by Sean Black
“Yup,” said Ty.
“Go wake McLennan,” said Lock. “Then check on Dimitri, Elizabeth and the kid. In that order. If they’re in their rooms tell them not to worry but get them to go into their bathrooms and lock themselves inside until we come and get them. They’re not to open up to anyone but us.”
One thing Ty had learned over his years’ working with Ryan was to trust him. He had the basics down so cold that he didn’t have to think about them. And the basics were always the same. Secure your principal. Secure those closest to them. If you can, call the cavalry. Secure your location. And, if required, faced with a threat, take fast, aggressive, determined action.
Ty jogged down the hall and rapped on McLennan’s door. McLennan met him, bleary-eyed and still coming to.
“We have a situation,” said Ty, turning for the master bedroom.
He quickly brought McLennan up to speed with what he’d found, jogged back out into the corridor, stopping outside the master bedroom. He knocked quickly and went in. Hell, he had already seen the lady of the house naked, at her insistence, and this was hardly a time for niceties.
Dimitri and Elizabeth were still sound asleep. He called to them from the door, not wishing to startle them more than he had to.
Dimitri was the first to emerge from under the tangle of sheets at the edge of the bed. It was a big bed and, by the look of it, there was a lot of neutral territory in the middle.
“What is it?” he asked, startled.
“We’re not sure,” said Ty. “But I’m going to need you and your wife to go into the bathroom, lock the door and stay there until one of us comes to give you the all-clear.”
Elizabeth was awake now. She threw back the sheets and made straight for the door. “Anastasia! Is she okay?”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to her room now.”
“What? You haven’t checked on her already?” she said, trying to push past him.
He grabbed her by the shoulders. Not tightly enough to leave a bruise but enough to keep hold her. “We have a procedure. We’re following it. If you want to be helpful then go into the bathroom, lock the door and stay there. Nothing’s going to happen to your daughter. The police are on their way and we don’t even know if this is a false alarm or not, so, please, do what I’ve just asked you to do.”
“What’s going on? We need to know,” protested Elizabeth.
Ty was done. “The longer I stay here, the longer it’ll take me to go check on Anastasia. So just do what I’m telling you to do.”
“Come on,” said Dimitri, shepherding his wife away from the door. “Tyrone knows what he’s doing.” He looked back at Ty. “The police are coming?”
“They’re on their way. I’d guess five minutes top.” Ty stepped back into the hallway, and closed their bedroom door behind him as Anastasia’s opened and a man wearing a ski mask stepped out.
Without thinking, Ty drew his SIG, and leveled it at the man’s chest. As his finger moved to the trigger another masked man appeared in the bedroom doorway. He was holding Anastasia Semenov in front of him, one arm tight around her waist, his right hand holding a gun pointed toward her chest.
Down the hall another door opened, and Lock came out, gun already drawn. McLennan was framed in the doorway behind him, his weapon also in his hand.
For a second no one moved. No one spoke.
A third man, this one larger than the other, appeared from Anastasia’s bedroom. He pushed his way past the other two and spoke in a thick Russian accent.
“You,” he said, indicating it was Ty he was speaking to. “Black man,” he added, in case there was any doubt.
Ty kept his weapon raised, drawing a bead on the man holding Anastasia.
“Hurt her and I’ll blow your head clean off,” said Ty.
The larger man raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “No one’s shooting anyone. We came for something that’s downstairs. A painting. We get it, and we leave.”
Ty couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. A painting? What the hell was that about? “Okay,” he said. He had no idea what painting they were referring to. But it didn’t matter. If they’d take it and leave, then fine.
“You come with us and get it,” said the larger man. “We walk out, and you can have her back.”
Ty lowered and holstered his weapon, a show of trust that he hoped would relax the three robbers. Lock and McLennan kept theirs high.
“Let’s get this painting, then,” said Ty. “Let her go and take me.”
The larger man shook his head. “No,” he said. “We’ll take you both.”
“Fine,” said Ty, stepping out into the hallway.
The three men stepped out from the doorway of Anastasia’s bedroom, one of them lifting her up and carrying her with them. Ty walked ahead, praying they wouldn’t change their mind and shoot him in the back, but knowing it was a possibility.
He led the strange procession of the three men and Anastasia down the stairs. At the bottom he stopped, and half turned back.
“Where’s this painting then?”
A sharp flash as he took the butt of a gun to his temple. Blacking out from the sudden impact, he felt his legs wobble and fold under him. He fell forward, already unconscious and smashed face first onto the floor.
Lock stood at the top of the stairs, McLennan next to him, and watched Ty face-plant from the pistol whipping. He drew down on the last man with a clear shot of his back but didn’t squeeze the trigger.
He was confident in his ability to take the shot. But the man in front still held Anastasia Semenov, the barrel of his gun jabbed painfully under the chin of the now sobbing little girl.
Pushing away the surge of rage from seeing Ty fall to one side, he held position. Where the hell were the cops?
He edged down the top step. McLennan followed suit. One of the other men waved his gun toward them. McLennan hunkered down, finding an angle. The man aiming at them backed away, stepping over Ty as he followed the others toward the front of the house.
In the downstairs corridor, Hoyle’s head appeared around the edge of a door. He saw the three men and shrank back, hugging cover, only to reappear a split second later, stepping out into the open.
As he dropped to a crouch and took aim, the larger of the men turned and shot him square in the chest. Hoyle fell back into the doorway, blood pooling around him. Blood gurgled from his mouth as he tried to speak.
Lock’s eardrums almost exploded as McLennan fired from behind him. McLennan’s shot smashed into a wall behind the three men, sending plaster everywhere.
Lock rounded on him. “Ceasefire! Ceasefire!”
The three men scuttled into the living room, taking Anastasia with them.
“Are you nuts?” Lock shouted at McLennan. “They still have the kid.”
Lock had zero problem shooting and killing all three of those men, but he wasn’t about to risk the life of an innocent child in the process. Not if there was any possible alternative.
Hurrying down the steps, one eye on the entrance to the living room, he made it to the bottom. He knelt next to Ty, who seemed to be coming around. His eyes flickered open and closed. He reached to his head, fingers coming back wet with blood from where he’d taken the blow to his skull.
Inside the living room Lock could hear all three men shouting in Russian.
Ty grabbed for Lock’s leg, trying to pull himself up. “You hear sirens?” he asked.
“I can’t hear shit after Numb Nuts took that shot right next to my ear.”
“I can’t hear sirens,” said Ty. “They should be here by now.”
The two friends looked at each other and then at Hoyle bleeding out on the floor. Lock half crouched, half walked over to him. The shot had caught him dead center in the chest. “Hang in there. We’ll get you an ambulance as soon as we can.”
He managed to raise his head before it fell back down.
“You called the cops, right?” said Lock.
Hoyle star
ed at him.
“You called them?”
He shook his head. He tried to speak but all that emerged was blood, spilling through his teeth.
Lock retreated, grabbing Ty and pulling him in out of the hallway. Lock reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, ready to do it himself.
Then he stopped.
Viktor stared up at the painting above the fireplace. It looked to be a Russian landscape, likely from the nineteenth century, but it wasn’t by Ilya Repin, that was for sure.
Had Ninel got them mixed up? Had she lied? Right now it hardly mattered. They had minutes to get out of there, at most. For all he knew the cops could be sitting outside now, waiting for them to leave, ready to gun them down like dogs in the street.
It was a mess. He didn’t believe Ninel hadn’t known there were people here.
They had been used. He was sure of it. But why? What possible reason could she have for sending them to rob a house full of bodyguards?
The other two were freaking out. Artur had his hand so tight around the little girl’s neck that Viktor worried he might strangle her without even realizing it. Lev was over by the window scoping out the street for the cops.
As McLennan kept watch on the hallway for any signs of movement, Lock hunkered down next to Ty.
Back in Lock’s Royal Military Police days, a wily Scottish instructor had explained the job of the specialist Close Protection Unit as “organized running away.” You fought only for long enough to buy yourself the time to get away.
There was no place for ego. Or faux-bravery. That was best left to others. Hoyle had made that mistake and paid the price.
“You not going to make that call?” Ty asked, staring at the cell phone in Lock’s hand.
“Cops show up and what happens?”
“They might be on the way in any case. Can’t imagine the neighbors are too used to gun shots.”
It was a possibility. It was also possible that the neighbors either side of them weren’t in residence, and that any sound had been muffled by the reinforced windows and other physical security measures that were in place.
“Come on, Ryan. What you thinking? We’re not going to call the cops?”
“They have the kid,” said Lock. “Cops show. They panic. Best-case scenario we have a hostage situation that’s going to drag on. Worst case they freak out and someone pulls the trigger on her.”
“We have to do something,” said Ty.
Lock agreed. But the question was what? The immediate knee-jerk reaction wasn’t always the correct one. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred he would have already made the call. But something was telling him it could make things worse rather than better.
They already had one dead body in Hoyle. They didn’t need another. Especially not if it was going to be Anastasia Semenov. Procedure had dictated that he and Ty secure Dimitri, but there were other dynamics at play. Human dynamics. Like, would Dimitri and Elizabeth even want to go on living without their beloved daughter?
“They’re here to rob the place, right?” Lock said to Ty.
“You think?”
“No one even saw them come in. They knew enough to come in via the roof. What was stopping them going straight to the bedroom and offing Dimitri, or grabbing him instead of the kid?”
“Maybe they messed up. Picked the wrong bedroom. I don’t know, it’s one hell of a coincidence. I mean, you heard them, right? They sound pretty damn Russian. What are the odds a Russian crew just happen to land here?”
“I dunno,” said Lock. “But, listen, we need to get Anastasia back and to do that we have to offer them something.”
Ty rubbed at his head. Lock could see him beginning to come back into himself. His eyes were a little cleared and the blood was congealing.
“Agreed.”
Lock called to McLennan, who ducked back into the room. “You think you can get back upstairs?”
“Why?”
“Can you?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“You know where Elizabeth keeps her jewelry?”
McLennan stared at him like he was the one who’d taken a blow to the head and not Ty. “You’re not going to …?”
“Go. Grab what you can. The shinier the better,” said Lock, standing up. “I’m going to talk to them.”
Ty grabbed for his leg. “Are you crazy?”
“If I get shot then, yes, I’m crazy. But if I don’t then I’m just really smart.”
“Don’t do this, Ryan.”
Lock tossed his cell phone to Ty. It clattered onto the parquet floor. Ty picked it up. Lock reached inside his jacket, pulled out his SIG, ejected the magazine, and replaced it with one pulled from his pocket. Ty watched him do it.
“You know that magazine isn’t …”
Lock raised his finger to his lips, silencing his partner.
“They shoot me, make that call,” said Lock.
41
Arms out wide, hands extended, palms open, Lock stepped in front of the open door. Two men immediately raised their weapons, and he closed his eyes. When nothing happened, he opened them again.
“No one’s called the cops,” he said. “But shoot me or harm the girl and they will.”
The larger of them, the one Lock took to be the leader, spoke.
“What do you want?” he asked Lock, his gun firmly aimed at the same spot where Hoyle had been shot.
“I want to offer you a way out of this. We give you enough to make this worth your while, I take you out of here, and you give us the girl. That’s the deal and, all things considered, it’s a pretty damn good one.”
“You take us out of here?”
“We have vehicles outside. You can have the keys and take one or I’ll drive you myself, wherever you want to go, no questions asked.”
Lock felt like he was getting through to the man. On some level anyway. If they were going to shoot him they’d have done it when he’d first appeared in the doorway. That had been the riskiest time.
Anastasia was shaking. He looked at her. “It’s all going to be okay, Anastasia. This is just a problem between grown-ups, but we’re solving it. You’re going to be tucked up warm in bed in no time. You understand?”
He kept looking at her, maintaining eye contact, ignoring the man who was holding her.
“You understand?” he repeated.
She started to speak but nothing came out. She moved her head.
“Okay, good.”
Behind him he could hear McLennan rushing back down the stairs. He hoped he’d grabbed enough to show them this was a serious proposition. In Lock’s mind, getting to walk out should have been a good enough deal. But robbery crews like this one weren’t exactly noted for their appreciation of a risk-benefit analysis.
To get Anastasia to safety he’d figured the deal needed to be so lavish that there wouldn’t be any hesitation on their part.
He motioned for McLennan to slide the jewelry down the hallway to him. It was wrapped up in a red velvet sack.
Lock knelt down, making sure his hands were still visible, and picked it up. His jacket concealed the gun in his shoulder holster. So far they hadn’t seemed to notice. That was good. If they got Anastasia to safety and he had a shot at them, he planned on taking it.
Slowly, Lock picked up the sack in his right hand. He walked over to the larger man, who met him halfway, and held it out. The man grabbed it from him with a big, meaty hand. He opened the sack and began rooting around as his compatriot gun-faced Lock.
“Okay,” the larger man said. “You drive us. But the girl comes too.”
Lock stared at him. “No way. She stays here. That’s the deal.”
“Maybe I just shoot you right here.”
“Then the cops get called,” said Lock. “You seriously think you’ll be able to go to ground with the entire NYPD after you? Hell, you won’t get out of the Upper East Side in one piece. This is your one chance, and you know it, but the girl stays.”
The larger
man looked to the others. The one holding Anastasia shook his head. “No.”
Lock backed off. “Ty, make the call. Tell them we have a home invasion robbery and they’ve taken a child hostage.”
“On it,” Ty called out.
Everyone standing there knew what the response to a phone call like that would be. It wouldn’t be just a few SWAT members, it would be an army of them. There would be roadblocks and hundreds of cops.
“Okay, okay,” said the larger man. “You drive us. When we’re in the car we let her go.”
“No dice,” said Lock. “Ty, hold the call. McLennan, get some keys. What do we have out front?”
“The Suburban’s gassed and good to go.”
“Perfect,” said Lock. “Plenty of room.”
“Your friends could call the cops as soon as we’re outside,” said the larger man. “What’s to stop them?”
“You really think I want to get jacked up by the cops while I’m driving you guys?” said Lock. “Use your head, man. All I need is you out of this house. I’ve got no desire to be a martyr here.”
McLennan came back with the key fob for the Suburban. He tossed it down the hallway to Lock who caught it with one hand and dangled it between his fingers.
The larger man motioned Lock over to him. Lock complied. He walked over to him. He could see the man’s eyes through the ski mask, beady and darting. He might have come off as cool, but he was as jangled by this whole deal as everyone else.
“Give me your weapon,” he said to Lock.
Slowly, Lock opened his jacket, reached up, and plucked his SIG from the holster. He handed it over, grip first, barrel pointed at the floor. The larger man passed it to the free man who grabbed Lock by the collar and jammed Lock’s own weapon into the back of his neck.
“The girl,” said Lock.
The larger man tilted his chin. The man holding Anastasia released his grip.
“Go on,” Lock prompted her. “Run down the hallway to Ty. Don’t stop till you get to him.”
Sobbing, the little girl took off, her feet slapping on the wood flooring as she ran back down the hallway. Lock allowed himself a moment. The important part had been done. Now came the hard part.