I feel the same, Marco.
The guards disappeared as they entered the cell. Angry voices were raised, both male and female. A moment later, Elle was led out at gunpoint. She had Marco leashed next to her. Someone had secured a locked muzzle around his snout. Still, the dog frothed and snarled.
Elle kept him close, glaring all around. She looked in rough shape after her ride in the rocket-blasted trash bin. A dark bruise shadowed her chin, and she had multiple bloody scabs marring her face.
Sychkin stepped closer, but not too close. He eyed Marco warily. He withdrew an old book from a satchel hanging over his shoulder. The leatherbound text was covered in flaking gold. Kowalski recognized it from the video of the assault on Red Square, the source of all this mayhem.
As Sychkin opened it and flipped through its pages, he challenged Valya Mikhailov. “What of the other prisoner?”
Valya’s eyes swung toward Kowalski’s cell. He didn’t bother shying from her intent stare. “He was supposed to be bait.”
Kowalski inwardly shrugged.
I’ve been called worse.
Valya stared upward. “But it seems he will no longer be necessary.” She turned to the woman decked in leather. “Nadira, before we leave, we should get rid of our extra baggage.”
Kowalski scowled.
Okay, that hurt.
Particularly knowing what it meant.
The two approached his door. Nadira pulled out a black pistol, a Russian MP-446 Viking. The weapon typically came with ten to eighteen rounds, not that they’d need that many. Especially as Valya drew forth a steel dagger with a carved black handle.
Kowalski backed up a step.
This ain’t going to be pretty.
8:47 a.m.
Tucker crouched between the mansion’s six-car garage and the brick wall of the alley. Yuri had taken up a post on the other side of the building. Tucker cradled his pistol between his hands. Two guards lay sprawled across the cobbles in a spreading pool of blood beside the two parked Mercedes SUVs.
He spotted no one else.
Moments ago, when the sirens had blared inside the house, Tuckerhad ducked down the alley, scaled the wall, and dropped into this sheltered position. Yuri had followed, but Tucker had to leave Kane in the alley with an order to keep hidden. With the mansion’s grounds fenced and gated, there had been no time to haul his four-legged partner into this fray.
Without him, Tucker felt half-blind, stripped of his best weapon.
But he had no choice.
“All clear,” he radioed Yuri.
Tucker ran into the open, using the bulky vehicles for cover, then ducked behind one of them. So far, no one had sniped at him. All attention must be inside, where a fierce firefight was underway, echoing out to them.
Seichan was offering him plenty of distraction.
But will it do us any good?
Yuri ran low and dropped behind the second Mercedes. “What now?” he called over, not bothering with the radio or speaking in Russian.
Tucker eyed the set of steps leading to a cellar or basement. If the others were being held prisoner, it would be down there. “Cover me. I’m going to strike for the basement door.”
“Da. Go. I got you.”
Tucker dashed for those steps. He was halfway across when automatic gunfire burst from above. Rounds sparked off the brick cobbles. Already committed to this course, he sped faster.
Behind him, Yuri returned fire from his hiding spot. Glass shattered overhead, showering shards across his path. Tucker raced through the sharp rain, hit the stairs, and slammed into the door. Momentarily out of range of the snipers, he looked back.
