“You know that’s not going to happen,” Leon reminded him.
Ivan shrugged. “Never mind. From the way you’ve come in here, it seems to me like I won’t be in your custody much longer anyway. You’re getting desperate.”
“What I’m getting is tired of your shit,” Maggie snapped. She slammed her fists on the table and sloshed the tea from their mugs everywhere.
Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “There you are. The lioness. I was wondering when you’d show up to this conversation instead of playing assistant.”
Maggie leaned forward. “We’ve been to your spot in Ferentari. Left that basement of yours in a bit of a mess, though.”
“Stupid girl,” Ivan said, still unconcerned and leaning back on his chair. “That is but one arm to a much larger machine. Your efforts are futile, and one way or another, I will be free of these chains very soon. Perhaps then you and I could arrange a meeting in a more intimate setting.”
“Now Ivan,” Leon warned the muscles in his jaw twitching, “I’ve been reasonable with you so far. Don’t force me to change that.”
Ivan’s mouth stretched into a wicked gash, a few of his teeth missing since Maggie last saw him. “Struck a nerve, have I? I see. How romantic. A shame you’ll both be dead soon, Maggie Black and Leon Frost. Have my men released your names yet? Or are they saving you both until last? I bet a lot of your comrades have met an untimely end by now. But don’t worry too much; you’ll both be joining them soon.”
Leon kicked his chair behind him and knocked the table away with one great swipe of his arm. “I wouldn’t be so cocky, old man. We’ve taken down worse scumbags than you, and I’m going to take great pleasure in making sure you don’t see the light of day ever again. It’s over for you and your syndicate.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Frost. If I were you, I’d be preparing to leave the country like I am. I don’t believe you’ll be a popular man after I finish what I started. Better to get a head start now. Though I doubt it will do you any good, but perhaps you and your bitch can enjoy a few days of stolen time.”
Leon grabbed Ivan, dragging him off the floor with the ease of a bear ready to maul its victim.
“No,” Maggie warned him. If the Romanians found out Ivan was dead, they would have no reason not to leak the names and execute Grace sooner than planned. The Unit needed as much time as they could get now that it was clear Ivan had no intention of coming to any form of agreement.
Leon dropped Ivan like a sack of potatoes, and he fell to the damp carpet with a thud. He glanced up at them with mirth and laughed, a real, joy-filled cackle that sent shivers down Maggie’s spine. He truly believed he was getting out of this on top.
If she didn’t think of something soon, he very well might.
They left him there on the floor, still laughing as the governor’s guards came in and carted him back to his cold cell.
“He’s blooming mad, that one,” said Harold.
“What time are you moving him tomorrow?” Maggie asked. “We may need to question him further before he leaves.”
“Sorry, but he’s being shipped out at four bells. Avoids the traffic.”
“That’s too bad,” she said, the cogs in her mind turning.
Leon eyed her, knowing that look on her face all too well. A plan was coming together. “Well, thanks for your cooperation,” he said. “We’ll leave you to it.”
Chapter 30
Outside London, Great Britain
18 July
Thick smoke billowed from the open bonnet of the car.
“Great,” Maggie said, leaning over to get a good look at the vehicle’s internal organs. Everything appeared fine, but the trail of smog wafting into the crisp morning air told another story.
The rising sun glistened off the dew-covered leaves of the surrounding trees that encroached the narrow country road like angered gods ready to smite anyone who dared cross their path. Their branches twisted and snarled like damning fingers, watching and judging them for what they were about to do.
Leon joined her and checked his watch. “They left on the hour,” he advised, having someone from the Unit act as lookout. “Should be here any moment.”
“You hear that, Ash?” Maggie asked, her phone on speaker.
“Loud and clear, boss,” came his voice, bright as a daisy considering the time of day. Maggie downed three coffees before leaving her apartment and still struggled to stifle a yawn as she and Leon waited by the car.
The Ford Fiesta they’d acquired through the Unit was a fifteen-year-old banger and looked closer to eighty. The once-green paint job was now a rusting riot of reds and oranges with only the hint of original color left. The wheels had lost their hubcaps over the years, and the sad excuse for a car barely looked capable of making it up a steep hill, never mind passing an MOT test.
True to its appearance, the car sat in a pitiful steaming pile in the middle of the road and blocked the road.
“Party’s here,” Ashton announced. “One big, two small.”
“Got it,” Maggie confirmed, and they moved into position. She got into the driver’s seat, leaving the door wide open, and Leon took her place at the front of the car, waving the smoke from his face and making a show of his frustration at the dead car.
Right on cue, three vehicles rounded the corner of the winding road and slammed the brakes upon seeing them. The car at the front of the procession honked its horn at them. Leon popped his head out from behind the bonnet and shrugged. There wasn’t much to be done with the state of the Ford Fiesta.
The driver rolled down his window and called out to them. “Move the car.”
“I’d love to,” Leon said. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any jump cables on you?”
The driver groaned in frustration and spoke something into a walkie-talkie.
Behind them waited a black armored truck with another car taking the rear. Maggie wasn’t sure how many were inside, but they were outnumbered at the very least.
The reverse lights of the back car came on, and the others in front followed suit to make a U-turn and reroute from the unexpected, unwelcome diversion. They didn’t get very far before the last car in the line screeched to a halt and the others in front slammed the breaks to avoid hitting it.
Maggie watched from her rearview mirror as a van for Novatec Electrical Services blocked their way, parking in the middle of the road at an angle that clogged up any chance of a clean exit.
Having lost any reserve of patience, one of the men in the front car got out and shouted at the electrician to move out of the way, waving his arms and throwing around some choice words.
Maggie strained to see inside the work van from the distance between them. The door opened then, and someone got out to greet the enraged driver in charge of leading the escort to some supposed secure location.
The driver stopped when he laid eyes on the electrician. Instead of a tool-laden electrician the man behind the wheel wore a wide grinning mask synonymous with Guy Fawkes and the internet vigilante group known as Anonymous.
Ashton and his dramatics.
Clearly not green to the job, the approaching driver of Ivan’s escort caught on quick to what was happening and ran back to the car, yelling the entire way. “Code red! Code red!”
Code red, indeed.
Maggie and Leon pounced into action. They would only have a short window before backup would arrive. Knowing the transport detail for Ivan Dalca would be ordered to shoot first and ask questions later, Maggie had brought along a deterrent to avoid any unwanted gunshot wounds. Her trio was injured enough, and she intended to get out of this mess without as much as an additional papercut.
Those inside the armored truck remained in position, their orders to ensure they made a swift exit from any altercation and kept their human package away from those who would want to take him. The guards in the cars were another story. They were the backup and first in line to engage with anyone dumb enough to try to intercept their prisoner transp
ort.
Armed to the teeth with C8 carbine assault rifles, the detail spilled from their vehicles like synchronized dancers organizing themselves into a deadly formation.
Maggie brought out her deterrent and made sure each of her opposers caught sight of it. Its official name was the XM25 Counter Defilade Target Engagement System, an import from the US acquired by the Unit before the model went out of commission, and recently upgraded with SAGM rounds.
Soldiers in Afghanistan referred to the grenade launcher as the Punisher.
Maggie named hers Betsy.
A quick scan of the men and women taking aim at her confirmed they were army. Maybe SAS. Had the prime minister and her gaggle of advisors any clue about what they were doing, they would’ve handed over the responsibility of Ivan’s transfer to the Unit. They of all people had reason to ensure he arrived safely and out of the Romanians’ clutches.
Maggie waited until everyone from the car up front evacuated the vehicle to lay their assault on her and her team of two, then fired up Betsy. She’d never had reason to use the grenade launcher until now, and Maggie reveled with girlish glee at being able to pull the trigger.
Despite the model’s apparent issues that had caused the US to decommission the line, Betsy worked like a dream. Maggie aimed true and launched a grenade at the empty car. It lit up like a bonfire on November 5th. Ashton would be jealous.
The car exploded and careened into the air, knocking everyone back with a wave of heat and giving Maggie, Leon, and Ashton enough time to duck and find cover before a rain of bullets poked holes in them.
The armored truck backed up and crashed into the car behind it, crushing it against Ashton’s van as it tried to barge a path through. The road was too small, though. Maggie had chosen this spot on the prison’s planned route for that very reason.
“Now!” Leon called, and out from within the trees and bushes slinked every agent the Unit had at their disposal close by, each of them armed with rifles of their own and, to Maggie’s bemusement, the same Anonymous masks as Ashton wore. Silly man.
“Stand back,” the man in charge of the detail called. “We will shoot.”
“I think we’ve established I have the bigger gun in this pissing match. Now, be a good boy and order your team to drop their weapons and hand over the prisoner before I’m forced to put you and all of your troops into early retirement.”
The only thing greater than any commander’s bravery was their love and loyalty for their team. Maggie knew it, just like the man whose top lip glistened with sweat. The battle was lost before it had started. Anyone could see it, and with a deep sigh, the man waved down his troops and ordered them to toss their weapons aside.
Their egos would undoubtedly be bruised, and a severe bollocking lay in their future from their superiors, but at least they would all live to fight another day. Not that Maggie ever had any intention of harming them, but they didn’t need to know that.
Things went smoothly after that, and once each of the soldiers were restrained with zip ties and left at the side of the road with the Ford Fiesta and the crispy remains of the blown-up car, Maggie, Leon, and Ashton said their goodbyes to the Unit agents and headed off into the distance in the armored truck with Ivan Dalca inside.
Chapter 31
East Sussex, Great Britain
The ride to Ashton’s was uneventful. By the time Belmarsh Prison and everyone involved in Ivan’s transfer realized things hadn’t exactly gone to plan, Maggie and her team were long gone. The prison officials could track the van, but it was currently on its way to Scotland, and taking the scenic route at that. Enough of a distraction to keep them occupied while Maggie, Leon, and Ashton did the heavy lifting.
“A somewhat nicer spot than my last prison,” Ivan commented as they yanked him from the back of the van and dragged him inside.
Nice was an understatement. Ashton’s place was an expansive country estate two hours away from central London. Complete with twelve acres of woodland, twenty acres of farmland, three separate guest houses, a swimming pool, and stables for his mother’s horses, the grade two–listed, ten-bedroom house was like something from a dream.
To Ivan, it was a nightmare.
While he seemed to fully expect his transfer to be intercepted, he got quite the shock when Maggie was the one to open the back of the truck.
“But a prison all the same,” Maggie replied.
They were in Ashton’s gym, Maggie deciding to avoid any room with easily stained carpets or light-colored walls that would be ruined with blood spatter. She didn’t intend to beat Ivan further, but accidents happened.
Tied to a treadmill and leaning against the frame, Ivan sat slumped on a floor mat. Maggie pulled up a chair and sat before him with Leon and Ashton at her back.
“What now?” Dalca asked. “Are you going to kill me?”
His question seemed more out of curiosity than fear. Like Maggie, death must have felt like an eventuality rather than a possibility. You didn’t live lives like theirs and not consider that your life expectancy was well below the national average, Romanian, British, or otherwise.
“No,” Maggie admitted, though she wouldn’t mind being the one to end him. “We’re going to continue where we left off in Belmarsh and try again.”
“You said it yourself, your government doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, and as far as they’re concerned, that’s what I am.”
Maggie wasn’t about to argue semantics on what Dalca was. A terrorist. A gangster. A sexist pig. A trafficker. A monster. He was any and all of those things.
“The government won’t negotiate with terrorists,” Maggie said instead, “but I will.”
“Ah.” Ivan’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Mags?” Ashton asked. Purely for effect, of course. Maggie had gone over her plans with him and Leon before they captured Dalca.
“Nope,” she replied, crossing her arms, “but we’re out of options at this point.”
“This either works, or we’re all as good as dead,” Leon agreed, making a show of looking anything but happy about the situation.
Ivan’s posture straightened, on familiar ground to his day job now. “In that case, Ms. Black, let’s talk terms.”
Maggie laughed. “I don’t mean with you.” Ashton handed her his phone, and she turned on the video recorder. “Make sure to smile for the camera.”
She hit record and began the rehearsed speech she’d laid out with her boys.
“Grigore Ursu, my name is Maggie Black. If you’ve perused that list you stole, you may recognize my name and know what I’m capable of. I believe I don’t need to introduce him.”
She turned the camera from her to Grigore’s uncle and stayed on him for a long moment before returning it to her face.
“You have our leader, and we have yours. We both have something the other wants, and I see no reason why we can’t come to an arrangement that satisfies us all. The Unit has no interest in considering the British government’s opinions when our very lives and those of our loved ones are at stake. So, I propose a simple trade-off. In exchange for Grace Helmsley, the girl Tamira, and all copies of the list of agents, we’ll give you Ivan.”
Maggie turned the camera back to Dalca.
“What do you say, Ivan?”
Ivan stared into the camera. “Do it, Grigore. That’s an order.”
The hint of a sly, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips, which made Maggie’s blood boil. He’d known all along he would get what he wanted in the end, and here she was giving it to him.
“Oh, and please don’t release any further information about our agents or hurt Grace and Tamira in the meantime,” Maggie added. “If you do, I’ll return your uncle to you in parts.”
Threat made, she turned off the recording and handed it back to Ashton to forward on to the email address Grigore left in his last message.
The deal was on the table. All they had to do now was wait.
Chapter 32
And wait they did.
Maggie paced in front of the roaring fireplace in Ashton’s study. It snapped and crackled as the time ticked by, each minute driving her closer to the edge. This was their last shot at fixing things, and if it failed, Maggie had no idea how they were going to get themselves out of this mess. She’d gone through so much, overcome obstacles when everyone else had counted her out, accomplished the impossible when others would have failed.
But this? This was different.
Information was power in today’s world, and it was being used against them. Maggie couldn’t punch, kick, or shoot her way out of their predicament. If Grigore didn’t want to play ball, they were fucked.
“What’s taking them so long?” she complained.
“Relax, Mags,” Ashton said from his studded leather couch. “Here, have my whisky. I’ll pour another one.”
Maggie rubbed her head, the beginnings of a migraine threatening to take over. “I’m fine. I think I’m just going to lie down for a while. Wake me if they get in touch?”
“Of course,” Ashton assured, draining his glass and pouring another drink anyway. “Well, Ivan, old chap. Looks like it’s just you and me.”
Dalca didn’t respond, Maggie having gagged him hours ago. He may not have cracked under torture, but it would be interesting to see how well he did while spending any length of time with a whisky-filled Ashton having a one-way conversation with him.
Maggie went upstairs and knocked on the door to one of the many guest bedrooms. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Leon replied, sitting up in the bed as she entered. He’d gone for a sleep, the events from earlier having tired him out. “How’s your stomach?”
Maggie kicked off her shoes, lay down on the other side of the double bed, and ran a hand over her wound. “Sore, but I’ve had worse. You?”
He’d taken off his shirt, and she ran her hand over his chest, memories of their reunion stirring in her mind.
Hit List (Maggie Black Book 2) Page 20
