Page 44 of Every Last Breath

Val glided up behind him, quickly, silently, overlapping the handles of the garrote around the neck and tightening the wire. He rammed a knee into Kassar’s lower back.

Tug and hold.

Horror exploded in Kassar’s bulging eyes. The natural phases of impending death streaked across his face—fear, denial, concern for his family.

“Your wife and daughter are fine,” Aleksander reassured. “The housekeeper will find them.”

The wire dug into Kassar’s neck, crushing the trachea and cutting off blood flow to the brain. Not as quick as a bullet, but a silent, clean death in thirty seconds.

Kassar gagged, scratching at his own throat, kicking at air. They always struggled. No use, but they tried nonetheless. Air rasped from Kassar’s lips—those last sounds of life squeezing out always stung Aleksander’s ears. A few seconds longer, then the body went limp.

Val dropped him on the bed next to the laid-out tuxedo and slipped the garrote back in his pocket. “You look tired. Would you like me to make you an espresso, Baba?”

Such a good boy, taking care of his father. “After we finish preparing, yes.”

Aleksander picked up the five-by-seven-inch heavyweight linen textured card lettered in gold. Out of all the invitations, this was the easiest one to get his hands on, so he’d saved it for last. Impersonating Kassar required no effort, since no one knew what he looked like. With the others, he needed to pick off the competition, keep the price of the bioweapon down. The arms dealers had much deeper pockets, while his resources were finite…

Eliminating them was a means to a justified end. There hadn’t been time to get them all. He’d had to be selective. Losing Reznikov still vexed him. He’d been positioned with a clear shot, waiting for his opening. Then the scarred man on the motorcycle had appeared.

There’d been a moment Aleksander swore the man had looked right at him. And when Ilya Reznikov proffered the invitation to Scarface, Aleksander had to take the shot. Kill them both. Lined up in his sights, no breeze, no obstructions, Aleksander went for Ilya Reznikov first. But Scarface had moved fast as a gust of wind, robbing him of the kill. Ruining his perfect record.

Taking out the other invitees with the deepest pockets helped, but three of five was not what he’d endeavored to achieve. He swallowed the loss, the taste bitter as cyanide.

Val hauled out the suitcase stowed under the bed. He removed the false heels of the men’s dress shoes, put on gloves, and packed the cavities with the rest of their Semtex. This explosive was better than C-4, both malleable and waterproof. Aleksander set the detonator—already hidden in an empty lighter case—beside a pack of Delta cigarettes. With no way to know what they were walking into at the auction, they needed to be ready for a multitude of scenarios.

The two 160mm e-cigarettes Aleksander withdrew from the suitcase were the longest and widest he could find. He’d removed the wicks, inner tanks, and batteries, keeping the tiny springs and rigging them with No. 10 scalpel blades. A slight press on the battery button and the ultraslim soldered blade would eject. Two inches in length, so he and Val would have to be close to the targets, but the surgical precision of the instrument would do the heavy lifting.

No one ever questioned a smoker. They could have cigarettes, nicotine gum, and an e-cigarette without raising a single eyebrow.

The Tourbillon Skeleton watch Aleksander wore everywhere was a chunky, classic timepiece that was broken but still served a vital function. He tested the crown. The push-button knob, typically used to wind the mainspring, ejected the black stainless-steel side of the case, revealing double-strand fiber wire that the artistic skeletonized dial concealed. The two-inch section of steel and the rest of the watch acted as handles. A homemade garrote, carried for luck.

Like a perfected aria, it was a magnificent piece of artistry. Aleksander handed the well-used watch to his son. Val would be his good luck and the watch his son’s.

Val cradled the watch in his palm and smiled. He was the one bright spot in Aleksander’s life.

“Thank you, Baba,” Val said with a hint of reverence.

Aleksander nodded. His burner phone hummed in his pocket. It could only be the information broker, who’d helped him orchestrate this. The untraceable phone was for emergencies. Aleksander had a standing agreement to pay for any intelligence that could compromise him or help further.

The broker had global resources, spies planted everywhere. The dossiers on the bidders and the auction host had been thorough, making possible everything he’d accomplished in the last thirty-six hours. The text shouldn’t have surprised him, but the message was shocking.

Informant on inside has relayed: undercover Gray Box agent to attend auction.

Details to follow after additional payment received. Intel solid.

Chapter 13

Sparrows Point Shipyard, Maryland

5:00 p.m. EDT

Maddox sat in the SUV, knuckles pale from clenching the steering wheel of the parked car for the past half hour.

Once dressed in her gear, she’d fortified her focus. Didn’t matter how irresistible Cole looked seated beside her. Or how the tux molded to his body despite the lack of tailoring. Didn’t matter his aura of danger and sex appeal were ramped to the max. With his lush black hair swept in a tight, low man bun, and bruiser beads draped around his neck, everything about him screamed pure warrior.

But it didn’t matter. She was dialed into the mission.

She ran her hand over the large turquoise stone centerpiece of her necklace.