Page 105 of Power's Fall
Grigoris zoomed in, and though it was grainy, they watched as a white van tore down what looked like a highway, police vehicles with lights flashing chasing after it.
ChapterEighteen
Montana eyed the door, which vibrated under the assault coming from the hall.
“His Russian wasn’t perfect,” Dahlia said into the phone on Vadisk’s palm, “but it was good.”
The door shuttered and there was a faint cracking sound.
“Fuck. Time’s up.” Vadisk pushed Dahlia behind his back.
Vadisk, and then Dahlia too, had been occupied trying to quickly report to the Masters’ Admiralty what was going on. Dahlia had already let the Grand Master know as well, but their exchange had been brief.
Montana felt fucking useless since he couldn’t follow most of the conversations, so he’d focused on security. First step had been to secure Sinaver, who’d collapsed on the floor when the Spaniard dropped him, and then once Vadisk was back, close and secure the door.
Montana still had control of the building’s electronic security, having routed control from the terminal in the safe room to his phone, but the more immediate concern was the men who were pounding on the door.
“Be safe,” Vadisk’s admiral said. “I’ll call Hande and make sure there’s a ship waiting for you.”
Right now, that ship felt a million miles away and more like a pipe dream. He couldn’t lose hope, that wouldn’t help any of them, but he was good at doing calculations, and he could figure out exactly how many moves they had to make before finding that ship in the middle of the Black Sea. The worst part was they had to perform every single one of those steps perfectly. They would also need a fuck-ton of luck.
He looked at Dahlia and Vadisk. This couldn’t be it. They hadn’t had enough time.
Though they weren’t in an enclosed space, Montana was starting to feel distinctly trapped.
Sinaver had his hands cuffed behind his back—Montana found cuffs in one of the storage lockers in the safe room—and the pillowcase that had once been Dahlia’s fake pregnancy was now his gag. He looked old and fragile as he sat hunched in a chair.
“Do you want me to talk, or are you doing it?” Dahlia asked Vadisk.
“I’ll do it. Stay behind me.” Vadisk looked at Montana. “You found cuffs?”
“Yep.”
“Any body armor?”
Montana shook his head. “No, but I have a dangerous amount of explosives in my pockets.”
“Good.”
“Once we’re in the van, where are we going? Are we going to steal a boat from the marina in Sevastopol?” Dahlia asked, anxiety lacing her words.
“No,” Montana said. “There’s a private marina not far from here. Our friend Sinaver has a couple of boats there.”
Vadisk and Dahlia both looked at him. Montana shrugged. “I rummaged through his phone yesterday and found pictures of his boats.”
They continued to stare at him.
“And then I hacked his financials and found the monthly payments for the slips. I know where they’re docked.”
Vadisk grinned. “Good. Directions?”
“Already on your phones.”
“Then we’re ready?—”
“I don’t think I can drive,” Dahlia said softly. “My eyes are…”
The desolate tone in her voice nearly broke Montana’s heart. Their wife was strong, brave, and independent, so he could see the guilt she felt, thinking she couldn’t help them or that she was holding them back. Nothing could be further from the truth. For Christ’s sake, she was the one who got them onto the compound with her steady nerves and flawless Russian. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to reassure her now.