96
SOCHI, RUSSIA
Christine wasn’t sure how much time passed, but her tears had dried and she was on her feet again, her hands on the pipe so the handcuffs no longer cut into her wrists. Her mind and body were numb, her muscles so drained that she barely had enough strength to hang on to the pipe. As the bright shafts of sunlight streaming through the boathouse openings faded, replaced with dirty-gray light filtering into her cell, her mind began to clear and her strength returned.
Night was setting in, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before Gorev discussed her fate with Kalinin. Her thoughts returned to escape. She didn’t have a plan yet, but it would start with freeing herself from the pipe. She examined the ends, which passed through flanges bolted to each wall. Hoping the pipe was just connected to the walls rather than running through them, Christine wondered if she could break one of the flanges free.
She gripped the piping and put her full weight on it, then yanked down as hard as she could. The piping didn’t move. She tried several times more, hoping she could loosen one end, but the flanges didn’t give. Undeterred, she slid her handcuffs sideways on the pipe, reaching one end to get a closer look at the flange. It was securely bolted to the wall. She slid her handcuffs along the pipe in the other direction, and an examination of that flange produced the same result. There was nothing she could do.
Her handcuffs sliding on the pipe produced a commotion, and she heard the door unlock. It opened to reveal one of Chernov’s Security Service agents — the one who had handcuffed her to the piping run. He turned the light on and examined Christine, then barked something in Russian to her and closed the door with a thud, locking it again. As the door closed, the single light hanging from the ceiling swayed slightly, and Christine got an idea. There was a metal shroud above the bulb, casting a dark shadow across the top of the storage room.
She was handcuffed to the piping only eight feet from the door and just to the left. She looked up, disappointed to see a clearance of only three feet between the pipe and ceiling. Had there been a seven-foot clearance, she could have used the pipe like an uneven bar, swinging down at full extension. Still, with some creativity, the pipe would suffice.
Christine gripped the pipe with both hands, then pulled herself up with enough force to continue through to a waist pull-up. She finished with her arms straight down toward the pipe and her hips resting against it. Her head was only a few inches from the ceiling, her upper body in the shadows. Leaning forward, she bent her knees slowly, pulling her legs into the darkness, and placed her feet onto the pipe. It wasn’t the most graceful position, but she had to improvise. Now that she was ready for the next move, she took a deep breath and yelled for the security agent. There was no response and she screamed again, as loud as she could.
The door unlocked and the security agent peered inside.
Startled by Christine’s disappearance, he stepped into the room to inspect more closely, pulling his pistol from its holster. As he moved toward where she’d been handcuffed to the pipe, Christine straightened her legs, pushing her hips up high, then released her feet from the bar, thrusting down as she pivoted toward the agent. Her feet connected solidly with his chest, slamming him back into the wall.
Christine had hoped to knock the guard out when his head hit the wall, and if he fell forward within range of her feet, her plan would’ve worked. But the guard was only stunned, dropping his pistol as he rebounded and staggered forward. Christine also rebounded after the impact, and she swung toward him again, this time clamping her thighs around his neck and scissoring her legs behind his head. She twisted sideways in the air, shifting her grip around his neck ninety degrees so she could cut off his airway. She pulled him toward her, hoping he’d trip in the process, giving her the opportunity to snap his neck, but he maintained his balance.
She squeezed her thighs tightly together, straining from the exertion as he clawed at her legs, trying to pry them apart. His face turned red and his eyes began to bulge. He dropped to his knees, his attempts to free himself becoming weaker. His lips turned purple and his body went slack, his arms dangling by his side.
Christine kept her legs clamped around his neck for another minute to make sure, then released him, letting him fall onto his face. After turning him over with her feet, she slipped a foot inside one of his jacket pockets, but found nothing. Inside the other pocket, however, she felt a metal key attached to a ring. Pinching the key between her toes, she pulled it slowly from his pocket. After firmly gripping the pipe, she piked at the waist into a V, bringing her feet up until the key was in her right hand.
She dropped to her feet and pulled her hands together, then unlocked the handcuffs. After retrieving the agent’s pistol from the floor, she stopped by the door, then peered outside. There was no one in sight, so she crept along the wall until she reached the corner, where she had a view of the cove. The pier to her right ran out to Chernov’s motorboat and yacht, both deserted, and the brick walkway to her left wound up to the villa. It was still dusk, but it wouldn’t be much longer before it was dark. After debating whether to stay put until it was dark instead of exposing herself in the fading light, she decided to get moving.
Christine hurried down the pier, slipping into the motorboat. Crouching down, she examined the boat’s ignition system. Like Chernov’s yacht, it was a push-button start, but needed a key. She searched the motorboat but came up empty. Peering over the edge of the boat, she examined the shoreline, wondering if she could make it out on foot. But the cove terminated on both ends in jagged rocks transitioning to steep cliffs. The only way out was up toward the villa, but there was a twenty-foot-tall security wall between the villa and the road, which also merged into steep cliffs on each side. Chernov’s villa had been built in a secure location indeed. As Christine dwelled on her predicament, she remembered Elena’s cell phone was programmed to request assistance from an extraction team nearby, which was exactly what she needed. Gorev had knocked it from her hand in Chernov’s bedroom.
She examined the rugged terrain rising toward the villa for a concealed path, but it looked like the only trail up was the winding brick walkway. Thankfully, the path was sheltered by lush vegetation on both sides, which would obscure her approach. She slipped from the motorboat onto the pier again, quickly reaching the winding path.
By the time she reached the end of the walkway, darkness had fallen, and Christine stopped at the edge of the vegetation only a few feet from the open-air villa. She heard the faint sound of voices and concluded it was either the television or two agents, but in either case, the sound was coming from the living room or farther away. She emerged from the path and stopped beside the villa wall, and after convincing herself there were no Russians nearby, she slipped into a hallway leading to the bedrooms.
She reached Chernov’s bedroom and stopped at the door. It was slightly ajar, with Gorev’s men having damaged the frame when they broke into the room. She pushed the door slowly open and slipped into the darkness. She gently closed the door, then turned on a bedside light. The bed was neatly made up, with no sign of Chernov.
Christine searched the room, including the closet, bathroom, and under the bed, failing to locate Elena’s cell phone. Her heart sank at the failed discovery, but then she realized all of her belongings were missing: her clothes, purse, even her carry-on suitcase. She hoped Gorev’s men had deposited everything into her luggage, and if she could find her suitcase, she would locate Elena’s phone. She turned off the light and slipped back into the hallway.