The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark

CHAPTER 55

Victor stuck his gun inside the waistband of his pants beneath his jacket. He looped around the back of the sofa. He’d seen Milanovich take cover behind it as soon as the heads had started to roll.

“It’s me, Sergei,” Victor said. “Do you hear me?”

“Victor?”

The boss was partially deaf in his left ear. Victor raised his voice. “Yes, Sergei. It’s me. Don’t shoot.”

Milanovich had pulled out his own pistol as he’d taken cover. He suffered from tremors, the kind that could cause a man to inadvertently squeeze a trigger, especially when he was scared out of his wits. And Victor would have bet a million in Atlantic City that the boss of bosses was more terrified than any of his soldiers could have imagined.

All rich men shared one thing in common, regardless of the source of their wealth: an obsession with eternal life. It was the one thing they absolutely could not buy. Thus the second obsession most of them shared: sexual relationships with much younger women. They could be bought, and provided a temporary nirvana that came closest to approximating what the rich man thought immortality might be like.

“Did you hear me, Sergei?”

“Yes, Victor. I heard you.”

Victor took a deep breath for good measure and glanced behind the sofa.

Milanovich sat on the floor cowering behind foam and fabric, neither of which would have stopped a bullet. The gun shook in his hands. It was aimed squarely at Victor’s chest.

Victor smiled. “The coast is clear. They’re all trying to make their escape. By now the guards are swarming the grounds. They’ll be captured or killed immediately.”

“They have instructions not to kill the children. We need them for their blood. What if the formula is in their blood? We need them alive to ensure a constant supply. We need them alive.”

Victor stifled his repulsion. He was a Thief In Law, a member of a loose association of criminals from the countries that once comprised the Soviet Union. A thief could not dictate his opportunities. He had a moral obligation to put thievery above all else. He was not allowed to have a family, yet Victor had discovered he was a father and grandfather a year ago. He’d kept this discovery a secret. He would keep his repulsion for Milanovich’s plan a secret as well. If someone had tried to conduct a biological experiment on his grandson, he would have buried him alive in a grave filled with flesh-eating worms.

“Of course they will remain alive,” Victor said. “They are Genesis II. They are destined to remain alive.” Victor reached out with his hand. “Here. Let me help you up.”

Milanovich put his gun in his jacket pocket. Victor grabbed his boss’s right hand and helped him up.

“Where is Simeonovich?” Milanovich said.

Victor nodded toward the staircase. “Gone with the others.”

“He’s an amateur. It’s easy to tell when an enemy arrives at your front door pretending to be your friend.”

“I agree. It’s much harder to tell when a friend arrives at your front door and he’s actually your enemy.”

Victor pulled the gun from his waistband and shot him in the head.

He walked to Milanovich’s study behind the great room and pressed a button on a bookshelf. A wall of books opened up to reveal a secret chamber. Victor stepped into the chamber and pressed another button to close the door behind him. He found his protégés waiting for him. One of them was the Gun, the other the Ammunition. Victor could only identify them by the tattoos on their arms. He’d recruited the Timkiv twins out of prison in Ukraine. Computer hackers who looked like California surfer boys with sociopathic tendencies. Perfect companions for an aging thief.

One of the Timkiv twins led the way down the narrow stairs. The other followed behind. Floor lights built into the edges of the steps illuminated their descent. Milanovich had bragged about the secret passageway he’d built as soon as Victor had arrived. He’d spent the equivalent of three million American dollars to build an escape route in the event the Russian FSB or another criminal organization came to assassinate him. The stairs led to a tunnel that would deposit them at an underground garage. A fully fueled Mercedes-Benz truck awaited them. The ground above the garage was heated by the power plant at the Swallow’s Nest. The garage would open up with the press of a button. The Timkiv twins would drive him to the airport in Irkutsk. The three of them would be back in New York City in less than twenty-four hours.

Milanovich’s death would create a power struggle in his organization. The only way to avoid mass bloodshed would be a division of the empire. Such a negotiation would take a year or more to materialize. It would be preceded by threats, challenges, and skirmishes. During that time frame, Victor would solidify his hold on his businesses in the New York City area. Instead of paying roof to Milanovich or anyone else, his hard-earned cash would go into a savings account for his grandson. No longer would his heir be denied part of his rightful inheritance because of a greedy old man’s insatiable appetite for money.

Victor had begun plotting his coup as soon as he was jailed in New Jersey a week ago. His lawyer had acted as conduit, relaying instructions to his men in New York and Kyiv. Victor’s mission had been threefold: get the charges against him dismissed, kill Milanovich, and acquire the formula. He’d accomplished two out of his three goals, and they were the most important. The formula was a luxury. He didn’t need it to survive, but it would have been the crowning moment of his career if it had happened. His earlier talk of revenge was mere theatre. Victor was a thief. Revenge was an emotion. Based on Victor’s experience, emotions weren’t going to enrich his grandson.

As for the boy and the girl, Victor was reminded of the time his daughter, Tara, took him to an animal shelter in New York City to find puppies for both of them. When she saw two mutts in a special cage, Tara inquired about them. An attendant told her they were destined for euthanasia. No, we’ll take them, Tara said. Initially Victor didn’t understand her decision. They’d come for puppies. Why would they want some scraggly looking mixed-breeds? In Victor’s experience, the strong ate the weak. Why would she care about two mutts?

Tara had put her arm around her father and whispered three words in his ear.

Let them live.