Wrath's Storm: A Masters' Admiralty Novel by Mari Carr (desktop ebook reader .txt) 📕

one. But they’re not the same height. I mean the hair could be a wig, but the height.”

“You’re right that hair color can be changed with a wig. And height with the right kind of shoes. Don’t focus on what they look like. Watch how she moves. How she walks.” There was a tight excitement in Annalise’s voice. Jakob, who’d been leaning on the table to look at something Vadisk was doing, pushed up, coming to stand behind the couch and watch as Annalise played the videos again.

This time Walt saw it. The first woman in the longer video wasn’t walking as fast as everyone else. There was an almost arrogant slowness to the way she moved that was at odds with her rather drab appearance. It was the tall blonde’s walk, and it had fit her appearance—wealthy, powerful, self-assured—when she was a blonde far more than when she was dressed as the brunette.

“She also has one hand in her pocket,” Annalise said. “She’s wearing a glove on the other hand, so she clearly has gloves. My guess is she has something in that pocket she needs to hold onto. Either because she’s worried about losing or dropping it or because she needs it for reassurance.”

“Are there any shots of her face?” Walt asked, suddenly anxious and antsy.

“Here.” She clicked, opening a still of the woman. “This video is from Krakow. I checked and though they’ve been running facial recognition for hours, the team in Budapest hasn’t identified her yet. This one, where she’s blonde, this is from here in Odessa.”

Jakob straightened. “Admiral Varda.”

Nikolett had been watching them, and the instant Jakob said her name she came over, dropping down beside Annalise.

Annalise had the still images of the woman’s face up on screen—neither of them a front-facing image, but there was enough to see that they weren’t the same person.

“Okay, the walk is something, but… They look nothing alike,” Walt said.

“Yes, they do,” Annalise assured him. At the same time Nikolett said, “Makeup.”

Walt looked again. The shape of the eyes was different, wasn’t it? He peered closer. The blonde version had almond-shaped eyes, while the brunette had rounder eyes. The blonde’s nose was skinnier, her lips full.

But the closer he looked, the more he saw. Comparing the actual size of visible sclera of the eye, as well as the curvature of the lower lid…those were the same. Her nostrils were the same too, they just seemed skinnier on the blonde.

“Vadisk,” Nikolett barked. “Run this woman’s face against passport control for the past—” Nikolett looked at Annalise.

“Six, to be safe.”

“Six months,” Nikolett finished.

Leonid was on his feet. “What have you found?”

It was Annalise who answered. “The footage you provided shows a woman who is very, very similar to, if not the same person, as one of the persons of interest we have in relation to the case in Krakow.”

Leonid’s cheek twitched. “A serial killer took my sister.”

“Facial recognition running,” Vadisk said. “Six months’ worth of passport photos isn’t a small number, but it’s a hell of a lot better than trying to check against all of Europe.”

“Show me,” Leonid demanded.

Walt followed after Annalise as she took her computer to the table, stepping back so other people could crowd around her as she played the videos, pointing out the similarity in the way the woman held herself, her gait, if not the stride length of her steps thanks to the difference in footwear.

Annalise was still talking when Vadisk shoved to his feet. “Got her.”

The air went perfectly still, as if everyone in the room held their breath for one frozen, tense moment.

“Ava Chapman. British citizen,” Vadisk said.

“Where is she now?” Leonid snarled.

Vadisk clicked. “She rented a private residence in Teplodar. Four-month lease that ends in two weeks.” Vadisk grabbed his phone off the table. “She has a flight booked to Paraguay five days from now.”

Before Vadisk was even finished talking he, Jakob, Maxim, Leonid, and the bodyguard were all in motion, headed for the door. The conversation had switched from English to Ukrainian, and Nikolett was quick-fire translating for Jakob.

Less than five minutes later, the suite was empty.

Walt stared at the door, shocked at how quickly things had happened.

Nikolett was at a computer. “We will watch. Vadisk is wearing an advanced comm system.” A second later, a video feed popped up. All they could see was the front window of a car that seemed to be racing through the city traffic.

Nikolett straightened, looked at Annalise. “What is the likelihood she’s still alive?”

Annalise shook her head. “I don’t know, but it’s not good. The killer has a flight booked. She’s ready to leave the country.”

Nikolett looked grim. “Then we’ll hope they are there in time to recover her body.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The ride to Teplodar was quiet, tense. Jakob’s memory flashed back to times he’d sat in tanks and vans, trying to calm and focus himself before an op. He was riding in an elegant, expensive SUV, Vadisk in the front passenger seat, Leonid—the car’s owner—beside him, Maxim on the third row bench seat.

Leonid’s bodyguard, whose name Jakob still didn’t know, was driving, though that term was far too sedate for the way the vehicle had whipped through traffic, finally leaving the elegant city of Odessa behind.

As they barreled by the Baraboi River, Jakob understood why their killer had chosen this location. It was close to the city of Odessa, but it felt like a ghost town.

In the front, Vadisk said something to the bodyguard, who nodded. After checking his phone, Vadisk turned around to look back at Jakob and the others. He spoke first in Ukrainian, and then repeated it in English for Jakob.

“We are less than five kilometers away. No one, not our people or his,” Vadisk nodded at Leonid, “have been able to get detailed schematics of the house. Our Turkish friend,” code for the Ottoman admiral, “sent help,” the janissaries, “but they are hours out.”

“Blind and weaponless,” Jakob murmured.

“There are rifles in the trunk,” Leonid replied in English. “Hunting rifles.”

“Better