Page 17 of Every Last Breath

They got out in tandem. Val grabbed the hard-shell golf travel case that had the rifle, tossed Aleksander the key fob, and went off to execute his part in the main parking lot. Aleksander hiked the lightweight backpack containing a brick of Semtex explosives on his shoulder.

A warm breeze off the river carried the stench of urine. A ghost moon was rising in the north. Striding past a row of taxis the color of crushed daffodils, Aleksander glided as if cloaked in shadows. He strolled into the VIP parking section, surveilling the area. No eyes on him.

He hit the alarm button on the key fob.

The high-pitched dee-doo dee-doo siren sounded, drawing outside attention away from him. Whipping the bag off his shoulder, he dropped to the blistering pavement and slid underneath the Navigator. He clicked the remote once more, killing the noise. The fit beneath the undercarriage was cramped, giving him inches to work within, but he was slender and had maneuvered in spaces more confined than this.

He removed the wired explosives from the backpack. His sweat-dampened hair stuck to his forehead. Perspiration gathered in his armpits, running in ribbons down his long-sleeved shirt, his clothing clinging in the boiling air, but he ignored the distractions. Singular focus.

Attaching the explosive device to the chassis near the gas tank took less than a minute. He’d done it so many times, he could’ve been blindfolded. He hit the alarm button on the remote key again, and the shrill sound pierced the air once more. As the gazes of everyone followed the noise, he scooted out from under the vehicle. A quick brush of his sweaty clothes, and he strode toward the sedan.

Val intersected his path. “Black Dodge pickup. Third row. Sixth in.”

Aleksander handed his son the key fob and detonator. “If I’m not at the rendezvous by 0900, go ahead without me. You can handle the next target. I’ll catch up.”

Val nodded.

A casino security guard standing beside their sedan said, “Whose car is this? It can’t be parked here.”

“Sorry,” Val said with no trace of a Slavic accent. “I’m an Uber driver. I was looking for my customer.”

Aleksander hung back until the guard had moved on and then exchanged one last look with his son before heading into the main parking lot. He located the Dodge pickup that Val had hotwired for him, the engine running. He jumped in the cabin of the truck, resting a hand on the rifle case, and spotted his son moving into a position with lines of sight to the Navigator and the front doors of the busy casino.

Val would wait for Callahan to get into the car and clear the casino before detonating the bomb. Amateurs rushed, making careless mistakes. Val would be patient, focused. The way Aleksander had trained him.

Aleksander drove out of the casino parking lot and hit the highway, I-95 south, for his two-hour drive. His fingers tingled. There was so much left to do, but with each step, they drew closer. This was everything.

He would have retribution, come hell or high water.

And make no mistake: he would be the hell, and his son the high water.

Chapter 06

Vienna, Virginia

6:45 p.m. EDT

Cole picked the electronic smartcode dead bolt of Maddox’s apartment in twenty seconds. Technically, he cheated. He hooked a hi-tech RF signal disruptor to the lock’s touch screen, scrambling the Z-wave—if he correctly recalled the geek speak on how the gadget worked. The pricey off-market tech was a challenge to acquire, courtesy of his boss as part of his job.

Once inside, Cole shut the door and locked it. Beyond the long entry hall, he glimpsed a living room.

He stalked into her place, past a console table with a small crystal bowl, absorbing the upscale, tidy environment. Neutral beige and calming blues, blank walls. Plush furniture that enticed him to kick off his shoes and settle in. Experience taught him to peel back the seductive superficial layers to see the butt-ugly truth.

After Maddox had hijacked him from the Russians and strapped him to a chair, the tension that’d been abrading his nerves was scratching deep.

He rounded the corner, prowling into the kitchen. Empty red wine bottles filled a recycling bin. Half-eaten takeout containers and protein shakes lined the fridge. The freezer wasn’t better, with waistline-friendly dinners, gelato, an unopened bottle of vodka. The good stuff. A barren pantry had a few boxes of pasta, soup, scotch—more of the good stuff—wine, and freaking MREs. Meals ready to eat, only consumed in the pinch of a combat zone.

Drifting into the living room, he soaked in the details. No Blu-rays in the entertainment center. No keepsakes. No mail, no bills, no magazine subscriptions.

No photos of her with friends, her parents, a man.

The cozy place had the warmth of a corporate apartment and personality of a hotel suite. It was clean, empty, like his or anyone who needed to bolt at a moment’s notice.

He wandered into the bedroom and stilled. Above her bed hung a framed photo print of the Kogod Courtyard ceiling at the National Portrait Gallery in DC, where they’d met. A phantom fist dragged him to a time that’d broken more than his heart.

On breaks from MIT, he’d avoided family business and spent time gazing at the ceiling of the Kogod Courtyard—an architectural marvel of glass and steel that floated, catching the sun, setting the imagination afire. But seeing Maddox for the first time had set his entire body alight.

It felt as if someone had combed the recesses of his dirty mind and created this young, alluring woman just for him. Curly brown hair, light-brown skin, mesmerizing eyes. A mouth made for sex and hips meant to cradle a man. She’d been perfection, squeezing the air from his lungs.