Red Sole Clues (24 page)

PS Philippa will be joining us as well. Don’t be late.

My blood runs cold.

I check my watch, taking note of the time.

I’ve less than twenty-four hours to rescue my wife, though to call her that is a stretch. She left me four years ago, walked right out of our flat while I slept. And if Ackerman finds that out, he’ll get rid of her and find another victim.

There’s no way I’ll allow that to happen. Automatically, I start to dial Agent Muscovite.

Shit.

I’m no longer an agent, and due to my earlier outburst, no one at SIS will help me now. They’ll take matters into their own hands and I’ll be in the dark, waiting for the fireworks that are bound to happen when I don’t show up.

“I’m so fucked.” I have no car, no backup, no way of ascertaining if she’s really at St. James, or if this is just a ruse to get me there.

With no other alternative, I call the one person I know who can help me, who will
help
me.

“Maxim. I’d like to say that this is a good time, but Morgan is flashing me from the—”

“He’s taken her.”

“Your wife?” Benjamin asks, his tone turning serious.

“I think so.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’m reasonably sure.”

“Do you need my help or not?”

“Yes.”

“Why not your legitimate sources?”

I tug at the collar of my shirt. “I’ve been…dismissed from SIS—MI6. Today, actually.”

“So I’m the last resort, huh?”

“Sorry.” I swallow. “Yes. I need you to jump on London’s security grid and find Philippa. Makes sure she’s actually at St. James Church, and not at home or work.”

“On it.” The unmistakable sound of his fingers flying over the keyboard fills my ears. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Not even an hour ago.” When I was busy making an arse of myself in front of the board.

“I can’t believe the two of you actually work together.”

“We don’t anymore.”

“Still. You did. It’s rather strange, if you ask me.”

I grip my mobile harder. “I’m not asking you.”

Ben makes a noise. “I’m in. Give me a few minutes to reroute their system.”

“By all means.”

“Who took her?”

“Jonathan Ackerman. Used to be terrorist number one in the UK. Liked to blow up schools…while they were in session.”

Ben mutters a curse. “You stopped him?”

“Yes.” It had been literally the bloodiest day in SIS history, barring our Afghanistan and Iraq operations. “He took out three of our own before I could, though.”

“Found her on George Street with a man walking beside her. Old footage, perhaps twenty minutes ago. Give me a second to zoom in. She’s wearing a…
fuck me sideways
.”

My heart stutters in my chest. Is she already dead? Is Ackerman torturing her? “What?”

“He’s got her in a vest lined with explosives, Max. They’ve entered the church. I have no access inside.”

“Pull up today’s events.”
Please let it be empty.
But I know it won’t be.

“Children’s choir rehearsal. Looks like a few schools are holding practices there this week, nearly every day.”

Bloody fucking hell.
I slam my hand against the wall. “Of course they are.”

I’m sorry, cuz, but I am nowhere near you right now.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can save her.” I head to the bedroom closet to get my supplies.

“Do you need backup? Dmitry is in town.”

“No.” Pulling out my Glock, I load the clip. “This is something I have to do on my own.”

Benjamin pauses. “Understandable. Text me if you need anything, and I mean
anything
. I can’t be there physically, but I can do things with my computer that would make even you proud.”

Thanking him, I end our call and start for St. James. I don’t give a damn about pride or even making my former employer regret the day they sacked me.

All I can concentrate on is saving my wife and ending Ackerman’s life, like I should have done four years ago.

I make it three steps from my building before two agents appear at my side. “Mr. Romanov. You need to come with us.”

There is a sharp prick in the side of my neck. “Did you drug me?”

No one answers.

The two agents turn into four, their bodies hazy. I stagger to one side, light-headed.

“Is he okay?” someone asks.

“Had a pint too many at the pub.”

I hold up a finger, intent on correcting, but then my world goes black.

SIS Headquarters

I
wake up
shouting, “I’m not drunk.” I pause, taking in my surroundings, and sit up on the cot, swinging my legs over the side. “Where the hell am I?”

“Headquarters.”

I whip my head around to find Amanda Muscovite, standing by the only door in the stark-white and nearly empty room. They’ve put me in a bloody cell. “What time is it?”

She holds up her hands. “Calm down, Romanov. We have everything under control.”

Which means Philippa is still with that madman. Fear runs through me, turning my inside cold. “Give. Me. The. Time.”

“One thirty p.m.”

Over twenty-one hours have passed since the note. I jump up from the cot, ignoring the slight dizziness as I stand. “You have no reason to keep me here.”

The door opens and an armed guard steps inside. I reach for my gun, but it’s not in the holster.

“You won’t be going anywhere, Maxim. We thought to have you assist us, but when you were found—armed and going off on your own again—Madam Beake decided against your involvement.”

“To punish me is to kill Philippa.” And if Philippa dies because of this, because of me, I’ll never forgive myself, or any board member at MI6. Revenge will become my new and only mission.

Muscovite shakes her head. “Agent Forsythe is negotiating with Ackerman as we speak.”

“Agent Forsythe is dead.”

Muscovite’s mobile buzzes loudly. She pulls it out of her pocket and looks at the screen, a frown on her face. “Shit. I have to go.”

“Is it Pippa?”

“It’s Forsythe.” Her jaw works, then she swallows. “He’s…we can’t track his vitals anymore.”

“Which means he’s dead,” I say flatly.

“I don’t have time for this.” She yanks open the door. “Stay here.”

“You are killing her. Every second she waits, she’s that much closer to death,” I shout at Muscovite, but she doesn’t respond as she walks away.

The guard slides in front of the door, hands clasped loosely in front of him. To his right is a small table. On it someone has placed my mobile and wallet. If only I could get my mobile, then I could text Benjamin. Get Dmitry to…do something.

My mind whirls at the possibilities and the outcomes that all end with Ackerman getting away because I wasn’t there.

I sag against the wall. Unwilling to let defeat overwhelm me, I clear my throat.

“Can you at least allow a bloke to have his mobile?” I ask quietly.

Finally, he nods and grabs my mobile, then hands it to me. There is a beep. He glances at his watch. “Dinner break.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” I mutter.

As soon as he leaves, I text Benjamin, but it doesn’t go through. “Bugger.” I toss the phone on the table in front of me, then glare at the camera in the corner.

To my surprise, it moves from right to left, then up and down.

“Is that you, cuz?” I ask.

The camera nods. While I shouldn’t be astounded by this due to Benjamin’s talent as a hacker, I am. My pulse races with excitement.

“Need to leave.”

The door opens and in steps my cousin, Dmitri. His green-eyed gaze scans the room. “Come. We have a two minute window. Benji is taking care of the cameras and doors.”

I snatch my wallet and shove it into my pocket. “That was fast.”

“Benjamin has been tracking you since yesterday.”

Miraculously, we encounter only the lowest level of employees. They barely spare us a glance due to the ID tag Dmitry pinned to his suit jacket’s pocket. We look as if we belong here, or at least he does. Perhaps they assume he’s escorting me to another section of the building.

“My car is waiting to take you to St. James. The other agent tracked Ackerman to St. Paul’s.”

“He’s dead,” I say for the third time.

“
Da
.”

“Has he moved her away from St. James?”

“
Nyet
.”

We round the corner and Dmitry grabs my arm. I look at him questioningly, but he stares straight ahead.

“Couldn’t behave, eh?”

Holy Mother of God
. Dmitry will have to talk in order for us to pass through security and he’s not exactly known for being a conversationalist.

I slice my gaze toward the doors. We are so bloody close.

Dmitry’s hand moves to his side, pushing his coat back a little. He’s going to go for his gun. We are so fucked.

But instead of a gun, he pulls out a pack of gum, offering it to the guard. “He’s quite the mouthy one. Care for a stick?”

My mouth nearly falls open at the proper English accent that comes out of his mouth, but I school my face.

“Thanks, but no.” The guard smiles a little. “You can go on through.”

Dmitry puts the gum away. “Cheers.”

Not until we’re outside and pause by a black Audi do I ask, “Where in the hell did that come from?”

Dmitry cocks his head to one side. “I would tell you, but we don’t have time.” He unlocks the car and opens the door. “Get in. I’ll take you to St. James.”

I nod once. “Let’s go.”

St. James Cathedral

T
he children’s choir
sings as Dmitry and I walk down the main aisle in St. James. Their sound is heavenly. Uplifting. A message meant to soothe and give hope to the world.

Meanwhile, I’m in Hell.

“Get them out first, then check the rest of the building. Tell them you’re—”

“Consider it done.” Dmitry hands me a gun. “You’ll need this.”

“I owe you.”

“I know.”

Concealing the Glock in the waistband of my trousers, I slip past the choir and make my way toward the back of the sanctuary. According to the intel provided by Benjamin, the most likely place Philippa would be is near the belfry. Unfortunately, the most direct route is missing half a staircase and is slated for construction. There is, however, a concealed entrance that will lead there.

Unfortunately, not even my hacker of a cousin knows where to find it.

Exhaling, I begin pushing around relics and music stands, hoping against hope that one of them holds the key. For all I know, it could be in one of the numerous antechambers.

A cherub smiles at me, though at this moment, it looks like a smirk.

Rage fills me. I narrow my eyes and grab one of its broken wings, wanting to do damage to something. “Mock me, will you?”

The wing gives.

“Oh shit.”

A stone door slides open behind the small altar.

“This is way too easy,” I mumble as I go for my gun. But maybe that’s what he wants me to think. Maybe Ackerman could give a good damn about complex. He never was the type to show off.

Cautiously, I make my way up the circular stairs, keeping my gun at the ready while I scan the area. I might not be able to use the items that SIS gave me, but I for damn sure can use their bloody training.

Finally, I reach the top of the stairs.

A lone door is open. It’s dark inside, making it impossible for me to see what lies beyond, but that doesn’t matter. I can’t stop now.

Once I pass through the entryway, the room lightens. Above, the arches in the stonework allow sunlight to shine. Birds sit among the rafters.

Carefully pivoting, I inspect the room and find my Philippa in the corner.

Her eyes are closed and there is tape over her mouth. Her beautiful skin looks to be unmarred, but I have no idea what he’s done to her beneath her clothes.

Just like Benjamin said, she’s wearing a vest loaded with explosives and a timer.

It’s set to blow in five minutes. That fucking arsehole lied about the time, but it doesn’t matter. I’m here now and while I’m not an explosives expert, I’ve defused more than a few bombs over the years.

“Pippa, my love,” I call softly, not wanting to startle her.

Her black lashes flutter, then her chin raises. Golden eyes widen as they catch sight of me. She strains against her bindings. The bastard taped her hands in front of her.

“Shhh.” I crouch down, careful to keep one eye on the room.

“This is going to hurt a little.”

She nods.

I grip the tape and rip it off as quickly as possible.

“Bugger!” Philippa screams, then winces. “Sorry. He’s here with us, Max. I’m not sure where, but he’s here.”

“Okay, love. Let me get you out of these restraints, then we’ll have a proper chat, yes?”

She shakes her head. “No, you can’t. He said the bomb will go off if you do.”

“Shhh.” I touch her lips. “I understand. I need to cut the tape binding your hands.”

“Okay.” Tears fall from her lashes and onto her cheeks. “I wasn’t certain you’d come for me.”

I caress her cheek, a stupid move really, considering that neither of us know where Ackerman is, but I can’t resist giving her comfort. She’s an innocent pawn in all of this.

“I will always come for you.” Using my knife, I cut away the tape and help her to her feet.

“How touching,” a voice says near my ear.

Philippa’s eyes widen. “Oh God. Max. He’s—”

“Right behind you.”

Before I can turn, a blinding pain shoots from the bottom of my skull. I stumble forward, dropping my knife and my gun in the process.

Fuck.

A hard kick to my gut nearly sends me to my knees. I cough against the snapping pain in my ribs, then force myself to breathe through it as I turn to face my attacker.

Ackerman is not an old man, but neither is he young. However, judging by the kick to my midsection he just landed, I’d venture to guess many of his prison hours had been spent working out.

“The great Maxim Romanov,” he sneers. “Turned his back on his family in Russia, married an aristocrat’s daughter, and managed to catch the eye of the queen. What a fantastic bedtime story.”