“Y-yes. Fuck. Yes.”
“So…let’s get her back.” West passes me Wren’s laptop, and I stare at the biometric sensor. “You know what to do. Supplies are in my kit.”
As West spreads a map of the city out on the dining room table, I open his rucksack and dig out the black leather infil kit. With silicone spray, ultra-fine charcoal powder, and a rubbery finger-condom, I lift Wren’s print from the sensor, apply it to my thumb, and pray.
Enter passcode:
Closing my eyes, I think back to the first time I saw her fingers flying over the keys. The ten digits roll out of my memory easily, and I’m in. “Got it.”
One-by-one, the cameras come online. Kolya hasn’t found any of them. Not yet. She hasn’t told him everything. The streetlights illuminate a couple of kids lounging on the front steps of his building, but no one else is out. It’s well after nine, and this part of St. Petersburg rolls up its sidewalks after eight. At least on a Sunday.
“In position, Whiskey,” Inara whispers over comms, using West’s code name. We never use real names on a mission—just in case someone’s listening. Inara is India, I’m Romeo, and West is Whiskey. New guy—if we ever go on another mission again—will be Golf. “I can see into the top floor of that monstrosity. Four rooms, I think. One’s an office. Blinds open. Desk, chair. Dark colors. Another might be a bedroom. Kind of looks like the video with the girl.”
“Any signs of life?” West asks.
“No. Switching to thermals.”
I hold my breath. If Wren’s there…
“One heat signature. Indistinct. Like someone curled in a ball. Could be a fucking dog for all I can tell. In a room off the bedroom. Floor level.” After a pause, she mutters, “Most everyone’s on the first floor. Got…fuck…at least fifteen. Maybe twenty.”
“Wren?”
“How the hell would I know? These are heat signatures. All the shades are drawn down there. I’m going to try to get closer and use the parabolic mic. Going dark.”
I cycle through the cameras, looking for anything out of place. The kids head inside, passing through the front door after a security check from a big, burly guy with a semi-automatic slung over his shoulder. That’s new. They’re expecting trouble.
They’re expectingme.
“Bring it, you fucking bastard,” I say under my breath. “You’re mine.”
West chuckles. “That’s more like it.” His grim smile matches his tone, and he waves me over. “Cam found the blueprints for the building.”
“What’re we looking at?” I carry Wren’s laptop over to the table with me, keeping one eye on the cameras while West opens the black and white schematics for Kolya’s fortress.
“Former hotel. Ten rooms on each of the two middle floors. Dining room and kitchen on the first floor, ballroom, a couple of storage closets. Fourth floor has three penthouse-style suites with full bathrooms. Electrical and storage in the basement. Server room, too, I think. Six exterior doors, and one ingress point on the roof.” West twists the 3D model on screen. “If she’s in there—”
“Three hostiles are climbing the stairs with the girl—Elena. Caught a glimpse of them as they hit the second floor. Kolya and two guys. One blond, one dark.”
“Where’s the unknown signature?” West asks. “What side of the building?”
“North east corner.”
“That’s a bathroom,” West confirms. “Switch to thermals and give me a visual.”
She does, and West answers the incoming video call. The indistinct heat signature starts to move, and as its shape changes, I suck in a breath. Definitely a person. Small. Moving so slowly it’s almost painful to watch.
Oh God. Is that Wren? If so…what have they done to her?
* * *
Wren
I’m lying in something sticky. And…disgusting. The sour smell of bile burns my nose. Oh my God. Vomit. I try to push myself up, but my limbs don’t want to respond.
Everything’s fuzzy. An undercurrent of fear runs through me, sending my heart thudding in my chest and my stomach clenching. The needle. The terror as my arm went numb. The sudden, violent retching. My head slamming into the sink. And then…peace. No pain. No fear. No…anything.
But now, my entire body screams in agony. My head. My arms. My ribs. And I’m cold. So cold. Naked, bruised, bloody, and covered in my own sick, I cover my face with my hands and sob.
