Page 113 of Lethal Alliance

“Fine. It stays open. But they stay inside the room, and two more of my men stay with them.” Orlov delivers this nonsensical response as if it’s some kind of compromise.

Fuck, he’s stupid.Every moment in his company diminishes him, makes it more plain that he is no more than Fedorov’s puppet, has never been capable of anything more. That thought brings me back to Fedorov’s current game.

What the hell is he doing in Spain?

Thank fuck I sent Darya to London.

I think briefly of Sergei, but that is one problem I can’t do anything about right now.

I leave the doorway, and Dimitry takes my place, two of Alpha Team behind him in the room, standing in front of the girls. I look at Ofelia and Masha one last time, then at Dimitry. He gives me the faintest nod. He knows it’s about to go down.

I follow Orlov down the corridor that leads to the vault. Petrovsky is behind me, but my remaining two men are behind him.

He’s not going anywhere.

We round several corners, all of which I’ve memorized from the schematic, until we come to the thing we’re all here for: the vault.

The door to it covers an entire wall.

Even given the tension of the moment, I can’t help but admire my father’s final masterpiece. The last time I saw the vault was the night Papasha brought me here so he could code my fingerprints into the lock. Back then, it was still under construction, and my vague recollection of it is only a vast wall of half-completed metalwork, with wires and bits hanging in every direction.

The finished product is a work of art in itself, a steel wall ten feet wide and almost the same height. Curlicued metalwork stands out from the original surface, intricate and ornate. It’s designed to look like climbing flowers, the design concealing the actual door. I smile inwardly. This part, at least, is going to be fun.

I take the key out of my jacket pocket and get a savage rush of satisfaction at the look of part shock, part triumph on Orlov’s face. He clearly never really expected things to go this smoothly.

That’s right, you bastard. Think you’re winning.

I turn to Alexei Petrovsky. “I believe you have the partner key?”

This time, the look on Orlov’s face is truly priceless.

“Let me guess.” It’s my turn to give Orlov a shit-eating grin. “You never knew there were two keys. Your tame dog never mentioned that part to you.”

Orlov turns to Petrovsky, his face falling in on itself like a sunken pudding, mouthing furiously.

The smile on Alexei’s face is colder than the Arctic in January. “No,” he says in a quiet, lethal rasp, holding Orlov’s eyes. “That part the dog kept to itself.”

“That was a mistake.” Orlov’s voice shakes with anger.

Alexei lifts a shoulder and drops it again. It’s a gesture so contemptuous he might as well be shrugging off a bug. “We’ll see, Orlov.” Reaching out, he presses the centers of two flowers simultaneously.

My stomach lurches queerly, time shifting like smoke. For a moment I am back in my father’s workshop, watching his long fingers twist those metal flowers into being.

The center of another flower slides back, revealing a tiny black circle. Alexei presses his thumb to it, and a panel slides open.

My father clearly taught Sergei more than I thought.

“You know, Vilnus,” Alexei says conversationally as he withdraws the golden key inside it, “your idiotic safe hackers actually opened that flower more than once by accident. They never even noticed. Not that it would have mattered if they did.” He glances at me, and for the first time, I catch a glimmer of anger. “This key is useless without the other one.”

I smile coldly. “Glad you grasp the situation, Petrovsky.”

I hold my hand out, certain there’s no chance in hell he’s going to hand over that key, no matter what Sergei said.

“No,” Orlov says, looking between us. “Hand your key to Petrovsky, or this deal is off.” He’s nervous, despite his bravado. Somehow, Orlov can sense he’s part of a game he doesn’t quite understand.

I don’t move, just give him another unpleasant smile. I’d be lying if I said I’m not enjoying watching the bastard sweat.

“There’s no point in me giving my key to your dog,” I say contemptuously. I’m aware of Alexei, tense as a coiled snake beside me. “He doesn’t know how to open it. He wasn’t lying about that part.”

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