Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“I had no choice!” said Yakov. “He came to me six months ago. He blackmailed me.”
“With what?”
Yakov shook his head. “He knows things, Gennadiy. Things he should have no way of knowing.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “He knew about my daughter.”
I felt myself frown. “You don’t have a daughter.”
Yakov just looked at me sadly.
“You...do?” I said, amazed.
“Fifteen years ago, there was a woman...we weren’t together long, but a year later she came back with a baby, my baby. She never asked me for a thing, but I gave her money, I wanted her to be happy and safe and well away from”—he waved his hands at our guns—“all of this. She lives in Seattle with her husband. She sends me a picture of our daughter, now and again. I have no idea how Grushin knew she existed.”
“I do,” Alison said quietly. We both turned to look at her. “The baby’s in your FBI file. And Grushin has someone inside the FBI.”
Yakov cursed. “Grushin told me that if I didn’t cooperate, he’d send men to her house and…” He buried his face in his hands. “She’s fourteen!”
I holstered my gun and put my hand on his shoulder, my voice soft. “It’s okay. I would have done the same.” I was relieved he hadn’t been knowingly betraying us, but the fact that Grushin had been using my best friend, and we’d had no idea, was scary as hell. “What were you doing for him?”
“He wanted the Coast Guard patrol routes for specific dates and times. He must be smuggling something in across the lake.” Yakov shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’ve no idea what.”
“What was the next date Grushin asked about?” asked Alison.
“Tomorrow night, midni—”
Yakov jerked, and his chair rocked on its wheels. A red flower bloomed across his white shirt, and, at the same time, the sound of a rifle shot echoed through the docks.
Yakov looked at me, full of regret...and then he died.
49
ALISON
Both of us dived to the floor. Another shot came through the window and smacked into the wall behind Yakov’s desk, passing right over our heads.
We lay there panting for a moment. My stomach had shrunk down to a cold, hard knot, and my heart was slamming so hard it hurt. I was staring at the little black hole in the wall, my brain playing a loop of what would have happened if I’d dived a half-second slower. I looked at Gennadiy. He was staring at his best friend’s body, his breath shaking with emotion.
A third shot came through the glass, this one lower: it bit a chunk from the edge of Yakov’s desk. Why was the sniper still firing? We were out of sight, now, safe below the level of the window.
Then it hit me: the sniper was trapping us there, preventing us from getting up. Someone else was on their way to deal with us.
Gennadiy must have realized the same thing at the same time because he glanced at the door. And then he crawled in front of me, shielding my small body with his big one. My heart skittered. No!
Footsteps in the hallway. Gennadiy had his gun out and ready, but he was awkwardly crouched, unable to stand up because of the sniper. Whoever was coming would cut him down as soon as the door opened. I had my gun out, too, but I couldn’t see past Gennadiy: he was deliberately blocking me. Protecting me, no matter what.
The door opened. Over Gennadiy’s shoulder, I glimpsed two men in black ski masks, both with guns raised. My throat closed in fear. I grabbed at Gennadiy, trying to pull him out of the way, but it was too late—
There were two shots, and the men fell to the floor. Valentin walked in from behind them, calm and efficient. “The shooter’s dead, too,” he told us. “He was up on a crane. I’m sorry I didn’t see him before he…” He looked at Yakov’s body, his face forlorn.
Gennadiy stood up, then reached down and offered me his hand. I took it, and he effortlessly pulled me up to standing. “You did great, brother,” he told Valentin sincerely. Then he turned to Yakov.
As soon as Gennadiy saw the body again, he muttered a curse under his breath. He walked around the desk and stood there looking down at his friend, his broad chest rising and falling in fractured rhythm as the loss hit him. I hurried over to him and stood beside him, then tentatively took his hand in mine. He squeezed it almost painfully hard, but I didn’t let go.
I could feel my eyes prickling. I’d only met Yakov a few times, but I’d liked him: a rare, warm soul in this brutally cold world. For Gennadiy, though, the loss was gut-wrenching. I could feel the agony throbbing through his grip. In all those months watching him, I’d seen how he and Yakov felt about each other, the sort of friendship that doesn’t allow for ceremony or bullshit, the sort where you’re always honest with each other. And I knew what it was like to have someone you loved suddenly torn from you.