Sergei smiled knowingly as he gestured with the gun toward the house. “You first; cannot have you sticking a bullet inside me, can we?”
Sergei’s words hit home, calling up memories of two nights before.
The banging at her door pulled her from a restless sleep and seemed never-ending.
“Open this door, little Nikol!” Sergei demanded, his voice slurring over the words.
“Go away! You are drunk, Deminov!” Nikol had yelled back. “You are drunk and,”—she had whispered under her breath—“an ass.”
The door had crashed open, splinters of wood shooting everywhere. Nikol had scrambled to get out of bed and from the vulnerable position she was caught in, but Sergei had tackled her back against it, pinning her beneath him.
Nikol had fought him furiously. She had scissored her legs around his neck, squeezing tight as she leveraged herself on her shoulders in a firm plank position, holding him back. He had tried to break the hold, but she had punched his face, gripped the crown of his hair, and reached under her pillow for her gun. With Sergei in his intoxicated state, she had the advantage of strength and speed. Before he had been able to break the hold, she had swung the gun around and nested the muzzle smack in the middle of his forehead.
Sergei had eyed her warily then, her actions penetrating his semi-drunk haze. She had stared him in the eyes, hers hard and unforgiving. “Move and I put a bullet through your head.”
His eyes had narrowed, a sneer marred his mouth. “You owe me, bitch. No one denies me.”
His arrogant words had pissed her off and had spurred her anger. She had tightened her thighs around his neck and a smirk had crept over her mouth as his face turned a deeper hue of red. Her frustrations at the time it was taking to complete her assignment in the mansion had finally exploded with his breaching of her door minutes earlier.
Nikol had pinned his gaze. A loud clicking sound had filled the room as she had cocked the hammer of the gun. “I never agreed to such payment. I have told you no repeatedly. I do not enjoy alpha males. Or jackasses. You should respect that. Try it again,”—she had tightened her thighs and twisted to the side, flipping over him and pinning him on his back. His hands had once again clawed at her hips and tried to push her off him. She had held tight, pressing her weight down on him, squeezing his head between her knees, and swinging the gun behind her, pressing the muzzle tight against the tender flesh of his semi-hard cock—“and I will make it so no woman can ever give you a blowjob again. Be happy I do not put a bullet in you right now.”
The memory faded quickly into the present situation. “If I wanted to, I would have done so by now,” Nikol shrugged, ignoring the heated look he tossed her way. “How do we get there?” She needed to find out if Sergei had truly killed the developer. If he was still alive, he could be of use to her.
The two of them snuck through the side garden to the front of the mansion where the confrontation had started, Sergei in the lead. Their progress was delayed by some of Zarev’s men still lurking out front. Sergei took them down with rapid discharge of his Strike One pistol. By the time they burst through the gates on foot, the police vans and cars were turning the corner.
Sirens blasted and lights flashed as the Special Rapid Response Unit—the Russian police’s tactical team—pulled up to the front of the mansion. The original confrontation that had died down as the gangs aided their fallen brothers and regrouped was newly amplified by concussion blasts and tear gas being dispatched by the police to contain the upheaval.
Sergei holstered his pistol inside his jacket and mingled with the crowd of curious bystanders and gawkers that had gathered around the front of the property. Nikol followed as he weaved through them. After the police flooded the mansion like a tidal wave, Sergei took off at a run down the sidewalk bordering the mansion walls. Without a second thought, Nikol followed him, shoving the lingering pedestrians aside in her rush.
She caught up with Sergei and they ran the few blocks it took to reach the park. When he veered into the wooded area withdrawing his pistol, Nikol cursed under her breath and chased after him. Drawing even, she registered the cold calculating look in his eyes, his goal to make sure his prey was dead. Nikol followed Sergei’s curt directions until they reached the area behind the mansion and the spot he was certain the body had landed when it had dropped from the wall.
Lush green moss and lichen covered the soft ground in the secluded and shaded area. Tall fern-like vegetation hid the less-travelled manmade paths through the woods. A cool breeze blew the branches of the many oak trees scattered around the lot, their long branches giving them the appearance of tentacled creatures. She shivered as the cool air brushed over the perspiration coating her skin.
She slowed to a stop when a flash of color appeared in the distance at the opposite end from which they had come. She took a step to investigate it, but was distracted by Sergei’s loud curses. She smirked and followed the source of the foul language. Satisfaction flowed through her. It seemed his prey was not so dead—and a little smarter than Sergei had given him credit.
She wiped the enjoyment from her face when the angry rampage reached her ears. Sergei’s face was a most unflattering shade of red and his fist wound tight around his gun. He looked like a kid having a temper tantrum after losing his favorite toy. “Where is the body?”
Sergei shoved past her. “It is gone. The bastard survived.” His attention was caught by something on the ground and he crouched to study it. As he brushed the ferns and foliage out of the way, a growl of anger rolled from his lips.
“What is it?” Nikol peeked over his shoulder at the ground in front of him.
“The bastard was not alone. He had help. See?” He pointed to the different sole imprints on the dirt. “There are more than one set of footprints here.” An evil deadly smile bloomed across his face as he looked up at her, and a peppering of goose bumps spread across her arms. “Now we hunt.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Insane Bastard
WIND SWOOSHED DOWN THE TUNNEL as the train to Parnas barreled into the station. Once the doors opened, Cassandra merged with the flow of passengers boarding the train. Dropping the duffels at her feet, she gripped the overhead bar and a wave of relief washed over her. With the first leg of her journey underway, she had time to think again.
It was the first time since the shot rang through the speakers that she was not in a flurry of activity. Her numb mind jumpstarted and body began to shake as all thoughts converged on Trevor. Shock held her in its tight embrace. What could have gone wrong? Everything was moving like clockwork, albeit warped from their original plan. Cassandra could clearly hear his cocky words from that first day echoing in her mind as he had walked up to the mansion: “So far, so good, a ghrá. Hopefully, this will be a walk in the park.”
It hadn’t been a walk in the park. At the time, neither of them had a clue as to what awaited him inside those walls, nor the restrictions forced on him that first day. The same way neither of them had anticipated they’d have to deploy their contingency plan.
She never really expected to hear the word “Mí-ádh” uttered in a rushed whisper, or the words “I will love you always” spoken in a tone crowded with finality before silence had enveloped the signal. Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut. He is not dead. He’s too damn stubborn. He promised.
She swallowed the scream that clawed at her throat and leaned her head against her outstretched arm. She listened to the droning sound of train wheels clacking along the tracks, and counted the stops in her head as it sped through the tunnel—a simple task to distract her from further dark thoughts.
Tears welled as concern continued to rip at her heart. I should’ve done something. Stayed. Gone to him, she badgered herself and, at the same time, reprimanded herself for the weakness. Focus, Cassie. You have a job to do. The plan was simple. If he was a no-show after twenty-four hours, she would hightail it back to Ireland.
The jolt of the train changing tracks snapped Cass
andra back to awareness. She opened her eyes only to glance straight into the sympathetic faded ones of a petite, white-haired elderly woman sitting on the seat in front of her. Brushing the wetness from her cheek and unable to bear the pity she saw in the depth of the woman’s eyes, Cassandra shifted her gaze to the transit map above the door.
A while later, at the announcement of the approaching Parnas station, Cassandra adjusted the strap of the backpack into a more comfortable position and reached for the bags. She shuffled around a few other passengers to position herself in front of the sliding doors, and burst out of them as soon as they opened. She shoved her way through the crowd of passengers, mumbling “Excuse me” as she maneuvered around them, heading for the stairs and the bus—the next leg of her journey.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Cassandra squinted in the bright sunlight and spotted the bus parked across the street. Adrenaline spiked her veins as she sprinted for it. Cars skidded to a stop bare inches from her, but she hardly gave them a glance. She focused on her one goal—catching that bus before it left the station.
Once boarded, Cassandra scanned the area around the station for any sign that she had been followed as she shuffled behind the other passengers to her seat. She took the aisle seat in the emergency exit row and, still running on autopilot, set the duffel bags between her feet and the backpack on her lap. Under the shield of the backpack, she slowly shifted the Grach from her back to the front of her waistband, tucking it within easy reach.
Settling down for the ride, she rubbed the sweat trailing from her brow with her sleeve and plucked at her t-shirt. As her body cooled, a flurry of goose bumps raced along her arms and her sweaty shirt, now icy cold, stuck to her skin. Rubbing her arms, she reached into one of the duffel bags for a jacket. She pulled out the first one she grabbed. It was blue. Trevor’s. Her breath caught in her throat, almost choking her, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Anxiety bubbled up again and she dropped her head forward, resting her chin on her chest. “Breathe, just breathe!” she whispered.
“Pardon me?” the woman seated across the aisle, wearing blue jeans, a green jacket, and holding a tourist guide, asked with an Australian accent.
Shaking her head and displaying a friendly smile, Cassandra responded, “I’m sorry. I must have been talking to myself.”
“I do that all the time.” The woman’s blue eyes wrinkled at the corners and she flashed an understanding smile before returning her attention to the book in her hands.
Cassandra sucked in a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh as she stuffed Trevor’s jacket back in the bag and pulled out her own. Exhausted, she slipped it on and dropped her head back against the headrest. She tried to block all worry for Trevor by visualizing the contingency checklist in her mind—scout the area around the safe house; connect to the satellite feed; contact Nathan and George; and, finally, wait for Trevor to show up, if he hadn’t already.
The bus ride went on forever, the multiple stops along the way, heavy traffic, and noise of the diesel engine grating on her nerves, causing her head to pound. Eventually, the monotony of the ride lulled her into a semi-doze.
As the bus slowed, Cassandra’s head snapped up. Instantly alert, she shouldered her backpack and zipped her jacket to conceal the gun. She grabbed her bags and exited the bus as soon as the doors opened. Anxious, she took a minute to get her bearings. The road that led to the safe house was off to the right. Shrugging the backpack into a more comfortable position on her shoulder and taking a better grip on the bags, she headed in that direction.
*****
Trevor was slowing them down. Dmitriy and Tatiana helped him, but the last few steps had just about killed him. With each step, it became harder to hide his discomfort from Tatiana’s concerned eyes.
“This is ridiculous,” she gestured to Trevor and glanced between the two of them. “You men are so stubborn. Look at him,” she pointed at Trevor. “He cannot walk any further. I beg you. Flag down a cab. It is only a short distance.”
Trevor knew she was right. His shoulder burned, perspiration trailed down the sides of his face soaking his shirt, making it stick to him like a second skin. He couldn’t take another step. He nodded at Dmitriy. “Do it. It’s risky but—”
“Let them trace the transaction. They still won’t be able to find our destination.” Dmitriy withdrew his entire daily limit at the closest ATM and they jumped into the first cab they flagged down. “At least now we have cab fare and enough to tide us over.”
Once in the cab, silence descended upon them, each lost in their own thoughts. Dmitriy held Tatiana’s hand in his, his thumb caressing the underside of her wrist. The gentle caress didn’t go unnoticed. Trevor sagged in the seat, wishing it was his hand caressing Cassandra’s. He hoped the market would provide them with their ticket out of St. Petersburg; if not, they would become easy targets in a city where Mikhailov’s reach ran deep.
“Do you know the market emerged during the reign of the Soviet Union and existed illegally for about fifty years?” Tatiana broke the quiet. “During the hard times of Perestroika, many dwellers from St. Petersburg and the surrounding suburbs survived and supported their families by selling goods at this flea market. Many of them still sell their wares there today. To them, Udelnaya is more than a market; it is their way of life.”
Tatiana’s description had not done the market justice. Trevor was taken aback as they hopped out of the cab. The immensity of the Udelnaya flea market was a surprise. The deep, earthy odor of the damp, packed dirt mixed with that of tarnished antique wares and used clothing saturated the air. The wide area was littered with small tables, stands, and blankets spread helter-skelter on the ground—all covered in used and new items alike; clothes hung from lines strung between trees, vans and trucks parked in the area with doors open to display wares lined inside and to pick up purchases.
Visitors crowded the place, foreigners and locals alike, looking for the best deal they could find. The sunny day gave the market a festive atmosphere, even though to the majority of the sellers and traders the place was a job, a necessity.
Tatiana turned to them. “Wait here. Let me see if I can find my friends.”
“I will come with you.” Dmitriy insisted.
“No, Dmitriy. They could be anywhere. We cannot drag Ivanov around, and he cannot stay by himself. Let me find them and talk to them first.” She left before they could protest further.
*****
Nikol followed Deminov as he tracked the footprint trail left behind on the soft ground to the road bordering the north side of the park. She observed as he pulled out his cell phone. “How are you going to find him?”
“The Glazov has eyes and ears everywhere. I will find him.” Sergei placed a call and it was answered right away. “Ilya, call your cousin and tell him to keep an eye out for a foreigner. New face. Dark hair. Blue eyes. One hundred eighty-five centimeters. Around eighty kilos. One of our own might be helping him.” After a pause, he added, “I don’t know who, idiot. If I did, I wouldn’t be calling you. Send a car for me.” He gave Ilya their location and then made another call. “Vladimir.”
Mikhailov’s voice boomed over the speaker and Nikol could overhear the conversation. “Where are you? You disappeared at the worst time.” Mikhailov’s voice was cold, unforgiving.
“I am on pursuit of the developer. He has escaped.”
“Fucking swine. The computer room was compromised. The files erased. He must be working for Pavel. Dmitriy is also missing. They must have collaborated to steal from me.” Mikhailov’s voice was cold as steel. “Kill the developer. Bring my nephew”—he spat the word—“to me. Maybe he can fix this mess before I wipe him from my bloodline forever.”
Nikol tensed as Sergei’s eyes became flat and as unreadable as stone. He glanced at the Bvlgari watch banded to his wrist as he disconnected the call. “Dmitriy is missing. As soon as the car is here, we will find them both.”
*****
Tre
vor leaned heavily on Dmitriy as they moved to the side and found a spot where they could sit and wait for Tatiana’s return. He grunted as Dmitriy helped him to the ground and inspected the wound. “Not what I envisioned when I told you to join me, that I could help you. It seems the roles have been reversed, mate.”
Dmitriy looked him in the eyes. “You will still be able to help us, right? I’m depending on it. You’re my ticket away from my uncle. If Sergei finds me…” He didn’t need to finish. The meaning was clear. He shook his head. “It would be even worse for Tatiana.”
Trevor knew exactly the scenario Dmitriy was painting in his head. He would never wish that to happen to Cassandra.
The shuffle of soft steps approaching drew their attention and they both looked up to see Tatiana hurrying toward them with a smug smile on her face. “I got us a ride. Come with me.”
Tatiana moved to Trevor’s side and help Dmitriy support him as they walked to the center of the market. As they approached a stand, little more than a tarp stretched out on the ground, Trevor observed an older couple sitting on foldable chairs by the tarp. From the looks of things, they sold an eclectic mix of goods—all sorts of personal items, clothes, antique glass containers—anything they didn’t need for themselves. It was obvious that they were looking for ways to supplement their meager state income.
Tatiana smiled at the older woman. “These are the friends I told you about, Babushka.” Trevor assumed that Tatiana had to be very good friends with her, since the endearing term was only used when addressing one’s own grandmother or close elderly friends. “This is Dmitriy and Ivanov.”
Tatiana turned back them. “This is Zoya and her husband Yakov. They are friends of my family who lived near my grandparents when I was a child. Now they live in a little village called Vyun, far north of St. Petersburg. They come regularly to the market. I am only able to visit with them when they are here.”
To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) Page 37