Claim Me(Capture Me: Book 3)(15)
For this new betrayal—for running to her lover—Yulia will pay.
Esguerra holds my gaze for a few more seconds before getting up and walking around his desk. Stopping in front of me, he says quietly, “You and I both know I owe you for Thailand, and if this is what you want—if she is what you want—then I won’t stand in your way. But she’s bad news, Lucas. Do what you must to get her out of your system, but don’t forget what she is and what she’s done.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” I give him a humorless smile. “I won’t.”
I haven’t yet decided how I’m going to punish Yulia when I get her back, but I do know one thing.
Her lover’s days are numbered.
* * *
That evening, I make arrangements to have Thomas—another guard I trust—keep an eye on Rosa. I don’t tell him why; I just ask him to follow her discreetly and to monitor all her emails and calls. My top priority right now is finding Yulia, but I haven’t forgotten about the potential danger Rosa poses to us.
When I’m back from Ukraine, I’m going to deal with her. First, though, I need to get Nora’s parents home and figure out how to get into Ukraine undetected.
I start by reaching out to Buschekov, the Russian official we met with in Moscow. I don’t mention Yulia’s escape, but I do give him the information I’ve uncovered so far about UUR. The more pressure I can bring to bear on Yulia’s agency, the better.
Unfortunately, Buschekov claims to be unable to help me with discreet entry into Ukraine, explaining that tensions are running too high between the two countries. I suspect he just doesn’t want to risk whatever agents he has in place there, but I don’t press him on this. If I had a firm lock on Yulia’s location, it would be different, but this black site is just a lead, and I need to preserve whatever goodwill we have with the Russians. That means there’s only one thing left to do.
I contact Peter Sokolov, Esguerra’s former security consultant, and ask him for help.
Peter saved Esguerra’s ass after the crash, but to do so, he let the terrorists take Nora, and my boss has sworn to kill him if he ever lays eyes on him again. I, however, do not share Esguerra’s feelings. In fact, I’m grateful that Esguerra is alive and well. I haven’t kept in touch with Peter, but I do have his email from before, so I send him a message explaining the situation. The Russian’s contacts in Eastern Europe are unparalleled; he’s the one who introduced us to Buschekov in the first place.
He doesn’t respond right away, but I don’t expect him to. I know he’s busy with his vendetta against the people on his list. Still, I’m hoping he’ll spare a moment to check his email. All I need is to have a couple of air control officials in Ukraine look the other way when I land in Kiev.
As one final step, I brief Diego and Eduardo on our upcoming mission.
“It’s going to be just the three of us,” I explain, “so we’re going to keep a low profile. We don’t want anyone catching wind of our presence there until we’re gone. The goal is to find out what we can and get out of the county in one piece. Is that clear?”
They both nod, and early the next morning, we load the plane with weapons, body armor, falsified documents, and everything else we’d need in case things don’t go according to plan.
Now I just need Peter to come through.
* * *
By the time we land in Chicago, there’s still no answering email from Sokolov, so I hand Esguerra’s in-laws off to our Chicago security crew and instruct the guards to see them safely home. Both of Nora’s parents seem relieved to be back on US soil, and I suspect we won’t be seeing them in Colombia again any time soon.
“So what’s the plan?” Diego asks when I return to the plane. “Are we flying to Kiev right away?”
“We might stop over in London for a day or two,” I say. “I’m waiting on a lead.” As I speak, my phone vibrates with an incoming message. Opening my email, I read the response from Peter, and a smile spreads across my face.
“Never mind,” I say, turning toward the pilot’s cabin. “We’re heading to Ukraine.”
21
Yulia
“So, tell us, Yulia,” Obenko says, leaning on the table. “Why didn’t you get on that plane?”
I remain silent and focus on taking small, even breaths. One inhale, one exhale. Then again and again. That’s all I can do at the moment. Anything else is beyond me. Somewhere out there, lurking at the edge of my consciousness, is the pain of betrayal, the kind of monstrous pain that will destroy me if I let it, and so I focus on the mundane, like my breathing and the flickering fluorescent lights above my head.
My hands are handcuffed behind me, and my ankles are secured to my wrists with a long chain. I’m still wearing the dress they captured me in, but they took off my wig at some point. I have no idea when that happened or where I am, since I have only a vague recollection of the hours that followed my capture. I know this is an interrogation chamber of some kind, with a wall-sized mirror and hard metal furniture, but I don’t know if we’re still in Kiev. I think I was driven somewhere from the warehouse, so perhaps not, but either way, it doesn’t matter.
I’m not getting out of here alive.
“Answer me, Yulia,” Obenko says in a harsher tone. “Why didn’t you fly out as you were supposed to, and how did you find the training facility? Are you working for Esguerra now?”
I don’t respond, and Obenko’s eyes narrow. “I see. Well, if you don’t want to talk to me, perhaps you’ll talk to Kirill Ivanovich.” He rises to his feet and gives the mirror a small nod before stepping out of the room.
A minute later, my former trainer walks in, his thin lips curved in a hard smile. Despite my best efforts to remain calm, my throat closes and cold sweat dampens my armpits as he approaches the table and sits down across from me.
“Why are you being so stubborn?” His knee brushes across my bare leg under the table, and I have to swallow to contain the vomit rising in my throat. “Are you a double agent, like they think you are?”
I try to move my leg, to shift away from his touch, but the chain keeps me in place. From this distance, I can smell his cologne, and my breathing speeds up until I’m almost hyperventilating. Desperate to control myself, I look down at the table, focusing on the oily stains marring the metal surface. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“Yulia…” Kirill’s hand grips my knee under the table, his fingers digging into my thigh. “Are you working for Esguerra?”
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I can survive this. I can keep the pain at bay. Inhale. Exhale.
His hand moves higher up my thigh. “Answer me, Yulia.”
Inhale. Exhale. I feel the darkness approaching, the blankness that shielded me during my capture, and I embrace it for once, letting my mind flit away from this room, away from the encroaching agony. It’s not me chained to this chair—it’s just my body. It’s just bones and flesh that will soon cease to be animate. There’s nothing they can do to hurt me because I’m not here.
I don’t exist in this place.
* * *
“—catatonic,” a man says. His voice sounds like it’s coming through a thick wall of water. I have trouble making out the words, and I struggle to push away the darkness as he says, “You’re not going to get any answers from her this way. Just end it. It’s obvious she’s gone rogue.”
“We need to find out what she knows,” another man replies, and I recognize this voice as Obenko’s. “Besides, if she’s not a double agent, maybe this can still be fixed.”
“You’re deluding yourself,” the original voice responds, and this time, I recognize it as belonging to Mateyenko, one of the senior agents who interrogated me after my return. “She’ll never forgive you for this.”
“Maybe not, but I have an idea,” Obenko says, and I hear the sound of retreating footsteps. My mind slowly begins to clear, and I open my eyes a sliver, peeking through my eyelashes.
I’m still in the interrogation room, but I’m no longer chained at the table. Instead, I’m lying on my side on the cold cement floor next to the chair, my wrists still handcuffed behind my back.
There are two men standing by the door—Kirill and Mateyenko. They’re speaking in low tones, occasionally glancing in my direction, and nausea twists my insides as darkness presses in again. Did Kirill touch me while I was out? Was he the one who unchained me and put me here?
“She’s awake,” Mateyenko exclaims, striding toward me, and I stop fighting off the darkness.
I’m not here.
I don’t exist.
* * *
“Yulia.” A cool hand brushes over my forehead. “Yulia, are you awake?”
The wall of water is back, messing with my hearing, but something about that voice catches my attention. The darkness dissipates, the wall of water thinning, and I open my eyes.
A blond boy is crouching over me, his eyes piercingly blue in his handsome face.
We stare at each other for a second; then my brother jumps to his feet. “Uncle Vasya,” he yells. “She woke up.”