what the hell, you crazy ass Russian! Callina! Control your rabid dog before—shit!”
“I get him for you, Boulder,” Aleks replied.
“Okay, can you stop doing Tarasovich’s job for him and focus?” Leo interrupted, giving me an incredulous look. “How do you accomplish anything with them? It’s like herding a horde of cats.”
I smiled but tried to keep my amusement from my voice. They were fine just the way they were. They’d somehow made me calm down a notch, and they weren’t even nearby. “As I was saying. While I’m confident you’re all big he-men, just use the metal detectors Petrov supplied us with.”
A beat of silence followed before Corbin, in an overexaggerated enthusiastic voice, said, “Oh! So that’s what those stick thingies are for. Nice.”
Now, even Papatonis was glancing at me, but I didn’t feel embarrassed. What I did feel was a lot less crippled from debilitating fear.
Leo tapped his earpiece and indicated for me to do the same. “Did they do that slapstick, Three Stooges act on purpose?”
“It’s hard to say with them,” I replied.
Paride commanded us to advance, and we traversed the field that gave off a distinct aura of no man’s land. It was slow going, and sweat rolled down the back of my neck.
“Are you guys running into anything where you’re at?” I whispered, knowing the sensitive microphone would still pick up the low volume.
“A couple of nasty snares and trip wires. Petrov’s men are dismantling them as we speak,” Brock answered.
My nerves skyrocketed as Leo voiced my thoughts. “If they have traps there, why haven’t we encountered anything yet?”
Papatonis seemed nonplussed by the psychological warfare of wading through a minefield. “Well, I can think of two reasons. Either there’s a worse trap ahead of us, still to come after lulling us into a false sense of security, or…” He trailed off after a quick glance in my direction.
It was easy to pick up his train of thought. I swallowed. “Or Tarasovich left the doors wide open in case I ever ventured out here, because it would be tragic if he lost his shiny new toy to something so plebeian as a Bouncing Betty.”
For some odd reason, that did nothing to reassure me.
When we reached the compound thirty tortuously slow minutes later without running into a single trap, Papatonis’s foreboding guess gained more credibility.
Apparently, we were going with Door Number Two. Tarasovich had left out the welcome mat for me.
Yay.