Ultimate Rage - Ragnarok (Thriller)

by Andrew Holten

  Russev hated bad news. During his time in the army, he had constantly received bad news. His main task as an officer had been not to let this bad news get him down and to make the best of it. It had always been a matter of perspective and how to make a virtue out of necessity. Moreover, his time in the army had helped him with his current business and it would not have been conceivable without it.

  Russev had always thought that there was much money to be made especially in a country that had nothing. In Russia, there was always a need for weapons, drugs, and women to do with as they pleased. But Russev was astonished to find that the need was even greater in countries that had much more.

  Russev had left the old homeland years ago and never regretted it. Some- times he felt a little homesick, but he would never set foot on Russian soil again. He owed a lot to Russia and the conditions that prevailed there. But he would never forget the miserable winters. The cold. The harshness. And the hopelessness. That there was nothing and everyone was just trying to survive as best they could. All the lies.

  Here, everything was different. And yet everything he had built up was now threatened.

  Russev stroked his right hand over his face, which was already far too greasy for his liking. Actually, he had wanted to spend a nice evening with a bottle of wine and his wife. He had succeeded in doing so, but then his smartphone had rung and the nice evening had ended.

  When it rang again, he knew it couldn’t be good news.

  “Did you get him?” he asked.

  “The Turk is lying here, dead,” came the curt reply. “But his smartphone is missing. Yuri says there was a second man. Not a Turk. According to his ID, a Ben Becker. Also works at the bank.”

  Russev snorted. “You got him?”

  The man on the other end of the line hesitated. “No. He took out Yuri and the others.”

  “Took them out?”

  “Yuri’s still alive, but I’m sure he won’t make it. The other two are dead.”

  Again Russev snorted. He had known that the whole thing would become a problem as soon as he found out about it. He had tolerated it at first, but when there were the first signs that it could all blow up, he had wanted to end it. Now it was too late and he had to deal with this mess.

  “Find this Ben Becker guy. Get the smartphone and whatever else he’s carrying.”

  With that, he hung up. He felt like a vodka, but that was never good. He needed to be awake and lucid.

  One of the problems of his home country was that there was too much alcohol and too much drinking. People never made good decisions there. Russev had always appreciated vodka as something that warmed him up on the cold nights. But he had never drunk too much, and never on duty. That’s probably why he still had his business, which he had been building up until the present day. But now everything was threatening to blow up and he was forced to attract more attention than he had ever done and was comfortable with.

  The smartphone rang again. An unlisted number. Sullenly, Russev picked it up. “What do you want?”

  “Keep your men out of this,” the Administrator’s disguised voice rang out.

  Russev laughed mirthlessly. “Or what? Are you going to have me whacked? By Sergey? Or one of your other killers?”

  “Keep your men out of this,” the Administrator repeated. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Again Russev laughed. “That’s exactly why I had to put my men in, because you misjudged that stupid Turk. And now, not only is your business in danger of being blown, but mine is as well. And probably everyone’s. Do you think I or the others will stand by and do nothing?”

  The Administrator was silent.

  Russev smiled, then continued, “We’ve been watching you for quite a while and tolerating what you’ve been doing. But now you are endangering all of us. And we’re not going to let that happen.”

  “Your men are attracting too much attention!” the Administrator objected.

  “Maybe they wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t misjudged that Turk so much. Besides, you overlooked his friend, Ben Becker, who took out three of my men and is now gone with the important information. But my men know where to look. The Turk has always been in close contact with this Anna. Apparently, he sent this Becker guy to protect her.”

  Silence again. “I’ll look into it.”

  Russev snorted. “You had your chance to straighten everything out. But you failed. Sergey was too sure. That’s up to you. I’ll have a word with him and go back to taking care of all his affairs.”

  “Don’t get in my way.”

  Russev grinned. “Or what? You think I’m still afraid of you after the way you’ve screwed everything up? I’d suggest you get the hell out of here and let the professionals do the work.”

  The Administrator was silent for a moment before continuing. “You’ve been warned.”

  Russev’s face turned red. “You’re warning me?! I’m going to...”

  The Administrator had hung up. Russev slammed the smartphone down on the table, then laughed. The Administrator would pay for that. But all in good time. What happened in the next few hours was going to be crucial. He was not yet ready to give up his life here and leave. He liked it here. And as long as there was still a chance that he could avert everything, he would do so. But some things would have to change.

  No sooner had the Administrator interrupted the conversation to Russev than he sent the SMS he had prepared for this eventuality, which had unfortunately occurred. The recipients who received them knew exactly what to do and would take appropriate steps.

  Now he could only hope that everything would turn out well.

  6

  Finn heard the dogs again as he searched his way through the dark forest. He had to get to the river, because only there would they lose his scent.

  The dogs. They were huge. He had seen them. In their kennels. Had seen them maul alive other dogs that were thrown to them. Heard the pitiful sounds of the dying animals, overwhelmed with such brute force, whimpering, whining, and brutally slaughtered.

  Again and again he had been forced to watch this. And now the dogs were after him.

  “You get a head start,” Odin had told them. As always, without a movement in his face, but with those dark eyes that were as intimidating as anything in the world. “If you apply everything you’ve been taught, you’ll be fine. If not... it’s not worth talking about.” Then he leaned in very close to each of their faces. “You know: no backing down. No giving up. No mercy.”

  Those words had been directed not only at Finn, but at the other boys, all of whom were of a similar age to Finn. Some of them, like Erik, Gunnar, and Matt, already had such a hard look on their faces, not inferior to that of Odin. Others showed some excitement, some even fear.

  Finn had shown no fear. Fear was a weakness that could not be afforded in this world. Only the youth who courageously went forward, his goal in his eye, could exist. Action should determine one’s own actions. It had to get into one’s body and soul, so that at the decisive moment one took action, was quick and no longer had to think. They had been trained for this. They had sharpened their senses and their instincts, reactions. Acting with the greatest possible effectiveness in order to be able to serve their community one day.

  The barking came closer and closer. From somewhere he heard shrieks of pain. The dogs had caught one of them. The dogs would not let go of him until the order was given. If it was given.

  Finn had seen for himself how a boy of the community had been mauled by the dogs, and Odin had stood by and watched the whole thing without emotion. Unworthy ones were simply buried, somewhere in the forest. Not deep, so that the wild boars would do the actual dirty work and make the carcass disappear.

  Again, the barking. The river was close – Finn could smell it already. He clasped his knife with a firm grip. He had known this time would come and had sharpened the blade daily. It was a good knife, stainless steel, hardened in the blood of his birth. The blade was 8 inches long and nearly 2 i
nches wide. Finn had customized the handle himself so that it fit his hand perfectly. He had also fitted the knife with a short leather strap that he had tied around his wrist so he could not lose the knife so easily, even if it should slip out of his hand.

  During his escape, he had cut off a branch that seemed particularly straight and stable. With it he had left a hint to his pursuers in which direction he had run, but they would have had no trouble to find out.

  While running, he had freed the branch of everything superfluous and finally sharpened it as if he wanted to ram it into the body of a vampire. In addition, he had really made himself a couple of stakes, which he attached to his belt.

  A brief second in the mud had to be enough to camouflage him. Already at the beginning he had parted with a shirt that hindered him more than it helped. What was important were good boots, sturdy pants and a belt. A shirt could only serve the enemy to hold you down.

  The mud stuck to Finn’s body. It was chilly, but he didn’t care. He could warm himself when he was safe and he had survived the test. That was all that mattered.

  The river. Only a few more yards.

  Again a scream was heard. Klaas. Even though Finn couldn’t swear to it, he was sure it was Klaas whose wailing, pain-distorted scream he heard.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then kept running. He couldn’t help Klaas. Certainly not now.

  There was the river. He had made it. Here the dogs could only lose his trail. No nose was so good that it could have made him out in the flowing water.

  The barking came closer and Finn felt a chill run down his spine. Fenrir. He was the biggest and meanest of the beasts. That he took part in this agitation was actually already too violent.

  Fenrir was the embodiment of brutality and hopelessness. Straight from hell, yet merely the product of a breeding that had begun decades, if not centuries ago. His ancestors had already hunted down and mauled to death escaped slaves on plantations. Or had engaged in brutal battles against the so-called savages, the sub-humans, to tear out their guts for the pleasure of the spectators.

  No one who fell into Fenrir’s clutches would ever survive this. Unless his lord and master Odin ordered him to retreat. But that would never happen.

  Fenrir was behind him. Not much longer and he would pounce on him too, sink his teeth into his body and drain the life out of him...

  All at once Finn believed that at least this hound from hell, this pitch-black beast with yellow eyes and ivory-white teeth as long as his fingers, could smell him in the water. He gripped the handle of his knife tighter, as well as his spear, and ran. Only a short distance and he would have made it.

  Suddenly something rammed him in the side and pulled him to the ground. He thought he felt Fenrir’s teeth in his flesh, but there was nothing. Just the absorbing pain of the impact on his shoulder.

  Immediately Finn tried to push aside the weight that was on him, but something, or rather someone, forced his hands down.

  “I knew you’d go that way!” Gunther’s unmistakable voice. “You’re so predictable. Relying on familiar things and always choosing the same routes. If you really had the abilities Odin sees in you, you could find your way anywhere and wouldn’t have to keep seeking the protection of the known.”

  Gunther pressed Finn’s arms to the ground and grinned from his weasel-like face. He was two years older than Finn, taller, more muscular. In fact, he should have passed the test long ago, but a leg injury had prevented that. An injury that Finn had inflicted on him. Gunther had never forgiven him for that, and now he would take revenge.

  “Get off me!” Finn shouted, trying to brace himself against Gunther’s forces, but to no avail. No one of Gunther’s vintage had ever defeated him. Even elders feared him, for he was a brutal, ruthless fighter and thus exactly what the community wanted. Gunther loved to torture his opponents and intentionally inflict injuries on them, even if they were actually his comrades.

  “Get off me!” Finn repeated. “Fenrir is right here!”

  Gunther grinned maliciously. “I know.”

  “He’ll kill us both!”

  Gunther’s eyes glinted with malice. “No – just you, little maggot!”

  Finn looked at him aghast, and Gunther gloated.

  “I should have been the leader one day. Me alone. Everyone knew that. Odin saw it in me. And I did all I could to prove myself worthy of it.” Gunther’s grip tightened as he continued through clenched teeth. “But then you, little maggot, came along and spoiled everything. Refused to give up like the others. And smashed my kneecap with a rock, a fucking rock. A rock! My knee and my hand. Smashed. And Odin turned away from me. Everyone turned away. I would never be one of the warriors with these injuries. Never be a leader. Everyone knew that. I was only tolerated. Tolerated! No matter how well I still fight, I’m just a cripple to them.”

  Gunther paused for a moment and listened before turning back to Finn. “And Odin watched you from then on. Oh, I have seen the way he looks at you. That’s exactly how he once looked at me. You took everything from me. And for that you will now die!”

  With that, Gunther stood up and took out a vial, the contents of which he spread over Finn before closing it again.

  “Do you know what this is? This is what they sprinkle on Fenrir’s victims, because it makes him furious. Just a few drops is enough and he goes wild. Then he won’t even listen to Odin. I have stolen a vial and waited especially for this moment. I’m going to enjoy watching Fenrir tear you apart right before my eyes.”

  Finn looked at Gunther, then at the vial. Finally, he turned his head toward the barking that was getting closer. Looking across the river, he could make out Erik and Matt some distance away, transfixed as they watched what was happening. From them, however, no help was to be expected. Just to save him, they would not mess with Gunther or Fenrir. He was on his own.

  Do not think! Know! Act!

  Finn jumped up, grabbed his spear and knocked the vial out of Gunther’s hand. Deftly he caught it, only to open it immediately and empty the contents completely on Gunther.

  “What are you doing?!” Gunther cried out in panic.

  Both looked in the same direction at the same time and saw the black beast hurtling towards them. Gunther turned around and wanted to sprint towards the river. Finn, however, brought his spear around and crashed it against Gunther’s knee, the one he had already injured. While Gunther slumped to the ground screaming, Finn sprinted off and jumped into the river at the very moment Fenrir lunged at the still screaming Gunther. Even underwater, Finn could still hear Fenrir’s greedy noises and Gunther’s shrill screams.

  7

  Ben was running. He didn’t know when he had last run like this. Actually, he did, because the images came back, forced themselves into his consciousness, now of all times.

  Ben could still hear Gunther’s screams. Even now, when he was rushing through the woods. Why did the memories come back now of all times? Pushed themselves into his mind.

  He tried to shake them off. If he wanted to escape his pursuers, he needed all his senses and concentration. Images from the past had no place here.

  Not thinking! Know! Act!

  It was not dogs that pursued Ben, but people. People made of flesh and blood. Of bone, muscle and sinew. Fragile. Vulnerable.

  He had to protect Anna, that was all that mattered now.

  No retreat. No giving up. No mercy.

  His heart was beating up to his neck. Even more than when he had witnessed the whole event and finally saw how Fenrir gleefully mauled Gunther. Played with his prey and feasted on their desperate death struggle, as he had been taught.

  Anger rose in Ben. The old familiar rage. Immeasurable. Uncontrollable. Now that Mo was dead.

  He took a breath and slipped behind a tree. He had to get to Anna, but that way his pursuers would catch up with him first, or he’d lead them right to her. Neither was an option.

  Making his way behind the tree, Ben tried to get his bearings. He cou
ld only estimate the number of his pursuers. Five? Maybe more. And they had spread out. One was coming right at him. Good.

  The man held an automatic in his hand. The way he did it clearly showed Ben that this one was familiar with handling a gun, and he certainly would have no problem just shooting Ben.

  Military training? Possibly. There were so many former soldiers from the East who were only too happy to be hired by criminal organizations. In most cases, these organizations also consisted purely of former or still-affiliated members of some military unit. The transitions were fluid and the connections were always maintained.

  The man came closer and closer and Ben clasped his knife. As the man passed him, Ben jumped out of his hiding place in a flash, pushed the gun aside and rammed the blade up under his ribcage into his lungs, which immediately collapsed, making it impossible for him to scream.

  Carefully, Ben lowered him to the ground and hid him behind the tree. Only then did he look at his face and take a breath. He had killed him. Just like that. He had assessed the danger situation in a split second and weighed the options. Another possibility would have been to take him out by an unarmed attack. But that would have taken too long and would have been too conspicuous, especially since it would have given the man the opportunity to draw attention to himself. Thus his death had been the only possibility. Besides...

  Ben breathed in. He had truly killed the man without hesitation. The decision seemed logical to him. He didn’t even have to think much about it, he had just done it, automatically. His movements had been perfect and the man had had no chance.

  You are better than him.

  A crack snapped Ben out of his thoughts. Immediately he ducked down and scanned the dead man’s pockets with lightning speed. There he found another knife, brass knuckles, and several magazines to go with his automatic. He took everything and oriented himself to his further pursuer.

  When he passed by, Ben grabbed him by the head, kicked his knee and slammed him against the tree with full force. Hammered his face against it so many times until the man stopped moving.