Page 58 of Tattooed Heart

Before I can argue further, my phone vibrates. Somehow, a text from an unknown number broke through the jamming signal, but the message is clear.

Roof access clear. Two minutes. A.

Aleksandr. He anticipated trouble and came with backup.

“Change of plans,” I announce. “We're going up.”

I press the button for the top floor, overriding the emergency stop. The elevator groans back into motion and rapidly ascends.

“They'll be waiting at every floor,” Ivan warns.

“Not the roof,” I assure him, showing him the message. “Aleksandr has men in position.”

As the elevator climbs, I tear strips from my shirt to create a makeshift pressure bandage for the doctor's wound. The man is growing paler by the minute, but his eyes remain alert, watching my movements.

“Why help me?” Reznick asks weakly. “After what I was part of?”

I secure the bandage firmly. “You're still useful.”

The elevator slows as it approaches the top floor. I position myself, weapon ready.

“Service stairs to the roof as soon as we exit,” I instruct. “Ivan, you take point. I'll cover the doctor.”

When the doors open, we move swiftly, encountering no immediate resistance. The top floor appears primarily administrative, with empty offices and conference rooms, all of which are dark at this hour. We locate the service stairs and begin the final ascent to the roof.

Behind us, the elevator descending signals that our movements have been detected. It won’t take Russo's men long to figure out our destination.

The roof access door is locked with a simple mechanical mechanism, which Ivan bypasses easily. The cool night air greets us as we emerge onto the rooftop's open expanse, the city's lights spreading around us like fallen stars.

“There,” I nod toward a black helicopter stationed at the far end of the rooftop, its rotors already beginning to turn. Two of Aleksandr's men provide cover, their weapons trained on the access door.

We make it halfway across the roof when the access door bursts open behind us. Gunfire erupts, immediately forcing us to take cover behind an air conditioning unit. The doctor groans as I pull him down, the movement aggravating his wound.

“Get to the helicopter,” I order Ivan. “I'll hold them here.”

For once, Ivan doesn’t argue. He takes charge of the doctor and heads toward the waiting aircraft, using the rooftop equipment as cover.

I provide suppressing fire, keeping Russo's men pinned at the doorway. I count four attackers from my position, which means others are likely securing different exits or moving to establish new firing positions.

Movement to my right confirms this suspicion. Two more of Russo's men emerge from the maintenance access I hadn’t noticed, cutting off my route to the helicopter.

“Dimitri!” Ivan shouts from ahead, spotting the new threat.

I take aim and eliminate one of the new arrivals with precision. The second finds cover behind a ventilation shaft. The odds worsen by the second.

Then, from the helicopter, covering fire erupts, forcing the remaining attackers to seek better protection. Aleksandr's men are providing the opportunity I need.

I use the moment to advance, moving from one position of cover to the next, closing the distance to the helicopter. Twenty feet, fifteen feet, ten feet.

“Popov!”

The voice cuts through the sporadic gunfire, commanding attention. I recognize it immediately. Russo stands by the roof access door, decked out in tactical gear. Unlike his men, he holds his weapon lowered, almost casually.

“Enough games,” Russo calls. “Aleksandr’s men have given you an exit. Take it. This isn't the real fight anyway.”

I remain in position, my weapon trained on Russo's chest. “Giving up so easily?”

Russo smiles coldly. “This is just the opening act. The real target was never you.”

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