Read Online Capture Me by Anna Zaires, Dima Zales - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anna Zaires, Dima Zales
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the phone tighter. “He’s not safe here.”
The colonel frowns at me. “What do you mean? The hospital is perfectly safe—”
“He has many enemies, including Al-Quadar, the terrorist group whose stronghold is right across your border. You need to arrange for protection, and you need to do it right now.”
Sharipov still looks doubtful, so I add, “Your Kremlin allies will not be pleased if he’s killed or taken while in your custody. Especially after this unfortunate ‘error.’”
Sharipov’s mouth tightens, but after a moment, he says, “All right. I’ll have a few soldiers brought in. They’ll make sure no one unauthorized comes near your boss.”
“Good. Use more than a few. Forty or fifty would be good. Those terrorists have a real hard-on for him.” My head is in absolute agony, and the leg that’s in the cast is beginning to ache like only a broken bone can. “Also, you need to put me in touch with Peter Sokolov—”
“We’ve already talked to him. He knows where you are, and he’s sending a plane to retrieve you and the others. Now, please.” Sharipov extends his hand palm-up. “Give me back my phone, Mr. Kent.”
I open my mouth to insist on speaking to Peter myself, but before I can say anything, I feel something sharp prick my arm. Immediately, a heavy lassitude spreads through me, dulling the pain. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a nurse step back, holding a syringe. “What the—” I begin, but it’s too late.
The darkness descends, and I’m not aware of anything else.
10
Y ulia
“ I told you , I’m fine.”
Ignoring the nurse’s squawking protests, I remove the IV needle from my wrist and stand up. I’m dizzy and my head is aching, but I need to get moving. Judging by the sunlight streaming in through the hospital window, it’s already morning or later. The exfiltration team likely left already, but on the off chance they didn’t, I need to get in touch with Obenko right away.
“Where’s my bag?” I ask the nurse, frantically scanning the room. “I need my bag.”
“What you need is to lie down.” The red-headed nurse steps in front of me, folding her arms in front of her massive chest. “You have an egg-sized lump on your head from bumping into that pole, and you’ve been out cold since you were brought in last night. The doctor said we’re to monitor you for the next twenty-four hours.”
I glare at her. My head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, but staying here means signing my death warrant. “Where is my bag?” I repeat. I’m uncomfortably aware that I’m wearing only a hospital gown, but I’ll worry about clothes—and the headache from hell—later.
The woman rolls her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. If I get you your bag, will you lie down and behave?”
“Yes,” I lie, and watch as she walks to a cabinet on the other side of the room. Opening the cabinet door, she takes out my Gucci handbag and comes back.
“Here you go.” She thrusts the bag into my hands. “Now lie down before you fall down.”
I do as she says, but only because I need to conserve my strength for the journey ahead. It’s been less than ten minutes since I woke up here, and I’m shaking from the strain of standing. I probably do need to be under medical observation, but there’s no time for that.
I have to get out of Moscow before it’s too late.
The nurse begins to change the sheets on an empty bed next to mine, and I take out my phone to call Obenko.
It rings and rings and rings...
Shit. He’s not picking up.
I try again. Come on, come on, pick up.
Nothing. No answer.
Growing desperate, I try his number for the third time.
“Yulia?”
Thank God. “Yes, it’s me. I’m in a hospital in Moscow. I almost got hit by a car—long story. But I’m leaving now and—”
“It’s too late, Yulia.” Obenko’s voice is quiet. “The Kremlin knows what happened, and Buschekov’s people are looking for you.”
An icy chill spreads through
The colonel frowns at me. “What do you mean? The hospital is perfectly safe—”
“He has many enemies, including Al-Quadar, the terrorist group whose stronghold is right across your border. You need to arrange for protection, and you need to do it right now.”
Sharipov still looks doubtful, so I add, “Your Kremlin allies will not be pleased if he’s killed or taken while in your custody. Especially after this unfortunate ‘error.’”
Sharipov’s mouth tightens, but after a moment, he says, “All right. I’ll have a few soldiers brought in. They’ll make sure no one unauthorized comes near your boss.”
“Good. Use more than a few. Forty or fifty would be good. Those terrorists have a real hard-on for him.” My head is in absolute agony, and the leg that’s in the cast is beginning to ache like only a broken bone can. “Also, you need to put me in touch with Peter Sokolov—”
“We’ve already talked to him. He knows where you are, and he’s sending a plane to retrieve you and the others. Now, please.” Sharipov extends his hand palm-up. “Give me back my phone, Mr. Kent.”
I open my mouth to insist on speaking to Peter myself, but before I can say anything, I feel something sharp prick my arm. Immediately, a heavy lassitude spreads through me, dulling the pain. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a nurse step back, holding a syringe. “What the—” I begin, but it’s too late.
The darkness descends, and I’m not aware of anything else.
10
Y ulia
“ I told you , I’m fine.”
Ignoring the nurse’s squawking protests, I remove the IV needle from my wrist and stand up. I’m dizzy and my head is aching, but I need to get moving. Judging by the sunlight streaming in through the hospital window, it’s already morning or later. The exfiltration team likely left already, but on the off chance they didn’t, I need to get in touch with Obenko right away.
“Where’s my bag?” I ask the nurse, frantically scanning the room. “I need my bag.”
“What you need is to lie down.” The red-headed nurse steps in front of me, folding her arms in front of her massive chest. “You have an egg-sized lump on your head from bumping into that pole, and you’ve been out cold since you were brought in last night. The doctor said we’re to monitor you for the next twenty-four hours.”
I glare at her. My head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, but staying here means signing my death warrant. “Where is my bag?” I repeat. I’m uncomfortably aware that I’m wearing only a hospital gown, but I’ll worry about clothes—and the headache from hell—later.
The woman rolls her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. If I get you your bag, will you lie down and behave?”
“Yes,” I lie, and watch as she walks to a cabinet on the other side of the room. Opening the cabinet door, she takes out my Gucci handbag and comes back.
“Here you go.” She thrusts the bag into my hands. “Now lie down before you fall down.”
I do as she says, but only because I need to conserve my strength for the journey ahead. It’s been less than ten minutes since I woke up here, and I’m shaking from the strain of standing. I probably do need to be under medical observation, but there’s no time for that.
I have to get out of Moscow before it’s too late.
The nurse begins to change the sheets on an empty bed next to mine, and I take out my phone to call Obenko.
It rings and rings and rings...
Shit. He’s not picking up.
I try again. Come on, come on, pick up.
Nothing. No answer.
Growing desperate, I try his number for the third time.
“Yulia?”
Thank God. “Yes, it’s me. I’m in a hospital in Moscow. I almost got hit by a car—long story. But I’m leaving now and—”
“It’s too late, Yulia.” Obenko’s voice is quiet. “The Kremlin knows what happened, and Buschekov’s people are looking for you.”
An icy chill spreads through
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