“Which ones? Be specific.”

  She started to shudder. “I did it without thinking…God, I am so sorry.”

  “We can worry about everything else later,” I said. “For now, let’s concentrate on not getting dead. What code names did you post?”

  Violet rolled her lips and tried hard to stand at attention. “Azrael, for you.” She hesitated. “And tikhaya smert.”

  I could feel my face twist into a grimace. Azrael, the angel of death, was one of my more prominently known designates. Nearly anyone I’d worked for, around or with knew me by it. But the term was common, unspecific to me, and I could prance around with it printed in all caps on a vivid, pastel crop top and anyone looking my way would be none the wiser.

  Tikhaya smert, Russian for ‘silent death’, was one of Natalia’s lesser-known christenings, provided to her by past adversaries in Eastern Europe, of whom only a choice few remained alive to tell the tale. And the ones yet to expire were serious fucking assholes.

  How Violet had become privy to it was a conundrum in itself. But type those two code names together in ASCII text in the same sentence or paragraph in the wrong place on the internet and, boom, catch-22.

  In this day and age of surveillance, technology and internet heuristics, it didn’t take much of anything to trigger red flags. It didn’t matter who you were, type the wrong word or sequence of characters and beep, boop, blitzkrieg. Attention to detail and implemented operational safeguards were of no consequence. This wasn’t going to be good.

  Violet went on. “To top it off, somebody started blowing my phone up about an hour ago. It started with texts, and now whoever it is won’t stop calling.”

  “Who is it? What’s the number?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Just says ‘Unknown’.”

  “You haven’t answered it?”

  “No. Hell no.” She rattled her head. “I never answer catawampus numbers. I don’t need another rando stalker or secret admirer. I’m like the most notorious call screener.”

  I was ready to continue the inquisition, but decided to allow her some leeway. “Let me see your phone, Violet.”

  She sniffled and reached for her pocket. “You have to believe me, I never meant for anything bad to happen—I never meant to get anyone in trouble either.”

  A buzzing sound drew my attention to her hand while still out of sight. Violet extracted her smartphone, glanced warily at it, then sent me an expectant look.

  “Answer it,” I said.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “I’ll listen in beside you. Hand it over when you need to.”

  She hesitated, then slid the virtual answer button over on the touchscreen and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  Violet’s eyes grew wide, then narrowed and went wide again. “Excuse me? Um, no. What? Wait, who is this?” A pause. “Well, yeah, but…aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, identify or authenticate or something? This is really creepy—I think you’re talking to the wr—” She pulled the phone away, stared at it, appalled, then reengaged. “Wait—what the hell did you call me? No, you listen. I don’t give a shit who you are. You’re dicking around with the wrong person!”

  “Violet,” I said, snapping my fingers to haul in her attention.

  She looked to me, confused. “I think he wants to talk to you.”

  Her words made me shudder. “Who does?”

  “He…says his name is…Rocky Four.”

  And this, ladies and gentlemen, could very likely be the reason my anxiety has been burning a hole in my gut worse than the most horrific case of heartburn, like those back in the days of consuming spicy beef taco MREs provided by the Corps. Too quiet indeed.

  I took hold of the phone and placed it to my ear, detecting wind blowing past the mic on the other end. The caller was driving and had his window down. “Authenticate,” I said, knowing full well the line wasn’t secure. I could almost feel the NSA’s voice-recognition algorithms devouring all four syllables as I uttered them.

  A brash sigh then a flustered, nearly recognizable voice uttered the word, “Opium.”

  I replied with, “Vodka tonic,” paused and said, “Lederhosen.”

  “Lederhosen? What the fu—really? You’re kidding, right?”

  At that juncture, I knew for certain who the caller was.

  After a pause and another even louder sigh, the caller said, “Gun…jam.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “You failed the last authenticator, Jon. Sorry, I have to end the call.”

  “Quinn, no! Don’t you dare! Have you any idea what it’s taken to find you? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah. I’m still here.”

  “Good, stay that way—whatever you do, don’t hang up, I’m serious. Who else would be calling you unsecured on some teenager’s cell phone? At this hour?”

  The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. But why the hell would it have? “I’m going to assume that whatever lengths you’ve gone to find me by way of this number will quantify your need for doing so.”

  Jon exhaled over the phone. He almost sounded sober. Almost. “Who is she anyway? It’s none of my beeswax, but she sounds a little young for you.”

  “Get to the point, Jon. The entire damn world is listening to us.”

  “Right, the point. Sorry, I’m…distracted.” A pause. “Your location is compromised.”

  Well, if it wasn’t before, it most assuredly was now.

  Jon kept speaking and divulging information, doing so in a manner I hadn’t heard him utilize since the days of being my case officer. I busily corroborated all the fragments of his story while focusing on keywords. Biosurveillance. Setup. Reconnaissance. Command of the target. Hunting pack. Analysis.

  My skin was crawling. There now existed a veritable laundry list of tasks needing to be carried out to make ready for the inbound calamity he was forewarning. I did everything I could to disguise my nervousness from Violet and her already deeply preoccupied eyes. She was of the belief that whatever this was remained her fault, and I needed to clear that up.

  Jon went on with all the info he had, including physical descriptions that flashed before my eyes like an illicit rogue’s gallery. The more he described our impending visitors, the more it sounded like associates of the hit squad we’d encountered a few days ago in Washington.

  Dammit. I’d allowed my guard to falter for only a day or so. And look where it’d left us.

  Jon went on to say, “I’m en route to you with two assault elements and an arsenal, sort of. My QRF is looking more like a NSQRF…it’s unlikely that our ETA will occur before hostiles’. Do you copy that? You’ll be naked until our arrival. You and companion are on your own.”

  NSQRF. A not-so-quick reaction force. I hadn’t heard that acronym used in paralleling context since the last time I was up shit creek. “What’s the holdup?”

  “Virginia is the holdup, bro. But it’s worse than usual,” Jon said, holding down the horn and cursing another driver. “Way worse. People are freaking out…everything’s closing, stores are running out of gas and shit. The streets are practically gridlocked, like rush hour mated and made babies with the apocalypse. Most thoroughfares in and out are completely blocked off, so we’re rerouting. It’s going to take some time, Quinn. I’m sorry, I know I suck. You and the better half deserve better.”

  I nodded, as if acknowledging him in the same room. “It’s okay, Jon, your heads-up probably saved our asses. Get here when you get here, and watch your six.”

  “Let’s hope the shoddy commute affects the bad-guy ETA and affords you added time. Sorry again, Quinn. Good luck,” he said, then ended the call.

  I handed Violet back her phone, gesturing to the battery marker indicating thirty percent. “Here, you might want to charge this.”

  Violet took hold of the phone in a weakened grip, visibly scared shitless. “So…I guess you’re in some kind of danger now…”

  I hesitated. “I think we all are, kid.”

  “Shit. I knew you were going to say that,” Violet muttered, covering her mouth. “God, I’m sorry…this is all my fault.”

  “No.” I reached for her. “That call provided us warning. It wasn’t smart putting us on blast like you did, but if you hadn’t, my friend might not have found us in time.”

  Violet sniffled. “Really?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. You did good.”

  Her eyes shimmered. “Phew, I’m really, really glad to hear you say that,” she said. “That guy was being a real twat on the phone, but I guess I can see why now.”

  “Jon’s been known to act out on occasion. But he’s a good friend. We go way back.”

  “So this danger…what are we supposed to do now?” Violet asked. “What do I do?”

  “I’ll explain the details shortly,” I told her, firmness in my tone. “But first, I need to bring Natalia up to speed. You can get a head start by being ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Unfriendly visitors.” I turned away, then stopped when a thought hit me. “Violet, call your brother. Tell him to stay put a while longer and don’t come home until he hears back from you, no matter what.”

  “Okay, got it,” Violet said. “He’ll think that’s…bizarre as hell, but I’ll tell him.”

  The time had come for a full-on weapons hot. By some absurd means, the Ukrainian assassin squad we’d bumped into in Washington had homed in on our location and were now on their way here to finish the job—short a handful of their own, courtesy of Natalia and me, I might add. I don’t know why I allow anything to come as a surprise anymore. It doesn’t matter how hard anyone attempts to remain hidden. In today’s world, it won’t remain that way for long, even for people like us. They were coming for us now, and nothing could change that. And I was about to bestow upon them what was destined to be the fight of their lives.

  I gathered our luggage, all of our bags and possessions, everything we’d taken when we’d vacated the Mayflower days ago. Amongst the inventory of clothing and cash were our personal security items, including night-vision devices, firearms and edged weapons, hundreds of rounds of ammunition preloaded in magazines, and a few other tricks of the trade.

  I carried what I could and dragged the rest down the hallway to the bedroom where Natalia was recuperating, and arranged them side by side near the bed. She had the covers pulled over her head, so I let her be for the moment. I unzipped the luggage piece containing the Steyr TMP machine pistol and found it right where I’d left it. I took it out, snapped a mag in the mag well, and made it ready for action, then mentally prepared myself for the same while twisting on the suppressor.

  No one threatens me. No one threatens my wife and lives to boast about it. By morning I knew, one way or another, this would all be over. I reflected a moment on the bath I might take after delivering this gang of Makarov-wielding chavs to a blazing hell. Perhaps I’d bathe while partaking of one of Adam’s ice-cold Festbiers, in a lavish whirlpool tub chock-full of their blood.

  I mulled these grisly fascinations over while palming one of our two Belgian FN Five-seveNs. As I slipped a twenty-round magazine into it, I felt a delicate finger on my neck, followed by a familiar hand squeezing my shoulder.

  “Q? You are getting locked and loaded without me,” Natalia said. “Is there something you wish to tell me? Or do you desire to make it a surprise?”

  Nice choice of words. I turned and caught her smile, which showed some residual weakness. “It’s good to see your eyes open. How are you feeling?”

  “Better, I suppose,” she purred, pulling her arm away to stretch. “I don’t feel, as you would say, fully operational…but better, nonetheless.” Her eyes hardened as I organized extra magazines for both the FN and the Steyr. “Now tell me why you are making ready.”

  I slung the machine pistol’s sling over me and arranged it behind my back. “I just spoke with Jonathon. We have a situation.”

  “Jonathon? The drunk?” Natalia angled onto an elbow. “How did he—”

  “I don’t know—he’s talented. He has his ways.”

  The softness in her expression showed signs of solidifying. “This is serious. You look preoccupied again. What is this about?”

  I verified the Glauca B1 was clipped solidly to my pocket. “It’s about us overstaying our welcome.”

  “Overstaying? Quinn Barrett, stop what you are doing and explain this to me now. Tell me everything he told you.”

  I sighed and set down the second FN Five-seveN, short of loading it. “Jon’s been doing some recon on a hunch, gathering some intel.” I looked her in the eyes. “It turned out to be one hell of a hunch. We’re to expect visitors.”

  “And he wasn’t drunk or hallucinating when you spoke to him?” she asked, her tone gaining urgency.

  “Uncertain. But it was as serious as I’ve heard him speak since I was an NOC,” I said. “He witnessed a meeting involving a group of black-suit-wearing foreigners, all Slavic. We have to assume them associates of the wet team who happened upon us the other day.”

  Natalia sat up in a rush, not bothering to cover her partially clothed self. “Orloff’s men,” she said. “They know where we are? And they are coming here? To this house?”

  I nodded grudgingly. “Yeah.”

  Natalia’s face went ghostly pale. “Gottverdammt! Oh, Jesus.” She covered her mouth, then took a quick glance around at the family photos on the walls as her expression slowly transfigured into outrage. “My God…this cannot happen. They will slaughter them,” she lamented. “We have to take this family out of here.”

  “I know. And I’m devising a way to do just that,” I said. “After we finish here, I’ll get with Adam and see what can be done. But you needed to hear this first.”

  She turned away to regard the window. “Dammit,” she uttered flatly. “Did your friend advise how many? And did he give descriptions?”

  I rose and took a seat next to her on the bed. “By his count, six total, males and one female.”

  Natalia’s eyes locked onto mine, halting my verbal illustration. “A woman? Was he certain of this?”

  “I’ve never known Jon to overlook the female form.”

  Natalia’s eyes narrowed into slits. Her lips parted and her face refilled with color. Then she uttered the name, “Sonya.”

  I leaned in to her. It was the first time I’d heard that name mentioned before. “You know her?”

  My wife nodded, placing a hand to her forehead. “I do. We share a past with many…similarities. We were very close once. Like me, she was taken from her family in her youth. Cultivated by Bratva.”

  I started putting some of this together. “I take that to mean your Dmitry might’ve had more than one student.”

  Natalia nodded. “Yes. In many ways, he was a father to us both. He not only trained us, he raised us, made us both ready for the world. Sonya has every reason to hate me for what I did to him, though she never gave me a chance to explain why I did it.”

  Why she did it? It appears this Sonya chick had something in common with me. I never knew there was a why. I’d always been of the assumption that Natalia had been obligated to kill this man to facilitate her escape. I felt compelled to summon a full reveal, but there wasn’t nearly enough time, a not-so-uncommon denominator for us.

  “The last time I saw her was prior to my exodus,” Natalia said. “We argued and there was a struggle and I almost…killed her. I had the opportunity, but I could not bring myself to go through with it. She is the only sister I have ever known, a sister who has become a sworn enemy and who now hunts me.” Natalia broke away to sip from a glass of water. “Sonya is Orloff’s wife, Q. And you must know she is every bit as skillful and deadly as the person sitting before you.”

  I had to admit, I never expected to hear those words emit from between my wife’s tender lips. In my history of knowing her, not once had I seen her fearful of anything—until this very moment. Whatever history she and this Sonya had was on the verge of scaring her to death; or maybe it was the fact that Orloff, the one who wanted her dead so badly, had sent his own spouse here to ensure it. “So…the two of you possess…similar skills?”

  Natalia, her worry on full display now, only nodded.

  “What about the rest of the crew?”

  She set her glass of water back on the nightstand. “Orloff’s henchmen are proficient assassins, but they are nothing like Sonya. And they are only mildly comparable to her caretaker, Oleksander. He is Orloff’s cousin, and if I were to bet my life on it, if Sonya is here, Oleks is here with her.”

  I sent my wife a quizzical look.

  “Oleksander acts as her guardian, in a way—though Sonya has never needed one. Orloff is very protective and does not trust anyone with her other than Oleks.” Natalia snickered slightly and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I would have thought he would’ve learned of their antics by now.”

  “What antics?”

  Natalia sent me a sly grin. “Sonya and her appointed caretaker have been an…item. For many years.”

  I perked up at that revelation. “Wait a second, are you saying this Sonya chick is banging her husband’s cousin?”

  “Quinn, must you always be so…brash?” Natalia quizzed. “But, to answer, yes. She is…in a manner of speaking. Though I rarely utilize the term banging for practically anything. Their covert erotic affair has been going on for some time.”

  “Interesting,” I said, “and kind of fucked up at the same time.” My attention refocused to the gear on the floor. “How should we go about handling this?”

  “We?” My wife sent a distinct look of concern. “I want you to hold fast. Do nothing, Quinn. Stand down and steer clear of these people—especially Sonya and Oleksander.”

  “Natalia, asking or ordering me to stand down in light of this…goes against everything I believe in. I can’t do that—and I won’t do that either.”

  “Q, Oleks…he is a VIP. A bona fide hunter of men. A particularly notable one. Other than his love for Sonya, he maintains no emotion or compromise.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28