To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) (40 page)

T
HE DAYS AFTER BEGINNING HIS not-so-solitary confinement in the mansion had dragged. Trevor was treated well, but was still a forced guest there. Dmitriy had offered to go to his house and pick a change of clothing for him, but he lied, saying his girlfriend was supposed to be out of town that week and, expecting to have gone back home that first night, hadn’t thought to get the keys when he left that morning. Dmitriy didn’t pursue it and provided Trevor with a couple of changes of clothing. Although they were a tight fit, they would suit him for the short period he planned on being there.

“You’ll need to handle your own laundry though,” Dmitriy had laughed when Trevor thanked him for the loan.

“No worries. I’m housebroken.” He hoped to make Cassandra laugh with his comment. Let her see that his smart-ass self was still thriving under the stress of the situation.

Trevor had spent the previous few days divided between finding a way to remove the files he needed from the servers and continuing the development of the decrypter to keep Mikhailov off his back. He didn’t want to give him any reason to “dismiss him permanently,” as Dmitriy had put it.

The decrypter was quite an impressive piece of work. It drew him in, and the excitement at the challenge of unraveling it pushed everything else to the back of his mind as it absorbed all his attention. Days spent under the grip of the code made his confinement a little easier to take. He was totally intrigued by its complexity and filed a mental note to contact Paul Faber, the decrypter’s creator, to discuss it in detail.

Aside from that, Trevor spent each moment out of his makeshift cell in deep observation of the people and the network, searching for vulnerabilities he could use to his advantage. Each person, each pawn in the hierarchy of the organization, was becoming very familiar to him as he observed their interactions during the time spent among them, listening to their conversations. They spoke freely in front of him, unaware of his understanding of their mother language.

Dmitriy had been drawn to him, possibly because of the shared expatriate status and the fact that they were two oddities amongst the violent members of the Glazov. They had spent each day almost glued at the hip. Dmitriy never left his side unless it was to use the small bathroom, which was causing a complication for Trevor. Dmitriy was never far enough, nor gone long enough, to allow him access to the server for the time he estimated it would take to pull the files from it.

“I am hungry. Are you up for lunch?”

Trevor frowned. It was early, but it would give him another opportunity to provide Cassandra with a glimpse of what was going on. “Sure.”

They made their way to the enormous kitchen, where long tables were set to accommodate the many people living in the mansion. As they sat and waited to be served by one of the kitchen maids, Trevor noticed Dmitriy’s intense interest in one referred to as Tatiana.

Trevor had seen her in the kitchen before. A shy young woman, she was efficient and mostly kept to herself, completing her duties without complaint, even under the crudest treatment by some of Mikhailov’s henchmen. Dmitriy followed her with hooded eyes, a poor disguise for the attention he gave her.

“
Spasibo
,” Dmitriy thanked the woman, continuing to track her movements as she served Trevor.

Trevor repeated the word when she placed the plate in front of him. He had to agree, the food smelled appetizingly good. He took a long whiff of the generous serving of steamy meat and vegetables and settled in to eat, all the while keeping close tabs on Dmitriy.

“So…does she know you love her?”

Dmitriy’s wary eyes shot to Trevor’s. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Been there, know that,” Trevor shot back. “So does she?”

Mikhailov’s nephew glanced back at his plate and pushed the meat around with his fork. His shoulders curved slightly and he gazed over to the counter where the woman in question was busy serving others as they trickled into the kitchen.

“I’m not sure. We met for the first time a number of years ago when I was sent here for a short visit. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since. I remember it clearly. Tanka was puttering around the kitchen getting ready for an evening meal. I startled her and she dropped a knife. When it fell, it sliced her finger. I offered to look at it, and when our hands touched….”

Trevor studied him and understood the unspoken words. Dmitriy was definitely taken by the woman. He probably hadn’t even realized he used the affectionate version of her name in his retelling. “Why don’t you say something?”

“She’s shy. I’ve been taking my time in courting her.”

Trevor took a bite and savored the hearty meal. “How’s that working for you?”

Dmitriy dropped his fork on his plate and rested his elbows on the table. He shot a covert glance in Tatiana’s direction. “It has taken me a year to get her to even laugh at my jokes. We have slowly become friends. I believe my efforts are paying off. The last few months she has begun to warm up to me. I think…I don’t know for sure…but I think she now has affection for me.”

Trevor could not imagine having had the patience to wait that long for Cassandra. He had wanted her the first time he had set eyes on her, and had pursued her relentlessly. Thank god she had come around in those first short months. Trevor clapped Dmitriy on the back. “I am glad it is working out for you, my friend. There is nothing better than loving a good woman.”

Dmitriy cocked his head. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Just wistful. Thinking of holding a beautiful woman in my arms again soon.” He flashed a cocky grin. “Hard to do when you’re locked down.”

“You have that right.” Dmitriy turned his head in Tatiana’s direction, lost in thought.

*****

Over time, Trevor had stealthily wormed his way into the mainframe. The massive server contained hundreds of folders. It would be impossible to remove the entirety of its contents without having access from the outside or access to a portable storage unit. Based on what he’d uncovered, there was no way he could get it all done in one day. At least not via a flimsy remote connection.

The micro thumb-drive he had absconded in the hem of his pants his first day on the job wasn’t large enough to hold all the files in one single swoop, either. Even if he limited the copy to text documents only, it would take days to do a full backup of the files, considering the little time he was left to his own devices in the underground room.

The size of the data housed on the server puzzled Trevor.
Why would a mafia boss have so much data on a standalone server anyway?
Intrigued, he had checked the contents of a few folders. They contained mostly logs of some sort and documents that appeared to be lists of names, records of payoffs, bribes, businessmen owned by the different organizations, blackmail—you name it. There were also massive databases with user details that could be sold to spammers and online criminals alike.

Mikhailov’s hacker network had been prolific.
Hackers.
Trevor had not been able to infiltrate the mainframe from the outside, and hadn’t considered burrowing his way out since he had no access to the outside world from there. If he could establish a connection to the outside, he could push the files out, a batch at a time.

Dmitriy walked in after his usual mid-morning cigarette break and sat at his computer. He toggled to the browser, searching for hardware parts. “I don’t understand why we have to buy piece-of-shit computers when we can afford top-of-the line desktops.”

“Getting what you paid for?”

“Yeah. Two of the desktops upstairs are dead in the water. Network cards died. And, as usual, they want it fixed ASAP.”

Trevor kept his eyes trained on the screen, analyzing the code, testing subsets of data, as well as looking for a way to insert a Trojan that, once triggered, would destroy the software as soon as it was used for the first time. If he could figure out a way to add that little time bomb to the program, he could get Cassandra out of harm’s way before Mikhailov figured out what was going on. That was, if Trevor was allowed to leave.

Almost as if pulled in by his thoughts, the clack of the door being opened resonated from upstairs and Mikhailov, followed by his henchmen, descended to the room.

“Ivanov.”

*****

Cassandra stared out the open window at the river traffic flowing past the little apartment facing Fontanka River as the blaring car horns and bustle of people on the streets filled her ears. She took a sip from the cup she nursed in her hands. Even coffee tasted different without him. How pathetic was that? Watching a couple stop for a kiss before continuing on their way toward Sennaya Square, Cassandra’s heart tightened into a wadded ball in her chest. She missed his firm lips. She even missed his smart-ass comments.

The early morning sun reflected off the water. For once, it wasn’t raining, but the humidity was a heavy blanket in the air, and the chilly wind, a cutting knife. A typical late spring day in St. Petersburg. Cassandra brushed her hair from her face in frustration as she turned back to the room and eyed the computer screen, the dead graphic equalizer interface displayed prominently in its center.

Her stomach grumbled and Cassandra grimaced. She hadn’t wanted to leave the apartment or the laptop for fear of missing his live broadcast. But the walls of the studio apartment were closing in and supplies were low. She needed food and fresh air. She set her cup aside, slipped on her boots, and grabbed her jacket and wallet. Her hand hesitated, hovering over the ticket bundles, remembering the day they had bought them and discussed the evasion plan. She snatched them and shoved them in her back pocket before she strode out the door.

The brisk wind cut across her cheeks and her ears burned slightly from its sting. She shoved her fists deeper in her coat pockets as she reached the corner of the block where the wind whipped around her like a Tasmanian devil. Cassandra’s blustery thoughts matched the weather perfectly. Her mind drifted in a whirlwind to Trevor.

All she wanted was to be able to reach him somehow, grab him and run. But she knew it was impossible. Not with the few resources they had at their disposal. She hadn’t made up her mind about contacting Boris regarding Trevor’s confinement in the mansion. Not once had he contacted her in the days Trevor had been gone, and she still didn’t know if she could really trust him.

George had sent over some transcripts to Jennifer and now it was a matter of sitting tight—again. Jessica hadn’t been able to pinpoint any useful information or connections and had yet to say anything about what was going on with her. Cassandra’s brows drew together as she walked the cold streets of St. Petersburg, fully engrossed in the chaos in her head. Among all the convolution of the days since Trevor had been stuck in the mansion, Cassandra had not rested, revving to get moving, to get things done. She hated sitting on her hands, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The blare of a horn drew her out of her tempestuous musings. Her eyes took in her surroundings. Adrenaline spiked in her veins, chasing the cold that had become her constant companion of late. She shook her head and tucked her chin further into the collar of her coat as she gazed across the street.

Her eyes traveled the length of the stonewalls and the wrought iron gate holding the mansion she had only seen on video within its protective circle. Following the curve of the intricate design on the gate to the camera situated at the top of one of the pillars, the memory of the bruise on Trevor’s back flashed before her eyes. Damn him.
It’s even freaking higher than I imagined.

A shiver held her in its grip as the light turned and she stepped into the crosswalk. Keeping her head down, she watched the gate from the corner of her eye until she reached the small garden where Trevor had hidden the transmitter. How the hell had she gotten there? Him. He drew her. She knew it was a ridiculous thought, but somehow she could feel him.

She ducked into the garden and found a bench far enough back that she wouldn’t look suspicious, yet close enough that she could still see the gate and any activity. As she sat there, her mind was totally focused on Trevor. In the days he had been gone, mornings were the worst. She missed waking up to his spicy warm scent and his lean muscular body wrapped around hers. She missed fighting for the hot spray of the shower each time he joined her. Morning showers that usually ended up with more steam than…
Hell
.

A cold breeze crossed her knees and she tucked her arms tighter against her sides, her hands wadded the fabric inside her pockets.
Why am I torturing myself? What counts is that he’s okay
. Each morning she would get some kind of message from him. “Picture in your head the Imperial March sounding each time someone rings at the door,” “This morning I imagined taking a shower with you,” or, “I love how you smell in the morning. Warm in all the right places. I miss that,
a ghrá
.” Stupid little messages, but they helped get her through the day. While she observed the house, her gut twisted in knots again. The same feeling that had followed her through the many days he’d been in there. So close, yet so far.

But even with that big bump in the road, she didn’t allow herself to dwell in negativity. She used her pent-up energy and, yes, her worry to power her forward and through it. She tracked down as much as she could on Boris.

Jessica had thought at one point she had a lead on a family connection, but that didn’t pan out. The data trail had simply dried up. Overall, he appeared squeaky clean—a little too clean, considering his association with Mikhailov. It should have marked him somehow, but it hadn’t. His business did well, his accounts modest with no signs of large deposits. Jessica hadn’t found any trace of additional off-shore accounts, so it didn’t appear as if he was totally on Mikhailov’s payroll. It was all in George’s hands now.

Cassandra hadn’t wanted to burden anyone with her worry. She knew that Jessica was getting concerned. She had even considered contacting Nathan as a precaution, but thought better of it. He would just add to her stress, insist she abandon Trevor and get the hell out of there.