Chapter 30

When Meredith pulled up to the Palazzo, any hopes they had of avoiding a scene disappeared. The busy driveway was full of employees and guests.

“So much for a subtle entrance,” Meredith said. “Do you want me to try to find another door?”

“No. Our best bet is going through the lobby.” Kostya tightened his grip on the zip-ties as the Assassin shifted to get a better view. “They will know we’re here before long regardless.” In Kostya’s mind he tried to strategize like Petro Vlasenko. Their public arrival wouldn’t hurt them, and it might work to their advantage. Vlasenko would know they had arrived immediately, and besides, his cronies were less likely to fire into a crowd.

Meredith pulled up to the valet stand, jumped out of the car, and circled around the hood, trading the keys for a ticket. Behind her, Kostya “unpacked” the Assassin, pulling him out of the car by his zip-tied and towel-wrapped, blood soaked wrists. He kicked him forward like a handcuffed criminal, causing a stir among the bellboys and gaining the attention of several guests gathered on the patio outside the lobby. Kostya pressed the pistol, hidden by his jacket folded over his arm, into the Assassin’s back.

“Don’t even think that I won’t fire with everyone here,” Kostya growled.

“I want to be done with this as much as you do, Cossack,” the man snarled in Russian. “Petro is not going to let this insult go.”

“I can’t wait to discuss it with him,” Kostya remarked sarcastically. He stopped for Meredith to catch up, and they entered the large lobby. Marble tiled floors led to the main counter where several clerks were filling reservations. Guests sat in smaller sitting areas set with velvet couches and decorative armchairs flanked by modern steel and glass tables. Along the sides of the room were pillars connected with wide arches decorated with gold ornamentation that Kostya realized housed cameras. Although installed for hotel security, there was no doubt that Vlasenko had access to the feed. Vlasenko’s eyes were everywhere.

Meredith ran ahead as they walked over to one of the house phones and Kostya held the phone to the blond man’s ear. “What room is it?”

The Assassin scoffed and hissed.

“He’s in the suite on the seventh floor. Room seven hundred,” Meredith stated, returning from the registration desk. Kostya looked at her with confusion. She smiled. “Hey, when all else fails, ask.”

Kostya nodded and shoved the Assassin across the center of the lobby. As they passed, several people looked over newspapers and watched over their coffees, interested in the drama unfolding with the three of them. Kostya continued, unconcerned, but Meredith followed them nervously.

“How are we going to do this, Kostya?” she whispered. “We’re attracting too much attention.”

Kostya grinned. “You’d attract attention anywhere, dushen’ka.” He grabbed the Assassin’s arms and pushed him toward the elevators. “In this case, drawing a little attention will alert our host of our presence. Just follow me.”

They entered one of the two elevators, and just before the doors slid shut, they were joined by a conspicuous rock-of-a-man dressed in a black suit. Quiet, clean, and deadly, he fit the stereotype for the Russian Mafia almost exactly. He assessed the zip-ties on the Assassin’s wrists and frowned. He was no doubt one of Petro’s men. Kostya pushed the button for the seventh floor, and wasn’t surprised when the man inserted his key card for access to the restricted floor. The elevator rose slowly, but no one spoke until they stepped out on the top floor into a foyer outside the Grand Suite.

The foyer was like the point of a triangle, with hallways to access the guest rooms stretching out at forty-five degree angles from the elevator doors. There was a rose-colored tufted bench facing the elevators, and a couple silk, potted trees, but little in the décor set this hotel apart from the many others built in the 1990s.

Stepping out of the elevator, two more guards, dressed in black suits, came forward. They immediately recognized the Assassin, and pulled and cocked their guns on Kostya and Meredith. Kostya turned so they knew he had a gun pointed at the Assassin’s back.

“Calm down, guys. We only want to talk to Vlasenko.” Kostya stared at the two guards and slowly raised his hands while the Assassin ducked behind the men and disappeared down the hall. Meredith winced as he escaped, but Kostya didn’t flinch. They were inside. They didn’t need him anymore.

“What makes you think he wants to see you?” the taller, darker man rebuffed him.

“We have something that Vlasenko is really going to want.” The guards looked at each other, but did not lower their weapons. “Go on. Call him. Let him know that Kostya Dychenko and Meredith St. Claire are here.”

“I thought we were avoiding Petro,” she whispered to Kostya in English.

“Slight change of plans.” Kostya flashed his crooked grin. “Trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?” Meredith rolled her eyes and frowned. “I don’t like the way the blond one is staring at me.”

Kostya scrutinized the guards whispering to each other. The blond started circling Meredith, who was on his left, his gun still raised.

“You want to see Vlasenko? Slide your gun over here,” the larger, darker man ordered.

Kostya hesitated, assessing his options. Two men against one he could manage, but there were likely other men just steps away. The risk might be worth it if he were here alone, but if anything happened to Meredith, he would never forgive himself.

As if sensing the dilemma, the blond stepped over to Meredith, hooked his arm around her neck, and put his gun right to her head. Meredith struggled against him, but he just held tighter. Kostya instinctively lunged toward her, but pulled back when the darker man cocked the pistol still aimed at his head. The guard sneered, seeing Kostya flinch. Whimpering, Meredith’s eyes flashed with concern. He couldn’t get a good shot at the blond without Meredith in the line of fire, and he’d never hit both of the guards before the darker man fired.

“Shut up. Stay there and don’t try anything, or this pretty thing will pay the price.” The guard stroked Meredith’s hair and sniffed her. “Maybe I’ll take a taste of her before I shoot her. I bet she’d be sweet and juicy, no?” The two guards laughed, and Kostya fought to keep control while Meredith struggled to get free.

Kostya blew out his breath and slowly lowered his hands, his pistol hanging from his finger. Smoothly he slid the weapon across the floor with sufficient force that it glided not only away from him, but past the two guards as well. He stepped back with his hands in the air.

“Let her go. I will kill you if you hurt her.” Kostya zeroed in on the blond like a hunter stalking his prey. The guard loosened his grip on Meredith slightly. “Just call in there. Tell Vlasenko that Kostya Dychenko and Meredith St. Claire are here, and I have the chip.”

“No need, Alexei. Vlad. I’m already here.” Petro Vlasenko’s voice was commanding but low as he stepped into view. A tall, lanky man with silvering hair, Petro strode in wearing a navy-blue suit and red silk tie. The guards immediately straightened, evidence of their loyalty and to Vlasenko’s rank. Kostya could feel Vlasenko’s stifling charisma swirl throughout the space until the air around them became thick—unbreathable without using conscious thought. Visibly tensing, the two guards kept their weapons fixed on Kostya and Meredith, but deferred to the man as he entered, giving plenty of space for him and his two guards.

Kostya thought the years after the Kiev protests had prepared him—he distanced himself from Petro’s betrayal by quitting Spetnaz-Alfa, by going to university, by choosing a simple life. Now he realized a millennium would’t have been enough to separate him from the terror that was Petro Vlasenko. He instinctively stepped in front of Meredith as Petro approached them.

“What is this?” Vlasenko demanded as soon as he walked into the space. “Imbeciles. Do you know that this is a U.S. Senator’s daughter you have your gun pointed at?” He gestured wildly, pushing the guard and the gun away. “Damn. What a goat rodeo this is.” Sweeping over to Meredith, he grasped her hand and led her to sit on the bench across from the elevator. “I am so sorry, my dear,” he said with over-the-top concern.

Kostya growled and charged toward them, only to be stopped by the guards lifting their weapons. Kostya raised his hands and stepped back.

Vlasenko rose from the bench and moved toward Kostya. Making a show of sizing him up, he circled Kostya with an amused glint in his eye. With arms outstretched, he stopped in front of him.

“What? No greeting from my favorite little Russian?” He laughed at himself and moved up and tapped him on the cheek. “It’s been years, Kostya. Have you missed me?”

Kostya frowned and turned away.

“So, I have to know. What did you, the dirty Cossack, think when you found out your precious computer work was for me? Did you get physically ill, Kostya? Did you get angry?” Vlasenko baited.

“We need to talk, Petro.” Kostya spoke directly, not playing with the nonsense. “I think we can help each other.”

“Ha. That’s not likely,” Vlasenko shot back. “I’m still trying to clean up the mess of components you left for me in Kiev. But first, let’s relive some memories. Happier times, so to speak.” Vlasenko paced around Kostya, coming behind him before he spoke.

“Do you ever think about the day you betrayed the Spetnaz and your country?” He circled Kostya and stood behind him, taunting him with his question.

“I am no traitor.” Kostya didn’t even flinch. “My Ukraine doesn’t execute their own civilians for having an opinion. My Ukraine doesn’t murder to silence the opposition.”

“You’re still harping on that, are you? Rights. Freedom. People’s voice,” Vlasenko sassed, then started to pace. “Enemies of the state must be stopped by any means necessary!” Vlasenko shouted, and then pasted a sickly smile on his face. “You know my brother has not been able to enter the Ukraine since your betrayal. So much for your ‘freedom’.”

“How is Stas?” Kostya blinked stoically, zeroing in on the man’s weakness.

Vlasenko stopped and spoke just inches from Kostya’s face. “You haven’t earned the right to even speak his name.”

“Maybe so, but I have an offer that both of you might like.” Kostya gestured back down the hallway toward the suite. “I’d prefer to talk about it privately. I assume your suite is secure?”

“Of course it’s secure.” Vlasenko frowned. “You’re not the only one with a technical mind around here. In fact, what makes you think we haven’t already solved the problems you left us?”

“If they were solved, you would be preparing four missiles, not just one.” Kostya stared down Vlasenko, and Vlasenko’s jaw clenched. Kostya took a step toward the hall. “Now, shall we?”

“Miss St. Claire?” Vlasenko held out his hand to Meredith. Under Kostya’s narrow gaze, Meredith politely took his hand to help her up, but moved up next to Kostya. Petro said a few things to the guards in Russian, and one man hurried down the opposite hallway. The other guards continued to flank them.

“He instructed the guard to find medical care for the Assassin. The others are watching us,” Kostya quietly translated for Meredith. Meredith nodded. “This is going to be the tricky part.”

They followed Vlasenko into the business suite, Kostya and Meredith shadowed by the guards. In the center of the large room was an oval-shaped conference table surrounded by leather chairs. On the sides of the room, the hotel had set up water and coffee service and had supplied a stocked bar. Several people, dressed in business suits or military regalia, were sitting in clusters around the table or standing at the sidebar pouring drinks. Petro instructed the guards to lead Kostya and Meredith to the side of the room, and as they entered, the others stopped and scrambled to their places. Vlasenko cleared his throat and addressed them all.

“Officers of Fire of Dawn, please meet our guests: Mr. Kostya Dychenko, computer engineer, and Miss Meredith St. Claire, U.S. Senator’s daughter.” He gestured toward them as if he were a game show host introducing the prizes for winning. “Today we have a treat, because Kostya, the little Russian, Kostya, says he can offer us help. Should we see what the Cossack thinks he can do?”

The other leaders in the room followed Vlasenko’s lead and laughed, their focus centered on Kostya. Vlasenko gestured to two chairs on the end of the table before he swept to his place at the head of the table.

“It’s Dr. St. Claire,” Kostya said, still standing while everyone sat.

Vlasenko turned his chair toward him, confused. “What?”

“She’s a doctor. Meredith should be addressed as Dr. St. Claire.” Kostya stared Vlasenko down until Vlasenko blinked his eyes.

“All right. I’m not sure what difference it will make.”

“It will make a huge difference when she is the only thing keeping you alive after a failed attack. Or if she has to treat you for a gunshot wound,” Kostya annunciated clearly. “Dr. Meredith St. Claire.”

All eyes in the room were on this exchange until Vlasenko deferred to Meredith and did a slight head bow.

“My apologies, Dr. St. Claire.” Meredith nodded back politely. Kostya took the small win although he wasn’t pushing the issue for Meredith’s sake. Taking the upper hand against Vlasenko, even in this small way, would have a psychological impact on everyone in the room. By witnessing Vlasenko give in, they would, at least subconsciously, see Kostya as the dominant male—the alpha dog.

Vlasenko raised his voice impatiently to Kostya. “Now that the details are squared away, can we get started?”

Kostya had to stifle a smile. Vlasenko had asked his permission to start.

“I’ll explain what I can do, and then I’ll leave it up to the officers to decide if Fire of Dawn can benefit from my work.” Now he was giving the officers instructions. Brilliant.

Kostya carefully presented the details of his work to the officers. Then, he laid out his fictional reasons to join Fire of Dawn. In Kiev, Mik had lied to him about the job and convinced him he needed to destroy his work. When he fled to the U.S., Immigration refused him, but Meredith, who he knew from her work with Doctors Without Borders, left with him so they could be together. Kostya was disenchanted by the status of the Ukraine and the failure of the government to find the criminals who killed his parents.

“Why should we believe you?” Vlasenko said.

“What choice do you have?” Kostya replied. “If you want to get a missile in the air on November twenty-first, I’m your only hope.”

“Why? Do you think we haven’t been able to fix it without you?” Vlasenko bluffed. “There are other talented computer engineers in the Ukraine.”

“Not like me,” Kostya said. “I spent six weeks working on the systems, and I know them perfectly. I’m the only person who has mapped out the encoder chip. I can complete the puzzle and get the control center and the missile communicating. Without my help, you can’t launch.”

Some of the officers starting whispering to each other. Vlasenko started looking a little uncomfortable. One of the men, wearing military-style pants and jacket, tentatively raised his hand. Both Kostya and Vlasenko recognized him and pointed to him to talk.

“How did you know the date? The date has been secret, only known to this group.”

Vlasenko looked at Kostya with a puzzled look. “I’d like to know that, too.”

Kostya realized that the date was intelligence that TRUST had figured out, and not something the person he was portraying would know. He took a breath to try to give and explanation when Meredith jumped in.

“Seriously? It’s the only day an attack like this could be made and be interpreted correctly. The attack would tell the world that The Day of Dignity and Freedom is a farce. It is celebrating a Ukrainian-created independence that doesn’t exist. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.” Meredith rolled her eyes.

The officers laughed at her “rocket scientist” quip, and Kostya looked at her and discreetly nodded a thank you.

Vlasenko walked behind Meredith and Kostya, and reached over and squeezed Kostya’s shoulder. “So the question remains, what can you do for us? You know, it’s the only question keeping you alive.”

“That, and the fact that I still have the computer chip to the encoder component.” Kostya grinned.

Vlasenko’s eyes flashed, and he looked greedily at Kostya. “You still have it. Where is it?”

“Would that be smart of me to just hand it over?” His lips turned up into a mischievous smile. “I have it somewhere close. But you don’t need it if you have me.”

“What do you mean? The chip is the key. It creates the code between the control center and the missile that opens the fuel valve and allows the launch.” Vlasenko was losing his patience.

“I memorized the algorithm. If everything else is online and working, which it should be since I’m the one who reverse engineered the components, it will take me about fifteen minutes and a laptop computer to get the system communicating and predict the sequence for the next launch.” Kostya’s announcement was met with excited whispering by the officers.

“Petro, we’ve been trying for two weeks, and nothing,” one of the officers, wearing a business suit and taking notes, said. “He said just fifteen minutes. Let him try.”

The muttering and whispering continued until Vlasenko raised his hands in frustration. “Enough. Do you think that everything he said is truth?” Vlasenko spun and faced Kostya, causing several of the officers to jump in their chairs. “What is your motivation? You wouldn’t do this unless you had something to gain,” he sneered. “Tell us why we can trust you are serious.”

Kostya had everyone’s attention. Now was the time to turn on the drama. “Because the bastards killed my parents to keep them quiet,” Kostya snarled. “My own people killed my parents, first by starving them with an economy so poor it forgot the people in its heartland, and second, by refusing to handle the criminals who continue to waste our country with vandalism, larceny, burglary, and arson.” He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “They burned my parents alive. For this I want new leadership. I want a powerful group who can bring liberty through a firm understanding of law.”

The room was silent for a few moments. One of the officers, visibly touched by Kostya’s explanation, stood and came forward to shake Kostya’s hand. Others muttered things like, “Liberty will come through the fire of the missile” and “Justice through Novorossiya.” Meredith stood beside him dutifully, playing the role of a love-struck woman beautifully. Kostya had gone in the room a prisoner and was emerging a leader.

During a short break, everyone stood and milled around talking, and many came up to meet Kostya. During the exchanges, one of the guards came in and whispered to Vlasenko. He nodded, and glowered at Kostya, the officers rallying around him. Aware of Vlasenko’s movements, Kostya felt him shift his gaze to Meredith. Their eyes met uncomfortably, Meredith shifting her feet and crossing her arm in front of her, as Vlasenko leered at her like he knew something. Meredith shook off the unspoken communication, but even when she turned away, his eyes followed her. This wasn’t good.

Kostya moved to stand close to her in a purely Alpha territorial move.

“Are you okay, dushen’ka?” He took her hand.

“I’m fine, but I wish I knew why he was looking at me like that. It’s really creepy.” Meredith shuddered.

“He’s a pretty creepy guy,” Kostya said. “We’re okay. Just stay confident.”

Vlasenko called everyone to order again, and people shuffled to their seats.

“I think we have all been impressed with Kostya and his promises to do certain things. While I agree he is a talented engineer, we know that it is human nature to work more effectively when there is something at stake.” With a curved finger, Petro signaled to two of his men in the back of the room. Before Meredith realized what was happening, they flanked her, holding pistols at their sides. Petro smirked at the group and addressed Meredith.

“Dr. St. Claire, will you join me?” He stood, pushing his chair away.

Meredith exchanged glances with Kostya, who frowned and watched cautiously as the men escorted Meredith next to Petro.

Vlasenko put his arm around her shoulder, and she shrunk uneasily. “Meredith—oh, I mean Dr. St. Claire—you also have value to this operation, you know. In economics they call it incentive—a carrot to encourage certain behavior.” Meredith tried to shrug out from under his shoulder, but his grasp just tightened. Kostya stood to move forward, but he felt a hand on his shoulder and the familiar pressure on his back—a gun’s barrel. Kostya raised his hands helplessly. “You, apparently, are quite an incentive to our little Russian, Meredith.”

“Don’t do this,” Meredith mumbled. The guards nudged in closer, holding guns ready.

“I have arranged for you to stay with me, and a few guards of course, until Kostya has successfully ensured the launch of the missile in Cherkasy.”

“No, you can’t do this. Your issue is with me, not with her, Vlasenko. Threaten me. Leave her alone,” Kostya protested.

Vlasenko continued, unfazed. “If Kostya is successful, Meredith, you will be given a free pass to leave my country and never return. If Kostya is not successful, well, I hate to talk about failure, but let’s just say that you will still be leaving, but in a box that will be sent to your father’s office on Capitol Hill.”

“You son of a bitch,” Kostya said. “This isn’t part of the deal.”

“Ah, that’s the beauty,” Vlasenko jeered. “We have no deal. What we do have is an impasse. You have something of mine and now I have something of yours. Take her away.”

The guards, who had been standing by, grabbed Meredith and forced her into handcuffs. As she struggled and cried for help, Vlasenko waved her away like he was having the guards take out the trash. How could I be so naïve, so stupid?

“Meri, I will come for you. I will stop this madness,” Kostya roared after her.

“Kostya,” she pleaded, tears in her eyes. “Leap tall buildings.” Her words, spoken in English, would have meant nothing to Vlasenko even if he understood, but Kostya knew exactly what she was telling him to do: save the world first and then worry about her. His heart was torn apart as she was forced down the hallway.