Chapter 170
Nikolai's POV
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. I stood at the far end of the corridor, phone pressed to my ear, staring out at the Manhattan skyline through reinforced glass.
"You're certain about this?" Viktor's voice crackled through the encrypted line. He sounded careful. Neutral. But I could hear the disbelief underneath. "Dissolution protocols will take weeks to execute properly. The networks alone—"
"Forty-eight hours," I cut him off. "I want every active contract terminated. Every safe house cleared. Start with North America, then Europe, then home base."
Silence. Heavy and thick.
Through the glass, I watched the city lights blur and refocus. Each point of light represented lives that would never know how close they'd come to ending. How many times had I made calls like this? How many times had I stood in anonymous rooms and ordered someone's death like I was ordering coffee?
"The girl," Viktor said finally. "She's the reason."
It wasn't a question. But I answered anyway.
"She's the reason."
"With respect, sir—" He was choosing his words carefully now. "—we've invested considerable resources in her training. Five years of development. She's one of our most effective operatives. If this is about the failed Caldwell contract—"
"This isn't about the contract."
My reflection stared back at me from the dark glass. I barely recognized myself. When had I gotten so old? When had my hair turned this white?
"This is about the fact that I broke three of her ribs two days ago," I said. The words tasted like ash. "This is about the fact that I trained my own daughter to kill and told myself I was protecting her."
I'd said it out loud now. Made it real.
Viktor exhaled slowly. "You didn't know. When we recruited her, when we trained her—you didn't know she was yours."
"Does that matter?"
I turned away from the window. Leaned against the cold glass.
Down the corridor, past three security checkpoints and two locked doors, Evelyn lay in a hospital bed. Bandages wrapped her torso. Bandages for injuries I'd given her.
"I still did it," I said. "I still looked at a twenty-year-old girl who'd already been broken by her mother's murder two years earlier—a girl who'd been discarded by the man who claimed to save her—and saw an opportunity. I saw raw material." My voice caught. "I saw a weapon."
I remembered that first day at Vorkuta. They'd brought her in from the transport van wearing a thin cotton dress. Completely wrong for the Siberian cold. Her arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes huge and empty.
Shock, the medical officer had said. Severe trauma. Possible dissociative episode.
I'd looked at that shattered girl and thought: Good. Broken things are easier to reshape.
"The organization has protocols," Viktor said. His tone shifted into that practical efficiency I'd always valued. "Succession plans. If you're truly committed to dissolution, I can activate the contingencies. Assets will be distributed according to the secondary structure. Personnel will receive severance packages and new identities where necessary. The financial reserves can be—"
I almost said no. Almost told him to burn it all.
But I stopped myself.
"The operatives," I said slowly. "The ones in the field. The ones who've built their entire lives around this."
"Yes, sir."
I thought of all of them. The men and women I'd recruited over three decades. Some were like Evelyn—broken and desperate, with nowhere else to go. Some were true believers in the old cause. Some were just good at killing and needed somewhere to belong.
They were all killers. Every one of them had blood on their hands.
But so did I.
"Your succession plan," I said. "The severance packages. That's better than what I was going to do."
Viktor didn't respond immediately. When he did, his voice was careful. "Sir?"
"Execute your protocols," I told him. "Give them the resources they need. Money. New identities. Whatever it takes for them to disappear and start over." I paused. "They deserve that much."
"That's... generous."
"No." I shook my head even though he couldn't see me. "It's the bare minimum. I made them into what they are. The least I can do is give them a chance to be something else."
I could hear Viktor typing now. Fast. Making lists. Calculating logistics.
"It will take longer than forty-eight hours," he said. "To do it properly. To make sure everyone is taken care of. We're looking at two weeks minimum. Maybe three."
"Then take three weeks." I started pacing. Restless energy that wouldn't let me stand still. "But I want it done right. No one gets left behind. No one gets burned. Understood?"
"Understood, sir."
"The timing is unfortunate," Viktor continued. "With Russell's organization actively investigating our North American operations, a sudden dissolution will raise questions. They'll assume we're regrouping. Preparing for something larger."
"Let them investigate." I stopped pacing. Stood very still. "Let them dig through the ashes and find nothing. Russell's smart enough to recognize when an organization is truly dead."
I thought of Julian Russell. The way he'd positioned himself between me and Evelyn in that hospital room. The absolute conviction in his eyes when he'd said love could save lives.
"And if he has questions," I said, "he can ask me directly. I'll be staying in New York for the foreseeable future."
That surprised Viktor. "Sir, with respect, remaining in proximity to an active investigation site is—"
"I'm aware of the risks. But my daughter is here. And until I'm certain she's safe, until I'm certain that dismantling Kholod hasn't painted a target on her back—I'm not leaving."
Silence on the other end.
Then: "You're going to protect her."
Viktor's tone was completely neutral. But I heard the subtext clearly.
You're going to protect her the way you protected her mother?
The accusation hit hard.