Two men in black stand near it, rifles slung over their shoulders, hands tucked into their coat pockets. They’re chatting, cold mist puffing from their mouths.
“Park. Now.”
Andrei pulls off the road before the men notice us. My vans follow suit, and together we park behind a large warehouse across the street, down from the target. The engines die, and the backs of the vans open. A dozen men pour out, all dressed in black tactical gear, all armed to the teeth.
Andrei and I step out of our car, and I take a moment to look over the troops. They stand at attention, waiting for their orders.
“You know the plan. Move silently. Execute thoroughly.”
The men move like phantoms, intentional footsteps carrying them over the gravel. The gray sky of this seemingly eternal winter releases flurries of snow, dusting the ground.
This is good. It will afford quieter steps.
I watch as the men post around the perimeter of the warehouse, waiting for me to give the signal to attack.
“The car,” Andrei says. “What are they guarding?”
“Let’s find out.”
We snap the safety off our weapons and crouch, stepping quickly. I take cover behind a dumpster about fifty feet from the men and the car. One of the guards takes out a cigarette, flicking a lighter in front of it.
“Someone is in the car,” Andrei says.
I stand straight, craning my neck just enough to catch sight of a small head with familiar dark curls. Sasha.
At first, I fear the worst. When the head moves just a bit, the relief that hits me is hot, dizzying, and almost painful. Then rage follows, clean and absolute.
What Garin has in store for my son, I don’t want to imagine. But there’s not a chance in hell I’ll let him succeed.
I exhale slowly, letting the rage sharpen to a blade’s point.
“Prepare to move on my command,” I speak into the comms at my shoulder.
A series of acknowledgments comes back. Several dark figures move closer. On the roof line, two shapes crab walk—my men, practically floating through the gentle snowfall. These two are former Spetsnaz, their training second to none.
“Eyes,” I say. “Get eyes on her, wherever she is.”
Andrei’s gaze stays on the car. “You see him.”
“Yes.”
“But she’s not with him.”
“No.”
I can get Sasha, take him out of here. But Amalie is somewhere in that building, terrified, possibly hurt.
I lock down the thought before it becomes panic.
One of the guards says something to the other, then steps away.
“Think he’s taking a piss,” Andrei says.
“You take the left side of the car, I’ll take the right. Guard is mine. You secure the car, make sure Sasha is okay.”
“Understood.”
“Move.”
