for a fight. As the youngest member of the crew he had something to prove. The other five had military or police experience, albeit rudimentary, or had come of age in the 1990s, the heyday of Russian organized crime. He’d had to endure listening to their stories of what amounted to urban combat as the gangs fought for control of the new Russia, carving it up in a Darwinian contest for control of the underworld.
Oleg had looked over at his boss when the bullet took Vitya in the throat. He watched as the man who had helped train him for this mission went white, his eyes bulging, mouth struggling to bring in oxygen in an attempt to delay the inevitable.
Oleg felt another round as it passed between him and the dying driver and heard Pavel grunt from the backseat.
The truck veered left and ran up and onto a stump, arresting all forward progress. As Oleg watched his team leader die, the rearview mirror exploded just inches from his face.
What now?
Another round impacted the vehicle.
He heard and felt the rear passenger doors open as the gangsters bailed out to find cover. Oleg followed suit, trying to figure out how to open the huge vehicle’s door, groping to find the handle and throwing it open just in time to avoid the .375 round that took out his headrest.
Falling to the dirt, he low-crawled to a rock by the side of the long driveway, propped himself up, and depressed the trigger. Nothing happened. He could hear his comrades return fire, spraying the front of the house with bullets. He looked around long enough to see Boris charge forward from behind the truck and take a round to the chest. Serov and Taro were behind cover, continuing to let loose with their AKs.
Ah, the safety. Oleg pushed the safety to “fire” and watched as his rounds hit fairly close to his intended target, the far right upstairs window. He was surprised at how quickly his magazine ran dry.
He had to move. He had to make a name for himself. If he could get to the house, he knew he could kill everyone inside. That would make the Pakhan proud. Maybe he would even rise in the ranks?
He remembered Vitya and Dimitry say that a moving target was harder to hit. When he heard his comrades send another long volley into the upper level of the house, Oleg got up and ran.
* * *
“Stay barricaded behind this doorjamb,” Liz said. They could hear Caroline or Thorn engaging from upstairs. Single shots. And they could hear the return fire from outside.
“You are far enough back in the room where it will be hard for anyone approaching to see you. Cover this sector here,” Liz said, indicating an area of the backyard beyond the guest room patio.
“Where will you be?” Katie asked.
“With only two of us, we won’t be able to cover all the angles, so I’ll be mobile. If you see anyone, take your shots. I’ll come to support if I hear you fire,” Liz responded before disappearing into an adjacent room.
Katie had survived two ambushes and a kidnapping since Reece had come into her life. And now she was fighting for her life. At least this time she had a vote. She had a rifle.
* * *
Oleg moved through the trees. Had they seen him? He hoped his comrades’ full-auto barrage had distracted the upstairs shooter long enough for him to get out of the line of fire and approach the house from the back or side. He was going to get inside. He wouldn’t be a Shestyorka for long.
* * *
It didn’t happen the way she had thought. One second Katie was running through the possible scenarios in her head and the next second a skinny man in a black leather jacket holding what she recognized as an AK-47 was sprinting across the garden.
She tried to call for Liz, but her mouth was dry and wouldn’t make a sound.
When he hit the patio, he came to a stop by a pillar that helped support a second-story back deck.
Katie watched him peer cautiously around the support, then creep to the glass door that led to the back guest room. He was less than thirty feet away.
“Liz,” she tried again, not knowing if any sound escaped her lips. She was certain that even through the glass the thin man could hear the beating of her heart.
Take the weapon off safe, Katie, she told herself.