Page 6 of Her Renegade

Her eyes were a shade of gold I’d never seen before. But it was the emotion inside them that got me, an intensity so fierce, it was as if I could hear the scream behind them.

I shifted in my seat, forcing my body to redirect its energy from craving to focus. My job didn’t allow me the luxury of attraction, affection, or passion. Emotions like those were akin to drugs. They distracted you. Made you soft. Hijacked your focus. Love made men do crazy things and I, well, I was crazy enough.

“Sophia Banks is married to the leader of the group, Kusma Petrova, the mastermind behind numerous terrorist attacks against the United States and other Western powers. She’s one of his wives, I should say. Kusma is known for his brutal tactics to force coercion and submission of his rivals, and within his own team, for that matter. The guy has more blood on his hands than the Grim Reaper, but because he works for the government—secretly, of course—he never gets arrested. You might remember the Dragging at the Kremlin?”

The slide switched abruptly from one of magnificence to one of murder. Blood, strewn body parts, caped men with guns.

I blinked out of my trance.

“In the middle of the night, a motorcade of vehicles with hooded armed men at the wheel drove through Red Square dragging human bodies—each of whom was alive and coherent when they were tied to the back of the trucks. Rumor is the victims were forced to sit next to the trucks for days, staring at them, knowing what was going to happen. It was a brutal, slow, horrific death, but that wasn’t good enough. Afterward, the victims were beheaded, and the heads were mailed to their loved ones. The Black Cell Unit claimed responsibility, and Kusma Petrova was the head of the unit at that time. It was his first big massacre, solidifying his spot as top dog. It was also what got his group shut down. Too much media coverage, too many questions.”

Astor paused to take a sip of his whiskey. “As you know, Russia is in a state of upheaval with the invasion of Ukraine. It has become enemy number one to most of the world and has become desperate—a very dangerous place to be. Rumor has it that Black Cell has come back to life to help rid Russia of its growing enemies—but this time, they’re not alone.”

He clicked to the next slide, this one of the North Korean presidential palace.

“Shit.”

Astor nodded. “My thoughts exactly. When Black Cell was active, Kusma formed an alliance of sorts with the leader of North Korea, a genuine friendship between two madmen. Rumor is they’ve reconnected through their shared interest in nuclear warfare.”

“That doesn’t sound good at all. Where is Kusma Petrova now?”

“Exactly. That’s what we need you to find out.”

He clicked to the next slide, this one a grainy black-and-white photo of a group of men wearing green militia-style uniforms. A red circle highlighted the man in the middle. He was unremarkable, neither tall nor short, not big or small. Just average in every way.

“Is that him?”

“Yep. Don’t let his appearance fool you. Kusma is smart, slippery, and a master of disguise. His team is extremely loyal and followed him wherever he went into hiding after the Dragging. With the rumor that he is active again and working with North Korea, bad guys are coming out of the shadows, begging to work with him. It’s a movement, a call to action, a big deal. The United States has failed to find him and has called us. I’m putting you on the case.”

Astor tossed a large manila envelope on the coffee table between us. “Your details are in there. According to the DOD, Kusma’s last known location was in British Columbia, fifteen months ago. They tracked him, but he slipped away and has yet to resurface.”

“What was he doing in BC?”

“Recruiting. Canada has a very large Russian population. After the First World War, more than a million Russians fled the country after the Russian Revolution, and many settled in Canada. Could be that he’s trying to mobilize units as close to the US as possible, and he’s positioned his wife, Sophia, in Alaska for that very reason. The working assumption is that he is somewhere on the coast, close to the ports. Your job is to deliver the exact coordinates of Kusma Petrova’s location.” He clicked back to the image of the woman, Sophia Banks. “This—she—is where you will start.”

“Why start with her?”

“Because the US government told us to. They obviously think she is the key to capturing him.” Astor turned off the projector. “You’ll see your first payment in your bank account within forty-eight hours. Seven hundred fifty thousand upon signing, then seven hundred fifty once the mission is completed, minus my cut. However, the DOD is offering an additional five hundred thousand for your speedy completion of this mission.”

“How speedy?”

“One week.”

“One week?”

“One week.”

“Seven fucking days?”

“Seven days. Your flight leaves in two hours and will take you to Anchorage, Alaska. From there, you will meet with a contact I’ve secured. His picture and information are in the envelope. There, he will give you everything you need to execute this operation. Once you find Sophia Banks, interrogate her by any means necessary to get the location of Kusma Petrova. Once you confirm his location—by laying eyes on him—report back to me and your mission is done.”

“What about her?”

“What about her?”

“Does our government want her too?”

“No.” Astor sipped his drink, watching me closely over the rim. “I’ll reiterate. Get the information from her by any means necessary.”

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