Natasha left the café. She had no plans to contact Hardy when she found Rudin. She had worked hard, tracking the man to that dilapidated house, only to have him slip though her fingers. Sergei’s death would not be in vain. No, when she found Rudin, she was going to be the one who brought him to justice. No pretty boy American was going to take from her the satisfaction owed. After Rudin was in custody, she would call Hardy and give him an excuse for why she had not called him sooner. It was a matter of urgency and I needed to move fast. That should placate him.
Reaching the sidewalk, she heard her phone ring. It was her contact. She swiped a finger across the screen before tucking the phone under her hair. “Tell me you found him.” Focusing on the voice on the other end of the phone, she listened.
Striding up the sidewalk of the narrow, deserted street, she was paying too much attention to the caller and did not see the slow-moving black van to the right, until it was too late.
The van accelerated and came alongside Natasha before swerving left and coming to a halt, the tires screeching. The side doors were open. Two men jumped out and rushed her. She dropped her phone, threw back the right lapel of her open-front blazer. Before she could get to her weapon, the first man latched on to her right arm and twisted it behind her back. The second man took her pistol from her holster. The first man, who still held her arm behind her back, grabbed a handful of hair, took two steps toward the van and threw Natasha through the open doors.
She threw out her left hand to break her fall, her palm skidding across the rough fibers of the van’s carpeted floor. She landed on her stomach, her knees hitting the metal trim of the van’s running boards. The surge of adrenaline kept any pain from reaching her brain. She rolled onto her left side and brought her right foot up, ready to drive the heel of her shoe into the first target presented. She lined up her foot with the center of the man’s chest, the one who had thrown her into the van. She never got the chance to deliver her strike, however.
As the men approached the van, Natasha heard several loud bangs. The men’s shirts split open in several different spots. The second man staggered backward and hit the open door of the van before sliding to the pavement. The first man dropped to his knees, his upper body landing inside the van. Staring at Natasha, he appeared to have been shot. She was not going to be denied her revenge, however. She thrust her leg toward the man, the heel of her shoe landing squarely on the man’s nose. After a loud crack, streams of blood stained the carpet. His head rocked backward and he disappeared from sight. Before she could get to her feet, she noticed movement to the right.