"What happened to the lights?" a man asks.
"Someone turned the power breaker off, and there are dead guards outside," another says.
"How many intruders are there?" Maybe it's the first man, but I can't tell.
"We don't know," another man says.
Then there's a pause, followed by another voice I haven't heard before, more authoritative. "We have to storm that room and get her. Dimitri wants her alive. We have to move. Now."
I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep moving toward the faint glow up ahead. My arms shake with exhaustion, but I push forward, dragging myself toward the light.
When I reach it, I peer through the grate. It's a small utility room of some kind. There's a table in the center below me, some boxes stacked against the wall, and nothing else. I push on the grate, testing its strength, but it's screwed in tightly.
"Shit," I say.
I pull out the knife again, jamming it into the corner of the grate. I pry hard, grunting with effort, and the metal snaps with a sharp crack. I freeze, my breath catching, but no one comes. I repeat the process on the other three corners, and the grate falls. I reach out and catch it, almost falling.
I put it behind me and look around.
The only way down is a drop onto the table. I hesitate for a moment, but I know I don't have any time to waste.
I set my gun and flashlight aside, take a deep breath, and roll out.
My shoulder slams hard into the table, the impact jarring, and I tumble onto the floor. Pain shoots through my arm, sharp and hot, and I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.
"Son of a bitch," I say, clutching my shoulder.
I stand on the table and reach up, my hand blindly searching around the vent for my gun and flashlight.
When I find them, I jump down from the table and move toward the door, pressing my ear against the wood.
The Russians are still talking.
I watch shadows shift beneath the doorframe, then glance back up at the vent and follow it to the wall, mentally mapping what I just crawled through.
There were no turns. It was just a straight line.
That means I'm at the end of the hallway. So going out this door should put me directly behind the men preparing to breach Victor's room.
I take a few deep breaths and rest my hand on the handle.
Please let me be right.
Suddenly, a massive volley of shots is fired. The sound is deafening, echoing through the hallway, and my heart stops.
Victor.
I turn the handle and throw the door open.
A guard is standing directly in front of me, his gun raised as he fires down the hall at Victor's door. I raise my pistol inches from the left side of his face and squeeze the trigger. His body drops before he even knows I'm there.
I step over the body and turn to look down the hall.
Three more men are stacked up, moving forward and firing into Victor's room. I fire again. The bullet catches the second man in the back of the head, and he falls forward, collapsing.
This time, it doesn't go unnoticed.
The man to the dead guard's left catches his falling comrade and turns to look over his shoulder. Before he can shout a warning, I fire. The bullet obliterates his right eye, and he goes down in a spray of blood and brain matter.
