“Until fifteen hundred. Don’t worry. He’ll be on time.”
Wolf hunched against the wind. “Okay, let’s go prepare a proper Kazakh welcome for the Tatar Twins.”
They probed the skeletal entrance to what had been a cavernous rocket assembly building and followed a pair of rusting iron rails leading to a towering doorway. A bony dog watching the two intruders thought better of it and trotted away. As if peeled back by a giant’s hand, great sheets of charred, pitted steel riveted to the framework shivered in the gusts. Inside, sheltered from the wind, the two found a ghostly silence. They walked the outer margins of the huge space and found a tangled pile of twisted iron trusses. A section of concrete floor had collapsed; revealing a dark opening roughly rectangular in shape. The access below offered Wolf an idea.
“They’d have to come this way,” he said, waving his arm from the building railway tracks to the gaping hole. “Let’s see what’s down there before we commit.”
Both men fit camping headlights over their black balaclavas and donned gloves. Colter went first. He scrambled down a sloping ramp of broken concrete and ended forty feet below the surface, his headlamp a halo of light. He raised an eight-foot length of iron rebar like a staff. “Hey! We can find a use for this.” Colter glanced up at the watching Wolf. “The pile is stable enough, but don’t take any chances.”
“Roger that. Coming down, Dawg.”
Wolf dislodged small rocks during his descent and reached Colter’s side in a dusty landslide of stone. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. Actually, that’s a good thing,” said Colter. “No way guys their size could tiptoe without us hearing them coming.”
Wolf’s voice bounced off the walls. “I don’t think these guys give a damn about making noise. And I think they’ll be packing when they show.” He passed his light over the eroded ceiling. “Might be good to take them when they reach the bottom of this slope. Whadaya think?” His echo died in the dim cavern.
“Let’s scout around some more. This spot is too open for me. I’d like to get them in a tight spot where they can’t maneuver.”
“Oh, great. Mano a mano with blades. Always wanted to do that.”
“You have done it, Wolfman. I read your file.”
“Not by choice, Dawg. Did you forget the rule about not bringing a knife to a gun fight?”
“No choice.”
Colter disappeared behind a row of support girders the size of elephants. Wolf was left to negotiate a towering spaghetti-like tangle of reinforcing rod. With their flashlights throwing cones of light among the ruins, both men explored their surroundings.
“Hard to believe we’re rummaging through what’s left of the Cold War,” boomed Wolf. “Didn’t think to ask Yorgi about radioactivity.”
Colter’s laughter floated from a dark, unseen corner. “Too late.”
“Find anything?”
“I got something. Can you see me?”
“Not a thing,” said Wolf. “Your light on?”
“Wait one.”
A shadow flickered from a narrow opening on Wolf’s left. “Got it,” he said. “Keep the light going. I’m coming your way.”
Bluish light shimmered, outlining a crumbling portal at the bottom of steps piled with rubble. Hearing Colter’s voice, Wolf crouched, working his way down a steep, debris-filled hallway. At the threshold, doubled over to gain entrance, he found himself in a low-ceilinged room. The opposite wall was given over to a control panel of long-dead gauges, buttons, switches and levers. Wires snaked everywhere as if ripped from sockets during a botched dismantling. Propped in the room’s far corner, an upended chair lay covered in cobwebs. Pulsing with light, Colter’s phone lay on a shelf, his disembodied voice spouting nonsense.
Wolf leaned into the room, feeling his way past a partially collapsed wall. Blinded by a flash of light, he cried out.
A hand closed around his throat.
Gasping for breath, he reached for the Kazakh dagger in his belt.
“HOLD IT, WOLFMAN!” Colter’s voice boomed in Wolf’s right ear.
Still blinded, Wolf sputtered, “What the…”
Colter’s ragged laugh filled the cramped room. “Man, you should have seen your face. Actually, I had my eyes closed when the flash popped.”
Wolf sagged against a wall, struggling to regain his voice and his vision. “What the…hell was that…all about?”
“If you’re one of the Tatars, right about now you’re bleeding out.”
Wolf rasped, “I was…following…you.”
“I know. This is it. This is the spot. If I could fool you…”
Wolf’s vision was returning in fuzzy swimming pixels. “You sonofabitch, I could have killed you.”
Colter retrieved his blinking phone. “Negative. You were already dead by the time you went for your knife. Let’s face it. You lost your night vision and were doubled over coming down that hallway. I had you. Man, you were as dead as Caesar. Admit it.”
Wolf nodded. “One for you, Dawg. You’re right. Take them here.”
“Only we have to get them here, right?”
“Well, I followed you. Saw your light. Heard your voice.”
Colter ran his bandana across his face. “That’s how we lure them this way. I catch one of them like that, he’s toast.”
“A big IF. If he tangles with you in this space it could get dicey.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Maybe we should trade places. Knife fighting is in my file, you know.”
Colter laughed, shaking his head. “Touché. Nah, I got this, Wolfman. There’s a hide just outside the entrance. A perfect blind spot. You lay up there until the ugly twins get down here.”
“I like it. Let ’em pass, get stuck in the passageway, then take them out.”
“Only one of them is getting out of this dead end alive, Wolfman.”
“Right. I’ll finish the other guy if he makes a run.”
“If he’s smart, he will run. Take out his legs with the rebar. Believe me, he’ll go down regardless of size.”
“Then I gut him.”
“Have to move fast. I think they’ll come in hot.”
Wolf held up his glistening Kazakh blade. “Cold steel.”
Colter slashed the air with his knife. “I come at him when he’s blinded. Two up, two down. Work for you?”
“Works for me.”
“They’ll hear voices on the phone and see the light. They’ll come down that slope, come this way, and think they’ve got us cornered.”
“Here’s hoping we pull it off, Dawg.”
“It’ll work. They’re so hungry for the book they can taste it.”
“I’ll go topside and keep an eye peeled for our guests.”
Colter glanced at his watch. “Good idea. They’ll be here soon. Yorgi will see to that.”
“You trust him? He could set us up. Could drop a dime on us.”
Nodding, Colter said, “Always possible. But we have a leg up.”
“How so?”
“We outbid the other guys.”
Chapter 15
The Tatars did come. Delivered by Yorgi as planned, the two large men demanded he wait. Either way, the Kazakh knew he was returning with two.
Picking their way across launch site ruins, the Tatars followed tracks left by Wolf and Colter and headed directly for the deserted plant. Armed with Walther PPKs, they made no attempt to hide their weapons.
Leaving his backpack where the iron rails curved into the abandoned building, Wolf backed away from the entrance. He gained the underground access just before the Tatars reached the gaping doorway. He eyed one of the Tatars rifling the contents of the backpack while the other swept the cavernous shed with his pistol.
Wolf slithered down the rubble on his belly, barely disturbing the rockfall. When he reached the bottom, he signaled Colter by tossing a small pebble in his direction. Light flickered in the burrow’s narrow mouth. Colter’s voice echoed in
the ruins.
His cellphone. Perfect.
Wolf retreated to his hidden spot, gripped the heavy iron bar, and waited, his eyes on the yawning hole above.
As expected, Colter’s chatter drew the Tatars. For Wolf, the effect on their pursuers was almost comical—like amateurs in a bad spy movie. The armed men tested the slope of rocky debris. One crouched at the jagged cement lip, his Walther covering the debris slope. His partner stumbled down the incline, dislodging small boulders on his way down. He dusted himself off and took up position behind an iron girder, his pistol pointed away from the hidden Wolf. The second Tatar, misjudging his rate of descent, arrived on his backside in a cloud. Both hit men, unsure if the element of surprise had been lost, waited for the dust to settle.
Colter’s voice continued its breezy chatter from the bunker. Light from his phone’s screen flickered from the narrow doorway. Certain he saw his enemies smile, Wolf’s right hand closed around the iron shaft at his side. They passed so close Wolf could smell the fear. The pair whispered short, guttural, angry words in Kazan Tatar, their breath labored. Stones crunched beneath their shoes inches from Wolf in the shadows.
Weapons held out in front, the two queued single-file into the narrow stairway leading to Colter’s ambush site.
Coiled to strike, Wolf recited a silent rhyme.
Come into my parlor, said the spider…
Wolf pictured the bulky physiques filling the rubble-filled passage and closed his eyes against the expected flash.
A brilliant white flash exploded. A shout. Two shots. Screaming.
Wolf scrambled to his feet, waited, the bar raised high overhead. One of the Tatars, gasping for air, fled the death trap on hands and knees. Blinded, pistol in hand, he pawed at the stones in panic.
Wolf split the prone man’s head like a ripe melon. One down. He tossed the bloodied shaft aside, grabbed the Tatar’s pistol, and leaped in the stairway. Wolf jammed the weapon against the second man’s spine and fired twice.
The struggling stopped.
“DAWG! TALK TO ME!”
A weak response.
“Turn off the fucking phone,” screamed Wolf. “I can’t hear you!”
Silence.
“You there? Dawg!”
“I’m here. Got nicked.”
“Bad?”
“Bad enough.” A pause, then, “Get this lard ass off me.”
With the Tatar’s body wedged in the narrow opening, Colter was trapped. Wolf dropped the pistol and braced his feet against the body. It took him precious minutes to dislodge the corpse. The dead man toppled forward in the rubble. Wolf extended a hand to Colter, hauling him up the steps and propping him by the second body.
Colter eyed the battered corpse. “Geez, what the hell did you do to him?”
“Couldn’t help it. He was trying to give himself up when I hit him.”
An exhausted Colter clapped Wolf on the shoulder, his grip weak. “Damn. You put the world of hurt on him. Gonna have to add assassination by rebar to your file.”
Wolf didn’t laugh. He lifted Colter’s shirt, examining a deep gash. “He cut you, Dawg.”
Colter said, “He did. I lit him up with the flash. Hit him with the blade just under the jaw. Sucker was an ox. Got off a shot. We fought for the knife. Got his hands on it and cut me. I took his gun and fired but you finished him.”
“You’re bleeding bad. We need to stop it.”
“No shit.”
Wolf took off his jacket, tore a sweatshirt over his head, and ripped his T-shirt into strips. He made a thick compress and pressed it into Colter’s wound. “Hold it there. Keep the pressure on.”
“Can do.”
“Good. You might be going into shock. Got to elevate your feet.”
“I know the drill.”
Wolf covered Colter with his parka and propped his feet on a chunk of concrete. He glanced at his watch. “Yorgi should be sitting out there. Can you hold on?”
“No choice. I’m walking out.”
“We’ll see about that. Got to haul this asshole into the bunker.”
He wrestled his Tatar down the narrow steps. Twice, the dead man’s body lodged itself in the confined space, frustrating Wolf’s efforts. “Next time,” he bellowed from the bunker, “let’s pick on smaller targets.”
Colter laughed despite his pain.
Wolf used a fireman’s carry to surface with Colter on his back. They made their way to the pickup point and found Yorgi’s car. The Kazakh asked no questions. He took Colter’s right arm. Wolf, the left. Colter collapsed in the backseat, his hand planted on his side.
“My friend fell,” deadpanned Wolf. “He’s hurt bad, I think.”
The Kazakh played along. “I tell you before. Dangerous. You don’t listen so good. See what happens?”
Wolf accepted the Kazakh’s rebuke. “You were right, Yorgi. We were wrong. Won’t do that again.”
“Good. We go back to hotel?”
“Yeah. When we get there, keep him in the car until I come back for him, okay?”
Yorgi nodded, his eyes in the rearview mirror. He had no love for the Tatars. Besides, Americans always paid better.
Chapter 16
The wait before returning to Moscow proved to be among the longest forty-eight hours of Wolf’s life. He summoned Paolo, the Italian team’s doctor, whom Colter had befriended. The ex-navy physician, voicing solidarity with the Americans, went to work immediately, cleaning and stitching the knife wound. He pumped the former SEAL full of antibiotics and pledged his silence. Colter, an iron man, endured the emergency operation without complaint.
With Wolf covering for him, Colter begged off attending the next programmed event—a European satellite launch. He took meals in their room, assuring Wolf the crisis was past. Though the Americans worried, no one seemed to notice the missing Tatars, despite their size.
The day they left, Colter moved slowly, blaming a stubborn cold and fatigue. Along with the Italians and NASA’s contingent, he and Wolf boarded Perm Airline’s three o’clock afternoon Moscow flight. Colter seemed to be healing well. Wolf spent the entire two-hour-and-forty-five minute trip in the midst of the Italians, laughing, regaling them with tales, playing cards, and trading reviews of American films.
They landed at Domodedovo, Russia’s largest airport—a gleaming modern showcase twenty-six miles southeast of Moscow. Wolf and Colter immediately noticed the two watchdogs waiting patiently for the Baikanour flight. To frustrate their new trackers, Wolf split the pair by initially staying with Warren and his fifteen-member NASA group. He made a phone call from the safety of their numbers.
Colter went in another direction. The Italians surrounded him and escorted him en masse to a nearby restroom. In a locked stall, Paolo hurriedly changed Colter’s dressing and pronounced the SEAL well enough to continue his travel with a warning. “Do not delay seeing a physician when you return to America.”
The Italians and Americans milled about, saying their goodbyes. A second pair of spotters showed, cut from the same cloth as thugs one and two. When he saw his chance, Wolf signaled Colter.
Wolf knew he had five hours to make his part of the plan work and used Domodedovo’s sea of foot traffic to disappear. He slipped away in the buzzing hive that was the main terminal, doubled back, and headed for the AeroExpress train platform. Once he was confident he had been undetected, he bought round-trip business class passage from one of the line’s red-suited mobile ticket sellers. The next train, she cautioned, was due to leave in five minutes.
With only a small carry-on bag over one shoulder, Wolf picked up a discarded newspaper for camouflage and hurried to the sleek red coach with only minutes to spare. He settled into a reserved plush blue seat and buried his nose in newsprint as late arrivals filled the coach. One of the last to board, a plump, fur-wearing matron with rubbery jowls, sank down next to him in a cloud of cheap perfume. Wolf’s polite smile was rebuffed with a disapproving frown. No matter; he was grateful for the cover. A soo
thing recorded voice announced the departure for Moscow’s Pavelestsky Station. The doors hissed shut and the train began to move.
In Wolf’s absence, Colter, accompanied by Paolo, used the same tactic to shake his shadows. A tail and his backup quickly lost contact with Colter in the milling crowd. Using the ensuing confusion, the SEAL and the doctor rendezvoused with the remaining Italians who were waiting at a café for their flight to be called. Colter ordered a coffee, killing time for the next two hours. When the Italians eventually rose to leave, Colter shook hands with each. His newly arrived tails loitered several tables away, pretending disinterest. Walking Paolo and friends to a security checkpoint, Colter bade them farewell with promises to stay in touch.
Colter checked his watch. He had four hours to kill before the Japan Airlines connection. He wandered to a crowded gift shop, one eye on the trinkets, one on his hovering trackers. Staying in the open where the shadows could see him but not betray themselves by rushing him was his best option until Wolf returned.
Chapter 17
The Domodedovo commuter train glided to a stop at its terminus: a wide, open-air platform where seven tracks ended beneath a neon sign spelling Moscow in tall Cyrillic letters. Seeking anonymity among the rushing throng, Wolf stepped from the car. Two policemen led by a harnessed dog parted the wave of incoming passengers. Stepping aside, Wolf smiled, nodded, and kept walking. In the main terminal, as instructed by phone, he walked to the third entrance where Yana, wrapped in fur, waited.
“You are as beautiful as I remembered,” he said, embracing her.
Muffled in his hug, she said, “I like this plan you have for us.”
Walking arm in arm, Wolf said, “I had to see you. I was worried about you.”
“As I was for you. And yet you risk your life to have just hours together. You have taken a great chance, Tom.”
Exiting the station to the outdoor plaza, he said, “Perhaps we both have taken a risk. Colter read some of the book you gave us. Disturbing things.”
“But you will see it published, yes?”
“We’ll try, Yana. First, we have to get out of Russia with it.”
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