Chapter Nine

Yassen Gregorovich stalked across the rooftop to his helicopter in the dim light of an emerging dawn with the determination of a man who will stop at nothing. He awoke feeling more refreshed than the three hours sleep warranted, Kalina Moon's face with its half-smile a talisman in his mind. He would get her back that day, no matter who he had to kill for it. And he had a very good imagination when it came to killing Patel.

Scorpio had given him a team of men he trusted. They would descend on Patel's mansion like a plague, swift and deadly. The man from Scorpio must have seen something in Yassen's face, something which made him realise the Russian had to succeed and succeed well. Rarely did they give their employees such free reign, but Yassen had insisted. He would attack Patel with overwhelming force.

Curiously, he thought the information on the disc must be worth an incredible amount to Scorpio for them to willingly give him such resources. If Scorpio had turned round and said they didn't really care, however, Yassen would have gone ahead and raided Patel's mansion anyway. He was in that kind of mood.

He just couldn't stop thinking about the girl.

He hoped Patel didn't know they were coming. He didn't know what kind of surveillance the man had, but Yassen hoped he held the element of surprise.

Where is she right now? He wondered as the chopper lifted off from the rooftop and climbed the grey sky. What are they doing to her? Will she talk?

A thought occurred to him, and Yassen almost slapped himself on the forehead. Kalina didn't have the disc. Yassen did. Patel would wring that out of her, even if she didn't want to tell. Yassen was trained to withstand torture, but he doubted a young woman was. Patel would want Yassen.

Or turn tail and run…

Yassen flattered himself that Patel might not challenge him.

But he came for me at Peter Klunt's house. If he knows I have the disc he will want me. He smiled grimly. Let him try… I will bring the battle to him.

He gave a few last-minute orders across the radio to the other helicopters in the squadron. They carried almost two dozen men, and as the sun rose over the horizon to the East they descended onto Patel's mansion like avenging demons.

Kalina sat back on the bed, bloody and exhausted. Her fingernails were torn and seeping dark blood, her arms were scraped and bruised and her vest was torn across the middle. A crimson stain was growing through the khaki material making it stick in a patch to her side. The soldier lay unconscious on the floor before the door. His knife was on the ground by the bed. His slack face was marred by scratches, and his head rested close to the wall Kalina had smashed it against when she'd eventually got an upper hand in the struggle.

Her breath was coming in gasps, partly from fear, partly from the effort of fending off someone half again as big as her. She knew self-defence and, indeed, offence, but in such an enclosed space it was useless. A kick to the groin had got her slashed in the stomach but nothing else would have loosened the soldier's hands from her arms. Now she stared at the door, waiting for his comrade to come in and see what she'd done.

She swiftly picked up the knife and stood, assuming a feral position. The grill in the door opened and the soldier looked in, looked round for his colleague, looked back at Kalina and slammed the grill shut swearing. The door remained closed.

With a shaky sigh, Kalina checked her side. The cut wasn't deep and the blood was clotting fast. Just a flesh wound. Her arms hurt far more where strong fingers had dug in, and her broken nails stung painfully. She bit at them to remove the worst catches and winced as she tasted the coppery tang of her own blood.

Stepping back until she was against the corner of the room furthest from the unconscious soldier, she tried to control her breathing and regain full use of her quivering muscles, in case something else should happen. Patel obviously didn't care what happened to her, but armed and dangerous, anyone else wanting to come close would have to shoot her first.

Unless she fell asleep. They could always leave her there for days…

Kalina felt an overwhelming sense of despair. There was nothing left to do; no escape, only probable punishment for hurting a guard. She examined the long knife in her hand. All secret agents learn that if a situation gets too bad, and there really is no way out, a better alternative is sometimes death. It is always an option.

Yassen's forces spread out and tore through Patel's mansion like the highly-skilled soldiers they were. It was their job and they performed to a standard which made Yassen proud to be a member of Scorpio. Room by room, they slaughtered all who resisted. Those who gave quarter were disarmed, rounded up and placed in a holding cell guarded by four men. Yassen followed at the back of his men, walking through rooms they had already cleared, ignoring the opulence of the mansion but taking in every other detail; the layout, possible traps, anything which could be useful to an invading force.

He had expected more. Patel had a lot of men but most of them seemed servants. His guards were unprepared for an attack. Yassen found Patel in the office Kalina had visited, right at the end of the house. The double doors had been sealed and it was heavily-guarded by those who had fallen back from the attack. It took almost five minutes to gain entry, in which time Yassen imagined horrible things being done to Kalina, and Patel making his escape.

The ganglord, however, was sat patiently behind his desk. A tall man stood to his right in the manner of a butler or advisor. He was dressed well and regarded Gregorovich with the same imperial stare as did his master. Yassen, flanked by six men, stood behind the metal chair which was bolted to the floor, once his eyes had flicked over it in distaste and unease. He wondered who had sat there.

Light was just filtering through the window of the office, but a table-lamp provided more illumination. It cast odd shadows on the walls, creating an almost eerie atmosphere. Yassen felt the need to whisper and disregarded it. He glared at Patel, willing the man to look away. How dare he challenge Gregorovich and have the impertinence to look him in the eye.

"Patel" Yassen spat, adding disdain to his tone. "You have something of mine"

Patel seemed to frown. He drew himself up slightly in his chair. "Au contrare, Gregorovich. You have something of mine"

Now it was Gregorovich's turn to frown. Patel must mean the disc, he knew.

"I am glad you dropped by" Patel said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I was planning to call on you myself later today"

Yassen studied him. So the man had been coming after him. He wanted the disc that badly. Still, calling on Yassen unannounced was a mistake few people made and lived. The assassin felt a growing anger at the ganglord's attitude. He hadn't got where he was by letting people dominate him. Patel was sweating; he looked uneasy. Despite his bravado he knew he was done for. Now Yassen sneered.

"Do you think this is a social call? Do many of your social calls look like this?" He motioned to the six soldiers around him. Patel's frown deepened, the unease dissipating somewhat.

"You have the disc, Gregorovich. Why come here?" he said. Yassen was silent, and Patel broke out into laughter.

"You don't have the disc! The little bitch!" He looked at the tall man, whose face had taken on a mask of absolute fury. Patel continued laughing in great rolling chuckles, then stopped suddenly and looked at Yassen. "I'll help you kill her if you like"

Yassen stepped around the chair and loomed over the desk. The tall man moved forwards but six guns swivelled towards him and he froze. Yassen leant down and glared at Patel, and enunciating every word slowly and carefully, he whispered,

"I…have…the…disc. Now, where…is…she?"

"You want her?" Patel hissed back, incredulity crossing his face. He glanced to the tall man and opened his mouth in a toothy show of mirth. "She's probably dead by now. Or ruined… I hope for her sake she wasn't a virgin…"

He burst into laugher again, and Yassen's face twisted in anger. He lifted his gun and shot Patel in the chest once, twice. Patel fell silent. The tall man lunged for his own gun, concealed in his waistband, and was shot by three different soldiers. He fell to the floor, dead.

Yassen turned and faced his men. "I want this place searched. Find the girl"

As the soldiers left the room and spread out, Yassen stalked back to the hallway where he'd noticed the lift on the way in. He knew Patel had a dungeon, and that was the logical place for a prisoner to be. Motioning to two of his own soldiers he got into the lift and pressed the lowest button. The doors slid shut.

"Be ready" he said. The men readied their rifles and took up positions on either side of the door. Yassen stood behind one of them and waited, the tight feeling in his chest from Patel's words growing stronger with every passing second. He knew, and didn't really care, that it was fear.

As the lift doors opened, the two soldiers stepped into view of the corridor, and a surprised shout was heard in Portuguese, followed by a single gunshot from the man in front of Gregorovich. When he stepped out into the corridor he saw a swarthy soldier lying on the ground in front of the farthest cell.

The corridor was grey and dim, sparsely-lit and smelled of damp. Yassen told his men to go back upstairs, and the re-entered the lift. He waited for the doors to close before walking down the corridor to where he was sure Kalina was imprisoned.

On reaching the door he placed his left hand against the cool metal, gun still wielded by his right. He wished he could see through walls, or hear with his fingers what was within the room. He thought about opening the panel, peering through, but decided against it. Whatever he found would be there if he peeked at it or stared it in the face.

Taking a deep breath he grabbed the handle and pulled. Something clicked, and the heavy door swung open.

Kalina stood, slightly crouched, eyes wide and dilated with fear, blood-stained and pale, knife in raised fist. She flinched and then gasped.

"Yassen!"

Before he could react she attacked him. Her whole weight hit him in the chest and he heard the sharp clang of her knife as it clattered to the floor. Her arms went around his shoulders and her face buried in his neck, lithe body clinging to him for dear life. Instinctively, he put his arms around her and held her there.

"Yassen…" she repeated at length. "Thank you for coming"

She hadn't moved, and he stroked her back with his free hand while the one with the gun just held her weight. She was on tiptoes and leant against him. She felt cold.

"Are you ok?" he said gently. She nodded and mumbled,

"I may have killed the guard"

Yassen noticed the man on the floor of her cell. "Did he…?"

"It was his own fault" Kalina pulled back slightly, moved her hands to his chest, looked down shyly. "He shouldn't have tried to touch me"

Yassen's hand rose to stroke a bruised arm. "No" he said. "He shouldn't"

Kalina looked up and met his gaze. When she'd heard the shout, the gunshot, she'd felt a surge of hope but hardly dared to credit it. Now all she felt was relief and incredible warmth towards the man before her. He'd come for her, when she knew he wouldn't.

"Why did you…" she began, and stopped. She didn't know the right words. "I mean… you have the disc. You don't need me"

Yassen sighed. Kalina's hands were now on his arms, barely stroking through the fabric. He held her round the waist so she couldn't pull back. He didn't want to relinquish his hold.

"I wouldn't count on that" he said enigmatically. Kalina raised her eyes again to his. Yassen was studying her now, looking her up and down.

"You're hurt" he said, and pulled up her vest before she could protest.

"Just a scratch" Kalina flinched and stepped backwards now his hold was loosened. She was suddenly slightly embarrassed at hugging him, at his words. Did he really mean them? Gregorovich? He must have seen the indecision in her eyes because he lowered his hands.

"I'm sorry" he said. He was thinking he shouldn't have touched her after what she'd been through. And now her body language didn't invite his hands. She was looking at the floor again, and Yassen didn't know what to do. For a brief moment things had felt right, but the moment was gone. He turned on his heel. "We should leave" he said. "Patel is dead"

"Where are we going?" Kalina asked as she followed him to the lift.

"My employers" Yassen replied.

"What will you do with me?"

He looked at her. "I do not know yet"

In the lift, Kalina felt just how awkward the atmosphere had become. Things had shifted between them once again. She felt his lingering touch, how comforting it was and how much she'd needed it, and knew she'd ruined it all by pulling away. Yassen Gregorovich had held her in his arms but now his gaze was distant and cold. She felt gooseflesh rise on her bare arms and a chill spread in her soul, and she wanted the warmth of him back.