To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) (51 page)

W
IND SWOOSHED DOWN THE TUNNEL as the train to Parnas barreled into the station. Once the doors opened, Cassandra merged with the flow of passengers boarding the train. Dropping the duffels at her feet, she gripped the overhead bar and a wave of relief washed over her. With the first leg of her journey underway, she had time to think again.

It was the first time since the shot rang through the speakers that she was not in a flurry of activity. Her numb mind jumpstarted and body began to shake as all thoughts converged on Trevor. Shock held her in its tight embrace. What could have gone wrong? Everything was moving like clockwork, albeit warped from their original plan. Cassandra could clearly hear his cocky words from that first day echoing in her mind as he had walked up to the mansion:
“So far, so good, a ghrá. Hopefully, this will be a walk in the park.”

It hadn’t been a walk in the park. At the time, neither of them had a clue as to what awaited him inside those walls, nor the restrictions forced on him that first day. The same way neither of them had anticipated they’d have to deploy their contingency plan.

She never really expected to hear the word “
Mí-ádh
” uttered in a rushed whisper, or the words “
I will love you always
” spoken in a tone crowded with finality before silence had enveloped the signal. Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut.
He is not dead. He’s too damn stubborn. He promised.

She swallowed the scream that clawed at her throat and leaned her head against her outstretched arm. She listened to the droning sound of train wheels clacking along the tracks, and counted the stops in her head as it sped through the tunnel—a simple task to distract her from further dark thoughts.

Tears welled as concern continued to rip at her heart.
I should’ve done something. Stayed. Gone to him,
she badgered herself and, at the same time, reprimanded herself for the weakness.
Focus, Cassie. You have a job to do.
The plan was simple. If he was a no-show after twenty-four hours, she would hightail it back to Ireland.

The jolt of the train changing tracks snapped Cassandra back to awareness. She opened her eyes only to glance straight into the sympathetic faded ones of a petite, white-haired elderly woman sitting on the seat in front of her. Brushing the wetness from her cheek and unable to bear the pity she saw in the depth of the woman’s eyes, Cassandra shifted her gaze to the transit map above the door.

A while later, at the announcement of the approaching Parnas station, Cassandra adjusted the strap of the backpack into a more comfortable position and reached for the bags. She shuffled around a few other passengers to position herself in front of the sliding doors, and burst out of them as soon as they opened. She shoved her way through the crowd of passengers, mumbling “Excuse me” as she maneuvered around them, heading for the stairs and the bus—the next leg of her journey.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Cassandra squinted in the bright sunlight and spotted the bus parked across the street. Adrenaline spiked her veins as she sprinted for it. Cars skidded to a stop bare inches from her, but she hardly gave them a glance. She focused on her one goal—catching that bus before it left the station.

Once boarded, Cassandra scanned the area around the station for any sign that she had been followed as she shuffled behind the other passengers to her seat. She took the aisle seat in the emergency exit row and, still running on autopilot, set the duffel bags between her feet and the backpack on her lap. Under the shield of the backpack, she slowly shifted the Grach from her back to the front of her waistband, tucking it within easy reach.

Settling down for the ride, she rubbed the sweat trailing from her brow with her sleeve and plucked at her t-shirt. As her body cooled, a flurry of goose bumps raced along her arms and her sweaty shirt, now icy cold, stuck to her skin. Rubbing her arms, she reached into one of the duffel bags for a jacket. She pulled out the first one she grabbed. It was blue. Trevor’s. Her breath caught in her throat, almost choking her, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Anxiety bubbled up again and she dropped her head forward, resting her chin on her chest. “Breathe, just breathe!” she whispered.

“Pardon me?” the woman seated across the aisle, wearing blue jeans, a green jacket, and holding a tourist guide, asked with an Australian accent.

Shaking her head and displaying a friendly smile, Cassandra responded, “I’m sorry. I must have been talking to myself.”

“I do that all the time.” The woman’s blue eyes wrinkled at the corners and she flashed an understanding smile before returning her attention to the book in her hands.

Cassandra sucked in a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh as she stuffed Trevor’s jacket back in the bag and pulled out her own. Exhausted, she slipped it on and dropped her head back against the headrest. She tried to block all worry for Trevor by visualizing the contingency checklist in her mind—scout the area around the safe house; connect to the satellite feed; contact Nathan and George; and, finally, wait for Trevor to show up, if he hadn’t already.

The bus ride went on forever, the multiple stops along the way, heavy traffic, and noise of the diesel engine grating on her nerves, causing her head to pound. Eventually, the monotony of the ride lulled her into a semi-doze.

As the bus slowed, Cassandra’s head snapped up. Instantly alert, she shouldered her backpack and zipped her jacket to conceal the gun. She grabbed her bags and exited the bus as soon as the doors opened. Anxious, she took a minute to get her bearings. The road that led to the safe house was off to the right. Shrugging the backpack into a more comfortable position on her shoulder and taking a better grip on the bags, she headed in that direction.

*****

Trevor was slowing them down. Dmitriy and Tatiana helped him, but the last few steps had just about killed him. With each step, it became harder to hide his discomfort from Tatiana’s concerned eyes.

“This is ridiculous,” she gestured to Trevor and glanced between the two of them. “You men are so stubborn. Look at him,” she pointed at Trevor. “He cannot walk any further. I beg you. Flag down a cab. It is only a short distance.”

Trevor knew she was right. His shoulder burned, perspiration trailed down the sides of his face soaking his shirt, making it stick to him like a second skin. He couldn’t take another step. He nodded at Dmitriy. “Do it. It’s risky but—”

“Let them trace the transaction. They still won’t be able to find our destination.” Dmitriy withdrew his entire daily limit at the closest ATM and they jumped into the first cab they flagged down. “At least now we have cab fare and enough to tide us over.”

Once in the cab, silence descended upon them, each lost in their own thoughts. Dmitriy held Tatiana’s hand in his, his thumb caressing the underside of her wrist. The gentle caress didn’t go unnoticed. Trevor sagged in the seat, wishing it was his hand caressing Cassandra’s. He hoped the market would provide them with their ticket out of St. Petersburg; if not, they would become easy targets in a city where Mikhailov’s reach ran deep.

“Do you know the market emerged during the reign of the Soviet Union and existed illegally for about fifty years?” Tatiana broke the quiet. “During the hard times of Perestroika, many dwellers from St. Petersburg and the surrounding suburbs survived and supported their families by selling goods at this flea market. Many of them still sell their wares there today. To them, Udelnaya is more than a market; it is their way of life.”

Tatiana’s description had not done the market justice. Trevor was taken aback as they hopped out of the cab. The immensity of the Udelnaya flea market was a surprise. The deep, earthy odor of the damp, packed dirt mixed with that of tarnished antique wares and used clothing saturated the air. The wide area was littered with small tables, stands, and blankets spread helter-skelter on the ground—all covered in used and new items alike; clothes hung from lines strung between trees, vans and trucks parked in the area with doors open to display wares lined inside and to pick up purchases.

Visitors crowded the place, foreigners and locals alike, looking for the best deal they could find. The sunny day gave the market a festive atmosphere, even though to the majority of the sellers and traders the place was a job, a necessity.

Tatiana turned to them. “Wait here. Let me see if I can find my friends.”

“I will come with you.” Dmitriy insisted.

“No, Dmitriy. They could be anywhere. We cannot drag Ivanov around, and he cannot stay by himself. Let me find them and talk to them first.” She left before they could protest further.

*****

Nikol followed Deminov as he tracked the footprint trail left behind on the soft ground to the road bordering the north side of the park. She observed as he pulled out his cell phone. “How are you going to find him?”

“The Glazov has eyes and ears everywhere. I will find him.” Sergei placed a call and it was answered right away. “Ilya, call your cousin and tell him to keep an eye out for a foreigner. New face. Dark hair. Blue eyes. One hundred eighty-five centimeters. Around eighty kilos. One of our own might be helping him.” After a pause, he added, “I don’t know who, idiot. If I did, I wouldn’t be calling you. Send a car for me.” He gave Ilya their location and then made another call. “Vladimir.”

Mikhailov’s voice boomed over the speaker and Nikol could overhear the conversation. “Where are you? You disappeared at the worst time.” Mikhailov’s voice was cold, unforgiving.

“I am on pursuit of the developer. He has escaped.”

“Fucking swine. The computer room was compromised. The files erased. He must be working for Pavel. Dmitriy is also missing. They must have collaborated to steal from me.” Mikhailov’s voice was cold as steel. “Kill the developer. Bring my nephew”—he spat the word—“to me. Maybe he can fix this mess before I wipe him from my bloodline forever.”

Nikol tensed as Sergei’s eyes became flat and as unreadable as stone. He glanced at the Bvlgari watch banded to his wrist as he disconnected the call. “Dmitriy is missing. As soon as the car is here, we will find them both.”

*****

Trevor leaned heavily on Dmitriy as they moved to the side and found a spot where they could sit and wait for Tatiana’s return. He grunted as Dmitriy helped him to the ground and inspected the wound. “Not what I envisioned when I told you to join me, that I could help you. It seems the roles have been reversed, mate.”

Dmitriy looked him in the eyes. “You will still be able to help us, right? I’m depending on it. You’re my ticket away from my uncle. If Sergei finds me…” He didn’t need to finish. The meaning was clear. He shook his head. “It would be even worse for Tatiana.”

Trevor knew exactly the scenario Dmitriy was painting in his head. He would never wish that to happen to Cassandra.

The shuffle of soft steps approaching drew their attention and they both looked up to see Tatiana hurrying toward them with a smug smile on her face. “I got us a ride. Come with me.”

Tatiana moved to Trevor’s side and help Dmitriy support him as they walked to the center of the market. As they approached a stand, little more than a tarp stretched out on the ground, Trevor observed an older couple sitting on foldable chairs by the tarp. From the looks of things, they sold an eclectic mix of goods—all sorts of personal items, clothes, antique glass containers—anything they didn’t need for themselves. It was obvious that they were looking for ways to supplement their meager state income.

Tatiana smiled at the older woman. “These are the friends I told you about, Babushka.” Trevor assumed that Tatiana had to be very good friends with her, since the endearing term was only used when addressing one’s own grandmother or close elderly friends. “This is Dmitriy and Ivanov.”

Tatiana turned back them. “This is Zoya and her husband Yakov. They are friends of my family who lived near my grandparents when I was a child. Now they live in a little village called Vyun, far north of St. Petersburg. They come regularly to the market. I am only able to visit with them when they are here.”

Zoya and Yakov eyed Dmitriy and Trevor warily. The woman asked Tatiana, “Who is your man?”

A flood of rosy color swept across Tatiana’s cheeks. “Not my man, Babushka. Boyfriend,” she sputtered as she pointed out Dmitriy, who inhaled deeply and grinned, happiness shining through his eyes.

“What is wrong with your friends?” Yakov nodded at both men.

“We were attacked. Ivanov is in worse shape. We are trying to get him home,” Dmitriy answered promptly with a half-truth.

Trevor addressed the older man directly. “Can you help us? I was hoping you could give us a ride.”

Yakov hesitated a moment and then directed his gaze to Tatiana. “We will. But we do this for you, Tanka.”

Relief washed over Trevor. One step closer to reaching Cassandra.

“The market closes in an hour. We’ll pack and leave soon.”

Dmitriy looked Trevor’s way. “I should help them pack so we can get out of here faster.” He said, easing Trevor to the ground.

Trevor cradled his throbbing arm tightly against his side while Dmitriy and Tatiana helped Zoya and Yakov box their goods.

*****

Sergei pounded his hand against the steering wheel and swerved to avoid hitting another car parked on the side. Nikol eyed him warily and wanted to kick herself in the ass for not taking the wheel in the first place. Sergei was better wielding an AK-47 then he was maneuvering through traffic. His anger mounted with each phone call, each lead that didn’t pan out.

“Sergei, pull over. Let me drive.” Nikol kept the tone of her voice low and even.

Sergei grabbed his pistol from the center console and aimed it at her. “Shut your mouth.” His voice shook, the veins popped on his temple as he rasped out the words.

He was a man on the edge
. Insane bastard
. Nikol threw up her hands. “Easy. No need to splat us like flies on a windshield before we can find them.”