Catalyst: Flashpoint #2

by Grant, Rachel

  “If you kill him, I will fight you every second, and I guarantee, I will find a way to kill you, but first I will cut off your penis and feed it to your favorite dog. But if you leave him alone, I won’t fight.”

  “Prove it.” He ran a hand over her shoulder and down to her breast, then squeezed and twisted.

  She held her breath against the pain. She let him hurt her, unchallenged.

  He leaned toward her. She could smell the stale booze and smoke on his breath. He whispered in her ear. “But I like it when you scream.” He twisted again, harder this time, pinching her nipple.

  She grunted but didn’t otherwise make a sound. Her eyes watered, but no tears fell. Control. Right now she needed to control every reaction. Every sound. She could only give him what she wanted to give. Not what he forced from her.

  He released her nipple.

  She took a moment to steady her breathing, then said, “I will give you nothing, not even my screams, if you hurt him more than you already have.”

  He slapped her. Hard. Fast. She didn’t see the blow coming. Again, her head snapped to the side. This time, her lip split on her teeth. But she held in her grunt of pain, making only a small sound.

  Blood dripped down her chin. She allowed her gaze to drop to Bastian. That was a mistake. The rage and pain on his face was almost her undoing. Instead, she looked to Armando and gave him a fierce glare.

  His olive skin was now sickly green. Poor, stupid, weak Armando. He’d made a deal with the devil and had no idea what it really meant. Somewhere in the haze of drugs and horror, she saw his sorrow.

  He knew now what he’d done.

  Deep down, he’d probably known what was in store for her when he arranged this meeting. Hence the pills to see him through.

  She turned to Nikolai. “You said there is something here that I want to see.”

  His slow smile made her skin crawl, but she held that reaction back too. She was an ice queen. Princess Prime in full regalia. She knew this drill. She’d spent years trying to unlearn the reserve but now was grateful her mother had served a daily lesson in ingrained cold-bitchery.

  “I wish I could have seen you in the slave market,” Nikolai said. “I bet you were magnificent. The regal princess, chained. I’ve been imagining breaking you for twenty years.”

  She wanted to spit on him, but he would take out his rage on Bastian, so she kept her face as blank as possible.

  He circled her throat with his hand. “How did the metal collar feel against your skin? You will wear one again. You are mine. You have always been mine.”

  “Show me your surprise.” She kept her voice even.

  Don’t give him the emotion he feeds on.

  “This way, my love. I have a treat for you.” To his men, he said, “Bring the soldier.”

  He needed Bastian to keep her in line. That would work for now, but there was no way he’d keep Bastian around for long. It would be too dangerous. Bastian was too well trained, and Nikolai was not.

  After all, Nikolai needed henchmen.

  And even now, a team of SEALs or Delta Force operators could be mobilizing in Rota. They needed to stay here as long as possible, to give them a chance to swoop in and take out Nikolai. The Russian and his three bots didn’t stand a chance against a full team of special forces operators.

  37

  After Bastian and Brie were stripped of cell phones and wallets, a guard slapped cuffs around Bastian’s wrists. The guy didn’t pay close attention to his tasks, and at least twice during the search, Bastian could have snapped his neck. But he allowed the search and cuffs, because Drugov would hurt Brie if Bastian seized an opportunity to escape.

  It was the same reason Brie took Drugov’s abuse without a word. She was protecting Bastian.

  They just had to hold on for an hour or so. There wouldn’t be time for a SOCOM team to plan the op. They’d come in blind, but they would come. Brilliant of Brie to trigger the tracker in those first moments without hesitating. And she still had hers in place, should Nikolai move her before the team arrived.

  One hour. Two tops. And this Russian sonofabitch would pay for every red mark on Brie’s body with interest.

  He followed the unhappy entourage into the heart of the lab. Drugov’s hand was on Brie’s ass, and Bastian had to rein in the urge to rip the motherfucker’s head off. In due time. They passed through stark rooms with long white tables, walls of cabinets, and massive air filtration systems. All workstations were empty and spotless. Computers and other more mysterious-looking equipment lined the walls. Glass vials, beakers, and test tubes filled racks and shelves.

  They reached a doorway at the back, and Drugov pressed several buttons on a ten-key pad, then waved his hand in front of a shiny black box mounted beneath the number pad.

  “What the fuck?” Armando whined. “Nikolai, you can’t bring them—”

  “Shut up or I will break your face.”

  “No one can see—”

  Nikolai turned and punched Armando, a quick hard jab that dropped the Spaniard. Armando clutched his nose. Blood seeped between his fingers.

  “Come with us, or go. I don’t care. But I will cut out your tongue if you keep talking.”

  Armando got to his feet and left, retracing the route they’d just taken through the lab. The fact that Drugov let the man leave told Bastian a lot about Armando’s complicity. This was more than a joint charity project. Drugov had full access to the lab. Either the Russian had kompromat on Armando, or they were full business partners. Either way, Drugov didn’t fear Armando Cardona would tell tales.

  How long had the Russian had access to this lab? What services was this lab providing to Russia? Russians were known for their assassination methods that employed chemicals and poisons developed just for that purpose, and this was a full-service chemical lab. Armando had even mentioned the assassination technique in the car on the way here, when he expressed fear of Drugov. Had he been naming a very specific fear because he knew what cocktails Drugov was making under his roof?

  They descended a narrow staircase, entering a part of the building that Bastian would bet good money never saw government oversight or inspection. In the basement, they found a secondary lab. From the design of it, this lab was likely as old as the original building. So this company had always had side projects going on, invisible to stockholders and government agents.

  Like the facilities above, the equipment had been upgraded over the years, and the tables were spotless and maintained. Conscientious scientists who dealt in death and chemical warfare.

  It was in the back of the room they came to the gift Drugov had arranged for Brie. Her brother, JJ, bound, gagged, and stretched out on a lab table, his eyes wide with fear.

  Savannah James stared at the map as people poured into SOCOM headquarters. Bastian’s tracker had been triggered just five minutes ago, and less than half the team had gathered. This wasn’t like when Morgan had initiated her tracker six days after she’d been abducted. At that time, after receiving the signal, this room had been full of special forces operators and SOCOM leadership within minutes.

  But no one had expected Bastian’s tracker to go off today. He’d called in his morning report an hour ago and things had been fine. This morning, he and Brie were going to the Spaniard’s lab to see prototypes for Brie’s charity project. It had all checked out.

  Armando Cardona had checked out. The heir to a pharmachemical company, he wasn’t a scientist, but he dutifully played his role in business management. Just enough to justify the large income. Cardona handled the Morocco branch of the company, with little oversight from his brother, the CEO who managed the business from the main headquarters in Madrid.

  Savvy must have missed something in Cardona’s background.

  But what about the Russian Bastian mentioned? Ivan no last name, who Drugov feared. Was he GRU, as Bastian initially suspected, or had Ivan been sent by the Kremlin to keep Drugov in line?

  He’d claimed to be an ally, but if
he was GRU or Kremlin enforcer, he most certainly was not a friend to the US.

  Bastian had promised to get a photo of the man today, but she hadn’t received any emails or texts from him, and now his tracker was pinging and it was her job to determine what it meant.

  “Zooming in on the location with real-time satellite images,” the tech who’d been tracing the signal said.

  Satellite photos appeared on the big screen, just as several members of Bastian’s A-Team entered the room. Savvy studied the overview of Casablanca’s industrial zone. “That’s the chemical plant Bastian said they would visit.”

  “You think the tracker going off could be an accident?” Bastian’s XO, Captain Oswald, asked.

  “He’d have called to clear it if that were the case,” Savvy said. “He’s not sleeping. He’d know it had been triggered. His morning check-in today was routine.”

  “Why was he going to a chemical plant?” Cal asked. He was all business, his hostility toward her sidelined in his concern for his teammate.

  “It was a charity project Brie initiated—plastic-lined underwear for adolescent girls, so they could manage their periods and remain in school. Brie’s neighbor owns the lab and plant. She asked him if he could develop a prototype.”

  “What do we know about the lab owner?” Cal asked.

  “Not enough, apparently.” She gave a rundown of what she knew about Armando Cardona and his pharmachemical company.

  “Have you called Chief Ford, to see if it was an accidental trigger?” Pax asked.

  Savvy nodded. “The call went straight to voice mail.”

  “Is a team being readied?” Cal asked.

  “Yes,” Captain Oswald answered. “A SEAL team is being scrambled out of Rota. They can be there in forty-five minutes, but they’re going in blind.”

  Savvy stared at the aerial image, showing three cars in an otherwise empty parking lot and a static building. She’d fucked up. Why didn’t she see this coming? What had she missed? There’d been no hint Cardona had business dealings with Drugov. They were neighbors in an exclusive, expensive neighborhood, nothing more.

  But she hadn’t started digging into Cardona’s background until Brie listed him as a person she intended to contact in Casablanca. One week ago, Savvy had never heard of Armando Cardona. He’d never been on her radar.

  “I need a list of what they make at that plant,” she said. “This could be where Drugov gets some of his biological agents.”

  “I’m going through press releases now,” a tech said. “I need a Spanish translator. Some of this is too technical for me.”

  Espinosa stepped up behind the man and leaned down to read the screen. “Synthetic polymers—not the direct-to-consumer type. They supply other companies. Cellophane packaging, absorbent fill for diapers and sanitation products—that makes sense given Brie’s charity project—they also develop and manufacture personal care products like binders and thickeners for hair conditioner, and structuring agents for cosmetics.”

  “What about pharmacology? Do they develop and test drugs?” she asked.

  “If they do, it’s not reported.”

  “I bet anything there’s a drug lab there somewhere. That’s probably why Cardona spends so much time in Morocco.” Savvy stood next to Espinosa, staring at the computer monitor over the tech’s shoulder. She couldn’t read the list either, recognizing only a few of the Latin root words.

  Cosméticos, of course, she understood.

  She felt a prickle along her neck. “Who do they supply their cosmetics to? What’s the brand name?”

  The tech scrolled down to the bottom of the press release. “They supply several US and European companies. Their biggest client is a company called Carabella.”

  “Sonofabitch. That’s the company Brie modeled for all those years ago. The ads that ended up being banned in the US because she was underage.”

  “I thought that company folded?” Captain Oswald said. “She wasn’t the only kid to show up in their ads.”

  “They didn’t fold, they sell under a different name in the US now. Peach Blossom Cosmetics or something else innocuous sounding. And you’re correct about there being other minors in their explicit ads. Aside from Brie, all the other kids were Russian, because the parent company isn’t in Spain, it’s in Russia. Twenty years ago, when Brie was their cover girl, it was owned by Nikolai Drugov’s father.”

  “Does Drugov still own the company?” Pax asked.

  “No. That’s probably why I didn’t find the connection between Cardona and Drugov. But twenty years ago, the Drugovs and Cardonas were business partners, and it’s possible that partnership didn’t end when Drugov sold the cosmetic company.” Savvy felt sick. “Odds are, when Bastian and Brie walked into that plant, they were walking into a trap.”

  “You fucked up, Savvy.” Cal’s voice was all hard edges, and she couldn’t blame him.

  “I know.” Oh God. What had she done? She kept her voice even, devoid of the emotions that threatened to make her hurl. “Refresh the image,” she instructed the satellite operator.

  A moment later, a slightly different view of the same plant appeared on the screen, but with one important difference: the stretch limousine that had been parked in front was now gone.

  Brie was on adrenaline overload. Being forced to hold herself together to limit her reactions for Nikolai was hard enough without seeing JJ trussed up. She didn’t harbor much love for JJ, but he was her half brother, and she didn’t relish seeing him in this position.

  “What have you done, Nikolai?” she asked in as regal a voice as she could muster.

  “Jeffery Junior has failed. Repeatedly. Most recently he failed to deliver you to me. It is time he pays for his incompetence.”

  JJ’s eyes turned hard.

  Brie stepped forward and removed the gag. If nothing else, this conversation would be interesting, and she had no doubt Nikolai wanted this confrontation. Anything to buy time for the SEALs to get here.

  To her brother, she said, “Explain.”

  He glared at her and didn’t say a word.

  “My lady has bade you speak, Jeffery,” Nikolai said.

  His saccharine tone and overly formal words turned her stomach, but she would allow it. In Rota, the mission clock was ticking.

  Special Forces are on their way. They have to be.

  “What’s going on, JJ?”

  “You fucking whore. You ruin everything.” Her brother spit on her.

  She recoiled and wiped the spit from her face, then slapped her bound brother across the face. Behind her, she could hear Bastian struggling against the hold of his guards.

  Nikolai laughed and said, “I should let the Green Beret loose so he can rip you apart. Because, you see, only I am allowed to hurt Gabriella.” He twisted his fingers through her short hair, and yanked, jerking her head back, exposing her throat. “And you will hurt, my sweet,” he whispered directly into her ear. “For making me wait so many years. For fucking dozens of men. For making me search for you in South Sudan. You have much to pay for.”

  Bile rose. She had no doubt he’d follow through with his threats.

  He released her hair and said in a normal voice, “I offered your brother a deal. I would remove his father from Prime Energy so he could take his place, and he would deliver you to me, at long last. I did my part. He failed in his. Repeatedly.”

  Brie looked to JJ. “Is this true? Dad’s stroke wasn’t a stroke at all?”

  “What do you care? You hate the asshole.”

  “I care because I was the payment for a hit on our father.” She turned to Nikolai. “How did you make it look like a stroke?”

  Nikolai spread his arms wide. “This lab provides many treasures to the Russian Federation. It didn’t just look like a stroke. It was one.”

  Oh hell, if they had the power to off people with seemingly natural causes, the body count of the current regime in Russia was probably much higher than anyone guessed. Why throw people from window
s when it was so obvious?

  But then, the dictator of Russia didn’t give a damn about obvious and preferred to scare by ordering blatant hits. Strokes were too subtle for him, but perfect for a man who wanted to take over the family empire.

  “Isn’t that how your father died, Nikolai?” she asked.

  “You have always been clever.”

  “And you have always been a condescending shit bag. Why is JJ here, now?”

  “Because he went behind my back to strike a deal with Lawiri for South Sudan’s oil, and now you get to decide if he should live or die. You alone can save his life.”

  “Lawiri? The South Sudanese general? What does he have to do with this?”

  “Don’t play dumb, my dear. I know you came to Casablanca to find him.”

  She couldn’t even keep her face blank at that.

  “Don’t be so surprised. American intelligence has been compromised by Russia for some time. I even have my own pet in the DIA.”

  He couldn’t be referring to Savannah James then, who was CIA. But then, Brie had no doubt about the woman’s loyalty. She kept secrets; she manipulated. But Brie didn’t question whose side Savvy was on. So how did Nikolai know why she was in Morocco?

  There was only one possibility: someone in Savvy’s chain of command was compromised.

  “When we are done here,” Nikolai continued, “I will bring you to Lawiri. You can meet the next president of South Sudan, and he will thank you for your service to his people. He is most excited about your sanitary underwear project, for it will be the final blow to both sides.”

  “You are batshit crazy, Nikolai.”

  He slapped her again. A fast, hard blow.

  She shook her head, to try to regain her equilibrium. Okay. So being called crazy was a trigger. Best to file that away for use against him later.

  “Tell me, my dear, should I spare your brother?”

  “Screw you. Your actions are your own. I will not shoulder the atrocities you commit.” She turned for the exit. So far she wasn’t a prisoner. She would push that boundary now, because she sure as hell didn’t want to witness what Nikolai might do to JJ.