The woman rolls her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. If I get you your bag, will you lie down and behave?”
“Yes,” I lie, and watch as she walks to a cabinet on the other side of the room. Opening the cabinet door, she takes out my Gucci handbag and comes back.
“Here you go.” She thrusts the bag into my hands. “Now lie down before you fall down.”
I do as she says, but only because I need to conserve my strength for the journey ahead. It’s been less than ten minutes since I woke up here, and I’m shaking from the strain of standing. I probably do need to be under medical observation, but there’s no time for that.
I have to get out of Moscow before it’s too late.
The nurse begins to change the sheets on an empty bed next to mine, and I take out my phone to call Obenko.
It rings and rings and rings...
Shit. He’s not picking up.
I try again. Come on, come on, pick up.
Nothing. No answer.
Growing desperate, I try his number for the third time.
“Yulia?”
Thank God. “Yes, it’s me. I’m in a hospital in Moscow. I almost got hit by a car—long story. But I’m leaving now and—”
“It’s too late, Yulia.” Obenko’s voice is quiet. “The Kremlin knows what happened, and Buschekov’s people are looking for you.”#p#分页标题#e#
An icy chill spreads through me. “So quickly?”
“One of Esguerra’s people is well connected in Moscow. He mobilized them as soon as he learned about the missile.”
“Shit.”
The nurse gives me a dirty look as she gathers the sheets into a big pile on the empty bed.
“I’m sorry,” Obenko says, and I know he means it. “The team leader had to pull his people out. It’s not safe for any of us in Russia right now.”
“Of course,” I say on autopilot. “He did the right thing.”
“Good luck, Yulia,” Obenko says, and I hear the click as he disconnects.
I’m on my own.
I wait until the nurse leaves with the pile of sheets, and then I get up again, without any interference this time.
The panic circling through me is stronger than any painkiller. I’m barely cognizant of my headache as I walk over to the cabinet that held my bag and look inside.
As I’d hoped, my clothes are there too, folded neatly. I cast a quick look at the room entrance to verify that the door is closed, then strip off my hospital gown and put on the clothes I was wearing earlier. As I do so, I realize the lump on my head is not my only injury. The entire right side of my body is bruised, and I have scrapes all over.
That stupid drunk. I so should’ve shot him and his hyena friends when I had the chance.
No. I draw in a calming breath. Anger is pointless now. It’s a distraction I can’t afford. There’s still a small chance I may be able to get out of Russia. I can’t give up hope.
Not yet, at least.
I pull my hair up into a bun to make the long blond locks less noticeable, and then I do a swift check of the contents of my bag. Everything is there, except cash in the wallet and my gun. But that’s to be expected. I’m lucky the bag itself wasn’t stolen while I was unconscious. The lining at the bottom of the bag has some emergency cash sewn into it, and the thieves didn’t find it, as confirmed by the lack of rips inside.
Gripping the bag tightly, I walk to the door and step out into the hallway. The nurse is nowhere in sight, and nobody pays me any attention as I approach the elevator. Well, one elderly man in a wheelchair gives me an appreciative once-over, but there’s no suspicion in his gaze. He’s just looking, likely reliving his youth.
The elevator doors open with a soft ding, and I step inside, my heart beating much too fast. Despite the ease of my getaway thus far, my skin is crawling, all my instincts warning me of danger.
My room is on the seventh floor of the building, and the ride down is torturously slow. The elevator stops on each floor, with patients and nurses coming in and out. I could’ve taken the stairs, but that might’ve drawn unnecessary attention to me. Nobody uses those stairwells unless they have to.
Finally, the elevator doors open on the first floor. I step out, surrounded by several other people—and at that moment I see them.
Three policemen entering the elevator on the opposite side of the hallway.
Shit. I duck my head and hunch my shoulders, trying to make myself look shorter. Don’t stare at them. Don’t stare at them. I keep my gaze on the floor and stay close to a tall, heavyset man who lumbered out of the elevator ahead of me. He walks slowly and so do I, doing my best to look like I’m with him.