London Calling

by Veronica Forand

  Her dry throat helped her first few coughs to sound authentic.

  Yuri stopped kissing her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine.”

  He began again, and so did she. This time, she coughed so hard, phlegm moved up her throat, causing her to gag. She kept it up until she had the dry heaves. She placed her hand on his, silently asking his help. He stepped back from her, not willing to do anything for her.

  She couldn’t stop. It wasn’t like in a fraternity where she could leave easily. This had to be epic, so she gagged so hard, whatever she had in her stomach came up her throat. She rolled her eyes straight up to the ceiling, twisted in the chair, and flung her head back.

  Her body fell straight into his desk, her head hitting first. It hurt like hell, but she kept the uncontrolled seizure-like actions as realistic as possible. Not easy, since her body wanted to avoid pain. She overrode that and embraced the pain of slamming onto the floor, her muscles shuddering and her legs shaking. She remained on the floor, her eyes transfixed into her eyelids and her body uncontrollable.

  He opened the office door and called down the hall. “Someone get in here. Now.”

  He disappeared in all the chaos. Two guards lifted her up and carried her away from his office. One of them grabbed under her arms and the other lifted her legs, as though she were the carcass of an animal. As they walked down the hall, she went as limp as she could.

  They brought her to one of the waiting areas. She awoke with minor tremors and as much of a shiver as she could force through her body. The physical pain and stomach aches began to control her actions, requiring less acting. No doubt her face was green as well. They sat her up for a few minutes, and one of them gave her water. She gagged on it at first, and then drank it down.

  “Are you okay?” This guard had a sweet temperament, probably reserved only for the guests here.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Rest until you’re ready to go.”

  Time was her enemy. “I think I’m okay.”

  “I’ll escort you out.” He helped her stand and placed an arm around her waist then half carried her through three bolted doors to the main entrance.

  She stood on her own at the exit. Then she wandered out of the prison, her limp hampering her steps and her body swaying side to side as though she’d taken something that didn’t sit well with her. A sweet rain washed away the prison director’s handprints and whatever she’d spit up in his office. Once at the local bus stop, she took a deep breath and tried not to look back at the guards with their rifles aimed in her direction.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Jack arrived at the hotel after fifteen minutes of Macknight staring out the window and thinking about twenty different plans to pull Emma and Owen from the prison. Their chances decreased as the minutes rolled by. The road there would take ten minutes if they weren’t slowed down by a tractor or some other slow-ass vehicle.

  Macknight didn’t have a set plan to rescue everyone. It would have been easier without the time Emma’s delay ate up. Freeing Ross would actually be the easiest task. The forged papers Jack carried ordered Ross aka Alexei Popov to be transferred to a new facility. There was no way of getting into the prison and killing him, so they needed to get him out first. If they could swing it, they’d take him back to London. If there was any risk involved, they’d kill him before they reached the helicopter. If Emma fed the right story about Owen while in the prison, they might pull him out as well, but without Emma’s confirmation, they were working blind.

  Jack remained silent, as even the hotel staff could be looking for anything unusual.

  As they pulled away, Macknight said, “Just don’t say anything except ‘Da.’ And try not to say that, either.”

  “I can nod. It’s an international language.”

  “Good enough.” This was more dangerous than the prior plan. The chance of success went from seventy percent to about fifteen. He could beat the odds, but only with a mountain of prayers and a shitload of luck.

  He called Derek. “We’re on the way in.”

  “Hold up. She’s out.”

  Macknight’s nerves loosened their hold over his heart. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment. Emma’s safety meant more than he cared to admit. It meant everything.

  He put his hand up to slow Jack’s driving. “She’s out.”

  He put the phone into speaker mode. They couldn’t use earpieces because the security in the prison would detect them.

  Derek continued. “She stepped onto a bus to town only minutes ago. Turn around and continue with the original plan. Jack, head to the helicopter and monitor intel in all camps. Depending on what information Emma received, you’re going to need a fast flight out of there.”

  “I’m on it.” Jack turned the truck around in a field and headed back to the town. He left it parked beside their hotel and then took off toward the extraction site.

  Emma was already in the hotel room when Macknight arrived. She was soaked from a late morning rainstorm. The sight of her started his heart beating again, visual confirmation that she was alive and well.

  He brushed his hands over her, stopping when he noticed the blood at the back of her head. “What happened?”

  “Hit my head on the prison director’s desk. I’m sort of a klutz. It’s fine.”

  He glanced into her eyes. They were bright and staring back at him. If she’d been assaulted, she might have stared into the floor. Maybe. Although with Emma, regular rules didn’t apply. “Are you sure?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Owen’s ready to leave. And Dad is alive. We can do this.”

  She stepped into his arms. He kissed her as if she’d been raised from the dead. She kissed him back with a slight giddiness. Something had happened inside the prison. Her body was releasing an overload of tension. Her smile kept her lips slightly parted and allowed him to deepen the kiss. Her fingers caressed his cheek, her head tilted, her eyes closed. They stood wrapped together and allowed every emotion to pass between them, neither one of them pulling away.

  “You need a shower,” he said, his lips still touching hers.

  She nodded and kissed him again. “Can you wash my back?”

  “We only have a few minutes.” Macknight stepped away. Not only would he not take advantage of her, not after whatever had happened in the prison, but they genuinely didn’t have time.

  “I’m not asking for anything, except some strong arms to hold me up. My knee is bothering me. I might also need a confidence boost before we begin the second act.” Her eyes begged; his body stiffened.

  “A few minutes.” The time was tight, but she did have to make a change to her outfit and looks.

  He led her into the bathroom and undressed her, looking her over for any injuries other than the head wound. Just seeing her strong, lean body was the perfect stress relief for an intense morning. Her touch steadied his nerves for the hardest part of the mission. Owen would live or die based on Macknight’s decisions. If he didn’t make it— No. Emma was here, and she was alive. Owen would make it, too.

  He examined the wound on her head, then washed every part of her. The soft, supple skin of her breasts, the lowest part of her back as it curved into a perfect ass. Her neck, he kissed and enjoyed as the hot water flowed over them. Being so close to her awakened a heart that had taken a beating over the past few weeks. Without her, life was icy and cold. She added a tropical warmth to his existence.

  Her fingers massaged his scalp and pulled him closer to her. “Do we have any extra time?”

  Her hips pressed into him. The sensation almost knocked him off his feet. He could fall into her life and remain there at peace forever. Timing, however, was off. They had work to do.

  “We have to go.” Pulling away from her very ready body, he kissed her on the lips, inhaled her essence, and pushed her gently out of the shower.

  “What are you doing?” She stood at the sink, wrapping a towel around her waist, staring at h
im, still under the water.

  “Becoming functional.” The move from hot to cold water went straight to his hard-on. A quick fix to an otherwise annoying situation.

  He wasn’t having their first time together be a five-minute quickie in a dirty Soviet-era hotel room.

  When he emerged, the world seemed more manageable.

  He lightened and trimmed her hair, leaving the section with the head wound uncolored. What had been a dull mess became shiny and smooth again. She filed her nails and removed the red polish and added makeup to hide her bruising. In under an hour, she transformed from drug-addicted wife to hardcore military driver. Macknight had it easier. He shaved and put his navy suit back on.

  “Uptight suits you,” she said as she twisted what was left of her hair into a very small bun and pinned a hat in place.

  “Thanks. Your uniform is kind of turning me on.” It fit her perfectly in all the places that made her more woman than truck driver.

  She grinned. “Maybe I can keep it after the mission. I’ll interrogate you, and if the answer is wrong, you’ll suffer some humiliations at my hands.”

  “I look forward to it.” Yet the next few hours could upend everything. Getting two men out of prison instead of one was a huge risk, and would set off alarm bells all over the place, but they had no choice. He wasn’t leaving Owen.

  “This is going to work. I can feel it.” She walked to the driver’s seat of the truck without a limp; it must have hurt like hell trying to hide the injury. When she sat down, she adjusted the seat forward from the setting required for Jack’s long frame.

  “Good. Keep up that confidence.” He sat next to her.

  They drove to the entry gate of the prison. Emma, her face frozen in a frown, showed their paperwork to a soldier who kept one hand on his rifle and the other near a panic button. He glanced at the papers and at them, then he waved them inside.

  There were a lot of obstacles to getting everyone out. Jack was waiting about twenty miles into the countryside to transport all of them to the jet waiting in Kazakhstan.

  Emma remained in the van on high alert. If someone challenged her, she was to hit the gas and break through the fencing to catch up to Jack. She could not be captured. She blasted the defroster as she waited in the rain.

  Macknight was escorted to the prison director’s office. Sergei Yurivich. An overweight, over-comfortable dictator, he wasn’t used to government officials bothering him as long as the prison operated efficiently. Less than two hours before, Emma had hit her head in this office. The urge to smash this asshole’s skull surged through him, but the mission was bigger than getting revenge for her. The fury swirling inside of him added to his cover. GRU officers were notorious hard-asses and impossible to prosecute, and some lowlife prison director was not worth the ground he spit upon.

  “Officer Sonin, welcome. What can I do for you?” This was probably Yurivich’s closest contact with the Kremlin in years. Little did he know it wasn’t contact at all.

  “We’re moving Alexei Popov to a different facility. The techniques here aren’t working. Perhaps more persuasive methods can get him talking.”

  The director nodded. “He’s not an easy man to keep.”

  “I understand. The Kremlin is impressed at how well you contained him.”

  Yurivich smiled at the compliment.

  Macknight wanted Ross and Owen in the truck immediately. All this banter was a waste of time. “I also have another request. There’s a prisoner here, Yakov Borisovich. We’re transporting him as well, due to some questionable ties to the CIA.”

  “Really? From what I’ve heard, he’s linked to Mogilevich.”

  Macknight glanced at the door and stepped closer to him, his voice a mere whisper. “Forget what you heard. If the name gets out, heads will roll.”

  The story Emma handed him seemed to work, giving her credibility and making Owen seem more formidable than his original cover story. Otherwise, the GRU wouldn’t be interested in a mid-level dealer. Interfering with the supply line between the government and a major drug cartel was a worse offense than actually selling drugs. Money meant more than morals. Yurivich would want Owen out as soon as possible to avoid any possible exposure.

  The dickhead director swallowed hard and nodded. He lifted his phone and shouted out orders to his secretary. He told his men to move Popov and Borisovich immediately. “Alexei Popov will be brought to your vehicle. Yakov Borisovich as well. Do you have the means to transport them both?”

  “Between you and me, Borisovich’s longevity is limited. He will not be hard to contain. I need Popov in full irons, as I’m sure you’ll understand.” Macknight had to go overboard. If he asked for less protection, it would give them away. This was a risk because if he didn’t have the keys at the end of all this, Ross would be stuck in chains, barely able to be transported.

  “We can arrange that.” He went back on the phone for a few minutes.

  Macknight pulled out his phone and had a phone call with his superior. Actually, it was Jack. “Yes… Uh-huh… We’ll be there in a few hours… Yes, he’s been very efficient. I’m impressed with the leadership here.”

  The minute he placed his phone back in his pocket, the director stood. “Yakov Borisovich is being processed for release.”

  “Thank you. Our flight will be leaving in a few hours, and I’m on a tight schedule.”

  “I understand.”

  They shook hands, and Macknight walked out of the office. Something gnawed at his gut. That was too easy. The official didn’t even ask for paperwork. Sure his credentials spoke volumes about his power and influence, but double-checking the transfer orders was common practice. As he walked toward the van, a low current of dread crept inside of him. Too many eyes on him, too much whispering as he passed by. Emma better be ready, because this was not foolproof.

  He arrived at the van in time to see a hooded inmate being secured inside. From the stature of him, it had to be Ross. Emma was holding it together in the driver’s seat, her face stone cold despite her father being so close. Owen came out a minute later. A guard removed his hood once he was next to the van.

  Son of a bitch. He had lost a significant amount of weight. His cheeks were too thin, his body emaciated.

  Macknight sucked in the urge to reach out to him. He turned his attention to the guards. “Thank you. I’ll need the keys to the irons.”

  As one guard reached out with a set of keys, a black sedan arrived in the secure pickup zone. Some government official from the look of it.

  Three men, all in suits, got out. The tallest, most put together of the threesome was the one person who would kill them all. Maslov. Lucy and Grace’s killer.

  Emma must have noticed, too, because her head tilted in the opposite direction from him. It would be hard enough to drive out of here without the GRU on their tail. Macknight hardened his expression into a snarl, distorting his features as much as possible, but if Maslov looked at him carefully enough, he’d recognize him.

  The three men walked up to the security guard for access to the inner perimeter. Each step punched at Macknight’s gut. Maslov stopped to speak with one of the entry guards. The team needed to get the hell out of there. Macknight wasn’t going to risk losing Emma or Owen. If they were delayed in any way, the black ops team would finish the job.

  This was not the time to wait for an introduction to his nemesis. He grabbed the keys to the restraints from the guard. Before he could get into the van, he heard exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

  “Stop!” Maslov yelled.

  Macknight turned back to the guard and yanked the automatic weapon out of his hand. The guard wasn’t expecting it, so released it without too much resistance. Macknight leaped into the back of the van with Owen.

  “Go,” he yelled to Emma who had already peeled out of the prisoner bay at racing speed. He sprayed the tires of the vehicles in the area with bullets, trying to slow them down.

  The door hadn’t closed in the back, so
they all held on as Emma smashed through one gate and then another. Gunfire followed.

  They had a full tank of gas, but they might not need it. This was either going to be a spectacular escape or sudden death. She took a particularly fast turn, and one of the doors swung closed. The other continued swaying back and forth. The wind blew cold air inside and swirled debris around the van, hindering their vision.

  Macknight balanced himself through the turns and the wind. With difficulty, he unlocked Owen’s handcuffs and leg irons. He then focused on Ross as Owen hopped up front as a lookout for Emma. Miles of countryside flew by. The rain splattered the windshield, but Emma held the road brilliantly.

  Another sharp turn in the opposite direction, and the other door closed. They were airtight now, and Emma was hauling as fast as she could make the van go.

  Two official cars were now on their tail. Macknight aimed the stolen assault weapon through an open window and shot into their windshields. Both cars swerved off the road into a drainage ditch. There would be more following them, but at least his team stood a chance now.

  He glanced at his GPS. The helicopter was about ten miles through the woods, fifteen by the asphalt. If they stayed on the road, they’d definitely meet up with a roadblock. They had to ditch the van in a secure location.

  “Right here. There’s a farm. About six or seven buildings.”

  “I’m on it.” She turned in and slowed until they were at a near-silent crawl. There was no one to be seen, but that didn’t mean anything.

  Owen pointed out his window to a deserted looking barn. The perfect place to ditch the van.

  She pulled up to it, and Macknight hopped out, running over to the barn. The large wooden doors with rusty hinges opened after a little force. Inside, there was space for the van between scattered old car parts and farm machinery. She drove inside and shut down the engine.

  He closed the doors and took a deep breath. They were one step closer to getting out of there, but the rain left tracks on the road. It wouldn’t be difficult to follow them.