The building comes into view five minutes later. An old textile factory, abandoned for years, windows broken and walls tagged with graffiti. It sits at the end of a dead-end street, surrounded by empty lots and other derelict buildings. The perfect place to hide someone. The perfect place to hurt someone where no one will hear them scream.
My hand throbs. I ignore it.
We park two blocks away, the vehicles pulling into the shadows of an abandoned warehouse. Ilya's men emerge silently, checking weapons and adjusting body armor.
Ilya gathers them in a tight circle, his voice low. "Two-man teams leading small groups. Yuri and Maksim, you take the east side. Pavel and Dimitri, west. Viktor and Alexei, you're on the roof—find a vantage point and give us eyes. The rest of you, with me and Kazimir. We go in through the main entrance."
He pulls out his phone, bringing up a blueprint of the building. "It's four stories. Ground floor is open factory space. Second and third floors are offices and storage. Basement level is where they'll have her—that's where the old maintenance rooms are. Concrete walls, hard to hear anything, perfect for keeping someone hidden."
My chest tightens at the thought of her trapped in there, of how she must feel right now.
"We clear each floor as we go," Ilya continues. "Suppressed weapons until we get inside. Once the shooting starts, it's open season. Anyone armed is a target. Anyone who gets between us and the basement is a target. Questions?"
Silence.
"Good. Kazimir goes with my team. He gets to the basement first—that's non-negotiable. The rest of us provide cover and eliminate any threats." He looks at each man in turn. "This is a rescue operation. Speed and precision. We get in, we get her, we get out. Understood?"
There’s a chorus of quiet affirmatives.
"Move out."
We approach on foot, spreading out to cover all angles of approach. The street is empty, no traffic, no witnesses. Just the wind and the distant sound of the city and the pounding of my heart.
Two blocks become one, then a half a block, and then we're there, pressed against the wall of the building next to the factory, weapons raised.
Ilya raises his fist. We stop.
He points to Yuri and Maksim, then to the left. They disappear around the corner, moving like shadows. Pavel and Dmitri go right. Viktor and Alexei head for the fire escape that will take them to the roof. The rest of us wait.
Thirty seconds turn into a minute. Then Viktor's voice crackles through the radio in Ilya's ear. "In position. I count two guards outside, main entrance. Two more on the second-floor catwalk, visible through the windows. Unknown number inside."
Ilya looks at me, then at his remaining men. He makes a series of hand signals. Two men move forward, circling wide to approach the guards from behind.
I watch them work. They come up behind the guards—two men smoking cigarettes, relaxed and unaware—and it's over in seconds. There are two suppressed shots, and the bodies crumple. The path is clear.
Ilya looks at me. I nod, and we move.
The door opens silently—someone has oiled the hinges recently, which means this place is being used. Inside, the factory floor stretches out in darkness, broken only by weak moonlight filtering through the shattered windows above. Old machinery looms around us, casting grotesque shadows across the concrete. Somewhere in this place, Svetlana is waiting.
The air smells like rust and oil and old blood. We move through the factory floor in formation, weapons raised, every sense on high alert. My right hand hangs at my side, the fresh bandage already showing spots of red, but my left grips my gun steady and sure. The stimulants Viktor gave me are doing their job—my vision is sharp, my reflexes hair-trigger, every sound amplified. My training and experience take over, muscle memory guiding me even as my mind screams at me to run, to find her, to make sure she's still breathing.
A shadow moves near a support column. Ilya's man—Sergei—raises his weapon, but I'm faster. I fire. Two shots, center mass. The guard goes down with a choked gasp, his weapon clattering against the concrete.
We freeze, waiting to see if the sound has alerted anyone else.
Silence.
We keep moving.
The factory floor is a maze of old equipment and debris. We clear it section by section, moving from cover to cover. Anotherguard appears from behind a rusted engine block, and this time it's Ilya who takes the shot. The man drops without a sound.
Two down.
We reach a metal staircase leading to the second floor. Ilya sends two men up first, weapons trained on the catwalk above. They move silently, and I hear the soft sound of suppressed shots, then see a thumbs-up signal. The guards Viktor spotted from the roof are neutralized.
Four down.
But how many more? How many stand between me and Svetlana?
