Incarceration (Jet #10)

“There’s nothing to be done about it, Matt. You know if I thought we could risk it, I’d be on my way back already. It’s not like this is pleasant for me either.”


“I know. I’ll break the news to Hannah.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“She’s in the bathroom. I’ll call you back when she’s out.”

“Okay. I’ll leave the phone on until I hear from you.”

Jet disconnected and lifted her cup, signaling for more coffee. The waitress arrived with a fresh mug and set it in front of her. Jet stared through the window at the street, lost in thought, replaying that last moment when she’d seen Leo being dragged away from the blast zone. How anyone near the container had survived was beyond her, but the bastard clearly had, leaving her with no option but to hunt him down and finish him. There was nothing she’d rather have done than abandon the entire thing and begin making her way to Romania, but her imperative wasn’t to do what was easiest – it was to do what would keep her family safe.

And as long as the Russian drew breath, they never would be. Not given what she’d already seen of his reach and the lengths he would go to in order to get his hands on her.

No, this was personal, and the only way to neutralize it was for one of them to die.

Jet tapped a finger absently on the phone as she calculated how long it would take her to reach Moscow. She’d need more money soon, but that would be simple in a world where there were always predators who viewed females as the weaker sex. In any large city it would be easy to rob one, the beauty being that men soliciting sex didn’t tend to file police reports. It was one of the first survival techniques she’d learned in her Mossad training – drug dealers, pimps, and their clientele were the easiest prey.

How she would locate the attorney was a more difficult question, but she’d figure out a way. And then she’d erase him without hesitation and wing her way back to her loved ones, to begin a new life somewhere far from the ugliness that for now was their lives.





Chapter 56





Moscow, Russia



Rudolf stood near the hospital bed at the elite private clinic where Leo had been brought and listened as he spoke in a hoarse whisper. The doctors had said he’d recover from his injuries with time, but his throat and lungs had been badly damaged in the blast, as had the skin of his hands and one side of his face, and his hair had been singed off from the flames. It had been a minor miracle that he’d survived with only the damage he’d sustained. Lucien, who’d been mere footsteps behind Leo, had been roasted alive, his body blocking the worst of the explosive force and shielding Leo in an unintentional act of heroism for which he’d paid with his life.

Rudolf had been faster, and that additional speed had meant the difference between some scrapes and scorched clothes and Leo’s fate. Rudolf had been completely out of the building when the truck blew, whereas Leo had still been too close to the exit. Two seconds earlier and they would have both been barbequed.

Nobody had seen anything other than a blurry running figure after the attack, who’d leapt into the harbor and vanished without a trace. Rudolf was working with the authorities to learn more, but so far there was nothing but accusations and puzzled shrugs.

Leo continued his punctuated instructions, his breathing ragged and wheezing.

“I need…time…to raise…money.”

They’d been discussing the probable fallout from the disastrous transaction. Leo knew he’d be held responsible and would have to come up with enough money to replace the diamonds. But like most entrepreneurs, most of his cash was deployed in assets that weren’t easy to liquidate: shares of real estate partnerships, private equity deals, land parcels, buildings. Even his share of the plane would take months to sell for anywhere close to reasonable value, assuming he could find a ready buyer.

Covering the loss would nearly wipe him out, but if he was clever about it, he could make it back with future profits. At least, that was his hope. Rudolf wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t voice his doubts. He was there to follow instructions, not offer counsel, unless specifically asked.

“Yes, of course, Leo. I understand. I’ll try to stall them as long as possible. But they’ll want meaningful commitments.”

Leo’s phone trilled from a portable table next to the heart monitor, and he motioned for Rudolf to answer it, his voice having given out with his last few words.

Rudolf moved to the table and held the cell to his ear. “Da?”

“Leo?” an American voice asked.

“He’s unavailable,” Rudolf answered in English.

“Make him available. Now.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Who is this?”

“I could ask the same.”

“I have business with Leo. You’d be well advised to put him on.”

Rudolf recognized the voice of the CIA official he’d interacted with on security aspects of the wharf debacle. “This is Rudolf. We’ve spoken before.”

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