Imperator
Iceland
Tiny pinpricks of white light shot into Mitchell’s mind like hot slivers of pain, reminding him that he was still alive. Slowly opening his eyes, Mitchell rolled over and felt the cold, hard, metal floor against his skin. A rolling wave of nausea suddenly and painfully gripped his innards. Unable to hold it back, Mitchell emptied the scant contents of his stomach on the floor of his cell. Writhing in agony, Mitchell realized that he must have received a more severe beating from Romanov’s men than he had first thought. He lay back on the cool floor and took in several deep breaths to calm his turbulent stomach. One thing was for certain, he was looking forward to giving a bit of payback the next time his path crossed with Teplov’s.
Wiping the spittle from his face, Ryan sat up and looked around the tiny room that was his cell. Aside from a light switch on the wall, the dull, steel-gray room was devoid of any furniture or fixtures. Mitchell looked down at his wrist. His watch and his wallet were gone. Mitchell swore under his breath; he was cut off, he now had no way of sending any messages to his team.
Struggling painfully to rise, Mitchell staggered over to the door, tried the handle, and was not surprised to find that it was locked. He pounded a fist on the door. A second later, he started yelling, hoping that there was someone outside he could talk with. He had to know where Jen was, and if she was all right.
A voice laced with a strong Russian accent spoke. “You in there, stop that.”
“Make me,” replied Mitchell.
Mitchell could hear voices yelling back and forth in Russian and then an odd silence.
He waited a minute and then, with nothing to lose, decided to carry on smashing the door. The sound of a key in the lock stopped him. Mitchell stepped back slightly and prepared himself in case the opportunity to try an escape presented itself.
The door swung open.
Mitchell stepped forward. “Hey out there, what the hell is going on?”
“Place your hands on your head and then slowly step out,” ordered an unseen voice.
“What if I don’t?” said Mitchell.
“Then I will be forced to throw a tear gas grenade into your room, and make you do as I say.”
Mitchell knew there was nothing he could do. When he stepped out into the hallway, Mitchell was not surprised to see half a dozen of Romanov’s men with their weapons trained on him. He fell into line with the guards and walked upstairs until they came to the main deck of the Imperator. It was dark outside. A cold wind swept up over the deck of the ship, making Mitchell shiver. Cautiously, the men led their prisoner to the helipad and then stepped back, forming a ring around him. A moment later, one guard passed a down-filled jacket to him. Slowly dressing, Mitchell ran a hand through his hair, and then stood there, wondering what was going on. He could see a thin sliver of light creep up in the east, which informed Mitchell that he had been out cold for at least twelve hours. He turned his head and looked over at the nervous-looking guards. He doubted that he was going to be shot at dawn; there was something else on the go, but what? He did not have to wait long for his answer, as Dmitry Romanov soon bounded up the stairs, full of energy, and walked over to where Mitchell stood.
“Good morning, Mister Mitchell,” said Romanov. “I am so happy to see that you don’t look the worse for wear.”
“I wish I could share your enthusiasm, but I have a splitting headache, and I’m sorry to say that I left my last meal all over the floor of my cell,” replied Mitchell. “Aside from that, I suppose I can’t really complain.”
Romanov smiled at Mitchell’s bravado. “That is good news. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on today’s activities.”
“Miss out on what?”
“Come now, Mister Mitchell, you wouldn’t want me to tell you, would you? It would positively spoil the surprise for you,” Romanov said smugly. “Let’s just say that because of your persistent meddling, you have become an integral part of my plan, and by the end of today, you will become part of history.”
“Seriously, I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about. Why not just tell me, and I’ll promise to look surprised later?”
Romanov waved a finger at him. “No more questions, Mister Mitchell. I can assure you that you will be truly impressed later, of that I have no doubt.” With that, Romanov walked away, leaving Mitchell to ponder what was going on. Whatever it was, he knew that it could not be good; he had to find Jen, and then together find a way off the ship as fast as they could.
A voice called out, “Ryan, thank God, you’re alive!”
Mitchell saw Jen push her way past a couple of guards and then run straight toward him. She threw her arms around him and embraced him, never wanting to let go. “What are you doing out here?” asked Mitchell, looking down into Jen’s deep- brown eyes.
“Romanov told me that we were all leaving right away. We’re flying over to his mining camp over on the island,” she explained, looking over at the unwelcoming dark silhouette of the volcano towering over the island.
A feeling of foreboding fell over Mitchell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “Something bad is going to happen over there today, and you need to be as far away as possible from it.”
The distinctive sound of an assault rifle being loaded made Mitchell freeze in place. He turned his head and saw a man aiming his weapon at Jen.
“In the chopper, now,” ordered a blond-haired guard, pointing at the helicopter.
“I think it’s out of our hands now,” said Jen, trying to smile at their predicament.
Mitchell escorted Jen to the open doors on the side of the helicopter, its engine whining loudly as it warmed up. Moments later, the helicopter leaped up into the air, and then swung over the deck of the ship, heading over to the island outlined against the gray light of the dawn sky.
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