by Anna Zaires
“So you would like me to do it instead.”
He nods, his colorless eyes trained on my face as Yulia translates my statement. “Yes,” he says, “we would like a sizable shipment of weapons and other supplies to reach the freedom fighters in Donetsk. It cannot be traced back to us. In return, you would be paid your usual fee and granted safe passage to Tajikistan.”
I smile at him blandly. “Is that all?”
“We would also prefer it if you avoided any dealings with Ukraine at this time,” he says without blinking. “Two chairs and one ass and all that.”
I assume that last statement makes more sense in Russian, but I understand the gist of what he’s saying. Buschekov is not the first client to demand this from me, and he won’t be the last. “I’m afraid I will require additional compensation for that,” I say calmly. “As you know, I don’t usually take sides in these types of conflicts.”
“Yes, so we’ve heard.” Buschekov picks up a piece of salted fish with his fork and chews it slowly as he looks at me. “Perhaps you might reconsider that position in our case. The Soviet Union may be gone, but our influence in this region is still quite substantial.”
“Yes, I’m aware. Why do you think I’m here right now?” The smile that I give him now has a sharper edge. “But neutrality is an expensive commodity to give up. I’m sure you understand.”
Something icy flickers in Buschekov’s gaze. “I do. I’m authorized to offer you twenty percent more than the usual payment for your cooperation in this matter.”
“Twenty percent? When you’re cutting my potential profits in half?” I laugh softly. “I don’t think so.”
He pours himself another shot of vodka and swirls it around the glass, regarding me thoughtfully. “Twenty percent more and the captured Al-Quadar terrorist remitted into your custody,” he says after a few moments. “This is our final offer.”
I study him while I pour myself some vodka as well. Truthfully, this is better than I had been hoping to get out of him, and I know better than to push too far with the Russians. “We have a deal then,” I say and, lifting my glass in an ironic toast, knock back the shot.
* * *
My car is waiting for us on the street when we exit the restaurant. The driver finally made it through the traffic, which means we won’t freeze on our way to the hotel.
“Would you mind giving me a lift to the nearest subway?” Yulia asks as Lucas and I approach the car. I can see her already beginning to shiver. “It should be about ten blocks from here.”
I give her a considering look, then motion Lucas over with a short gesture. “Frisk her.”
Lucas walks over and pats her down. “She’s clean.”
“Okay, then,” I say, opening the car door for her. “Hop in.”
She climbs in and settles next to me in the back, while Lucas joins the driver in the front. “Thank you,” she says with a pretty smile. “I really appreciate it. This is one of the worst winters in recent years.”
“No problem.” I’m not in the mood to make small talk, so I pull out my phone and begin answering emails. There’s one from Nora, which makes me grin. She wants to know if I landed safely. Yes, I write back. Now just trying not to get frostbite in Moscow.
“Are you staying here for long?” Yulia’s soft voice interrupts me as I’m about to pull up a report detailing Nora’s movements around the estate in my absence. When I glance up at her, the Russian girl smiles and crosses her long legs. “I could show you around town if you’d like.”
Her invitation couldn’t be more blatant if she’d palmed my cock right then and there. I can see the hungry gleam in her eyes as she looks at me, and I realize that she’s one of those: a woman turned on by power and danger. She wants me because of what I represent—because of the thrill it gives her to play with fire. I have no doubt that she would let me do whatever I want to her, no matter how sadistic or depraved, and then she would beg for more.
She’s exactly the type of woman I would’ve gladly fucked before meeting Nora. Unfortunately for Yulia, her pale beauty does nothing for me now. The only woman I want in my bed is the dark-haired girl who’s currently several thousand miles away.
“Thanks for the invitation,” I say, giving Yulia a cool smile. “But we’ll be leaving soon, and I’m afraid I’m too exhausted to do your town justice tonight.”
“Of course.” Yulia smiles back, unfazed by my rejection. She clearly has enough self-confidence not to be offended. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” And as the car rolls to a halt in front of the subway stop, she gracefully climbs out, leaving behind a faint trail of expensive perfume.
As the car begins moving again, Lucas turns around to face me. “If you don’t want her, I’d be happy to entertain her tonight,” he offers casually. “If that’s all right with you, of course.”
I grin. Hot blondes have always been Lucas’s weakness. “Why not,” I say. “She’s all yours if you want her.” We don’t fly out until tomorrow morning, and I have plenty of security in place. If Lucas wants to spend the night fucking our interpreter, I’m not about to deny him that pleasure.
As for me, I plan to use my fist in the shower while thinking of Nora, and then get a good night’s rest.
Tomorrow is going to be an eventful day.
* * *
The flight to Tajikistan from Moscow is supposed to take a little over six hours in my Boeing C-17. It’s one of the three military airplanes that I own, and it’s big enough for this mission, easily fitting in all of my men and our equipment.
Everyone, myself included, is dressed in the latest combat gear. Our suits are bulletproof and flame-retardant, and we’re fully armed with assault rifles, grenades, and explosives. It may be overkill, but I’m not taking chances with my men’s lives. I enjoy danger, but I’m not suicidal, and all the risks I take in my business are carefully calculated. Nora’s rescue in Thailand was probably the most perilous operation I’ve been involved with in recent years, and I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.
Only for her.
I spend the majority of the flight going through the manufacturing specifications for a new factory in Malaysia. If all goes well, I may shift missile production there from its current location in Indonesia. The local officials in the latter region are getting too greedy, demanding higher bribes each month, and I’m not inclined to indulge them for much longer. I also answer a few questions from my Chicago-based portfolio manager; he’s working on setting up a fund-of-funds through one of my subsidiaries and needs me to give him some investment parameters.
We’re flying over Uzbekistan, just a few hundred miles from our destination, when I decide to check in with Lucas, who’s piloting the plane.
He turns toward me as soon as I enter the cabin. “We’re on track to get there in about an hour and a half,” he says without my asking. “There is some ice on the landing strip, so they’re de-icing it for us right now. The helicopters are already fueled up and ready to go.”
“Excellent.” The plan calls for us to land about a dozen miles from the suspected terrorist hideout in the Pamir Mountains and fly by helicopters the rest of the way. “Any unusual activities in that area?”
He shakes his head. “No, everything is quiet.”
“Good.” Entering the cabin, I sit down next to Lucas in the copilot’s seat and strap myself in. “How was the Russian girl last night?”
A rare smile flashes across his stony face. “Quite satisfying. You missed out.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, though I don’t feel even the slightest flicker of regret. There’s no way some one-night stand can approximate the intensity of my connection with Nora, and I have no desire to settle for anything less than that.
Lucas grins—an expression that’s even more uncommon on his hard features. “I have to say, I never expected to see you as a happily married man.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that right?” This is probably the most personal observation he’s
ever made to me. In all the years he’s been with my organization, Lucas has never before bridged the distance from loyal employee to friend—not that I’ve encouraged him to do so. Trust has never come easy to me, and there have been only a handful of individuals I’ve been able to call ‘friend.’
He shrugs, his face smoothing out into his usual impassive mask, though a hint of amusement still lurks in his eyes. “Sure. People like us aren’t generally considered good husband material.”
An involuntary chuckle escapes my throat. “Well, I don’t know if, strictly speaking, Nora considers me ‘good husband material.’” A monster who abducted her and fucked with her head, sure. But a good husband? Somehow I doubt it.
“Well, if she doesn’t, then she should,” Lucas says, turning his attention back to the controls. “You don’t cheat, you take good care of her, and you’ve risked your life to save her before. If that’s not being a good husband, then I don’t know what is.” As he speaks, I see a small frown appearing on his face as he peers at something on the radar screen.
“What is it?” I ask sharply, all of my instincts suddenly on alert.
“I’m not sure,” Lucas begins saying, and at that moment, the plane bucks so violently that I’m nearly thrown out of my seat. It’s only the seatbelt I’d strapped on out of habit that prevents me from hitting the ceiling as the plane takes a sudden nosedive.
Lucas grabs the controls, a steady stream of obscenities coming out of his mouth as he frantically tries to correct our course. “Shit, fuck, shit, shit, motherfucking shit—”
“What hit us?” My voice is steady, my mind strangely calm as I assess the situation. There is a grinding, sputtering noise coming from the engines. I can smell smoke and hear screams in the back, so I know there’s a fire. It had to be an explosion. That means someone either shot at us from another plane or a surface-to-air missile exploded in close vicinity, damaging one or more of the engines. It couldn’t have been a direct missile hit because the Boeing is equipped with an anti-missile defense that’s designed to repel all but the most advanced weapons—and because we are still alive and not blown into pieces.
“I’m not sure,” Lucas manages to say as he wrestles with the controls. The plane evens out for a brief second and then nosedives again. “Does it fucking matter?”
I’m not sure, to be honest. The analytical part of me wants to know what—or who—is going to be responsible for my death. I doubt it’s Al-Quadar; according to my sources, they don’t have weapons this sophisticated. That leaves the possibility of error by some trigger-happy Uzbekistani soldier or an intentional strike by someone else. The Russians, perhaps, though why they would do this is anyone’s guess.
Still, Lucas is right. I don’t know why I care. Knowing the truth won’t change the outcome. I can see the snowy peaks of Pamir in the distance, and I know we’re not going to make it there.
Lucas resumes his cursing as he fights with the controls, and I grip the edge of my seat, my eyes trained on the ground rushing toward us at a terrifyingly rapid pace. There is a roaring sound in my ears, and I realize that it’s my own heartbeat—that I can actually hear the blood coursing through my veins as surging adrenaline sharpens all of my senses.
The plane makes a few more attempts to come out of the nosedive, each one slowing our fall by a few seconds, but nothing seems able to arrest the lethal descent.
As I watch us plummeting to our deaths, I have only one regret.
I will never get to hold Nora again.
Part III: The Captive
Chapter 21
Nora
Two days without Julian.
I can’t believe it’s been two entire days without Julian. I’ve been going about my usual routine, but without him here, everything feels different.
Emptier. Darker.
It’s like the sun has hidden behind a cloud, leaving my world in shadow.
It’s crazy. Utterly insane. I’ve been without Julian before. When I was on the island, he would leave on these trips all the time. In fact, he spent more time off the island than on it, and somehow I still managed to function. This time around, however, I have to constantly fight off a horrible feeling of unease, of anxiety that seems to worsen with every hour.
“I really don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I tell Rosa during our morning walk. “I lived for eighteen years without him, and now all of a sudden, I can’t go for two days?”
She grins at me. “Well, of course. The two of you are all but inseparable, so this doesn’t surprise me in the least. I’ve never seen a couple this much in love before.”
I sigh, ruefully shaking my head. For all her seeming practicality, Rosa has a romantic streak as wide as the sea. A couple of weeks ago, I finally confided in her, telling her how Julian and I met and about my time on the island. She had been shocked, but not nearly as much as I would’ve been in her place. In fact, she seemed to think the whole thing was rather poetic.
“He stole you because he couldn’t live without you,” she said dreamily when I tried to explain to her why I still have reservations about Julian. “It’s like the kind of thing you read about in books or see in movies . . .” And when I stared at her, hardly able to believe my ears, she added wistfully, “I wish someone wanted me enough to steal me away.”
So yes, Rosa is definitely not the person to knock some sense into me. She thinks my withering away without Julian is a natural result of our grand love affair, instead of something that likely requires psychiatric help.
Of course, Ana is not much better either.
“It’s normal to miss your husband,” the housekeeper tells me when I can barely force myself to eat at dinner. “I’m sure Julian misses you just as much.”
“I don’t know, Ana,” I say doubtfully, pushing the rice around on my plate. “I haven’t heard from him all day. He responded to my email yesterday, but I sent him two emails today—and nothing.” This, more than anything, is what upsets me, I think. Julian either doesn’t care about the fact that I’m worried—or he’s not in a position to respond to me, being knee-deep in fighting terrorists.
Either possibility makes me queasy.
“He could be flying somewhere,” Ana says reasonably, taking my plate away. “Or be someplace with no signal. Truly, you shouldn’t worry. I know Julian, and he can take care of himself.”
“Yes, I’m sure he can, but he’s still human.” He can still be killed by a stray bullet or an untimely bomb.
“I know, Nora,” Ana says soothingly, patting my arm, and I see the same worry reflected in the depths of her brown eyes. “I know, but you can’t let yourself think bad thoughts. I’m sure you’ll hear from him in a few hours. He’ll contact you by morning at the latest.”
* * *
I sleep fitfully, waking up every couple of hours to check my email and phone. By morning, there’s still no word from Julian, and I stumble wearily out of bed, bleary-eyed but determined.
If Julian isn’t contacting me, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.
The first thing I do is hunt down Peter Sokolov. He’s talking with a few guards on the far edge of the estate when I find him, and he seems surprised when I approach him and ask to speak to him privately. Nevertheless, he accommodates my request right away.
As soon as we’re out of earshot of the others, I ask, “Have you heard from Julian?” I still find the Russian man intimidating, but he’s the only one I know who may have answers.
“No,” he responds in his accented voice. “Not since their plane took off from Moscow yesterday.” There is a hint of tension around his eyes as he speaks, and my anxiety triples as I realize that Peter is concerned too.
“They were supposed to check in, weren’t they?” I say, staring up at his exotically handsome features. My chest feels like I can’t get enough air. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?”
“We can’t assume that yet.” His tone is carefully neutral. “It’s possible they’re not responding to our calls b
ecause of security reasons—because they don’t want anyone to intercept their communications.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“It’s unlikely,” Peter admits, his gray eyes cool on my face. “This is not the usual procedure in these types of cases.”
“Right, of course.” Doing my best to battle the nauseating fear spreading through me, I ask evenly, “So what’s Plan B? Are you going to send in a rescue team? Do you have more men standing by that can act as backup?”
Peter shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be done until we know more,” he explains. “I’ve already put out feelers in Russia and Tajikistan, so we should have a better idea of what happened soon. So far, all we know is that their plane took off from Moscow without any problems.”
“When do you think you’ll hear back from your sources?” I’m trying to contain my panic, but some of it seeps through in my voice. “Today? Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Esguerra,” he says, and I see a hint of pity in those merciless gray eyes. “It could be at any time. I will let you know as soon as I hear something.”
“Thanks, Peter,” I say and, not knowing what else to do, walk back to the house.
* * *
The next six hours go by at a crawl. I pace around the house, going from room to room, unable to focus on any specific activity. Whenever I sit down to study or try to paint, a dozen different scenarios, each one more horrible than the next, start playing in my head. I want to believe that everything will be okay, that Julian’s plane disappeared off the grid for some innocuous reason, but I know better than that.
There are no fairy tales in the world Julian and I live in, only savage reality.
I haven’t been able to eat anything all day, though Ana has tried tempting me with everything from steak to dessert. To pacify her, I eat a few bites of papaya around lunchtime and resume my aimless pacing around the house.