by Sadie Jacks
The room had more clothes than a department store. A full section devoted to evening wear alone. I hope this woman rotted in hell when she eventually died. Where was the female solidarity? Did she think I was trying to get one of her men? Was she afraid I was going to look better than her?
Bitch.
Skimming the racks of dresses, I pulled a couple down. Stood in front of the mirror. After a couple minutes, I was replacing two dresses and stepping into the third.
A simple black dress, it was cut high on the hip, in case I needed to run. It skimmed my body, not allowing too much fabric to restrict my movement. It was also high necked, so I wouldn’t have to worry about not having a bra. The dip of the back line hovered a few inches north of my butt crack. I figured it was a tradeoff for the other benefits. And it would show the bruises. Let them see their marks of dominance.
I walked back out of the closet in short order. “Will this work?”
Svetlana’s mouth gaped open and shut, her face slack, her eyes wide. “That is your choice?”
I nodded. “I’m not trying to upstage you or your friends. I want to get through this dinner and be done.”
She closed her mouth. Nodded. “Then yes. What shoe do you wear?”
“I wear a size eight.”
She nodded. “I have these.” She crossed by me, stepped back into the closet. Her hands were full of a generic box as she came back out into the room. “They are not real, but they are close enough.”
Pulling the lid off the box, she showed me a pair of black strappy stilettos with the trademark red sole. “If those aren’t real, they are some of the best fakes I’ve ever seen.”
She smiled. “I’ll help you.” She shooed me over to the bed.
Once I took a seat, she lifted my right foot. Slid the shoe onto my foot.
Something stabbed me at the toe. “Ouch.” I yanked my foot back.
She looked up at me, her brows furrowed. “What?”
I told her the problem. She shoved her fingers into the toe of the shoe. Pulled her hand back out. It was empty.
“Try again?” she asked.
I nodded. Having seen the shoes, I really wanted to wear them. When the shoes went on without an issue, I sighed. Let her put the second shoe on my other foot. Getting to my feet, I walked around the room a couple times. Nodded. “These will work great.”
Svetlana smiled. “Good. Now we wait to be summoned.” She sat on her bed. Patted a spot next to her.
“How long will that be?” I asked as I took a seat.
She shrugged. “When they are ready to come get us.” With that, she went silent.
Chapter 28 – Foster
Pulling up to the curb at the arrivals section of the Moscow airport, I ran the information Nik had given me through my mind again.
Antonia had been moving product into Russia for a couple years now. Karine had been her contact. Her broker. Her go-between. According to Mas, who still hadn’t arrived yet, Antonia had been meeting with the Russians two years ago in Italy. That’s when they’d hooked up and Antonia had gotten pregnant.
The front passenger door opened moments before the other doors did. I wasn’t really surprised when I saw Mas slide into the front seat. Nor was I really surprised when he had a knife at my throat in the next breath.
“My sister dies, you die,” he said in his broken whispered voice.
I nodded carefully. “As your entire family has stated. I’m bringing her back Mas.”
“My name is Wraith until this is over.” He pulled the blade from my neck.
“You got it, Wraith. Your handler said you would be here earlier.” I turned to look at him.
A wry smile pulled at his mouth. “Turo is not my handler.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t know if you wanted the rest of them to know the family’s names.” I tipped my head to the backseats. In the rearview mirror, the group of six guys—well, five men and one woman—looked like a death announcement. Straight faces, grim looks, I had zero doubt that they were killing machines.
Mas made some kind of motion in the air.
“Alpha Team. We work under Wraith,” the man nearest the door answered.
I nodded. “Great. And your call signs?” I had no idea which ones were from PC and which ones were the Amatucci men…or woman.
The two at the very back of the van eased forward. The one on the left said, “You don’t recognize us, Ambright?”
I narrowed my eyes at them in the rearview mirror. When that didn’t help, I turned to look at the back of the vehicle. I hit the overhead lights.
Everyone blinked rapidly.
“You little shits,” I said around a smile. “What the fuck are you riding bitch on this for?”
Hunter ‘Tank’ Matthews was a former Navy SEAL. Short cropped light brown hair, a long wiry body, and pale blue eyes, I’d helped recruit him for personal protection for Penn and Willow. He was a master marksman and a deadly weapon in his own right.
Maggie ‘Smoke’ Rollins was Willow’s choice for personal protection. With her dark red hair, blue eyes, and freckles, she looked like a sexy cartoon character. But her list of qualifications was as long as my right leg. Her Australian accent was a lilting song of obscenities and inventive epithets I’d never heard before.
“You know their call signs. I’m Roger,” the man in the front called. As bland a call sign as his descriptions. He had medium brown hair, dark eyes, and ruddy skin. The thing that saved him from sinking into obscurity was the light in his eyes.
I’d been in clandestine operations for fifteen years. And I’d only seen that expression on a couple of faces. The man was a psychopath, straight up, unrepentant. The fact that he rolled under Mas’ team spoke of his loyalty to the Amatucci family, and his direct boss, in particular.
“Name or call sign?” I asked Roger.
He looked at me. Nodded.
I would take that as an answer.
“They can introduce themselves later. We need to debrief,” Mas said.
I nodded, pulled away from the curb. “That will need to wait until we get back to my place. There are too many eyes and ears in this country. Never assume you are truly alone.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mas nod. He pulled his phone from his pocket, powered it up.
Weaving my way through traffic, I kept darting glances back at the cargo van. I saw one large bag, but that was it in terms of checked luggage. “Where are your bags?” I asked as we pulled to a halt at a stoplight.
Mas didn’t answer. I hadn’t really expected him to. The man only spoke when absolutely necessary.
“They were shipped directly. We need to stop and pick them up,” Roger answered. He leaned forward, tapped my arm.
“I knew that. But what about your personal bags?”
Roger just shook his head.
I grabbed the small piece of paper he handed me. Noted the address. Nodding, I planned a different route to get home. It would be fine. One I hadn’t used yet.
We were running out of time, but we would need the extra firepower. Not to mention whatever medical case Ryker had packed along with them. “You guys came in on a private jet. You couldn’t have shipped your personal luggage. Not and expect it to have gotten here before you.”
“We packed as light as possible to reduce our time out in the open. We just need to pick up the stuff from Germany,” one of the unknown team said.
Right. I had to remember who I was dealing with. And government sanctioned operators they were not.
Within about twenty minutes, we pulled up outside the international shipper’s address. Roger and Mas unloaded as the rest of the team moved about the cavernous space in the back. Two guys came out, dollies piled high with boxes. Mas and Roger followed behind them, two more dollies weighted down.
In short order, the van was full to the brim. I was glad I was in the driver’s seat, it was so full back there. Turning us towards home, I pulled back out into traffic. Some things, no matter how
long it’s been since you did it, never leave your muscle memory.
“We’ve got a tail,” I said softly.
Mas nodded. “I noticed him at the shipping yard. Roger is running info.”
I held my silence. Right now, these men only listened to Mas. That would need to change, but that change could come after we made it to the safe house in one piece.
“Car is registered to the Kamenov family.”
“Shit. How long does the registration go back?” I demanded as I took a quick turn.
“Four weeks,” Roger said.
“They’re using the Kamenov family as cover. Hold on to your hats, boys and girls. This is going to get bumpy.” In my mind, the city streets of Moscow opened up into an interactive grid. Multiped routes showed up as possibilities of escape.
I rejected most of them as quickly as they presented themselves. “Anyone hooked up into civilian or government street cams?” I asked.
“Go,” the man who’d spoken before said.
“I’m going to run a couple red lights. I want footage of the guys following us. The lights will be on Bolshaya Ordynka. I’ll try to hit as many as I can without getting stopped.” So saying, I stomped on the gas. Burned through a yellow light. Barely slowing, I ripped around the next left.
“Start now,” I said as I pushed the accelerator to the floor. Laying on the horn, I plowed through traffic.
A couple miles down the line, the guy spoke again. “I’ve got them. Now get us out of here. You’ve pulled at least four beat cops to you.”
I nodded, slammed on the brakes. Sliding into a parking garage, I pulled through all the way up to the third floor. Pulling into a slot, I turned off the engine. “I’ve got two cars. Unload, divvy up.” I got out of the van. Walked over to the cars I had one of my contacts deliver around the city.
“Destination is on the navigation system.” I rattled off the address to the safe house. “Use that in case you need to detour. Wipe the system if you have to.” Grabbing boxes and bags from the back, I directed them to split up the packages.
We were done within two minutes. I slid behind the wheel of the first car. The other doors opened as those traveling with me got in the car as well. I heard four doors slam shut on the other car.
Backing out of the space with all the ease of a Sunday drive, I merged into the short line of traffic exiting from the car park. In my rearview mirror, I saw the other car and its passengers go the other way.
Bopping my head to a silent beat as two cop cars sailed by, we were on our way before the cops ever knew to look for us somewhere else.
“Well done,” Mas said.
I nodded. Kept driving.
We finished the trip in silence. Once we didn’t have to worry about anyone following us, and being in a different vehicle, the trip went by pretty quickly. But I would be disposing of the car at the earliest opportunity regardless.
Pulling up to the apartment building that held the safe house, we were able to buckle down and carry everything in one trip.
Just as I was turning to shut the door, the other members of the team came up. Their arms and shoulders weighed down with bags and boxes. I shuffled back, let them in.
Once everyone was safely inside the room, I bolted the door and set the perimeter alarms I’d installed. No one would be sneaking up on us. Not if they wanted to live, they wouldn’t.
“There’s not a lot of space but grab whatever corner looks most inviting. We’ve got debrief in fifteen minutes. I’ll conference in the family,” I announced. “There’s food in the fridge. Bottled water. And I’m going to make some coffee.”
“Where’s the john?” one of the guys called.
“Down the hall, to the right. Can’t miss it.”
“I’m Striker. What can I do to help?” the man who’d been in charge of grabbing camera footage said. About my height, he was of Asian descent. Black eyes, black hair, olive skin. Intelligence and humility exuded from him.
“Striker, call me Arch Angel.” I stuck out my hand.
Mas snorted as Striker shook my head. “Nik gave you a different one.”
I laughed. “I’ll wait to hear it from her. I don’t want to get pissed off this close to go time.” I turned back to Striker. “Get me the footage you collected. We need to identify as many of these people as we can.” I wasn’t leaving a single stone unturned.
Striker nodded and took a seat at the table. Within moments, he had his gear set up and was flicking through files faster than I could register the images.
“Bear is in the bathroom,” Roger said. “This is Macon.” He pointed to the last guy who was using a crate as a chair. He was hunched over a case, his expression full of love.
Macon looked up, nodded when he caught my gaze. Without looking away, he pulled a rifle from the case. He dipped his head, started cleaning it.
“He’s our shooter,” Roger said.
I nodded. “I’m glad to have all of you here. I’m sorry I pulled you away from whatever you had planned.”
Roger shook his head. “We’re not here for you. We’re here for Tali.”
I nodded again. “Understood. Did Nik or Turo send you the information while you were on the plane?”
Everyone nodded. Smoke, Tank, and Bear took spots on the floor and bed. Roger got the last seat at the table. Mas was standing near the kitchen counter. He was cutting an apple with what looked like a custom knife. The man loved his knives.
“Good, then this part will be easy. To recap, Karine Petrova hooked up with Antonia de Silva a little more than two years ago when de Silva was wanting to break into Russia with her operation. They apparently hit it off. Well enough, anyway, for de Silva to either gift or source documents for Karine. De Silva wiped her whole background, gave her a clean slate.”
I watched Mas as I talked about his onetime flame.
His expression was like it always was…cool, calm, collected. If Mas showed emotions, I had yet to see it in person. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it.
“Karine Petrova is also the biggest broker around here now. She’s the point person for almost every black-market source and resource you can name. One of her specialties, information. My local contacts said that the Medvedev family were the ones with the initial information about Amara.”
Mas growled low in his throat.
“According to Nik and her team, they were given false information to lure one of the Amatucci siblings out of hiding.”
“Why? That’s what I don’t get. And I know it doesn’t matter right now, but I’d love an answer to that eventually,” Smoke said.
“Because Karine Petrova is hot for Arch Angel’s baby making juice,” Macon said without lifting his head.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure about all of that, but Karine is after me.”
“So the information was targeted for Tali, then,” Roger made it a statement.
I nodded. “Through the various lines of communication and operation Petrova has, she whispered the right words into the right ear at the right time. From best guess, the false information was leaked at one of the soirees that the Foundation hosted six weeks ago.”
Right when I’d been teaching Talia tradecraft. Right when she was most vulnerable to the game. An excellent student, she thought she’d struck gold. And wouldn’t let anyone play with her. Her burning need to best her brothers was at the heart of all of this mess.
I couldn’t even blame her for it. But I would definitely paddle her ass for it. Running off book was the best way to get everyone killed. I knew that for a fact.
“And we’re sure the information is false?” Mas asked as he rubbed a hand down his throat.
I shook my head. “With Petrova, anything is possible. She’s target number two. We take her alive.”
Mas nodded, looked at his team. “Alive.”
Everyone nodded back.
“I’ve got the footage, Arch Angel,” Striker said. “I’ve also hooked up with Grasshopper back home. They’re ready when you are.�
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I took my seat. “Nik, I’ve got the basics out. You get to tell us all what you’ve found.”
The entire team got up, crowded around Striker’s laptop.
“Hey gang.” Nik waved. “I’ve got some sketchy information from my collective contact. It wasn’t a direct relation who was the beat cop on the brothel street in Stockholm. But it is a direct relation. I have information, but it’s only about seventy-five percent verified.”
I snorted. “That’s better than one hundred percent from anyone else.”
The strike team snorted in unison. “Damn straight.”
“Go ahead, Nik,” I said.
She nodded. “So take a trip with me to Stockholm, 1968. Well, the brothel at least, I’m pretty sure none of you care about the politics of the government at that time. So the brothel that Papa and his brothers went to is still in business. Although the property has changed names enough time to give Puff Daddy a run for his money.”
I smirked.
“Okay, so we’ve got two rival families in the same space. They didn’t know they were rivals, though. Outside of some racist remarks by both sides, there was no obvious indication that they were Families. Night Terrors and the Amatuccis weren’t even in the same business back then. Especially considering the Night Terrors were more about anarchy and fear mongering at that point. They were mostly local in their little pond. It wasn’t until after Stockholm that they developed a more global approach.”
“Third party,” Mas said.
Nik nodded. “Exactly. There was a local family, not a Family mind you, but someone who liked to play chess. Liked to move people around on their chosen board. According to some obscure references, a group of people named Petter were information runners during World War II. They dealt in secrecy at the highest levels. They also remained under the radar of their own government, which allowed them to flourish.”
“So Clan Petter is the third party,” Striker said.
Nik nodded again. “Exactly. Seems they’ve been in the information game since World War II. They have people all over the globe. Think MI6, CIA, and Mossad, but without governmental oversight.”
