CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 

 

 

Payne knew their plan had gone to shit the instant the floorboard had creaked, which is why he had cursed so loudly behind the circulation desk.

Now he was forced to enter the fray and leave Marissa behind.

Despite his size, Payne was incredibly light on his feet. He had the ability to sneak through jungles, deserts, forests, or snow, without making a sound—so the tiled floor of a public library was hardly a challenge.

Directly across from the circulation desk was a long chain of tables that had been pushed together, each draped by a green tablecloth that hung below chair level. Payne knew it would give him adequate cover as he moved closer to the Russians. After signaling Jarkko, he covered the distance between the desk and the tables in less than a second, then he scooted along the floor until he reached the far end of the row.

Now Jarkko was to his left and the goons were on his right.

In a matter of seconds, blood would be spilled.

 

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The henchman who wanted to be a plumber had remained in the stairwell while his comrades were gunned down, one after another. Although he was racked with guilt, there wasn’t much he could do since one of their foes had positioned himself above the main door. The plumber realized if he charged forward to help, he would quickly be another corpse on the floor.

So he waited. And he waited. And he waited some more.

Until his patience paid off.

The gunman above the door finally left his perch and made his way toward the back of the room, followed by the smuggler in the puffy shirt. And last but not least, the muscle-bound warrior left the circulation desk, leaving the woman behind.

If the plumber was going to make a move, this was the time to do it.

So he took a deep breath and crept forward.

 

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Jones knew he was in deep shit when he saw the bastard’s grin. Soldiers from Russia rarely showed positive emotions when engaged in battle. They preferred to stay cold and clinical, just like their training, so a smile that wide meant something horrible.

Then he saw what it was through the hole in the floor.

The henchman from hell had a grenade in his hand.

And then he didn’t.

Because he had leaned forward and tossed it onto the ledge.

At that moment, Jones had a decision to make—and less than a second to make it. Should he grab the grenade and throw it back toward the goons? Or would the damn thing go off before it left his hands? And even if he managed to redirect it, would the ancient ledge with the bullet holes be able to sustain the blast?

Of course, he could always catch the grenade and try to throw it far away, but during the past several seconds, he had lost sight of his friends—thanks to the barrage of bullets that had been pumped through the floorboards. He didn’t want to endanger their lives, so he ruled that out the instant it crossed his mind.

Unfortunately, that left him with no good options.

And one really dangerous one.

So he opted for that and made the most of it.

Using the iron railing like the monkey bars he had mastered as a kid, Jones jumped over the top bar while twisting his body. This allowed him to catch the bottom rail and swing back underneath the ledge where the two goons were hiding.

The grin left the henchman’s face when Jones crashed on top of him, slamming his head against shelf after shelf as Jones rode him all the way to the floor. At some point the impact shattered the goon’s skull, because the bumpy ride ended with Jones on top of a dead Russian leaking brains while staring at a live one with a gun in his hand.

The injured henchman couldn’t believe his luck. One of their targets had literally fallen from the sky and landed at his feet. Despite his pain, he raised his arm and put the gun in Jones’s face. But before he could squeeze the trigger, the grenade exploded above, producing a thunderous blast and a bright burst of light that filled the entire room.

And it happened directly over Jones.

 

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Payne had watched the events play out from his position behind the table.

He saw the grenade go up and Jones come down.

Right on top of the healthy gunman.

Payne stepped forward to make sure his friend was okay when he saw the injured Russian point his gun at Jones, so Payne did the only thing he could.

He raised his weapon and fired.

 

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With everyone’s focus toward the back of the room, the plumber crept in silence. He had no interest in tangling with one of the enemy gunmen, so he went after another prize.

Based on everything he had seen, the plumber knew that he would be the only henchman to survive this battle. He also realized if he left the library uninjured and empty-handed, that his boss would interpret that as failure, something to be punished with torture…or worse.

Which put him in a difficult position.

He had to return with something, but what?

And then he saw it.

The perfect trophy to take back to Volkov.

He snuck quietly toward the circulation desk where the injured woman sat alone, armed with a pair of scissors and a roll of tape. With a gun in his hand, he crept closer and closer until he was so damn close that he could practically hear her breath.

And that’s when he made his move.

There on the floor sat two matching gym bags.

Purchased by the enemy an hour before.

He grabbed the first one and quickly filled it with books and papers and anything he could find. Then he grabbed the second bag and immediately did the same.

Now the bags were filled with stuff.

Library stuff.

He could work with that.

He was about to turn and run for the door when he sensed some eyes upon him. He glanced up and noticed Marissa. She was hiding behind the desk with her scissors raised. At some point she had spotted him and had retreated to safety.

As far as he was concerned, she had the right idea.

So he followed her lead.

He grabbed the two gym bags and ran for the door.

 

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The bullet left Payne’s gun a split-second before the grenade went off. It whizzed through the air and struck the injured Russian in his head at the same time the device exploded.

The goon’s gun hand went limp as thunder roared above.

Thankfully for Jones, the grenade was merely a flash-bang—a nonlethal explosive that was meant to temporarily disorient an enemy’s senses—otherwise the entire side of the library would have come crashing down on him and the dead goons.

As it was, it was still enough to knock Jones silly and scare the shit out of everyone else in the room. Books vibrated on shelves and tables rattled as Payne and Jarkko turned from the blast and did their best to protect their ears and eyes.

Each of them had seen the grenade in the air, so they were semi-prepared.

Across the way, Marissa had no idea what had happened.

After watching the plumber sneak away, she remained in the alcove behind the desk until the coast was clear, but even then, the thunderous sound echoed in her mind.

As did the multiple deaths she had witnessed.

 

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Volkov’s plan had been simple.

His henchmen were supposed to enter with stealth, disarm the Finn and his unsuspecting bodyguards, and then summon Volkov by phone for the inquisition. His cadre of hackers had turned off the surveillance cameras from afar, so he didn’t have to worry about being seen.

Once inside the library, he had planned to find out everything he could about the Russian documents that the smuggler had received as payment from Bobrinsky and anything else that he could profit from before he disposed of the Finn and his men.

Some would think that Bobrinsky’s brutal death in Estonia had more than offset the perceived slap in the face, but Volkov had felt differently.

He would not be satisfied until everyone had suffered.

And yet, as he sipped his iced tea at the café outside the library, he was the one doing the suffering. His team had entered the building several minutes earlier, and he hadn’t heard a word from them since. That was very unlike this particular crew. They were elite soldiers, who had trained in the Russian military before taking positions in his organization. He had seen them in the field on many occasions and was confident in their abilities.

Obviously something had gone wrong.

But what?

He stared at the burner phone in his hand to make sure that it had a signal. Then he casually glanced around the plaza to see if anything seemed amiss. Everywhere he looked, people were enjoying their day, completely clueless of what was happening inside the library.

Just like he was.

Volkov was too seasoned of a criminal to do something rash—like sneaking inside to see for himself—but the longer he sat there, the more exposed that he felt.

Perhaps it was a mistake to send the entire team inside.

Maybe I should have kept someone by my side.

And then it happened.

One of his men opened the front door of the library. He stuck out his head, checked for possible resistance, and then stepped outside. In his hands were the two gym bags that the Finn’s bodyguards had purchased in Valletta and had carried with them to the library.

Volkov watched with fascination as his henchman took a deep breath, collected himself, and then headed toward the street ahead. He was halfway across the plaza when he spotted Volkov at a café table. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments—barely enough to register the glance—but in that instant, Volkov learned everything he needed to know.

His plan had failed miserably.

And the rest of his men were dead.