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Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she reached for it. Only communications from Mitch, Mike Nash, and Marcus Dumond were enabled while she was at the White House. “Excuse me a moment.”
The text on her screen was written in Marcus Dumond’s brief but emphatic style.
GOT IT!!!!! SERVER IN RUSSIA!
ON MY WAY TO MEET MITCH AND SCOTT @ AIRPORT.
The message was followed by an emoji of his caricature wearing sunglasses and flanked by two thumbs-up.
“It’s been nice talking to you, Senator, but I’m afraid there’s something I need to attend to.”
When she reached for the door handle, Ferris grabbed her wrist. “You don’t want me as an enemy, Irene. When I become president, the CIA will come under political control and Mitch Rapp will spend the rest of his life trying to stay out of prison. The question is what happens to you. You can fight me and end up like him or you can be a good little girl and walk away with a pension and a high-paying private sector job. If you’re smart—and I know you are—I’d suggest you give some thought to which future you see for yourself.”
CHAPTER 49
OUTSIDE OF VOLOGDA
RUSSIA
THE snow was light but the wind was strong enough to rattle the windows of the scattered buildings. It was 2 a.m. and the small industrial park was all but abandoned. What little illumination existed was provided by a few icy security lights glowing over doors locked down for the night.
Kabir Gadai approached on foot, taking a circuitous route that kept him in complete darkness. His team leader was crouched at the edge of the only parking lot in the area still containing cars. The windows of the building on the far side were about half lit, with hazy human figures visible moving inside.
“How many people?” Gadai asked as he slipped in behind his man.
“We don’t know, sir.”
Normally he would have carefully researched the company and sent an advance team to determine its rhythms before embarking on an operation like this. Once again, though, Taj had made those kinds of precautions impossible. His desperation to acquire Rickman’s files continued to grow, turning incaution into outright volatility. Any call for premeditation would have done nothing but throw the man into a rage.
“Maxim and Raisa Durov?”
“All evidence points to them both being inside. Their house is empty and their car is in the lot. There’s no way to be entirely certain, though.”
The Durovs owned the small Internet service provider that hosted the email address connected to the Rickman files. Based on what little Gadai had been able to find out, the former hackers had a very exclusive clientele of oligarchs and organized criminals who valued the privacy the couple could provide. It was a shame there would be no opportunity to look deeper into their organization. Undoubtedly they had access to a great deal of information that could benefit Pakistan, Islam, and him personally.
“Do we have schematics of the building?”
“No, sir.”
Gadai let out a frustrated breath. Their entry into Russia had been less than careful, and now they were embarking on a completely improvised operation. He was beginning to wonder if these files were a gift from Allah or a punishment from the devil.
“Your people all know what the Durovs look like?”
“We were provided photographs.”
“Then you have my authorization to begin.”
The former soldier spoke into a microphone on his wrist, and a moment later, Gadai saw movement west of the building. A man in a long gray coat walked across the parking lot and knocked on the glass door leading to the reception area. A young woman sitting behind a curved desk stood and walked toward the front of the building. She appeared to be unarmed and her relaxed gait suggested that she was unconcerned by the late-night visitor. Either this was a common occurrence in an industry without set hours or she was confident that the company was well protected by its client list.
She unlocked the door and leaned out, saying something in -Russian. Gadai’s man spoke the language fluently, but didn’t respond. Having confirmed that this wasn’t Raisa Durov, he grabbed the woman’s long hair in one hand and chin in the other. A violent twist created a soft crunch that carried across the lot. Gadai began to move as soon as it reached him. More men—his team numbered six in all—appeared from hidden positions and headed for the building.
Gadai entered and went immediately to the desk while the woman’s body was dragged behind it. As he’d hoped, there was a bank of monitors streaming security camera video from throughout the building. With no floor plan, it was impossible to connect the images with specific locations, but at least he would be able to get an idea of what they were dealing with.
“Ten people in all,” he said to the men gathering around him. “Six are asleep—either in cots or on the floor. The remaining four are working behind terminals. Maxim and Raisa are separated from the others in what appears to be their office. I think we can assume it’s on the top floor. We’ll use the stairs and clear the four floors two at a time.”
Gadai led, splitting his force. One went through a metal door at the back of the lobby while he ushered the men staying with him into the stairwell. They ascended quickly, coming out on the second floor and clearing the bathrooms before continuing silently down the hallway. The first few rooms were empty, but the last contained a woman and two men who looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. All were asleep on cots, and he motioned to his men, assigning targets. They each fired a single shot from their silenced pistols.
“Second floor clear,” he said into the microphone attached to his wrist. “Three contacts down. Continuing to the fourth floor.”
