Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) by R.E. McDermott Page A

car would no doubt sit on the apartment, and the van would likely remain at the club. He’d hesitated at leading the pursuers back to his own apartment and briefly considered having Victor lead the pursuit to his own place, but quickly dismissed that idea. Victor likely lived in some shit hole, and he wanted the deception to be realistic. Besides, there was little of value in his own apartment he couldn’t abandon if necessary, so the risk was minimal. And while his bumbling pursuers were chasing ghosts, he’d go deal with Tanya, find out who these people were and what she’d told them, and then return to take care of them as necessary. After all, he knew just where to find them.
    Outside the Kairouz Residence
London, UK
    Dugan ordered the cab to the curb and shoved money over the seat, exiting the cab without waiting for change. The taxi stand had been empty when he got there, and he’d had difficulty flagging down a cab. Evidently his British Telecom repairman’s uniform didn’t mark him as a prospective customer. A dozen cabs passed him before he caught one discharging a passenger and jumped into the back before the cab pulled away.
    He’d had the cab stop at the entrance to the long drive leading to the back of the house, knowing that Gillian was likely in the kitchen with Mrs. Hogan. He rushed up the curving drive and stopped short at the sight of a black panel truck pulled up near the kitchen door. As he watched, the door opened and a large man in a ski mask walked out with a bundle over his shoulder. Then he saw the blond hair. Cassie!
    Dugan slipped the Glock from his waistband just as another masked man emerged, speaking and pointing toward the panel truck. Dugan racked the slide on the Glock to chamber a round, and the men’s heads jerked toward the sound in unison. They found Dugan in a shooter’s crouch, the Glock steady on the center mass of the man giving the orders.
    “Hold it right there, assholes,” Dugan said. “Put the girl on the ground gently, and then both of you move away slowly and lay face down. Now!”
    Dugan felt a tremendous jolt on the back of his skull, and his world went black.
    ***
    Nazarov looked at Ivan, standing over the unconscious American, holding a bloody landscaping stone he’d obviously picked up from the flower bed.
    His man shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do. You said no shooting.”
    “ Da . You did the right thing,” Nazarov said.
    “Should I kill him?” His man gestured with the rock.
    “No, my orders were clear. We weren’t to kill anyone. Leave him. Let’s just get the girls in the truck and get the hell out of here.”
    Holding Warehouse
516 Copeland Road
Southwark, London, UK
    Arsov sat at a battered desk in the office warehouse, seething as he stared across at Nazarov seated on a threadbare sofa. He suppressed an urge to scream. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost conversational.
    “You continually exceed my expectations, Nazarov. For instance, I knew you weren’t the brightest fellow around, but I never expected that you were quite this stupid and so completely incompetent.”
    “It wasn’t as easy as you think—”
    “Yes, I’m eager to hear how six large men had difficulty subduing two middle-aged women? Go ahead, please. I’m all ears.”
    Nazarov glared. “We got Tanya back, didn’t we?”
    Arsov erupted. “You fucking idiot! Yes, you got Tanya back AND some girl who’s likely Kairouz’s daughter. And in the process, you assaulted two other British citizens. What part of ‘low profile’ don’t you understand? A large part of our success here hinges on the fact that no one cares about these foreign girls. Even these people realize that, or they would have gone to the authorities by now. But things are a bit different now, aren’t they? You’ve kidnapped a rich Brit, and I seriously doubt they’ll hesitate to go to the police. This girl’s face will probably be all over the media by this time tomorrow. How could