Savage Recruit (Ryan Savage Thriller Series Book 8), стр. 47

Chapter Twenty-Three

Vasilly Marin’s home was perched at the back of a gated community on the north end of the city. A little research on Granger’s part revealed two guards keeping watch at the security booth and four personal guards on Vasilly’s property. Boomer dispatched Teacup ahead of the team to deal with the security booth, and by the time we arrived, the guards were fast asleep.

Boomer pulled up to the gate and rolled down his window. Teacup was standing in the open door of the security booth, his body armor on, his assault rifle in a loose grip. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Teacup, open the gate.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t see you on the approved list. You’ll need to turn around.”

“Open the damn gate.”

“Right away, sir.”

Teacup pressed a button on the inside of the door frame and joined us in the van as the gate rolled back. Boomer edged forward into the neighborhood and took an immediate left. The homes were immaculate, sitting on one- and two-acre lots, their exteriors perfectly lit against the darkness. Date palms and cedars stood tall in the yards and served to mark out lot lines in the absence of fences.

Boomer followed the road around and turned off the headlights before stopping two houses down from Vasilly’s home on the opposite side of the street. Granger’s laptop was sitting on his knees. “One second…” he said. “Okay… done. The alarm system is disabled.” He slapped the laptop shut and grabbed up his rifle. We pulled down our night vision goggles and adjusted the focus a final time, the world glowing in a bright green monochrome.

Boomer called for a comms check, then, “A brief reminder that we’re taking Vasilly alive. If Kathleen isn’t in that house, then we’re going to need him to tell us where she is.”

A hallowed silence filled the van, that pre-engagement calm when every soldier mentally gears up to carry out a successful mission.

The stillness was broken by Boomer performing a final check on his gun and switching on his IR laser. The rest of us followed suit and waited.

“Let’s roll,” Boomer said.

We spilled from the van in complete silence, with Chachi making a beeline to the front door, where he quickly set a strip charge. Boomer and I moved up to the minimum safe distance and waited. Teacup and Granger broke left and scaled the wall, dropping without a sound into the back yard.

Chachi was done in ten seconds. He rolled back to Boomer and me. “Breach set,” he whispered.

Boomer nodded. “Execute in three… two... one… Execute.”

The backblast was deafening and sent shards of wood and plaster spiraling across the landscaping. We sprang from our positions. Boomer was first to enter the cloud of dust and cross the threshold, followed by me and then Granger, our IR lasers piercing brightly through the darkness.

We moved stealthily down the main hallway, following it as it curved around and passing enormous statues of Greek gods. A burst of gunfire chattered in the back of the house. “Contact atrium!” Teacup yelled and then followed it up with a burst of his own.

As I advanced smoothly through the darkness, my NVGs caught a flurry of movement to my right. A security guard, dressed in a suit and brandishing a pistol, appeared from the opening of a hallway. A muzzle flash blinked off the end of his gun, and the bullet cut through the air just past my ear. Boomer stitched him up with a quick burst from his rifle. The man fell backward into the wall and collapsed on the marble floor.

Boomer raised his fist and extended two fingers, pointing down the hall from which the guard had emerged. He held a fist to his chest and then pointed forward. Keeping his muzzle trained on the mouth of the adjacent hallway, he quickly cleared his corners and then across the hall and continued forward.

Chachi followed me down the hallway, and we cleared two rooms and a bathroom before arriving at an arched wooden door at the end.

“Clear!” Teapot called out. “And we’ve got him. We’ve got Vasilly.”

I stepped to the side, reached out, and tried the door’s handle. It was locked. Speaking to anyone who might be on the other side, I yelled, “Stand clear!” and sent a short burst from my rifle into the lock. The wood around it splintered, and as the echo of the gun’s report still bounced around in my ears, I leaned back, punched the heel of my shoe into the door, and watched as it flew open.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Florin Gronozav checked his watch.

He took a sip of rum and then checked his watch again.

He stood on his yacht’s spacious sundeck, surrounded by over eighty guests who had come to hear his personal update on the millions of dollars they had each entrusted to him. Any minute now and his prized guest would arrive.

The soiree was an elegant event, the men mingling in tuxedos, the deck awash with ladies in white cocktail dresses and black evening gowns. To distinguish himself from the rest of the party-goers, Florin wore a cream-colored shirt with an ivory silk jacket and a jaunty red cravat.

The evening was perfect—not a cloud in the sky and just warm enough so the ladies did not require sweaters or shawls. Naples’ city lights twinkled like fireflies in the near distance, and the easy laughter and jolly conversations taking place before him only reinforced that he