by J. B. Havens
Great, now I’m fucking arguing with her. When I see Liam again, I’m kicking him in the nuts for this.
“Do your job. That’s it.” I put my face as close to hers as I could manage in the confines of the cockpit. “That’s the only reason you’re here. To pilot this jet. Nothing more. I don’t need your opinions or your comments. And while you’re on my jet—yes, you will take my orders.” The desire to do serious and damaging violence to her was fierce as I curled my hands into fists.
“Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’m doing this as a favor to Liam. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. You guys are going to get yourselves killed.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. That’s not your concern. Liam said you’d fly us and keep your mouth shut. So far, that hasn’t been the case.”
“Copy that,” she said, pretending to be intent on the array of gauges in front of her. I left her to it and sat back down next to Jordon. The silence was blissful.
“So, how’d it go?” Jordon played innocent. I rolled my eyes and leaned my head back.
“I just want to get to Russia and get off this damn plane,” I muttered.
“It’s a jet, Mic!” Flynn shouted in exasperation.
“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep!”
****
We landed at Bykovo Airport without incident—Rook’s man came through for us and cleared the way. The runways were plowed, but the surrounding areas were buried in what appeared to be several feet of snow. Great.
There was a large silver SUV waiting for us, the exhaust swirling up around the vehicle in the cold air—I could make out a lone figure in the driver’s seat. No other people or vehicles were visible in the area. There was a large warehouse consisting of a factory of some sort, as well as various buildings scattered around left over from when it was a functioning airport.
“Is that Nickoli?” I asked Rook.
“I hope so. If not, we’re about to go to jail and Russian prisons are no picnic.” Rook’s nonchalance grated on my nerves.
“Thanks for that. Because I didn’t have enough to worry about considering we’re now fugitives of the United States.” Rolling my eyes, I gathered my gear, spurring the others to do the same. I kept an eye on the SUV while we layered on parkas and gloves. The vehicle didn’t move, which I took as a good sign.
“Take care of the jet,” I told Red as we prepared to descend the steps.
Rook had shouldered several large medic bags, knowing that he was it when it came to medical care for us. Everyone else had their rifles and gear. We took as much as we could carry. Once we got to the safe house, we would pare it down to essentials.
“I will. Call Liam when you want it back. It’ll be there waiting for you, ready to go.” She surprised me by shaking my hand as I walked past her.
“Copy. Be safe.” I left her and the jet behind, following the rest of the team across the runway into the frigid Russian climate.
“You know what this reminds me of?” Flynn joked, hiking his pack higher onto his shoulder as we made our way to the SUV. “Rocky III when they go to Russia and are getting off the plane, and Paulie is bitching about the cold.”
“Hopefully, this ends just as well,” I replied, pausing for a moment when the driver’s door of the SUV opened and the largest man I’d ever seen, besides Jackson, stepped out. He had to top out at six foot eight, at least, and he was built like a damn tank.
Even under the thick layers of clothing he wore, it was still very apparent that he was in excellent physical condition. Standing firm with his snow boot-clad feet spaced apart, his hands were tucked into the pockets of his black coat. He looked casual, but his posture belied a readiness, as if he could spring into action at any moment. I liked him already.
Rook advanced in front of us, reaching the man first and shaking his hand. Nickoli jerked Rook into a hug, thumping him on the back with a giant paw.
Reaching them, I dropped my bags at my feet and waited.
“Nickoli, this is Staff Sergeant Michaels. Better known as Mic.” Rook’s broad smile showed his missing teeth. “Mic, meet Nickoli.”
I extended my hand and received an excellent handshake in return. Nickoli’s English was heavily accented, but easy to understand. “Your reputation precedes you. If even half of what I’ve heard is true, it is my honor to meet you, Staff Sergeant.”
“The honor is mine,” I replied honestly. “We’ve all heard of Spetsnaz and regard you with great respect.”
He nodded in response. “Please, let us get out of cold. We will finish introductions at safe house. We must not linger too long.”
The roar of the jet’s engines as it took off again pushed us into action. We loaded our gear into the back of the SUV, just barely getting it all in. Nickoli slid into the driver’s seat, while I took the seat next to him. The others smashed into the back as well as they were able. There were a few perks to being in charge; riding shotgun was one of them.
“Matthew, it is good to see you, my friend,” Nickoli spoke, looking in the rearview mirror as he did so. It took me a moment to realize he was speaking to Rook—no one else called him by his first name, or his last name Riley, for that matter.
“You as well, Nickoli.” Rook reached forward, clasping Nickoli’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help. I know I speak for everyone here.”
Nickoli made a turn, pointing to a road sign that read A102. “This is main highway that leads into Zhukovsky. Remember when you are navigating. It will get you wherever you need to go.”
The highway looked very similar to those back home. If it wasn’t for the Cyrillic letters on the billboards, we could be anywhere in America. Traffic was steady; no doubt people headed home from work. Normal everyday stuff. I felt adrift and out of place; plunged into another world that had no idea of the danger in its midst.
We entered Zhukovsky within minutes, and after a series of turns, found ourselves on a street lined with suburban homes. Behind the heaping piles of snow, the homes were average—cars in the driveway, lights on, and families going about their evenings.
“This looks so much like home.” Pierce was staring intently out his window at the passing homes. “It’s strange.”
Nickoli snorted. “What did you expect? Walls and armed guards? Those days are past. This is wealthy neighborhood, compared to how most people here live. To own house is to be rich. Most people live in apartment blocks, six or more people to house with only four or five rooms. That is where girls you are searching for come from. Not here.”
He signaled a turn and pulled onto the smooth concrete driveway of a picturesque green house. A large home even by American standards. My fears of being shoved into a small space with the team were unfounded. This home was plenty big enough for us and then some. With an attached garage and heavy curtains on the windows, we would be afforded decent privacy here.
Hitting a button to raise the garage door, Nickoli pulled the SUV smoothly inside. Without needing to be told, we waited in the vehicle until the door went back down before getting out.
“Let us get you inside and settled, then I will give you what information I can. I will help you as much as I’m able, but please know that I am breaking many rules. Spetnsaz do not fight in Russia; you have me, but not them.” Nickoli led the way through a door into the kitchen.
The whole place screamed safe house. Outfitted with furniture, but not much else, it looked like a realtor would walk in any minute and tell us about the new roof and durable carpet.
“There are four bedrooms and pull out couch. I had kitchen stocked with food, so you will be able to do own cooking.” Nickoli opened the fridge and cupboards, showing shelves jammed with food. The labels were all in Russian, so I guess Rook was going to be on cooking duty.
“Everyone take a few minutes to get settled, then come back here to the dining room,” I ordered as I headed up the stairs, bag in hand. Jordon was close on my heels with the others trailing behind. I would get a bedroom; the others would have to double up or sleep on the couch.
Walking down the carpeted hallway, I opened doors until I found a room that suited me. Pale blue walls and what I guessed was a queen-sized bed made up in quilts greeted me.
Jordon pushed past me and strode into the room. “What side of the bed do you like sleeping on?” He asked from the foot of the bed where he was opening his bag.
“What? You think you’re sleeping in here with me?” I was astonished at his boldness but pleased at the same time. Even with the turmoil going on around us, Jordon was still pushing every boundary he could to be closer to me.
“Where else would I sleep? Anyway, this saves space for the others.” He walked around the room, opening a door that led to the attached bathroom, and then another which was a decent-sized closet. Looked like we were in the master suite.
“I thought we’d keep things discreet.”
“We are. We’re in a room. It’s not as if I’m bending you over the back of the couch or something.” Laughter brightened his face, erasing the lines of exhaustion brought on by hours of travel.
“Very funny.” In my head, I debated whether the argument was worth it. The team didn’t seem to care one way or the other. Steel was no longer official; we were now a rogue enterprise and the rules didn’t apply. We were fugitives—labeled as traitors of the United States. Fraternization was the least of our worries.
“I can practically hear you thinking. You know I’m right. Plus, you know you want to.” He gathered me close, backing me up against the edge of the mattress. His breath was warm on my neck, causing goose bumps to race outward from the point of contact. I shivered involuntarily.
What had I gotten myself into?
“Okay, you can sleep here.”
He kissed me noisily on the neck and released me. “There, now. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Let’s get downstairs before they wonder what we’re doing. Discretion is the better part of valor, right?”
“Now you’re worried about discretion? A little too late for that, Chris.” I spoke over my shoulder as we walked down the hallway to the stairs.
“Maybe so. Let’s do what we came here to do, then go somewhere warm and sunny.”
“You’re planning it out for us, huh?” Warm and sunny did sound nice. I had a sudden image of Chris walking out of the ocean, the sun glistening on his wet skin, shorts hanging off his hips.
“You’re not?” Confusion laced his voice.
“I’m going to wait and see if we live long enough to leave Russia. One day at a time.”
“Okay, you be sensible, I’ll hope for the future.” He patted my ass as we rounded the corner to the dining room.
Nickoli arched a brow at us, no doubt seeing Jordon’s hand on me. He didn’t comment, just continued spreading photographs and reports on the table. I liked him more by the minute.
Jones leaned against the far wall, cowboy hat in place and pulled low. Pierce and Flynn were side by side, bent over a folder. Rook was a sentinel at Nickoli’s back, arms crossed over his chest. He’d taken the time to pull his hair into a tail, low against his neck. The longer his hair got, the more pronounced his Cherokee features became.
“Okay, we’re all here. Let’s get started. What do you have for us, Nickoli?” I pushed a chair out of the way and leaned over the table, trying to make sense of the documents.
“I pulled what surveillance files we have, even called in some favors with contact in Interpol. There isn’t much information on Anton. This is all I could get my hands on without being noticed. If police here discover you are trailing him, they will arrest you. The mob and government exist in delicate balance.” Nickoli held up a photograph of Anton with his arms held out and tattoos showing. It was a prison mug shot. “This is only known photograph of Anton. He is very careful and since his release from prison ten years ago, he has not been charged with any crimes. He is slippery and cunning. You will have hard time surprising him.”
Pierce took the photo from him. “Leave that to us. We’ll manage just fine.”
“For your sake, I hope so. If you are captured, it will not go well for you.” Nickoli’s accent thickened in irritation.
“Understood. Proceed.” I needed to keep us on track, not worried about the ‘what ifs'.”
“Report came to me last night. An informant I trust said Anton made quick deal; he will be transporting skin cargo tonight. I don’t know who buyer is, but this is best chance you are going to get.”
“When and where?” Urgency gripped me hard. We were so damn close.
“That is problem. He didn’t know. All he knows is who seller is. A woman who runs brothel is selling girls to Anton. You will need to intercept them there and follow them to buyer. Anton does his own transporting. It is bigger risk for him, but he gets paid more for doing it.”
“If you know all this, why don’t you guys arrest him? And her for that matter?”
Nickoli’s heavy sigh sagged his shoulders. “Things are different here. It is not like America. Mob gives kickbacks to police and government, so they are not arrested. Corruption is high within government. Basically, if mob goes down, Russian economy will collapse. That is how tightly woven they are. Arrests will be made if crimes are so blatant they are left with no other choice, but as long as mob is discreet, they are allowed to operate how they see fit.”
“Understood. We’re not here to take down Russia. We want Anton and whoever he’s selling girls to.” It was that simple.
“Okay, where’s this brothel? And may I add something we’re all overlooking? This madam--she needs to be handled as well.” Flynn had a map and had already marked the safe house on it.
“Here.” Nickoli pointed to a large lot on the other side of town. “It looks like giant warehouse from outside, but inside is maze of hallways and rooms. You will not get inside. It is by invitation only. And leave the woman to me.”
I paused, noticing the tension of Nickoli’s jaw. I didn’t know him at all, but even to me it was apparent that this was personal for him. Why? "One thing at a time. Let’s figure out our end, then you can tell us your plan for this madam. Do you know what vehicle we need to look for?” I studied the map; the roads were not in a grid pattern like we were used to. Main roads formed concentric circles, working outward from the center of town. Cross streets connected the circles like the spokes of a wheel.
“He will have van,” Nickoli explained. “Should be easy enough to spot. They will load girls up in back of warehouse, so watch for van coming out from behind building. Then follow it.”
“Do you have a vehicle for us to use?” Flynn brought up.
“Yes, SUV in garage. Just leave at airport when you finish. Keys for house and vehicle are on counter. All information you need is here. I have already been here too long. I will be missed.” Standing and shrugging back into his coat, he paused. “As for the madam, you cannot get to her, but I can. Trust my word, her life will be forfeited.”
Jordon and I exchanged glances, taken aback by this strange Russian.
Rook stepped forward, unusually quiet, even for him. “Thank you for this, brother,” he said, clasping Nickoli’s hand again. “May we meet again.”
“Da. Until we meet again.”
“Consider your debt paid in full,” Rook said, which surprised me.
“Not yet, my friend. This is but portion of what I owe you.” Nickoli jerked Rook into a hug by the hand, slapping his back. Headlights shown briefly through the bay window of the living room, Nickoli gave a cheery wave and hurried out. A car door slammed and he was gone.
There was a bond between them that I instantly understood; the sort of bond that is only forged one way. By bloodshed on the battlefield, comingling the two into unbreakable chains of brotherhood and loyalty. It was as familiar to me as my own hands. I had forged a similar bond with each of the men in this room. It was why we were here, what brought us together, and what caused us to risk our lives without fear.
Chapter 17
Jackson stepped off the elevator, tugging slightly at
his collar. He wasn’t used to wearing his dress uniform. There weren’t many situations in Steel Corps that called for it, but when you were called to meet with the Secretary of Defense, the Army Chief of Staff, and Roberts in the same room, it was appropriate.
Reaching the end of the hallway, he checked in with the clerk manning a desk outside of the impressive wooden double doors.
“Have a seat, Master Sergeant.” The clerk directed him to a row of chairs along the wall.
His cover held loosely in his hand, Jackson did as he was told. He would have the opportunity to defy authority later. The situation with Mic had settled in his stomach like sour fruit—rancid and sickening. He had been summoned this morning to fly directly here and report ASAP.
He had no doubt that word of him choking Roberts had reached even the loftiest ears within this building. He wasn’t sure that he cared.
The desk phone rang and after answering it, the clerk ushered Jackson into the room. A lesser man might be intimidated by the power in this room, but Jackson was not. They were just men who had been put into positions of power—high ranking government officials who were corrupted by the office they held.
“Have a seat, Master Sergeant. We have much to discuss.” SecDef Warmack regally gestured to one of the plush chairs in front of his desk. Standing at his back was the Army Chief of Staff, General Grafton, who was a four-star general and a pain in the ass. The other chair was occupied by Roberts. Jackson noticed with some satisfaction the thick purple bruises covering his neck.
The SecDef sat back in his chair. “I think you know why you’re here.”
“No, sir.” No point in giving them information they might not have.
“Fine. Play dumb,” Roberts growled. “Care to explain where the jet is? Where your team is? The matter of your attack on my person yesterday will be dealt with later.”
“Roberts,” General Grafton admonished the red-faced spy.
Warmack drew Jackson’s attention. “Master Sergeant, despite Roberts’s attitude, there are indeed questions we need answers to. That jet is government property and is very expensive. Your team was not authorized to take it.”
