“A man in your employ. A man who is responsible for capturing him, possibly torturing him. He’s being held outside of Donetsk in a camp that you fund and run. I want you to give him back to me now.”
Viktor’s face drained of blood and left him pale. Still, he continued on with his farce in the hopes that Dmitry was not as knowledgeable as he seemed. “Mr. Medlov, I don’t know where you are getting your information, but…”
Dmitry cut him off again. “I don’t have the time to fuck with you, Viktor! You have my nephew. I want him back now. Today. I want him put on a fucking plane and sent home. Now is your answer yes or no?”
There was a pregnant pause before Viktor finally spoke. “Mr. Medlov, I think that you have me confused with someone else. You see…”
“I’ll take that as a no,” Dmitry said with finality. “Mr. Allan, you may excuse yourself. This meeting is over. Mr. Davidovich, if you in any way try to stop Mr. Allan from leaving or harm him, you will regret it.” Hanging up the phone, he looked over at Vasily. “I want that rotten piece of shit dead by the end of today.”
“Yes, Boss,” Vasily said, turning around. He had to head back to the office and set things up.
Dmitry and Anatoly headed with several men down into the basement. Going down into the depths of the old building, Dmitry put a code into the security system and the air locked door open. The large basement lit up as soon as Dmitry’s foot hit the concrete floor. It was packed with guns and ammunition. Walking over to the corner wall which had been reinforced with steel, he put in another code that opened a door to a hidden vault.
He looked over the small room stacked with bundles of money that reached all the way to the ceiling. After Anya had been kidnapped, he had learned a weakness in his organization and immediately rectified it.
He always needed cash readily available. This room provided an emergency fund that would never put him in that situation again.
Anatoly stood beside his father looking at the vault of money and stepped inside. Throwing a large bundle of money at one of the guards, he got to work. This would take a few hours. There was no time to waste. “Put it on the counter, label it and then put it in the suitcases. Don’t stop until we get to twenty million.”
Chapter Eight
Countdown…
Budynok Uryado
Kiev, Ukraine
After the abrupt conversation with Dmitry Medlov earlier, Viktor Davidovich had no plans of staying late at the government building the way that he normally did. Upon completion of two meetings with members of the Ministry Cabinet who might have become curious if cancelled – considering he set up the mandatory sub-committee meetings himself - he jetted out of his office just after dusk and headed toward the front of the building where he had already made arrangements with his driver to pick him up.
Thoughts of being assassinated assailed him. While he had an army in the Right for Donetsk and the Right for Ukraine, he couldn’t very well summon them at this very moment. It was his job to stay as far away from them as possible in public, in order to fight for their cause within parliament. But right now, with the possibility of Dmitry Medlov on his tail, he wouldn’t mind a little public display of security.
There were exactly twenty parking spots outside of the front half-circled building, only a few feet from the front entrances. As he exited the cherry oak doors into the evening air, he saw that all twenty spots were occupied. Dmitry’s men could be anywhere, in any of them. His driver was parked just beyond the concrete divider that separated the courtyard from the area designated for vehicles and couldn’t get any closer unless he drove through the concrete wall and pulled up at the door. Still, the short walk was one of the longest that he had ever made.
With a team of guards escorting him, he moved quickly past people conversing in the courtyard directly to his car. The driver was waiting patiently, standing with the back door open and the umbrella extended due to the light rain.
“Good evening, sir,” the English driver said in his normal polite manner, dipping his head as his boss approached.
Too focused on getting inside to safety, Viktor didn’t answer. Jumping in the back of his government-issued Mercedes Benz, he ducked down a little and urged the driver to move quickly. “Hurry for goodness sake. I don’t have all day.”
“Where are we going today, sir?” the driver asked, getting in the car, moving into the traffic on Hrushevsky Street.
“Straight home,” Viktor answered, hands trembling as he grasped his briefcase. He balled them into fists and pushed them down hard against the leather.
“Right away, sir,” the driver responded, turning on the radio to Viktor’s favorite news talk station.
Trying to strategically place himself in the car, Viktor moved away from the dark tinted window and scooted closer to the middle of the back seat, but as he looked out of the front windshield, he suddenly wasn’t sure if that was a good spot either. Taking a deep breath, he moved back to the right side and settled into the peanut butter-colored Corinthian leather seats and pulled a bottle of Valium from his pocket.
“Do we have water up there?” he asked, realizing that the bottles that were normally in the back for him upon his arrival were not. Immediately suspicious, he glared at the back of the driver’s hatted head. Was he in league with Medlov?
“Oh yes, sir. I picked up some right before I arrived.” The driver reached over into the passenger seat and then passed him the bottle of water, while at the same time keeping his eyes on the road. “Oh, one more thing.” He reached over again.
Viktor’s eyes grew wide until he saw the daily paper in his driver’s hand.
“And the newspaper as well, sir,” the driver said with a smile.
Snatching the paper from the driver’s hand, Viktor pushed back in his seat and twisted the bottle top open. He popped the pills into his mouth and then swallowed down the water, praying for the meds to work faster than they normally did.
He had not been this afraid since 2013, after the very bloody Euromaidan protests erupted in the city, forcing Prime Minister Yanukovich to eventually defect, during which time he was forced to switch his support of Russian influence or risk attack by nationalists. And just like he had done before in order to survive, he had to think fast to fix this current dilemma. The good thing was that there was no legitimate connection between himself and Yuri Danko. Once Yuri made the deal, Gabriel Medlov would be returned to his uncle, Valeriya Nenya would be dead, and he could plead ignorant to the entire situation, after getting rid of Yuri Danko, of course. He’d be able to put this all behind him and start again.
Adhering to normal speed limits, the driver moved through the thick evening traffic on the four-lane street in the historic Lypky district, past the low-level buildings, people walking down the sidewalk after work and police officers standing guard.
Turning to look behind him, trying to see if he could see if anyone was following, Viktor became more and more agitated. “Can’t you go any faster?” he growled.
The driver pushed down on the accelerator and moved into the opposite lane, past the slower cars. “Certainly, sir,” he answered, glancing back at Viktor. “Is something the matter?”
Viktor opened his briefcase and looked at his gun. It had been a while since he had used it, and never on a real person. “No, just get me home now,” he ordered, anxious to get back to a secure location.
Several miles down Hrushevsky Street after it turned into Mazepy Street, Viktor’s began to question his paranoia. Maybe it was the Valium or maybe just the distance he was gaining between himself and the government building, but he was feeling just a little better than he did when he first left his office.
He tried to rationalize the situation. It was very possible that Dmitry Medlov was on a fishing expedition, calling as many people as possible to see who might break under pressure. It was possible that considering he was a member of parliament that Dmitry Medlov might think he was too powerful to target. It was also very possi
ble that after Dmitry got his nephew back any previous plans to retaliate might subside. There were too many possibilities to assume that murder would be the man’s first response. And so, Viktor began to relax.
“Turn the radio up a little, please,” he said, voice not so stern.
“Happy to do so, sir,” the driver answered, reaching for the dial.
Hitting the brakes, the driver slowed to a stop heading west on Ivana Mazep Street right before the corner of Suvorova. There were four streets that intersected at the junction, each of them were at a halt. Evidently, there had been a fresh accident in the middle of the intersection between a large utility truck and a Hummer that had traffic at a standstill and no authorities were on the scene yet.
“There appears to be an accident up ahead, sir,” the driver apologized. “We should only be a moment.”
Only a few feet behind his car, and out of his immediate sight, was the entrance to the busy Arsenalna subway station. As Viktor sat in the car impatiently waiting to move, the two guards who had escorted Allan Roman earlier that day emerged from the subway on cue in long black top coats. In tandem, they stalked synchronically in calculated steps toward their target.
Moving with the rest of the foot traffic around them, they veered off to their right were the blue and yellow railing blocked the road and stepped over it into the street.
Inching past the cars that blocked Viktor from behind, they inched up to the back right side of Viktor’s car.
Putting the car in park, the driver very carefully and quickly, put his hand on the door handle and pushed it open. Getting out, he closed the door and ran away.
“Where the hell are you going?” Viktor screamed out when suddenly he saw movement near the car out of his peripheral vision. Turning around just in time, he saw one of the armed men raise his rifle muzzle.
“Shit!” Viktor screamed, trying to move to the other side of the car to get out.
The guards had already pulled the AK-47s from inside of their coats and proceeded to unload into the black Mercedes Benz.
Bullets penetrated the side of the car, busting out the windows and ripping through Viktor’s body. Dropping the used mags, they reloaded and shot the car up again for good measure.
People in the distance could be heard screaming and running in panic. Those close to the hit scrambled and ducked to get out of the way. Cars pushed through the traffic jam and forced their way to safety. But still the two men stayed calm and focused.
“Finish it so we can get out of here,” one of the guards said, keeping an eye out for the police as he reloaded.
The other guard unlocked the door through the broken back window as Viktor lay slumped over on the seat bleeding to death from his multiple wounds.
Pulling out his knife, the guard grabbed Viktor by his head and pried his mouth open. With one slice, he cut out the man’s tongue, then jammed it through a note and the headrest of the backseat. The note read, HIS ANSWER WAS NO.
“Come on. Let’s go,” said the guard standing outside of the car. Sirens could be heard coming toward them from the distance.
Running out in traffic, they jumped in the car on the other side of the street waiting for them and sped off.
***
Prague, Czech Republic
Medlov Compound
Passing Dmitry’s luggage to the butler to take out to the helicopter, Royal looked over at her husband standing in front of the dresser mirror while he put on his cufflinks. He only did that when he was truly ready to leave.
She knew that he was headed to Moscow, he had shared that with her, but she also knew that from there, he wasn’t coming back just yet. Instead, he was going straight to Ukraine to get Gabriel.
The idea frightened her more than she cared to admit. Yet again, Dmitry was going into harm’s way and there was nothing that she could do about it. Walking over to him, she slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his back.
“Come back to me in one piece,” she whispered.
Dmitry turned to her and smiled as though her request was ridiculous. He touched her hair, braided in two French braids that made her look like a teenager again. “You know I will.” He lifted her chin with his index finger, watching remorse darken her beautiful features. He hated to see her worried. “I always will come back to you,” he promised.
Royal didn’t smile back. This was no light-hearted situation, and she really did not know anything, except that she loved him, and she couldn’t handle the idea of losing him.
She placed her hand on his chest and looked up at him. “What I know is that you are my husband, the father of my children, and my soul mate. And by far, you are the best man that I’ve ever known. So, come home with Gabriel and let’s get on with spending the rest of our lives together making each other miserable.”
Dmitry chuckled. “You flatter me. Surely, I’m not the best man you know.”
“Surely you are,” she said, tilting her head to glance up at him. He had to already know that, didn’t he?
Dmitry took a deep breath. He might not get a chance to do this again, and he didn’t want her to find out later by someone else. “Before I go, I need to tell you something.”
Royal raised a finger to silence him. Whatever he was about to say, didn’t sound good, and she wanted to do this before he ruined it. “Before you say anything else, I need to give you something.” She walked quickly to the closet and went to the bottom drawer of one of her dressers in the back. Pulling out a long, black box, she emerged with it in her hands. “I had a gift made for you.” Setting it on the end of the bed, she waved him over. “Come see,” she said proudly.
Dmitry walked over to the bed and looked down at the inconspicuous box. “What is this?” he asked, intrigued. Royal was known for her gifts, but never at a time like this.
“Open it,” Royal ordered, watching his face for a reaction.
Unclasping the hinges, he opened the box to find it was in fact a case. Inside, there were two long, serrated trench knives with 24-carat gold knuckle handles. The word, “Butcher” was engraved in the steel in Cyrillic on each.
Royal shrugged and looked down at the weapons. “It’s not sexy, but just in case you find yourself in the fight, I want you to have something that will keep you safe. Besides, since the beginning of time man has kept a good knife in his arsenal, right?”
To the contrary, Dmitry thought it was a very sexy gift - the sexiest considering he was going to war. He picked up the shiny knives and slipped his fingers through the holes to grip them in his fists. It was a perfect fit. The light gleamed off the steel and shined across Royal’s face as he tested them.
She looked at the blades with both pride and hate, especially in a Medlov’s hands. Pushing old nightmares to the back of her mind, she focused on her husband. “Are you happy?” she asked.
Dmitry took the knives and put them back in the box. “Very happy.” Bending down, he kissed her lips. “You honor me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Licking her glossed lips, she took a deep breath and braced herself. “Now, what did you have to tell me?” Putting her hand on her hip, she waited.
Dmitry wasn’t a stupid man. He took the box of knives and put it across the room first. Coming back to her, he made her take a seat on the bed.
“I found out that I have another child.” Now it was time for him to brace himself.
Royal blinked fast and pushed back in the bed. “What? How old?” she asked with a frown. If this man was telling her that he had cheated, she would kill him.
Dmitry clarified. “He’s twenty years old. It happened a long time ago.”
Royal pursed her lips together and glared at him. “And the mother of this son of yours?”
“From what I’ve heard, she’s dying of cancer. If it is of any consolation,” and he knew that it was, “she wasn’t anyone special. Just someone I slept with in Trinidad.”
Somehow the news that the woman wasn’t significant in his life made her
feel better, unlike the news he had broken to her years before about him being previously married to British royalty. Shaking off the news, she clasped her hands together. “So what now?”
Was it just going to be that easy? “I just found out. I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know him,” Dmitry answered honestly. He took her hands in his. “No secrets, right.”
Royal finally looked up at her husband and nodded with a smile. “No secrets.” She tapped his hand and stood up from the bed, straightening her silk bell bottom pants. “We’ll talk about this when you get back. For now, just focus on getting our nephew back.”
“Thank you for understanding,” he said, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“Thank you for being honest,” she said, hiding the fact that the new addition to the family wasn’t exactly the best news that she had ever heard. But she knew it could have been worst. He could have hidden it from her. Instead, he chose to be open, like she had been pleading with him to do.
Dmitry looked down at his watch. Time was slipping away. “I better get ready to go. I’m going to go and kiss the kids and speak with Valeriya shortly, and then I’ll see you when I get back.” She would never know how hard it was for him to leave her every time that he did.
Royal felt the tears welding at the sides of her eyes, but she refused for the last thing he remembered of her before he left was her crying. They were stronger than that. She stood up and walked with him. “Just handle these amateurs and get home quickly.”
Dmitry appreciated that, especially now. “Yes, ma’am.”
***
Trembling from her fingers to her toes, Valeriya paced in Gabriel’s large bathroom counting back for the fifth time how many days had lapsed since her last cycle. According to her calculation, she was a week late. A week!
“Shit!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “What the fuck!”
It had been nearly three weeks since she had made love to Gabriel, three weeks since she had been with a man, and now she was…Oh God, she was pregnant.
Gabriel's Regret: Book Two (The Medlov Men 3) Page 15
