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Another step. He edged closer, peeking around a rusted cart left near the entrance to what appeared to be a turnaround. The circular space was lit from a roof opening high overhead, a natural skylight. Three men sat at a card table, laptops open and headsets on. Each had a semiautomatic strapped on or lying next to their computer. They wore flak vests with assorted throwing knives and handguns.
A fourth stood behind a seated woman whose face was half covered by a blindfold. Her hands were secured at her back. Also heavily armed, the man bent as he fiddled with her restraints.
Boris Romalov, RING’s leader.
Moe had memorized the asshole’s dossier on the plane. Suspected of the mass bombing at a nightclub last year, Romalov had plenty of proven kills on record. He’d been in the Russian Army and worked for FSB before getting himself kicked out due to “unscrupulous activity.” Considering their reputation for exactly that, whatever the guy had done had probably deserved a court martial.
When Romalov straightened, Moe slid back, his pulse skipping. The woman in the chair was Lydia.
“Don’t worry,” Romalov said, adding something in Russian. “We know what we’re doing.”
The sound of a fist hitting flesh and her cry made Moe flinch. Gut churning, he fingered the ax and considered the gun at his back. How many fatal shots could he get off before Romalov and his men got him?
Don’t be stupid, he heard Parker say. Regardless of his training, five against one in close quarters with a hostage in the mix had horrible odds. He had to wait for the team.
Hating himself, he did an about-face. At least, his exit would be quicker.Hang in there, Lydia. I’ll be back.
He’d eased a few steps down the tracks when he heard a buzz and the crackle of a radio from inside the room. “We have company,” a rough voice said. A smoker’s cough, a clearing of his throat. The guy had to go through two, possibly three, packs a day. “A woman. One ofthem.”
The icy sensation slithered into Moe’s chest, constricting his heart and making it impossible to breathe.
Fuck. Parker.
Fear and anger duked it out inside him.I never should have left her. What was I thinking?
A bitter wave of self-loathing spread through his veins. He had to get out of there and signal the team. Save her and Charmaine.
But his feet wouldn’t move.
“Bring her,” Romalov grunted.
“SFI is coming,” a lackey at the table announced. “Got them on satellite leaving the ranch.”
If there was any bright spot in this, at least the team was close. He assumed Parker had managed to contact them and alerted them to her injury. They were swooping in, regardless of the lack of confirmation about Charmaine, and he found some relief in that.
If they had that much terrain to cover, though, even on ATVs, it would take time. He needed to get out there to meet them and update them on Parker’s kidnapping, but he needed to stay here and protect her, too.
A movement to his left caught his eye. It was only a rat, yet his gut jangled. His brain, at war over staying or going, replayed what the lackey had said.SFI is coming. No surprise in his voice. No panic from the peanut gallery. As if the team was expected.
Something was off. Way off.
You’ll get one shot. You better make it count.
Fuck.
No, this wasn’t justfuck, this wasbloody hell in a mineshaft fuck.
Everything he’d seen and heard came rushing back. RING’s impressive list of kills, the nightclub explosion, the crates of chemicals and explosives in the tunnels.
He peered around the edge of the opening once more. Romalov had placed a newspaper in Charmaine’s lap and was holding his phone to take a photo. Proof of life. “Do it.” He tapped the screen.
Her busted and bleeding lips trembled. “Help me,” she whimpered, sounding much more British now. “Please, Emit. Do what they want,”—her voice hiccupped—“or they’ll kill me.”
Moe heard shuffling coming from down the opposite direction. He turned his attention from Charmaine’s video toward that. Had to be Parker and the guard.
He scanned the narrow expanse. There was nowhere to hide.
Except for the rusty cart that had once transported men and their hauls of gold and silver out of here.
