An Uncommon Honeymoon

by Susan Mann

  “Once the kids are out of harm’s way, Reem will call in an ‘anonymous’ tip to the local police already on board. They’ll come in and arrest everyone and seize the drugs.” There was another chorus of nods. “Yonatan’s running comms. Everyone plugged in? Eyes and ears?”

  Quinn slipped on the tortoiseshell framed glasses with the hidden camera. Then she moved a strand of her long auburn wig over the communication device in her ear. “I’m set.” With Anatoly lurking about, her disguise was a necessity.

  James looked from Quinn to Dave. “Me, too.”

  “Affirmative,” LT said.

  “Good.” Dave paused as if to let the importance of the moment sink in. “Saddle up.”

  Brimming with equal parts excitement, anticipation, and apprehension, Quinn jumped off the bed and helped stow the equipment scattered around the room. Once everything was secured, they left and took the lift to the ground floor.

  Out the front door and onto the sidewalk, Yonatan crossed the street to the surveillance van, and LT turned left toward his vehicle. Dave turned right.

  James took Quinn’s hand. “Can I walk you to your car?” They started toward the vehicle parked across the street at their two o’clock.

  Her smile was soft. “Sure.”

  A half-minute later, they stood next to the van’s driver-side door. James took her left hand and slipped her wedding and engagement rings off her finger. “Don’t want to tempt Yefimov and his crew. They’ll steal these right off your hand if they get the chance.”

  She took off the necklace that still held his wedding band and threaded them onto the chain. Then he took it from her and held it by both ends. “Turn around.”

  She spun and swept her hair forward over her shoulder.

  He settled their rings and eagle pendant on her chest, secured the clasp, and kissed the exposed nape of her neck. A shiver raced down her spine.

  “See you there.” He turned on his heel and hurried toward the van parked a short distance away.

  She tugged at the front of her blouse and hid the rings under the material. The way they rested over her heart gave her an inordinate amount of joy.

  Pushing all thoughts other than the mission out of her mind, she unlocked the door and climbed up into the driver’s seat. “Time to go to work,” she said aloud to the empty van. The engine roared to life, reminding her of her loud, rumbly 4Runner. She threw the vehicle in gear and pulled out into traffic.

  She’d been warned repeatedly about dangerous drivers in Russia. Having successfully navigated through the dusty, congested streets of Amritsar, India, she figured she could handle anything. But unlike the crowded but somewhat controlled pandemonium of Amritsar, Russia had a reputation for criminally aggressive drivers, unsafe roads, and accident scams.

  Just the day before, when Quinn and James were walking back to their hotel after touring the State Hermitage Museum, they’d witnessed one such scam. A man had stood on a sidewalk until a bus came into view. When it approached, he’d thrown himself at it. He’d bounced off the side in glancing blow, but it had still left him in a heap on the side of the road. Quinn and James had run over to assist him, but when the “victim” realized the bus had never even slowed down—let alone stopped—he’d climbed to his feet and brushed himself off. James and Quinn had left him standing on the sidewalk, uninjured and peering into the distance in search of the next vehicle at which to throw himself.

  In the next hour, Quinn’s sole goal was to get the kids to Olgino without a pedestrian bouncing off the side of her van or having an accident where the other driver might, in a fit of pique, smash a tire iron through a window. They had recently witnessed that, too.

  She managed to travel the few blocks without incident and parked the van on a side street not far from the building. From the chatter in her earpiece, she knew James and LT were waiting for her and Dave in the lobby. They would go up to the flat together.

  Quinn entered the building and silently dipped her chin, acknowledging James and LT. Dave joined them a minute later.

  Like train cars on a track, the four ascended the staircase in tandem. When they reached the appropriate level, they started down the corridor.

  It was a different experience for Quinn, being in the hallway in person versus observing it through video cameras. She felt the full impact of its crushing oppressiveness now. The stale air was heavy with the stench of cigarettes and cooked cabbage. A television, its volume turned up as high as possible, blared inside an apartment they passed.

  They stopped outside the flat’s door. Dave looked into their faces in turn. “Ready?”

  Heart thumping, Quinn’s senses heightened. Colors intensified and lines turned razor sharp. She heard nothing but the muffled voices coming from the other side of the door. Her mind clear and focused, she squared her shoulders and said, “Ready.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  James donned the mantel of leadership and opened the door. He entered the dingy front room first, followed by Quinn. LT and Dave waited in the hall for the signal to move in once the money and drugs had been recorded changing hands.

  Yefimov and Anatoly stood waiting for them. A large, brightly painted matryoshka doll sat on one of the armchairs.

  James pointed at the Russian nesting doll and said, “It appears my order is ready.”

  “Yes,” Yefimov said. An icy chill ran through Quinn’s veins when his gaze landed on her. “Who is she?”

  “My personal assistant.”

  “I am sure she helps with many things.” His suggestive tone and oily smile made Quinn’s skin crawl.

  James stared at Yefimov, stone-faced.

  Yefimov’s eyes traveled to the briefcase in Quinn’s hand. “That is for me, yes?” The Russian seemed to be enjoying his perceived control over the situation.

  Other than the steady rise and fall of his chest, James stood motionless with his arms hanging limply at his sides. Unblinking, he regarded Yefimov, as if trying to gauge how much longer he was willing to put up with his shenanigans.

  The longer the uncomfortable silence stretched, the more Yefimov’s nerves visibly strained. His smug smile turned sickly, and a thin sheen of perspiration sprang up on his forehead.

  Quinn felt her own nerves begin to fray.

  “Yes,” James finally said. “Now, if we could dispense with any additional pleasantries. Show us what’s inside the doll and we’ll show you what’s inside the briefcase.”

  Yefimov went over to the doll and pulled off the top half, revealing a two-pound brick of white powder wrapped in plastic.

  James turned to Quinn and said, “Miss Riordan, if you will.” She set the briefcase on the sofa and opened it. Bundles of one hundred euro notes were stacked across the bottom. Of course, only the top bill in each stack was real.

  The phone in Yefimov’s pocket rang. His brow furrowed when he looked at the screen. He put it to his ear and said, “Da.”

  Quinn tensed as she watched Yefimov listen. His face hardened and his eyes burned a hole in James with each passing second.

  Busted.

  “Now!” James shouted.

  Anatoly went for his sidearm. Quinn flung the briefcase at him and knocked the gun from his hand as soon as it cleared his holster. She went for the tranquilizer pistol on her thigh.

  Dave ran past her to secure whatever was on the other side of the door on the right.

  Quinn pulled the pistol from her thigh holster.

  The sharp clap of a gunshot ripped through the flat. Dave crumpled to the floor in the hall.

  “Dave!” she screamed.

  Anatoly lowered his shoulder, barreled into Quinn, and drove her back against the wall. Even with the protection of her vest, her chest exploded with pain and the breath in her lungs whooshed out in a gust.

  Anatoly bounced off and raced out the front door.

  Eyes watering and gasping for air, she was in no position to chase him. With the way her chest ached like she’d caught a cannonball, she had no choic
e but to let him escape. She couldn’t dawdle, though. She pushed away from the wall and staggered toward the prostrate Dave.

  She leaned a hand against the doorjamb and gulped down two mouthfuls of air. Seconds later, the pain in her chest abated and her vision cleared enough to peer through the opening and down the hall.

  Viktor stormed toward her.

  She raised her gun and readied to fire.

  Her finger squeezed the trigger, but let up before firing when Viktor pitched forward and crashed to the floor.

  Viktor’s epic fall revealed a panting, grinning Pyotr with a chair gripped in his hands.

  “Way to go, Pyotr!” Quinn shouted in Russian.

  His eyes rounded with recognition when he heard her voice. “You were on island.”

  “I was. Are you okay?”

  “Da.”

  Movement behind Pyotr drew her attention. Quinn raised her pistol and yelled, “Get down!”

  He dropped to the floor. Zhanna, her face contorted with fury and her fingers curled like talons, flew straight at them.

  Quinn fired.

  Zhanna stopped, wobbled, and then collapsed.

  Quinn turned and knelt beside Dave.

  Before she could speak, he wheezed, “I’ll be okay. Took one in the vest.”

  Quinn’s head snapped toward James when two more gunshots sounded. The shots hadn’t come from him. He was locked in a power struggle over Yefimov’s gun.

  Screaming and crying sounded from the other side of the flat.

  Through her comms, she heard LT say, “The two guards in the drug room are down.”

  She leveled her pistol at Yefimov’s back.

  The men spun as she fired. She missed. The dart impaled the wall.

  James smashed Yefimov’s wrist against the top of the TV. His pistol clattered behind the stand.

  Yefimov heaved at James, throwing him off, and then bolted out the door.

  “Yefimov’s running!” James yelled.

  Quinn shouted, “Go after him!”

  “What about you?”

  “Viktor, Zhanna, and the other two guys are down,” she replied. “I think Anatoly ran, too.”

  “James, go,” LT said. “We’ve got this.”

  “Copy.” He flew toward the door and careened into the hall.

  There was still one of Yefimov’s crew unaccounted for. “Pyotr, do you know where Mother Olga is?” she asked, forgetting to do so in Russian.

  His arm swung up and he pointed to the opposite end of the hallway. “There is back way out. She took tovarish.”

  His comrades. Her fist clenched. “Is Mila one of them?”

  “Da.”

  Quinn was already running. “Stay with LT and Dave. They’ll get you all out of here to someplace safe,” she said as he charged past him.

  She flung open the door and stepped into a dark stairwell. Voices and footfalls echoed up the staircase from below. Mother Olga and the kids had a head start, but alone, Quinn could catch up to them fast.

  Light from her phone’s flashlight pierced the dimness, making her sure-footed as she scampered down the steps.

  Bright sunlight filtered into the stairwell and then as quickly disappeared.

  Mother Olga and the kids had just left the building.

  Quinn sped up. She was close.

  She burst out the door and onto the sidewalk. Blinking against the bright noonday summer sun, she scanned the sidewalk, left and right.

  She glimpsed Mother Olga’s ample backside just before it disappeared around the corner to her left. As she ran, Quinn stuffed her phone in one pocket and jammed her tranquilizer pistol in the other. She didn’t dare brandish her weapon in public.

  At the end of the block, she skidded around the corner. Mother Olga, along with two boys and two girls of varying sizes, was up ahead.

  Quinn ran up on them like they were barely moving. She grabbed Mother Olga by the shoulder, spun her around, and punched her square in the face.

  Stunned, Mother Olga stumbled backward and slid down a wall to the sidewalk.

  A girl screamed.

  She didn’t have time to mess with Mother Olga and they were already garnering curious stares. It was time to move out. “Come with me,” Quinn said in Russian. “We have to go.”

  Mila had the same reaction to her as Pyotr had only a few minutes before. “Quinn?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” she said in English. “We’re here to rescue you. We have a safe place for you to go. Come on.”

  Mila nodded.

  Dread jolted through Quinn when she saw only three faces looking into hers. “Where’s the other girl?”

  Eyes wide, Mila shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Quinn switched to Russian and asked the question again.

  One of the boys pointed down the sidewalk. “She ran away.”

  “We can’t leave her behind,” Mila said, her voice pleading. She gripped a hand of each boy.

  Quinn took the free hand of one of the boys and pulled the train down the sidewalk. “Don’t worry. We won’t.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Up ahead, a girl about ten years old zigzagged her way past startled pedestrians.

  “Klara,” Mila yelled. “Stop!”

  At the end of the block, Klara ran left around the corner. Mila let go of the boys’ hands and sprinted down the street, calling Klara’s name.

  “Mila! Wait!” Quinn shouted. She and the two boys scampered after Mila. “James, are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” James panted through the comm. “Still chasing Yefimov.”

  “Copy that. Be careful.”

  “You too.”

  The boy on Quinn’s left asked in Russian, “Mila knows you?”

  “Yes. We are friends.”

  Apparently that was good enough for them. Their legs pumped faster.

  They skidded around the corner. Halfway up the block, Quinn spotted Mila on her knees, holding Klara in a full embrace.

  Quinn and her charges dropped to a jog. When they reached the two, Quinn heard Mila comforting Klara in a soothing, gentle tone.

  “Let’s move out of the middle of the sidewalk,” Quinn said. The five ducked into a nearby window alcove and stood in a tight cluster.

  “You came for us,” Mila said, her voice tinged with awe.

  “I promised I would.” Quinn smiled when Mila hugged her. As much as she wanted to slip into a shop with the kids and ply them with pastries and hot cocoa, they had to keep moving. “My Russian comprehension is way better than my speaking,” Quinn said, releasing Mila. “Can you tell them I’m here to take you all someplace safe, away from the people who make them work?”

  Mila repeated what Quinn had said. Mouths agape, they stared up at Quinn in stunned disbelief.

  Before they moved from their hiding place, Quinn needed a better picture of the situation. “Guys, I need a sitrep.”

  “I’m tracking James in pursuit of Yefimov,” Yonatan said.

  “Dave, are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Sore, but I’ll survive.” It relieved her to hear Dave’s voice sounding strong. “LT and I have secured Viktor and his buddies and are getting the kids rounded up. We’ll be in the vans and on our way in a few minutes. Pyotr’s a great kid. He’s explaining to them what’s going on.”

  “Good deal. I’m with the four Mother Olga took off with. We’re going to head for the van now.”

  “Copy that,” Yonatan said.

  When Quinn took a step to leave the niche they were hiding in, Mila clutched her arm and stopped her. “What about my sister and brother?” she asked. “And the others? What’s happened to them?”

  “Two of the men with us are getting all of them out.”

  Mila’s ice-blue eyes gave Quinn a penetrating stare. “You’re sure they’re okay?”

  “I’m sure.” She stepped out of the alcove with four kids in tow. “We have to go back the way we came to get to the van.”

  Mila updated the other three as they
walked.

  They came to the end of the block and turned right. Quinn scanned the area. No sign of Anatoly or Mother Olga.

  Fifty feet from the entrance to the building they’d fled, Mother Olga burst out onto the sidewalk like she’d been shot from a cannon. At the sight of Quinn and the kids, Mother Olga bellowed and barreled toward them like a charging rhinoceros.

  “Crap!” Quinn yelped.

  “What?” James shouted in her ear. Despite his heavy breathing, alarm colored his voice.

  Quinn and the kids did a quick one-eighty, careened around the corner again, and raced up the street. Mila half dragged, half carried Klara along.

  “Mother Olga’s out for blood,” Quinn said to whoever was listening.

  Firing her tranquilizer gun in public was highly problematic. And she didn’t want to throw another punch for fear passersby might see Quinn as the aggressor and come to Mother Olga’s aid. She deemed it best not to engage the other woman and scanned the area for a place to hide. At her two o’clock, she saw a group of children and adults entering a building. “There,” Quinn said. “Across the street.”

  Hands clasped, they stood between two parked cars and waited for a chance to cross the street. Visions of the guy she’d seen bounce off a bus flashed in her mind. That was the last thing she wanted to have happen.

  At a gap in the traffic, she said, “Now!” They bolted across the street and reached the other side as an electric tram whooshed past.

  “In here,” Quinn said in a low tone as they strode toward the entrance. “Quick.” They blended in with a knot of children and mothers and entered the building.

  “What is this place?” the boy with brown hair asked as they walked past a kid-sized table displaying a number of picture books.

  Quinn knew the Russian word. “Biblioteka.” And from the small chairs and low shelves filled with tall books with thin spines, she knew it was, more specifically, a children’s library. Too bad she would never be able to tell Nicole about this place.

  “Let’s get away from the door,” Quinn said, using her librarian voice. She led them further into the library, all the while searching for a door through which they could escape.