Rainey swam up from a dark sleep. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry as wood shavings. She recognized the faint metallic taste. Somebody had drugged her. Taken her somewhere.
The light beyond her eyelids told her it might be late afternoon. The rancid cloth stuffed in her mouth almost made her gag, but she controlled her response.
She focused on the sounds around her, eyes still closed, body stock still.
A gang of starlings made an uproar as they sang to each other in trees nearby. At the nunnery, a huge flock had gathered like this in the afternoon, sharing the news of the day. The nuns called it their satsang.
Now she was sure of the time. She’d been out a good part of the day.
In the near distance, voices called to each other, but she couldn’t make out any words. An engine started up, maybe a boat. In the far distance, the gentle lull of waves.
No breeze blew over her, so she knew she was inside. She listened for any movement.
Nothing.
She wiggled her fingers, then tried to move her wrists. Tied tight. Same with her ankles.
“I know you’re awake.” The Russian accent said it all.
For a second, Rainey thought she’d play possum, but her small movements had already given her away. She tried to move her head, but it was strapped down. She opened her eyes, squinting against the light from the window, and studied her host next to her.
Close cropped dark hair barely covered his round head. His generous nose started out straight, then veered to the left. Black pants and work boots. The top of an inked skull peaked above the neck of his dark t-shirt. A killer, if she remembered her Russian tattoos correctly.
“Sleep well?” He had the rough voice of a life-long smoker.
Rainey tried to move, but straps across her chest, hips, and knees stopped her.
“You must eat clean. No drugs or booze? That dose really knocked you out.”
He pulled the gag out of her mouth and Rainey took deep breaths, appreciating the clean sea air.
“What time is it?” she asked. Her tongue was thick like a wad of cotton.
“Afternoon.”
“Can I have some water, please sir?” Rainey put on her southern drawl, compliments of her mother.
Her captor snorted at her courtesy. “You’ll have plenty soon.”
He tilted his head toward several buckets brimming with water and a towel. Rainey followed his glaze.
Oh, joy, she thought.
She pulled against her straps and felt the table she was tied to give just a bit. Good news.
“You are a bit of a mystery, little one.”
“A mystery?”
“SVR didn’t know about you. They do now.” His laugh had a cruel edge.
Control would have to get 7R4C3R to hack in and erase it again.
“How’d you get the drop on the Albanian, huh?”
“Who?”
This earned her a slap. She took a deep breath and pushed out the pain with her exhale.
“The Albanian. The man you killed in Atlanta.”
“I ain’t been in Atlanta. Came here to get work.” She forced hysteria into her voice, trying to divert his attention as she probed the straps for a weakness.
“Work? You killed a world famous assassin.”
“No, sir. I live over to Marathon. Heard they was hiring for a big party.”
Boris leaned over her. “You died in Afghanistan. You are a ghost.”
“Naw, you got the wrong girl.” Rainey tried to scramble away from him, but the straps only allowed her to squirm.
“You’re special forces.”
“What’chu talking ‘bout?”
“The question of the day is who sent you?” he continued, ignoring her objections.
“I came here to work the party.”
“We’ll see.” The Russian put a towel over her face. “Here’s your water, doll.”
Even though Rainey had been trained to withstand torture, the sensation of drowning usually sent her into a panic after the eighth or ninth bucket. It was a weakness she hadn’t conquered yet, so she’d concocted a story to tell to stop waterboarding.
After the third bucket, she sputtered and spit out water. Once she could speak, she dropped the accent and said, “No more. Please, I’ll tell you.”
“Women,” the man said in disgust.
“I’m on contract. I work for the Brits.”
“You’re an American. Just listen to you.”
“A British detail found me in Afghanistan. Saved my life. The Americans tried to kill me.” She added some venom to her voice.
He studied her for a minute. “Too easy.” He picked up another bucket and started slowly pouring water over the towel covering her mouth and nose.
She held her breath as long as she could, squirming under the deluge, trying to turn her face away, if only a millimeter. But finally her lungs burned and she gasped for air. Instead water filled her throat and flooded her lungs. Her vision dimmed and just at the last moment, the water stopped.
The man turned her head to the side.
She spit out water and coughed, trying to clear her airways. Her head ached.
“Who sent you?”
“I told you,” Rainey said in a voice rough from coughing up water.
Boris grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her head toward him. “Tell me again.”
“I work for the Brits. Code name Dandelion.” 7R4C3R had embedded a link into British Intelligence. Once he clicked on the name, he’d be taken to a mirror site that confirmed her identity. She had no idea how it worked, but was confident in 7R4C3R’s expertise.
“How come you’re giving in so easy, huh?”
“I almost drown when I was a kid. Please, I can’t take this.”
He pulled on her straps, tightening them, then stuffed the rag back in her mouth. “I’m going to check out your story.”
Boris walked out of the room. The lock clicked behind him. Rainey cursed the Russian for tightening the straps again, but controlled her anger. She pulled the thickest part of her hand into the strap and made a fist. The strap gave a bit. Rainey did this a few times until she’d loosened the strap enough to flatten her hand. She bit her lip to stop herself from making a sound and dislocated her thumb by pushing against the table. She pulled her hand out, scrapping against the metal of the buckle, then jerked her thumb back in place. Once free, she unbuckled her other hand, then undid all her restraints.
“All right, Miss Dandelion—”
Rainey grabbed a cheap gold floor lamp and swung the base at the Russian as he walked through the door.
He ducked, but the base caught him on the temple. “Bitch.” He barreled toward her, hitting her in the gut with his full weight.
Rainey stuck out her elbow as they went down. The point dug into his gut, pushing him slightly to the left. She thrashed around and got some room, then pushed off him.
The Russian grappled with her, but Rainey slipped out of his grip.
She got to her feet and took a step toward the door. He grabbed her ankle and brought her down. She rolled and jerked her foot from his grip, came back up, and bolted to the door.
She rushed toward the outside, the Russian so close she could feel his breath. A pistol lay on the kitchen counter near the door.
The Russian grabbed for it, but his fingers closed on her shirt.
Rainey snatched the gun, turned and fired. The sound was suppressed.
Thank God, she thought. She hadn’t had time to check.
The shot hit the Russian in the gut. He fell back and she headed for the door, but he got his legs under his body and pushed up. He lunged at her, grabbing her around the waist.
Rainey kicked him in his gut and more blood spurted out.
He pulled a knife from his boot and slashed at the tendons in her ankle.
Rainey jumped back, aimed, and got him with a head shot. His eyes went wide, then with his last breath, a look of astonishment briefly passed over his face and peace replaced his grimace.
“Not as bad as you expected, huh?” she whispered.
She paused for a moment to honor his passing, then looked at the pistol. It was a Russian made Makarov. She pushed it into the back of her jeans and checked her clothes for blood. They were clear.
She pulled a curtain back and looked outside. Nobody was rushing to see what had happened. Fuchsia bushes in a riot of magenta hung over the walkway. Good cover.
She found her bag thrown on a chair next to the window. She grabbed it and went outside. Her shirt was soaked with water and sweat, but a few minutes in this heat should remedy that.
Rainey walked toward the main building, forcing down her urge to run. Time to get a job for the party.