Rules of Revenge

by AJ Quinn

  “Information is not that hard to get if you know who to ask and are willing to pay. My father taught me that. And there were all those rumors. The men”—she released a sharp, humorless laugh—“the men found it difficult to believe a young girl could do so much damage and kill such powerful men. Men like my father. But I believed what I heard because I knew what was in my own heart. I understood what you had done. More importantly, I knew why.”

  Darien closed her eyes, sensing what was coming.

  “So I watched and studied you and learned. You became my role model.”

  The deep guilt Darien had harbored over her part in shaping who Petrov had become rose to the surface. “Your role model?”

  “Yes. It is as I said. I watched you and I learned. I also made two promises. I swore on my father’s grave I would finish what he started by helping Chechnya gain independence from Russia. And I promised myself when the time was right, I would deal with you. But then I realized I could do both.” Petrov paused as if savoring the moment. “Bringing down those jets was what you would call a stroke of genius, don’t you agree? It guaranteed someone—either your old friends at MI6 or someone from the CIA—would want to involve you. Bring you into the game. And I was right.”

  Darien struggled to keep the sudden surge of emotions from showing. “You killed all those people to draw me into a game with you?”

  “You should see your face.” Petrov laughed. “After everything you have done, I did not anticipate the thought could upset you. But as much as it would please me to have you think you are responsible for all those deaths, the truth is you were only partial motivation. The other should be obvious. I needed to demonstrate my capacity. My power.”

  “You succeeded. You had my involvement within a couple of days of bringing down those planes. And you showed the world what you were capable of. So why continue large-scale attacks—the mall, the school, the courthouse? Why not wait until the time was right and simply go after the summit?”

  “Because”—she ran the muzzle of her gun along Darien’s cheek—“before I brought down those jets, the men in my world—the ones who control the drugs and prostitutes, the ones who launder money and finance wars, all of them—viewed me as inferior. Incapable of assuming the mantle of leadership once held by my father. Not just a woman. The daughter of a whore.”

  “But you showed them they were wrong,” Darien said softly.

  Petrov stared at her. “Perhaps you do understand. Yes, I showed them how wrong they were. And as I escalated, it worked even better than I could have dreamed.”

  “How?”

  “In every way that counts. Over the years, I built a small network, but until recently, I was still operating on the outside. Finding my own sources of funds, negotiating my own deals. But showing everyone what I’m capable of changed that. It opened doors and has given me real power. For the first time in my life, I command respect.”

  Darien remained silent, mostly because she hated the idea of agreeing with Petrov.

  An instant later, all emotion faded from Petrov’s face. “Killing you will cut the last connection to my past. And after tomorrow, Russia will be brought to her knees while her allies will be too busy trying to deal with their own internal power struggles to offer any assistance. Chechnya will rise and reclaim her independence, and the people will sing my name long after I am gone.”

  Petrov wasn’t exactly mad, but neither was she completely sane. Darien considered how best to respond and decided there was little risk in the truth. “I think you’ve overlooked a critical point. The CIA, MI6, DHS? They’ll call for a tactical strike if they believe they can’t stop you from launching your attack on the summit.”

  “They won’t attack as long as I have you. As long as they think you’re still alive.”

  Darien shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. They’ll launch a strike whether I’m still here or not. I’m quite expendable.”

  Petrov stared at her, barely suppressed rage filling her eyes. “You’re marked, aren’t you? A laser tag of some kind to track you. They will use it to lock on to you.” She lashed out in anger. She’d still been holding a gun, and the solid metal connected hard with Darien’s ribs, stealing her breath. “I can kill you now and have your body thrown overboard.”

  “It’s too late.” Struggling to breathe, she had to force the words. “They’ll already have your coordinates. You won’t make it out of this alive.”

  “You are wrong. I plan on living a very long life,” Petrov said coldly. “But I’m afraid the same cannot be said for you. You will live only long enough to see me destroy the world leaders attending the summit. Long enough to know you have failed. And then—well, then you will die.”

  Darien didn’t see the next blow coming. Or the one after that.

  Pain didn’t have time to register as the hook she was attached to broke free. Unable to break her fall, she landed hard, forcing the air from her lungs as her head rocked back on the wood-plank floor. She saw a blinding flash of light.

  And then there was nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Inside a building set up as a temporary command post, oblivious to the chaos around her, Jessie stared at the images on a large flat screen. Since shortly after midnight, they had been receiving a continuous satellite video feed of Nadia Petrov’s location, making it clear they were no longer searching for a needle in a haystack.

  Thanks to Darien’s GPS tracking signal, they knew exactly where Petrov was—onboard a gleaming blue-hulled custom yacht currently anchored on the leeward side of an uninhabited island about ten miles offshore. It was not lost on Jessie that Petrov had named the yacht Reprisal.

  Watching the activity on the monitor was proving to be easier than listening to the discussion taking place at command, between the various agencies involved in the operation. There was no consensus on a course of action, and the discussion had become heated as Grace went nose-to-nose with a pair of suits from DHS and a three-star general. Arguing logistics and what would constitute the best approach. Deciding whether to launch an armed incursion or to call for an airstrike and obliterate the yacht and any weapons onboard before they could be used.

  Both scenarios significantly threatened Darien’s life. At least for now, the green tracking dot from her tag continued to blink steadily, reassuring Jessie she was still alive, somewhere onboard the yacht.

  Wandering away from the never-ending argument, she found Ben silently staring out the door into the remnant of the moonless night, as if somehow it offered him hope. She recognized his stillness now and knew it was his way of containing his emotions. His way of dealing with the fear they shared for Darien.

  “I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat,” he said without looking up.

  “I know,” she responded. “Darien knows that too. Hopefully, she knows how we all feel about her and will use that knowledge to give herself strength to hold on. At least long enough for us to bring her back.”

  “Maybe, but it doesn’t sound as if those boys from DHS are going to leave anything to chance. Darien doesn’t figure into their plans. Nor do I think they’re going to give her the time she needs to get away.”

  “I know. I listened in on part of the discussion.” Jessie paused and licked her lips. “I’m not in my element here, Ben, but I want to go after her.”

  “Believe me, I know how you feel. But you can’t do that any more than I can. There’s too much on the line, too many lives at stake. And Darien would never forgive us.”

  “I know that. But we both also know it’s not straightforward revenge Petrov’s after. She doesn’t just want to kill Darien. She wants her to suffer first, and that scares me.” Jessie knew the longer Darien was with Petrov, the more the scales tipped against her. “I tell myself not to think about it—about what’s happening to her, what she’s going through. I know if I think about it, I’ll fall apart and that won’t help her. It won’t help anyone. But it’s all I can think about. I’m crazy
about her, Ben. And I can’t help her.”

  She thought she saw a look of understanding in Ben’s eyes.

  “Don’t tell Grace,” he said, and the corner of his mouth tipped up, “but you’re exactly what I hoped for Darien all these years. Someone who could help her learn to love herself as much as she was capable of loving someone else. Enough to make her want to live past the age of thirty.”

  Ben fell silent, and as they stood together in the cool gray mist watching a thin ground fog swirl, Jessie lost all sense of time. She didn’t notice the approaching dawn until she heard the sound of footsteps and turned to see her mother and the general approach.

  Grace didn’t have to say anything—the status of the operation was evident by the expression on her face. Jessie knew the window for Darien to get away from Petrov had all but closed.

  “General Bartlett’s arranged to get you onto a coast guard search-and-rescue helicopter,” Grace said.

  “When?”

  “In a matter of minutes. Our hope is it will get you close enough to Petrov’s yacht without raising too many questions. Close enough for you to be able to communicate with Darien.”

  Jessie felt her body start to hum, felt faintly breathless, and recognized what she was feeling as the resurgence of hope.

  “You need to contact Troy and tell her to get the hell out of there,” Bartlett said. “The order’s been given to launch the birds at first light. Once they’re launched, there’ll be no turning back. The orders are to level the yacht and everyone on her.”

  *

  Darien opened her eyes, fighting to get past the initial disorientation. She was lying on the floor. Her head was pounding, her eyes burned, and she had to struggle to breathe deeply as she tried to fight both nausea and chills. It was then she heard the sweetest sound.

  “Dare, can you hear me?”

  Her tiny earpiece was somehow, miraculously, still intact. Still working. It was her only connection to the rest of the world—and Jesslyn. Hearing Jessie’s voice, even faintly, told her help was close at hand. The knowledge flooded her with a rush of emotion. “Where are you?”

  “Oh, Jesus. Tell me you’re okay.” The relief in Jessie’s voice was clear. So was the tension.

  “I’m all right.”

  “Dare, listen to me. You need to get out of there, now. Your window’s just about gone. I’m on an SAR chopper…damn, we’ll be going out of range in just a few seconds, but we’ll be close by. Darien? Do you hear me? We’ll pick you up, that’s a promise.”

  “I’m counting on that,” Darien murmured hoarsely, her throat tight. “But Jesslyn, if you don’t find me…if we don’t see each other—”

  “No. Don’t say it. We’ll find you. I’ll find you.” There was nothing else as the helicopter Jessie was in flew out of range.

  For the next several heartbeats, Darien remained frozen. Numb. She knew the odds, had known them all along, and for the first time in her life, she was afraid she might lose. She’d never doubted herself before and it left her momentarily shaken.

  But not for long. Instinct and training and a strong dose of self-preservation kicked in. She wasn’t prepared to lose. Not now. Especially not to Dmitri Petrov’s daughter. Jessie had said her window was about to close. That could only mean someone was about to launch an attack, intent on wiping out Petrov and her deadly arsenal. And that meant she needed to get off the Reprisal. Now.

  She stumbled awkwardly to her feet, biting back a groan as a sharp, nearly blinding pain slashed through her when she tried to use her bound hands. She realized her left hand wasn’t working and that every breath brought a new stab of pain. Dizzy, she staggered toward the stairs, using her teeth as she moved to work at the rope binding her hands.

  She was trembling from a combination of pain and exertion by the time she reached the top of the stairs. But she managed to get one hand free, leaving the rope dangling from her injured left wrist. She stopped, grateful to discover a thick fog shrouding the boat and everything on it, and stood for what seemed like forever. Calculating the distance to the side of the yacht.

  It was now or never. She moved from the stairway but was still ten feet away, seconds from making her escape, when a loud voice behind her yelled out for her to stop.

  There could be no complying. She took off, and three successive shots followed, their sound deafening. The exploding burn came a second later. Her hip and her side screamed in protest. She staggered but didn’t slow down. Running hard, she hurtled over the edge of the boat, a free fall into the dark water below that drove all thought from her mind.

  In the seconds that followed, the water enveloped her. It wrapped cold arms around her, and for an instant, dark oblivion beckoned. She felt more than heard the next shots fired in her direction. But she was free, gasping for air and treading water before using a steady stroke to put distance between her and the boat.

  She began calculating, knowing the human body cooled much faster in water than in cold air, and with the water temperature somewhere below sixty degrees, her chances of survival depended on being able to hold out until rescue came. She was losing blood, and as the minutes passed, she knew it wouldn’t be long before the stiffness of hypothermia set in.

  She paused when she thought she heard something. Thought she saw something streaking overhead. And realized there was no more time. She gulped in air and dived. A moment later, the world around her lit up and shockwaves buffeted her as Petrov’s yacht exploded.

  *

  Jessie sat in the cargo hold of the SAR helicopter. From her position, she could just make out the screen in front of the copilot and felt reassured by the constant presence of the green GPS dot that showed her where Darien was.

  She was still watching when she heard the words come over her PRR. “The Predators are in the air.”

  A chill swept over her. “How long do we have?” Jessie asked.

  No one answered. But it really didn’t matter. Less than a minute later, the explosion lit up the sky where the Reprisal had been. It blinded her for an instant as orange-red fire erupted, almost close enough for her to feel the heat.

  The percussion rumbled and deafened as the rockets impacted, sending a shower of wood and fiberglass and metal soaring into the air. Jessie stared in disbelief as the water appeared to boil, and smoke rose toward the sky.

  She hadn’t thought it would be any harder being this close, but she could feel her emotions crowd her as the helicopter flew over the site in the first red streak of dawn. Searching blindly, since Darien’s tracking signal had gone silent in the minutes before the Predators had unleashed a rain of fire.

  God, Darien. After all she’d done and been through, she didn’t deserve this. Jessie stared sightlessly at the empty space between her boots.

  “Jessie…” She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder and looked up into Ben’s face. He looked stricken, pain etched in his features. But she also saw sympathy in his eyes as he reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “Come sit by me, we can look together.”

  Moving numbly to the open side of the chopper, with the wind pulling at her hair, Jessie fixed her eyes on the dark water below as they moved in a coordinated search pattern. Scanning. Searching the widening debris field, but finding nothing. No sign of life. Only the churn of water, as the remains of Petrov’s yacht slowly disappeared into the ocean, and the bodies were pulled into the Zodiacs searching below.

  Each time a body was found, Jessie’s stomach sank and her heart stuttered. Each time, after an endless wait, the same report came through clearly over her PRR. It wasn’t Darien.

  But each time she felt hope fade a little more.

  It might have been seconds but could just as easily have been hours later, when one of the crew members leaning out of the chopper called out. “There!”

  Grabbing binoculars, Jessie sighted, tried to see where he was pointing. And then her blood ran cold. She could see a body lying partially across a large square piece of debris. Facedown, da
rk hair floating in the water, T-shirt torn to the skin in numerous places. Jessie’s stomach rolled and her mind went blank.

  Oh God, no. Don’t do this to me. Don’t let me lose her.

  The helicopter banked and moved closer. Jessie saw two rescue swimmers jump into the water, their powerful strokes bringing them swiftly to Darien. They turned her over gently, one checking for a pulse before looking up toward the chopper and shaking his head.

  Jessie’s heart fractured. But as she watched Darien’s head loll listlessly, one of the two swimmers suddenly began puffing air into Darien’s lungs while the other attached her to the harness that would lift her out of the water.

  “Bleeding and unresponsive…no pulse…hypothermia…”

  The message came through the PRR garbled and broken. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered to Jessie was Darien needed help and it was taking too long for them to get her into the helicopter.

  When they finally laid her on the deck, she appeared lifeless. Cold and pale, her lips were faintly blue, as blood and seawater ran off her face. More blood flowed freely from her hip and from her side, and there was a large contusion visible near her temple. Ben immediately slipped into position and started the rhythmic chest compressions, while Grace placed the mask over Darien’s mouth. Sinking to her knees, mindless of the cold water and the blood pooling around Darien’s lifeless body, she steadily worked the bulb.

  Simultaneously, a medic began to cut Darien’s wet clothes. He quickly dealt with the bleeding, applying field dressings to her wounds, then covered her with a thermal blanket.

  Jessie tried not to think about how much time had passed since they’d first pulled Darien from the water. Or how long it had been since she last took a breath of air on her own. But even as she watched Ben and her mother desperately working to coax life back into Darien, she felt herself dying inside.

  Come on, Darien. You’re too strong to let anyone take you out like this. Fight, damn it. You promised.