Page 15 of Capture Me (Capture Me)

I’ve been at it for two and a half hours, and the traffic around me is as bad as ever.

Stopping, I look around in frustration. I’ve been walking along major avenues to maximize my chances of catching a cab, but that appears to have been a faulty strategy. Perhaps what I should do is get away from the main zones of traffic and try my luck on smaller streets. If I find a car there, the driver may be able to take me out of the city via some more obscure routes. I’ll pay him whatever extra money he demands.

Turning onto one of the cross streets, I see a park a block away. I decide to cut diagonally across it, and then go up one of the smaller avenues on the other side of it. I’ll still be heading in the right direction, but I’ll be away from the busiest area. Maybe I’ll find a bus there, if not a cab.

There’s got to be some way I can get to my destination in the next few hours.

My phone vibrates in my bag, and I fish it out. “Yes?”

“Where are you?” Obenko sounds as frustrated as I feel. “The team leader is getting nervous. He wants to be across the border by the time the Kremlin learns what happened.”

“I’m still in the city, walking for now. The traffic is impossible.” The snow crunches under my feet as I enter the park. They didn’t bother to clear it here, so all the walking paths are covered with a thick icy layer.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” I try not to slip on the ice as I step over a pile of dog shit. “I’m doing my best to get there tonight, I promise.”

“All right. Yulia...” Obenko pauses for a second. “You know we’re going to have to pull the team if you don’t get there by morning, right?” His voice is quiet, almost apologetic.

“I know.” I keep my tone level. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. Make sure you do that.”

He hangs up, and I walk faster, driven by increasing anxiety. If the team leaves without me and I get caught, I’m as good as dead. The Kremlin isn’t known to be kind to spies, and the fact that our agency is completely off the books makes the matters ten times worse. The Ukrainian government won’t negotiate to get me back, because they have no idea that I exist.

I’m almost out of the park when I hear drunk male laughter and the sound of shoes crunching on snow.

Glancing behind me, I see a small group of men some hundred meters back, with bottles clutched in their gloved hands. They’re weaving all over the walking path, but their attention is unmistakably focused on me.

“Hey, young lady,” one of them yells out, slurring his words. “Wanna come party with us?”

I look away and start walking even faster. They’re just drunks, but even drunks can be dangerous when it’s six against one. I’m not afraid of them—I have my gun and my training—but I don’t need trouble this evening.

“Young lady,” the drunk yells, louder this time. “You’re being rude, you know that?”

His friends laugh like a pack of hyenas, and the drunk yells again, “Fuck you, bitch! If you don’t want to party, just motherfucking say so!”

I ignore them and continue on my way, snaking my left hand into my handbag to feel for my gun, just in case. As I exit the park and step onto the street, the sound of their voices fades, and I realize they’re no longer following me.

Relieved, I take my hand out of my bag and continue up the street at a slightly slower pace. My legs are aching, and I feel like a blister is forming on the side of my heel. My flat boots are way more comfortable than heels, but they’re not made for three hours of speed-walking.

I’m in a more residential area now, which is both good and bad. The traffic here is better—only a few cars pass me on the street—but the streetlights are sparse, and the area is all but deserted. Distant male laughter reaches my ears again, and I force myself to go faster, ignoring the discomfort of tired muscles.

I walk about five blocks before I see it: a cab stopping next to a curb across the street some fifty meters ahead. A short, thin man is getting out. Relieved, I yell, “Wait!” and sprint toward the car just as he begins closing the door.

I’m almost next to the cab when I see lights out of the corner of my eye and hear the roar of an engine.

Reacting in a split second, I throw myself to the side, hitting the ground as a car barrels past me. As I roll on the icy asphalt, I hear the driver hooting drunkenly, and then something hard slams into the side of my head.

My last thought as my world goes black is that I should’ve shot those drunks after all.

9

Lucas

Voices. Distant beeping. More voices.

The sounds fade in and out, as does the buzzing in my ears. My head feels thick and heavy, the pain enveloping me like a blanket of thorns.

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