"Team Two ready." Viktor sounds tenser. He's got the harder extraction, an injured hostage who is in an unknown condition, and guards who will be trigger-happy.
"Execute." I give the order and watch it unfold.
Team One moves fast. Breach the apartment door with a battering ram. Two guards inside react, but they're overwhelmed in seconds, suppressed gunfire, bodies dropping. Yaroslav appears in frame, talking to someone off-camera.
Valerie's mother. Small woman, terrified, clutching a photo frame to her chest.
"Ma'am, I need you to come with me right now." Yaroslav's voice is gentle but firm. "Your daughter sent us. You're not safe here."
She's asking questions I can't hear. Yaroslav doesn't answer, just guides her toward the exit.
Ninety seconds. In and out.
Clean.
Team Two is messier.
They breach the warehouse and immediately take fire. One guard down in the doorway, the second retreating deeper inside. Viktor's team pursues, camera feeds showing a chaotic interior—surgical equipment, a metal chair with restraints, blood staining concrete.
Ethan Novak is on the floor in the corner. Barely conscious. Face so swollen I wouldn't recognize him from Valerie's photos.
The second guard makes a stand near the back exit. Exchanges fire with Viktor's team for thirty seconds before taking three rounds to the chest.
Then it's over.
Viktor kneels beside Ethan, checking vitals. "He's breathing. Barely. Multiple fractures, possible internal bleeding. Need medical immediately."
"Evac now." I watch the team load Ethan. He doesn't wake. Just lies there broken and bleeding while my men carry him to safety.
Seventeen years old.
Patrick fucking did this to a kid.
The rage that's been simmering since Valerie's confession burns hotter.
Both teams report successful extraction within ten minutes. En route to the safe house. No casualties on our side.
"Doctor Laz is standing by," Mikhail reports. "He'll stabilize the kid, then we move him to a proper facility once it's safe."
"Good." I check the time. 6:15 AM. Patrick's ambush on our fake convoy is scheduled for 2 AM tonight. That gives us nineteen hours to prepare.
"Assemble the strike team. Full tactical loadout. I want fifty men ready to move by midnight."
"Fifty? For twenty targets?"
"I want overwhelming force. I want this over in minutes. And I want Patrick so terrified by the time we reach him that he'll tell me everything I want to know just to make it stop."
Mikhail grins. "Now that sounds like the boss I know."
The day drags. Preparations, briefings, weapons checks. I run through scenarios, contingencies, and backup plans. Make sure every angle is covered.
Around 8 PM, I finally have a moment to breathe.
And realize I haven't thought about Valerie in hours. Haven't checked on her. Haven't sent food or water since Mikhail's delivery this morning.
I should leave her there. Let her suffer. She earned it.
But my feet carry me toward the basement anyway.
