The Russian's Greed by Cap Daniels (feel good books to read .TXT) 📕

and leapt fromthe vehicle with his pistol drawn and ballistic vest in place.

The point man from SWATset a pair of charges on the doors of the office and yelled, “Firein the hole!”

Almost before he’dtaken cover behind the van, the doors exploded from their hinges,filling the entryway with dust and debris.

One of the entry teamofficers pinned Volkov’s driver to the floor of the warehouse andsecured his wrists with flex-cuffs. “Don’t move, and you won’tget hurt. Got it?”

The driver nodded in asilent, knowing reply.

White pressed his lefthand against the back of the last SWAT officer and made entry intothe office space right on their heels.

The lead SWAT officeryelled, “Get down! Get down! Get down!”

As the chaos calmed andthe dust and smoke parted, one of the SWAT team members called out,“Right office, clear!”

“Lobby, clear!”

“Left office, clear!”

“Interior, clear!Stand by to blow the vault!”

“Blow it!” Whitecommanded.

The breaching officeryelled, “Fire in the hole!”

With a thundering roar,the heavy vault door caved inward beneath the force of the shapedcharge, and the concrete pillars supporting its weight collapsed.

“Vault, clear!”

White coughed and wipedhis face on his sleeve. “Nice work, guys. Count ’em down.”

The officer from thewarehouse yelled, “I’ve got one on the concrete. He’s cuffedand secure.”

Special Agent GwynnDavis pulled off her helmet, wiped the sweat from her brow, andyelled, “Two cuffed and secure in the right office.”

No one else made anyreports, and White felt his heart stop beating. “There should’vebeen four!”

Gwynn yelled, “We’vegot Volkov and Sascha.”

From the warehouse,another yelled, “I’ve got the driver!”

“Where’s thewoman?” White shouted. “Find the woman!”

He drove his thumb intohis push-to-talk button. “Perimeter, Command-One, we may have arunner. Keep your eyes open.”

“Roger, Command-One.Looking for the runner.”

The SWAT team scouredthe interior of the offices in two-man search teams while Agent Whiteknelt beside the driver. “Where’s the woman?”

The officer still had aknee in the driver’s back, so White ordered, “Let him sit up.”

The officer helped thedriver roll over and sit up with his back against the Bentley.

White grabbed the man’sshirt and stuck his face within inches of his. “I said, where’sthe girl?”

The driver smiled,leaned his face even closer to White’s, and shot his eyes towardthe demolished roll-up door. “I’ve got a better question . . .Where’s your van?”

EPILOGUE

Fox Theater, Atlanta, Georgia

Anastasia RobertovnaBurinkova stood beside the stage surrounded by throngs of adoringaudience members as the prima ballerina of the Bolshoi second companystood only inches away on pointe, posing for pictures with everywould-be ballerina in the audience.

In her native Russian,Anya, the elder, said, “Sometimes I pretend I can’t speakEnglish.”

Anya, the younger,looked up to see the face of the beautiful, former Russian SVRofficer standing in the shadows, and she released from pointe,landing on her heels and running to her American namesake. “MissAnya, I can’t believe you came. Where is my uncle?”

“He couldn’t come,but I am here. Do you have a change of clothes?”

The ballerina’s eyesexploded in excitement. “I will meet you at door six in fiveminutes.”

Two hours . . . andfive minutes later, Anya and Anya pulled into the driveway of asimple ranch-style house near the University of Georgia in Athens.

“What is this place?”asked the dancer.

“This was my father’shouse, and now it is your house.”

“My house? But howcan this be?”

Anya slid her oversizedpurse containing ninety thousand dollars in cash across the seat. “Itis your house because I say it is so, and this purse is for yourmother.”

The porch lightilluminated the elevated concrete landing by the front door, andIrina Volkovna emerged from the house with tears streaming from herface as fifteen-year-old Anya ran into her mother’s arms for thefirst time on American soil.

PRIMECHANIYEAVTORA

(AUTHOR’S NOTE)

Several months ago,one of the readers of my Chase Fulton Novels series emailed to share awonderfully touching story. He told me the story of his granddaughternamed Anya, and how much she enjoyed hearing about a character whoshares her somewhat unusual name. Over the course of dozens of emailswith this gentleman, he and I formed a friendship for which I amdeeply thankful. In a bit of an off-the-cuff comment, I mentionedthat it would be fun to work his granddaughter into a scene in anupcoming story. At the time, I thought I might create a scene inwhich the young Anya would make a passing appearance and offer a bitof lightheartedness and possibly serve as a trigger for a memorysequence for Anya Burinkova, but, obviously, that’s not whathappened. As you read in the pages of this novel, Anya Volkovna, justlike big Anya, has a way of taking over every scene in which sheappears. She grew from a momentary character into the primary subplotof The Russian’s Greed, and something tells me we’re notfinished with her. She managed to weave herself into the ending ofthis story, setting up her likely return in future novels. I hope youenjoyed meeting Ms. Volkovna “Little Anya” as much as I did.

This story,circumstances, characters, and premise are entirely the products ofmy imagination. To my knowledge, there is no evidence of any degreeof corruption in the diamond trade on New York City’s Diamond Row.I found no evidence of involvement of any faction of the Russianmafia in the diamond industry anywhere in the world. By all evidenceand accounts, the diamond dealers of New York City conduct areasonable, respectable, and honorable business, and none of myresearch for this novel produced any evidence to the contrary.

The scene involvingopening the cabin door in the airborne Hawker jet is purelyfictional, and it is likely the events described in that scene arecompletely impossible. I took enormous liberties in the creation ofthat scene.

Although the science ofcreating diamonds in a laboratory exists and is in practice today, Igreatly exaggerated the capabilities of that science for dramaticeffect in this novel. I have no evidence of anyone exchanginglaboratory-created diamonds for natural diamonds in any settinganywhere in the world. Although almost impossible to discern with thehuman eye, there are laboratory tests capable of determining thedifference between a lab-created diamond and a natural stone. Thescience fascinated me enough to construct a fictional story aroundthe premise purely for entertainment value.

To my knowledge, thereis no Bolshoi Ballet second company, and the Bolshoi does notdesignate a prima ballerina. Their designations are principals,leading soloists, first soloists,