“Pyotr.” His voice drops half a register. “I’m not going to give you a specific instruction that someone could read back to me in a courtroom. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
I understand perfectly. Dmitri has built his empire by never leaving fingerprints. The man doesn’t order killings or authorize violence. Instead, he creates conditions where the people who work for him know what needs to happen and take responsibility for making it happen. It’s the reason he’s never spent a night in a cell despite running one of the largest Bratva families in western Russia.
“I understand,” I say.
“Good. Then handle this however you see fit. Bring me a result, not a problem. And Pyotr? Do it before he reaches that border.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone and meet Boris’ eyes across the kitchen. He’s already moving toward the laptop where Tony’s tracking feed blinks on the screen.
“Green?” Boris asks.
“As green as Dmitri ever gets. He wants it done before the crossing. No specifics, no written instructions, no trail.”
Boris grunts. “That’s his way of saying put Bogdan in the ground without actually saying it.”
“That’s what it is. Can you get Eduard and Marat rolling?”
“Already texted them while you were on the phone. Eduard is twenty minutes from the M10 on-ramp. Marat is closer. They’ll caravan south of Vyborg and wait for our coordinates.” Boris pulls his vest from the back of a chair and shrugs into it. “I need to grab gear from the car.”
He’s out the door before I answer.
“Tony,” I call toward the laptop.
“Still here.” His voice comes through the speaker. “Bogdan’s phone is pinging every four minutes. He’s on the A181 heading northwest at roughly ninety kilometers an hour. Sticking just under the speed limit, which is smart. A speeding ticket and a traffic stop are the last things he wants.”
“Can you project where he’ll be in six hours?”
“Assuming he stays on this route without stopping, he reaches the Torfyanovka crossing sometime between four and five this afternoon. But here’s what matters.” Keys click on his end, rapid and rhythmic. “There’s a stretch between Vyborg and the border.About thirty kilometers of forest with minimal development. A handful of logging roads, one gas station, and a whole lot of nothing. That’s your best ground if you’re going to box him in. We’ll send a chopper to get you most of the way there, and we’ll have a car waiting so you can close in.”
“Send the map to Boris’ phone.”
“Sent. I’m also monitoring police scanners along the A181 corridor. If Bogdan gets pulled over or changes direction, you’ll know the second I do.”
“Good. Stay on that feed and don’t lose him.”
“I won’t.”
The laptop gets closed halfway before I head for the bedroom to grab my bag. My duffel is still packed from the warehouse operation, but I unzip it on the bed and recheck every item. Two handguns, five loaded magazines, a field med kit, a box of zip-ties, a change of clothes, and a hunting knife I’ve carried since my first year in the service. Counting the rounds twice is a habit because counting them once is how men end up dead.
My Makarov goes into my waistband. I tuck the backup piece into the duffel’s side pocket, its grip facing up for a fast draw, then test the zipper three times to make sure it doesn’t stick.
I’m loading the last magazine when the floorboard behind me groans.
Daria is standing in the doorway with her coat zipped to the collar and the boots she bought two weeks ago on her feet. The overnight bag from the hall closet hangs from one shoulder. Dry eyes and a set chin. I’ve learned that look means she’s made up her mind about something I won’t like.
“No,” I declare before she opens her mouth.
“I’m not asking permission, Pyotr.”
“This isn’t the warehouse. There’s no armored SUV with bulletproof glass, no perimeter team, and no extraction plan. You are not coming.”
“I know what this is.”
“Then you know why you need to stay here.”
She pulls the bag from her shoulder and lets it thump against the hardwood. “I just told that man I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. If I sit in this apartment and wait for someone else to finish what I started, every word I said on that phone becomes a lie.”
