Page 34 of Saint

“Figures. You guys owe me a beach vacation after this trip.”

“All grievances and vacation requests go directly to Pharaoh.” Saint headed toward the rolling stairs that led up to the cabin’s entrance. Once inside, he stowed his bag, sat down and buckled up.

Hunter appeared a few minutes later, locked the cabin door and briskly rubbed her gloved hands together. “Weather forecast isn’t great, so it might get bumpy. I’ll do my best,” she promised. “Flight time is two hours and eight minutes.”

He gave a nod and leaned back as she disappeared inside the cockpit. He had two hours to review the compound schematics in his head and go over his plan. It had to work. If it didn’t, he was fucked six ways to Sunday.

Because the alternative meant one thing: death.

Except he wasn’t quite willing to say goodbye to Mia yet.

Chapter Eleven

The flight to Moscow went by fast, but Saint found himself gripping the armrests more than a few times as they bounced around in the sky. Snowstorms were closing in everywhere and the last thing he wanted was to get stuck there. In and out. That was the goal.

Once they landed, Saint touched base with Braxton. “If everything goes according to plan, I should have the packages and be on my way back to Hunter within a few hours. Just so you know, I gave Mia my burner. If you don’t hear from me by tonight…”

His voice trailed off because, yeah, there was the very real chance he wouldn’t make it out this time.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Brax asked. “This is starting to sound like a suicide mission.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Saint insisted. “Just being realistic. Nothing is foolproof.”

“We can still come and help—”

“No, it’s too late. I need to move now.” Brax was smart enough to know there was no talking Saint out of it. Because he probably also knew it was personal.

“Good luck, Saint. I expect you to get your ass out of there safely and then I want a full report.”

“Roger.”

After hanging up, Saint checked his weapons and moved the goodies he wanted to bring from the duffel bag into his backpack. He had flashbangs, extra magazines and a couple of special gadgets including an MVT, courtesy of Dash Slater. One quick blast from the small fuel cartridge emitted a white-hot flame that would melt through any metal. If all went off without a hitch, he may not need any of it.

But when did things ever go exactly the way you planned?

Hunter appeared, studying him closely. “There’s a black SUV waiting for you, courtesy of Banshee. You need anything else?”

“Just my getaway jet to be ready when I return,” he answered.

“She’ll be ready,” Hunter assured him. “I have a feeling we’re going to want to get the hell outta here fast.”

“You think I’m gonna get in trouble?”

“Probably.” She tossed him a wink. “I also want to beat the storms, so don’t dick around.”

“I won’t.” The snow would hit soon, and it would be brutal. His mind briefly flashed back to the cabin. The last thing he wanted was a call that Mia escaped. With Nadia in charge, though, he highly doubted it would happen. But he had to put it out of his mind and focus on the task at hand. Distractions were a sure way to get himself killed.

He pulled on a warm coat and gloves, then grabbed the backpack and headed out to the SUV. After conferring with his GPS, he headed for Anton Petrov’s compound. It was a veritable fortress swarming with Bratva soldiers, but Saint knew it like the back of his hand. He also knew that today was delivery day, theone day of the week when the gates opened and trucks dropping off supplies were allowed inside.

And Saint planned to be on one of those trucks.

His plan was straightforward enough and his insider knowledge would serve him well. At one point, he’d been in charge of the scheduled deliveries coming in, so he knew how it was handled and where items wound up. The driver would stop at a checkpoint exactly one kilometer away, at the turn that led to the compound. The truck would be checked in and quickly swept for any explosives or anything suspicious.

That’s where Saint would catch his ride and cross his fingers. And hope he wasn’t caught and shot.

???

The deliveries came throughout the day, but Saint was waiting for a particular truck—the one that would contain crates of perishable foods. Petrov fed his own little army and the food truck would be loaded with containers of vegetables, fruits and dairy products which would be unloaded with a forklift and delivered directly inside the compound, rather than stuck in a warehouse out back.

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