Where he's keeping Bianca.
I check my weapon one final time. Pistol, extra magazines, knife strapped to my thigh. I'm dressed in black, my face darkened with greasepaint, every piece of equipment secured to prevent noise.
"Remember the plan," I say. "Dmitri hits the main entrance with everything he's got. Maximum noise, maximum chaos. Draw their attention, make them think it's a full assault. While they're focused on the front, we go in through the east wall."
"And if we encounter resistance?"
"Kill them. Every man in that compound chose to work for Sergei. They know what he does, what he is. No mercy."
The men nod. They understand. This isn't a rescue mission—it's an execution.
I check my watch. Three minutes until Dmitri's assault begins.
Three minutes until I get her back.
The explosion lights up the night.
Dmitri's team hits the main gate with everything they have—RPGs, automatic weapons, grenades. The guards in the front towers go down in the first seconds, their bodies tumbling from their posts like broken dolls. Alarms blare. Floodlights swing toward the chaos at the front entrance.
"Move," I say.
We're running before the echoes fade, sprinting across the open ground toward the eastern wall. The darkness covers us, the noise from the front masking our approach. I count the seconds in my head—fifteen until the camera rotation brings us back into view.
We reach the wall with five seconds to spare.
"Grapples," I order.
Four lines sail over the razor wire, hooks catching on the far side. We scale the wall in seconds, dropping into the compound grounds in a silent rush.
Two guards are running toward the front, their backs to us. I drop them both with suppressed shots—two rounds each, center mass. They fall without a sound.
"Clear the path to the main building," I say. "I'm going underground."
The team splits—half moving to engage the remaining exterior guards, half following me toward the entrance Lenkov described. A service door on the north side of the main building, leading to a stairwell that descends two levels below ground.
Where Sergei keeps his prisoners.
Where he's keeping her.
The service door is locked, but that doesn't stop me for long.
I put two rounds through the mechanism and kick it open, sweeping the stairwell with my weapon raised. Empty. The sounds of battle are muffled down here, distant thunder that makes the concrete walls vibrate.
I descend quickly, my footsteps echoing in the narrow space. One level down. Then another. The air grows colder, damper, heavy with the smell of mildew and something else—something metallic.
Blood.
At the bottom of the stairs, a corridor stretches ahead, lined with steel doors. Cells. A dozen of them, maybe more.
And guards. Three of them, positioned at the far end, weapons raised.
They see me at the same moment I see them.
I move.
The first one goes down before he can pull the trigger—two shots to the chest, one to the head. The second gets a round off, the bullet sparking against the concrete wall beside me, but I'm already closing the distance. My knife finds his throat, and he drops, choking on his own blood.
The third one runs.
