Finn stood at the back of the cabin and took in the scene. Beyond the back porch and short stretch of grass, a lake extended out to the horizon. A canoe was upside down on the shore, and next to it, a long pier extended out into the water. No boats were docked; the wooden structure was devoid of nets or lifesavers. The only items on the pier were two cinder blocks with a thick chain woven through each.
Samir Vogel walked out the back door and down the steps, keeping a safe distance between them. The gun in his hand didn’t phase Finn in the slightest, but that detonator had his blood pounding in his ears. As calculating and methodical as Samir had been, Finn could see the glimmer of irrationality in his eyes. If Samir was going down, he would take everyone with him.
Finn could see Charlotte looking out the window. The fear in her expression made him want to strangle Samir with his bare hands. Her swollen, bleeding lip made Finn want to make him suffer before he died. He’d wait for his opportunity to strike.
“Now, please walk to the end of the dock and secure a shackle to each of your ankles. I want to hear the locks click.”
Finn took determined steps to the end of the pier noting the packs of explosives secured to each supporting pylon. Over his head, he heard the low rumble of a helicopter. Samir registered the sound as well. He pointed to the sky. “Your comrades are on their way. Good. They can dig through the rubble for your lover’s remains.”
Finn fastened the cuffs.
“Now, be a dear and give the chains a tug, so I know you’re secure.”
Finn obeyed.
“Oh, and before I forget, take out any little pocket knife or gizmo you may be carrying and toss it into the water. Failure to comply will result in a nasty scar on Charlotte’s perfect face.”
Finn withdrew the multitool from his side pocket and tossed it in the lake.
Once he seemed sure Finn was tethered, Samir walked halfway down the dock. “Charlotte has a puzzle to solve. Just like my security software, when she makes a misstep, the system reboots, and a new cipher appears. She must begin anew.” Samir glanced back at Charlotte, who was still watching from the window.
“But,” Samir continued. “There is another consequence of ineptitude. Every time Charlotte makes a mistake, one of the pairs of pier supports is destroyed.” He pointed to the pylons under the dock. “Four errors and into the water you go.” Samir gave a pleased shrug. “Oh, and if you attempt to leave the pier, I’ll detonate the supports myself.” He turned and walked back to the cabin. “Of course, I would assume your complete faith in Twitch’s abilities will keep you in your place. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Finn had complete faith in Charlotte. He, however, had no confidence Samir Vogel would concede defeat once Charlotte bested him. He tugged on the chain again, more out of frustration than anything else. His multitool was sitting on the bottom of the lake. There was one item in his pocket, Samir hadn’t considered. With his back to the cabin, Finn sat and, as subtly as possible, slipped the comm unit into his ear.
“Tox?”
“Jesus, it’s good to hear your voice,” Tox replied.
“I heard the Huey. What’s your ETA?”
“Nathan commandeered the helo last minute. There was no fast rope gear. We had to touch down in a field about five clicks away. Fastest route is on foot through the trees. We should be at your location in twenty-four minutes.”
“Copy that,” Finn said.
“Sitrep?” Tox asked.
Finn explained the situation while Tox and Finn’s best friends hauled ass across the rough terrain.
Steady was breathing hard. “This motherfucker is going down.”
“Hooyah!” Finn thought that was Cam.
Finn’s relief was tempered by fear. His voice broke. “I need you guys.”
It was Chat who replied. “Hang tight, brother. We’re coming.”
Ending the conversation, Finn looked out over the calm lake. The afternoon sun was high in the sky, sending shards of light bouncing across the water. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a brief moment to bask in the long-absent sensation. He had a team, a band of brothers, and they were on their way.
Just as he breathed a small sigh of relief, the first pair of pylons exploded.
Zmeya paused at the crest of the hill, winded. He lit a fresh cigarette with the old one and dropped the butt in the dirt. A helicopter whirred overhead and prepared to land. The party is arriving. The assassin checked the time and surveyed the pine forest. The light from the afternoon sun filtered through the trees, dappling the leaves and shining on the rustic cabin punctuating the open field below. The Russian wasn’t prone to emotions of any sort, yet he found himself both mildly annoyed and slightly curious at the circumstance. Finn McIntyre had just disappeared around the side of the house.
After realizing the red-haired woman had left Beaufort, Zmeya had focused his attention on her stalker and had discovered him hurriedly packing his car. He had followed the weasel to Purgatory. A day later, he had found the scar-faced man. Zmeya was just setting up his sniper hide when his target had taken off into the woods. Something about the scar-faced man’s urgency had Zmeya following. He rationalized his pursuit, telling himself the more isolated they were, the better. If he were being honest, Zmeya would have admitted he wanted to see what had this man racing through the forest like the hounds of hell nipped at his heels.
Bottling his childish curiosity, Zmeya had attempted to take out his mark as they ran through the woods. Had his target taken the higher path when the trail forked, the man would be dead already, and Zmeya would be counting his money. Whatever the reason, the scar-faced man had chosen the route that eluded his bullet. It wouldn’t happen again. His time had come.
The assassin didn’t know why Finn McIntyre had trudged through the woods to this remote location, nor should he care. He did, however, confess an interest. What had driven this man to hike this distance with such urgency? What compelled him to act with near-desperation. Life, death, money—that’s all there was. He dismissed his uncharacteristic musings and set up his rifle on top of a fallen tree with a clear view of the open area below. Smoke wafted across the prison ink on his knuckles and over the intricate serpent on his forearm. After a final deep drag, he pinched out the cherry between his thumb and forefinger and pocketed the unfinished cigarette. Zmeya checked his weapon. Soon his victim would step out into the open and directly into his sights.