In that moment, she knew she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. She didn’t have a gun, and she couldn’t run or defend herself. Then she saw Sergei’s gun where it had fallen to the sidewalk. She knelt to pick it up, but one of the men slammed something hard into her head, and everything went black.

  When she awoke, she was inside the club. Laying on the floor, and a huge neon sign over the bar flashed, ‘The Red Square Club.’ A man was standing over her, inspecting her like she was a piece of meat. He had her purse in his hands, and he was rifling the contents, one by one throwing them aside. He took out her phone and stamped on it, until it was just lumps of plastic and flattened microchips. He tossed the bag back to her.

  “At last, the famous Maria Tereshkova. Welcome to my club. I am the owner of the Red Square, Pavel Stolypin.”

  He was a big man, well muscled, but starting to run to fat. The eyes were narrow and slitted, like he’d spent a lifetime peering through smoke-filled rooms. His head was as bald as a billiard ball.

  “What do you want?”

  The eyes regarded her, and his harsh lips parted in a slight smile. “What do I want? It is not a question of what I want. You have made enemies of powerful people, so they paid me to dispose of you.”

  “You’re going to kill me.” Her tone was flat, a statement.

  “Not me personally. Dmitry and Mikhail will carry out that task.” He nodded at the two men who were standing behind her head. “You know what to do.”

  “Borodino?”

  “Yes, the frozen lake. See to it.”

  “Yes, Pavel.”

  He stared to turn away, and stopped. “No, wait. Take her first to the dacha. We will have some fun with her before she dies. She’s much too good-looking to just throw away.” He chuckled at her look of contempt. “Yes, the dacha. I will be there shortly.”

  He raked her body again with his cold gaze, “Why waste such a tempting little morsel when we can kill her anytime?”

  They fastened her limbs with plastic ties, grabbed her arms and legs, and dragged her out the back door. The two men roughly threw her into the trunk of a car, a BMW 5 Series, and minutes later, drove away, taking her to her final destination.

  What did he say, something about a dacha, and then a lake? The name of a famous place, Borodino. Where the troops of the Russian Czar fought the invincible legions of Napoleon’s Grand Army to a standstill.

  So it was to be her final resting place, her body weighted down so she’d sink to the bed of the lake. The best she could hope for was a bullet in the head before they put her in the water.

  Please don’t let me drown, all I ask for is a quick death. Goodbye, Alex. Goodbye, Cris. I’m so sorry.

  She felt it possible she might even suffocate before they got to their destination. The exhaust was faulty and carbon monoxide gases had filled the trunk, so she could hardly breathe. A quick, painless end to the suffering.

  She was not quite unconscious from inhaling the fumes when the trunk opened. Hands reached in to lift her out. One man, she thought it was Dmitry, dragged her by the ankles across the curb, bumping her head on the concrete, and he pulled her inside a large wooden dacha. A forest of tall, snow-covered trees lay behind the building. Information she noted for future use if she managed to escape.

  Her head drummed on the hard floor after they pulled her through the door, and she began to black out. They dumped her in a large room and left her alone for a short time. Her head felt fuzzy, and when she opened her eyes, everything was blurred. Her head swum, the room revolved and it was like she’d drunk too much vodka. The effect of the exhaust fumes would take a while to recover from. They came back and one of them kicked her hard in the ribs. She couldn’t help but cry out in pain.

  “I see you’re conscious,” a voice sneered. A blade sliced through the ties that held her ankles, and her legs were free. “Get to your feet. Now.”

  “Where are we going?” She could see him now, the club owner, Pavel Stolypin. She fixed him with a hard gaze that required every ounce of her failing courage, “If you’re going to kill me, don’t expect me to go willingly to my place of execution. You can go screw yourself.”

  He grinned. “Not yet. Pretty women like you are a rarity, and we can make good use of you. What was it you said, something about screw yourself? That’s not the way it works. We own you, Maria Tereshkova.”

  She wasn’t giving in, not to these animals. “You don’t own me,” she spat back. “You don’t own anything. You’re nothing more than a Kremlin lickspittle.”

  His gaze darkened. “I would be very careful about insulting me.”

  “What are you going to do, kill me?”

  “We can make your final days on earth harder than you could ever imagine. On the other hand, if you behave, we’ll use you as a whore until we get bored. It could be days or even weeks. In return, we expect you to be grateful to us for giving you a few more weeks.” His grin became a beaming smile, “So grateful, you’d do anything we ask of you. Anything.”

  “I’d sooner be dead, you filthy pig. Kill me now,” she hissed.

  He grinned and turned to Dmitry and Mikhail. “Lock her up. I’ll sample the goods later.”

  * * *

  He called for the fifth time, and nothing. She’d agreed to always answer the phone. No matter where she was, or what she was doing. He called arrivals at the Aeroflot desk, Moscow Sheremetyevo, and they confirmed the aircraft had landed and all passengers disembarked, including Maria Tereshkova. They had no further information, and when he pressed them to find out more, they put the phone down. His first experience of customer service, Russian style.

  They had her. There couldn’t be any other explanation. An accident was always a possibility, but given who she was, and the opposition she faced, it was unlikely. The question now was whether she was still alive. Or had they killed her the moment she left Sheremetyevo? He doubted it. She was a popular public figure in Russia, and they’d want to spirit her away to somewhere quiet before they finished her. The conclusion was she was still alive, but for how long?

  There was something else to consider. She was a beautiful woman. They may want to use her before they killed her. The thought was abhorrent, and yet it left him with a small degree of hope. Hope that he could find Maria before they killed her. Even if she was in Moscow. Thousands of miles away, a dark place of which he had no knowledge or experience. He needed help to find out how they’d taken her, but he knew no one in Russia. Although he knew someone in the States who may be able to help. FBI Special Agent Rick Parker, a man sure to have access to clandestine sources in Russia. He’d joined the FBI after long service with DEA, where Cris had worked with him on several operations.

  They’d been friends, although he hadn’t spoken to him since he left DEA, which was around the time Rick Parker joined the FBI. He had his cellphone number on speed dial, and he made the call. Parker sounded surprised, and less than enthusiastic when he spelled out what he needed.

  “Cris, it isn’t that simple. Everything we do inside the FBI is logged, and you can believe me, people do check those logs. I can’t do anything illegal.”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything illegal. All I need is access to the video feeds from Sheremetyevo arrivals.”

  “The video feeds? That would mean tapping into the airport CCTV monitoring system. That is illegal.”

  He sighed with frustration. “Rick, you know and I know we’ve used the FBI to provide us with those feeds when we both worked for DEA. What’s the problem? You know they exist, I know they exist. Just give me access to them. I’ll find out what I need to know, and that’s the end of it. No one will ever know.”

  Parker didn’t like admitting the FBI tapped into the security system of a major foreign power, but eventually he agreed. He called back fifteen minutes later and gave him an abbreviated URL, an internet address that pointed to the Sheremetyevo security cameras.

  “I’ve arranged to keep the node open for the next twelve hours, Cris. After that it disappears. That’s the best I can do, pal.”

  He thanked him and keyed the data into his PC. Seconds later, he was looking at the main video menu of the Sheremetyevo CCTV system. Although everything was labeled in Russian, he translated the tags using Google. The next step was to follow the feed all the way back to the time Maria would have cleared passport control, and he studied the camera that covered the exit. She emerged through the terminal exit pulling her suitcase, and a man greeted her. Rhodes knew who he was, before she left she told him about Sergei, her new head of security. They walked along the line of waiting cabs until they reached the end. A cab driver took her case and loaded it into the trunk of a black Mercedes E220.

  He froze the video and pressed screen capture. Printed an enlargement of the face of the driver, and although the resolution was poor, it was enough to identify the man if he saw him. Then he stopped to figure out his next move, and his options came down to just one. From the States, he was powerless. Inside Russia, it would be a different story. He called Delta Airlines and made a reservation on the next flight to Moscow. Packing his bag took a few minutes, and he stuffed inside everything he owned that was warm.

  He’d never been to Russia, but he suspected the weather in December would be less than tropical. His last move was to visit his local bank and cash every last asset he had left in his savings. Stocks and bonds, and he even persuaded the manager to give him a loan. He walked out with a little under five thousand dollars in his pocket. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was all he had. When he got to Moscow, he’d need to spend money on a vital purchase. A weapon. Without one, he’d get nowhere.

  His flight was due to leave in less than four hours. He took a cab to JFK, and with time to spare, reviewed the little he knew. The bodyguard was someone he could talk to, and he had his number in his phone, after she’d given it to him in case of an emergency. He pressed speed dial, and just like on Maria’s phone, the call went straight to answerphone. Waiting for his flight, he tried several times more, and tried Maria’s phone again. In both cases, the answer was the same. No answer. If they wanted to get to her, they’d have to deal with the bodyguard first. Which is what he assumed had happened. If Sergei was dead, he had a single lead. The taxi driver.

  The flight was long, and he tried to sleep, knowing he’d need all his energy when he reached the other end. But he couldn’t sleep, with his mind churning over all the unpleasant things that may have happened to the woman he loved. He was no fool, and knew there was a strong chance she was already dead. But he couldn’t admit it, not until he actually saw the body. Until then, he’d keep searching. Never give up until he had her in his arms. He couldn’t contemplate the alternative.

  After a journey that took almost ten hours, the big jet bumped down on the runway at Sheremetyevo. He breezed through immigration with no hold-ups. When they asked him the purpose of his visit, his reply was ‘pleasure.’

  When I catch the assholes who took her, it’ll be a pleasure to kill them.

  The official nodded, stamped his passport, and he walked through the terminal. He was inside Russia, and now his search could begin. His sole lead was the cab driver, and he headed toward the row of taxis waiting outside. They stopped him before he reached it.

  “Papers.”

  They’d come from behind a pillar, a thin, tall man, and a shorter, plump woman. No uniforms, civilian clothes. The slim, older guy with the face that sagged from too many sleepless nights and too much vodka wore a crumpled suit. The woman sported a severely cut skirt and jacket that was more like a military uniform. She even wore a tie fastened loosely around her neck, over a starched white blouse. Her face reminded him of a high security prison guard. Both watched him with hard-eyes, and he sensed they were just waiting for him to protest, for an excuse to arrest him.

  Why?

  “I’ve just shown my passport. Who are you?”

  “FSB.”

  Shit. FSB, the Security Service of the Russian Federation, the principal security agency of Russia, and the successor to the KGB. Their responsibilities included counter-intelligence, internal and border security, counter-terrorism, and surveillance, as well as investigating certain grave crimes and federal law violations. They also had a reputation for lawlessness and corruption, just like their KGB antecedents.

  They showed their IDs and he read the names. Konstantin Demidov and Lina Yezhov.

  He tried to stay cool. “I still don’t get it, what’s the problem?”

  Demidov held out his hand. “Give me your passport now.”

  The woman was staring at him with what looked like vitriolic hatred, and she’d slipped a hand into the pocket of her jacket. He was puzzled, this was anything but routine. With serious misgivings, he handed over his American passport.

  “What’s this all about?”

  The man ignored him and passed the document to the woman, Lina Yezhov. She checked the details, nodded as if to confirm something, and her lips tightened.

  “Your name is Rhodes?”

  “That’s right. You can see in the passport. R H O D E S.”

  “You were involved in an incident in Manhattan recently. Shots were fired, and a man was killed. A Russian national, Felix Yezhov.”

  Was that his name?

  It was coming back to haunt him, but he didn’t understand the reason. “Shots were fired, yes, but not by me. It was the Russian who fired them. He killed and wounded several people.”

  “Just before you killed him, Mr. Rhodes. Perhaps he was trying to defend himself. And then you killed him.”

  “He jumped in front of a train, trying to escape.”

  Her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth formed into a sneer. “You mean he was trying to escape from you.”

  “Not from me, from the cops.”

  “He was a good man.” She spat the words out. If they’d been made of lead, they’d have gone right through him.

  What is this, what’s with the hatred?

  “Is that a fact? People were killed and wounded when he opened fire in a crowded park. If he hadn’t gone under the train, he’d be standing trial for murder.”

  “He was my husband.”

  Oh, shit.

  “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but whatever he did had nothing to do with me. He was trying to kill someone.”

  “A pity it wasn’t you.”

  She spat the words out again like machine gun bullets, and Cris was convinced if the older man hadn’t been with her, she’d have shot him down in cold blood.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Yes. Perhaps you should come with us to FSB headquarters. We’ll find out exactly what happened in New York, and find out the truth.”

  She put a hand on his arm, but the other man said a single word.

  “Stoy!” Stop!

  She looked at him in surprise. “But this is the man who killed Felix.”

  He shook his head. “We don’t know that. What we do know is we had a call from the FBI in New York City, and this man’s name was mentioned.”

  “So?”

  “You know he’s here to look for Maria Tereshkova.”

  Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Tereshkova? You mean the…”

  A faint nod. “Yes, that one. She hasn’t been seen since she arrived, and some people believe she may have been kidnapped. Or perhaps she went on vacation.” The lips opened in a sneer, “Preferably to Siberia, where we send all the troublemakers. Let this man go. This is not the place to deal with this. Not here, not in a crowded airport.”

  She nodded her understanding. “Very well.” She took her hand off his arm, but her eyes drilled into his. “Just remember, Mr. Cris Rhodes. This is our country, and wherever you go, I won’t be far behind. I want justice for the death of my husband, and I will get it.”

  You want a pound of flesh, lady. Your husband was a back-shooting killer, although no matter what I say, it won’t make any difference. You won’t be satisfied until you have revenge, an eye for an eye, a body for a body. Wonderful, I haven’t even left the airport and already I’m in trouble.

  He held out his hand and she gave him back the passport. “Until we meet again, Mister Rhodes. I’d watch your back if I were you, this is a dangerous town.”

  He nodded. “Obliged for the warning.”

  He left them and walked through to the cab rank. Lines of taxes waited for fares, and he strolled along the row, carefully looking at the face of each driver in turn. When he reached the third cab from the end, he found what he was looking for. The face matched the screen grab from the video. He didn’t show his hand, not yet. Asking a simple question, showing them a photo of Maria, would have been the easiest way. “You carried this woman in your cab yesterday. Tell me where you took her.”

  But he didn’t do that. If the driver were part of the opposition, maybe paid to help with a kidnap operation, the enemy would know he was here. He had a better idea, and he approached the man.

  “I need you to take me into the city, show me around the sites.”

  The guy eyed him suspiciously. “American?”

  He gave him a big, lopsided grin. “As apple pie. I’m happy to pay a few dollars extra, and you look like the kind of guy who knows his way around. You know,” he winked, and the man understood immediately. The American wanted something that wouldn’t be on sale in the open. Girls or drugs, maybe? Or something different. A lot of foreigners came to Russia looking for antique and usually stolen icons, illegal to export.

  Suspicion changed to a fake smile. “That’s no problem, Mister, I know I can help you. Give me an idea of what you’re looking for while we drive into the city.” He opened the rear door. “Take a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

  “I’d sooner ride in the front.”

  A shrug. “Suit yourself.”

  Cris waited until they left the environs of the airport before speaking. “I’m looking for a girl.”

  The driver, whose badge stated he was Leonid Krylov, gave him a lascivious smile; “In that case, you’ve come to the right man. I’m Lennie, by the way, and if it’s girls you want, I know where they are.”