Page 27

Reznick shakes his head, face ashen. “No, this is?—”

A bullet strikes the doctor in the chest, cutting off his words as he collapses. More shots follow, keeping us pinned in the cramped space while blood pools beneath the fallen doctor.

“Elevator won't hold as cover,” Ivan growls, returning fire through the narrowing gap of the doors.

I nod grimly. “When the doors close, hit the emergency stop. We make our stand here, control the choke point.”

The heavy doors finally slide shut, muting the gunfire. Ivan slams the emergency stop button, then positions himself to the side of the doors, his weapon ready.

“They knew exactly where we'd emerge,” he says.

“Russo's been planning this,” I agree. “Probably for weeks.”

Silence falls, broken only by the labored breathing of the doctor, who remains conscious despite his wound. I crouch beside him, checking the severity of the injury. The bullet entered below the collarbone, missing the heart but causing significant bleeding.

“You'll live,” I confirm, “if we get you help soon.”

Reznick coughs, blood speckling his lips. “Why would they shoot me? I did everything they asked.”

“Loose ends,” I reply simply. “You're a liability now.”

Fresh fury surges through me, but I control it, channeling it into clarity rather than blind rage. “How many men does Russo have?”

“Eight...maybe ten,” Ivan guesses.

I stand, meeting Ivan’s eyes.

“I'll create the diversion,” Ivan affirms. “You take the doctor and find an exit.”

“No,” I snap. “Russo wants me. You get the doctor out.”

“With respect,” Ivan replies, “your family needs you alive. I'm expendable.”

Before I can argue further, my phone vibrates. Somehow, a text from an unknown number broke through the jamming signal, but the message is clear.

Roof access clear. Two minutes. A.

Aleksandr. He anticipated trouble and came with backup.

“Change of plans,” I announce. “We're going up.”

I press the button for the top floor, overriding the emergency stop. The elevator groans back into motion and rapidly ascends.

“They'll be waiting at every floor,” Ivan warns.

“Not the roof,” I assure him, showing him the message. “Aleksandr has men in position.”

As the elevator climbs, I tear strips from my shirt to create a makeshift pressure bandage for the doctor's wound. The man is growing paler by the minute, but his eyes remain alert, watching my movements.

“Why help me?” Reznick asks weakly. “After what I was part of?”

I secure the bandage firmly. “You're still useful.”

The elevator slows as it approaches the top floor. I position myself, weapon ready.

“Service stairs to the roof as soon as we exit,” I instruct. “Ivan, you take point. I'll cover the doctor.”

When the doors open, we move swiftly, encountering no immediate resistance. The top floor appears primarily administrative, with empty offices and conference rooms, all of which are dark at this hour. We locate the service stairs and begin the final ascent to the roof.

Behind us, the elevator descending signals that our movements have been detected. It won’t take Russo's men long to figure out our destination.

The roof access door is locked with a simple mechanical mechanism, which Ivan bypasses easily. The cool night air greets us as we emerge onto the rooftop's open expanse, the city's lights spreading around us like fallen stars.

“There,” I nod toward a black helicopter stationed at the far end of the rooftop, its rotors already beginning to turn. Two of Aleksandr's men provide cover, their weapons trained on the access door.

We make it halfway across the roof when the access door bursts open behind us. Gunfire erupts, immediately forcing us to take cover behind an air conditioning unit. The doctor groans as I pull him down, the movement aggravating his wound.

“Get to the helicopter,” I order Ivan. “I'll hold them here.”

For once, Ivan doesn’t argue. He takes charge of the doctor and heads toward the waiting aircraft, using the rooftop equipment as cover.

I provide suppressing fire, keeping Russo's men pinned at the doorway. I count four attackers from my position, which means others are likely securing different exits or moving to establish new firing positions.

Movement to my right confirms this suspicion. Two more of Russo's men emerge from the maintenance access I hadn’t noticed, cutting off my route to the helicopter.

“Dimitri!” Ivan shouts from ahead, spotting the new threat.

I take aim and eliminate one of the new arrivals with precision. The second finds cover behind a ventilation shaft. The odds worsen by the second.

Then, from the helicopter, covering fire erupts, forcing the remaining attackers to seek better protection. Aleksandr's men are providing the opportunity I need.

I use the moment to advance, moving from one position of cover to the next, closing the distance to the helicopter. Twenty feet, fifteen feet, ten feet.

“Popov!”

The voice cuts through the sporadic gunfire, commanding attention. I recognize it immediately. Russo stands by the roof access door, decked out in tactical gear. Unlike his men, he holds his weapon lowered, almost casually.

“Enough games,” Russo calls. “Aleksandr’s men have given you an exit. Take it. This isn't the real fight anyway.”

I remain in position, my weapon trained on Russo's chest. “Giving up so easily?”

Russo smiles coldly. “This is just the opening act. The real target was never you.”

“Sandy,” I simultaneously whisper her name like a prayer and a curse.

“By now, Morozov's team should be approaching your brother's estate,” Russo continues. “While you're out here occupied, your woman and child are the ones at risk.”

Without taking my eyes off Russo, I reach for my phone. There are no new messages. I try calling Sandy and Talia, but neither answer.

“Figured it out yet?” Russo taunts. “This whole operation—the doctor, the ambush—it's all misdirection. Keeping you and your men occupied while the real work happens elsewhere.”

My finger tightens on the trigger. One shot will permanently end Russo's threat.

“Dimitri!” Ivan calls from the helicopter. “We need to move!”

The rational part of my mind recognizes the tactical reality. We are outnumbered and exposed, and the doctor needs medical attention. The primal part wants nothing more than to put a bullet through Russo's smug face.

“Your choice, Popov,” Russo calls. “Stay and fight or run home to your pregnant whore and hope you make it in time.”

The crude reference to Sandy shatters my restraint. My shot takes Russo in the shoulder. It isn’t a kill, but enough to drop the man to his knees.

I move with lethal purpose, closing the distance between us while Aleksandr's men provide covering fire against Russo's remaining team. When I reach Russo, I press my weapon against his temple.

Russo laughs through his pain. “You're already too late. But I'll tell you this much…Morozov doesn't want her dead. Not right away. He wants her alive, wants her to lose the baby first, and wants her to know it was because you’re weak.”

I hear the helicopter's engine intensifying. Time is running out for my exit. “How many men at the estate?”

“Six men.”

“And the compromised staff member?” I probe.

Russo's eyes widen slightly, surprise breaking through his pain. “You know about her?”

“Name,” I growl, pressing the gun harder.

“Elena. Started a couple of months ago. She is supposed to ensure access through the east wing security system.”

I absorb this information, and the pieces fall into place. Elena is the new household staff member who was so eager to help Sandy with her pregnancy preparations.

“One last question,” I say, my voice deadly calm. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Russo's expression shifts to one of resignation. “Because Morozov promised me you'd be dead by now. The fact that you're not means I'm a dead man walking. Might as well make him work for it.”

I study him for a moment longer, then stand. “You're right about one thing. You are a dead man.”

My next shot is precise. Russo's body slumps to the rooftop as I turn and run for the helicopter, ducking as sporadic fire from the remaining gunmen follows my movements.

I leap aboard just as the aircraft begins to lift, Ivan pulling me to safety. At the same time, the doctor lies secure on the floor, emergency medical attention already being administered by one of Aleksandr’s men.

“The mansion,” I shout to the pilot over the roar of the rotors. “Maximum speed.”

As we gain altitude, leaving the clinic and Russo's body behind, I try Sandy's phone again. Still, no answer. Then I try Aleksandr’s. The signal is still jammed.

“What happened down there?” Ivan asks, noting my steely expression.

“It was a diversion,” I hiss, checking my weapon and reloading. “The real target was always the mansion and Sandy.”

Ivan’s face hardens. “How many?”

“Six. And they have inside help.”

“Aleksandr will have protection in place,” Ivan offers, though his tone suggests he understands the severity of the threat.

The helicopter races through the night sky, but I’ve never felt more trapped or helpless. The minutes drag on, each second a torment as I imagine what is happening at the mansion.