Stealth Ops Series Box Set

by Brittney Sahin

  Gasps blew through the room. Owen looked straight at Laszlo.

  The man’s shoulders sagged forward at the president’s words, and he turned away from the screen and began scanning the room. He was searching for someone, and the look on his face—

  “He’s surprised,” Sam whispered over her shoulder, echoing Owen’s thoughts.

  The president continued to explain the events that had taken place, but Owen could barely hear him as he tried to make sense of the situation at hand.

  The look in Laszlo’s eyes now. The flirting with the blonde. “I don’t think Laszlo planned this,” he whispered into Sam’s ear.

  “I’m here before you today asking for your forgiveness,” President Rydell said. “Please do not let the wrongful actions of the past eclipse what you are trying to do here today.” He paused, and Owen looked back at the screen. “The United States has every intention of rectifying the mistakes made, and I am asking for all three countries to work together for peace.”

  “I have to find Alexander,” Owen said as the president finished his words, the room surprisingly silent, as if trying to work through their shock.

  Sam faced him. “Did Laszlo really not know what his son was planning?”

  “I don’t know, but the fire alarms are about to go off to clear the building,” he said softly, so no one would hear. “Stay with your dad’s Secret Service. The second the alarm goes off, get the hell out of here. Got it?” He gripped her shoulders, staring deep into her eyes.

  This would be the hard part, the part of the plan where he’d have to leave her.

  “What about Laszlo?” she asked, a frantic tone to her voice now that everything was actually happening.

  He peeked at Laszlo rubbing the skin on his forehead as if reliving the loss of his wife. “If he’s guilty, he’ll stay behind.”

  “Okay. Be safe,” she said as the alarms started to screech, and the howling sound created the intended panic among the guests.

  Owen wished he could escort Sam out himself, but he might not be able to get back into the building, and he couldn’t leave, not with his men inside. He’d have to trust the Secret Service agents to keep her safe.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said, reading his thoughts as people began bumping into them.

  Her father reached for her arm and looked Owen’s way, perhaps recognizing Owen was behind the sudden commotion.

  He didn’t know what to say at that moment, so he nodded and turned toward the kitchen, fighting against the storm of people.

  Outside the banquet hall, he retrieved his pistol, maneuvered through the kitchen, and then took the flight of stairs below.

  Two dimly lit tunnels.

  Two directions.

  He turned left and rushed down the basement hall.

  No doors in sight, and the damn tunnel felt never-ending, but if Alexander Kozak was planning to escape, one of the tunnels would be his exit strategy.

  “We’re . . . bah—on . . . comms.” Jess’s voice, with pops of static, sounded in his ear a few minutes later.

  “Bravo Three deactivated the weapon?”

  Static and muffled words.

  Shit. He needed to get out of the tunnel to hear her, to make sure everything was okay.

  He’d have to give up his hunt for Alexander and hope to hell one of his teammates had already gotten to him.

  He hurried up the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Flames were crawling up the walls and leaping from stoves to counters.

  That sure as hell wasn’t part of the plan.

  “Do you copy?” He covered his face with his shirt and made his way back to the banquet hall, finding that room up in flames as well. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Bravo Two, the device has been deactivated, but the place is burning,” Jess announced.

  Owen glanced around at the flames now climbing all of the red floor-to-ceiling drapes. He lowered his shirt from his mouth to answer, “Yeah, I’m still inside.”

  “We have a problem,” Jess announced, and it had him slowing near the double doors that led to the exit. “I did a deep dive into the metadata tonight while I was waiting, and—”

  Her words had him halting altogether. “Just tell me. What is it?”

  “It wasn’t Laszlo Kozak who paid Cheng.”

  “Bravo Two, you copy?” It was Luke’s voice on the line now, interrupting Jess.

  “Copy,” he sputtered, trying to process Jess’s news. He began to cough from the smoke, and he caught sight of firefighters heading through the doors, motioning for him to come toward them.

  But his feet were stuck to the fucking ground.

  A crackling sound. Static. And then Luke’s low voice came over the line. “Samantha never exited the building.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Ten Minutes Earlier . . .

  The fire alarms wailed in her ears, and she could practically feel the pulse of the noise moving through her veins. Men and women frantically gathered, pushing and shoving to get toward the exit.

  “Come on.” One of her father’s guards urged her along.

  Her dad peeked at her from over his shoulder, making sure she was okay before he began moving with the crowd.

  Sam did the same, glancing back to spy Owen on his way out. Their eyes connected, he gave a hard nod, and then he disappeared through the side door that led to the kitchen area.

  Please be safe. She started to walk, only to stop seconds later at the feel of something hard pressing into her back.

  Before she could pivot to see who or what was behind her, a voice whispered, “Come with me, or you die.”

  Her body stilled, and her mind went blank.

  “Come, or I start shooting at the crowd.” The command in her ear had her lids nearly dropping.

  She slowly slipped her hand to the chain at her neck, hoping to draw strength from Owen’s necklace. “Okay,” she said over her shoulder.

  Walking backward as a hand tugged at her hip, she spotted her dad and bodyguard near the doors. Her dad glanced back and threw his hand in the air, motioning for her to hurry. But then he was pushed and shoved out of sight by the herd of desperate people, fleeing as if the room were actually on fire.

  Suddenly, the smell of something burning caught her nostrils. She whirled around to see the overhead screen, with POTUS’s face, up in flames.

  “Now,” the voice raged in her ear, and she spun to face the man. Viktor Frigging Gromov.

  “You,” she whispered.

  He yanked her arm in the direction of the flames eating at the screen. The gun poked into her side as they exited the room.

  Once in the kitchen, a cloud of smoke slammed into her. She began to gasp for air. Her legs moved slower, and she coughed into her fist. The fire roared to new life, the flames licking the ceiling with purposeful intent.

  “Hurry!” His fingers dug painfully into her arm as he dragged her out of the kitchen.

  Away from the fire, she sucked in a breath of air through her burning lungs. “Where are we going?”

  Gromov yanked open a door that led to a stairwell and then pointed to the steps with his gun. “Go down.”

  When she didn’t move, he grabbed hold of her arm and drew her closer, pointing the gun at her forehead. All she could see was the black metal.

  His fist connected with her abdomen a moment later, and a cry of pain tore from her mouth. Her lips twisted in rage; she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her.

  “Go. Now. Or I’ll throw you down the stairs.” His dark eyes leered at her, and he stepped closer, as if ready to hit her in the face with the butt of the gun.

  She surrendered with upheld palms and rushed past him as fast as she could without tripping in her heels.

  Another hacking cough broke from her lips when she found herself in a basement.

  “You’ve ruined everything,” he snarled as he shoved at her back.

  She stumbled forward and fell to her knees.

/>   He grabbed hold of her hair, a sharp pain at her scalp as he pulled her upright to her feet. He nudged her in the back again with the gun. “Which way?” she asked, looking left and right. The two halls looked more like tunnels that led to a black nothingness.

  “Right,” he rasped.

  She slowly moved, trying to dodge the few low-hanging bulbs that dangled from thin cords. “So, you are working with the Kozaks. How’d they convince you to get on board?”

  “You think a weak man like Laszlo could’ve planned this?” He sniggered. “I invited him here tonight, but he does not know what is going on.” His Russian tongue swept through his words, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood.

  “You care to enlighten me?” she boldly asked, hoping to keep herself alive for as long as possible to give Owen a chance to get to her.

  “Laszlo told me about some hacker approaching him—offering him evidence that his wife did not die in Iraq.” The words ripped from his mouth like a blast from a rifle, hot anger spilling hard into the air. “But he didn’t want to do anything about it. He wanted to let the past stay in the past. Not even tell his son.”

  She spun to face him, nearly bumping into his tall frame. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “I went to this hacker and made the purchase when Laszlo refused.” He looked heavenward for a moment. “There is no place in Russia for weakness.”

  “Not even for your friend?” Her arms trembled at her sides. “You were never in support of border peace, were you? The day we met, you were lying to me—but why?” She thought back to Brussels, trying to wrap her head around everything.

  He lowered his gun to the side, and she considered making a move for the weapon, but she had zero hand-to-hand combat skills, and so she stood frozen in place.

  “There can never be peace. Ukraine belongs to Russia.”

  “So, you were always planning an attack, but you were going to blame Ukraine, right? Have both the U.S. and Russia turn on them. That way, they’d never get into NATO.” She gathered a breath. “And then you realized you didn’t have to find someone to blame when you learned about Teteruk and the U.S. cover-up.”

  “At first I thought this couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. Our lives being connected as such. But when I had the photo of your fiancé delivered to you . . . I realized you didn’t know the truth. Your father—he did, but you were a victim.” He let out a heavy sigh.

  “What?” She lightly shook her head.

  “I had liked you, you know. When we met in July, you had balls. Bigger balls than your father, and I can appreciate that. But your plans for peace and to help Ukraine are absurd. Do you really think the people here tonight from Russia expect to bow down to your country or Ukraine?” He tsked. “I had hoped you’d do the right thing when I gave you the evidence, and then maybe I’d spare your life tonight. But you didn’t. You sided with the Ukrainians, just like your father, even knowing they killed your fiancé.”

  “That’s not why—” She cut herself off, realizing the asshole didn’t deserve an explanation from her. “So, you’ve been using me since the moment we met.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she edged down the hall.

  “Better you work with me than find some weak man to try and get your agenda passed.”

  “It sounds like you were confident I’d succeed,” she snapped.

  “I guess fate kisses the hands of the worthy. And clearly, my friendship with Laszlo was meant to be, so I could discover the harsh truth of what that Ukrainian militant did—and how your country hid it from the world. The U.S. chose to pay off a murderer—and for what?”

  She slowly turned, a bone-chilling fear creeping up the back of her neck. “Are you sure you care about your country so much? Or do you love the money your defense company would make if there were war?” She took slow steps, not anxious to go wherever the hell he wanted to take her, knowing it’d be the end of the road.

  His hand curved around her bicep, stopping her, and he yanked her back around.

  She sneered at him. “There are other ways to go about finding justice, you know. Killing a crowd of a hundred and fifty people and turning nations against each other? That only makes you a terrorist and a psycho.”

  “It makes me smart.” He leaned forward. “My company relies on war and violence. There will never be peace as long as greed exists.”

  “So, we’re back to money?”

  He pointed toward the ground, an angry scowl marring his lips. “Tatyana Kozak deserves justice.”

  “Right. Love of country is a distant second to money. And justice is a far third. You just wanted to use what happened to Tatyana to get you closer to your goals.”

  He forced her back around. Before moving forward, she kicked off her heels.

  “How do the Kozaks fit into all of this?” she asked a minute later when she found herself facing a closed door at the end of the tunnel. “Are you setting them up? Are they your fall guys? Is that how much your friendship is worth?” She faced him, her stomach wrenching, disbelief an echo in her mind as he remained quiet. “You hired someone from Alexander’s company, making it look like he smuggled in the weapon earlier as an A/C guy.” She thought back to everything Owen’s team had discovered, everything that had led them to pin the crime on the Kozaks.

  “You think you’re so smart, but you’re down here with me, are you not?”

  She ignored him, trying to buy herself more time. She just needed a little more time.

  “That’s why you demanded a change in the date for the event, huh? You wanted it around the time of the ten-year anniversary to really shove the idea that this was about revenge down everyone’s throats.” The veins in her blood boiled as she thought about how he’d pulled her strings and manipulated everything—and she had the distinct feeling this wasn’t the first time.

  A man like him had probably pulled off similar events to create tension and produce a greater need for the weapons and technology his company produced.

  It was sickening.

  “If you really cared about Russia, you wouldn’t sacrifice Russian lives tonight. How do you think your government would feel about that?”

  “My government will never know. The truth will die with you.” He maneuvered around her and shoved the door open, and her heart leaped into her throat at the sight on the other side.

  A dead body lay sprawled on the floor, and a man was gagged and tied to a chair at the center of the room.

  She gathered up the images Owen and his team had shown her before heading to Russia in her mind.

  Young. Tall. Blond. The corpse was Alexander Kozak.

  But the man in the chair . . . Pavlo Teteruk.

  Gromov closed the door behind them and waved her toward Teteruk with his gun.

  She tried to fight the acid rising in the back of her throat as she walked around Alexander, trying not to step in his blood.

  The room was small, and the walls lined with lead. Probably an old Soviet bunker. But there was another door on the other side of the room; it might be how he’d brought Teteruk into the room.

  Teteruk’s dark brown eyes met hers, and he cocked his head, his eyes pleading for her to help him.

  How could she possibly help him? You! The reason we’re in this mess to begin with.

  She pressed her fingers to her mouth, fighting the urge to crouch and close Alexander’s eyes. “So, you were going to have the world learn about what the U.S. did and then set off your device once you were safely down in the tunnels . . . and you were going to kill Teteruk yourself on the way out.” She tipped her chin toward the Ukrainian tied to the chair. “Guess we screwed up your plans.”

  Gromov rubbed the butt of his gun against his temple, a flash of irritation crossing his face. “Kill Teteruk, and I may let your friends live after all of this is over.”

  She staggered back a step in disbelief.

  “Untie him.” He retrieved a second gun from the back of his pants. “Or I will execute you right in front of yo
ur friend, Owen York.”

  One gun in each hand, he tipped his chin Teteruk’s direction, and she finally crouched before the murdering son of a bitch who had killed Brad and Jason. Her fingers trembled as she worked at the ropes.

  “You sit behind your desk making decisions, but you don’t see yourself as a killer, even though the men who put on the uniform murder in the name of your country—at your government’s orders. Why not? Do you not think you are just as much a killer as your military? As the sailors you came here with tonight?”

  With one gun pointed her way, and the other extended toward Teteruk, Gromov strode a few steps closer to her.

  Then, he surprised her by flipping the gun to its side and holding it out to her in his palm.

  “It’s time you get blood on your hands.” He glanced at Teteruk then back at her as she stood upright. “Kill him, or I’ll kill you right now.”

  Her hand trembled as she slowly took the gun and lifted it into the air.

  “Good girl,” Gromov hissed, and Teteruk held up his palms, blood staining nearly every inch of his body. He’d probably been battered and beaten for days.

  This is a test. He wouldn’t give me a loaded gun. “You killed my fiancé.” Her finger touched the trigger. “You started all of this,” she whisper-cried, her voice laced with the obvious fear of death.

  “Let him feel your anger.” Gromov was at her side now.

  She pinched her eyes closed and fired the weapon, hoping to hell it was empty and she hadn’t just committed murder.

  Click.

  Empty.

  “I didn’t think you’d have the guts to go through with it.” Gromov snatched the gun from her hand, and her stomach turned as he loaded a bullet into the chamber. “Now, do it for real this time.”

  As he started to hand her back the gun, Teteruk charged their way, and Gromov’s other weapon fell to the ground at the contact.

  With her back to the wall, she observed the two men wrestle, blocking her path to the other gun.

  The second door—maybe she could get to it.

  Grunts and groans.

  Fists connecting with flesh.

  She couldn’t look at the men; she couldn’t lose her nerve, her chance at freedom.