Kozlov watched them leave the room and then turned to the bank of monitors in front of him. He looked down at the bandage on his leg and noted that his injury continued to bleed. It wasn’t the worst gunshot wound he’d had, but he’d need to see a doctor soon to get it stitched up and some better drugs to avoid infection. He reached for a bottle of pills and popped another antibiotic and a painkiller to take the edge off. He had enough time to see this through first. The Russian would stay off-line to avoid risk, and then he could celebrate his success in Europe with his comrade Yuri Khrushchev and the president.
His men emerged from a dead spot in the camera’s view at the front of the compound. He reached over and turned up the volume on the camera’s microphone so he could follow things more closely. The three prisoners still had canvas hoods over their heads as the yellow cab came into view. He heard a cell phone ring, and his man answered.
“Get out. Take ten steps toward us, and we’ll send the girls to the cab,” Campbell said.
The cab came to a stop, and its back door opened. The driver looked around nervously. Millar got out and walked toward Kozlov’s men cautiously. There was a loud cracking sound, and the cab lurched forward before it coasted into a tree.
The hacker turned around quickly and then back to the men. He pulled a gun from the small of his back and yelled, “Don’t move, or I’ll just start shooting.”
Kozlov’s heart rate increased as he watched the scene unfold. His men had been caught off guard by the hacker, and their weapons were still tucked away. A standoff with an amateur was always unpredictable. It would be easy if they didn’t need to take him alive, but the operation was too important to risk the unknown.
“Take off their hoods,” Millar shouted. “Do it now!”
The Russians looked at one another and started to remove the canvas hoods one by one.
“Don’t worry, Melody, Maria. I’ll figure this out, I promise,” Millar said in a panicked voice.
His eyes burned with anger when he saw the black eye on Maria Soller’s face, and then his gaze went to his sister and his demeanor changed. His shoulders dropped and Pavel Kozlov knew for certain he was a beaten man.
There was a sound coming through the microphone that he couldn’t quite place. He squinted at the monitor as an object came into view in the background. He got an uneasy feeling when he noticed the car was approaching a little faster than it should have been.
It was the blur at the bottom of the monitor that caught his attention next. One of the prisoners had body checked his men to the side and began to sprint toward the hacker. She was on a direct path for them to intercept the convertible Audi S5 that was now in plain view. He realized it was the FBI agent by the time she lowered her shoulder on the hacker and launched them both into the backseat of the moving car.
The Russian instantly recognized Victoria Eden, before she ducked down low in the driver’s seat and headed down the fire road connected to the back of the compound.
Chapter 151
The stakes had just been raised, and they were now working against the clock. It had been a long night, but at least the men had gotten some much-needed shut-eye on the plane.
The Island Industries Gulfstream G650 had some unplanned guests on the flight from Chicago to Dulles Airport. The passengers included two rogue FBI operatives, a pair of hackers, and a strikingly beautiful violinist. A mechanical problem caused the pilots to delay their takeoff for several hours, but the plane still managed to make it to their destination before six in the morning.
Once they arrived at the hangar, the plane’s occupants split up. The hackers and violinist were driven to the airport’s cab stand by Jack Turner, with Etzy Millar and Dennis Zander headed to The Shop’s secure location in Arlington, Virginia. The musician insisted on going home, still in a daze after what had happened during her Chicago visit. The remaining operatives headed to the Island Industries satellite location in Reston, Virginia to kit up and devise a plan.
That was nearly an hour ago, and things had progressed rapidly over the past twenty minutes.
The team of operatives had reviewed the satellite images of the Bratva compound and noted the two entrances. One was a gravel driveway directly off the main road, and the other a fire road that wound its way to the back of the building from a neighboring property. The latter provided the best opportunity to preserve the element of surprise when they made their move.
The team had stopped half a kilometer from the compound and started to assemble and check their gear. The road was flanked by heavily wooded areas that offered good cover.
Trent Turner and Brendan Manion were working their way back from a quick recce of the compound. It was the first time the close friends had a chance to talk without anyone else present since Chicago.
“What happened over there?” Trent asked, curious about how the headlines had reported his death in the Middle East.
“I lost my edge,” Manion said. “It’s hard to explain.”
Trent shared a knowing look with him and said, “You don’t have to. I know what you mean. Did you hear about Ryan?”
“I did. I’m sorry. I know you had hoped to one day…” He stopped short.
Turner shrugged, acknowledging what was left unsaid. “That’s what got me into this business. When I realized he took a bullet for me, I started to lose myself. All I could think about was never having the opportunity to make things right between us. Never is a long fucking time.” He looked down, in deep thought, and then back to his friend, feeling for his loss. “Sorry about Katie,” he said, his tone softening. Manion hadn’t responded to anyone after his wife and unborn child had been murdered.
The silence was thick as both men fought back emotion.
“Yeah, me too…me too,” Manion said.
Their situations were frighteningly similar. Each had lost someone they cared deeply for because of his job, and both men believed strongly in what they were doing.
“Hey, man, I’m just happy to see you again,” Turner said with a smile. “How did Addy end up pulling you into The Island?”
“When that reporter leaked my name and Katie was murdered, I was lost.”
Turner could tell through his friend’s tentative voice that he wasn’t yet ready to open that wound.
“First,” Brendan continued, “I wanted to hunt the bastards down and slit their throats, but the guys on the team talked me down.” Manion took a deep breath. “When that happened, my commander gave me some time, but I started drinking. I wasn’t doing what I was trained to do. In my state, it was too dangerous for the team to have me out there on operations.” He shook his head. “At first I didn’t see it that way. I just wanted to get out there and try to work through it, but this time it was different.”
“The guilt?”
“Yeah,” Manion said. “I mean it’s one thing when you lose a SEAL on the team, a fellow soldier, a friend. The scars are something we all have to live with.” He took another deep breath. “But when something you do on an operation bleeds into your life outside of your work. It reaches your loved ones, people who didn’t sign up for this shit.” He took a moment to reflect. “It fucks you up pretty bad, man. Pretty damn bad.”
Trent turned to his friend and understood perfectly. “Ryan’s death — I don’t know, I’m still not sure how I’m going to file that one away. I almost got myself killed a couple of times going after the guy who did it,” Turner admitted. “My head wasn’t there. It’s just a good thing I wasn’t on an operation working with anyone else, or I could have gotten someone killed.”
“And that was my problem. I was worried about my family at home. We’re so close, and it had me scared.” He shook his head. “Was some other terror cell going to come out of the woodwork and take out my family? Her family? Someone I cared about? It was a distraction that was weighing me down. I couldn’t function, and I was on my way to becoming an alcoholic.”