Blitzed (49 page)

I wiped at my eyes, trying to blink away the tears. “Because I saw something today that broke my heart. I saw and still see the pain in your eyes, and I listened to my mother say she wished she'd never given birth to me. When I heard that, I realized that the crown, the scars on my back, they're nothing. What I have dreamed of my entire life was acceptance and respect, and what I realized today was that I already had both, right in front of me. I had you and Charani, and in thinking back, yes, I had Felix too. Yet I was too blinded by the hurt in my past to see it.”

Jordan considered my words for a second, then nodded. “I believe you, but just know that you aren’t forgiven. That’s going to take more from you.”

I nodded, tears falling from my eyes. “Jordan, I know that it might be impossible for me to ever redeem myself in your eyes. But if there is even a chance, I’ll do whatever it takes. I love you.”

Jordan blinked, then looked up at the ceiling, taking a shuddering breath. Finally, she looked at me, her own eyes shimmering with tears. “I love you too. I can't help it, which is why this hurts so damn much right now.”

She wiped at her face, then took a deep breath before standing up. “Enough of that, though. I wanted you to know that your bed is waiting, and you should get to it. You need your rest if you are going to devote your energy in the direction it should be.”

“And you?” I asked, desperate hope in my heart. Jordan saw what I was asking, and she shook her head. “I should have guessed.”

“I will sleep on the couch tonight,” she said. “But when we get to Albania, I’m going to need a bed.”

“Albania? Why there?” I asked.

Jordan cocked her head as if it was a dumb question. “It’s where your tribe is. They’re angry with you, but in talking with Syeira and Charani, they volunteered to help. If we’re to rescue Felix, then we need backup.”

I
couldn’t help
but think that, considering the situation I was in, I should have been angrier, or at least less impressed by the situation I found myself in. Instead, I was blown away on an almost daily basis by the beauty of the farm outside Durres, Albania that was the seat of the Hardy family. Situated with a breathtaking view over the Adriatic sea, I woke up every morning to find myself in a Mediterranean paradise. White, rustic walls enclosed an old home that within it held a sense of nobility and refined charm that I had never experienced before. Dark gray flagstones lined the floor of the kitchen, where a real brick oven let Syeira and Charani cook to their heart's content. The seven bedrooms were Spartan in nature, most of them except for the master suites having a simple twin sized mattress, but were amazingly comfortable with breezy linens that let every whisper of the ocean air caress your body.

With only two days before we started our infiltration of the Ukraine, I was down to my last day of training before taking a final day to mentally prepare myself. If I didn’t want to be completely useless, I had to get in better shape. It was a Tuesday, and if things went right, Felix would be back in my arms by that Saturday at the latest.

Getting out of my narrow, single bed, I pulled on the dark fatigue pants and vest that I had come to know like a second skin. Overall, it wasn't all that different than some of the stuff I'd put on from time to time, although the rock scene tended to depend on clothing that was more skin-tight. Still, after the weeks of training from sunup to past sundown, I was as comfortable in these as I was in anything else.

The day started out with a thick oatmeal from Charani and Syeira, who’d appointed themselves the caretakers of our little band of rescuers. The tribe had delivered a dozen men, all young and in their primes, with Francois ostensibly to lead — though he was watched closely. Francois’s plan was bold, it was dramatic, and it was exactly from the Hardy playbook.

Finishing my breakfast, I met the other members of the team near the barn, where the men were sleeping. With there not being enough bedrooms for all of them to have one, they'd shunned them completely, politely informing me that the house would be for the ladies only. Francois had also given up his bedroom in the main house to sleep with them, at least until the men had deemed him unworthy and had thrown him out on the second night. For the entire two and a half weeks since, he'd slept in a small tent outside in the yard, without any complaints.

I didn't know if Francois was accepting the difficulties because he was trying to gain the men's respect, or if he was trying to atone for his mistakes. I just knew that when I stepped out of the house that morning, the sun was just thinking of breaking the horizon, and he was already up, cleaning his Kalashnikov rifle in the pink morning light.

“Good morning, Jordan,” he said softly, not wanting to make too much sound. I could understand why, too. Not only was the rest of the team still sleeping, but there was something about the way the morning was in Durres as spring bloomed. The Adriatic was close enough that you could see it out on the horizon, and the high cliffs that separated the land from the sea let just a hint of the waves pounding away reach your ears. Life in Albania seemed to operate at a slightly slower pace too, as if the night wasn't ready to let go and the people were aware of it. It wasn't the languid start of Mexico, but instead had a hint of older, more primal fears. The power of darkness reigned, even on the Adriatic Riviera.

“Good morning,” I answered him, coming over and squatting down. “How was your sleep?”

“Reasonable,” he said, adding no details. I knew from staying up one night that in fact Francois slept terribly, often tossing and turning through most of the night, tortured by nightmares and a hard, unforgiving ground that didn't let his body recover from the rigors of training properly. Still, he never let on, and my heart went out to him. I still hadn't forgiven him, and had not let him have any moments of tenderness from me, regardless of if the foolish side of me wanted it or not. “Are you ready for today?”

“Last chance to make any changes to the plan,” I said. “I’m ready. I want to be on those trucks — I don't like what the new reports are saying. It doesn’t make sense.”

“About Felix being allowed to roam free?” Francois asked, sliding the bolt back into his Kalashnikov and finishing his reassembly. “It doesn’t. There could be complications that we didn’t think about.”

“Such as?” I asked, fear twisting deep in my gut. “Tell me what you know, Francois. Or at least what you suspect.”

“Vladimir Ilyushin has connections with some of the deepest parts of the old Soviet and Russian systems,” Francois said, setting his rifle aside and reaching into his tent, retrieving a canned ration that he opened and began spooning into his mouth. “And from what I know of him and his syndicate, he has a penchant for the chemically enhanced interrogation systems they developed.”

“In plain English, please,” I said, irritation in my voice.

“I mean that Vladimir has a history of brainwashing,” Francois said, stirring at the dirt between his feet with the end of his spoon. “And if they're letting Felix roam free, then there may be cause to believe that they have at least partially turned him.”

“Then what are we waiting around for?” I hissed, fear filling my heart. “We should have been on the move yesterday!”

Francois shook his head. “If they already have him to the point they trust him outside the buildings, then there is nothing more we can do until we get him back. We’re better off making sure we’re ready.”

I clenched my fist, anger flooding me as he went back to polishing off his rations, and I stood up, nearly storming off. “I'll go wake everyone up,” I said instead, clamping down on my emotions. “Do they know?”

“No, but it won't matter to them as much as it does to us,” Francois replied. “They want their King back, not another court jester like they have now.”

I stopped and looked over at my shoulder, who for the first time since we got to Albania looked tired and defeated. “You're hardly a jester,” I reassured him. “And even if you are, well, every village needs its idiot.”

* * *

F
orty-eight hours later
, my muscles ached more than they had the entire time I'd been in training, as I'd slept my way into the Ukraine in the back of a truck along with the rest of the team. We'd taken two vehicles, both semis to give us the best chance of success at getting past the border guards. Thankfully, the Black Sea Romani had greased the right palms, and we slipped over the border into the Ukraine at eleven at night while I dozed in the back of the truck. Unfortunately, while the trailer we were in was large, the six members of my team had to be kept cramped into the middle section of the trailer, wedged between a pallet of televisions and a collection of refrigerators that were going to be sold on the gray market that permeated the city.

Now, after being stuck in a cramped, cold trailer for close to twenty-five hours, with nothing but a couple of blankets, a carton of rations, two water cans, and a LED lantern to break up the monotony with my trailer mates, we were all stiff. The five men had at least been gentlemanly, and had given me a modicum of space to feel like I wasn't a female sardine crushed in a can with a bunch of males. Thankfully, our drive was at an end, and as our driver opened the small side door that was our only access in or out, I was grateful to touch the ground for the first time since my last toilet break seven hours earlier. “Tell me we're getting out in better conditions than we came in.”

“If everything goes to plan, yes,” one of the men said. “The Hardys will be getting out of the Ukraine quickly, while the rest of us will make our way back in a more casual manner. Our Black Sea friends will help us.”

“You aren’t too off-put by this, I hope?” I asked, as I looked the man in the eyes. He was young, like most of the men who had been sent for the mission, and wasn’t from the immediate Hardy family.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No offense, American princess, but Romani women know how to appreciate a man with a heroic story, and I’m not about to miss out on this.”

I smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go help unload.”

We were traveling light, with most of us carrying only a rifle outfitted with a screw-in silencer and two clips of ammunition. We didn't want to engage in a prolonged firefight, in fact if things went according to plan, not a single shot would be fired. It only took us about four minutes to fully unload everything for our mission. While we were finishing the last of our gear checks, Francois’s group came from up the road, their gear slung in their packs over their shoulders. “Ready?”

“Let's move,” he said. “We can stretch out as we walk — it's still five kilometers cross country to the property.”

“And we know he's still there?” I asked.

“I just spoke with my cousin Aleksander, he’s been watching the house for two days now. He said that Felix was seen inside having dinner yesterday, and that he has not left the premises since then.”

“Then let's move,” Francois said. “If he follows the pattern that they've said, he'll be going out for his morning run in about two hours. I'd like to be on the path when he does.”

We took off through the woods, following our local guide as he led Francois and I on the way. Five kilometers isn't much, only three miles, but we were moving through pitch blackness and through old growth European forest. With the constant stopping to check our position or listen for sounds, we only had forty-five minutes to spare when we reached the Romani observation point. Sergei spoke with his cousin in the alternatively guttural and liquid tones of Ukrainian-flavored Romani, nodding a few times. “Can I get a translation?”

Francois, who could understand well enough, whispered back. “They're just confirming that Felix is still there. Are you ready?”

I nodded, my grip tightening on my rifle that I hoped I didn’t have to use — I just had it in case of an emergency. “Let's go get Felix back.”

Francois nodded and turned to the other Romani, speaking slowly in his accent. They could understand him, and soon enough our teams split up again. The fifteen people, twelve Albanian/Greeks from the Hardys and three from the Black Sea, would go to four locations, the largest on the heaviest traveled route in and out of the estate. Two other groups would go to the north and south side in order to provide either support or distraction, depending on what was needed.

That left me, Francois, and one other who would cover the path that led along the Dnieper River. It was the path that Felix ran on most often according to our spies, one he ran almost every day. It was also the easiest point for us to get to, so we had plenty of time before the other teams were in place. As we waited, I tried to calm my nerves. I looked over at Francois, who was giving me a small grin. “Why are you smiling?”

“Heady, isn't it?” he asked, becoming the man that I'd fallen in love with one more time. He was cocky, he was certain, and he was enjoying the thrill of the moment. “The adrenalin rush right before doing a job.”

“Is that why you love it?” I asked, not contradicting his comment. “The rush of it all?”

“Some,” he agreed. “Although the reputation and the money were good reasons too. But that's over now.”

“You don't have to,” I whispered. “You can still do your jobs on your own, you know.”

Francois shook his head, then stopped. “I won't say I’m not tempted. But the love of reputation and money is what took it all away from me. I don’t want to go down that path again.”

“Shut up, I hear something!” the Romani above us whispered. I had at least picked up enough Romani in the past weeks that I could understand that, and I got behind a tree, while the man flattened himself onto the ground and Francois knelt behind a bush.

I heard it next, the sound of footsteps jogging down the road. As they did, I heard two people talking.

“It is a fine morning, Spartak.” The voice was certainly female, and with a Russian accent.

The next voice I heard both thrilled and chilled my heart as I heard Felix reply, his voice happy and sounding enamored with the woman. “I agree, Mistress. But I’m surprised that you asked to come running with me today.”

The woman laughed, and my hands tightened on my rifle.
Bitch
. “Oh Spartak, I’m more than just a homebody, you know. Besides, us Russian women, we get aroused from the cold.”

I saw them coming, three people. The woman was stunning, taller than me and with a ballet dancer's body, the type I'd longed for when I was younger and thought I was chubby. She was wearing a jogging suit, her long blond hair tied back into a ponytail as she bounced along lightly.

Felix was beside her, wearing just a tank top with long running pants, his muscles rippling and fuller than I'd ever seen him. Still, there was something different with his face, something that told me that despite the similarities in his voice, and the identical nature of his appearance, the man I was looking at wasn't quite the same as
my
Felix.