It was faint, but it sounded like cars approaching. The sounds grew louder and more distinct. Definitely car engines—more than one—closing in on the farmhouse. Now Vlad cocked an ear. Brakes squealed. Car doors slammed. Men’s voices shouted. Vlad gestured to the guard holding Georgia.
“Who is here?”
The guard flipped up a hand.
“Zhopa!” he hissed. “Go see.”
The guard pulled out his gun and hurried into the kitchen. Savannah’s cries stopped. Georgia heard the guard shout something in Russian. The screen door squeaked as it was flung open.
Vlad glared at Georgia. “It is cops?”
Georgia shook her head, but she knew who had arrived. The Russians. Her call had gone through. Vlad started toward her, his hand raised as if he was going to hit her. At the same time they heard a commotion in the kitchen. A series of shots rang out. They came from outside, but close enough to cause alarm. A woman shouted in Russian. Zoya.
His arm still raised, Vlad listened. His eyes widened. He pulled out his pistol. “Come!” He shoved Georgia across the living room away from the kitchen, one hand jabbing the pistol into her back. When he reached the other side, he swept aside a pair of drapes with his free hand. Behind them was a patio door. He slid the door open. Georgia shrank back at the rush of frigid air.
“Go,” he ordered. “Outside. Now!”
Georgia took a tentative step. A floodlight flicked on. Georgia wheeled around and yelled toward the kitchen. “Do it, Savannah! Now!”
Vlad pushed her through the door, which caused her to stumble and fall into the snow. But before she could use her fall to knock him off balance, he grabbed her arm and yanked her back upright. Then he shoved the barrel of the gun against her temple.
“Vanna!” Vlad called out, his voice tight. “Come back and watch me kill sister.”
A grunt came from the kitchen. A rustle and thud followed. What was happening?
Georgia tried to take stock. They were in the backyard of the farmhouse. But the throw of the floodlight was dim, and she couldn’t make out how big the yard was. Or whether there was a way out. She began to shiver. She had only seconds before Vlad pulled the trigger.
“Vanna…,” Vlad insisted. “This is last chance.”
Goddammit, Georgia thought. Where was Savannah? Had she found a gun? Or was she taken down? Why didn’t Boris’s men come around to the back?
More shouts from the front. A burst of machine-gun fire. The lights inside the house flickered. Then silence. A shout here and there broke through, but then a vast stillness reclaimed the night.
Though the light wasn’t the best, Georgia saw patches of red flare on Vlad’s face. A bright anger suffused his eyes. Georgia sensed he was waging a fierce internal struggle. Why didn’t he pull the trigger? Was he trying to assess the damage? Perversely, that gave her a burst of courage. She hadn’t followed his bread crumbs all the way out here just to lose everything. Could she throw him off balance with a jab of her elbow or foot?
Vlad called out in Russian. It was clearly a question, but all she could make out was the word “Zoya.” He was asking Zoya what was going on.
There was no answer.