10. MADDY

10

MADDY

Archer is nervous. Oh, shit. Even Mr. Ortiz and Chase Bishop are tense while Archer gives clearance for the airfield. And the full realization of what is about to happen finally hits me with a mild panic attack.

I take deep breaths and flex my fingers to calm myself.

“Three military Apache helicopters, a Sikorsky, and a Cobra,” Archer’s eyes are locked with Mr. Ortiz’s as he repeats on the phone the aircrafts that are asking for the clearance to land. “Apaches are what ? Landing on the nearby island?”

“Tasriuk bought that,” Mr. Ortiz mouths, reminding him.

“Got it.” Archer nods and hangs up, then looks at me and exhales.

Wait, wait, wait… Yeah… Oh, wow… I thought I would be nervous, and I am, but everyone seems to be silently freaking out. Sure, they heard about Tsariuk. Sure, I knew my dad’s extent of power two years ago. The Change probably made him richer than before. And I kind of enjoy seeing these powerful men steel their spines at the fact that my dad is going to land here soon.

Another message beeps on my phone.

Dad: Any good food on that island of yours?

I tell him the restaurants are closed except for one small joint run by one of the residents. But I cooked. Yeah, guilty. I cooked Dad’s favorite dishes—roasted chicken with garlic, cold beet soup, Russian salad. I feel silly, even stupid for doing that, but despite our differences, my heart jumps out of my chest in excitement.

This nerve-wrecking scenario doesn’t change a bit. In fact, it gets worse when Archer and I and several guards arrive at the airport and stand by the ATVs on the side of the airstrip, listening to the distant sound of the helicopters. I feel like I’m about to jump out of my shoes. My legs are jelly from nervousness.

I asked Dad if it was safe for him to come, considering the last helicopter to leave was blown up.

“I asked a friend from the US to give me some protection,” he explained with his usual nonchalance.

“What does that mean?”

“Mila, sweetheart, leave it to me.”

As we stand at the airfield surrounded by the jungle and watch the sunny skies for signs of the helicopters, their humming in the distance turns into a roar.

The three military Apaches, with men hanging off with guns and rockets attached, fly over the airfield in circles like angry bees. Those are the deadliest helicopters with the largest shooting power.

Archer leans to me. “Apparently, your father got the US military to escort him here.”

“How?” I pretend that I don’t know.

“One of his friends, Senator Knowles, worked with my father back in the day.”

No surprise.

Then the roar gets even louder as two more helicopters enter the sky above us. One of them is a spider-looking Cobra—Dad had that one back in my day. Another is a Sikorsky, one of the largest helicopters ever created. One of Dad’s hobbies is investing into technology and obsessing over vehicles—cars or aircrafts or yachts.

The two helicopters hover over the airfield, making my hair fly everywhere, all of us squinting at the sky, shielding our eyes from the wind. When they land, the Apaches hovering above take off and disappear behind Zion’s mountaintop.

The helicopters kill the engine, but the palm trees still swing in the air as if the helicopters brought a storm with them.

Men, about twenty of them, pile out of the Sikorsky. Dark military getup, sunglasses, guns in their hands.

While a dozen of them line up in front of the Cobra, facing us, like a shield, the others approach the Cobra and lower their guns.

“Well, shit,” Archer murmurs, his hands clasped tight in front of him. “It looks like we are prisoners on our own island.”

I smile nervously. “We are fine. Just go along with it.” Though my entire body is so tense I feel like I’m going to pass out.

The Cobra opens, and a ladder shifts down. Two strangers in suits and ties disembark and halt to a stop at the bottom. My father follows.

Dad…

I bite my lower lip, trying not to smile, though I never thought I’d be so excited to see him.

Sunglasses, graying hair, buttoned-down shirt hanging loose, sleeves rolled up, jeans. He looks so relaxed, though it’s impossible to miss his confident stride.

He sees us at the edge of the airfield and starts walking. The guards in front of him part and march just a little ahead in a convoy, their guns raised. Several others spread out.

Dad’s pace quickens as he gets closer. He takes off his sunglasses, and I think my heart is about to burst when he doesn’t look at anyone but me, walks up to me, and sweeps me into a hug so tight that I forget how to breathe.

“ Nu, privet, rebionak, ” he murmurs. Hi, child.

That’s what he always called me. Not baby, not sweetie, not sunshine. Just child. In Russian. And as I grew older, it became rarer and rarer.

I smile. Tears start welling up in my eyes. My chest shakes with a sob as he grunts and hugs me tighter. His familiar smell envelopes me, assaulting me with memories that, until now, seemed so distant, almost like a dream.

When Dad lets go, his big hands hold my shoulders as he studies me, a smile playing on his lips. He looks a little older, with more wrinkles creasing his eyes. He takes in my dress, hair, and face, then wraps his heavy arm around my shoulders and finally turns to Archer.

“Mr. Crone, how are you?” Still holding me tight against him, he shakes hands with Archer. “Nice weather.” He turns to me again. “Nice tan.”

I know he has a lot more to say, but he says nonsense, things we already talked about. As we walk toward the side-by-sides parked nearby, one of his men, a short guy in his forties, an assistant, I suppose, starts pouring questions onto Archer.

“We have thirty-two men who need housing, close to Mr. Tsariuk.”

I notice his accent is Spanish. Probably because Dad does business in South America a lot these days.

“We need several vehicles, someone from your IT team to establish the security perimeter, the radio frequencies, and network details to set up our IT station.”

Archer asks us to wait as he sends a request for additional vehicles, because Dad won’t move unless his team is with him.

“First time here. Need to make sure it’s safe,” Dad explains to me, his eyes so piercing as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m his daughter or a doppelg?nger.

I smile. “Archer got you a nice villa.”

“I cannot stay at your place?”

“Dad!” I blush. “I have a studio bungalow.”

“Right. Only Mr. Levi is allowed there.”

I blush even more.

He tilts his head and rubs my shoulder with his palm. “It is all right. I will survive.”

“But I made you your favorite food.”

He smiles, his eyes roaming my face. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“That means you are happy to see me?” There’s that need for praise.

“Very. I missed you.”

“All two years?”

“Dad,” I scold him for constantly reminding me.

He pulls me against him. “ Eh, rebionak, I gde ty etamu nauchilas’? ” He asks me where I learned that. Hiding, I assume?

“You, Dad. I was a good student.”

He chuckles, still barely having said a word to Archer or his team standing a little ways from us in awkward silence.

Archer’s security guard approaches and starts reporting on the vehicles that are on their way, but Dad turns to me. “What did you cook?”

I roll my eyes and then look over my shoulder at his men, ready to go to war. “Why did you need so many?”

“One, for protection.”

“And two?”

“Some of them are special ops.”

“What does that mean?”

“You asked me for a favor,” he reminds me. “If we want to infiltrate Port Mrei, we need to get through their security.”

It’s been nine days since Raven’s disappearance, and everyone has pretty much lost hope of finding him. But not my dad.

He notices my confused look. “I am sending my men to Port Mrei for an intervention.”

“What intervention?” My heart stills. “You have news about Raven?”

“No. But I have news about Skiba. He is alive and well. We will get him and bring him here, so he can tell us exactly what happened.”