There were two figures in the distance, not one. The noise of the escalators covered Olesya’s footsteps. She moved slow and whisper-soft on the outer edge of the platform, concealed by the shiny steel and marble columns. She stepped over the bodies of two dead police officers, parts of their heads shot through .
She moved close enough to hear them talking. They spoke English with American accents. Olesya stood behind a column and checked her phone. It had reception and the sticky cam was able to connect. She was rewarded with a view of both women, pistols aimed at each other. One was the operative with the hooded jacket, but she wasn’t sure of the other one yet. She wore dark jeans and a black leather jacket over a gray t-shirt. She had dark bronzite hair and a pale complexion .
‘If we’re caught,’ the hooded operative said, ‘I’m the one with valuable intelligence to trade and you’re the terrorist mastermind caught in the act .’
Olesya had just found the missing operative .
‘Tell me where the explosives are and I’ll get you out unscathed,’ the new woman said. ‘Relatively speaking .’
‘With me as your prisoner,’ the hooded operative said .
‘Better than being dead .’
‘It’s me or the explosives. You can’t have both .’
If the top brass wanted proof that operative hunters were effective—that Olesya was effective—they were going to get it. She aimed her pistol and stepped out behind the hooded operative, directly facing the new woman .
‘Actually, there’s a third option.’ Olesya lined up her sights with the new one .
She didn’t even flinch .
Both the hooded operative and the new woman kept their pistols trained on each other. Neither tried to aim at Olesya .
‘I can drop you both without even calling for backup,’ Olesya said. ‘If you want out of this alive, then I suggest you slowly point your weapons to the ceiling and remove your magazines .’
The new woman stared back at Olesya with smoke-gray eyes that burned through her. They seemed to see everything; to read everything .
‘Listen to me,’ the new woman said. ‘This operative has placed explosives on the platform .’
‘Don’t listen to her,’ the hooded operative interrupted, speaking in Russian. ‘She’s the suspect and I’m trying to stop her .’
‘Last chance.’ Olesya kept her aim on the new one with gray eyes. ‘Both of you: aim your pistols at the ceiling .’
The new woman pointed her pistol to the ceiling. Slowly and deliberately, she released her magazine .
‘Who are you?’ Olesya asked .
‘My name is Sophia. You might have heard — ’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Olesya said .
Sophia did look familiar, but Olesya couldn’t recall a photo of her in Illarion’s collection. Some of those photos were recent, they were adult operatives. Some were outdated, from back when they were still children. Maybe Sophia had grown some .
‘Your turn,’ Sophia said to the hooded operative .
Olesya shifted her aim. ‘Remove your magazine !’
The hooded operative remained still .
Olesya needed to see her face. She needed to know …
Then Sophia spoke. ‘Children three that nestle near. Eager eye and willing ear, pleased a simple tale to hear .’
The operative stood between them and twitched, then hung forward, limbs dangling. ‘Access permitted .’
Sophia spoke to Olesya in calm yet stilted Russian. ‘Ask her again. She will obey basic commands .’
Olesya kept her pistol trained on the hooded operative. ‘Point your barrel to the ceiling, remove your magazine and clear the chamber .’
The operative did as she was instructed. The magazine clattered by her feet. A single round bounced across the marble. She remained standing and stared ahead .
‘How did you do that?’ Olesya asked .
Sophia arched an eyebrow divided with a fine scar. ‘It’s a long story.’ She lowered her pistol and aimed at Olesya. There was one round still in her chamber .
Olesya aimed at the same time. Stalemate. ‘You only have one round .’
‘I can work with that,’ Sophia said. ‘Who are you? GRU? SVR ?’
‘FSB,’ Olesya lied. ‘Maybe that was your third guess .’
‘Maybe.’
‘Speaking of threes, how many of you are there—here in Moscow ?’
‘You tell me,’ Sophia said .
It clicked into place. Olesya remembered where she’d seen Sophia. It was right in this very station, three years and one month ago. She’d slipped through the crowd before the explosion. Olesya tried to catch her but the detonation cut her off and she’d gotten away .
Not this time .
Olesya hit her pressel switch. ‘I have two operatives .’
‘You have one of them,’ Sophia said, nodding to the hooded operative between them. ‘And it’s not me .’
Olesya kept her pistol trained on Sophia’s face. Twenty meters. She could take the shot. ‘You’re one of them. I remember you .’
Sophia shook her head slowly. ‘Whatever you think I’ve done, that wasn’t me. I can explain .’
Olesya’s finger curled over the trigger. ‘Give me one good reason why I don’t shoot you right now .’
‘Because I’m not like them,’ Sophia said .
‘Why should I believe anything you say ?’
‘I’m not programmed. Not anymore .’
Olesya shook her head. ‘That’s not possible .’
‘Then how would you explain what I just did?’ Sophia asked .
Olesya’s comms crackled. Ark’s voice, dropping in and out .
‘—can you—me? Val is—last seen—north from Tverskaya — ’
Olesya held down her pressel switch. ‘Unreadable, say again .’
Ark called her phone. Carefully taking a hand off her pistol, Olesya answered .
‘I’m at the north entrance, can you hear me?’ Ark yelled. ‘Shit! I think they grabbed Val !’
Panic sheared through Olesya .
‘White van!’ Ark breathed rapidly and read out the number plate. ‘Bearing north on Tverskaya Street! Shit, shit shit. You’re closer, can you get there? Tell me you can get there !’
Olesya kept her gaze on Sophia. ‘Yes .’
‘The van has tinted glass, roof racks and a hatch with a small window on the rear!’ Ark yelled .
‘Let me guess.’ Sophia didn’t blink. ‘You have to run ?’
‘My team know exactly where we are.’ Olesya ended the call and pocketed her phone. ‘If you were to make the wrong move .’
‘Understood.’ Sophia slowly lowered her pistol. ‘I take it you want me to disarm the explosives .’
Olesya holstered her own, wishing for a moment her NetGun was loaded .
‘Whatever you do with that operative, do it fast,’ Olesya said .
She broke into a run, heading for the southern entrance. Her earpiece crackled .
‘I repeat, white van. White van. Tinted glass,’ Ark said. ‘Two in the front seat .’
Olesya flashed her ID at the police outside and read out the number plate to them. ‘The terrorists are inside and they’ve taken a police officer hostage .’
She ran for the corner. The street flowed with four lanes in both directions. She needed to steal a car if she was going to intercept this van, which could be passing her at any moment —
She saw it. Driver and passenger. Tinted glass .
It was almost here and she was on the wrong side of the road. She moved without thinking and ran for the double lines in the center. The van was heading right for her. She drew her Gyurza, knowing she couldn’t shoot without risk of hitting Val. Even if she managed to shoot the tires, she’d end up killing half a dozen motorists from ricochets. There had to be a better way of stopping them .
She held out her ID and stepped boldly into the first lane. There was a blue two-door Jeep driving in front of the van. She aimed her
Gyurza at the Jeep. The driver hit the brakes, but Olesya was already stepping into the next lane, aiming at the driver of a small red sedan. If she couldn’t stop the van, she would stop everyone in front of the van .
The ground beneath Olesya shook. She widened her stance and felt it rumble through her body. A low, deafening roar. Glass and marble spewed from the station entrance on the other side of the road .
The van’s driver swerved around the traffic into the adjacent lane, clipping the red sedan. The impact slowed the van, but now it had a clean break .
‘Olesya!’ Ark’s voice was breathless in her earpiece. ‘Can you see the van ?’
Tinted glass—bullet resistant. One driver and a passenger in the cabin. Roof racks on top. The van accelerated toward her .
Olesya holstered her pistol and stood her ground. ‘I see it .’
The van aimed right for her .
She jumped clear with a fraction of time to spare. The van passed by her, plain and featureless with nothing on the side for her to grab. She reached out and her fingers caught the rear hatch. It pulled her off her feet. She gripped the handle and hauled her boots onto the step under the hatch. The van didn’t stop. She held onto the hatch with both hands .
Through the hatch window, she could see four people inside. Two were armed with submachine guns. One of them was Val. And another was tending to Val, who lay still with closed eyes, and another carried a tablet. On the back of the tablet there was a small logo that looked like a DNA strand .
Taking one hand off the handle, Olesya aimed her pistol through the glass, at the nearest armed passenger. He lunged for the hatch, but she put one round into his head. It shattered the window and tore through his skull. The hatch popped up, lifting her with it. Tverskaya Street became a smear of cars and buildings. Wind howled through her ears .
Olesya landed on top of the van, then tumbled over the side. She grabbed a roof rack and hung with one hand. The van was surrounded by traffic that roared around her. There was a truck on one side and a bus on the other. She hung to the roof rack while the passengers in the bus beside her watched in disbelief .
Her Gyurza pistol was near the front of the van, wedged under the roof rack. She extended one hand and —
The van rammed a car in front, almost knocking Olesya free. She held on, then climbed toward the van’s driver. He exposed his arm, pistol in hand. She closed the gap fast, snapping her legs in a scissor motion and breaking his elbow. The passenger sitting in the cabin next to him was quick to react. She took the wheel and tried to aim a pistol of her own. With the driver’s head planted on the wheel—horn blaring—she aimed over his shoulder at Olesya .
Olesya’s legs were still clamped over the driver’s arm. She drew them in, pulling the driver back and blocking the passenger’s aim. The passenger fired and blew a hole through the driver’s head. The driver slumped on the steering wheel, hitting the horn .
The van steered into the bus. The bus driver saw them coming and tried to get clear. Olesya released her driver’s arm and quickly pulled herself over the roof racks. The van smashed into the side of the bus, metal on metal. Olesya slipped and rolled off the roof. The horn drowned everything else out. She went flying over the road and—slammed into the side of the truck. Her hip took the impact and she bounced off, back onto the roof of the van. But she wasn’t going to make it. The road rushed to meet her .
Olesya reached out. She grabbed a roof rack and hit the side of the van, crushing air from her lungs. She didn’t let go. The new driver glared through the side mirror .
One driver down, another to go .
Olesya climbed along the side of the van, hands moving quickly across the roof rack, and made her way to the passenger’s side of the cabin. She reached into her boot for the only knife she had left—her survival knife .
But this driver saw her coming. She steered into the truck .
Olesya still had time. She held the roof rack with one hand, knife with the other. She struck the knife’s hilt into the cabin window. The window crystallized. She struck again. The laminated glass caved in .
A flash of movement behind her, from the open hatch .
Submachine-gun .
Olesya flung her survival knife at the shooter. He pulled back. The knife missed. He aimed again, then suddenly retreated. The van went crashing into the truck again. Olesya saw it coming and kicked off the side of the truck. She landed on top of the van and braced herself. The van grazed the truck and almost lost control. Olesya went for her pistol. The hatch bobbed open behind her .
Rounds punched through the roof, narrowly missing her. The van roared through a busy intersection. Horns and cars blasted in their wake .
Olesya turned over onto her back and slid to the rear of the van. She slammed her heel on the open hatch. It whipped down, struck the shooter and sent him tumbling from the van. Motorists behind them hit their brakes .
The van struck a curb and Olesya lost her grip on the roof. She slid down the closed hatch, twisting to grab for the broken window. Her pistol flew over her head and her boots grazed the road. She hung on by the window frame with one hand. She reached up with her other hand and pulled herself toward the window. Inside, Val lay with one remaining passenger. That passenger aimed a submachine gun at her. The van took a corner. Hard. In that split second, Olesya made her decision .
She let go .
Chapter Twenty-Two
Barranquilla, Colombia
D amien listened for the two intruders. Silence. The intruders paused outside the ward a little too long. They were coming inside .
Nasira folded her knife and gave it to Jay, then took him by his other arm .
Damien grabbed a nurse by the shoulder. ‘Is there another exit?’ he asked in Spanish .
‘No, no, just through the glass door .’
‘Hide,’ Damien said .
The nurse did as instructed, hiding behind a hospital bed. Damien did the same. A dazed patient looked down at him. He heard the glass door breaking .
On the other side of the ward, Nasira tucked Jay in behind the staff desk. Damien peered over the bed. A masked woman aimed her suppressed carbine at the first bed in the ward. She fired a short burst. People screamed .
Fear rose inside Damien, cold and sickly .
They weren’t here for Jay. They were here for everyone .
There was a second burst. Then gunfire from other wards. In chorus, it echoed through the building .
Damien risked another glance. Now there were two masked shooters in the ward with them. One was shooting while the other walked over to where Damien was hiding. Damien unlocked the bed wheels and shoved the bed into the aisle. It crashed into the masked shooter, but didn’t stall him long. He pushed forward and aimed at Damien —
The back of his head sprayed the wall. He slumped against it .
Nasira stood behind the desk, pistol in both hands, but the first shooter dived for the glass door and escaped .
Jay collected the dead shooter’s suppressed carbine—an FN Scar Mark 17 with a compact 13-inch barrel. Jay looked ready to move, but the sedatives slowed him a fraction .
Damien stepped around him. ‘On me .’
Nasira knew the drill. She didn’t have Damien and Jay’s enhanced healing and regeneration abilities, so she stacked behind them. They entered the corridor quickly, Damien aiming left, Jay right. Jay was the first to fire. He discharged a short burst of suppressed rounds .
‘Shooter down,’ Jay said quietly .
They never said ‘Clear’ because it never was .
Suppressed gunfire and screams echoed from every direction. Nasira broke formation and moved away from the elevator. Damien checked behind and saw the crumpled body Jay had shot. He considered running over to the body and stealing the carbine, but the distance in open ground wasn’t worth it .
Nasira was running ahead. Damien followed her and Jay took up rear security. Nasira hit a t-intersection and went left, bringing them to another glass door.
She swiped her stolen ID and pushed through into what looked like an administration wing. There was no one here. The desks were scattered with breath mints and coffee, but there were no bodies. The staff had evacuated very recently. Nasira kicked a chair from her path and kept moving. Damien followed, making sure Jay didn’t slow .
It took them a very long minute to make it to the staff vehicle bay. Damien searched for older cars to steal, but they were all new. On foot, Nasira took them across the vehicle bay and toward a ramp, then she stopped and swore .
Three masked figures walked down the ramp, suppressed barrels aimed at them. Two 4x4s crawled behind the figures, their engines rumbling and windshields dark. The figures wore white armbands above their elbows .
Nasira lowered her pistol. There was no other option. Damien and Jay did the same .
‘Don’t shoot!’ Damien called out in Spanish, then English. ‘We came here to find you .’
Damien honestly had no idea where to go from here, but it was worth a shot. He searched the vehicle bay for more options as he talked, but there was nothing to help .
The masked figures approached, suppressors trained on Nasira, Damien and Jay. At least they weren’t shooting—yet .
‘I know you don’t have any reason to trust us,’ Damien said, speaking in English. ‘But we want to join you .’
One masked figure stepped forward, speckled green eyes on Damien. He aimed his carbine at Damien. ‘How can you join something you know nothing of ?’
‘One word.’ Damien struggled to remember the word from Cartagena. ‘Aberrations .’
The masked gunman lowered his carbine. ‘Those without faith are cursed with terrible powers of trickery and deception. They take the gift of the angels and give nothing in return .’
Damien heard footsteps behind them. He turned his head only a fraction, just enough to see a new pair of masked figures moving quickly through the vehicle bay .
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