The silence inside the tannery was almost alive—a dense, heavy thing breathing in the dark between them. The four men—Kamo, Luka, Davit, and Levan—stared at Jake, their faces pale and hard. Something had shifted. They were no longer revolutionaries waiting for orders; they were conspirators bound by an unspoken oath. Their unity was forged not through ideology, but through blood.
Jake stood at the center of it, changed beyond recognition. The last remnants of the frightened, uncertain man who once questioned the cost of his own plans were gone. What remained was deliberate, controlled, and terrifyingly still. He no longer reacted to the world around him—he reshaped it.
"Danilov feels safe," he began, his tone even and clinical. His voice filled the space with the quiet authority of inevitability. "He just completed a mission. He believes he's untouchable. That arrogance will bring him to us."
He wiped a patch of dust from a cracked table, drawing the outline of the Avlabari district with his fingertip. "We don't grab him in the street—that's messy, unpredictable. We lure him in."
Kamo frowned. "He'll smell a trap."
"Not from a woman," Jake said simply. His gaze moved to Luka. "Your niece, Anna. She works distributing pamphlets near the station. Danilov watches her—too often. He thinks no one notices."
Luka stiffened. "She's a child in this. I won't risk her."
Jake's voice softened, but only slightly. "She'll never know what she's part of. She'll deliver a message, nothing more. She'll say, 'A friend of Fikus wants to meet. He has information to sell.' That's all. She'll be home long before anything happens."
Luka hesitated, jaw tight, but he said nothing.
Jake continued, tapping the map again. "The meeting will be at the old Sulphur Baths. Abandoned after the fire last year. Maze of halls, broken tile, no light. Perfect ground for us."
He assigned positions with surgical precision. "Kamo, Luka—you're inside, waiting in the main chamber. Davit, the roof of the bakery across the street. Levan, the back exit by the river. No one goes in or out unseen."
Kamo's brow furrowed. "And you?"
"I'll be inside," Jake said. "Alone."
"That's madness," Kamo snapped.
Jake's reply was ice. "He expects fear. He'll come in relaxed if he thinks it's just one frightened man. The moment he sees me, the trap will close."
The men exchanged looks. None argued further.
The next evening, the plan unfurled like clockwork. Anna, unaware of what her words would trigger, found Danilov near the pamphlet stand. She repeated her line—nervous, trembling slightly. Her fear made it real.
Danilov took the bait instantly. "A friend of Fikus?" he asked, smiling that oily smile of false sympathy. "I'll handle it."
At dusk, he arrived at the ruined baths. The building crouched at the edge of the city like a corpse, half-eaten by mold and ash. He walked in alone, one hand tucked inside his coat. From the rooftop, Davit saw him enter and gave the signal—a flicker of light reflected off his pocket watch.
Inside, the air was heavy with damp and sulfur. Jake stood in the doorway of the antechamber, hands in his pockets, body language trembling just enough to sell the act.
"You're the friend of Fikus?" Danilov asked, his voice echoing in the ruin.
Jake nodded. "He told me things," he said softly. "Things worth money—or my life."
"Show me," Danilov said, stepping closer.
"Not here," Jake replied. "It's too open. Inside. There's a place we can talk."
He turned and led the way into the main chamber. The faint light from the door fell across the cracked tiles and broken columns. The shadows swallowed the rest.
Danilov followed, each step cautious now. When Jake stopped and turned, the shift in his posture—too steady, too calm—triggered a flicker of suspicion in Danilov's eyes.
He didn't have time to act on it.
Kamo moved first, erupting from the left like a wall of muscle and rage. Luka appeared from the right, silent and precise. In one fluid motion, Kamo's arm clamped around Danilov's neck, cutting off both breath and sound, while Luka ripped the revolver from his hand. Danilov's body convulsed, kicked, then went limp.
No gunshots. No shouting. Just the sound of boots scraping tile, the hiss of breath, and silence.
They bound him quickly, gagged him, and carried him out through the back where Levan waited with the cart. Within minutes, the street was empty again.
The destination was a wine cellar beneath a deserted merchant's villa on the city's edge—a fortress of stone and secrecy. The perfect oubliette.
When they dragged Danilov down the stairs, he was awake again, thrashing against the ropes. His muffled cries bounced off the walls. Kamo shoved him into a chair as Jake closed the heavy door and slid the iron bolt home.
The echo of metal on metal filled the chamber. Final.
Danilov's wild eyes found Jake. The others stood back, watching as their leader stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, face calm as marble.
"Now, Comrade Danilov," Jake said softly, almost kindly. "Let's talk about your orders."
The sound of his voice carried no heat, no hatred—only certainty. The kind of certainty that chilled the room more than the stone itself.