Page 9 of Kept in the Dark
And the way he moves… You’d expect a guy his size to be stiff, or hold himself the way bodybuilders do when their lats are so big that their arms angle slightly away from their body, even at rest. Not this guy. He’s almost graceful, gliding down the walkway that splits and leads one way towards the tall hedge maze or the other, in my direction.
He reaches the end of the path and pauses long enough that I get a view of his profile and see a flash of a long, thick white scar that cuts up his cheek at a steep angle before it disappears into his short-cropped, dark hair.
I can’t help but stare, intrigued even more by what seems like a weighty secret.
Whoever he is, he’s seen some shit. No one who’s got a scar that deep in a place that obvious lives a soft life behind a desk.
Bratva. The word comes to me, swift and unbidden.
Is he one of them? He certainly looks like a man who’s acquainted with violence.
When his head comes back around towards me, I look away so he won’t see that I’ve been gawking, transfixed, like some kind of lunatic.
I try to focus on the scenery in front of me. The colors of the sunset are all but gone now, and I wonder how long it will be until I can see the city’s night lights.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
It’s getting louder. Too loud. I can’t ignore it anymore.
I glance up, heart racing for some odd reason, and see exactly what I expected, hoped for, and feared at the same time. The huge, scarred man is standing at the edge of my bench, eyes hooded from the tilt of his head, and he’s focused right on…me.
“May I join you?”
3
Dimitri
Chivalry ain’t dead; it’s just… rough around the edges.
The security here is so intense that it would be obvious to anyone paying attention that this is not a typical wedding. The grounds have an iron fence encircling the perimeter to limit access, and the estate house has an alarm system, with magnetic cards to swipe at every door. Prior to entry, security checked ladies’ purses, and men had to open their coats to show they were not carrying. Our invitations were scanned, collected, and deposited into a locked case. Cameras point at the grounds from every corner of the building. Armed guards are posted in doorways, at key points on the grounds, and mill about among the guests.
Only important people with something to protect take this many precautions—the very wealthy, celebrities, politicians, and in this case,Bratva Pakhans.
It was a simple matter to identify the leader of thisBratva;he has been surrounded by sycophants and sentinels all evening.
But that is fine. My goal tonight need not be to kill a middle-aged man. Thanks to Wesley’s creativity and technological know-how, I have been taking photos by pressing the button wired to the back of my cufflink. The wire runs through my jacket arm, up to the camera in my breast pocket disguised in the pocket square, and there is a wireless transmitter stitched into the fabric of the hem.
I know I do not blend particularly well into a crowd, but it is a large wedding. We all assumed Felix’s invitation would buy me entrance, and my accent and fluency in Russian would afford me credibility.
But despite my efforts to blend in, I am being followed.
If I had to guess, the man on my tail is likely abratok, a specialized soldier. It is a relatively low-ranking position, but with a singular, important purpose—to protect thePakhan, even at the cost of your own life.
My heart races, adrenaline surging and infusing my limbs with strength. It will be no simple matter to hide his body; I must be vigilant and efficient. If I can manage it bloodlessly, perhaps I can make it look like he passed out from too much drink.
“I need somewhere private to handle my tail,” I say, keeping my voice low. The man has followed me through the manor, across the dance floor, and outside into the gardens.
Wesley mans the screens as usual; however, tonight the van has been stripped of its decal—no one would wish to see an exterminator at a wedding venue. He is in charge of ensuring that no one will ever know I was here. Instead of being saved to a secure cloud location, the footage from the cameras is being routed through Wesley’s laptop and deleted. Tomorrow, Volkevich’s security team will find nothing saved in the 12 hours after the event began.
“There’s a blind spot by the corner of the house that I can’t see in any of my feeds,”Wesley informs me.“If you’re quick and discreet, you shouldn’t have any witnesses. He’s about 20 yards behind you.”
I head in the direction that Wesley recommends, keeping my pace slow and purposeful, as if I am strolling and blithely unaware of my shadow. I make it to the end of the path and make a show of looking both ways…
Fuck. Of course the only convenient blind spot on the property is occupied by a woman sitting on a bench, stargazing.
I realize I have only an instant to choose my next move. If I ask for more assistance from Wesley, the guard might be close enough tooverhear. If I keep running, he will catch up with me and it is equally likely that he would kick me out as it is that he would force me at gunpoint to a holding cell on the property where I would be questioned and quietly disposed of for daring to crash aBratvawedding. I may have an invitation and a matching ID, but I do not look much like the man actually invited.
However, there is no better cover at a wedding than having a date. The woman on the bench is alone. If I join her and act correctly, it should appear as if we are lovers meeting to thebratok. I am not what people would consider charismatic, but I can usually speak with a woman without frightening her. When I want to.
