The Russian ambassador, Nikolai Kozlov, stormed out of the room, his face a mottled red, his black eyes blazing.
Perched on the edge of her seat, Emily Chastain looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and glanced across the conference table at Viktor Sokolov, the Russian ambassador’s executive assistant. She reminded herself that she’d only been the interpreter. The ambassador wasn’t mad at her but at the information she’d translated.
Jay Phillips, the private investigator, shoved his notes into a folder and started to slip them into the briefcase he’d carried into the conference room at the Russian embassy.
Sokolov held up his hand. “Nyet,” he said in a commanding voice. In Russian he continued. “You will leave your papers and data with me.”
Emily translated. “He wants you to leave the documents.”
Phillips shrugged and laid the folder on the table. “The papers aren’t going to change anything. I signed a nondisclosure, and it pays for me to keep what I know to myself. I don’t share the information I compile with anyone other than my client. Otherwise, I would have no business.”
Emily gave Sokolov a shorter version of what Phillips had said.
Nevertheless the assistant’s heavy black brows veed over his nose and he gathered the stack of papers and photographs into a pile in front of him.
Phillips closed his briefcase and pushed to his feet. “Now that the meeting is over, I have an appointment across town in less than an hour.”
“If you no longer require my services, I should be going, too,” Emily said in Russian.
Sokolov’s intense stare turned on Emily. “You will keep the information you have translated private?”
Emily nodded. “I am very discreet. And I signed a nondisclosure agreement when I took this assignment. If we are done here,” she said, “I need to use the ladies’ room and then I need to leave before the traffic gets too hard to make it back to my apartment before rush-hour traffic gets bad.” She spoke the words in Russian. She started to pick up the notebook in front of her.
A hand came down on the notebook and the ambassador’s assistant said, “The notes stay.” He, too, spoke in Russian. The hard look on his face brooked no argument.
Phillips stiffened, his eyes widened, but he didn’t move from his position by the table.
Her heart beating fast, Emily secured her purse strap on her shoulder and stood. Still shaking from the force of anger the ambassador had displayed, Emily’s knees wobbled as she was escorted to the door, alone, without the investigator.
The Russian ambassador had stormed out of the room yelling so loud and fast, Emily couldn’t keep up with his Russian. In his wake, the remaining occupants of the small conference room had sat in stunned silence for moments afterward.
Emily couldn’t shake a bad feeling about this particular translation gig. The urge to exit the Russian embassy overwhelmed her. As she crossed the threshold of the room she made a quick glance over her shoulder at the investigator. He attempted to leave but the guard behind him pressed a hand to his shoulder and forced him to sit. The American investigator shot a worried glance at Emily. Again, in Russian, she said, “Perhaps Mr. Phillips would like to share a cab with me?”
The guard behind the investigator shook his head. “Nyet.”
Phillips looked at her again and nodded, as if to say she should go while she could. When she didn’t move forward, her hovering guard gave her a slight shove that sent her into the hallway. There wasn’t much else she could do for the investigator but hope and pray that nobody stood in his way of leaving the embassy.
The guard gripped her elbow and escorted her down the hall. If she hadn’t dug her heels into the tile when she passed the restroom he would have marched her all the way to the exit.
Emily pulled free of the hand holding her arm and ducked into the bathroom. For a moment she thought the guard would follow her. When he didn’t, she breathed a sigh as the door closed behind her.
What she had translated that day left her shaken.
The investigator had been hired to follow the ambassador’s daughter and to find out where she had been going in Washington, DC. Apparently she’d had a number of unescorted clandestine assignations with a young man her father considered dangerous to his position as the Russian ambassador to the US. The investigator had stopped short of naming names but the look he’d exchanged with the ambassador had been clear. The ambassador knew who she was seeing.
The anger Emily had heard in the ambassador’s voice led her to believe that he was livid enough to kill the young man and possibly even his daughter, Sachi.
Emily hadn’t been altogether sure that she would make it out of the embassy alive. Though she’d never felt threatened before when she’d come to do translations within the Russian embassy, the anger in the ambassador’s demeanor left her feeling anything but comfortable.
She quickly splashed water on her face and dried it with a paper towel. Then she straightened her shoulders and pushed through the door to exit the bathroom. As she emerged into the hallway a man wearing a press badge was being escorted into the embassy by two guards, each gripping one of the journalist’s arms.
Emily was certain she’d seen the young man before but she couldn’t quite place him at the moment.
The guard who had led her from the conference room grabbed her elbow and jerked her toward the exit. Emily was in just as much of a hurry to get out of the embassy as the guard was to get her out. She no longer felt safe.
As she worked her way to the door, a sense of urgency filled her. She had to get out of the building as quickly as possible. At the exit, she was stopped by another guard. The two burly men spoke in Russian, their speech so quick she only caught half of it. It appeared the guard at the door was reluctant to let her leave, whereas the other guard wanted her out as soon as possible. Finally her guard escort got her through the door and gave her a little push toward the gate leading off the embassy compound.
Hugging her purse against her body, and pulling her jacket tightly around her, Emily hurried for the gate. Again, she was stopped and questioned as to why she was at the embassy. She told them she had been there to translate. The guard at the gate waved her through and she was free.
Emily didn’t look back. Instead she kept going, walking faster and faster until she was almost running down the street. She didn’t stop running until she was several blocks from the embassy. Her heart beating fast, her breathing coming in ragged gasps, she finally stopped long enough to remember where she had parked her car. She had to backtrack to the lot where she had paid to park earlier that day.
As she crossed the street, a vehicle raced toward her without slowing. She quickened her pace but realized she wasn’t going to make it across in time. The vehicle barreled forward, increasing speed rather than slowing, as if the driver didn’t see her or had made her his target.
Emily dove for the sidewalk and rolled to the side. The vehicle rushing at her bumped up on the curb and nearly ran over her. If she hadn’t rolled once more, it would have crushed her. The driver didn’t stop to check that she was all right, but sped on, leaving her to pick herself up and dust the dirt off of her clothes.
A man reached down and gripped her elbow. “Are you all right?”
Emily nodded, her heart still pounding so hard she thought it might leap out of her chest. “I’m okay.” She tried to get a look at the license plate to report the reckless driver, but the car didn’t have a plate on the rear bumper.
Turning to the stranger, she said, “Thank you,” and gave him a weak smile. Moving past him, Emily glanced down at the damage done to her trouser leg, which now sported a dirt stain and a tear, wondering what her knee looked like beneath it. It stung and hurt when she flexed it. She couldn’t take care of it until she got home. After another glance around, she continued toward the car park. With nothing but a description of a dark sedan having nearly run her over, she gave up hope of turning in the man behind the wheel for reckless driving. Instead she slipped into her car, paid the parking lot attendant and drove out of downtown DC, putting distance between her and the Russian embassy.
Out of the downtown traffic, Emily drove onto a six-lane highway, crowded with people hurrying to get somewhere. A white van behind her sped up, swerved around her to the left and slammed into the side of her vehicle.
Emily held on to the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, struggling to keep from hitting the vehicle on her right. The driver on the other side of her honked as she crossed into his lane. Ahead of her, the van dodged in and out of traffic, leaving Emily behind before she could get a look at his license plate.
She slowed, unable to pull to the side of the road. The car behind her honked, the vehicles on either side boxing her in, keeping her moving steadily forward. She had no choice but to continue toward home. Shaken and paranoid, Emily held on tightly to the steering wheel, bracing for the next potential hit-and-run driver. What was wrong with people? Why were the drivers all bent on trying to run her over? After her encounter at the Russian embassy, she could swear they were deliberately attacking her. Or was she imagining it? Traffic was scary enough without aggressive people expressing their road rage with a three-thousand-pound deadly weapon.
By the time she drove into her neighborhood, Emily was tired, stressed and ready to kick her feet up and drink a glass of wine to calm her nerves.
The traffic light ahead turned green as she approached. She pressed the accelerator and entered the intersection.
A dark blue sedan shot out of the side road, completely ignoring the red light.
If Emily hadn’t been ultra-aware of her environment, she wouldn’t have reacted as quickly as she did. She slammed her foot on the gas pedal, pulling ahead just enough to avoid being T-boned by the other car. It missed hitting her rear bumper by a hair.
“What the heck?” Emily cried. She didn’t slow, pushing past the speed limit to the next street. A glance in her rearview mirror showed the vehicle that had almost plowed into her was turning in the middle of the intersection, aiming toward her.
After this third vehicular incident, Emily got a clue. Instead of driving straight to her apartment she drove past her complex, watching closely in her rearview mirror as the dark sedan followed.
She turned at the next corner and the trailing car continued on straight. She breathed a sigh of relief and headed toward her apartment, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. From all she could tell, no one was following her. She made a circuitous trip around the block before she pulled into the parking lot of her building.
Her heart still pounding, Emily slowed her vehicle and started to turn into her usual parking space.
Although it was still a part of a normal workday, there were several cars in the lot, most of which were empty. When she spotted the dark blue sedan, Emily’s heart did a flip-flop.
The windows were too darkly tinted to see inside.
A tightening in the pit of Emily’s stomach made her pause before parking. Her heart sped up as she lifted her foot off of the brake and applied it to the accelerator. Instead of turning into her parking space, she whipped through the lot and out the other end of the apartment complex.
As she turned back out onto the road, she glanced into her rearview mirror and saw again the dark sedan pulling out of the parking lot, following her. She raced to the next street and turned.
The blue sedan stayed right on her tail.
Not knowing what to do, she chose a busy thoroughfare and rushed out into the open, hoping and praying the traffic would help put some distance between her and the sedan. Whipping in and out of traffic and dodging vehicles, Emily did manage to put distance between her and her tail. When she thought she’d lost him, she called her friend Grace, using her car’s Bluetooth setup.
Grace answered on the first ring. “Hi, Emily, how’s it going?”
“I think I’m in trouble,” she said, her voice wobbling.
“What kind of trouble?” Grace’s voice was sharp, filled with concern.
“I’m not sure,” Emily said. “I think I’m being followed, and drivers have tried to run me off the road a couple of times in the past hour. I—I can’t go home.”
“Try to stay calm. You know you called the right person,” Grace said. “Charlie’s guys will help. Where are you now?”
Emily glanced around, for the first time aware that she hadn’t headed anywhere in particular, just away from trouble. “I’m on 395. I don’t know where,” she said. “Wait, there’s an exit sign.” She gave Grace her location and then glanced in her mirror once more. “Crap! There he is again,” she said.
“I’m going to text you a map coordinate,” Grace said. “It’s the address of my new employer. Go straight there, I’ll have somebody meet you at the gate.”
A beep sounded on her cell phone. Emily took her eyes off the road long enough to select the coordinates for her map on her phone to follow. She’d slowed just enough that the dark sedan behind her was quickly catching up. While her map application calculated the directions, she again weaved in and out of traffic, trying to lose her tail.
“Stay on the phone with me, Emily,” Grace said. “I have a team of people here at Charlie’s place. They can help you. You just have to get here.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” Emily promised.
She thought she’d been doing well and had lost her tail when she’d finally pulled off the main parkway onto a smaller road. But as soon as the traffic thinned, she looked behind her.
The dark-tinted vehicle was there and speeding up, closing in on her. The road she traveled now was lined with gated driveways. Besides the gates and the driveways, there was nothing else around. No cars. No people. Just her and the sedan that was quickly catching up.
“Are you still with me, Emily?” Grace asked.
“I’m here,” she said. This time when she glanced in her rearview mirror the vehicle behind her was racing toward her back bumper. Emily pressed her foot to the accelerator, shooting her little car forward. Her speed increased from fifty to sixty to seventy miles per hour. A caution sign on the side of the road indicated an upcoming curve, with a recommended speed of twenty-five miles per hour.
Afraid the vehicle behind her would rear-end her and send her flying off the road, Emily didn’t dare slow down. She gripped the steering wheel and raced into the curve at breakneck speed. As she navigated the radius, the rear end of her vehicle fishtailed and swung around. She almost went into a 360-degree spin, was able to correct her direction, but not soon enough to avoid the vehicle following her.
The car behind her slammed into her left rear fender, sending her back into the spin.
Out of her control, her car slid toward the edge of the road.
Emily squealed and held tight to the steering wheel as her vehicle bumped onto the shoulder, down into a ditch and up an embankment, slamming into a fence post. Upon impact, the airbags deployed, forcing her back against her seat, stunning her for a few precious seconds. Emily rubbed the dust out of her eyes and looked around. The fine powder of the airbag coated her skin and clothes and the dash of the vehicle.
In her rearview mirror, she could see the road behind her and the dark sedan parked at the edge. A man dressed in black, with a black ski mask pulled over his head, got out of the driver’s side and stood on the shoulder, staring down at her vehicle.
Emily didn’t move, praying her attacker would think she was unconscious and leave.
When he moved toward her, she couldn’t sit still, she had to get away.
Emily shifted her vehicle into Reverse and hit the accelerator. The rear tires spun, gaining no traction. She couldn’t go forward because of the fence post. She tried turning the steering wheel sharply to the left and hit the accelerator again. The back tire spun, shooting mud up behind her, but the vehicle didn’t budge.
“What’s happening, Emily?” Grace’s voice said over the phone. “What was that noise? Are you okay?”
“No, no, I’m not. I’ve crashed,” Emily managed to croak out as she struggled with what to do. “I have to… I’m getting out…” She couldn’t waste time talking. Escape was her only option.
The man on the side of the road scrambled down into the ditch, moving purposefully toward her. Emily tried to open her door to get out, but the door was jammed. She fumbled with the catch on her seat belt and finally got it loose.
Her pulse pounding loudly against her eardrums, Emily crawled across the console to the other side of the vehicle and pulled the door handle. When the door swung open, she fell out onto the ground, rolled onto her side, bunched her feet and knees up beneath her and rose.
When she raised her head above the car, she could see the man in black standing there, his hand rising, a gun held in his grip.
Emily’s heart leaped to her throat. She ducked back down behind the car as a shot rang out. Glass shattered, raining down from the window above her as Emily lay flat against the earth. The scent of gasoline, tire rubber and the mud beneath her nose filled her senses. But she couldn’t lie there for long. If her pursuer came any closer, he could easily pick her off with his handgun.
Unwilling to die that day, Emily rose onto her hands and knees. Keeping low to the ground, she crawled for the fence, slipped beneath the bottom rail and continued on toward the trees, praying she could find a place to hide until the crazy man following her gave up and went away. Or until Grace’s friends arrived to rescue her.