Volkov waited for the echo to finally die down. It seemed to go on forever, bouncing off the thick stone walls and the peaked wooden ceiling.
Finally, the henchman opened the door and shook his head.
Volkov grinned at the kids. “How about that! The wizard’s spell is actually real. No one can hear a thing!”
Angelina giggled and did a little dance, much to Volkov’s amusement. He reached out his hand and stroked her long, blonde hair. She smiled at him in return.
“Aren’t you a pretty little princess?”
She smiled even wider. “That’s what my papa calls me!”
“I can see why,” Volkov said before turning his attention to Sasha. “And your brother is so big and strong—just like a handsome prince. No wonder your father brought you here to this city by the sea. I hope you enjoyed your day. It was a gift from me to you.”
Volkov glanced back at Bobrinsky, who was frozen in place.
Earlier his cheeks had been bright red.
Now he was a ghastly shade of white.
If he had been alone, he would be fighting for his life.
But with his kids nearby, he was only thinking about their safety.
The last thing he wanted to do was anger the wolf.
“Children,” Volkov said. “Your father and I have some business to discuss in this magical tower. If it’s okay with you, I would like you to step outside so we can chat.”
Bobrinsky finally spoke. “Go on, kids. It’s all right. We won’t be very long.”
Volkov nodded. “He is correct. This will be quick.”
Before they could voice an objection, the children were ushered out by a henchman. He closed the sturdy door behind him, sealing Volkov, Bobrinsky, and two muscular thugs inside. Additional men were posted on the city wall, and more roamed the street below.
Until Volkov was ready to leave, Tallinn would be controlled by Russia.
When the door clicked shut, the thug on the left punched Bobrinsky in the gut. He instantly folded over in pain. This gave the other thug a chance to bind Bobrinsky’s wrists behind his back with a zip tie. Once he was secured, he was pushed to the ground against the tower wall.
Volkov looked down at him in more ways than one. “I understand your decision to run. I really do. Believe it or not, it happens all the time. People slowly but surely succumb to their fears, and they allow their terror to fuel them. But the thing that doesn’t make sense to me is your list of priorities. Why would you pay your smugglers before you paid me?”
Bobrinsky started to explain. “I was—”
Volkov cut him off with a violent kick to his ribs. “That question was rhetorical, because it was something you shouldn’t have done. Up until that moment, I actually respected you. That is why I gave you money when your wife got sick. If you had come to me with your issues and asked for an extension, it would have been granted. In fact, I might have cut a side deal with your smugglers in order to pay off your debt. Instead, you opted to pay them and screw me.”
Volkov punctuated his statement by kicking Bobrinsky again. He cried out in agony as tears streamed down his face—partly from the pain, and partly from regret.
Volkov soaked in the misery as he paced the circular room. The anguish was palpable as it echoed off the walls, all of it fueling his beast within. “Your mistake puts me in a difficult position. Obviously, I can’t let your misdeed go unpunished. It would be bad for business. Therefore, I am forced to kill you in this magical tower. I know that, and you know that. Even my goons know that. And yet, after meeting your children, I can understand your decision to flee. You did that to protect them, and that makes you a good father.”
Volkov took a moment to consider that concept as he continued to pace. “I never knew my father because my mother was a whore. However, if I had known my father, I would want him to be someone like you. Well, not foolish with his money or stupid enough to screw over a man like me—but protective of his children, like you were today.”
Volkov shifted his gaze back to Bobrinsky.
As he did, an evil snarl appeared on his lips.
In an instant, he looked like the wolf that he was.
To fully enjoy the moment, Volkov lowered himself into a crouch on the stone floor, so he could stare directly into Bobrinsky’s watery eyes. He wanted to see the devastation when his options were presented. “Since you are such a good father, I am going to give you a difficult choice—much like the one you made when you gambled your family’s wellbeing on the health of your wife. And much like then, the odds for happiness are very slim.”
Volkov moved in closer, relishing the fear in his victim’s face. “If you like, I can kill your children before I slit your throat. That way you know for sure that they did not suffer. Or if you prefer, I can slit your throat and then bring in your children to see your corpse. That way you won’t have to feel the sorrow of their death. Instead, they’ll be forced to bear the loss.”
Bobrinsky sobbed uncontrollably.
Neither option was a good one.
How could he possibly choose?
But Volkov wasn’t done. “With option two, there is always a chance that your death will satisfy me. And since I have met your children and enjoy their company, perhaps I will take them to my home. I think I would be a good parent, don’t you? Your daughter, in particular, interests me. I am sure I could sell her to someone in Africa to pay off your debts.”
Bobrinsky’s sobs turned into wails. Long, painful wails that echoed in the tower like a chorus of demons. The sound was so disturbing even the goons were forced to grimace.
But not Volkov.
He continued to grin while waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come.
CHAPTER SIX
Monday, June 11
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Payne’s official announcement in the corporate auditorium had gone better than expected. Sam McCormick was well liked at Payne Industries, and the employees took the news in stride.
Although they were sorry to see Payne go, everyone was familiar with Payne’s background and assumed he would be focused on bigger and better things—whether that be saving the world, finding another treasure, or simply crossing items off his billionaire bucket list.
With the day behind him and his emotions drained, Payne had wanted to drive straight home where he planned to turn off his phone and sleep for a week, but Jones had talked him out of an early evening, as he often did, and convinced him to grab a celebratory meal. Thanks to his upcoming windfall, Jones had even offered to pay, something that happened less often than presidential elections. Of course, Jones’s offer meant they wouldn’t be dining anywhere expensive, which was fine with Payne because he planned to burn every suit he owned now that he was officially unemployed.
Wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, Payne walked into Uncle Sam’s Subs on the University of Pittsburgh campus and spotted Jones at a back table. The place was buzzing with students who were dressed similarly to Payne. Having texted his order to Jones ahead of time—a pizza steak, fries, and a soft drink with extra ice—it was sitting there, ready to be consumed.
“I could get used to this,” Payne said as he slid into the booth across from Jones. “A free meal just waiting for my arrival.”
“And yet you cruelly shot down my proposal. See the life I could’ve offered you?”
Payne ignored the joke, far too focused on the sub in front of him. He had spent a lot of time in Philadelphia, a city that claimed cheesesteak superiority, but he had never found a sandwich he enjoyed more than the pizza steaks at Uncle Sam’s. Their sublime combination of steak, provolone, marinara sauce, and grease was the best thing he had ever eaten on a hoagie roll.
“This is soooo good,” he said between bites. “Thanks for talking me into this.”
Jones had ordered an Italian sub and was enjoying his meal even more than Payne, if that was humanly possible. “Like I was going to let you spend your first night of freedom watching TV. Or do you actually think y
ou’ll be able to sleep tonight?”
“I won’t know until I try, but I feel like the weight of the world is off my shoulders—now that the news is out and the transition is behind me. Despite my physical and emotional exhaustion, I haven’t felt this good in years.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jones said as he dipped his fries into a vat of Heinz ketchup. He liked the condiment so much he was tempted to put it on ice cream.
“How about you? Any regrets?”
“One,” he admitted as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “I wish I had sold my agency long ago. These last few years have been a bitch.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I have been for years.”
“Trust me, I know.”
Jones grinned. “Of course, it’s not like you’ve been all smiles and giggles. A lesser friend would have abandoned you decades ago.”
“You probably should’ve.”
“Not a chance. I like your private jet way too much. Speaking of which, do you still have access to your private jet? No pressure or anything, but your answer will most likely determine the fate of our friendship.”
Payne didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another bite of his hoagie and chewed it for a ridiculously long period of time just to torture Jones. The entire time he was signaling for him to hang tight. But Jones wasn’t the patient type, nor did he like to be messed with.
“Dude,” he shouted, “you don’t have to swallow. Just spit it out!”
Half the restaurant turned to see what was happening in the back booth, only to be met with the mischievous grin of Jones, who loved to embarrass his far-more-famous friend. He figured if Payne was going to torture him, then he was going to torture Payne.
“Don’t be disgusting,” Jones announced to the crowd. “Nothing sexual is going on back here. My friend is simply choking on Uncle Sam’s meat.”
That got the reaction Jones was hoping for.
Everyone laughed, including Payne, who was forced to spit his food into his napkin or risk actually choking.
“You’re such a dick,” Payne said in between coughs. “I could’ve died.”
“But what a way to go: eating your favorite sub.”
Payne took a sip of his drink, and then another. The liquid soothed his throat as the caffeine surged through his veins, giving him a temporary lift on a mentally draining day.
Jones stared at him, unconcerned. “So?”
“What?”
“Are you going to live?”
“Probably.”
“Good. Then tell me about the jet.”
Payne smiled. “What good is a golden parachute without a plane? I knew you’d pout without it, so I had my lawyers negotiate it into the settlement.”
Jones pumped his fist. “In that case, our friendship can continue.”
“I figured as much.”
“Now all we have to do is pack.”
“Pack? For what? Have you planned a trip I don’t know about?”
“No,” Jones admitted, “but what else do we have to do? You’re free, and I’m free, and so is the plane. So why the hell not?”
Payne rubbed his chin in thought. “I have to admit, you’ve had worse ideas.”
“Tons of them.”
“And neither of us are working.”
“Shit, I’m never working again.”
“And the jet is just sitting there in its hangar.”
“It must be so lonely.”
“And I can sleep on the plane.”
“I’ll even tuck you in.”
“Or not.”
“Fine,” Jones said. “I’ll let the pilot do it.”
“Screw that. If we’re gonna do this, let’s go all out. Let’s hire a couple of hot flight attendants to take care of our every need.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m not serious. We’re both unemployed. We can make our own drinks.”
Jones sighed, deflated. “If we must.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Beats the hell out of me. How about you?”
“No idea. I’m way too tired to think.”
“Which is why you need a vacation.”
“Don’t worry,” Payne assured him. “I’m not rescinding my offer—”
“You mean like you did with the stewardesses?”
Payne rolled his eyes. “They prefer the term ‘flight attendant’. And I’m not backing out of the trip. I’m simply saying let’s sleep on it. Maybe we’ll dream about where we want to go.”
“I doubt it,” Jones muttered. “I already know what I’m gonna dream about.”
“What’s that?”
“Stewardesses.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tuesday, June 12
Somewhere Over Europe
Payne heard a voice and opened his eyes. The things he saw didn’t make sense.
He was strapped into a black leather chair in the dimly lit cabin of an airplane. The scent of cigarettes filled his nose. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before, and his head was pounding like a jackhammer. He tried to remember how he had gotten there, but the details were lost in the haze that clouded his mind, a fog so thick it swallowed him.
So he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Two hours later, he awoke again. This time he felt much sharper. His headache was gone, and the cobwebs had mostly cleared. He recalled dinner at Uncle Sam’s, followed by billiards and beers at a sports bar, then a trip to the local casino. That probably explained why he smelled like smoke. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember getting onto the plane.
Of course, this wasn’t the first time he had woken up confused.
It had happened hundreds of times in the military.
Back when he was in the MANIACs, they were forced to grab sleep whenever they could because they never knew when they would be on the move. Jones was a master at it, able to fall asleep anywhere in a matter of seconds. Hot or cold, wet or dry, nothing stopped Jones from getting his rest. One time in Afghanistan, he fell asleep standing up while leaning against a tree.
Guys in the unit were so amazed they actually filmed it.
Unfortunately for Payne, he had always been a troubled sleeper. When his head hit the pillow, his mind went into overdrive, chugging through whatever issues were lurking in his subconscious just below the surface. It didn’t matter how tired he was when he crawled into bed. The instant he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, his demons emerged from the shadows.
And that was in the controlled environment of a quiet bedroom.
Things were far worse in the field.
But the one place he was always able to sleep was in the belly of a plane. It didn’t matter if he was sitting on the vibrating floor of a cargo jet or the middle seat of a commercial flight. There was something about the quiet hum and the gentle rocking of an aircraft that put him at ease. Perhaps it took him back to his infancy when he was safely tucked inside a cradle. Or maybe it had something to do with the high altitude and the pressurized atmosphere.
Whatever it was, it worked like a charm.
“Good morning, princess,” Jones said from the front of the cabin where he was bathed in the soft light of a laptop computer. Like Payne, he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Unlike Payne, he had been awake for some time. “That was some celebration last night.”
“Was it?”
“Must’ve been. We woke up on a plane.”
“How long did we sleep?”
“From Pittsburgh to Portugal. However long that is.”
“We’re in Portugal?”
“Nope,” Jones said as he grabbed a bottle of water and tossed it at Payne.
Unfortunately, Payne wasn’t looking, so it flew right past him and smashed against the rear cabin wall. “What the fuck?”
“Sorry. You looked thirsty.”
“I am thirsty, but it doesn’t mean I want you to throw a bottle at me.”
“Wow
,” Jones muttered. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the Atlantic. Are you going to be this cranky the entire trip?”
“That depends. Are you going to keep throwing stuff at me?”
“Probably.”
To emphasize his point, Jones grabbed a second bottle of water from the beverage cart and fired it at his best friend. But this time Payne was ready. He snatched the bottle with his massive hands and tucked it against his chest like a wide receiver.
“Good throw.”
“Nice catch.”
Payne cracked open the bottle before drinking half of its contents in a series of large gulps. “You were saying something about Portugal?”
“I sure was,” he said with a smile. “We’re no longer in Portugal.”
“But you just said we slept from Pittsburgh to Portugal.”
“And we did,” Jones assured him. “Then you feel back asleep.”
“Where are we now?”
“In your jet. I thought that was obvious.”
Payne growled softly. It was too early in the day to deal with Jones’s antics—if it was even daytime. For all he knew, it could’ve been midnight. To recalibrate his internal clock, he raised the nearest window shade and instantly regretted his decision. Bright sunlight poured into the cabin. He quickly shielded his eyes from the harsh glare while lowering the shade to half-mast.
Outside he saw nothing but white clouds and blue sea.
Payne took another sip of water as he glanced around the cabin of the luxurious G650. It sure was different than the planes they had used in the military. Everything about those had been stripped down for efficiency. They were hard, and cramped, and smelled like grime. But this aircraft was the complete opposite. From its soft leather recliners and large video screens to its plush carpet and fully stocked bar, the Payne Industries jet was built for comfort.
The Gulfstream’s entertainment package featured a multichannel satellite communications system that delivered Internet, phone service, television, on-demand movies, and onboard printing, plus a cabin management system that synchronized with mobile devices to provide touchscreen controls for temperature, lighting, flight tracking, and more.
The Malta Escape Page 4
