The safehouse outside Moscow felt like crypt where survivors gathered to contemplate their collective damnation. Ral sat at table littered with casualty reports, extraction schedules, and forged documents that would allow them to disappear into various corners of the world where international manhunts moved slowly.
"Volgograd police identified seven bodies at the scene," Dmitri reported, monitoring news feeds despite wounds that required hospital attention he couldn't risk seeking. "Louis among them. Official statement calls it g**g warfare between criminal organizations. They're not mentioning international terrorism yet, which buys us maybe forty-eight hours."
"Forty-eight hours to accomplish what?" Maya asked from window where she'd maintained vigil since their arrival, watching stree
