Page 157
Makar.
I keep my face against the floor and count the seconds between turns.
The restraints cut my wrists when the ambulance climbs a rough road. Traffic noise fades, and the tires begin striking broken pavement.
About half an hour later, we stop. One of the men unclips my restraints from the floor ring but leaves my wrists bound.
The doors open onto a dark loading bay. Faded letters remain above the entrance.
NEW HARBOR MEDICAL AID.
Wooden crates stand against the walls beneath old Sable Crown freight labels. Dust covers unused hospital beds, sealed medicine cabinets, and stacks of empty transfer boxes.
They bring me through a storage hall and into an office lit by two standing lamps.
Two black boxes marked BLACKLIST ARCHIVE sit under the table, and several files lie open on top. Belov stands at the head of the table with his arms crossed and a faint smile on his face.
“Rudenko, shut the loading doors.”
The man waiting near the window signals to one of his guards.
“Chernov, pass me the Markova file.”
The man beside the table lifts one of the folders. Three other men in expensive coats sit along the wall, each with guards behind him.
Belov looks toward them. “Zaitsev. Kozlov. Tarasov. You wanted proof. Watch carefully.”
They came to watch.
My wrists are still bound behind my back. The steel buckles dig into the broken skin each time the guard pushes me forward.
Belov stands at the head of the table in a dark suit. His salt-and-pepper hair remains neat, and his hands are clean.
His gaze moves over my torn coat and bleeding wrists.
“Dr. Markova,” he says, lifting one of the stolen Blacklist files. “You’ve caused a great deal of trouble.”
I straighten despite the hand gripping my shoulder. “You murdered Marina.”
“Your nurse saw something she wasn’t supposed to see.” Belov sets the file on the table and puts a photograph beside it.
Misha holding Galina’s hand outside his preschool.
I recognize the blue gate and the bear on his backpack. They got into my hospital email, found the preschool messages, and sent someone to photograph him outside the gate.
I lunge at him, and the guard jerks me back by the shoulder.
Belov looks toward the captains seated along the wall. “Alexei Orlov drew Maksim’s men away from the estate, attacked a captain’s medical business, and risked Volkov lives for one woman and one hidden child.”
He circles me once and stops in front of me with hands folded. “You must be precious.”
Chernov rests both hands on the table. “The captains will want proof that the boy is his.”
Belov taps the photograph. “They’ll receive it.”
He takes my phone from the evidence pouch and unlocks it with my thumb while the guard holds my hand.
Alexei’s name fills the screen.
