Misled

by Anderson Harp

  “Get some water.”

  The little man scurried up the stairs and came back with a small plastic bucketful. He cupped the water in his hands and then let it drip onto Newton’s face.

  “Oh.” Todd’s eyes suddenly flew open and he gasped for air like a drowning man.

  The smaller man jumped back, startled by his suddenly coming to life.

  “Help him up,” the killer ordered the other guard.

  “I need a doctor.” Todd mumbled the words. He was shaking with a chill. Sweat from the fever and the water used to awaken him soaked his hair and clothes.

  “No doctor.” The big man paced around the room as the little one helped Todd drink from the bucket. “I’ll get you some aspirin.”

  The prisoner nodded, still semiconscious.

  “And some food. I will bring you some.” The killer’s tone remained flat, as if he were taking care of livestock on a farm.

  * * * *

  “He ain’t good.” The little one stood outside when the van pulled back up to the hacienda some hours later. A cloud of dust engulfed the van and swirled around it.

  The Mexican wasn’t as fearful for Todd as he was for himself. He had seen Angel use a chainsaw on a man strapped to a chair, blood and tissue flying as the man screamed and gagged. His eyes had still been open and looking at them when it fell to the ground. Angel had stuck the skull on a spiked fence post.

  The dead man was one of six that Angel had murdered that day, using his preferred method of execution. His video of killings often appeared on the internet. It was one thing to put a bullet in the brain of another, but Angel chose a manner of murder that caused the most fear.

  “I have some aspirin for you.” The smaller man acted as if he were Todd’s savior.

  He had a plastic bag in one hand and a small bottle of tequila in the other; leaning back against the dust-covered van, he took a long swallow.

  “I spoke to Angel.”

  “What do we do?”

  “He said we’d have an answer in the morning.”

  “Bueno.”

  “He said make plans to get rid of the body. He doesn’t think we’ll need him after tomorrow.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Same as her.” The killer was referring to the other Marine. They had decided early on that only one was needed. Angel had used the chainsaw on her, blood spattering onto the desert sand as her screams reached out to no one.

  “Make sure nothing with fingerprints or teeth?”

  “Yeah. But this one we can bury in the desert.” He tossed the plastic bag to his partner.

  “His last meal.”

  The smaller man smiled. The coming permission to kill their prisoner was good news. And to think that only minutes before, they’d worried that the Marine had died too soon.

  Chapter 59

  In the Center of Moscow

  “What about the woman?” FSB Lt. Col. Mikhailov sat in a steel chair behind the computer operators at the operation center in the basement of the FSB headquarters.

  “Yes, sir. We followed up on that.” The junior officer turned around from his chair. “She knew what she was doing.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He pulled up the surveillance footage from around the hotel. It was uncanny: The woman seemed to know the location of each camera. Her head was down and her fur hood covered most of her face. The FSB pulled up each camera on the trip until the two disappeared into the metro. In each, she would throw up her hand or arm at precisely the moment she came into focus. “The hotel said she was his Russian bride.” Mikhailov lit up a Karelia cigarette while sitting in the chair. The white and blue box had a small seal that looked like something from the age of the czars. As dated and quaint as their chances of catching the blond woman had become. No doubt she had traveled far away from the city by this point.

  “We can keep looking.”

  “No, even if we find her, she’ll say the American promised to take her to New York. Even if we got the truth out of her quickly, it’d be too late.” Mikhailov knew this coyote was smart; he wouldn’t have let his “bride” know anything of consequence, in any case.

  “Sir, we’ve got something.” The computer operator at one of the terminals on the other end of the room turned to him.

  “What?”

  “An old woman at Leningradsky reported two men.”

  “At what time?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “Do we have surveillance where she saw them?”

  “No sir, but we do have something.” The corporal pulled up grainy video of the end of a platform at one end of the station. The shape of two men climbing up on the platform from the dark appeared in the center of the camera’s view. Both moved quickly into the crowd with their heads down.

  “Can we pull up the ticket windows?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  At times like this, Mikhailov felt like the child he had once been, hunting with his grandfather, sitting in the cold and silence of the woods until they first saw the movement of the musk deer. The buck’s gray coat blended in well with the gray, leafless forest. It was invisible until it moved. The adrenaline surged through young Mikhailov’s body. Suddenly, his hands became warm despite the cold. His grandfather even let him take the shot. All because the deer had moved.

  The American had just moved.

  “Here.” The camera had a clear picture of the man buying tickets at the window.

  “Find out where to.”

  The operator called the senior FSB officer on duty at Leningradsky. It didn’t take but a minute for the radio to crack with a reply.

  “Helsinki.”

  “What train?”

  “Tolstoy thirty-two.”

  “What’s its first stop?”

  “Tver.”

  “Alert Tver.”

  * * * *

  The FSB’s Kamov 226T helicopter was on the roof of the old KGB headquarters building before Mikhailov and his lieutenant had finished checking out their pistols from the armory and taking the elevator to the top. The twin-rotor aircraft lacked tail blades, but with the stacked rotors, it didn’t need one. It also gave a smoother ride than the other helicopters produced by the Russian Helicopters group.

  The night sky was clear and the city’s lights below were bright with the distant blue, green, and gold domes of Saint Basil Cathedral lit by the floodlights as if it were a ride in a Disney park.

  “Tver reports thirty-two has left to Saint Petersburg.” The lieutenant was monitoring the digital radio in contact with the FSB officer in Tver.

  “Call our unit in Saint Petersburg.” Mikhailov would not let that train get to the Finnish border without pulling every passenger off first.

  “Sir, Tver reports two men were seen getting off.”

  “So now where is my friend going?” he murmured to himself. The journey had been an effort to mislead. This was turning into a more complicated plan than even he had anticipated.

  “We’re more than five hundred miles from any border that would be of help.” Mikhailov weighed all of the options aloud. “Find out when the next train is going back to Moscow,” he barked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Didn’t the phone tap from the hotel say he was buying two airplane tickets on Air France?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Find out when that flight leaves.”

  The helicopter’s jet engine started to spin up, the rotors’ blast pushing the two FSB officers back on their heels. The frigid air burned Mikhailov’s face until he was able to get into the cabin and close the hatch. Inside, he inhaled the sweet smell of jet fuel.

  He sat back in his seat and donned a set of headphones with a boom mike.

  He’d play the man’s game for now.

  “Take me to
Tver.”

  Chapter 60

  Snag

  “The sky is clearing.” Kevin Moncrief took the rifle off of his shoulder as he came to the front of the cabin. He unbuckled the red snowshoes and checked the safety on the weapon.

  “Good.” Karen was holding a covered cage full of straw. It seemed to be moving.

  “Not good.” Moncrief turned to the west and the mountain range. He knew how they would come. The airplane would come in low or the helicopter would make one sweeping turn around the airfield to pick a landing spot and check the winds. They’d assume that their arrival would be unopposed. The aircraft would land and then the men on board would fan out in a three hundred and sixty degree pattern. They would be carrying automatic rifles, their mission clear.

  He hadn’t heard from Will in some time. They had discussed the options, but at this stage, silence was not good. He needed to be prepared for anything.

  “What you got there?” Moncrief asked.

  “A new one. In the trap on the other side of the airfield.” Karen had the cage covered with a dark-colored towel, which she pulled back for him to see inside. A small arctic fox peered out from the straw. For a moment, the animal stared at him, then it suddenly lunged at him as if there were no cage to stop it. The fox growled and seemed to choke on a foam that surrounded its mouth. It bared its teeth in a desperate, vicious snarl.

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “Active case. Maybe ten days.”

  “No hope?”

  “None.” Karen laid the cage down. “Microbiologists say it’s the most dangerous disease on the planet.”

  Moncrief nodded. Rabies had always been a death sentence, as far as he’d known.

  “It’s the only disease that’s one-hundred-percent fatal if you don’t stop it before the first symptom shows,” she explained.

  “A killing machine.” He looked at the poor animal in the cage, locked in the throes of the disease. In all his years of combat missions, Moncrief had encountered few enemies who were so effective. A 100-percent kill rate exceeded that of any other weapon in the world. A lucky man could even survive a nuclear blast.

  Karen covered the cage back up with the towel.

  “There’s an outcropping of rock.” He pointed to the south toward a bend in the river. “Maybe two hundred yards.”

  “Yeah, I know where it is.”

  “It would be a good place to meet up if we get separated.” Moncrief was giving her a plan for a rallying point, the Marine inside him anticipating an attack sooner than later. When the shit hit the fan, if they became separated, they’d know where to go to find the other.

  “If I don’t show up, you run as far and fast as you can away from here.”

  He knew he was scaring her, but Will had told him she could handle it.

  “Why not call for help?”

  “They’ll be on top of us before any help can get here.”

  He didn’t need to remind her that any outside help would have to come from the other side of the mountain range.

  “So, why don’t we leave?’

  “Will and I agree that we’re best off on familiar ground.”

  “Home-field advantage, huh?” she asked.

  Moncrief nodded. He’d always liked his chances in the wilderness, and he’d studied this particular terrain in detail. He now knew it intimately. It would be a distinct advantage in any fight to come.

  In the city, one might never see the bullet or van coming.

  “See over there?” Karen pointed to the other side of the ridgeline to the south.

  “Yeah.”

  “Just beyond there is where Will and I crashed his airplane.”

  “Oh?” Moncrief smiled. “I didn’t know about that.” In the flurry of events and discussions, Will hadn’t mentioned the downed airplane. “Well, no harm.”

  “No, none at all.”

  “He’s supposed to check in with us. Have you heard anything?” Kevin pointed to her satellite phone.

  “I’m not sure he has this number.”

  “Do you want to call him?”

  Karen dialed the number. There was no answer.

  Kevin knew that Will needed to be out of Russia by now if the plan was going to hold.

  “Isn’t he in Paris?”

  Karen’s question reminded him that she had no idea what was going on.

  “When we last talked, he was.” It wasn’t a lie.

  “Oops, I’m supposed to be checking in.” Karen dialed another number.

  “No one there?”

  She shrugged. “He insisted I call every day.”

  “Well, if the authorities are anything like your boss,” Moncrief said, “then we really are on our own.”

  Chapter 61

  Tver, Russia

  “It’s time.” Will put his hand over Michael Ridges’s mouth so as to ensure no noise if he reacted.

  The shot of vodka and the fear of the last several hours had caused Ridges to fall into a deep sleep. He sat up suddenly in the chair, trying to focus his eyes in the dimly lit room. The two women still lay on their separate beds; if untouched, they’d remain so for hours to come.

  “Let’s go.” Will led him into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and turned on the shower. The window opened to an alley just below. Will led the way as he climbed through the open window and slid onto the snow below. He signaled Ridges to pass down their backpacks.

  Ridges complied, then followed him down to the ground.

  They traced the alley to the south until a wooden fence blocked the escape route. There, as with the window, Will led the way over first. Ridges tossed the backpacks, then followed.

  At the end of the alley, they stopped for a moment. Will looked in both directions. All the windows looked dark up and down the street.

  At that moment, a helicopter flew low, just above the buildings. Will saw the markings of the FSB on its tail. He dropped to his knees and opened his backpack. At the same time, he heard a train in the distance, its whistle approaching the station. He waited several minutes, hugging the wall of the building with Ridges.

  “What are we waiting for?” asked Ridges.

  Will grabbed his arm, pulled up the sleeve, and looked at the watch. Its analog face glowed in the low light.

  “Does it keep good time?”

  “Now you ask?”

  Will smiled. He pulled one of the burner phones out of his pack and dialed a number. After what seemed like less than a second, a low rumble occurred in the distance. The sound of metal crashing into metal rumbled through the town.

  “Let’s go.” Will crossed the snow-covered street to an alley on the other side. There, he pulled a tarp off of what appeared to be a motorcycle. It had been his most expensive request from the Russian bride. The streetlights reflected off of the snow, illuminating the bike; its BMW emblem shone on the side of the gas tank. The motorcycle had been equipped with knobby tires for traction on the snow. Will climbed on, kick-started the engine, and pulled it out onto the road. Ridges jumped on, fuzzy women’s gloves wrapped tight around Will’s middle. At Will’s advice, he pulled his hood down as far as it would go and cinched the cord tightly, so only his nose was exposed.

  The bike moved slowly over the snow-covered road. Lights were starting to come on in the apartments of Tver. Will made a turn at the end of the street, another turn, and entered an entrance ramp on to a highway marked M10. The road had been plowed since the end of the storm, giving the motorcycle even better traction. As the wheels gripped the snow, Will accelerated. For nearly half an hour, they traveled on the highway, which was almost empty of traffic. Given the hour and the recent snowstorm, it seemed that Moscow had not yet awakened.

  “I need to stop,” Ridges yelled over the sound of the motorcycle.

  Will nodded and stopped the
bike on the side of the highway near the exit from M10 to M11. The roadway remained empty and western Moscow appeared quiet. On the exit ramp, Ridges dismounted, stamped his feet, and rubbed his arms.

  “You need to hold on a little longer.” Will knew this was the dangerous time. The minutes were flying and any misstep would spell their doom.

  “Okay.” Gingerly, he climbed back on the bike and put his arms around Will’s torso. “Go.”

  They got back on the road and took the cutoff from M10 to M11.

  Ridges looked up to the sky, hoping that the drone was still acting up with the hack he had made into its operating system. FSB would be everywhere; there was little doubt they’d be back on their trail soon.

  They passed a sign that said Sheremetyevo. He knew the airport.

  The motorcycle took the turn onto the main access road. Near the entrance to terminal C, Will pulled through a gate to a large parking lot. He slowed down, passing cars as if hunting for one in particular. In the corner of the parking lot, he found a black Kia alone in a dark space far from the cameras. He pulled up behind the car, stepped to the rear window.

  Will looked around the lot, waiting for a second, took off his parka and, with his elbow covered by the coat, cracked the glass. He opened the back door, put his backpack on the seat, and unzipped it. He pulled out the tape he used to bandage his injury from before and put it on the front console.

  “Get in.” He started the engine with two wires under the dashboard. Stuck in the driver’s visor was the parking pass.

  “How did you know it would be there?” Ridges, still wearing his parka and with his backpack on his lap, had buckled his seat belt.

  “Even odds.” Will shifted the car in gear. “Hand me my backpack.”

  It was on the backseat.

  “Look in the inside pocket.”

  Ridges felt around and found a pocket with what felt like several cards. He opened the zipper, finding two Visa credit cards. There were also two passports.

  Will held out his hand as they pulled up to the gate. He used the Visa under the false Russian name.