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The footage scrolls in reverse. I stop it periodically, staring so hard at the screen that my vision blurs. Galina peers over my shoulder while the man in front of me, tapping his computer keyboard, hunches ever closer to the screen.
Nothing ... Nothing ... Come on ...
“Arsen, what is all this?” she asks.
After leaving the in-progress dance studio, I didn’t say much about what she sparked in me. I was busy formulating the plan while my excitement grew higher and higher. It’s a miracle we didn’t get stopped for speeding.
I rushed into the mansion, cornering the short, bearded man who often reminds me of a Schnauzer dog: Matvey, the tech guy who’s in charge of all my networks. I texted him while driving back. Now, he’s bent over his double monitors while I lean in close enough to smell his shampoo.
“Arsen,” Galina prods again. “Talk to me.”
“When you mentioned the security camera, I remembered the ones Mila and I shot outside the Winter Palace.” I tap Matvey on the shoulder. “Slow down; that date looks right.” He does as asked—I keep talking to Galina. “Matvey here has wormed his way into the data. We’re looking for proof.”
“Proof of what?” she asks tensely.
I turn to her. “Proof that it was a trap.”
Matvey sips from a can of Coke as he scrolls through the long video clips. Each time we reach the end, he starts up a new timestamp. “Pakhan,” he says, tapping away, “there are hours of footage to navigate.”
“I know,” I say simply.
He pauses, then continues to scroll. Watching closely, Galina and I examine the videos until my back begins to ache. My neck has a cramp.
Galina slaps my arm. “Stop! Look right there!”
I see what she did a split second afterward. On the screen, in only somewhat blurry pixelation, are a pair of people. One of them, a man, is dragging the other out of the front doors of the Winter Palace. I don’t recognize Katya right away, but I’d know Yevgeniy anywhere. “Yes,” I laugh sinisterly. “Here we fucking go.”
Matvey freezes the frame as the woman looks at the camera. “That’s Mom,” Galina whispers.
“What’s the timestamp?” I demand.
“Wednesday the twelfth,” Matvey says.
My fist slams into my palm. “That’s the day Madison arrived here.”
Galina’s expression morphs from excitement into slow distress. “Which means Mom wasn’t at the Winter Palace at all when you went there with Mila.”
Rubbing my jaw in deep thought, I walk around the room, stretching out my sore back. “Matvey, I need you to hack into the video feeds of every security camera in that area. I want to try and track Yevgeniy’s footsteps to see where he took Katya.”
The other man scratches at his beard and coughs. “Pakhan … that’s a tall order. Even with all of my team, it could take a day to complete.”
My tone is hard as granite. “I want it done by tonight.”
With a long, slow exhale, Matvey picks up his phone, swearing. “I’ll call the boys.”
There are five computers in the room. All of them are being manned. In every corner is another hacker crouched over a laptop. The constant tapping of keyboards would drive me mad if I wasn’t already on the edge of my seat, waiting for news—any news.
Galina and I wander the space, staring at screens until our eyes water. Matvey was right; it’s been hours, and we’ve barely put a dent in the amount of footage we have to review. Some of his team murmurs about ordering pizza, and I feel irritation dance across the back of my neck. I don’t want to encourage any breaks, but if people burn out before the work is done, that’s not helping anyone.
“I found something!” a young man shouts, motioning at us.
Galina and I rush over, squeezing close, our shoulders touching.
“Show me,” I say eagerly.
“Well, there’s Yevgeniy,” he replies.
The sound of tapping stops. I peer at the screen. And sure enough, I recognize the unmistakable face of Yevgeniy Grachev. I feel my hands tighten into fists as the man continues to talk. The others are watching now too.
