by Eric Meyer
His burst took the man in the neck, and two more shots ripped out his face. As he was falling, Al's first burst had bowled over another soldier. Waite fired from the floor, and a small caliber bullet tore into the groin of his target. The man screamed, dropped his rifle, and collapsed, blood spurting from between his legs. The fourth soldier was quicker. He got off a quick burst that went wide, then dived behind a battered old couch.
Raider fired through the upholstery, but after two shots, his rifle was empty. Al emptied a half-dozen shots in hopes of scoring a hit, but there was no sign they'd found the target. Waite jumped to his feet, squeezed off the trigger, and snorted with contempt as it clicked on empty. He tossed it to one side and launched his huge body over the top of the couch just as the barrel of the remaining man's rifle poked over the top.
His massive body collided with the Russian soldier. The gun barrel disappeared, and for several seconds there were the sounds of flesh on flesh as he pounded his victim with his huge fists. His head finally came up.
"That's it. He's done."
"Permanently?"
He gave a cold grin in reply. "He ain't getting up from there. Take it from me."
Raider left the room and went to examine Elena; some forlorn hope he'd been wrong with what he thought he'd seen when she went down. It was no mistake. Her body had taken the full burst, and she would have been dead before she hit the floor. Yet her face was as pretty and angelic as ever, even though her body was a shredded corpse. He convinced himself the expression on her face was one of calm repose. At least she'd died with the knowledge she'd undone some of what she'd done. It was the way he wanted to remember her, a pretty girl who'd overcome the worst of her fears to give them life.
"We need to get out of here," Joe urged, coming up behind him, "That siren will bring troops like flies to a jam pot. We've had one stroke of luck. We found the keys for a vehicle on a hook, so I'm betting it's parked outside. We also found some greatcoats in the room, more than enough for all of us. I brought you a couple. It ain't any warmer out there."
He nodded, unable to shake off the melancholy he felt. "Yeah, thanks. I won't be a moment."
"The door to the courtyard is a few meters along the corridor. Make if fast, Boss."
They left him, and he spent a few more moments with her. He covered up her body with one of the greatcoats. It had blue piping on the collar and epaulettes, so was smarter than the average muddy brown Russian military greatcoat that resembled a potato sack. It was a small gesture, all he could do for her. He shrugged into the second greatcoat, noticing his had gold epaulettes on the shoulders.
It probably belonged to the head of the prison guard detail. The Russians go in for this gold braid shit, more than most, even if it does make them resemble Colonel Gaddafi in one of his mad moments.
He took a last look at her, and then went outside. The courtyard was in darkness, but they were waiting for him nearby.
They'd found a jeep type vehicle, an ugly UAZ-469. But it had four wheels, an engine, and gas in the tank. All it lacked was a roof. The UAZ was an open jeep that probably once had a canvas top. It reminded them of the bitterly cold journey across the border in the Luaz.
Does this country never get warm?
He climbed into the passenger seat, and Joe started the engine, just as headlights lit up the courtyard. Vehicles, six of them, four infantry trucks, a BTR at the rear, and a UAZ at the front, similar to the vehicle they were in. The reinforcements had arrived.
He snapped out of his mental fugue. She was dead, and they had to live, if Abigail was to survive.
"Joe, find another way out of here."
"There isn't one. I took a quick look around before you came out. This is one of those old castle style buildings, you know, the kind with a moat around the outside. There's only way in and one way out, and those gomers are coming through it."
He stared around the courtyard, trying to make sense of it.
Have we got out of that icy hell, and Elena sacrificed her life, only to be taken again by the Russians? It was bad enough before, but after killing their men, it'll be much worse this time around. If it can get worse!
"There's nothing? No way out?"
Joe was shaking his head. "I reckon not, Boss. We're finished."
Chapter Nine
She felt terrible, worse than she'd ever been in her short life. Her stomach heaved, she couldn't eat, and in the past two hours she'd vomited three times.
Am I going to die? I’m scared. I want my Daddy.
She still didn't know where she was; only that it wasn't the US. Which meant she was in a foreign country. Everything was different. It even smelled different, and the voices she'd overheard spoke a language she didn't understand. At least she was no longer trapped in that awful case. They'd put her in a large room, with only a shabby cot for her to lie on. There was no other furniture. It was cold, bitterly cold, and she spent her time huddled under the blanket. Wondering.
Where's my Daddy? I know he saves people in trouble. Which means he'll come for me. He'll find out where I am and take me home.
The door opened, and for the first time the man showed his face without the ski mask.
"How do you feel, little girl? Do you need anything, more food perhaps? I will ask them to bring you something different. It may help with the sickness."
"I'm ill. You should take me to a doctor. And please, I want to go home."
The last two meals you gave me made me sick, you nasty man!
He shook his head. "That's not possible, not right now. You have to be patient. Try this food, and see if it helps. No doctor."
He put a hand to his chin to rub his nose. Suddenly his expression changed as he realized what he'd done.
"Vse zayebalo! Pizdets na khui blyad!" he spat.
She didn't know what it meant. Only that it was nothing good. Why had he not worn his ski mask, had he just forgotten? He stared at her for a moment, and his eyes were cold and cruel. It was as if he'd changed in the blink of an eye. One moment pretending to help her, the next, it was as if she didn't even exist.
Daddy, please come soon. This horrid man is frightening me.
* * *
"You ever played chicken?" he asked Joe. He kept his voice calm.
We’re not done yet, no way.
"Not with a column of infantry trucks with APC support, no."
"You just need to live right. Drive straight for the gate."
He heard a soft chuckle from in back. Waite. Joe was always more careful, more calculating.
"Boss, I reckon there're upward of fifty assault rifles ranged in front of us. Probably a couple of machine guns."
"Sounds about right."
"And that APC, it's a BTR-90 unless I miss my guess. Last time I heard, that sucker mounted a thirty mil cannon, a light machine gun, and an automatic grenade launcher."
"That's the one. You know what it means, Joe?"
"No."
"You'll have to drive faster."
He sighed, and Waite laughed again. "Yeah, faster than a speeding bullet. Go for it, Superman."
He hesitated, and Raider spurred him on. "Hit the gas, Joe. If they don't back off, at least we'll give 'em a scare."
They all heard the loud sigh. "If that's the way you want to go, it's been nice knowing you."
He stamped on the gas, and the laggardly, Soviet era vehicle began to pick up speed. The BTR had switched on a searchlight on the hull to light up the entire courtyard. The vehicles were all arranged in a wide line to block their path. It was like a skirmish line, and the biggest gap was half the width of their ancient UAZ. Joe was leaning forward, his teeth gritted, aiming at the tiny space between two of the trucks, big, heavy, six wheeled Ural-4320s. The truck beds were covered with canvas tilts, but there was no doubt each of them carried a full complement of troops.
Why haven't they fired?
The answer came to him in a flash. They weren't sure who was inside the UAZ. All they could see under the ha
rsh glare of the searchlight were four men in Russian greatcoats. It could be their own men, and until they were certain, they'd wait. He wondered how they could use that knowledge to their advantage. There was still no way out. He had a sudden idea and stood up so they could see him.
It’s a crazy plan, but what the hell! We’re as good as dead, anyway.
He pointed toward the gate, stabbed his finger at it several times, and told Joe to keep driving. Rows of cold Russian eyes stared back at him as they wondered what the hell was going on. Some raised their weapons, and more ominously, the turret of the BTR began to rotate. The full power of the searchlight beam fell on him, and the intense light blinded him.
A shot rang out, taking a chunk out of the frame of the windshield. The trucks in front of them didn't move as they drew closer to the gap barely wide enough for a motorcycle. He knew there'd be more men ready to open fire with assault rifles and machine guns. Then there was also the autocannon on the BTR. He knew he'd failed, and they'd called his bluff. It had been a last, despairing hope, but somehow, in his guts, he'd thought they might just pull it off.
He opened his mouth to shout at Joe to veer away before they collided with the trucks, when a voice bellowed commands that rang around the courtyard, amplified by a loudhailer. Slowly, the trucks began moving out of their path, inch by inch. They surged through the gap, and the UAZ scraped paintwork from the heavy transports as they drove out the gate.
We’re through!
For a few moments, they held their breath. It couldn't be true! Joe kept his foot on the gas and drove fast out of the grim, stone confines of the prison. Then they were gone, speeding away toward the center of the city where they could hide in the huge, urban conurbation. Where they could find shelter, warmth and hot food, and look for a way to get out. Most important, they could find Abigail.
"What the fuck just happened?" Waite finally broke the silence, "They shouldn't have let us go. Why did they?"
Joe supplied the answer. "I've been thinking about that. It must be these greatcoats."
"Greatcoats?"
"Look at the blue piping and the gold decorations on Raider's shoulder flashes. It means FSB. As in what used to be the KGB. It makes sense Malenkov would have had his own security people guarding us. So for those soldiers back at the castle, it meant they may have been blasting away at FSB troops. They were too scared to take the chance; they may as well wait for the next train to take them to the gulag."
"Fucking A," he whooped, "We did it, Boss."
"We're not there yet," he reminded him, "We have a way to go."
"We'll make it, no question."
He hoped Waite was right. He saw Joe's head look intently at the rear view mirror.
"Trouble?"
"In spades. They're coming after us. I guess they want to make certain. It'd be a good idea for us to disappear, and fast."
"Keep driving, see if you can find somewhere to turn off without them seeing."
"That won't be easy. You know we picked the slowest vehicle in Russia."
"We picked the only vehicle, Joe. Just keep the pedal to the metal."
"It's already through the floor and scraping along the road. They're gaining on us, Boss."
"Head for the harbor. Maybe we can steal a boat."
"So we'll have the Russian Navy after us as well as the Army."
"We'll have to steal a fast boat."
"Fuckin' A," Waite exclaimed from the rear, "Whatever you decide, make it quick. It's a toss-up what comes first, either they start shooting or I die of cold."
He glanced back. They were nearer. They would know for sure they were chasing fugitives who were trying to get away, and they'd start shooting. Joe took another bend, and he saw it, right in front of them.
"That building, over there. We can lose ourselves in a place that size. Take the turn, Joe, now!"
He swerved the lumbering jeep off the road and sped through a narrow gateway. They heard the sound of engines behind them, as the Russians took the bend and raced past. They'd eluded them, for now.
"My God, what is this place?" Al exclaimed, "It's huge."
"It's the Winter Palace. Can't be anything else. As far as I know, nothing else comes close to the size of this place, not in St. Petersburg."
"The Tsar's palace," Waite grinned. "Not a bad place to hide out."
He shook his head. "Forget it. They won't go far before they realize their mistake, and they'll be back. This is just a temporary stopping place. We need to get out of sight and figure out our next move."
"So there is one."
"There has to be," he snapped, "Don't forget why we're here. They have my kid."
No one replied. Joe drove forward, picking his way through the vast complex with difficulty. Snow was thick on the ground, and the reflection from the moonlight helped them find the way through to the rear of the palace. Joe drove the UAZ through another gateway, and he stopped outside a set of double doors, with a half dozen steps in front of them.
"I was hoping for a garage or somewhere we could hide the jeep, but we're outta luck."
Raider eyed the doors. "Maybe, maybe not. Waite, lend me a hand to with those doors. We'll get them open, and we can park inside the palace."
The massive, old-fashioned doors were locked shut, built of heavy solid timbers, and reinforced with strips of iron.
"You want me to blow them?"
"No, I have another way."
He went to a side window, smashed it with the butt of his rifle, and climbed inside. The doors were bolted closed. The mechanism was well oiled, and he slid aside the bolts. Waite helped him push the doors open. Joe selected four-wheel drive, gunned the engine, and mounted the steps. Seconds later, he was inside the building, and they slammed the doors closed. The building was in complete darkness, but when the clouds slid across the sky, a shaft of moonlight made it possible to look around the room.
It was immense; perhaps it had been a ballroom during the time of the Tsar. The UAZ's muddy tires had tracked across the polished oak strip wood floor and left distinctive tracks on the pristine surface. The walls were lined with mirrors in gilded frames, but the room was empty of furniture. The place was apparently deserted, but Joe and Al went off to explore. Waite stood by a window, watching the outside.
"We don't have long," he murmured, "We have maybe thirty minutes, and they'll be here."
He nodded. "Sounds about right."
He was thinking about their next move. First, to locate Abigail, and that meant Malenkov, who was in Moscow. They'd have to return there and force him to reveal where he was holding her. Then there was Dragan. He would have arranged transport for them, except Malenkov had taken Dragan as well, although Lorak was still free. If he could contact him, he'd be sure to provide what they needed. Especially if they were planning to kill Malenkov, he'd no doubt do anything to see the man dead. But they had no phone. He decided to take a chance.
"Waite, we'll abandon the UAZ and head for the city center on foot. We need to find a hotel, somewhere we can stay out of sight while I contact Andy Lorak. He'll help us get back to Moscow, and then we can deal with our friend Malenkov."
"Abandon the jeep? I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"It'll give us time. They'll find it here, and it'll take them a day to search the entire area. By that time, we'll be long gone."
He nodded. "Okay, I guess it makes sense. I'll find Al and Joe. If it's going to work, we need to move out now."
They were back several minutes later. Waite's expression was grim.
"Headlights, coming through the main gates. They're here."
He nodded. "Let's go."
They exited the building, crossed the rear courtyard, and scaled a three-meter wall. When they hit the sidewalk the other side, they were in a deserted street opposite a small wooded park. Moments later they disappeared into trees.
"Boss," Joe said quietly.
"What is it?"
He was pointing back the way they'd come. Th
eir footsteps were like an arrow in the snow, a giveaway to the direction they'd taken.
"There's nothing we can do. We have to keep going."
At the side of the wood lay a church; almost a cathedral, and the snow had been cleared around the building. They went inside, leaving wet footprints in the nave. He stopped them.
"This is far enough. We need to go back the way we came."
They stared at him as if he'd gone crazy. "What for?" Waite demanded, "We need keep moving as far away as possible."
"Look at our tracks." He pointed to the floor, "There's no snow in here, and our trail is confused in the slush. If we head back into the wood now and leave the other end, the chances are we'll lose them."
"Or run straight into them," he pointed out.
"We'll make sure we don't."
Waite shrugged, but there were no other objections. He led the way back through the wood, and they stopped across the street from the wall where they'd exited the Winter Palace. Lights were showing from the other side, so they'd found the jeep. Probably they'd followed the tire tracks. They ducked back into cover as a truck came along the street. It halted next to the wall, and troops leapt from the rear.
An officer stepped out of the cab, inspected the footprints leading into the wood, and shouted an order. The soldiers started toward their hiding place, and Raider led his small team in the opposite direction, away from the footprints that led to the cathedral. Al brought up the rear, disguising their new trail in the snow.
They emerged from the wood, crossed a deserted bridge, and passed a theater, the Mariinsky. An advertising hoarding loomed in front of them, and he stopped, astonished at what he saw. The print was in Cyrillic text and impossible for him to read, but the image familiar. A beautiful girl, a face he knew well, Angelina Blass, his girlfriend. He remembered she was due to take part in a fashion show in the city of St. Petersburg. The building next door to the theater was a luxury hotel, and it made sense the models would be staying there.
"Jesus Christ," Joe breathed, staring at the poster, "It can't be. Not here."