Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
That is deeply fucking unnerving. I brush him off though and assume the boy’s being ridiculous. From what I can tell, it looks like a normal exchange. There aren’t any easy vantage points for an ambush, only the roof of the Starbucks which we’re currently surveilling with a small drone just to make sure it’s clear plus the shopping center on the far end of the parking lot. That’s far enough that only very skilled snipers would do any damage.
Once I get the clear that the roof is empty, I push Arsen out the door. I don’t like this, not even a little fucking bit, but I have to play my part if I’m going to get Karine’s mother back. Once I’m walking toward the center area, my soldiers fan out behind me. All of them are armed and ready.
Nothing happens. I keep expecting Aram to appear at any moment, but the trucks arrayed in front of me are totally silent. Their windows are tinted black enough that I can’t see anyone inside, and a strange, creeping feeling runs down my spine.
“What’s going on?” I bark at Anton.
He checks his phone. “I don’t know. Drone operator said we’re all clear. He said—”
The van’s engine suddenly starts. It roars to life and I exchange a look with my friend. He seems as confused as I am.
“Stay ready,” I tell him, grabbing Arsen’s arm. I push the boy forward, and he doesn’t seem happy anymore. “Aram! I have your son! Come out and be done with this fucking exchange.”
Still nothing. Only the rumble of the van’s engine.
“Valentin,” Anton says, his voice taking on a panicked note. “Drone guy just texted me. He says there’s something weird on the roof of the van.”
“What the fuck is it?”
“A transmitter of some kind. I don’t really know—”
Then the van leaps forward. Its engine roars as it barrels at us, and I barely have enough time to throw Arsen out of the way and dive after him.
I hit the ground hard as the explosion rips through the morning.
The van shatters into a flaming husk and throws piercing, killing shrapnel all through the air. I hear it whizzing past my ears as I lay covering my head on the ground, and the screams of my men are only just audible over the conflagration of fire that rips through my vehicles. Only my SUV looks unharmed, while the others are either wreckage or beginning to burn.
I stay down for a stunned moment. Aram is a psycho motherfucker, but I never in a million years expected he would risk his own son’s life to kill me. If I had been back with my men instead of standing in front of them waiting to do the deal, I’d be dead right now, like so many of them.
“Anton!” I shout, crawling to my knees. A few feet away, Arsen struggles up, and he begins to run back toward the Armenian lines. I draw my gun and consider killing him, but fuck, there are too many screams and yells from my soldiers, and the boy doesn’t matter.
This was fucked.
I stagger over to where Anton is lying on the ground. He’s bleeding from several small wounds to his side, but none of them look fatal. “I’m good,” he says and shoves me back as he gets to his feet. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Help who you can,” I shout and turn to face the line of trucks. One of them is pulling out and I try to shoot its wheels, but I only manage to hit the door before it escapes, the tires spinning. Anton barely gets a few of his men up and ready when the other trucks spill out their soldiers.
For a beat, I think we’re dead. Rifles are leveled at us, and we’re sitting out in the open with flaming vehicles at our back. Thick plumes of smoke billow into the sky, and there’s nowhere to run, no fucking cover, nothing to do but die. I raise my gun defiantly, because I’ll go down fighting if I have to go down at all, but regret stuns me.
I failed Karine. I failed her, and now I’ll go to my final judgment alone, knowing I wasn’t enough, without ever getting another chance to make things right.
But before the Armenians can open fire, the drones come buzzing down at them.
Four drones, each no bigger than a medium-sized dog, gray against the light blue sky. There’s some hesitation as the Armenians stare at the little flying armada, and that’s all we need.
The drones click and drop their payload.
Grenades hit the ground at their feet and explode. They’re not huge detonations—the drones aren’t big enough to carry serious munitions—but big enough that it knocks several of them over and tears a few limbs from bodies.