The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (48 page)

“Yes,” Millar said confidently. He looked over at a cab waiting for a fare in front of the hotel and said, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“We’ll be expecting you.”

The familiarity of the man’s voice bothered Millar.

“I want to see them outside when I get there. When I get out of the cab, you send them over to me and I’ll take their place. Got it?”

“Okay, sure,” the man said, his tone bordering playful.

Millar knew The Shop would be monitoring Maria Soller’s cell phone—probably his as well—so he didn’t have much doubt that their analysts would discover what he was doing. Maybe they would even figure out a way to save him once he got the girls out of there.

Eden Household, Great Falls, VA

SHE WAS TRYING to come to terms with everything that had happened over the past two nights. Victoria Eden’s emotions had been on a roller-coaster ride, and she was left with a sadness that she hadn’t felt for quite some time. Her fierce independence had been predetermined from the moment her mother died, and now more than ever it left her feeling alone, wondering if she would ever find someone to share her life with.

That was the crux of her immediate problem. A man she knew only as Trent had managed to connect with her in a way she’d never before experienced. The feelings she knew they both felt were as powerful as they were brief. Now he was gone. Forever.

She thought of the missed connections ads she and her friends used to read for entertainment in the
City Paper
as teenagers. The people who placed the ads were almost always crazed and delusional, but every once in a while they would find the genuine sadness and desperation of a love lost. If she were to place an ad, she wondered whether she would come off as one of the crazies, or was this really a love lost? It didn’t matter; that wouldn’t be an option. Nothing could bring him back. Whoever he was—Tony, Trent—he was now a ghost who would haunt her memory; he was now a what-if punctuated with a regretful question mark.

A part of her realized that she should be thankful for making it out of that place alive, but to what end? Life had dished out its share of cruelty to Victoria Eden. There was enough troubled history for her to consider whether or not she somehow deserved what she got. She wondered if it was karma as she reflected on a path littered with broken hearts she’d left behind. Most of those hearts belonged to good people, some even amazing, but none able to make that magical connection Trent had sparked off with a simple smile and alluring eyes. Maybe she was crazy.

The cab ride home from Dulles Airport was a solemn one. Her house was empty, although hanging in the back of her mind was the possibility of unwanted company. Pavel Kozlov knew everything there was to know about her, she was sure of it, and the scariest part was that she didn’t care. She would be damned if that bastard would take her alive again. This time she would fight from the onset, and it would feel good. She would deliver some kind of payback. She realized her state of mind had been altered, and the jury was still out on whether that was a good thing.

She had changed into her blue Under Armour running clothes and pulled her hair back into a ponytail by the time she decided there was something else she needed to do. This would make the third time she had cycled through her things, and she still couldn’t find it. Purse, carry-on, violin case, pockets. Repeat. She let out an exasperated sigh.

“Shit,” she said. “Nice job, Vic. At least you know the first three digits, two-oh-two…uhhhhh!”

It had been years since she had actually memorized a phone number. She walked over to her landline and pressed the redial button, but the memory held some random number she wasn’t familiar with. She never really used a landline anyway, and she wasn’t even sure why she kept it. Eden was tempted to drive to her godfather’s place in Georgetown unannounced, but she wasn’t convinced it was a good idea to have this conversation in person. Then it hit her, and she walked over to her computer.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” she said to the empty house. “Maybe I should get a cat.”

She began to pull up an online phone book to look up Nevin Perlman’s number when she thought of something. A smile transformed her mood. Within seconds she had the website pulled up and was logging in to her account. When she saw how close her iPhone was to her and where she’d left it, a chill shot down her spine. It wouldn’t take long to get there. She stared at the screen and contemplated what she should do, and in that moment she realized something. Victoria D’Angelo realized she wasn’t going to suffer the same fate as her mother. Time was the key—it just took time for things to get better—and you needed to respect yourself enough to take that time. Fear diminished with time. Everything changed with time.

She had sent the address that was displayed on her screen to the printer when a loud clatter broke the silence. She stood up slowly from the chair, and her heart began to race. She grabbed the piece of paper and crept to the front of the house, where the sound had originated from. There were several windows, and she chose the one with the blinds drawn from which to make her observation. She slowly began to lift a single slat up and jumped when she heard the noise again. This time it was louder.

Fear crept into her eyes as she carefully lifted the blind high enough to peer through. When she saw a deer rummaging through her trash, she breathed a sigh of relief. She noticed she had crumpled the piece of paper with the address and laughed. She now regretted her decision to ignore the advice she was given about the Russian. Another loud crack sounded, and she decided she needed to get the hell out of there.

“Screw it,” she said, feeling empowered once again. “You only live once.”

PAVEL KOZLOV STARED at the bank of monitors in front of him. He had a grimace on his face from the pain in his leg, but aside from the injury, things had been looking up for the Russian. He was about to take care of the hacker who had thus far managed to elude his men. They just needed to buy a little more time and it would all be over.

His men couldn’t simply put a bullet in his head. First they needed to find out what Francis Millar knew and what he might have done. But with him under their control, the biggest threat to their operation would be neutralized. The pain in Kozlov’s leg had been tempered by the fact that he had gotten the upper hand on The American this time. Too many of his communist brethren had died at his hands, and as he reflected on the accomplishment his lips nearly morphed into a smile.

“What did he say?” Kozlov asked.

Bruce Campbell shrugged his shoulders. “He wants us out front with the girls. He’s taking a cab.”

The Bratva leader didn’t like the situation but knew they didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’ll give him hope that this will work out until we’ve got him where we want him,” Campbell said. “We’ll keep the guns put away so he doesn’t get skittish.” He knew the look he saw in his boss’s eyes all too well. “Don’t worry. I won’t fuck this up. We don’t want to spook him and have to chase him down again. A couple of your former Spetsnaz boys will be here with the girls directly.”

Kozlov felt a little more at ease knowing the best the motherland had to offer would be involved.

“We just need a little more time and it will be too late,” the Russian said. “Nobody will be able to stop the attack once it’s in motion. There’s no room for mistakes this time around.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Kozlov said.

The door opened to show the three prisoners in the hallway guarded by two of his men.

“We just needed the two younger girls,” Campbell scoffed.

The Russians gave him a confused look. These men were old school, fresh from Russia, so their English was limited.

Campbell waved his arm dismissively and said, “Never mind. Let’s get this over with.”

Kozlov watched them leave the room and then turned to the bank of monitors in front of him. He looked down at the bandage on his leg and noted that his injury continued to bleed. It wasn’t the worst gunshot wound he’d had, but he’d need to see a doctor soon to get it stitched up and some better drugs to avoid infection. He reached for a bottle of pills and popped another antibiotic and a painkiller to take the edge off. He had enough time to see this through first. The Russian would stay off-line to avoid risk, and then he could celebrate his success in Europe with his comrade Yuri Khrushchev and the president.

His men emerged from a dead spot in the camera’s view at the front of the compound. He reached over and turned up the volume on the camera’s microphone so he could follow things more closely. The three prisoners still had canvas hoods over their heads as the yellow cab came into view. He heard a cell phone ring, and his man answered.

“Get out. Take ten steps toward us, and we’ll send the girls to the cab,” Campbell said.

The cab came to a stop, and its back door opened. The driver looked around nervously. Millar got out and walked toward Kozlov’s men cautiously. There was a loud cracking sound, and the cab lurched forward before it coasted into a tree.

The hacker turned around quickly and then back to the men. He pulled a gun from the small of his back and yelled, “Don’t move, or I’ll just start shooting.”

Kozlov’s heart rate increased as he watched the scene unfold. His men had been caught off guard by the hacker, and their weapons were still tucked away. A standoff with an amateur was always unpredictable. It would be easy if they didn’t need to take him alive, but the operation was too important to risk the unknown.

“Take off their hoods,” Millar shouted. “Do it now!”

The Russians looked at one another and started to remove the canvas hoods one by one.

“Don’t worry, Melody, Maria. I’ll figure this out, I promise,” Millar said in a panicked voice.

His eyes burned with anger when he saw the black eye on Maria Soller’s face, and then his gaze went to his sister and his demeanor changed. His shoulders dropped and Pavel Kozlov knew for certain he was a beaten man.

There was a sound coming through the microphone that he couldn’t quite place. He squinted at the monitor as an object came into view in the background. He got an uneasy feeling when he noticed the car was approaching a little faster than it should have been.

It was the blur at the bottom of the monitor that caught his attention next. One of the prisoners had body checked his men to the side and began to sprint toward the hacker. She was on a direct path for them to intercept the convertible Audi S5 that was now in plain view. He realized it was the FBI agent by the time she lowered her shoulder on the hacker and launched them both into the backseat of the moving car.

The Russian instantly recognized Victoria Eden, before she ducked down low in the driver’s seat and headed down the fire road connected to the back of the compound.

THE STAKES HAD just been raised, and they were now working against the clock. It had been a long night, but at least the men had gotten some much-needed shut-eye on the plane.

The Island Industries Gulfstream G650 had some unplanned guests on the flight from Chicago to Dulles Airport. The passengers included two rogue FBI operatives, a pair of hackers, and a strikingly beautiful violinist. A mechanical problem caused the pilots to delay their takeoff for several hours, but the plane still managed to make it to their destination before six in the morning.

Once they arrived at the hangar, the plane’s occupants split up. The hackers and violinist were driven to the airport’s cab stand by Jack Turner, with Etzy Millar and Dennis Zander headed to The Shop’s secure location in Arlington, Virginia. The musician insisted on going home, still in a daze after what had happened during her Chicago visit. The remaining operatives headed to the Island Industries satellite location in Reston, Virginia to kit up and devise a plan.

That was nearly an hour ago, and things had progressed rapidly over the past twenty minutes.

The team of operatives had reviewed the satellite images of the Bratva compound and noted the two entrances. One was a gravel driveway directly off the main road, and the other a fire road that wound its way to the back of the building from a neighboring property. The latter provided the best opportunity to preserve the element of surprise when they made their move.

The team had stopped half a kilometer from the compound and started to assemble and check their gear. The road was flanked by heavily wooded areas that offered good cover.

Trent Turner and Brendan Manion were working their way back from a quick recce of the compound. It was the first time the close friends had a chance to talk without anyone else present since Chicago.

“What happened over there?” Trent asked, curious about how the headlines had reported his death in the Middle East.

“I lost my edge,” Manion said. “It’s hard to explain.”

Trent shared a knowing look with him and said, “You don’t have to. I know what you mean. Did you hear about Ryan?”

“I did. I’m sorry. I know you had hoped to one day…” He stopped short.

Turner shrugged, acknowledging what was left unsaid. “That’s what got me into this business. When I realized he took a bullet for me, I started to lose myself. All I could think about was never having the opportunity to make things right between us. Never is a long fucking time.” He looked down, in deep thought, and then back to his friend, feeling for his loss. “Sorry about Katie,” he said, his tone softening. Manion hadn’t responded to anyone after his wife and unborn child had been murdered.

The silence was thick as both men fought back emotion.

“Yeah, me too…me too,” Manion said.

Their situations were frighteningly similar. Each had lost someone they cared deeply for because of his job, and both men believed strongly in what they were doing.

“Hey, man, I’m just happy to see you again,” Turner said with a smile. “How did Addy end up pulling you into The Island?”

“When that reporter leaked my name and Katie was murdered, I was lost.”