Page 41 of Enemy of My Enemy
“What the fuck was that?” Doc was the first one up. “Everyone all right?”
The team sounded off, all clear, but Doc went one by one, visually inspecting everyone. When he got to Adam, peering into the ruined plane, he grabbed Adam’s hands.
Bits of glass and razor blades had shredded through his gloves, and blood was seeping from his knuckles and dripping into to the sand. “I’m fine.” He tried to shake Doc off.
“I’ll let you know if you’re fine or not. That’s a lot of blood.” Doc nodded to Coleman, who jogged over, took one look at Adam’s hands, and arched his eyebrow at Adam.
Outmaneuvered by his own men. Damn it. “Go check out what’s still standing in there.” He pulled his gloves off by his teeth and managed to smear blood all over his chin as Coleman took two guys and headed back into the destroyed plane.
His hands looked worse than they were. He wasn’t in danger of losing a finger or five. While Doc cleaned him up, he kept an eagle eye on his men.
When Coleman shouted for him to come to the remains of the cockpit, he gave Doc a harried look and then jogged inside when Doc let him go.
Inside, his guys were leaning over a mangled laptop that somehow still worked. Wires connected it to the plane’s electronics, and it had been in a corner of the cockpit that had been shielded from the suicide bomber. On screen, four video feeds showed in four boxes, live images of what looked like the mangled plane and their team. He saw, outside, Doc repacking his medic bag, and three of his guys watching the perimeter.
And he saw himself, staring at the laptop, his fierce glower filling the screen.
Suddenly, the screen went dark. The feeds cut out.
A cursor appeared on screen, blinking.
Hello, Lieutenanttyped out, letter by letter.
“What the fuck…” Coleman cursed.
Catch me if you can. We’ll be waiting.
* * *
Chapter 14
Moscow
The Kremlin
Sasha woke with a gasp,bolting upright as he shouted, a wordless bellow. Nightmares clung to his skin, the image of his commander’s sneer and the fall of his fist, the clang of hockey sticks on the metal lockers and the concrete floor.
“Easy.” An old man’s rough voice broke through the haze of his fear. He whipped around and spotted an older man in a doctor’s coat next to his bed.
He stared, breathing hard, and then his gaze darted every which way. He was in what looked like a private hospital room, dimly lit, and through the window, the sky was dark. Machines beeped beside his bed. Sensors were fixed to his chest beneath his thin hospital robe. An IV line was taped to his arm, stuck in his vein at his elbow. Dull pain pulsed in his abdomen, and he fumbled through the robe until he felt a line of stitches just over his belly button.
“You were very badly injured,” The older man said, waiting for Sasha to finish checking over his body. “You were in surgery for several hours.”
“Surgery?”
“Ruptured spleen. We removed it. You would have died if we had not.”
The old man’s words rang in Sasha’s ear, echoing over and over.
“You are bruised and ugly for now, but you will live.” Sighing, the old man sat on the edge of Sasha’s bed. “I do not know who you are or how you ended up on the doorstep of the Kremlin so injured.” He held up a long chain, Sasha’s Air Force dog tags dangling. “This man was reported missing and presumed dead yesterday.”
Sasha stilled. “I do not know who you are either. Or where I am.” He raised his chin, defiant.
“A fair question. I will answer if will you do the same.” His eyebrows quirked up, and Sasha nodded once. “I am Doctor Leo Voronov, personal physician to President Puchkov, and you are inside the private hospital for the president in the Grand Palace of the Kremlin.” His eyebrows stayed raised. “And you?”
Sasha froze. Ice flushed through him, racing from his head to his toes and then settling in his belly, a hard knot of panic. He’d had a delirious plan, a stupid plan, and he’d headed for Moscow, but to actuallybein the Kremlin—
“The Kremlin?” His voice shook, and he swallowed, trying to steady himself. “President Puchkov?”
