Shadow Assassin

by Elle James

  Another security guard joined them and asked why the guest had not vacated the premises.

  The staff member frowned. “She refuses to go.”

  “Madam, if you do not leave on your own, we will be forced to escort you out.” The new security guard reached for her arm.

  For a moment, she considered fighting her way through, but Alex didn’t want to start a ruckus, drawing attention to herself. She’d have to leave and come back in another way. “I’m going.” She turned and left through the exit door at the rear of the conference room. The door led down a short hallway to a loading dock where a truck stood empty at the ramp. The last of the delegates were being herded down steps and around the other side of the building. Alex glanced around, searching for another door into the building. She tried one marked “receiving” in French. The door was locked. A button on the wall had a sign to ring the bell for assistance. When Alex moved past the truck, two men stepped out of the back. Both wore dark overalls like delivery truck drivers and had baseball caps pulled down low over their foreheads, shadowing their faces.

  As gooseflesh rose on her arms, Alex moved past them quickly, heading for the steps leading down from the ramp. If she hurried, she might catch up with the other summit attendees.

  The two men didn’t give her the time she needed to reach the steps. They rushed toward her.

  Alex ran, but she didn’t reach the steps before one of the men reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her on her heels.

  She came around fighting, sending sidekick to his kidney.

  The other man grabbed her other arm and shoved it up the middle of her back.

  Pain shot through her arm, and she stood as high as she could on her toes to find some relief.

  The one she’d kicked pulled something out of his pocket. It looked like a syringe.

  Alex stomped on the instep of the man trying to break her arm.

  He cursed and loosened his grip just enough Alex could pull her arm free and jab him with her elbow in the belly. She took two steps in her breakaway and was yanked up short when the man with the syringe grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her backward against him. Before she could regain her balance, he jabbed the needle into her arm.

  He let go of her hair.

  When Alex darted away, her legs turned to jelly, her vision blurred, and she crashed to the concrete.

  Chapter 10

  After Striker saw Alex to the summit session, he grabbed a cup of coffee and headed back to his room where he powered on the computer and fit his comm devices into his ears. He’d forgotten them earlier when he’d stepped into the shower with Alex.

  “Striker,” Charley’s voice sounded in his ear.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I take it you revealed what you know about Ms. Sokolov?”

  “I did.”

  “How did she respond?”

  “Well,” he said, “she said she’d been holding onto the flash drive since her parents’ deaths because she wanted to know what was on it. For the past two years, she couldn’t access one file on the drive. Everything else had to do with personal bank accounts and contacts. The file she couldn’t open was encrypted.”

  “The CIA has entire teams devoted to decryption.”

  “I know that. She was worried that once she handed it over, she’d never learn what was actually on the file, what got her parents killed.”

  “That’s quite possible,” Charley agreed.

  “Last night, she asked to use the laptop you assigned to me. While I was in the shower, she managed to get into that file. The laptop used the embedded facial recognition software, and it let her in.”

  “What did she find?”

  “Programming code. Some kind of software.”

  “Interesting,” Charley said.

  “She doesn’t know what the code means and doesn’t want to learn how to read the language. She’s ready to hand it off to the people her parents had intended it should go to. Do you have contacts at the CIA?”

  “I do.”

  “Alex would like to meet personally with a representative of the CIA…at Langley. They will need her biometrics to get into the file.”

  “I can make that happen,” Charley said. “When?”

  “As soon as you can set it up.”

  “I’ll get right on it. In the meantime, is she safe?”

  “She’s in the Energy Summit meeting surrounded by delegates from all over. I imagine the security is pretty tight. I’m about to head down to her.”

  “Good. Safeguard her and that flash drive. We can only imagine what’s so highly important in that code.”

  “I’m on my way back down. They should be breaking for lunch soon.” He paused. “Charley?”

  “Yes, Striker?”

  “My original assignment was to protect the Russians. Am I still working that mission?”

  “I’ve been following the summit meetings,” Charley said. “They’re not going well, and probably will continue to be contentious. I’m more worried about what’s in that software that has so many upset and eager to get to Alex to take it from her, or let it die with her. Stick with Alex. She’s your number one priority for now.”

  “Good. I’m on it.” He ended the call and hurried out to the elevator, taking it down to the first floor. When he stepped out of the elevator he saw security guards rushing across the huge lobby, urging people to leave through the exit doors. Members of the staff and security guards ran toward the conference rooms.

  Striker ran with them until one of the hotel staff members turned to see him and said something in French.

  “I don’t speak French,” Striker said without slowing.

  The man caught his arm. “Monsieur, you must leave the hotel. There has been a bomb threat.”

  Striker shook off the man’s hand. “My fiancée is in the Energy Summit. I’m not leaving without her.” By then, they had reached the room in which the meetings had taken place.

  A security guard emerged from the conference room.

  When Striker tried to move past him, he stuck out an arm and rattled off something in French.

  “Damn it, I don’t speak French.”

  The guard switched to English. “The room is empty. The delegates left through the rear exit. They have been moved across the street, away from Hotel Le Negresco. If you’re looking for someone, look there. Now, please, leave the building.”

  Striker pushed past him and ran across the large conference room to the rear exit and down a short corridor to a loading dock.

  A truck was just pulling out of the ramp. No one else could be seen.

  Striker ran down the steps and across the street to where a large group of men and women stood staring back at Hotel Le Negresco.

  He found the German quickly and hurried toward him. “Do you speak English?” he asked.

  The man nodded. “Ja.”

  “Your interpreter…where is she?”

  The man shrugged and glanced around. “She was moving into the hotel when everyone else was leaving. I do not know where she is now.”

  For the next couple of minutes, Striker wove through the people standing on the sidewalk waiting to hear the all-clear announcement so that they could return to their discussions. All the while, they were missing one of the attendees. He searched for Baranovsky, knowing Alex would take any opportunity to get him alone to find out if he was the one who’d put the hit out on her parents.

  Baranovsky was missing from the crowd of delegates, and so was Natalya Zotin.

  Striker’s gut knotted. He had a bad feeling about this and wished he had equipped Alex with some kind of communications device. He needed help finding her.

  He touched the earbud in his ear. “Charley, if you’re listening, I could use a little help, here.”

  “I’m here,” she said.

  “Alex is missing.”

  “I know.”

  “How the hell do you know already when I just figured it out?” Worry sparked irritatio
n. His boss seemed to know everything. It was creepy but might prove useful if she could help him find Alex.

  “I had one of my people drop a tracking disc in her pocket. She left the hotel a few minutes ago. She was traveling too fast to be on foot. We’re tracking her but don’t know exactly where she’s headed. I’ve sent a driver to pick you up two blocks east of your hotel. He’ll be there in three minutes. We’ll feed him directions to where Alex is heading. You have three minutes. Go.”

  Striker ran out to the street and turned east. He sprinted the two blocks, arriving just as a black SUV pulled up to the curb. He jumped into the front passenger seat and turned to the driver. “Who sent you?”

  “Charley,” he answered as he drove east. He adjusted the volume on a radio affixed to the dash. A male voice gave him directions to follow the Prom. Des Anglais, the main road following the coast line. “She could be headed for the airport.”

  Why would Alex be going to the airport? Had she found the information she’d been after? Was she going back to Russia to finish what she’d started? If so, why hadn’t she come back to his room to get her backpack first—and to say goodbye to him?

  His chest was tight, and his pulse thrummed through his veins. She’d left without saying goodbye.

  “She’s at the airport,” the voice said on the radio. “What’s your ETA?”

  “Fifteen minutes in this traffic,” the driver replied.

  “Make it sooner.”

  They were approaching a traffic light that was turning red.

  The driver slammed his foot on the accelerator and swerved around a vehicle stopping at the light and swerved again to miss the little black sports car pulling through the green light on his side.

  Striker braced for impact, sure the sports car was going to T-bone his side of the SUV. The sports car’s driver slammed on his brakes and slid sideways, barely missing the SUV.

  Striker’s driver didn’t blink an eye. He zigzagged through traffic, blowing through stoplights and scaring the shit out of Striker. He’d rather have been the one doing the driving. Then he would know what to expect and go even faster.

  “Striker, she’s on the taxiway.” Charley said into his ear. “She must be in an airplane, waiting to take off.”

  Striker leaned forward as if it would get them there sooner. “Can’t you get the ATC to stop the plane?”

  “We’re working on identifying the tail number,” Charley said. “We can’t stop the plane without cause.”

  “What if she’s being kidnapped?” Saying the words made it all the more disturbing. “The bomb threat could have been a diversion to get her out of the building.”

  “We thought of that. But we can’t be certain.” Charley said something to someone in the background. “Striker, we’ve chartered a plane, and it’s scheduled to take off in twenty minutes.”

  Striker clenched his fists. “Twenty minutes is twenty minutes too late.”

  “She has the tracking device on her still. We can follow her. Get to the airport. We’ll find her.”

  “Just stop the damned plane.”

  “It’s too late,” Charley said. “It left the ground.”

  * * *

  A splitting headache woke Alex. She hadn’t felt this kind of pain since she’d had too much vodka with her friends at a nightclub in Moscow. The trouble was she couldn’t remember drinking anything. She couldn’t remember what she’d been doing to cause so much pain.

  The last thing she did remember was…the summit…leaving the hotel through a rear door…a bomb threat.

  She blinked her eyes open and frowned. This wasn’t her hotel room, and it wasn’t Daniel’s.

  No, Daniel wasn’t right…

  Dane. But he liked to be called Striker. Why was her head so fuzzy, and what was that roaring noise?

  The room she was in dipped. She tried to put her arms out to steady herself only to discover she couldn’t move them. Alex looked down at the duct tape wrapped around her wrists. She tried to move her legs but couldn’t. They were bound at the ankles.

  Then it all came back to her.

  The bomb threat. The truck. The men in coveralls, wearing baseball caps, who’d grabbed her.

  Her heart pounded against her chest as she stared around at the walls surrounding her. They weren’t like normal walls, and she was in a small space with small round windows, lying across a couple of seats. And that roar like jet engines…

  She was in an airplane.

  Alex raised her bound hands to her right breast where she always tucked the flash drive in her bra. Her breath caught in her throat, and she almost moaned out loud.

  It was gone.

  The thunk of something dropping below her and snapping in place indicated landing gear had been deployed. But where were they landing? And who had taken her?

  She struggled to sit up only to fall back onto the seat as the plane landed hard on the tarmac and screamed to a stop.

  Two men appeared above her, grabbed her beneath her arms and hauled her to her feet.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. “Where are you taking me?”

  One of them tore a length of duct tape from a roll and slapped it over her mouth. The other man dragged a cloth sack over her head and body, and then lifted her up, slinging her over his shoulder.

  She bounced along, the man’s shoulder digging into her belly as he descended the stairs out of the plane and walked across a hard surface. When he stopped, he dropped her onto another hard surface that smelled of rubber and oil. Then something slammed over her, taking away what little light had made it through the thick canvas of the sack that had been thrown over her.

  An engine started. Not the roaring engine of a jet airplane, but a smaller one, like that of a car. Soon, they were moving along what sounded like paved roads with the occasional pothole.

  Alex figured she was in the trunk of a vehicle.

  She wiggled and scooted, trying to work the bag off her body. After several failed attempts, she finally managed to push it up over her head. Still trapped in a dark, confined space, she had only herself to get her out of this mess. Striker wouldn’t have any idea where they’d taken her. He might even think she’d taken the opportunity to leave the summit and go back into hiding. She wondered if he’d be sad that she hadn’t come to say goodbye.

  Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again. He’d been the only person in a long time that she’d wanted to be around. And making love…

  How would she survive without knowing that feeling again? For that matter, how would she survive if she didn’t find a way to free herself soon?

  She felt around the interior of the trunk, searching for a rough edge to scrape the duct tape off her wrists. Every edge was smooth and of no use. With no other way to work through the tape, she tore into it with her teeth, working as quickly as she could. She had no idea how long they’d keep her in the trunk or where they were going.

  Just as she tore through the last stretch of duct tape, the vehicle slowed to a halt. Muffled voices sounded outside. Alex strained to hear them. She only caught a few words, but it was enough to know they were speaking German.

  They were being questioned by someone who was manning a gate. A moment later, she heard the clink of metal and something moving.

  Alex reached for the tape at her ankles and tore at it with her fingernails, searching for the end so that she could unwind it.

  Then the vehicle lurched forward and drove at a sedate pace for a short distance, eventually coming to a complete halt. The engine was shut off, and car doors opened and closed. Footsteps sounded around the side of the vehicle coming to a stop behind the trunk.

  Alex hadn’t succeeded in getting the tape off her ankles. She wouldn’t get far if she attempted to make an attempt at escape. To keep her captors from discovering that she’d freed her wrists, she pulled the canvas sack over her head and lay still.

  Just as she settled against the bed of the trunk, the lid opened and cool air wafted in. T
hey weren’t in Nice anymore.

  Alex shivered. Wherever they’d taken her was much colder. She was almost thankful for the bag since she didn’t have a coat to keep her warm.

  Strong arms scooped her out of the trunk and flipped her onto a massive shoulder. She was carried into a building. They seemed to walk for a long time before they came to a stop. She heard the sound of a metal gate or door sliding open.

  The man carrying her stepped forward. They sank a tiny bit, enough to let her know he’d carried her into an elevator.

  The metal door closed, and the car went down at least one level before settling.

  Alex was carried out of the elevator and dropped to the ground.

  She landed hard on her hip and rolled to her side.

  The sack was ripped off her head, and she blinked up at lights hanging over head. She held her hands together so that her captors wouldn’t know she’d broken her bonds.

  She’d been brought to what appeared to be some kind of control room with an array of monitors on one wall. The monitors were all blue screens with nothing else on them.

  Men sat at keyboards keying frenetically, shaking their heads.

  “Anya Federov,” a familiar voice spoke from behind her. “Or should I call you Alexa Sokolov? What name are you most comfortable with?”

  Alex rolled over and sat up.

  Sergei Baranovsky stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his lip curled up on one side.

  “Where are we?” Alex asked in Russian.

  “You are at one of the Nord Stream substations, which is currently under attack due to ransomware.”

  “Why have you brought me here?” She reached down to pull the tape from around her ankles. It took her a moment to find the end and unwind the rest.

  Baranovsky held up a small object.

  Alex’s heart sank into her belly. He had the flashdrive. For two years, she’d kept its secrets safe. Just when she’d planned on turning it over to the CIA, Baranovsky had come along and taken it before she could deliver it.

  She tipped her head toward the device. “What do you think is on that flash drive, Sergei?”