Kozlov circled Ral and Elena with the leisurely confidence of a man accustomed to controlling every variable. His warehouse headquarters smelled of industrial chemicals and old blood, the kind of place where bodies could be dissolved without leaving evidence.
"You both possess information that threatens my operations," Kozlov stated, studying his phone's target list like a sommelier selecting wine. "Agent Volkova knows current FSB protocols. Mr. Anderson has access to Marcus's complete files. Together, you represent unacceptable security risks."
"Then kill us and be done with it," Elena said, her Russian accent thickening with exhaustion and pain. "This theatrical monologue serves no purpose except your ego."
Kozlov's backhand was casual but effective, snapping Elena's head sideways wit
