My phone rings again. Different man this time. One of Pavel’s eastern district contacts. “There’s a car service vehicle parked outside the Sorokin Freight logistics office,” he says. “Been there about four minutes. Driver is still inside.”
Four minutes. She’s already there.
“Get inside that building,” I tell him.
“I’m one man.”
“Then wait at the entrance and don’t let anyone leave. We’re twelve minutes out.”
Pavel’s voice comes on the line. “I’m rerouting two men from the northern checkpoint. They can be there in ten.”
“Tell them to move.”
The car pushes through traffic, my driver running lights where he has to. I watch the minutes count down on the dashboard clock and think about Anna walking into that office alone and confident, telling herself she has leverage, telling herself this is something she can handle.
Eight minutes out, my eastern contact calls back.
His voice is different. Tighter. “She’s not in the office anymore. There are men coming out of the side entrance. Four of them. They have a woman.”
My hand tightens on the phone. “Description.”
“Dark hair. She’s not fighting them. I think they said something to her that stopped her.”
“Don’t engage alone. Follow the vehicle. Don’t lose it.”
“They have three cars. I can only follow one.”
“Take the middle one.”
The line stays open. I hear his engine. Hear him pulling into traffic behind them.
Pavel is already on another call, voice clipped and fast, redirecting every available man toward the eastern district. I sitin the back of my car and watch the city move past the window and think about twelve minutes. How many minutes is the difference between getting there and getting there too late?
My contact’s voice comes back. “They’re splitting up. Two cars turning south, one continuing east.”
“Stay on the one going east.”
“Copy.”
We reach the Sorokin Freight office six minutes later. The car service vehicle is still outside, the driver standing beside it, looking confused and slightly afraid. The side Pavel’s man described is hanging open. Inside, a corridor leading to an empty room with a chair knocked over and a zip tie packaging on the floor.
I stand in the middle of the room and look at it.
Pavel appears beside me. “My contact is still following the eastbound vehicle. It’s heading out of the city.”
“Secondary location.”
“Has to be.”
I look at the knocked-over chair, the zip tie packaging, and the empty room that smells like river water and engine oil. She walked in here thinking she was negotiating, and they had her before she finished her first sentence.
My phone buzzes. A message from an unknown number.
I have your wife. Your children. Her parents. You know who this is. You’ll receive a location within the hour.
I read it once.
Then I look at Pavel. “Get everyone. Every man we have. Now.”
