To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series)

by Aubrey, Cecilia; Almeida, Chris

  “Get out,” Boris ordered Trevor in English.

  Trevor complied without argument. Boris circled the car and took the lead as they headed to the front door. A young man opened the door and gestured for them to walk in. Boris moved casually through the lavish foyer and into the sitting room where they were directed.

  “Have you been here before?” Trevor asked under his breath, studying Boris’s expression.

  Boris’s mouth tightened to a grim line and he ignored Trevor’s question. He walked further into the sitting room and stared intently at the door opposite to the one they came in, balancing on the balls of his feet, apparently expecting a horde of orcs to come rushing through.

  As if on cue, several men and a woman entered the room. Trevor immediately recognized many of the faces he and Cassandra had captured on video. One of the men was Mikhailov; the other, close at his side, was his henchman, Sergei Deminov. The surprise was the dark-haired woman standing behind Deminov. He had seen her enter the mansion before, but didn’t think she was part of the posse.

  Boris approached Vladimir Mikhailov with an extended hand and Mikhailov returned the handshake, unceremoniously pulling him into a hug. Trevor observed Boris’s body stiffen on contact only to relax again during the traditional exchange of three kisses on the cheeks—a common exchange among close friends and family. Are they that close?

  Trevor was shocked at their familiarity, and quickly schooled his expression, maintaining a somber mask of respect, just as Boris had instructed him. He watched Boris closely, and out of the corner of his eyes noticed the woman observing them just as intently. He would consult with Cassandra later and figure out who she was. They needed to determine when she had joined the game and what her role might be.

  A heavy sensation of being scrutinized claimed Trevor’s attention. Turning his eyes to Mikhailov, he found his trained on him, looking him over from head to toe, taking his measure, studying him. He was being dissected alive. Mikhailov held his gaze and riddled Boris with questions in their language. “So…this is the boy.” The term “boy” hit a nerve with Trevor, but he gave no indication of how it riled him.

  “Yes. This is Mark Ivanov. He is eager to help you.” Boris’s words were clipped.

  Mikhailov’s smirk was unnerving. “Can he speak Russian?”

  “Not much.”

  The smirk transformed into a wide smile. “Good.” Mikhailov turned and addressed Trevor in English. “Ivanov, how do you like Russia so far?”

  “I find it very…welcoming, even though it’s been a bumpy ride.” Memories of the fall from the fence and his bruised back came to mind.

  “Bumpy ride?” Mikhailov frowned, questioning his choice of words.

  “Yes. The lack of opportunity for a foreigner in my field is appalling.”

  “Ah!” Mikhailov exclaimed. “Everything in Russia is about who you know. Connections are worth their weight in gold.”

  Trevor sensed Boris monitoring their word exchange carefully, ready to intervene if Trevor stuck his foot in his mouth.

  “What are you doing in Russia and why do you want to work for me?”

  “England’s employment market for programmers is down the tubes since the financial market collapsed last year. A friend of mine told me about opportunities in Russia. And since I had family connections to the country, here I am.”

  “Even if the job is breaking the law?” Mikhailov scrutinized him with narrowed eyes.

  “As long as I am not caught red-handed,” Trevor shot back. A true statement. Trevor used his skills to take down those who broke the law. Mikhailov’s possession of the decrypter had the makings of a worldwide financial crisis. His attention focused on the large numbers of victims Mikhailov’s use of the decrypter could leave in its wake.

  Mikhailov cocked his head and said in a droll tone, “Prove it.”

  Immediately Trevor’s mind went on alert. Prove it? What does he mean by that? Before he could think through the possibilities Mikhailov added, “You will hack into a bank, for me. Now.”

  Trevor realized right away that having him hack into the bank was not a test of his computer-related knowledge—hacking didn’t have much to do with the program development skills he knew were needed—but a way to test his loyalty and his true interests regarding the mafia boss’s organization—whether or not he was too squeaky clean to join the “family.”

  The challenge rattled Trevor. He was all for crazy adventures, but hacking into a bank and wreaking havoc on innocent people were not things he relished or took lightly. But it was a chance he had to take; otherwise, Mikhailov would suspect he was not as thrilled about joining his organization as Trevor had led him to believe.

  “No problem. Piece of cake. Just tell me which bank and what you want me to do once I’m in.”

  Mikhailov waved to one of his men, who left the room only to return with a laptop in his hands, which he handed over to Trevor. Opening the laptop, Trevor realized it was already running and that a shell account—a user account located on a remote server and his open door to the bank—had already been set up.

  “Come to papa. You’re happy to see me, aren’t you my little beauty?” Trevor’s humorous side reared its head while he waited for the bank information. Mikhailov handed him the bank’s servers’ Internet Protocol numbers—the information he needed to try a brute force attack on their system—and a bank account number. Memorizing the numbers, Trevor used the shell account to trace any vulnerability in the system. Banks in Russia didn’t appear to have the same server security or intrusion blocks that the Western banks had. That made it easier for him. He infiltrated the server using a buffer overflow hacking tool, which forced the target host to execute the code he specified. He gave himself owner permissions and acquired access to the whole server remotely—it was the same as if he was physically sitting in the server room at the bank.

  Next, he quickly located the application used to access clients’ bank accounts. Running it, he found the account associated with the number Mikhailov had handed him. Trevor couldn’t help but feel smug at how easy it had been to get in, even though he knew it was wrong to do so. A smile spread across his face. Without checking the account’s details, he looked up and met Mikhailov’s eyes. “Now what?”

  Mikhailov seemed pleased with the results. “Transfer thirty million rubles from that account to this one.” He handed him another account number in the same bank.

  Trevor concealed his surprise at seeing who the holders of both accounts were. Guilt had weighed heavily on his shoulders when he thought he would be hacking into some innocent person’s account. He had planned to go back and return the money to the original owner once he and Cassandra were out of harm’s way. But now, knowing the target of the hack was another mafia boss, the guilt lifted.

  Mikhailov was playing with fire. Stealing from Pavel Zarev, leader of the largest mafia organization in St. Petersburg, was one hell of a three-alarm. It all made sense now. It seemed clear that Mikhailov vied to take the top bear position in the underground world and wanted to send a message to the Tambov gang, Pavel’s organization. Taking the money was a show of power, control. Yet it could quite possibly start a gang war and drop them all in the middle of bloodshed. Holy shit!

  Trevor’s mind raced a mile a minute as he transferred the money between the accounts. Boris joined him and looked over his shoulder at the screen while he finalized the transfer. “Done!” Trevor announced with a cocky smirk on his face.

  Boris’s eyes opened wide and he glanced at Mikhailov. “This is madness.”

  Trevor feigned consternation at Boris’ statement. “Why?”

  Mikhailov surprised them all by chuckling. “I have long suspected the Bogàtstvo Bank’s security to be laughable, but I never thought it to be this bad. Here is the deal, Ivanov. You showed no scruples at hacking into the bank and taking money that belongs to Pavel Zarev.”

  Boris sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of the name.

  “You now belo
ng to me. As long as you do what I need you to do and keep your nose out of my business, I won’t slip your name to Pavel as the thief who took big money from his bank account.” Mikhailov’s face displayed a mix of cruelty and satisfaction.

  Trevor hadn’t expected this turn of events. He couldn’t have imagined that Mikhailov’s purpose with the “test” was to tie him to his organization in such a way that if he tried to remove himself from it or betray his trust, he would be dead meat either way.

  It was a smart move, really. He’d killed two birds with one stone: confirmed Trevor’s willingness to work by testing his morals and ethics, and at the same time tied his hands by making it impossible for him to sell his services to the competition without dying in the process.

  “How about payment? What do I get for my effort?”

  “One million rubles on delivery.”

  More than a year’s salary for a developer in Russia. “Very generous of you. I guess that would be fair for the trouble.”

  Mikhailov smirked at Trevor’s comment and directed Deminov, “Move all the assets immediately.” The henchman nodded, turned on his heel, and left the room, followed by the woman.

  Mikhailov returned his attention to Trevor. “I am sure you would approve the transfer of my assets to another bank, since this one seems to be so vulnerable.”

  “I definitely approve,” he replied sarcastically.

  Mikhailov turned from Trevor and spoke to Boris in Russian, “He’ll do. Have him come here tomorrow morning. I will assign someone who can speak English to show him what needs to be done.”

  Mikhailov took Boris’s hand in a tight squeeze, indicating the meeting was over, and dismissed them. Boris turned for the door and Trevor swiftly followed him, noticing a last penetrating look Mikhailov shot his way. The man was truly a snake.

  Silence enveloped them as Boris shifted the car into gear and maneuvered through the gates, away from Mikhailov’s property, without a word or look in Trevor’s direction. A few minutes later, while negotiating the traffic on the busy streets of St. Petersburg, he finally broke the silence. “You, my friend, are in deeper than you wanted to be,” he sighed. “He wants you there tomorrow morning. Make sure you’re on time. Keep your humor and your cocky smirks to yourself and you might leave the place in one piece.”

  The extreme seriousness of Boris’s words brought reality crashing down. Trevor never imagined his search for answers would get them into such a deep mess. It was one thing to track and retrieve stolen data, but it was another entirely to tangle with the bosses of two Russian mafia organizations.

  Trevor’s expression grew solemn and he blew out a deep breath. “I know. I’ll try my best not to say anything stupid. I can’t promise it won’t happen spontaneously, though.”

  Boris grinned for the first time that day. “You are a nutcase, Trevor Bauer.”

  “Cassie tells me that all the time,” he grinned back.

  Trevor relaxed for the first time after spending a tension-filled hour in Mikhailov’s presence. “I appreciate your help with the meeting today. It’s nice knowing we have a friend here.”

  Boris chuckled. “I told you I wasn’t doing this for free.” It dawned on Trevor that Boris was humored by his naïve belief that he would do them a favor out of the goodness of his heart.

  A frown furrowed Trevor’s brow. “What do I have that you could possibly want?”

  Boris laughed out loud. “Oh, it’s nothing you have yet.” He slid his glance toward Trevor. “But it is something you will be able to get for me once inside.”

  Trevor’s frown grew deeper, searching for the meaning of his words. “Get for you?”

  “Yes. When you are inside, you will make copies of any files containing Mikhailov’s contacts, his runners, his sources for the contraband he runs to many countries. I want it all. Including the bank account numbers you used today.”

  Trevor’s eyes narrowed and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “What do you need them for? It’s not as if I can walk out of there alive if they catch me smuggling a hard drive in my pocket. Do you know something I don’t? You and I both know they will be watching me closely.”

  Boris’s smile turned into a big grin. “I recommend you find a way to do it. I put my neck on the line for you. In Mikhailov’s words, ‘you belong to me.’”

  His frigid tone chilled Trevor to the bone. What the hell? Did he just threaten me? Thoughts raced through his mind. Inhaling deeply, he looked ahead and noticed they were nearing the apartment. “Sure. Fine.” The tension eased from Boris’s shoulders and his hands relaxed their grip on the wheel. “But I have a condition.”

  Boris eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I don’t think you are in the position to create conditions.”

  Trevor cut him off and plowed ahead. “I need you to make sure Cassie leaves Russia unharmed if anything goes wrong.”

  Boris grew still at the mention of Cassandra’s safety. Pulling up to the front of the building, he parked and killed the engine. “I will do it for Robert and for you.” He turned to look Trevor directly in the eyes. “She is a good woman. Do not let her go. You will regret it if you do.”

  Trevor’s frown deepened, puzzled by Boris’s cryptic comment. At the same time, relief coursed through his veins knowing Cassandra would be taken to safety if things went awry.

  Trevor nodded and exited the car. Standing on the sidewalk, he watched as Boris disappeared into traffic. Damn! It was in that moment that he realized Cassandra was well aware of his little discussion with Boris. She would have overheard the entire conversation through the shoe microphone. She was privy to the mess they were in without him even having to tell her. Cassandra. He drew a deep breath, raked his fingers through his hair, and headed inside. Let the games begin.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Promises, Promises

  JESSICA JUGGLED THE TAKEOUT BAG and her purse as she unlocked the door to Stephan’s house. After spending the day tied up with Cassandra’s curious request for a deep profile and background check on Boris Kostas, she was looking forward to enjoying a nice dinner and a quiet evening with Stephan.

  She dropped the bag on the counter and ran upstairs for a quick change. More and more her personal items were finding their way to Stephan’s closet. Although he hadn’t said a word about it, she had caught him eyeing her things and wasn’t sure what to make of the emotion she had seen in his charged, troubled eyes at the time.

  Back in the kitchen she set the small table instead of the larger one in the formal dining room for the two of them—it was more intimate that way—and turned the oven to pre-heat so she could slide the lasagna in, timing it for his arrival from work.

  As she pressed the last button, the phone rang and she scrambled for it, catching it on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?” she answered breathlessly.

  “I was about to hang up and call your cell.” Stephan’s deep voice sent a ripple of sensual awareness through her.

  “I just got here. I’m getting dinner ready. What time will you be home?” She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder as she carried the lasagna from the counter to the stovetop, readying it for when the oven beeped.

  “That’s why I’m calling. Not any time soon. I’ve been rather distracted of late—” A chuckle rumbled over the phone, “—and need to compensate by putting in some extra hours. There’s a specific project that needs my attention.”

  “I hope you haven’t been annoyed by the reason for your…distraction,” she quipped back.

  “Not at all.” His tone deepened. “It’s been the best weeks of my life.”

  Goose bumps formed on her skin at the warmth and promises held in his words. “I’m glad. It’s been the best time of my life, as well.” Loaded questions crashed and tumbled in the silence until she prompted, “Should I go home?”

  His reply was quick. “No. Stay. I should be home in a couple of hours.”

  Her heart fluttered with joy at knowing he wanted her t
here, in his house, waiting for him. Home. His house had begun to feel more and more like hers also. “I’ll wait.”

  “See you soon.”

  Jessica hung up the phone and turned off the oven. Stowing the lasagna for later, she leaned against the counter and considered what she could do to fill her time until he got home. TV or a good book weren’t enough to keep her attention for long. After almost two hours of aimlessly walking around the house, fluffing pillows, straightening perfectly angled paintings, and re-organizing tidy cabinets, she’d had enough.

  Her thoughts turned to Stephan cooped up in his office buried in reports. She pictured him hunched over his desk, the knot of his tie loosened, his dress shirt unbuttoned, displaying a peek of his skin and the soft layer of hair on his chest. She grew hot at the thought and mischief invaded her mind immediately.

  Without hesitation, Jessica jogged back upstairs for another change of clothes. Picking up her purse and grabbing the keys to her new car—one of the many items Stephan had helped her select and purchase, items that solidified her stay in Ireland and closer to him—she headed out into the brisk night.

  *****

  A rap on the door tugged Stephan’s attention from the papers he’d been staring at blindly for the past twenty minutes. The last few weeks had been surprising and very enjoyable, but had left a mark and he was paying the price.

  The project in front of him was important to the business. They had just experienced the loss of one of the programmers and were falling behind in the software’s development. He needed to focus, but he couldn’t shake Jessica from his mind.

  Frowning at the interruption and expecting to see one of the night security guards doing his rounds, he called out, “Come in.”

  Instead of the guard, Jessica’s head popped in. A big smile covered her face and glittered in her eyes. “Surprise!”

  He couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips reflecting his pleasure on seeing her there. “Someone got impatient.”

  “You know me too well, Mr. Connellan.” She deliberately locked the door behind her and approached his desk with a lazy sway of her hips.