Page 170 of Silenced

We’re all aware of what’s likely going to happen as we approach Moskva itself, but Daniil and Eriks insisted on driving the first two cars and Mikhail jumped behind the wheel of the ambulance without saying a word.

The journey is uneventful until ten minutes from the airfield, an SUV approaches from the other side of the road while a van overtakes from behind and tries to ram into the ambulance.

As metal screeches and the ambulance’s brakes scream, Mikhail pulls some insane defensive driving moves to get away from the van, and I growl to Luka, “This is why I drive myself.”

I turn hard to the right and fly headfirst toward the van then wait until I’m six feet away to retrieve my gun.

One bullet shatters my windshield, the second breaks his, and the third hits the driver in the forehead. The van careens and overturns on the hard shoulder.

Luka, cackling like a loon and not giving a damn that I’m wrecking his ride, cheers, “You motherfuckers! Fuck you and your granny!”

Smirking, I hit the handbrake hard, drifting for a handful of seconds so the SUV can’t drive into me.

Through the smoke that diminishes visibility, one of my men manages to shoot out two of the SUV’s tires. It topples over the side of the road. I brake in the middle of the causeway, then jump out, gun in hand.

When the SUV stops moving, I make my way to the driver’s door and see he didn’t survive the crash. I ensure he can’t be resuscitated by blowing out his brains.

Picking his pockets for his cell phone, I retreat to my ride and toss my gun on the dash while I pass the cell to Luka, quickly signing, “Send his Brigadier an update.”

“With lies or the truth?”

“Lies.” I roll my eyes as I light out of there, relieved to see that the cavalcade of cars didn’t stop their trajectory.

Instead, face literally aching from the biting cold pouring in through the blasted windshield, I race ahead and pull in at the front, a scant few feet from Eriks’s car.

“You always did have a death wish behind the wheel,” Luka shouts, but I can hear the buzz in his voice and shake my head over it.

If I have a death wish behind the wheel, then he’s always been an adrenaline junkie.

As my cell rings, I toss it to Luka. “Ilya?” he asks, amazement lacing his tone. When he hangs up a few minutes later, he states, “You sly fucker. You turned the Krestniy Otets’s nephew?”

I cast him a look. “I did nothing.” Then, I sign, “Our exalted leader did that himself after what happened with Sofia.” And after I sheltered Dmitri with me in the US. “What did he want?”

“Says there are more cars incoming but he told his uncle that you were at the airfield in Vidnoye, not Pushkino.”

So, Ilya has bought us some time.

I fucking owe him.

“Does he only feed you information?”

“Nyet.”

Luka grunts but I can tell he’s offended at my nonanswer. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Call ahead and get Dominik to prepare for takeoff,” is all I say.

When we make it to the airfield, I can see the jet is where it was after landing.

As I pull up beside the plane, I spot Cassiopeia sitting by one of the windows, staring at me. The relief in her expression is more of a homecoming than she can know.

With my hands finally free, though my fingers feel frozen solid, I give Luka the answer his loyalty deserves, “Ilya came to me.”

“What did he want?”

I arch a brow.

“The old man’s job?”

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