CHAPTER 40
“Mission briefing confirmed,” Ryle spoke, checking his wrist comm. “Target is Alekeev Kuznetsov—Russian national, mid-level arms trafficker. Our extraction point is seventy-five meters in, Sector Gamma.”
He pointed toward a vast, decrepit complex of warehouses, their corrugated iron sides rusted through like lace. Light—harsh, flickering sodium lamps—spilled unevenly from a single, massive central warehouse. The entrance was flanked by two figures who looked more like statues carved from shadow and denim than actual guards.
“Kuznetsov’s running his deal in that central building,” Ryle explained, his voice low and clinical. “This isn’t a simple kill, Loser. He has a package we need.”
“I know that.” She answered as she muttered under her throat, “I studied the mission, Asshole
