Chapter 7
Giva’s heart raced, pounding against her ribs as she watched Dax read the text. “What does it say?”
“Hold on,” Dax said. “Let me warn Dmytro.”
She held her breath as he texted Dmytro.
When he finally glanced up, he said. “I’m to meet them at the base of the Jesuit stairs at nine o’clock. The challenge is fall down seven times, the response, stand up eight .”
His words were like a punch to Giva’s gut. “That’s a Japanese proverb,” she said. “My father used to tell me that when I failed at something. It means to keep trying.”
Dax’s cell phone dinged again. He read the message aloud. “Apparently, the German and the Italian just got their notice. Peter is following them.”
“Why are they moving if you’re to meet at the Jesuit stairs,” Giva asked. “They’re already there.”
“I don’t know,” Dax said. “Maybe whoever is calling the shots doesn’t want everyone to show up at the same place. That would make it too easy to take out the group all at once.”
Another text pinged Dax’s cell phone. He frowned down at the screen. His brow cleared. “Fearghas just made it back to the hotel. He’ll meet me in the lobby.”
Dax shrugged into his jacket and pulled on the other shoe that matched the one Dmytro had altered with the packet of invisible ink.
Giva quickly stripped out of her clothes and dressed in all black, including black running shoes. She dragged her hair up onto the crown of her head, slipped a knit beanie cap over it and pulled the cap down, covering every black strand. She had just finished dressing when Dax headed for the door.
“Wait,” she said.
He paused as she dug in her backpack and removed a narrow sheath containing a slim black knife.
“Take this,” she said.
Dax shook his head. “They’ll strip me of all metal.”
“It’s not metal,” she insisted. “It’s a hard plastic knife. It won’t set off the metal detectors. I’ve carried it through many airports and never got stopped.” She pressed it into his hand. “Strap it to your calf.”
“What if they frisk me?” he asked.
She shrugged. “So, they take a plastic knife. I can buy another.”
His fingers closed around it and her hand, pulling her close enough to brush his lips across hers in a gentle kiss. Then he bent to strap the sheath to his ankle and covered it with his pant leg. When he straightened, he pulled her into his arms. “Thank you. Please be safe.”
She smiled at him. “You, too. And Dax... you’ve got this.”
“Let’s hope these people are slightly blind and a bit deaf.” He winked and reached for the doorknob. “I’d tell you not to follow me, but I know that’s a waste of words.” He gave her a crooked grin. “At least don’t let them see you following me.”
She nodded, a smile spreading across her face. “I’ll be in stealth mode.” Yes, the smile was forced, but she didn’t want Dax to be worried about her when he had bigger problems.
Like making the other five of the Nexus Collective believe he was really Evan Maas.
Giva wanted to clutch his arm and tell him not to go. It was ridiculous to think he could pass himself off as Evan Maas. What if Evan was expected to know something critical about this meeting? If they asked Dax about that something and he gave them a blank stare, it would be over.
Then what?
Would they kill Dax?
Giva’s heart pinched hard in her chest. She couldn’t let that happen. She really liked the man.
But how would she stop them from killing the man who had melted her bones in a single kiss?
Only Dax could go into the meeting. If it was in dark catacombs beneath Old Town, and Dax got into trouble would his team find him in time to rescue the former Marine?
Well, hell. They were about to find out.
“Hey.” Dax cupped her cheek and gave her a crooked smile. “I’ve been in tighter situations. I’ll be all right.”
Tears welled in Giva’s eyes. “Promise?”
“Promise.” He brushed an escaped tear from her cheek. “Soldiers don’t cry.”
“That’s bullshit,” she said and sniffed. “Don’t do anything stupid. No heroics. Just get in and get back out with the information we need.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said and brushed his lips across hers. He met her gaze, his face so close to hers, that she could see tiny gold flecks in his deep brown irises. “And the same goes for you. No heroics.”
“I’ll only do what it takes,” she said.
His frown deepened. “That doesn’t reassure me one bit.”
“I’ll be all right,” she said.
“I have to go,” Dax said.
“Then go.”
He chuckled. “I’d rather stay with you and test that mattress. Can I get a rain check?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “You just have to make it through the next few hours, get the data and get out.” Giva clapped her hands. “You can do it.”
“With incentive.” Dax grinned. “You must’ve been a cheerleader or a motivational speaker in your past life.”
She snorted. “More like a drill instructor. I didn’t know real motivation until a drill instructor stood in front of me on my first day of boot camp. He yelled at me for a full five minutes, that felt more like a lifetime. It motivated me to follow rules and get tough, so I wouldn’t have that DI up in my face ever again.”
“I know what you mean. I felt the same on my first day of Marine Corps boot camp. The point is, we lived through it and were stronger for it.” He chucked her beneath her chin. “Stay strong. I have a rain check I plan to claim when this is done.”
“You’re on,” Giva said and stood back as he left the room alone. She’d follow, but not so close anyone would notice and only after she loaded her backpack with the items she needed—the blacklight flashlight, for one. Dmytro hadn’t forgotten it. He’d left it on purpose. For her. She slipped her radio earbuds into her ears to keep in touch with Fearghas and Peter.
She pulled a sheath of three black, metal throwing knives from her backpack, lifted her pantleg and strapped the sheath to her ankle as Dax had done with the plastic blade.
She’d used the plastic knife on a couple of occasions. It had proved to be as sharp as the metal one. But she preferred metal for throwing.
Then she dug out the other sheath of three black, metal throwing knives out of her backpack and strapped the second sheath to her left forearm.
Giva strapped on a shoulder holster and tucked her Glock 19 semi-automatic pistol in place. After pocketing three additional magazines full of bullets, she checked the meager contents of her backpack.
The flashlight, a small toolkit suitable for picking locks, unscrewing hinges, cutting wire or removing surveillance cameras, a miniature can of black spray paint, a small roll of duct tape, and some zip ties didn’t seem like enough of an arsenal to stop World War III.
It would have to be enough.
She shrugged into her black leather jacket, slipped her arms through the straps of the backpack and glanced out the window.
Dax and Fearghas were just leaving the hotel on foot.
If she hurried, she could catch up with them before they entered Old Town.
As if Fearghas knew she was thinking about them, he spoke into her earbuds, “Comm check, Sasha.”
“Sasha, here. On my way down now. Don’t wait on me. I’ll catch up.”
“Roger,” Fearghas said. “Comm check, Peter.”
No response.
“Comm check, Peter,” Fearghas repeated.
Again, nothing.
Not a good sign.
Giva’s lips pressed into a tight line. She hoped Peter wasn’t answering because he was afraid he’d draw attention to himself when trying to follow the German and Italian without being noticed.
Giva left the room and took the elevator down to the second floor and the staircase to the ground level, emerging from one of the side entrances, avoiding the main lobby and other people.
She took off at a quick walk, her hands tucked into her pockets. Straining to catch a glimpse of Dax and Fearghas ahead, she hurried down the street, weaving between pedestrians and people going in the opposite direction to get home.
Not until she was close to Pile Gate did, she finally catch up enough to see them enter Old Town.
Knowing how narrow and twisting the streets were, Giva couldn’t let the two men get too far ahead, or she’d risk losing them in the still-crowded streets.
She entered through the massive gate built in the fifteenth century just in time to see Dax and Fearghas pass between two buildings on the right.
Giva hurried after them, head down, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. All the while, she remained aware of everything around her.
Though night had fallen, Old Town was still alive and bustling with people looking for places to eat or to enjoy a drink with friends.
Dax strode quickly through the streets, not slowing until they neared the Jesuit Stairs.
Giva weaved between people, thankful that the men she was following stood head and shoulders above so many others in the crowd.
When they came to a halt at the bottom of the Jesuit Stairs, Giva stopped a block and a half short of their location and took out her cell phone.
She leaned against a stone pillar and pretended to be interested in her emails and texts. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the young people walking arm in arm, laughing about something...or nothing. Filled with the joy of youth and the world they all shared.
The scene was such a dichotomy of how things were and how they could change so quickly. The teens went on about life with no expectation that their lives could soon be changed or ended, depending on the plans the Nexus Collective had in mind.
Two men appeared wearing black jackets. Large men with broad shoulders and dark hair like those they’d seen on the wall earlier. Because it was dark outside, with only the streetlights shining at every corner, the men weren’t wearing the sunglasses they’d worn earlier that day.
Fearghas spoke softly, “Game on.”
Giva could hear the faint sound of one of the men quoting the challenge, “Fall down seven times.”
Dax’s faint response filtered through Fearghas’s mic, “Stand up eight.”
The man who’d issued the challenge said, “Alone.”
Dax turned to Fearghas. “You may return to the hotel.”
Fearghas nodded.
Dax took off between the two men in black jackets. Fearghas walked away in the opposite direction. He passed her and turned at the next street, supposedly heading for Pile Gate and their hotel.
As soon as he was out of sight of the men escorting Dax, Fearghas spoke. “Evan is with his escort.”
“Roger,” Dmytro’s voice filled Giva’s ears. “Sasha?”
“Witnessed the pickup,” Giva said. “Will follow at a distance.” She pushed away from the wall and, as casually as she could, walked down the street in the direction the two men were taking Dax.
Two blocks ahead, they turned down a narrow street.
Once they rounded the corner, out of her line of sight, her heartbeat kicked up, and her pace increased to just short of jogging. When she reached the corner, her heart lodged in her throat. She didn’t see any of the three large men.
They had disappeared.
“I lost them,” Giva reported.
“I lost the German and the Italian,” Peter said into Giva’s earbuds. “They rounded a corner and just disappeared.”
“Same,” Giva said, looking around for any sign of the three men or any other sentries standing guard in front of a door or from a perch overhead. Her gaze swept the rooftops for people and the eaves for cameras. When she saw neither, she swung her backpack from her shoulders, found the flashlight and switched it on, shining it toward the stone walkway.
Nothing.
She walked further along the narrow alley, shining the light at the ground and then her breath lodged in her throat.
A faint glow appeared on one of the stones. A few feet further, another glowing smear appeared.
Giva released the breath she’d held and followed. The trail continued another ten yards, where the glowing smears abruptly ended in front of a stone wall. She walked to the end of the structure, where it abutted against another building made of stone and wood.
Footsteps echoed on the stone walls nearby.
Giva turned off the flashlight, ducked her head and walked away from the sound of footsteps.
Though she kept moving in the opposite direction, the footsteps grew louder.
Her pulse raced as she increased her pace.
The footsteps behind her quickened.
Giva turned a corner and sprinted to the next alley, turned right and slammed into a wall of a man’s chest.
When hands came out to grab her, she went into a defensive crouch, blocked his attempt to grab her and shoved her palm into his face, hitting his nose.
The man grunted and swung a meaty arm.
She ducked and threw herself around him.
A foot jutted out, catching her ankle.
Giva pitched forward and staggered a few steps before she regained her balance.
Not soon enough.
Arms wrapped around her like iron bands and clamped her against a wall of a chest.
A cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth.
She tried not to breathe but eventually had to.
When she inhaled, her vision blurred and faded to black.