BooksBarbecue
Back The Asset
Chapters (86)
  1. Foreword
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. Afterword

No one came. Her throat was very dry. She needed water. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious.

She could feel a change in air pressure in her ears.

Were they taking off or landing?

She thought back to the incident. She’d shot the man, but he’d shot her too. Two bullets. She’d lost consciousness then.

What had gone wrong?

The Russian had been followed to the meet. She’d expected to find Lance at the bar. They’d had a plan. Between the two of them they should have been able to take out the man.

But they’d failed.

She felt the plane turn as if coming in for landing, the air pressure change, and then the moment of touchdown.

She tried not to think about where she’d been taken, or what was in store for her.

The plane taxied and then stopped. Everything was still for a long time. She tried struggling again but it only caused her pain. There was no way she was going to break out of the cage.

And then she heard some movement above her. A door opened, and she looked up into the blinding beam of a flashlight.

“That’s her,” someone said, but not in English.

She was in Russia.

Some men in overalls lifted the cage out of the storage compartment she’d been in and carried her off the plane.

They placed the cage on the concrete floor of a hangar and then stood there, looking at her.

“She’s wounded,” one of them said.

“Where am I?” she said in Russian.

“She speaks.”

The men all laughed.

She was pretty sure from the accents that she was in Moscow.

One of the men poked her through the wire mesh like she was some sort of animal. She ignored it.

“Well, looks like that’s the only cargo,” one of them said.

They looked at each other and then began to walk away.

“Wait,” Laurel said. “Where are you going? You can’t leave me like this.”

She watched them leave, hugging herself to conserve as much body heat as possible. The door of the hangar was wide open and the wind gushed around her. It was snowing outside. And it was night.

She was still in the clothes she’d been wearing in New York. The gunshot wounds had been bandaged and thankfully they’d put her back in her coat, the expensive ski coat. It was stylish, with it’s little logo that looked great when she was in line at her local Starbucks, but as she lay there on the concrete, huddled and shivering, she swore she’d never choose a coat for style again.