Chapter 16 - The Interrogation
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Romanov paced around the metal chair, tapping the flat side of his combat knife against his thigh. He enjoyed the theatrics of terror, but he had severely underestimated the woman he had kidnapped.
Aliyah didn't cry. She didn't beg. She used the only weapon she had left: her medical training.
She watched Romanov closely. She noticed the slight tremor in his left hand. The yellowish tint to the whites of his eyes. The subtle, labored wheeze when he inhaled his cigarette.
"You're dying, aren't you?" Aliyah said softly.
Romanov stopped dead in his tracks. The cruel smile vanished from his face. "What did you say?"
"I'm a trauma nurse, Igor," she said, projecting a calm, clinical authority. "You have jaundice in your sclera. You’re favoring your right side because your liver is swollen. And that tremor isn't adrenaline. It's hepatic encephalopathy. You have late-stage liver failure. You don't want Victor’s territory. You want to take him down with you before you die."
Romanov’s face twisted in pure, unadulterated rage. He lunged forward, grabbing her by the throat with his free hand, squeezing painfully.
"You talk too much, little nurse," he hissed, his foul breath washing over her.
"Killing me won't cure you," she choked out, staring defiantly into his eyes. "But stressing your body like this will trigger a portal hypertensive hemorrhage. You'll drown in your own blood before Victor even gets here."
Romanov shoved her backward, coughing violently. Her clinical analysis had rattled him deeply, stripping away his aura of invincibility.
Before he could regain his composure, a deafening, concussive explosion rocked the foundation of the warehouse.
The heavy steel loading doors at the front of the building blew entirely off their hinges, raining shrapnel and fire across the concrete floor.
The lights went out.
"He’s here!" one of Romanov’s guards screamed in Russian, raising his assault rifle.
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Through the thick, black smoke pouring into the warehouse, a figure walked slowly into the building. He didn't bother with stealth. He didn't hide behind cover.
Victor Malenkov had abandoned his twelve years of careful strategy. The demon had finally woken up.
