The silence in the tannery was a living thing, a thick, heavy blanket woven from shock and a grim, newfound purpose. The four men—Kamo, Luka, and the two other witnesses—looked at Jake, their expressions transformed. They had descended into the darkness with him, and now they looked to him not just as a comrade, but as their sole guide in this new, bloody landscape. The pact was sealed not with words, but with the shared, unspoken understanding of what must be done.
Jake's demeanor had undergone its own final, chilling transformation. The last vestiges of the hesitant, horrified history teacher had been burned away in the graveyard. What remained was a being of pure, cold focus. He was no longer reacting to the board; he was carving his own pieces.
He immediately shifted from philosophy to tactics, his voice cutting through the tension with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel.
"Danilov will feel safe," Jake began, his tone flat and analytical. He turned to the others, his gaze sharp, demanding their complete attention. "He has just successfully carried out a mission for a powerful man. He feels protected. He believes he is the hunter, not the hunted. We will use that arrogance against him."
He dismissed the idea of a simple street snatch with a wave of his hand. "That is clumsy. It attracts attention. It leaves too much to chance." He moved to a large, dusty table, his men gathering around him as he began to sketch in the thick layer of grime with his finger. "We will not hunt him. We will have him come to us. We will lure him out."
Kamo frowned. "How? He will be suspicious of any direct summons."
"He will not be suspicious of a woman," Jake stated. "Especially not one he is trying to impress." He looked at Luka. "Your niece, Anna. She helps distribute pamphlets in the Avlabari district. Danilov is stationed there. I have seen him watching her. He thinks he is subtle."
Luka's face hardened. "I will not put my family in danger."
"She will be in no danger," Jake countered, his voice softening almost imperceptibly, a calculated gesture of reassurance. "She will not know the true purpose of her task. Her role will be simple, and she will be a mile away before anything happens. We will tell her we have an important message for Danilov from a comrade who must remain anonymous. She will be instructed to tell him one thing, and one thing only: 'A friend of Fikus wants to meet. He has information to sell.'"
The bait was perfect in its simplicity. For Danilov, the name "Fikus" would be an immediate, screaming alarm bell. A loose end. A witness. A threat he would feel personally obligated to eliminate to protect himself and his master, Orlov. His arrogance would do the rest.
"She will tell him the meeting point," Jake continued, his finger tapping a spot on his crude map. "The old Sulphur Baths, the one that was damaged in the fire last year. It is a maze inside. Crumbling tile, dark, echoing chambers. Perfect for our purpose."
He then laid out the trap with the chilling precision of a master hunter. "Kamo, you and Luka will be the takedown team. You will wait in the main steam room, hidden by the shadows and the lingering darkness. Davit, you will be on the roof of the bakery across the street, watching the entrance. Levan, you will cover the rear exit, the one leading to the river. No one goes in or out without our knowledge. I will be inside, in the antechamber, to guide him in."
"You will be inside?" Kamo growled, a flicker of protest in his eyes. "That's too dangerous. Let me—"
"I will be inside," Jake repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. "He needs to see a single, non-threatening figure. He will walk in thinking he is meeting a frightened, greedy victim. He will find he is the one in the abattoir."
The plan was set. The hunters were ready.
The execution was a testament to their newfound discipline under Jake's command. Anna, a bright-eyed young revolutionary, played her part with unwitting perfection, her nervousness only adding to the authenticity of the message. Danilov took the bait without a moment's hesitation, his face a mask of false concern as he promised the girl he would "look into the matter."
An hour later, as twilight bled into a bruised purple over the city, Danilov arrived at the derelict bathhouse. He moved with a confident swagger, one hand resting casually inside his coat, no doubt on the grip of his revolver.
From his rooftop perch, Davit gave the silent signal. The target had arrived. Alone.
Inside, Jake stood in the crumbling antechamber, the air thick with the smell of wet, decaying plaster and sulfur. He was unarmed, his hands in his pockets. When Danilov entered, silhouetted against the fading light, Jake gave a nervous, beckoning wave.
"You are the friend of Fikus?" Danilov asked, his voice echoing in the ruined space.
"He was my friend," Jake replied, his voice deliberately pitched to sound shaky, fearful. "He told me things. Things that are worth money. Or my life."
Danilov's eyes glinted with predatory interest. "Show me what you have."
"Not here," Jake said, gesturing deeper into the bathhouse. "In there. It is more private."
He turned and led the way into the main chamber, a vast, tiled cavern shrouded in deep shadow. Danilov followed, his footsteps confident, the sound of a predator closing in on its prey.
Jake stopped in the center of the room. "Here," he said, turning to face Danilov.
As Danilov's eyes adjusted to the gloom, a flicker of confusion, of suspicion, crossed his face. This wasn't a frightened informant. The man before him stood with an unnerving stillness.
It was in that moment of hesitation that they struck.
From the deepest shadows to the left, a mountain of a man emerged—Kamo. From the right, a wiry, silent figure—Luka. They moved with a synchronized, silent speed. Before Danilov could even process the threat, before his hand could so much as twitch toward his gun, they were on him.
There was no gunfight. No protracted, messy struggle. Kamo's massive forearm wrapped around Danilov's throat, cutting off his air and any chance of a shout. Luka expertly disarmed him, wrenching the revolver from his coat. Danilov's confident swagger evaporated into a desperate, futile struggle for his life. A few seconds later, his body went limp, unconscious.
It was a swift, brutal, and utterly silent takedown. The professionalism of it was terrifying. This was not the work of street brawlers. This was the work of a dedicated, disciplined unit.
They bound and gagged the unconscious assassin with practiced efficiency. They carried him out the back, where Levan was waiting. They loaded him into a waiting cart, and disappeared into the night.
Their new, most secure location was a deep, stone-lined wine cellar beneath the city villa of a wealthy merchant sympathetic to the cause, a man who was currently on an extended trip to Moscow. It was perfect: isolated, soundproof, and unknown to anyone in the party.
As they dragged the struggling, now-conscious Danilov down the stone steps and into the cellar, Jake followed, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind them. He slid the thick iron bolt into place. The sound echoed in the confined, cold space, a sound of absolute finality. A tomb door closing.
Danilov's eyes, wide with terror, darted from Kamo's furious face to the grim, unforgiving expressions of the others. He finally looked at Jake, who stood calmly by the door, his expression completely unreadable.
"Now, Comrade Danilov," Jake said, his voice soft and devoid of any heat, a chilling counterpoint to the raw violence of the abduction. "Let's talk about your orders."
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