The other DCO agent’s idea of a plan was walking up to nervous people in the middle of the street and flashing a photo of the kid in their faces. If the person acted like they hadn’t seen the boy, Powell generally resorted to threats of violence to get them to talk. Shockingly, Powell couldn’t understand why that didn’t work.
Of course, if he opened his eyes and looked around, Powell might have figured out why locals were so hesitant to talk. If Dylan were looking for a dark, soul-sucking place to write about in his blog, he’d definitely found the right town. It was hard to find a single building that hadn’t been damaged in the fighting, and many of them were completely destroyed. The worst part wasn’t the physical damage though. It was the fear that filled the face of every man, woman, and child.
According to the people who had talked to them, this particular area of the Donetsk People’s Republic—or DPR—was under the control of an independent militia group run by a former Russian army colonel named Zolnerov. Normally the way places like Donetsk governed themselves would be none of Jayson’s business, but when he saw people like Zolnerov using the situation to become powerful, it pissed him off.
Jayson had seen this before in half a dozen different places. The scared and suspicious looks, the locked doors and windows, the vacant shops, the nearly empty streets—even at midday. People who once praised the militia were now terrified of them. But no one would stand up and call them out because they feared being labeled a sympathizer, a traitor, or a spy. Many people had already left the town, and more were leaving every day. At this rate, a city that had a population of nearly two million would be a ghost town in a few years.
“This is stupid,” Powell groused as they moved through another dilapidated block of houses and into the next neighborhood. “We’ve been at this for hours and the sun is going down. Face it, there is no church with a broken bell. That old man sold you a load of crap just to get away from you. How about I pick out the next person we talk to and question them my way?”
Jayson ground his teeth. He could only imagine the kind of person Powell would want to question—young and female.
Sure enough, Powell was already heading toward a girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, hurrying along the nearly deserted street, when a flash of gold in the distance caught Jayson’s attention. He grabbed a handful of Powell’s jacket, hauling him back.
“What the hell are you doing?” Powell demanded.
Jayson really didn’t want to get into a fight out here on the streets, not with all the DPR militia troops congregating on every block, but decking Powell was hard to resist. He ignored the urge and pointed at the building down the street on the left.
“What?” Powell asked stubbornly.
“Fancy building. Golden dome on one side, blown-out bell tower on the other.”
Powell still seemed to be clueless.
“Russian Orthodox Church with a broken bell,” Jayson said.
Powell stared at the building like he was translating a foreign language, then grunted. “Maybe you’re not so worthless after all.”
The black-robed priest near the altar turned when they walked into the church. Unlike the people on the street, the bearded, gray-haired man didn’t look frightened, but instead seemed resolute and defiant. Luckily, the priest spoke English, and when Jayson showed him Dylan’s photo, he nodded and motioned for them to follow. Powell slipped his hand behind his back and rested it on his gun but nodded to Jayson.
The priest led them out of the church proper and across the hallway to a room. He knocked twice on the door, then opened it to reveal a small office. Dylan was sitting on a couch against one wall along with two other teenage boys. He looked exhausted and scared, but at the sight of them, he immediately jumped to his feet and snatched up a heavy candlestick from a nearby table.
“Who are you?” he demanded, moving to stand in front of the other teens.
“Relax, killer,” Powell said while crossing the room to look out the window at a group of militia soldiers across the street. “We’re here to take you back to daddy. Get your shit together. We’re getting out of here.”
Not exactly the smoothest way to announce the plan, but Jayson had to admit Powell’s simplistic approach got to the point quickly. Unfortunately, Dylan didn’t seem impressed with either the approach or the plan.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He set down the candlestick, an expression of youthful defiance on his face. Tall and lanky, with blond hair and brown eyes, Dylan looked ready to fight him and Powell with his bare hands. “Not without my friends—and not without Anya.”
“We’re not here for your friends,” Powell said tersely. “And who the hell is Anya?”
“Anya is the Ukrainian girlfriend,” Jayson reminded Powell. “Dick mentioned her during the briefing.”
Powell looked at Jayson like he had no idea what the hell Jayson was taking about. Jayson shook his head. Why did he even bother?
“Where is she?” Jayson asked Dylan.
“She got captured by the militia last night,” the curly-haired kid on Dylan’s right answered in heavily accented English.
Powell’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the kid. “Who the hell are you?”
“Mikhail Ivanov.” He jerked his thumb at the stocky, dark-haired kid next to him. “And this is Olek Rudnik. We’re friends of Dylan’s.”
“Mikhail is a blogger I was in contact with back when Anya and I were in Russia.” Dylan swallowed hard, close to tears. “All we wanted was to show the world what they were doing to the people over here, and now they’re going to put her in prison for the rest of her life for supposed crimes against the new republic. If they don’t execute her for being a Ukrainian spy. I can’t leave until I get her back.”
“We were trying to figure out how to break into the local militia headquarters when you two busted in here,” Mikhail added.
The priest explained that one of the many problems with the plan was that Dylan and his friends weren’t even sure Anya was actually being held there. But logic didn’t seem to apply in this case. Anya was in trouble, and Dylan was young and in love. Jayson couldn’t blame him. Hell, he’d have probably done the same thing.
