Maxim looks into my eyes. “On the outskirts of a small town, about ninety minutes from The Retreat.”
“Address?” Ghost asks next.
Maxim rattles it off, and Ghost texts the details to the others.
“Who built The Retreat in the first place?” I ask next.
“The Pakhan of the bratva in the 70s. He's long dead now.”
“Why did he build it?” I ask next.
“To create super-soldiers to use to take over the world. That's why The Morgue exists.”
Ghost fires off the next question. “How is that done?”
“Brainwashing. A code word is used to activate the soldiers. They turn into mindless, unfeeling murder machines,” Maxim cackles.
“What’s the code word?” I ask.
Maxim huffs, but answers after a moment. “Ostrich.”
“Random... That had better not be a lie, motherfucker,” I say viciously.
“I swear on my love for you every word is the truth,” Maxim affirms.
I look back to Ghost. “Anything else we need to know?”
“Nothing he could answer, Malishka.”
“What about anything about Purge’s father?”
‘I know nothing about those men,” Maxim says, arms crossed.
“I guess we’re done, then.”
I step back, allowing a smiling Ghost to move toward Maxim.
“Stand up and back up to the wall,” Ghost orders.
Maxim complies, and within seconds, he’s in shackles again.
Ghost takes out his phone again, tapping away. With a slow grin, he holds up the phone to Maxim.
“Say goodbye to Daddy.”
I look to see he’s on a call, and curiosity has me leaning closer to see the screen. I know their fathers are in hiding, so I doubt he’ll pick up.
To my surprise, the screen comes to life.
“What is this? What is happening?” a distraught-sounding Mr. Petrov demands.
“Thought you’d want to bid your other son a fond farewell,” Ghost laughs.
His father’s face goes white. “Please, son, don’t do this. I'll make it right, I promise.”
Ghost just shakes his head, turning the volume low, then perching the phone on a table facing Maxim.
He turns to me with a sadistic smile. “Playtime. Feel like making art with me?”
