“We’re on it,” he said with a smile coming through in his voice. “It won’t be long.”
“Do it privately, Frank,” he said, his use of the director’s first name underscoring the importance. “I want him to feel maximum pain. Maximum suffering.”
“We won’t let the press know about Millar. You’ll have what you want soon enough.”
Chapter 44
The FBI agent took the stairs two at a time as he went to investigate the alarm. There was a hint of laughter in the air, which served to lighten what would otherwise have been a serious mood. He smiled as he thought about Scott Richardson being kneed in the balls. The FBI agent’s guard was down, and a part of him almost looked forward to the pending confrontation with the girl’s mother.
Ken didn’t have a chance to register the shot the suppressed pistol spat out. It signaled the start of the 9 x 18 mm Parabellum round’s deadly journey into his forehead. The man used a Makarov, a nostalgic choice, yet a capable weapon. A thud marked the FBI agent’s body hitting the ground.
The four soldiers had anticipated that an alarm would be triggered. They had seen the convoy of SUVs emerge from the apartment complex when their first attempt to collect the girl they had been following failed. The sudden presence of the vehicles meant something these particular individuals were all too familiar with: the FBI was involved. The men were collectively confused, almost entertained, by the carelessness of the man they had just snuffed out. The last thing they had expected was to be shooting fish in a barrel.
The recent development meant the two women inside the house were connected in some way. The looming question was whether or not it was by a common thread they should be concerned about. It was made abundantly clear by the man who sent them that no mistakes would be tolerated. The girl was to be taken alive.
For the past week they had worked in pairs to keep track of her movements. They knew her as the girlfriend of a person of considerable interest. She would be used as leverage if it was needed. Earlier in the day, they were told to bring her to a location nearby. Something had gone wrong, and now they needed that leverage.
The former Spetsnaz soldiers were ordered to be discreet, but this was an occasion where they were required to improvise. Extreme violence was necessary, and the accompanying adrenaline rush provided a familiar high. The men had been on high alert, having nearly been run over by their target’s companion when she had sped out of the apartment complex. It was a nervous few minutes for the Russians. They quickly determined the action wasn’t caused by their presence but rather the FBI’s abduction of the other female.
They split into pairs and circled the home. There was no sound as the first man descended into the stairwell that led to the basement. He noted the door was propped open and signaled for his partner to follow him down. He pushed the door open and went in low. The Russian drilled rounds from his Makarov into the FBI agents before they could react. It was over in an instant.
The flurry of carnage gave way to screams of horror from the two young women huddled together. An angry look from one of the Russians commanded their silence. The blood-spattered walls wept as the bodies on the floor leaked their last remnants of life.
“I love you, Mom…” Maria said.
It was almost a whisper, but one of the soldiers heard her words. “Both of you, quiet!” he barked.
The heavy Russian accent amplified Maria Soller’s fear. She could sense these men were different than the others and prayed that her mother had gotten away. One of them quickly confirmed her assessment by shoving his weapon into Melody’s temple.
“Do you have something else to say?” he asked, with a menacing look in his eyes.
Soller quickly shook her head back and forth. She had fallen into a state of shock.
The killer motioned toward the stairs and said, “Come.”
One of the assassins led them past the bodies and up the stairs. They headed toward the road, and Soller nearly tripped over the dead agent on the lawn.
Her fear increased as they approached the road. She secretly checked her iPhone and saw that the battery was dead. Her heart raced as they approached the line of trees that separated the property from the road. Each step brought her closer to knowing her mother’s fate and whether she should have any hope.
Chapter 45
Time was a funny thing, Dennis Zander thought. When you’re enjoying yourself, it goes by so fast, but the opposite is true when all you want is for something to end. The hacker was coming to the realization that time passed at a relentless pace when people were trying to kill you.
He had left the Bratva’s Chicago base late this afternoon, and the hours since had felt like seconds. The hacker had been watching his apartment building for the past thirty minutes, and he didn’t see anything that looked suspicious.
The bar he’d taken refuge in was dark and dingy, and the stench from stale beer and ammonia was uncomfortable. Reruns of outdated TV shows played on a battered television perched atop a makeshift stand on the right side of the room. Zander was sitting at one of three small tables in the front, next to the windows that looked out onto the road. There were three additional large tables set up on each side, and the bar stretched across the far end of the room opposite him, ending at a single door that led to the dingy bar’s solitary bathroom.
He calculated how long it would take to run up the three flights of stairs to the apartment he shared with another member of The Collective, and figured it would take just over a minute to make it inside from the bar. He and his roommate had both been strong-armed into working for the Kozlov Bratva, and sharing a room was one of the few bright spots in a situation that had become progressively worse. He couldn’t believe he had grabbed the wrong laptop when he took off this afternoon. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. If Dimitri Sokov wasn’t onto him already, he knew he would be soon.
The hacker felt the waitress’s presence behind him. She started cracking her chewing gum again. This would be the third time she had invaded his personal space since he’d sat down at the table near the front window.
“What’ll it be?” the waitress asked. Her tone was insistent.
He turned to look at her this time. “Uh, nothing. I’m fine.” He turned back to the window so he could keep an eye on the apartment building.
“Aw, well isn’t that just terrific,” she said. “You’re fine. Just fine.”
From the time he’d arrived, Zander could sense that he wasn’t welcome in New Generations Lounge. He figured the sentiment was par for the course in the armpit of Chicago’s Englewood neighborhood.
He let out a muted laugh as he considered making a remark about her clientele’s collective IQ, but decided being a smartass wouldn’t be the brightest move. Instead he said, “Really, I don’t need anything.”
“This is my table,” she yapped, placing her hands on her waist. “How am I supposed to earn a living with an inconsiderate prick like yourself taking my space, ergo my tips?”
Zander looked around the room. She was the only employee there, and the place was practically empty. There were three hard-looking locals sitting on stools at the bar, and each shot him a gaze that oozed violence.
He shifted nervously in his seat and said, “Look, lady, there’s nobody here. I don’t see the prob—”
“Dwayne, do you hear how he’s talkin’ to your woman?”