Chapter Thirty-Five
In which love means sacrifice.
Vadim…
After the meeting with the weapons dealers, Stepan and I hold back so I can show him the video Ivan sent me.
He filmed the ground-shaking explosion at the little airfield beautifully.
The detonation was massive, a mushroom cloud curling up into the sky.
Ivan's camera panned gleefully over the blackened crater left in the earth and what's left of the two helicopters and the plane is nothing but a spray of shredded metal.
Ivan and Yegor are laughing uncontrollably in the background.
"Too much Semtex, I think," Stepan says. "Though I appreciate their enthusiasm. Do you think it will send the right message to whoever was snooping around?" The video pans back to the crater. A section of the plane's wing is leaning drunkenly on the edge.
"It will," I say. "They traced the bank transfers. It was Dariy Agapov."
"You're kidding," he says incredulously. "Agapov is strictly small time! He really thought he could muscle in on our production?"
"I'm not sure," I say, "but he will regret it."
When my phone rings, my grip tightens until a crack appears on the screen.
Don't answer it. Nothing has gone wrong if you don't pick up.
With a sick kind of certainty, I answer. "Turgenev." My throat's dry.
"My Vor- she's- your wife's been taken." Lavr's speech is mushy, like he's gargling blood.
"Tell me."
Stepan spins to look at me, eyes wide. He understands my tone.
"Northeast corner of Red Square-" he coughs wetly, then continues, "the Black Kynigós sent three children running in front of us.
When we stopped, they stepped in. I think they killed everyone but me.
" There's an urgent voice speaking in the background, something about blood loss and the doctor.
"They took Mrs. Turgeneva's friend Anka Volkova as well.
We managed to kill three of them. The hunters just left them there. "
Another voice cuts in over his. "Sir, we must take him to the hospital, he has an abdominal stab wound -"
"Go," I cut them off. "Let him keep his phone."
I don't remember getting into the car, but Stepan looks at me. "Red Square to start?"
"Yes," I manage. Every cell inside me is frozen. I didn't protect my Oksana well enough. But I will still save her.
Red Square's Christmas lights are overshadowed by the flashing red and blue lights of police cars and emergency vehicles surrounding the bodies of my men. I've already sent in our guards to question the bystanders and one of our Brigadiers is handling the police.
Staring down at the three unfamiliar corpses, I kick one over onto his back. There's a squawk of indignation from the emergency worker hovering by, though she backs off immediately. The Black Kynigós brand is on his chest, over his heart.
My phone lights up with a message from Valery, a police contact.
Valery: We isolated the attack footage from a traffic camera.
Stepan and I watch the footage of the hunters close in on Oksana and her security.
As three children ran in front of her group, halting them, twenty-five men materialized from every direction, closing in at exactly the same moment.
It was perfectly choreographed. A knife in the kidney, a bullet from a gun with a silencer.
Twelve different ways with the same result, my Oksana was taken.
"Father called," Stepan says. "They’re on the way."
"They will not be able to help here," I say, digging into the corpse's coat pockets. When I pull out his phone, I can see it's already wiped. There has to be something here, a card, a keychain, any clue to where they took my wife.
Stepan nudges me, my phone's ringing. It's a blocked number. A sense of resignation flows over me.
"Turgenev." I rasp.
"Hello, Mr. Turgenev." The voice is cheerful. A little solicitous. Unmistakably Greek. "We have your wife."
"I know."
The man pauses, when he talks again his good humor is gone. His voice is crisp, matter of fact. "The parties who hired us had a great many plans for her. But we've convinced them of a second option." He's waiting for me to say something. He is wasting his time.
"Taking the Angel of Death," he says mockingly, "the Bratva world's most feared assassin. Now, that's a coup. A mark of distinction. Don't you think?"
The flashing lights blur and the only thing left is the sound of his voice, my sole connection to Oksana.
"Punishing a woman, while satisfying, can't possibly carry as much honor," he continues, a dark satisfaction creeping into his voice.
Stepan grits his teeth, trying to hear the conversation. He mutters, "No fucking honor, you cocksuckers!" under his breath.
"An exchange," I say. A notification pops up, a pin dropped on my maps app.
"I suspect you're quite close," the man says. "You have fifteen minutes to get here. Let's respect each other enough to be clear that we will know if you've brought anyone with you. If you do, I will slice your wife to ribbons in front of you."
"My brother comes with me to take her home." My voice is flat, robotic. I welcome it. Because my mind is blindingly clear, and the soul-deep terror for my wife's safety turns into certainty. "Fifteen minutes."
"Make it twelve." He hangs up on me.
"You can't trust his word," Stepan says urgently. "We have so many reinforcements, brother. Giving yourself up to them? It's insane!"
"The Black Kynigós have learned all the same tricks we have," I say, still staring at the pin dropped on the map, blinking mockingly. "We both know it. You will come with me, and take my wife home. You will guard her safety for the rest of your life."
"Brother -"
"Swear it," I growl
"Vadim, you can't ask me to leave you." Stepan's hands are shaking.
Grabbing his shoulders, I grip him hard. "Swear it to me."
His eyes are wet as he finally forces a nod. "I swear it. I'll guard her with my life."
When our security team moves to follow us, I order them to return home.
"Sir, the Pakhan will gut us if we leave you," Radimir says. He's one of my best men, but he looks ready to disobey a direct order.
"Return. Home." The words come out in a snarl and he nods awkwardly, watching as we leave without them.
The hunters picked a place close to Red Square, knowing that's where we would start.
We make it to their location in ten minutes.
The neighborhood is pleasant, working-class families would live here.
They would have dinner together every night.
This is not the place for the soulless fucks who are eagerly preparing to torture an innocent woman to death.
When we pull up to the ordinary-looking brick house, Stepan is sheet white, and he grabs my arm before I can get out of the car. "Don't do it, brother," he pleads. "Not like this."
"You might be able to find me," I say. "We have excellent trackers. They will take me to another location. Somewhere with less scrutiny."
"Your tracking chip-"
"They'll cut it out of me," I say, staring out the windshield at the house. "You'll get Oksana out of here quickly. Carry her if you must. You swore to me that you would protect her."
"Fuck!" he shouts, putting his hands over his face. "I did," he says miserably. "And I will."
The door opens as we walk up the path. It's been neatly shoveled, and the discordance hits me again. A tidy path cleared to my death. Two men are waiting for us. They have olive complexions, blank stares, and they’re clad in black tactical gear.
They're not bothering to hide it anymore.
Roughly frisking Stepan and me, they find all our weapons, even the blade in my boot.
Oksana is in the kitchen, chained to a sturdy wooden chair. A set of nesting dolls line up on the window sill next to her and a red and white checked dish towel is draped over the oven handle. It shouldn't look like this.
"Vadim!" She sounds relieved and horrified to see me and as if she's not sure which emotion to feel first. A bruise is spreading over her forehead, and my hand is around the throat of the man closest to me. I lift him up, off his feet, slamming him against the wall.
"Who hurt her?" I can hear the unmistakable click of safeties released, and three guns are pointed at my head.
"Vadim, please." I hear her voice. It's usually musical, but there's a ratcheting sound to it now, a discordant note. "Please put him down."
I open my hand, and he drops, knees buckling and coughing.
"You agree to the exchange, then." The man speaking is standing with his hand on Oksana's shoulder. He has the slightest smile on his lips, as if knowing that the sight of him touching my wife is making my vision blur with fury.
"I agree," I say shortly. "My brother takes her out of here first."
"Sweetheart, no, please," Oksana says, frantic. "You can't trust them. These men are fucking pigs. They're…"
I stare at Oksana, red-faced and squirming against her cuffs. My wife just said 'fuck.'
I love her.
Moving over to kneel in front of her, I tell the man who had his hand on her shoulder to release her.
He does without comment and she falls into me, almost knocking me over.
"Please, you can't stay here," she says frantically.
"Just go, just go now. Okay? Come back with all the Turgenevs.
Please don't trade for me. None of this was your fault.
" The words are ripping out of her, hoarse and desperate.
"Moy svet," I put my hand gently on the back of her head, burying her face in my shoulder so only she can hear my whisper. "Courage. I love you, I always will."
"Please, Vadim," she murmurs. "Please don't stay here. Not for me."
"Always, for you," I say. It's a vow, it's my heart, and it’s hope, however improbable that is. I cup her face one last time, and give her a kiss that will have to say everything. "Stepan, take her."
"No. No!" Oksana wails. I can't look at her, I hear her scuffling, her boots dragging on the floor. "Please, don't!"
"Sister, we have to go," Stepan says urgently. I hear her long, anguished wail before he pulls her out the door.
"I'm Captain Dimakos." The man who touched my wife introduces himself.
"You should know the name of the man who's going to gut you.
But not yet." He pulls out a small black box, I've seen them before.
The light is green as it runs over my arms until the box's light turns red, hovering over my shoulder.
Flipping open a switchblade, he deftly cuts into my skin, finding the tracker quickly.
The tip of the blade pops it loose and he drops it on the tile floor, crushing it with his boot.
He looks at his hunters. "He's ready to transport."