“He probably lost the signal again. I told you these comms were shit,” another male voice that she didn’t recognize responded.
She agreed with the guy. The sound quality was utter garbage. They should have known better than to buy cheap equipment for an op. While she listened, she used the binoculars to scan the street below, relieved to see people going about their business, unaware or completely oblivious to the sound of the muffled gunshot.
Bazarov cursed in Russian. “Yuri, what’s your status?”
“I’m in position, but there’s a truck parked along the street that’s blocking my line of sight.”
Essie’s gaze flicked over to the utility vehicle with a cherry picker, and she thanked her lucky stars that Orlando Energy had chosen today to fix a broken streetlight. From the truck, she traced a trajectory to the building where the other sniper was likely hidden. No sign of him on the roof, which meant he’d somehow found a way inside one of the apartments that normally had a clear view of the restaurant.
It took a few minutes before she finally found him on the balcony of a second-story apartment, his presence largely obscured by lush potted plants arranged along the railing. From her location, she couldn’t get a clean shot, but she took comfort in knowing he wouldn’t be able to shoot his target, at least for the time being.
“Es, are you okay? I heard a gunshot.”
Of course Vaughn hadn’t missed it. His situational awareness had always been off the charts. His voice came over her headset crystal clear, because unlike Bazarov, he’d ponied up the bucks for quality equipment.
Essie made sure Artem’s mic was switched off before she answered. “I’m fine. Hostile on the roof has been eliminated. There’s another hostile on the second-floor balcony of the apartment building across the street.”
“Can you take him out?”
“Negative. There’s too much shit on the balcony blocking my view. Can you see him from your position? The balcony door’s open, and there’s a bunch of plants along the railing.”
“Second floor…plants…I don’t—wait, there he is. I see him.”
Essie went back into a prone position along the edge of the roof, her rifle within easy reach. “The hostile I eliminated had comms, so I’m monitoring their feed. I’ve got audio confirmation of Bazarov, but I’ve been unable to establish a visual.”
“Good job, kiddo. I knew I could count on you to get the job done.”
“You know, this job would be a lot easier if we simply locked down the target.”
Vaughn’s audible sigh came over the earpiece. “We’ve already discussed this. The terms of the contract are explicit regarding direct contact. There’s a bonus if she never knows about the price on her head.”
“Screw the bonus. I’d rather keep her alive.”
“Negative.” There was an edge to Vaughn’s voice, the one he always got when he was about to pull rank. “My op, my rules. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” she bit out in response.
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” His voice returned to its usual upbeat tone. “Now give me a few minutes to take care of the asshole on the balcony. Keep searching for Bazarov and the rest of his team. They’re close…I can feel it.”
He was right; Bazarov was a hands-on kind of guy. No way would he ever let his team have all the fun. She half expected him to come looking for Pashkevich, but the motion sensor in the stairwell had yet to trigger another alert.
She picked up the binoculars and resumed the search, her gaze moving over every building, street, parking lot, and sidewalk. Back and forth, back and forth, she repeated the process again and again until her eyes felt as though they might cross. At some point, the shooter on the balcony disappeared, and a few minutes later, Vaughn confirmed that the threat had been neutralized.
As the first drops of rain began to fall, a sedan matching the description of the one owned by Antonina Petrov pulled into the parking lot beside the Thai restaurant. The driver’s door opened and a woman stepped out wearing pale denim, a burgundy blouse, and dark-colored sneakers. Caucasian, early thirties. Slender build, above average height. A little older, and her blonde hair was shorter than in the picture Vaughn provided, but the face hadn’t changed one bit.
Her husband was with her: tall, tanned, and muscular, dressed in all black with a pair of aviator sunglasses hooked on the collar of his shirt. His posture was ramrod straight, his hair cropped close to his skull. With his hand at the small of her back, they hurried across the lot to the restaurant. And even though a number of women were checking him out, he only had eyes for his wife.
“Target has arrived,” Essie told Vaughn, and got another clipped, “Copy,” in response.
The couple sat at what she’d been told was their usual table in the outside patio area that stretched across the front of the building. Within minutes, a waitress who clearly knew them by sight stopped at the table with glasses of water, chatted for a few minutes, and jotted down their orders. As the waitress walked away, the man reached across the table and gripped Petrov’s hand, and the genuine affection in his eyes made Essie feel like an intruder.
Which she was, but for a good reason. The poor bastards were totally oblivious to the seven-figure price tag on the woman’s head. If Essie did her job right, they’d remain blissfully ignorant about the danger all around them.
While the pair waited for their meals to arrive, Essie continued to sweep the area for signs of the Russian assassins, but she saw nothing or nobody to sound an alarm. Down below, traffic was light, while the rain had mostly cleared the street of pedestrians. Pashkevich’s earpiece had gone silent, and she wasn’t sure what to make of that. The device may have simply stopped working, or Bazarov may have realized his op was compromised and switched to an alternate form of communication.
A sense of unease snaked down her spine as rain soaked her clothes. Something was off, she could feel it, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
Her gaze returned to the café, where Petrov and her husband were still waiting for their meals. He must have said something amusing, because she tipped back her head and laughed. Moments later, a waiter arrived with fresh drinks, and Essie’s eyes nearly shot out of her head.
