No one could have predicted this. Just seconds after they had hung up the phone with Pavel Kozlov, they heard the whizzing sound of a bullet, followed by the report of a rifle. They all turned to the groan in the clearing and were horrified by the sight. Trent Turner and Brendan Manion instinctively clasped onto the shoulders of Jake Sanders and Cathy Moynihan as they tried to surge forward toward the blood-soaked mass of Rudy Pagano. It was the sniper again. The operatives realized he must have nestled himself in a tree stand high enough to have a vantage point to the small clearing.
The sniper had been trained well. Pagano had been shot in the stomach, sentenced to an agonizing death that would last several minutes. The gunman now sat in waiting, hoping the injured man would draw someone out, someone only concerned with helping him. Someone who would make an easy next victim.
Jack Turner quickly launched the PMD on its predetermined path to scout out the Russian’s compound. At least the New Yorker’s effort wouldn’t have been in vain.
“He needs help,” Moynihan demanded. “Let me go!”
Sanders shook his head with a grave finality. “Cathy, he’s a dead man now, and thanks to them we haven’t joined him,” he said.
She didn’t understand why that would be the case but realized he was serious. The FBI agent had already gone over what she knew about the Russian’s compound and manpower, so she and Sanders headed quickly to the edge of the trees. He had to put out his arm to stop her from going too far.
“Rudy, buddy,” Sanders said, “come this way. You can make it. Come on, man.”
Pagano looked to his friend, his eyes already resigned to his fate. “Sorry, Jake.”
“Come on, you can do it,” Sanders insisted. “Just get close enough for me to grab your hand, and we’ll get you help. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” He forced a smile. “Assholes don’t die young.”
Rudy took his hand off his shredded gut and tried to drag himself across the ground. With each passing second, his groans of pain grew weaker.
“Hold on there, buddy,” Sanders said. “I’ll be right back. Just hold on. I’ll grab some rope.” He turned to her and put up his palms. “That sniper left him alive to lure us out there. Trust me. He’s bait in a cruel reality.”
Moynihan watched Sanders run back toward the others. She was horrified by the tactic. The call they had just received had been a telling prelude of what might come, and she knew she’d need to get back to the car soon. She looked to her side and saw a long branch on the ground. She picked it up and offered it to Pagano, stretching as far as she could.
“Here. Grab hold of this, and I’ll pull you to me,” she said.
Pagano’s eyes were desperate. He reached out and clamped his hands onto his only hope. Adrenaline fueled Moynihan as she reeled in the wounded man. With each heave he came inches closer, until he was close enough that she could grab his hands to pull him in.
“Thanks,” he strained.
She held his head tenderly and then noticed his eyes change. This would be Rudy Pagano’s last moment of clarity.
“Tell that fucking asshole I love him like a brother,” he said.
She nodded, and the tears began to well up in her eyes. “I will, I promise,” she said.
He coughed when he tried to speak again and finally said, “He may be an asshole, but he means well. Take care of him for me.” Pagano began to cough again. This time he was much weaker, and blood trickled out of his mouth. “I’ve never seen him in love with a woman until now. He loves you…”
Moynihan heard footsteps shuffle through the leaves behind her as she considered his last words. Then she felt Sanders’s presence over her shoulder.
Sanders bent down and realized he was too late to say good-bye. Moynihan gently laid Pagano’s head down and stood.
He ran his hand over Pagano’s eyes to close them and said, “Rest in peace, buddy. I love you.”
He kissed his friend on the forehead, and looked up at Moynihan.
She began to cry and reflexively threw her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Jake.”
He uncomfortably returned the embrace as he stood to meet her. A voice shattered their moment of loss.
“Look, we’ve got to get going, or we’ll lose two more,” Jack Turner said. “Sorry, Jake. You should stay here with me. I could use your help,” he lied.
Sanders shot him an angry look.
“I’m going to level with you,” Jack said. “You just lost a good friend, and none of us know you well enough to send you into battle under the circumstances.” He motioned to Moynihan and said, “She has to go, or they’ll kill those two kids.”
Sanders nodded his understanding.
“I’ll see you soon,” Moynihan said.
She started toward the car and turned back to Sanders. She gave him a tear-filled smile and knew his friend would have wanted him to hear what he had said. It could be now or never, and that fact wasn’t lost on the FBI agent.
“He said you’re a fucking asshole.” She nodded toward his fallen friend with a tearful laugh. “But that he loves you like a brother anyway.”
Sanders smiled as she turned away and ran to the car. When she got there, Victoria and Etzy were ready to go, and no one else was in sight.
“Where is everyone?” Moynihan asked.
Etzy Millar handed her a pistol. “Mostly down there waiting for us. They put a plan together and took off. They wanted to get there before us.” She checked the weapon and tucked it away. “What’s the plan?”
Victoria Eden started the car and laughed. “Don’t get yourself killed,” she said.
Chapter 156
The Audi approached the front of the Bratva compound slowly over the sparsely graveled road. Bruce Campbell was feeling confident, although he didn’t like the communication barrier between him and some of the Russians. Pavel Kozlov always put the men fresh from the motherland in Virginia for that very reason. The lack of radios to keep them in constant contact was also a concern, but he knew these men were experienced. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been here. There was a sense that they would soon have company, if not originating from a call for help from the individuals in the car in front of them, then certainly from the dead cabbie’s dispatcher. Like any good soldiers, they would rely on their training and instincts.
Three of the soldiers had come with the Bratva leader from Chicago, and Campbell knew them well. That made a difference. Including him, there were seven capable men— more than enough to keep things in order and quickly dispatch any uniforms that happened by. Campbell’s driver had already proven himself to be useless. Kozlov was injured, which compromised his effectiveness, and the two hackers, having finished their jobs, had already been snuffed out.
Campbell was standing at the front edge of the covered entrance flanked by columns. He was trying to put his finger on the strange feeling he had when he noticed a flash of movement. He shifted his eyes upward to get a better look. From what he could tell, something was casing the place from above — some sort of eye in the sky.
Campbell looked at the Russian standing next to him and said, “There’s something up there.” He motioned to the sky. “Make sure your men are on point. I don’t think it’s a teenager playing with a new toy.”
The Russian looked up, acknowledged the flying machine and then turned his attention back to the Audi.
“It’s too soon for the FBI or police to have something that small in place. Perhaps it is nothing,” the Russian reasoned.
“Good point,” Campbell agreed, still feeling uneasy. “I don’t know what it is, but it can’t be good. We don’t need any surprises. Just make sure the men are ready.”
The Bratva soldier rattled something off to the man next to him in Russian and gave Campbell a nod. The American looked down at their AK-74 assault rifles and smiled to himself. He couldn’t blame them for sticking with a weapon that felt like home, but as he gripped his HK416 with its compact eleven-inch barrel, there was no doubt he preferred the precision of the German-made weapon.