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The doorframe cracked. More shouts, this time added voices.
“Are you hurt?”
“No—I’m okay, but Dana—”
“I know about Dana.” His voice had turned dark, low, and she half expected anI told you. Instead, “I love you, Shae. I will find you. Just stay alive. Stay alive!” She heard snapping from his side of the phone— “It’s Shae, can we track this?”
And then the bathroom door came in.
Slava charged toward her, fury in his eyes. Behind him, two more guards, both young, both angry.
“I love you, Ned—”
Slava ripped the phone from her hand as she let out a scream. He put the phone to his mouth. “Da svedaniya.” Then he hung up.
Stared at her. Shook his head.
She got up, put her hands up. “No run away.”
He slapped her.
She spun, hit the wall, and fell to her knees, her head spinning.
Blood filled her mouth.
Hands on her arms dragged her up, but she spun and kicked out and caught Slava in the shin.
He pulled back his fist, but one of the other guards grabbed it. “Nyet.”
The other guard grabbed a towel from the sink and flung it at her. She pressed it against her mouth.
Then the first guard grabbed her arm and dragged her from the room.
And maybe, for a second there, she’d thought they were protecting her. Thought that there was some decency in them, keeping Slava from hitting her again.
But no. They dragged her out of the room, down the hall—and now she got a good look at the expansiveness of the place. A garden out back with a greenhouse, and another wing of the house. Yes, it had to be some sort of royal palace, especially with the patterned parquet flooring, the gold-painted molding, and now the view from the balcony that overlooked a massive living room with shiny travertine floors.
The guards dragged her into an office at the end of the hall, with a dark mahogany desk and bookcases, blood red wallpaper and a man standing over a table.
Her backpack lay on the table, the contents spread out. Her extra socks, phone—now dead—a charger cord, water bottle, a bag of almonds, a notebook, pen, and most of all, her Canon EOS R5, with 45 megapixels, full frame CMOS, 5940 autofocus zone, 2.1 mil dot 3.15 inch tilting touchscreen, 20fps of continuous shooting, and the ability to shoot movies at 8K.
The best stills camera she’d ever owned, coming in at a price tag of five thousand dollars.
It lay on the table, sort of a centerpiece to all her other debris. Certainly, however, they didn’t kidnap her for her camera?
Hello, they could have it.
A man stood with his hands clasped behind him at the window, his back to her, a Caesar ring of hair around his balding head. Not quite six foot, he was wide-bodied, wore a suit, and stood legs apart, as if surveying the troops.
Now he turned. Gray eyes, thickened face, he studied her, and while he had a sort of soft, grandfatherly shape, the look in his eyes sent a shiver through her.
Father Lenin in the flesh.
He sighed then and walked toward her. “How unfortunate, your behavior, because we had other plans for you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Plans to what? What do you want from me?”
He sighed. “We already got what we wanted. But now…” He lifted a shoulder. “Who were you calling?”
