The woman ignored him, turning to one of her partners, and speaking quietly to him. The man nodded, and raced away to one of Yusoff’s back rooms. One of the other two men holding onto Stroyev began to unbuckle the man’s trouser belt, and then roughly pulled down Stroyev’s pants, then the same with his underwear.

Yusoff saw that Stroyev’s genitals were so shrunken from fear they were almost completely lost in amongst his graying pubic hair. Stroyev whimpered, the sound reminding Yusoff of a fox with its paw caught in a trap. Coward, he thought.

“I demand to know what’s happening.” They ignored him, and Yusoff ground his teeth, standing straighter, but couldn’t stop the sick feeling in his gut, from both the vodka and an ice-cold fear.

The figure that had entered his rear rooms now reappeared holding Yusoff’s laptop, that was open, and his codes obviously broken into. He set it on the table, typing furiously, and then finding the pages he wanted, turned to nod to the woman before standing back.

Yusoff looked down to see the page that had been saved to his favorites held horrifying graphic images of child pornography. He looked up again. “What is this? Blackmail. When I find who you are, I’ll—”

“Finish the bottle.” The words cold as ice.

Yusoff downed the final glass, his hand shaking now, and the woman strode forward, taking the empty bottle from the table. She turned, took two steps and swung the heavy crystal decanter-style bottle in an arc that finished up against Stroyev’s temple. The man fell like a sack, his forehead massively dented. He twitched on the ground for a moment before she reached down to feel his neck, grunted approval, and then straightened.

“Anything… whatever you want. Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double… triple it.” Yusoff babbled, but the woman’s demeanor was rock solid. She looked down and shrugged.

“A lover’s tiff, perhaps.” She tilted her head. “At least that’s what the press will say.”

“Who – fucking – sent you?” Yusoff’s voice sounded shrill, even to himself.

The woman stepped closer to him. “Valery sends his regards… from the grave.” She shot him in the chest, once, twice. The big man fell heavily, and she then emptied the entire magazine into his jerking body.

Sonya Borashev then bent to place the gun in the dead hands of Uli Stroyev, and angle his body slightly. She wanted to spit on their corpses, but knew the evidence would corrupt their staged crime scene.

She clicked her fingers, and the team turned on their heels. In an hour, they were already in the air.

RETURN OF THE MONSTER

RETURN OF THE MONSTER

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 25

The fishing trawler, Omaru, west of Vancouver Island

– two months later