“Yes. It was a bad signal. I thought it was our end, but he said he was in Africa finalizing his deal there.”
“That’s going forward?”
“I’ll know more soon. I’ve already spoken to the head of Novorossiysk port security, and he can be bought relatively cheaply.”
“Some things never change. Not that Leo’s ever been price sensitive.”
“True. He’s paying through the nose for us to bring him that bitch.”
“Well, that’s personal, though. I’d probably do the same thing if she’d killed my brother.”
“Ha. You’d probably thank her and buy her a Rolex.”
“You’re right. Do we know why she did it?”
“Could have been anything. He was a prominent attorney. Fingers in a lot of pies. We’ll let Leo figure it out when he gets back and interrogates her. That’s not our job.”
A chill ran down Jet’s spine as she realized who the Russians were talking about. The lawyer who’d taken out the contract on her. Filipov.
The brother – Leo – wanted revenge.
More conversation, which she didn’t catch, and then one of the voices approached her as it spoke. “The Americans didn’t catch the other one?”
“No. Idiots. But it’s not our problem. We upheld our part of the deal.”
Jet sensed a figure kneeling by her, and fought to control her breathing. She smelled alcohol and the stink of stale nicotine, and fingers brushed the hair from one of her eyes.
“Maybe we can have a turn at her before we drop her off? She’s not bad.”
“That’s not the deal. Although I wouldn’t mind.”
“Who’d know?”
“We’re being paid too much to take the risk, idiot.”
“Come on. I’ll never tell.”
“Think with your brain, not your dick.”
The plane shuddered, and she sensed the man stumble to keep his balance, felt his hand bump her shoulder as he reached to steady himself. He cursed in Russian and stood as the pilot’s voice echoed over the speakers, warning them that it was going to be a bumpy approach to Moscow. Footsteps moved away from her and the man spoke again. “Why start now?”
Laughter drifted down the aisle and then the plane dropped with another sickening lurch. Her ears popped again and everything spun, and then she faded back into numbness, the cocktail in her blood reasserting its command over her physiology as the aircraft shed altitude.
When Jet drifted back into consciousness, she was on the floor of a van or truck, bouncing along at moderate speed, the cold, ridged metal jostling her to full awareness. She kept her eyes closed, but one of the men must have detected a difference in her breathing, because he leaned over her and then called out.
“She’s coming to.”
“Right on time. We’ll be there in a few more minutes.”
Seeing no reason to continue her act, she cracked an eye open and took in her surroundings. She was in a van, the floor filthy, still bound, tossed in the back like a sack of grain. A man with the hard look of a mercenary sat across from her, staring at her with dead eyes, a faint white scar tracing from his left ear down to his jaw. She flexed her fingers and her hands throbbed from circulation slowly returning. She gazed up at the front of the van and could see that it was daylight – by the way her bladder felt, only hours since her capture in the field. She licked dry lips and tried to muster some saliva. Her mouth was a desert, the metallic taste when she dry swallowed another unpleasant residual effect of the drug used to knock her out.
After five minutes the van slowed, and the driver rolled down the window. He growled at someone in Russian and continued forward until grinding to a stop after another thirty or so meters. The engine died and the man opposite her rose to one knee, and then the rear cargo doors opened.
Two more men stood in the gap. They reached in and dragged her toward the opening by her feet, and she flinched at the bruising she was receiving from the rough treatment. They pulled her out and stood her up, and then the leader, the same man who’d been in the helicopter with the police, pointed at a gray building.
“That’s your new home. At least for a little while. Rumyantsevo Incarceration Center number two.”
Her emerald eyes gave nothing away, but the man nodded to himself. “I know you speak Russian. You have to in order to have pulled off your little stunt here. But pretend not to understand if it amuses you. You’ll soon discover that it doesn’t matter.” He switched to English. “This is where we say our farewells. You will be processed into the prison population, and from there you’re out of my hair.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked in Russian.
“You killed the wrong man.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Save your energy. Prisons are full of the innocent.” The man barked an order, and one of his companions flicked a switchblade from his pocket and severed the rope binding her ankles.
“I want a lawyer,” Jet said.