He considered aborting the hit temporarily, but no, he’d promised the Chief it would happen today — the man expected results, and neither failure nor delay was an option. Besides, he couldn’t just leave the charges in place indefinitely. They’d be discovered sooner or later, alerting his targets and making them even more difficult to kill. He settled in to wait and hoped he could discern when his targets were gathered in one of the kill zones.
Chapter Thirty Three
Kairouz Residence
London, UK
Ilya Denosovitch had his right arm tightly around Karina’s shoulders as she hugged him around his waist. He hadn’t let go of her since she’d bounded down the stairs into his arms moments before. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, yet was unable to stop, and happy tears leaked down his cheeks, which he brushed away with the back of his left hand. Spetsnaz do not cry, he reminded himself, then looked at the scene of happy chaos unfolding around him.
Nigel had released Cassie at the bottom of the stairs, and she’d flown into Gillian’s waiting arms before reaching out to include a happy but confused Alex in the family embrace. Mrs. Hogan orbited the group, visibly impatient to fold Cassie in a hug of her own, while Nigel stood nearby, beaming but obviously unsure what to do with himself.
Dyed and Anna stood looking on at the end of the hall near the doorway to the kitchen, while beyond them Ilya saw the CIA agent, Jesse Ward. Ward looked relieved, Anna looked happy, and Dyed looked uncertain, as if unsure it was all true. The hallway rang with laughter and a confused babble of voices until Mrs. Hogan finally received her expected hug and then pulled away from Cassie, wiping tears from her own eyes before raising her voice to address the group.
“Right then,” Mrs. Hogan said. “Into the kitchen, the lot of ya! Maybe if I put some food in your mouths, you’ll all be quiet long enough for Cassie and her friend here to tell us how this blessing came to pass. Though I’ve no doubt it was God’s own miracle, it was.” And with that, Mrs. Hogan began to shoo the happy milling group toward the sanctity of her kitchen.
Ilya and Karina trailed the crowd, smiling as they filed down the hall. If only the major were here — oh shit, the major. Ilya glanced at his watch, confirming that he was well overdue for his daily 11 AM email check. He stopped in the kitchen doorway and reluctantly released Karina, nodding her into the kitchen as he dug in his pants pocket for his smart phone.
Karina clung to him and looked up at him. “Where are you going, Uncle Ilya?”
Ilya beamed at his niece. “Do not worry, Karina. I will be near. Join the others, and I will be there shortly.”
Karina gave him a hesitant smile and joined the celebration in the kitchen while Ilya hung back in the hall, phone in hand. He’d turned his phone off during the memorial service and powered it on now, surprised by the blinking voice mail icon. His surprise grew when he accessed his voice mail and saw multiple messages from what he recognized as burner phone numbers. This couldn’t be good news. He glanced at the celebration in the kitchen and moved in the opposite direction, down the hallway and through the front door to take the call in private — unwilling to put a damper on the celebrations. Once outside, he listened to the last message and called the number as instructed.
“Ilya! Thank God,” said Borgdanov. “I’ve been trying for an hour to reach someone.”
“I suppose everyone had their phones turned off for the service—”
“Okay. No problem. I have you now. You must—”
“Andrei,” Ilya said, “they are alive. Karina and Cassie are both alive.”
“What? But you said your mission was unsuccessful.”
“It was, but somehow—”
“That’s wonderful,” Borgdanov said, “and I want to hear about it, but now you must listen closely. The Bratstvo bastards have taken out a contract on Dyed and the Kairouzes. The hit is already planned, and it will be soon. You must warn them.”
“Da,” Ilya replied. “How? You have details?”
“I know they have the Kairouz house bugged, and that they plan to use a bomb when they are all gathered there, so you must prevent that from happening—&lrquo;
Ilya shoved the phone into his pocket and turned for the door before Borgdanov finished the sentence.
Outside the Kairouz Residence
London, UK
Fedosov nodded as the cook’s Irish brogue came through his headphones, urging the group into the kitchen. He listened impatiently to the sounds of the happy crowd moving down the hallway, and he switched between his various listening devices to confirm their transit. Sure enough, the volume of their combined chatter rose in the kitchen as it fell in the other rooms. Soon they’d all be exactly where he wanted them.
He tensed and fingered the detonator, but he hesitated, were all three targets in the kill zone? The Chief would be livid if any survived. Should he wait a bit, to ensure everyone was there? He heard chairs being scraped along the floor, and then a woman’s voice he didn’t recognize. A British accent, youngish, perhaps the redhead on crutches?
“I propose a toast to the safe return of Cassie and Karina,” the woman said.
There was a ‘hear, hear,’ that he recognized as Kairouz, and then a jumble of other responses.
“Wait. Where’s Ilya?” a voice said. Clearly an American, probably Dugan. Good. Only the Kairouz woman left to confirm.
“He went out the front to make a phone call,” said someone. Female. Russian accent.
“I’ll go get him,” he heard Dugan respond. “We can’t have a toast without Ilya.”
Shit! Don’t leave, thought Fedosov. And then he smiled. When everyone was gathered for the toast, he’d know with certainty his targets were all there.
He settled back to wait. How accommodating of them to arrange the signal themselves.
***
Ilya reached for the latch just as the door opened to reveal a smiling Dugan.
“Ilya, come in. We’re going to toast the girls’ return—”
The big Russian grabbed Dugan by the arm and pulled him out onto the front porch.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dugan demanded as Ilya dragged him down the walk away from the house.
“Dyed, you are in danger. I think there is a bomb in the house. I must get the others out.”
“What? Let’s go.” Dugan turned back to the house.
“Nyet.” Ilya tightened his grip on Dugan’s arm. “The house is bugged, how extensively I do not know, but I think the plan is to kill you and both Alex and Gillian at the same time. I don’t know why that has not happened, but I think you must stay separate from them.”
“So you go in and get them out, and I stand here with my thumb up my ass?”
Ilya shrugged. “I think is safer for the others also, if you are not close.”
Dugan hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Get them out. I’ll stay outside.”
Ilya nodded back and ran up the walk and through the front door. He moved down the long hallway and into the kitchen. The group gathered there looked up, everyone smiling.
“Okay, now we have you, but where’s Tom?” Anna asked.
“Dyed will be in soon,” Ilya said. “He is smoking a cigarette.”
Anna looked puzzled. “But Tom—” She stopped dead at Ilya’s finger in front of his lips.
The group fell silent, but Ward and Anna picked up on Ilya’s hand signs and quietly scooted their chairs away from the kitchen table and rose, silently urging the others to do likewise, as they all started moving toward the back door.
***
Dugan watched Ilya disappear into the house, his mind racing. If the Russian mob was intent on killing them all in the house, there was likely someone nearby waiting to pull the trigger. It could all be done very remotely, of course, but if they’d gone to such great lengths to kill them together, they’d likely want a witness on site to confirm the deaths. That meant line of sight, which on these tree-lined streets meant close, very close.
He moved off the sidewalk and crept through the shrubbery to the edge of the expansive front yard. He found a good vantage point behind a boxwood hedge and peered up and down the street. There were a few parked cars, but all were unoccupied, so he kept low behind the hedge and moved to the side of the house. Halfway down the yard, he stopped and slowly raised his eyes above the top of the hedge to check out the side street. Sure enough, a hundred yards beyond the entrance to the driveway, a plumbing repair van sat at the curb.
He started forward in a crouching run, keeping the hedge between himself and the van, with no clear idea what he was going to do when he got there.
***
Fedosov sat listening as the ex-Spetsnaz announced his arrival, and then cursed under his breath at the news the American Dugan wasn’t with him. Then the conversation seemed to die. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t tell what. He sat mentally parsing the possibilities, and then it came to him. He was nothing if not thorough, and he always did his homework on potential targets.
Dugan didn’t smoke.
His fingers tightened on the detonator, and he pushed the button.
***
Dugan had just cleared the hedge and turned to exit the driveway into the street when the blast took him full in the back, knocking him off his feet. He fell face first on the drive, momentarily stunned, and then felt the hard cobblestones beneath him as rubble began to rain down, causing him to press himself to the ground and cross his arms over the back of his head for protection.
The last bits of rubble still pattered through the leaves above him when he staggered to his feet and looked toward the ruins of the house. His heart leapt into his throat as secondary explosions engulfed the wreckage in flames, and he took a step toward the house, then stopped. Ilya was there, and he had gotten them out. He HAD to believe that, or otherwise it made no difference. He turned back down the drive and stooped to scoop up a fist-sized chunk of masonry as he raced toward the van, murder in his heart.
The van rocked on its springs as he approached and someone moved about inside. Dugan reached the driver’s door and yanked it open just as a small rat-faced man slipped into the driver’s seat. The man’s surprise was short lived, and he immediately slipped his right hand toward his left armpit, but Dugan was already swinging his rock toward Rat Face’s nose. It landed with a satisfying crunch.
The pistol dropped to the floorboard of the van, and Dugan dragged the semi-conscious killer from the vehicle and threw him face down in the street, then knelt on the man’s back and raised his rock high, ready to smash the bastard’s skull. Then he stopped. He didn’t want the little fish, he wanted the boss.
He tossed the rock aside and used his necktie to bind the killer’s hands behind his back, and then stood. The man moaned as Dugan pulled him to his feet and pushed him toward the drive of the Kairouz house.
“You’d better hope no one’s dead, asshole,” Dugan said through clenched teeth, “or you’re gonna have a lot more to moan about.”
Chapter Thirty Four
St. Petersburg
Russian Federation
Borgdanov paced the worn carpet of his hotel room. It had been over six hours since Ilya terminated their conversation so abruptly, and Borgdanov was worried — no news was definitely not good news. He’d already risked compromising them by contacting Ilya openly in the first place and by continuing to try to reach him since their last call, using the same burner phone on the off chance that Ilya’s circumstances were such that he may not have access to the other numbers. He fought the urge to try yet again, then jumped at the muffled buzz of a cell phone, momentarily puzzled until he realized it was not the one he’d been using, but one of the others in his suitcase. He threw the bag on the bed and wrestled with the straps, frantic lest he miss the call.
“Da!”
“Andrei, this is Dugan—”
“Dyed, is everyone all right? Why are you calling me instead of Ilya?”
“First, everyone is all right, though a bit the worse for wear. The bastards tried to blow up Alex’s house with us all inside. Ilya got everyone out in time, but he was the last out when it blew. He stopped a couple of flying bricks, one to the head and another to the torso. He has a concussion and some cracked ribs, but the doctor says he’ll be okay in a week or ten days. He — and you — saved all our lives, Andrei. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Nyet. There is no need for thanks, Dyed. I am glad everyone is okay. But tell me of Cassie and Karina. Ilya said they are alive? I do not understand. I thought your rescue mission was unsuccessful.”
“So did we. Long story short, the guys on the ship rescued them and smuggled them ashore in the US. From there Cassie contacted Ward. I’ll bring you up to speed when we have more time, but for the moment, the Bratstvo think the girls are dead, and we’d like to keep it that way. We caught the asshole that planted the bombs, and he has no clue who the girls were, nor did he have time to mention it to his superiors, so we think we’re all right there for the moment.”
“What of Tanya?”
There was a long pause.
“Tanya didn’t make it. She died in the container before the rescue.”
“She was a brave young woman,” Borgdanov said, “so it seems we have yet another score to settle with these mafiya scum. But what is your situation now?”
“Officially, we’re all dead. That was Anna’s idea to buy us a little time while we figure out what to do. We’re all in an MI5 safe house.”
“Da. Is good idea. And soon, I do not think our Bratstvo friends will be a problem. Have Ilya call me when he can. I promised I would not start here without him, and I can give him a week, but then he needs to join me in Prague. I have things in motion here.”
“How is the recruitment going?”
“Much better since I got some help from an old friend. So tell Agent Ward I will need that favor as soon as possible.”
“How many?”
“Just the families for now.”
“How many, Andrei?”
“Fifty-seven.”
“Uhh… including your shooters?”
“No. Seventy-two with the operators. Plus, of course, Ilya and myself, Ilya’s parents and Karina’s family. Eighty-two in all. Is this a problem, Dyed?”
“Not financially. Alex and I are committed to making it work, and Hanley bitched a little, but he’ll come through as well. But Jesse’s gonna shit. That’s a lot of people to provide with new identities and slip into the country. I think he normally works in ones and twos.”
“I think he will be more than satisfied when he sees the intelligence I have for him, but he will have to trust me for now. We need to get all the families out of Russia as soon as possible. The first of them travel tomorrow from St. Petersburg to Helsinki, Finland. It is a short flight, less than one hour. Also, there are flights to Helsinki from other cities, so the travel pattern won’t be so noticeable. If I get them all to Helsinki, how soon can you arrange a charter flight to get them to UK or directly to the US?”
“Probably within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, but I think we should bring them to the UK as tourists first. Jesse may need more time on his end.”
“Good. I will have them all in Finland in three days, so plan the charter flight accordingly.”
“Will do,” Dugan said. “What next?”
“We’ll hit the Bratstvo in Prague. It is their biggest operation outside of Russia itself, and they have less official protection there. Also, it is the center of their human-trafficking operations. I’m finalizing the operation and the extraction plans now. We should be able to execute within a few days after Ilya arrives.”
“We’ll be there.”
“We? No, Dyed, not you—”
“They’ve attacked me and the people I love. I have every right to be there.”
“Da. You have the right, but I must be truthful, Dyed. You do not have the ability to blend in or the military skills for this mission. You are an asset in many places, and
if we were going on a ship, I would want you by my side, but here you would be a liability. Besides, we need someone to arrange things on that end.”
“Just a damn minute, Alexei—”
“Dyed, I would trust you with my life. I HAVE trusted you with my life. But now I entrust you with something even more precious, the lives of all our families. If something goes wrong or for some reason we do not come back, we need to know there is someone we can trust to take care of them. The others there are our friends, but you are our brat — our brother — and someone must remain to guard the family, da?”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or pissed off.”
“You can be either, or both, as long as we know you are looking after our loved ones.”
Dugan sighed. “All right. I’ll put up a draft email when I have the flight arrangements out of Helsinki. Keep an eye on the email account.”
Prague
Czech Republic
1 Week Later
Arsov sat at his old desk, watching a video of the latest whore being seasoned, a nice young brunette from Ekaterinburg in the Sverdlovsk Oblast. She was obviously of Tartar stock, with an exotic look about her that would no doubt make her a moneymaker with the right training. And he had to admit, Beria was doing a good job there. Between brutalizing the girl, and alternating periods of kindness with horrific threats to her family, he already had her broken. The rest would be easy.
Arsov’s approval was tempered with caution. Beria was both competent and ambitious, and couldn’t conceal his dissatisfaction at the demotion occasioned by Arsov’s unexpected return. Arsov had placated him to date with compliments and a bonus paid from his own pocket, but the man had run the Prague operation quite competently during Arsov’s absence, and obviously was chafing to do so again. He would bear watching. But that was a worry for another day. Satisfied everything was proceeding as it should, Arsov closed the training video and opened his browser to check out some British news sites.
Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) Page 28