That Time in Moscow, Logan Ryles [the best books to read .txt] 📗

grabbed the edge of the pool and hauled himself to his feet, his head swimming. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Edric and Sparrow were gone, leaving nothing behind except the coat and the half-finished drinks. He glimpsed the three Russians surging through the back door, shouting as one of them waved a pistol, but he didn’t have time to follow. Ivan was just behind him, his feet pounding like a herd of elephants.

“Welcome to Mother Russia, Amerikos. How good you are to visit!”

Wolfgang whirled to see Ivan only feet away, his eyes alight with enraged fire. Ivan’s right hand disappeared into his coat, and Wolfgang winced, bracing himself for a handgun. But Ivan’s fist reemerged clad in a pair of brass knuckles, the tips of the weapon glistening. “Now I give you bruises vodka will not treat!”

Ivan charged, and Wolfgang had no chance of outrunning him. He dropped his hand to the edge of the pool and wrapped his fingers around the first thing he touched—a martini glass. With a flick of his hand, he flung the alcohol into Ivan’s face, then slid to the right. The big Russian stumbled, then slipped on a puddle as he fought to wipe the liquor out of his eyes. Wolfgang pressed his advantage, moving in and driving his foot into Ivan’s shin.

The Russian went down with a grunt of pain, but Wolfgang didn’t wait to see where he fell. The club was almost empty now, the music stuck on short repeat as people screamed and sirens rang in the distance. Wolfgang bolted for the door, just sliding through it as Ivan clambered to his feet and dashed after him. The big man bellowed so loud Wolfgang felt it in his bones, and the sound sent a chill up his spine.

Oh, crap.

Wolfgang slid outside and frantically searched for a place to hide. There was nothing. The sidewalks between the buildings and the river were desolate, save for a waist-high wall that rose from the edge of the island, protecting people from the icy currents below.

The river.

His mind spun into action, and he rushed toward the wall as Ivan barreled out of the club just behind him. The big man roared in delight at the sight of his quarry, and Wolfgang sprinted for the wall—ten yards, then five—then he was at the wall, throwing one leg and then the other over the top.

“You will not swim tonight, little fish!” Ivan yelled as he ran.

Wolfgang pushed himself off the edge of the wall, his feet coming to rest on the last few inches of pavement on the other side, only a breath away from the precipice. He crouched below the top edge of the wall as the river churned five yards farther down. He imagined he could feel waves of cold radiating up from the water, promising hypothermia and impending death if he slipped.

Ivan’s feet pounded, and Wolfgang braced himself, clutching the top lip of the wall with his left hand and keeping his right hand free. Then Ivan’s face appeared over the top of the wall, scowling down toward the river as he reached out with both hands to break his charge.

Wolfgang never gave him the chance. Reaching out with his right hand, Wolfgang grabbed a fistful of Ivan’s shirt and yanked forward. The violence of the motion, combined with the momentum of Ivan’s charge, was too much for the Russian to counteract. He rocketed over the top of the wall, both arms flailing for something to grab onto. There was nothing, and Wolfgang released him only a split second before being jerked downward himself.

Ivan crashed the final five yards through the air with a frantic howl, then hit the water with a splash large enough to wash away an island nation. Wolfgang winced as icy water pelted his exposed skin, but there was no time to wait around. He hoisted himself back over the wall and dropped onto the sidewalk, searching for Edric. His boss was gone, as was Sparrow, but in the distance, Wolfgang heard shouting and the slamming of car doors.

His head spun in momentary panic as his fingers turned numb in the cold, his headache forgotten in the rush of the moment. Conflicted thoughts crowded his mind as he suddenly realized that during his fight with Ivan, he’d lost his earpiece, cutting him off from the rest of the team.

Wolfgang ignored the momentary panic he felt as something clicked in his mind—something Edric had purposefully left behind. Wolfgang rushed back into the nightclub, clearing the full length of the dance floor in a few quick strides before snatching up Edric’s coat and rocketing back to the door. He could hear police cars rolling over the automotive bridge fifty yards away, sirens blaring.

Wolfgang pulled the coat on, wrapping the warm garment close around his shivering body before digging his hand into the pocket. His fingers closed around the flash drive as he dashed back across the pedestrian bridge.

6

The hotel room door hadn’t yet closed before the remaining members of Charlie Team burst around the corner, already peppering Wolfgang with questions. He shut the door and held up a finger, gasping for breath and still shaking from the cold.

Without the earpiece, Wolfgang could not communicate the resolution of the nightclub fiasco to Megan and the team, leaving him with nothing to do except find his own way back to the hotel. He ran five blocks from the Red October district before he found a cab, and since he’d forgotten the Russian part of the Hilton’s name, and since he couldn’t speak any other Russian, all he could do was repeat “Hilton!” and point in the general direction of the hotel.

The cabby took him halfway before becoming frustrated and demanding payment, at which point Wolfgang remembered that Edric’s rubles were in his pants pocket, not his coat pocket.

So Wolfgang ran again, the cabby halfheartedly chasing him for two blocks before giving up. Now, a full hour after hurling Ivan into