The pattern is that they’re pushing toward the north side.
Toward the residential wing. Where the safe room is located.
I see the group break from the main force at the garden wall, four men, moving fast, using the cover of the ornamental hedgerow on the north approach. Not fighting toward us. Moving around us. My mind tells me I should send some of the men after them, surround them, and massacre them.
I’m already moving.
I can’t risk my girls getting hurt.My girls. The phrase surfaces, unbidden, in the three seconds I spend crossing the open ground between the hedgerow and the north wall.
I know it’s the wrong call. I know it before I’ve taken three steps. Breaking the center formation exposes the approach from the south. Pursuing four men while my position anchors forty is the kind of math that costs you battles.
I override it and reach the north wall.
The four men are pinned by two of mine at the corner — the intercept happened, the formation held without me. I engage from the opposite angle, and the engagement is brief. They are safe.
I’m turning back toward the main position when the explosion hits.
White.
Then nothing.
Alexei’s voice, at a distance that feels wrong, saying my name over and over.
“Rolan. Rolan, look at me.”
I blink up at him. “How long was I out?” I grumble.
“Three minutes. They had a device on the wall. We didn’t find it in the sweep.” His jaw is tight. “Can you stand?”
I stand. The world adjusts itself. My head pounds like a fucking tin drum. “The girls.”
“Still in the safe room. They are fine.”
The pain softens a touch. I run the inventory of my own body — head, functional with significant complaint. Right arm, limited range. I’ll assess later. Everything else is sore and aching, but operational.
“Survivors,” I say.
Alexei’s expression flickers. “Seven. We have them in the south courtyard.”
I look at my hands. The blood there is not mine — most of it isn’t mine. I think about what I know and what I still need toknow, and the seven men in the south courtyard are the fastest path between those two things.
“Take me there,” I command.
They give me the information I need.
It takes some time, but not too much. Dushku has consolidated. Two additional organizations, one Chicago-based and one operating out of New York. Mercenary component, six or eight men hired explicitly for the perimeter breach.
Resources that exceed what the Albanian operation should be able to access. Money is moving from somewhere I haven’t identified yet.
I stand in the south courtyard and look at what’s left. The problem is only partly solved. I should call Mikhail and get a full status before I go inside.
I call him. No answer.
And then I’m moving. Through the south entrance, through the corridor, the estate going from combat to aftermath. It’s when I’m in the main foyer that I finally see them.
Ellie has Anya’s face pressed against her. Her hands are over Anya’s ears. Her eyes are open, and she’s looking at the room, terrified.
Fuck.
