The sun was a pale, uninterested disk attempting to peer through the thick Russian clouds. Inside the Volkov mansion, the aftermath of violence had been clinically erased, but the tension was a physical force, clinging to the heavy velvet curtains and the marble floors.
Vladimir was in his war room, but the echo of his commands reached Isabella even in the quiet solitude of the library. The suppression of the attack had been instantaneous and total.
"The digital footprint is gone," Ivan reported, his voice tight with fatigue over the secured line. "The CCTV footage in the sector was swapped with looped archives. The regional police chief is vacationing indefinitely in Dubai, compliments of the Don. There is nothing public.
"Vladimir, standing over a topographical map that now looked les
