“Zaryana,” Petrov said without raising his head when Topor pushed her into the room.
She hated his use of her given name. To her, it represented a time when she was too weak to stand up for herself—between the ages of eight and eighteen—before she’d become “Raketa” and had taken control of her own life.
Petrov looked up and waived her escort out of the room.
“Topor tells me you’re not eating.”
She responded with silence, the same way she had every other time he’d spoken to her. This time, though, she made the mistake of making eye contact.
“You may die today, little one, by trying my patience or starving yourself to death. The choice is yours.”
“I’ll eat,” she murmured.
“That’s better.”
“Why am I here?” she asked.
“You should have left well enough alone.”
“I wasn’t after you.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I wanted out of UR. K19 could help me do that, so I helped them. If you’d left well enough alone, neither of us would be here.”
The truth was, until she came face-to-face with him in this very office, she hadn’t believed the man really was Makar Petrov. She was very young the last time she saw him. She wouldn’t have recognized him with or without the extensive plastic surgery he’d undergone.
“There are things…people…” he began.
She glared at him. “I cannot help you. You’ve made yourself a prisoner within these walls.”
“There are people who will try very hard to get to me.”
“The list of those who want you dead is endless.”
Again, Petrov raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care for your smart mouth.”
“Are your prisoners often conversational?”
“You’re here for your own protection.”
“Bullshit,” she seethed. “I am not here to be protected. I am a prisoner.”
“You may enjoy a great deal of freedom, Zaryana.”
“Don’t call me that, and as long as I’m here, I am not free.”
“This is tiresome. You’re home. Make the best of it.”
“This is not my home. If it were, would your henchmen be permitted free access?”
“What are you referring to?”
“Topor…” she began, not sure what else to say.
“Speak, girl,” Petrov shouted at her.
“He doesn’t knock.”
Petrov scrunched his eyes together as though he was trying to figure out what she meant.
“I have not allowed him such privilege.”
“Then make him stop.” God, she hated the sound of her own voice. The words that were coming out of her mouth were Zaryana’s, not Raketa’s. Raketa would never participate in a conversation of any kind with Makar Petrov. She turned her back to him.
“I could send you to United Russia. Let them deal with you.”
Raketa was stunned. Was he serious? “I’ll be dead before I set foot on Russian soil.”
Petrov shrugged. “The choice is yours.”
“What choice?”
“Do as I say, or I’ll let UR come and get you.”
“What do you want?”
“Avarie and Aine.”
Raketa turned back around and stared at him, waiting for him to continue, refusing to ask what the hell that meant.
“I want my daughters brought here.”
“No chance in hell,” Raketa answered, inwardly pained by his use of the word.
“Very well, then.”
He called out for Topor to return her to her apartment.
Still not knowing whether Petrov would allow his henchman to punish her, or even kill her if she pushed him too far, she let him lead her back down the corridor without wrenching her arm out of his grasp.
As he dragged her back to her room, Raketa heard the faint cry of another woman. She glanced at Topor, who showed no sign of hearing the same thing she had.
When the cry turned into words she could understand, Raketa dug her heels in.
“Devochka moya,” came the wail from a different corridor.
“Hurry up!” barked Topor, digging his fingers further into her flesh.
Only after he’d closed the door behind him and she’d locked it, did she rub her arm where he’d bruised her flesh.
The words she’d heard the woman cry were hauntingly familiar; something about them tugged at her heart. The hurt she felt was one she thought she’d buried when she was still a child.
An hour later, she heard another knock on the door and waited. Wouldn’t whoever it was simply walk in like Topor always did? When she heard the second knock, Raketa walked over.
Alegria stood just outside the threshold and motioned with her head for Raketa to move closer.
“Dead zone,” she explained motioning to the ceiling just outside the threshold of the door. “We’re setting up an extraction, but there’s a complication,” she continued, keeping her voice low.
Raketa nodded with her heart in her throat, almost afraid to believe that K19 had found her so quickly or that they planned to get her out. She didn’t ask what the complication was; she assumed there were many.
“Another person. Not sure if she’s a hostage,” Alegria answered her unasked question.
“Who is she?”
The woman showed her a grainy image on her phone.
“Look familiar?” Alegria whispered.
Raketa shook her head. It could be anyone. There weren’t any features clear enough to discern.
Alegria handed her a plate of food, and Raketa reentered the apartment. As she closed the door behind her, she cursed herself for not asking who else was inside. There had to be at least two operatives, considering they’d found the areas where the cameras wouldn’t pick them up.
—:—
“Alegria is in. She’s seen Raketa,” Shiv told Gunner when he answered the MI6 agent’s call.
“Where is she?” he asked, incredulous that they’d found her before he had, given he didn’t think they’d spend time looking for her over Makar Petrov.
“They’ve got her locked up tight in a compound in the Old City.”
“What’s the plan for Petrov?”
“Gunner, we always protect our own first. You know this.”
He was confused. Under what circumstances would Raketa be part of either of their teams? She was a UR assassin regardless of whether she planned to defect or not.
“Gunner?”
“I heard you.”
“I’m waiting for instructions.”
“From who?”
Shiv laughed. “You, you bloody bastard.”
Normally the plan would be immediate. Get in, get your operative, get out.
“Let’s meet at thirteen hundred,” answered Gunner.
“Roger that.”
“I’ll come to you.”
“That’ll be easier since we don’t know your twenty.”
That was the way Gunner wanted it. He didn’t want anyone to know where he was or what he was doing. The meeting he’d requested would be to craft a plan for Petrov’s assassination, not Raketa’s extraction. He’d be handling that all on his own.
* * *
Striker and Shiv were head-to-head over something when Gunner walked in.
“She’s here,” he heard Alegria say to them as she pointed to a rough drawing.
“Gunner,” said Striker, the first to look up.
Gunner looked more closely at what the two men were studying. “What is this?” he asked.
“An apartment.”
“Where on the compound is Petrov exactly?” he asked.
“Unknown, for now, but we’ll find him,” Striker answered.
Gunner studied the access points that they’d determined were weak.
“There’s someone else here,” said Alegria, pointing to a different area.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a theory?” he barked.
“Negative.”
“Why does he have Raketa? What does he want with her?”
“I haven’t been able to determine the reason, sir,” she answered. “He did summon her earlier.”
“And you know this, how?” Gunner demanded.
Alegria looked at Striker.
“Tell me you didn’t plant anything.”
“We don’t intend to leave her in there long enough for anyone to find it,” Shiv answered.
Gunner got up from the table and looked out the window. “Five minutes was long enough for it to be discovered,” he muttered.
“What’s the plan, Gunner?” asked Shiv.
“I’m going in tonight.”
“Where?”
Gunner pointed to an area on the drawing. “I want Armenian transport arranged.”
Shiv nodded. Everyone knew the Azerbaijanis and Armenians were mortal enemies. In the position they were in, only Armenians could be trusted not to hand them over to Petrov.
“To where?” he asked.
“London,” Gunner answered.
“It’ll be taken care of.”
Gunner motioned with his head for Shiv and Striker to follow him outside.
“Explain why you’re going in to get Raketa before Petrov, and don’t give me the shit about taking care of our own first,” he demanded once they were out of earshot of the rest of the team.
“Getting her out makes the rest of our job easier.”
Gunner nodded. “What’s the connection?” he asked without necessarily intending to.
“We haven’t been able to draw a line between them,” answered Striker. “Maybe she’s somehow connected to the bodyguard that had been posing as his wife.”
No one had suspected “Kelly McNamara” of being much more than Petrov’s latest gold-digging wife when he’d been living his life as Conor McNamara. Although Gunner did remember Razor saying the wife rankled him too.
When they went back inside, Striker suggested they check out the theory that Ivashov and Shahij were somehow connected.
“I’ll take a look,” offered Onyx.
Gunner nodded. He’d always liked the man who’d started out on their payroll solely as a pilot but had recently become a K19 partner. The thing he liked most about him was he only spoke when necessary. More people should be like that, in his opinion. However, another of their operatives, code name Monk, took it to an extreme.
He shook his head. What the hell was he doing, letting himself get distracted by anything that didn’t directly involve getting Raketa out of Petrov’s compound?
“We could delay twenty-four hours—”
“No,” Gunner snapped at Striker. “I’m getting her out of there tonight.”
“Understood.”
Gunner turned to Shiv. “Once she’s out, slit Petrov’s damn throat.”
* * *
They spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing the compound’s security setup.
While Petrov may have been able to update some of it, the only way to get it airtight would be to tear it down and build again—something that would never be allowed in the Old City. Not that Petrov had the money to do much more than the bare minimum. The agency had made sure his assets were seized, but more importantly, they’d put a watch on his offshore accounts.
The man would soon be paralyzed financially, unless he had cash hidden, which was more of a probability than a possibility.
3
Raketa startled awake and sat up. The words she’d heard echoing in her head in her dream were the same ones she’d heard this afternoon. Worse, they’d been cried with the same voice she last heard when she was eight years old.
It suddenly became perfectly clear who the other captive was. She must have been held here since that fateful day twelve years ago when Raketa was told both her parents were dead.
After seeing Alegria, she’d allowed herself to hope that, soon, she’d be free. Now she knew she couldn’t leave until she figured out a way to take the other woman with her.
—:—
It was a simple in-and-out deal. Almost too easy. As much as Gunner didn’t want backup, he’d accepted it upon Shiv’s insistence.
He checked the time. Four more minutes. In and out. Done. Raketa safe. Petrov dead. That was the plan.
—:—
She stood and paced, trying for the third time to figure out a way to get the locked door of her apartment open. She’d known, when Petrov said she could “enjoy a great deal of freedom,” he had not meant she could wander the corridors of the compound alone.
She heard a popping sound, and a moment later, the entire compound went dark. With the moon hovering behind clouds, it was pitch black.
She felt his breath before a hand slipped over her mouth and an arm encircled her waist.
“Shh,” Gunner’s voice whispered in her ear.
Raketa tried to struggle, but didn’t make a sound. There was no question her apartment was being surveilled, and while the power may be out temporarily, she assumed the compound had backup generators that would kick on at any moment. She couldn’t go with him, but she didn’t want Gunner killed either, especially since he thought he was rescuing her.
As soon as she thought he was safely out of harm’s way, she’d tell him she couldn’t go with him.
“Ten feet,” she heard him whisper into the mic in his earpiece. When they’d covered that distance, another door flew open. Just as he placed her on the seat of the waiting SUV and climbed in behind her, she heard the gunfire of those who had followed, but not quickly enough to stop them.
Four things happened simultaneously: Gunner pulled the SUV’s door closed. The man in the passenger seat yelled, “Go, go, go!” The driver put the vehicle in gear and sped away. And Raketa’s heart sank. She had no choice but to go with them now, at least temporarily. Instead of figuring out a way to get out of Petrov’s compound without getting killed, she had to figure out a way to get back in.
Raketa grasped the door handle with one hand and the seat with the other as the vehicle careened through the narrow cobblestone streets of Old City.
She and Gunner made brief eye contact, but didn’t speak. Instead, she listened as he rattled off instructions to the driver.
It appeared that the plan they had prior to her extraction, had changed. Or Gunner was changing it as they went. From what she could glean, they would be traveling north to Georgia, and then west into Armenia. The driver seemed to think they could cross directly from Azerbaijan into their final destination, but Gunner disagreed.
He hadn’t asked, but if he had, she would’ve concurred with his assessment. While they might be permitted to cross the border into Armenia, it would be at far greater risk than if they went through Georgia first. However, if they tried to cross over the border and were detained, she’d have a better chance of getting away from the K19 team and back to Baku.
They were just outside the gates of Old City when two other SUVs came at them from either direction. Gunner grabbed her arm and pulled her from the vehicle they were in, to the SUV that appeared on their left. When the back passenger door opened, they slid inside.
“Good to see you, Raketa,” said a man she never would’ve predicted would be a willing participant in her extraction—Striker Ellis, former CIA lead operative.
Alegria, in the front passenger seat, nodded.
Gunner sat closer to her than he’d been in the previous vehicle, enough so that she could hear him breathing. She couldn’t explain why, but it soothed her. He turned and caught her studying him.
Their eyes met, and it was all she could do to not lean forward and brush his lips with hers. The only thing stopping her was the likelihood he’d push her away.
When Raketa shifted and her arm brushed up against his, he flinched, just slightly, but didn’t move it.
“Izvini,” she whispered, moving hers away.
“I’ve received the flight plan,” Alegria reported.
“Where’s Shiv?” Gunner asked.
“Meeting us in Alat.”
“Petrov?”
“No sign of him.”
“Fuck.”
“We’re a little less than three hundred kilometers from Ganja,” Striker told him.
Gunner nodded again, but not enough that either of the two people in the front seats could’ve seen the slight motion of his head.
Out of the corner of her eye, Raketa looked down at his arm, close enough that if she only moved a few centimeters, she’d be able to touch him again.
—:—
In her sleep, Raketa rested her body against his and her head on his shoulder, snoring softly. He turned his head so his lips were close enough to brush her forehead, but pulled away when he glanced up and met Striker’s gaze in the rear-view mirror.
He sighed and looked out at the darkness. In less than twelve hours, they’d be in London. Gunner hadn’t decided yet where he or Raketa would go from there.
Alegria turned in her seat and looked first at Raketa and then at him.
“The other person…”
Gunner shook his head.
“I have a photo,” she continued, disregarding the fact that he’d, in essence, told her not to continue.
Rather than answering, Gunner glared at her.
Striker briefly turned his head. “Drop it for now, Mondreau,” he murmured. “Get some rest, man,” he added, looking over his shoulder at Gunner.
He groaned inwardly, wondering what the hell he and his partners had been thinking by adding the two operatives sitting in front of them to their permanent team.
Get some rest? Had Striker actually said those words to him? If Razor were here, he’d be laughing so hard he wouldn’t be able to speak. Doc, too. Mercer might find it funny, but Gunner figured he’d kept their youngest founding partner intimidated enough, over the last couple of years, that he’d never laugh out loud.
Not to mention that Alegria had completely ignored him when he made it clear he didn’t want her to continue asking questions about the other person being held captive by Petrov.
Once he knew what the plan was for Raketa, he would call a meeting of the original four partners and reinforce some of their ground rules.
Gunner Page 2
