London Calling

by Veronica Forand

  When they walked into an office next to where the car was parked, she took her chance, yanking out the headrest from a front seat, and wedged one of the metal bars into the space where the window entered the door. When she twisted the headrest down, the wedged piece caught in the window and splintered the glass. She kicked out the bottom of the window and pressed herself through the opening.

  She’d gone ten steps away from the car before she was surrounded. At least she wasn’t locked inside. She had more options out here.

  Two men in all black pointed guns at her. She wasn’t impressed. They wanted her alive. Although they could wound her, the risk of hitting an important vein or artery was too big to take that chance.

  Maslov remained a few yards from her. His arm was wrapped in a blue cotton splint, and a small stain of blood where Macknight had shot him told her it hadn’t been professionally set.

  “Emma, you can’t stay away from me, can you?” Maslov said in Russian, knowing her secret, thanks to Macknight. “You haven’t been very cooperative. In fact, a woman is dead in London because of you.” He stepped to her side.

  “You pulled the trigger,” she replied in English, refusing to make anything easy on him.

  “You made me, bitch.” He backhanded her.

  The impact sent her to the ground. Everything became unfocused as she hit the concrete floor. She remained on the ground, nervous he’d use her as a punching bag if she stood. Instead, he turned away from her and walked over to Toby and handed him an envelope.

  “Thank you for your service.”

  “You’re welcome.” The traitor smiled at Maslov, waiting for another assignment perhaps? He was a stupid kid way out of his league. If he didn’t get the memo when Dawson was gunned down, he deserved his fate.

  Maslov made a gesture to one of his guards, then turned back to Toby. “We have a minor dilemma. If you go back to your employer, they will interrogate you and mark you as someone to be watched, making you completely worthless to us in the future. It is, therefore, in your best interest if Miss Emma Ross is thought to be the traitor, not you. That way you die a martyr for your country.”

  Toby’s innocent confidence disappeared. He raised his hands up and stepped back from the Russian group.

  Before he could say anything, one of the men shot him in the head. The sound echoed through Emma, the impact, the fall. She stayed on the ground, unable to process the mess in front of her. Her hands covered her mouth, holding the revulsion inside. He’d been a traitor, but he was young enough to save.

  Maslov walked to her, his gun still in his hand. He stared at the wound on her face from when Macknight had thrown her to the ground. He hadn’t been afraid to die for her. In fact, he seemed willing to do so, despite what he thought of her. He didn’t have to let her live. If she were dead, she wouldn’t be used as a pawn against her father. Second-guessing that man’s reasoning wouldn’t get her away from Maslov. She blocked him from her mind and focused on the asshole in front of her.

  “Tie her up,” Maslov said to his posse.

  Her arms were pulled behind her and wrapped tight, with one guard standing on each side of her. She was defenseless.

  As they pushed her toward the back of the warehouse, someone knocked her to the ground from behind. She hit with her bad knee first and cried out in pain. No one helped her up, so she stayed down. Waiting for someone to save her. Ha. No one was available, and no one cared. One of the minions kicked her in the side of her ribs to force her back on her feet. She dragged herself to stand before he did it again.

  Toby was dead, and she was useless. Her mind raced as her eyes examined every male in her proximity to find someone to assist her. Not one person had a sympathetic bone.

  They led her to a helicopter. The rotors started up. In under an hour, they’d be out of the country, and MI6 would never catch up to them. Forced inside by the men lifting her and flinging her to the floor, she hit hard then was forced into a seat.

  Everyone had ear protection, except her. The sound pounded through her ears.

  They sat her in the seat opposite the door. She couldn’t release her arms. She couldn’t do anything, only wait for them to bring her to her father. She’d be tortured. People would die. Her father would die, too, if he named names.

  Six men sat around her. Maslov, wearing a satisfied grin, went to the front with the pilot. His amusement about her plight fueled a raging fire in her. She was going to beat him or die trying. He didn’t deserve a victory.

  The helicopter lifted off with the doors still open. She didn’t think or analyze, she waited. When it rose up over the water, she launched herself from her seat and out the door. One life for many.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Macknight checked his watch. Everything was ready for Operation Black Crow. His team of three included a very competent Jack, and Derek, who was hustling around HQ trying to prevent the military from blowing the prison up in a panic move.

  Jack had set up a command post in the hotel room, while Macknight sat on the bed memorizing his new background identification. Some insider moles at the Kremlin had added his new identity as a GRU agent into the system, which was a near impossible task as most in the Kremlin didn’t know the identity of the officers, but if anyone checked his credentials, he’d check out fine.

  The preparation for an operation like this had to be perfect. If they failed to cross one T, their identities could be exposed. Macknight excelled with details, memorizing the most insignificant facts to convince those around him of his false identity. In this case, he needed to impress a self-important prison director to release Ross. For Owen, they had to rely on Yudina’s good will. The prison guard would have one chance. If he didn’t let Owen go in exchange for a large sum of money, Macknight was prepared to take his family. He wouldn’t kill them, but they’d disappear until Owen was back in the flat drinking a pint.

  Jack looked up from his computer. “Hold off on your studying. We need to halt this whole operation. There’s an overload of security activity going on at the prison. A major crackdown on corruption.”

  Macknight tensed. There were limited options to free Owen, and time was ticking to under twenty-four hours. “What do you mean ‘crackdown?’ We’re relying on corruption to move Owen out.”

  “I know, but we may need to move to a Plan B.” Jack’s lips pinched as he scrolled a few pages through some emails.

  “What about Yudina?”

  “From what I’m intercepting, five guards have been arrested, including Yudina. Corruption charges. He’s already been tried and executed.”

  “Executed?” The whole room closed in on Macknight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He couldn’t breathe. Owen was going to be released if Macknight had to find a tank and crash through the wall of the prison. He slammed his fist into the mattress.

  Jack shook his head. “It gets worse. From our sources, the head of the prison changed most of the security protocol after Yudina and another guard were discovered sneaking prisoners out for money. I don’t know if we could gain approval for a release right now.”

  Macknight hustled to the window and looked over the town square. People bustled about at the end of the day, oblivious to the Brits who had moved in. “Call Derek. I need to know every resource we have available.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Macknight wasn’t leaving Russia without Owen. If he had to leave Ross to the special forces, he didn’t care, but Owen was a different matter.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Emma was airborne, and she’d either sail free into the water or die trying. Death wasn’t a scary proposition at this point. If it would help her father and save those other spies, she’d die.

  Someone grabbed her legs and pulled her back. The top half of her body smashed to the floor. The landing was rough. Her knee slammed to the ground, the pain like a lightning bolt through her body.

  “Keep her contained.” Maslov, back from the front of the helicopter, pulled her to her feet
and punched her into the wall opposite the door. She hit sideways, her head smacking the bench. More pain, and now some blood dripping over her ear.

  Many hands harnessed her in while a gun pointed at her head. There would be no martyrdom. Not at this point. Only pain.

  The helicopter continued to fly over the water and then over miles of countryside. They landed at some out-of-the-way airport.

  That wasn’t the final destination. She still had to endure a plane trip in a Cessna-type aircraft. Hours and hours passed.

  When they touched down, the sun was rising in a foreign land. Maslov stroked his thumb across her bruised face. “You and I have a lot to make up for. There will be pain. Think about that until I return.”

  He yanked her mother’s wedding ring off her finger. “The last time I saw this was the day your mother died. Not nearly as impressive a warrior as you. I wonder if your sister would have been half the fighter as you.” He shrugged. “We’ll never know.”

  She struggled to get it back, but she was tied in an impossible position. Without her mother’s ring, her past faded further away from her. Then she processed his words. He’d seen her mother the day she’d died. The fight intensified, her anger fueling her efforts.

  “Did you kill her?”

  “The pavement killed her.”

  Her body shivered, and the urge to heave overtook her. The blank space on her finger chilled in the air as her only connection to her mother was now in her enemy’s hand.

  He walked away and spoke to one of his men. “I need to get my arm fixed up. Keep her in the cabin until I get back. Don’t screw with her—she’ll take advantage of anything you give to her. I want the honors of the first blood. She owes me that.”

  He turned and stared at her. Hatred and disgust were the only emotions she could read. Right back at you, asshole.

  He disappeared into the back of a car, and she was tossed into a van, still tied up. The two guards ignored her for the entire drive. It was late at night when they reached their destination. No town, no lights, a dirt road, and a small cabin that appeared more shack than chalet.

  Her mother’s beautiful face kept her awake. Maslov had taken her life. And now he controlled her father. She had to stop him.

  They set her on a small, musty cot covered with a worn wool blanket and tied her arms and legs so she was unable to escape. The cabin only had a potbelly stove, an old battered wooden floor, and two bored men who spoke about all the things they would do to her when Maslov returned.

  This was it. The worst-case scenario MI6 had warned her about over and over again. She’d thought they’d done it to scare her into compliance. But they hadn’t lied.

  “Maslov wants to bring him to his daughter’s location. He’s a tough old goat, but once he sees his daughter, he’ll be persuaded to do anything.” The man’s words stuck into her, a knife wound straight into her psyche.

  The other guard laughed. “One more day. I’m dying to get into that bitch’s pants. She’s got fight in her.”

  “Don’t touch her. Maslov wants to break her in front of her father. Watching her kicking and screaming, begging for his help will motivate him to speak.”

  Their words sent shivers through Emma. Her stomach cramped, causing her to curl into a fetal position on the bed.

  She shut her eyes for a moment. A boot in the stomach woke her. She struggled to move away. The asshole then aimed his boot straight at her head, forcing her lip into her front teeth. The copper taste of her own blood was the only thing she’d tasted in hours.

  If she screamed, no one would hear her.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Macknight paced back and forth across the room. Time was slipping away. Jack had left him alone and was somewhere in Russia arranging last-minute logistics of planes and helicopters. His absence added to Macknight’s heartburn. Their plan focused on extracting or eliminating Ross, not rescuing Owen. So far, they had no information if either man was alive or still inside the prison. Derek seemed to want Owen returned as much as Macknight did. This deepened Macknight’s appreciation of him even more than when he’d learned about Derek’s help keeping him in the assignment. Going against Hanson was never easy.

  His phone rang. Derek.

  “I’m glad you called. I’m ready to make the pickup,” Macknight said.

  “Hold off. We have a bigger issue than Ross right now.”

  “What’s bigger than Ross?” His heart squeezed. Owen?

  “She’s gone.” Derek’s voice sounded calm with a thin thread of panic strung through it. Panic. Derek never panicked about anything.

  The words didn’t add up for a moment. “What?”

  “We’re missing Emma. We arranged to take custody of her from the CIA.”

  “They handed her over?”

  “They exchanged her for some classified information they’d been wanting on another case, but that doesn’t matter. After the pickup, she went missing. We tracked down the car used to extract her when she never showed up to the safe house. It was in Dover, over forty miles from the safe house. A window smashed open. No sign of her, but her driver had been shot in the head. A helicopter was seen leaving the area last night. If that was her, Maslov could be transporting her closer to her father.”

  Disappointment, fear, anger, and something deeper punched into his chest so hard, he had to sit to still the turbulence roiling through him.

  “Did she willingly go with them?” he asked. “No, forget that. She definitely didn’t. Who was the driver?”

  “Toby. From Windfield.”

  “Which means Toby was a traitor.” He should have seen it. Dawson had mentored him for years.

  “I agree,” Derek said. “Ross might be moved sooner than later. Keep an ear to the ground. The SBS is also monitoring the situation. If it looks like we might lose him, they have the authority to go in, although attacking the prison will almost guarantee a retaliation in one way or another. Personally, I don’t care. After the destruction of Windfield, perhaps the Russians deserve some local destruction. What’s fair is fair.”

  “Owen might still be inside.”

  “I know. Tell Jack to monitor the internet traffic and locate her. I’m trying to find Owen. I swear to God, Macknight, I’m doing everything in my power to protect him.” His weary words had a ribbon of fight in them.

  “I know. I appreciate it.”

  After Derek hung up, Macknight contacted Jack and ordered him back to the room. They had to find Emma.

  He returned a few minutes later. “I have a helicopter on standby, and a plane is waiting over the border.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He explained about Toby and Emma.

  Jack sat at his computer. “We need backup. We can’t be in two places at once.”

  “We don’t have time. How can we find her?”

  “Is she with Maslov?”

  Just hearing the name made lifted Macknight’s blood pressure. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I have no idea. If she is, she’ll be in this area, although I have no idea how Maslov is functioning. I shot him in the arm.”

  “Good. Let’s check the local hospitals.” Jack’s quick thinking and calm eased Macknight’s tension.

  “There’s only one around here. The rest are over two hundred miles away.”

  “So we start close and move out. Do you have his full name?” Jack typed with the speed of a machine gun.

  Macknight glanced over Jack’s shoulder to see the screen. “Lukin. Maslov Lukin. He’s been a pain in the ass since we met a few years ago.”

  The likelihood of finding him was next to nothing. Maslov was an expert. He wouldn’t be seen on the radar anywhere. Desolation and rage were an odd mix that both squeezed his heart and twisted his thoughts.

  “Got him. He’s checked in for an infection.”

  “You can’t be serious?” Macknight’s self-pity knocked to the side for a moment.

  Jack, a more and more reliable teammate every minute, smiled. “Maybe he thinks he’s
safe receiving medical care in Russia?”

  “I don’t care why he’s an idiot. I’m just glad he is.” For the first time in a forever, Macknight had some confidence things might work out. “Is he still there?”

  “Hasn’t checked out.”

  Macknight threw on a knit hat, grabbed a jacket, and ran for the door.

  “I’ll stay here,” Jack called out. “Get going. Don’t take the van, it’s too conspicuous. There’s a motorbike outside.”

  Macknight found the motorcycle, hot-wired it, and took off toward the hospital. It was only a few miles. He slowed up and walked around the parking lot until he found what he was looking for. He placed a GPS marker on the only car from outside the region with a government emblem on the upper corner of the plate. He then waited around the corner. He had to confirm he was right.

  An hour later, Maslov walked outside with one of his flunkies. His usual constipated expression had been replaced by something more in line with the effects of morphine. His left arm was in a cast. Too bad he hadn’t shot out his right arm, or even better, his brainstem. They got into the car Macknight had targeted. Maslov sat in the back seat, most likely to sleep off his treatment.

  Macknight let them drive away for a few minutes and then followed the coordinates on his phone.

  About a mile from the now-stopped GPS signal, he hid the motorcycle in some thick bushes. Walking toward the cabin, he tried to imagine what he’d find. He prepared himself for anything. An ambush. Nothing. Anything.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Between the hunger, the bruising from the kicks, and the strain of not knowing the future, Emma’s body tried to escape through sleep. It wasn’t working. Her heart made continuous sprints across her chest. The beating unrelenting, but not pounding, more a pitter-patter of panic.

  The door of the cabin opened, and Maslov walked inside. He seemed out of it. It didn’t stop him from walking over to her and brushing his hand across her face. Without food, her stomach ached, and her throat throbbed. She remained as still as possible. Her lack of fight probably bored him, because he crossed the room to another bed and stretched out on it.