Mikhail had never stood up to Popov before, and Travkin could almost read his uncle’s mind. This was a shift in their relationship. He watched closely, reading the irritation on Popov’s face as the older man appeared to consider what this meant for their relationship.
“I have grown attached to the Bennings outcome, mainly because of its allure and because so much has gone into engineering events. But great generals must be flexible and be ready to pivot and change strategies as events dictate,” said Viktor. After another moment of seeming reflection, he nodded his acquiescence. “I won’t oppose your decision, Mikhail. Perhaps we have reached the end of the line with Major Bennings. But tell your men not to kill Petkova. She may still be useful.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” said Travkin, although he had no intention of telling his men to spare Yulana Petkova. Better they all died now.
CHAPTER 23
Bennings had been dozing on the sofa in the common room for less than ten minutes, with the guitar still in his lap, when a soft but shrill beeping from the alarm control panel in the communications room woke him. The alert was a proximity alarm. Maybe a dog or a cat sniffing at the door? But since you don’t install expensive alarm systems to ignore them, he got up and crossed to the bank of CCTV security monitors in the small adjoining room.
In a flash he snapped alert, not quite believing what he saw. Men dressed in black and wearing balaclava masks stood at both the front and back doors. SWAT? An FBI Special Response Team? CID? The men quietly examined the door and doorframe, as if checking for alarms or the construction of the door itself.
Kit quickly checked monitors showing views of the front and rear parking lots. At least a dozen vehicles surrounded the shopping-center safe house. He estimated thirty or more men stood holding weapons in the predawn dimness. He zoomed in a camera and saw men in front of a dump truck, attaching something to the bumper. Check that; there were two dump trucks, front and back, and the items being attached to the bumpers were battering rams.
He zoomed in on a group of men, looked at their faces, jackets, and shirts. They were thugs. Russian mobster soldiers. And they were about to attack.
Bennings bolted into the bunk room, flipping on the lights. “Thirty Russians outside, ready to break down the doors! Grab only what you can carry including guns and ammo! We go up to the roof in half a minute. Move!”
Buzz, Angel, and Jen scrambled off their cots, instantly alert.
Kit still wore his holstered Kel-Tec Sub-2000, and he grabbed his day pack and bolted into the room where Yulana slept. He rousted her and stuck the barrel of a SIG SAUER .45 pistol against her forehead. She stared at him incomprehensibly, blinking aqua eyes as wide as saucers. “We’re about to get hit by Popov’s army. If you tipped them off, I promise I will slit your throat.”
He pulled the Russian beauty to her feet, grabbed her purse, and dragged her out.
Buzz and Angel hustled into the hallway wearing packs and carrying HK MP7A1s. Kit joined them holding on to Yulana.
“Where’s Jen?”
“Getting her laptops!”
The building shuddered as the loud crashing sounds of the two steel doors getting knocked from their hinges rang out a warning that the fight was on.
Kit thrust Yulana at Buzz. “Take her and get to the roof!” Kit spun and bolted back toward the common room.
Buzz and Angel both gave Yulana hard looks.
“I didn’t tell anyone! How could I? I don’t know where we are!” protested Yulana.
“You have come and gone a couple of times, and we haven’t had you blindfolded. You could have seen street signs, the name of this shopping center,” said Angel, grasping his green-handled screwdriver like an ice pick.
“You slipped away from Kit earlier tonight, didn’t you? And called Popov,” said Buzz.
“I didn’t!”
“You lying bitch. If it wasn’t for Kit, I’d kill you right now.”
“Please do it!” She grabbed Angel’s hand and brought the tip of the screwdriver to her throat. “Please! I beg you.” Tears streamed down her face. “Because then Popov won’t kill my baby,” she cried.
Buzz grabbed her. “Listen to me! Did you get an inoculation before you came here? A shot somewhere in your body?”
“Yes, they said I had to for the U.S. visa. Right here,” she wiped her eyes, then reached back to touch the area between her shoulder blades.
“Crap, she’s been chipped!”
Angel spun her around and held her tight as he pulled down the back of her blouse.
“They told me there would be a bump for a week or so.”
“There’s a bump, all right. They injected you with a tracking device. This will hurt, so scream if you want,” said Buzz.
Yulana whimpered but didn’t scream as Buzz used his pocketknife to slice open her skin. He used the tip of the knife to pry out a tiny cylindrical device about a half inch long. He dropped it to the floor and crushed it with his boot.
Kit and Jen were in the common room, firing their suppressed weapons at Russians just outside the rear doorway, and at another group that had broken down the front door and now controlled the reception area.
Since the Russians also used suppressed weapons, it was a strangely quiet gun battle: bursts of soft puffts, followed by sounds of bullets shattering wood, plastic, and plaster and pinging off metal.
The gunfight might have been be a semisilent one, but the only question in Bennings’s mind was how to pull off a retreat, and fast. Jen would have to make a break out into the open, exposed to cross fire from two sides just to get to his position at the entrance to the hallway. As he quickly slid a new magazine into the subgun, he silently berated himself for underestimating Popov’s organizational reach and abilities. Kit had instantly become complacent in the CIA safe house, and as a result, was about to have his ass handed to him. Only hours earlier he’d told Yulana it wouldn’t be easy to defeat the Mafia don—an understatement to say the least—since he was right now fighting for his life and the lives of his friends.
Dimi, formerly a driver, had replaced Lily as operational leader of Popov’s soldiers. Travkin had made the change after Popov ordered Lily demoted. It was a decision welcomed by the rank and file.
Dimi stood next to a black Yukon talking into a radio.
“We need flash bangs!” a man’s voice pleaded.
“You need a pair of balls!” spat Dimi into his radio. He then gestured for more men to enter the building as he unwrapped a piece of bubble gum. “What are you waiting for, an invitation?” he yelled, and then popped the gum into his mouth. “Get in there!”
The fight in the common room intensified. A few Russians went down, but more of them streamed into the room.
“Jen, pull back, now!”
Kit laid down covering fire, holding the subgun with one hand and his SIG with the other, firing simultaneously in different directions as Jen fast-crawled toward the hallway. He stood, offering himself as a target, then fired a long burst. Bullets tore in all around him as Jen scrambled past. Once she was clear, he dove into the hallway, sprang to his feet, and reloaded while running for the storage-room door, half expecting to have his legs shot out from beneath him.
As Jen made it to the gray steel door, Kit spun around and fired at Russians who’d appeared at the hallway opening. The Russians ducked for cover, but as he turned to enter the storage room…