Increased activity in the old textile district. Unusual purchases of medical supplies and restraint equipment. High-end cars on streets that the Borisenkos don’t own.
“They’re off their turf,” I tell Alexei over the maps. “Too risky otherwise. Somewhere we’re not supposed to look.”
“Or somewhere they think we can’t reach.”
My phone rings. It’s Viktor Petrov. I hit speaker.
He runs the intelligence operations for various families within the Bratva. He’s not the most dangerous man in Moscow, but he’s certainly one of the best-informed. We’ve had an uneasy truce for years because his information networks are too valuable to alienate.
“Dmitri, my friend. I heard you had trouble.”
“Very thoughtful, Viktor.”
“These are dangerous times for family men. So much violence in the streets.”
“Indeed. Almost like someone wants a war.”
“Wars are bad for business, don’t you think?”
I lean back in my chair, studying the faces around the conference table. Everyone’s listening to this conversation with the same thought: Viktor knows more than he’s admitting.
“What do you want, Viktor?”
“Just to express my condolences about your wife’s situation. Such a tragedy when innocent people get caught up in business disputes.”
“She’s not caught up in anything. She was taken.”
“Yes, so I heard. By people with very particular interests.”
The phrasing makes me sit forward. “What kind of interests?”
“The kind that involve questions about her past. Before she became Mrs. Kozlov.”
My blood turns to ice. “What do you know about her past?”
“She’s not who you think, Dmitri. And they’ve hunted her longer than you’ve known her.”
The line goes dead, leaving the room in silence.
“He’s playing games,” Alexei says quietly. “Viktor always knows more than he lets on, but he never gets involved unless there’s something in it for him.”
“What could he gain from this?”
“Territory. Influence. Maybe he’s working with whoever took her.”
I stare at the phone for a moment. If Viktor’s involved, this isn’t just about rival families or business disputes.
“Boss,” Igor calls from comms. “Package from Viktor.”
We crowd the laptop. Traffic cams near the textile district show a black SUV entering a warehouse at 4:17 a.m. and never exiting.
“That’s it,” I say. “They’re holding her there. The pier can wait.”
“Order it.” Alexei says, his eyes on me.
I check my watch. Two hours until the meeting at the pier, which gives us just enough time for reconnaissance.
“We go quiet. Map the location, count the guards, then move. If I don’t come back from the pier, you burn that warehouse to the ground and pull her out.”
