Page 162 of Nemesis

I’m distracted, still trying to determine what feels so off, when Ivan sidles up and clasps my shoulder.

“Come on, kid. Nothing like a beautiful brawl to save a shitty week.” His white teeth glint in the darkness through a crazed grin. “It’s time to go get your woman.”

The doors of several more vans groan open, bootsteps filling the sideroad we staged on. Machine gun already in hand, Ivan looks every bit the formidable victor our soldiers need to see leading the charge. With only a parting nod to Ben and Nik, we split off with our coalition, stepping into the dense treeline that meets the back gate.

“Remember, the stairs to the holding cell block are on the left⁠—”

“I know.”

I spent the last twenty-four hours burning the blueprints into my mind. Even as I step over a fallen branch, I can see a mental rendition of the dining table where my wife is likely sitting. I can see that pretentious chandelier presiding over the head chair and the large sheets of windows that leave the room foolishly exposed.

I raise a fist, stopping the twenty-something bodies behind me. We’re about thirty feet from the nearest sniper and forty-five from the stationed guards. We’ll only take another step when we’re ready to be seen.

Ivan presses a finger to his earpiece, eyes glittering with excitement. “Team two is in position. Back-up squads three and four are prepped for the second wave.” He rolls his head, neck cracking. “We’re ready.”

Ivan’s hand sinks into his side pocket and reemerges with two grenades. He drops one into my waiting grip like a kid splitting a candy bar with his friend. Then his finger loops through the trigger, and his grenade taps mine.

He grins broadly. “Cheers, motherfucker.”

Click.

With a delightful swing, the metal leaves my palm. Flies through the air…

And the world erupts in deafening flames.

I’m running before the explosion stops reverberating. There’s already a second one to fill the void. Shouts compete with the booms of returning gunfire.

“Go, go, go!” Ivan yells, sprinting towards the metal gate with his weapon raised. More grenades light up the sky from the other side of the house. Ben’s crew. My own steps are silent as I race along the edges of our group, keeping a low profile in the chaos.

One glance up confirms the snipers are absent from their positions on the top of the gate pillars. With the next explosion, I speed towards the glinting metal and leap onto the rungs. The hard poles slam into my side with bruising force.

Footsteps fade out as our soldiers follow Ivan’s march along the far side of the gates. Dozens of weapons fire overlapping shots, but I wrap my fingers around the next rung and heave myself up the cool metal. Another grenade lights the air like a firework display. Miraculously, I manage to reach the top before getting shot down…

The high-pitched ping of a bullet ricochets beside my shoulder, heating my skin. Spoke too soon.

A single rogue breaks up the darkness on their side of the gate, unswayed by Ivan’s diversion. Something gleams beneath the moon. His gun raises again, lining up with my chest…

I jump from the other side of the gate, plummeting through the air at harrowing speed. My bones are crashing against his before his next bullet leaves the chamber. He breaks my fall, stumbling back onto the trimmed grass below. A grunt sounds as I twist his arm, pressing the hot barrel to clammy skin.

Bang.

His head leaps back to the dirt with a spray of blood, but the shot is lost beneath the cover of distant explosions.

Have to keep moving.

Dirt clings as I crawl to my feet and sprint away from the mess. The front of Popov’s mansion may be composed of glass, but back here, the original structure is unchanged. Thick, impenetrable stones rise from the soil to the fifth floor, and weeds grow unhindered along the base. He’s the type of man who only puts stock in front-facing appearances. Tonight, that will be his downfall.

My hand traces the rough slab.

Come on, come on…

Wait. My fingers catch in a gap far more decayed than the rest. I wiggle the rock.

There.

The brick comes loose. I laugh in amazement, tossing the piece aside. The entrance—it’s real.

It doesn’t take me long to remove the superficial blocks unsealed from the rest of the structure. How fitting for a man like that to be brought down by his overlooked daughter. The pieces keep wiggling free, joining the others in the weeds. Come tomorrow, Della Popov will have saved her kid’s life twice. Once as a mother, and once from the grave.