Page 68 of Sin Wager
Sonya disappears back around the building and moments later, her car reappears and drives away, mission complete. But Igor's van turns toward the river district instead of returning the way it came. Immediately, I know there needs to be a change of plans. Sonya isn't the biggest fish. These men are swimming upstream and I have to find out where they're going.
I start our engine. "We follow the van."
"What about the security car?" She grips the handle of the door as I drop the binoculars on her lap.
"They'll follow us. The question becomes who springs the trap first."
The van maintains conservative speed through industrial streets, the driver checking mirrors but not varying his route enough to lose determined pursuit. Igor knows his business but lacks paranoia, the fatal flaw that separates long-term survivors from early casualties.
Behind us, the black sedan maintains a two-block distance, professional spacing that allows reaction time without losing visual contact. They are textbook, and it gives me an eerie chill.
We trail the convoy through neighborhoods that transition from industrial to residential, past apartment blocks and corner markets where ordinary people conduct ordinary lives. The contrast feels surreal—tracking killers and money through Moscow's mundane geography.
The van turns toward the Klyazma River, following roads that narrow and deteriorate as they approach the water. With fewer witnesses here, there are more opportunities for violence without civilian interference.
"He's not going to another warehouse," Vera says, studying our surroundings. "This leads to the boat launches."
River transport…?
The realization is slow coming, but it makes perfect sense. The Radich crew moves their cash by water, using private docks and unmarked vessels to avoid road checkpoints and electronic surveillance. Brilliant and obvious, simultaneously.
I reach for my phone to call Gregor, the spotter I positioned for backup support. His voice answers on the second ring.
"Where ya at, Boss?"
"Northbound on Flotskaya, approaching the marina access. We’re following a white-panel van."
"Copy. I can intercept at the next intersection, force them toward the main road," he responds.
But the conversation ends abruptly as our rear window explodes inward, safety glass showering the interior. The black sedan has closed distance, its passenger leaning out with a pistol while Timur accelerates for ramming speed.
"Down!" I shout, yanking the wheel left as the sedan's front bumper connects with our rear quarter panel.
Metal screams against metal, physics and violence combining to send us skidding toward the guardrail. I counter steer desperately, fighting momentum and gravity while debris sparks off asphalt.
Vera braces against the dashboard, face pale. I see grim acceptance scrawled on her face, that survival depends on staying focused through chaos.
The sedan backs off for another run, Timur's face visible through the windshield, grinning with predatory anticipation. He accelerates again, aiming for our driver's side door.
I floor the accelerator and try to pull ahead, but the car lacks power to outrun their pursuit. The sedan clips our bumper, sending us into a spin that transforms the world into a blur of concrete and sky.
We hit the guardrail backward, the impact crushing the rear seats and buckling the frame. For a moment, we balance on the edge between road and river, suspended above thirty feet of empty air.
Then gravity asserts control.
The car tears through weakened metal and drops toward the Klyazma, water rushing up to meet us with terminal velocity. I have perhaps three seconds to act before we hit.
"Deep breath!" I yell to Vera.
The impact drives consciousness from my skull in a burst of white noise and crushing pressure. Cold water explodes through the windshield, turning the passenger compartment into a death trap of rising liquid and failing electronics.
The car sinks with shocking speed, nose-first into river bottom mud. Dashboard lights flicker and die, leaving us in underwater twilight filtered through dirty windows.
I kick against my door, but water pressure holds it closed. The window cracks under repeated impacts from my elbow, spider-webbing but refusing to break completely.
Vera thrashes beside me, fighting her seatbelt constraints while water rises past her head. Her eyes show terror, but not a single bubble escapes her lips. She's panicked, and my chest hollows out as my future flashes before my eyes.
My child… the woman I clearly love even if I can't admit it… I'm losing it all one second at a time. I'm paralyzed for a second as our eyes meet, as fear coils around my chest. She reaches out and grabs my arm, and all I want to do is take a breath, pull her into my arms, and say what I have never said to anyone my whole life. But the icy chill of the water pinches down on my nerves and pulls me back from my fear-driven state.
