by Dirk Patton
If he knew he was coming to get her, didn’t it make sense that he would have brought whatever way he had to identify her? Maybe the fact that he was trying to get her to identify herself was revealing more than he was willing to tell. Either way, they were all going to die. It was just a matter of who died first. Steeling herself, she kept her mouth shut and defiantly met the man’s eyes when he looked in her direction.
“Very well,” he sighed. “Perhaps a demonstration of my seriousness.”
He drew his pistol, made a production of pulling the slide to chamber a round, then stepped forward and pressed the muzzle against the side of Scott’s head.
Scott looked directly at Katie and she saw the resignation to his fate reflected in his eyes.
“Fuck you, Ivan!” Scott snapped his head away from the muzzle and tried to reach the Major’s legs, but two soldier’s grabbed him and after delivering several sharp blows, held him up so Buzinsky could again rest the barrel of the Makarov against his skull.
“Suck my fat, hairy dick, asshole!” Scott spat at the man.
“Last opportunity. Which of you is Mrs. John Chase?” The Russian ignored Scott.
Katie started to open her mouth, unwilling to watch Scott die for her, but Irina caught her eye with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Katie stayed quiet, knowing the Russian woman was right. Scott was going to die no matter what she did.
Major Buzinsky smiled as he pulled the trigger. The report was loud and the bullet punched completely through Scott’s skull, spraying blood and brains across the tarmac. His body collapsed, seemingly boneless.
Igor and Crawford had a minor wrestling match when the Russian Major murdered Scott. The Colonel had whipped his rifle up, ready to put a bullet into the killer, but Igor had grabbed the weapon and forced it off target. They struggled against each other for a moment, winding up face to face.
“He won’t kill the women,” Igor hissed in Russian. “He wants Katie to flush out Major Chase. Shoot and they will die.”
Crawford stared into the big Spetsnaz trooper’s eyes, breathing heavy from the emotion of seeing one of his men killed and the exertion of struggling with Igor. Finally, he backed off on the pressure he was applying to bring the weapon to bear and nodded his agreement.
They sat and watched as the Russian Major shook his head in mock disappointment before moving away and producing a satellite phone from his uniform pants. He placed a call and had a short conversation, but neither Igor nor Crawford could hear what he was saying. Ending the call, he turned and shouted to the Sergeant in charge of the ground troops.
The man began barking orders, the soldiers grabbing the women and yanking them to their feet. All but Martinez, who was still unconscious. Two of them stepped forward and one grabbed her arms as the other took hold of her ankles. They carried her behind the others and soon all four were loaded into the Major’s helicopter. He pointed at two men who climbed in with them before he boarded, pulling the door closed behind him.
Lifting off, the helicopter turned and headed west towards Seattle. The Havocs remained in an orbit and the Sergeant got the surviving troopers rallied and ready. It wasn’t long before the sound of very heavy rotors shook the forest. It was just starting to get light, the sky a shade somewhere between black and blue.
There was enough light for Crawford to see the aircraft he’d already recognized by their sound. Two massive CH-47 Chinook helicopters, with a giant rotor at each end, approached the airfield. The first one landed, half the men on the ground running up the lowered ramp, carrying their dead and wounded with them.
Colonel Crawford watched with gritted teeth as the first American helicopter lifted off and the second touched down to extract the remaining Russians. At that moment he would have given just about anything for a weapon capable of bringing the two captured aircraft and their occupants down in a fiery crash.
35
The women were separated once aboard the helicopter. Rachel began to speak to Katie but was slapped across the face by Major Buzinsky hard enough to make her ears ring. She glared at him, infuriated when he smiled back and wagged his index finger in her face like she was a child.
“There will be plenty of time to talk when we reach our destination. Unless one of you wants to tell me who Mrs. Chase is. Hmmm? Tell me now and I’ll let you go when we reach Seattle. All you have to do is whisper to me.” Buzinsky made a production of cupping his hand around his ear, all the better to hear a whisper.
He smiled, reminding Katie less of the Cheshire Cat than of a Great White Shark about to take a chunk out of her flesh. She wouldn’t have blamed Irina or Rachel for talking, but knew they wouldn’t. Neither would give up her identity any more than she would have theirs.
She knew she had to be patient. John always talked about waiting for the right time. Of course he would caveat that thought by saying that sometimes you had to create the right time, which always drove her nuts. Sometimes he was a little too Zen about the whole warrior thing.
“Where are we going?” She asked before she realized she was speaking.
“Mrs. Chase, I presume?” The Russian met her eyes.
“I’m just wondering where we’re going,” she said.
“Where we’re going is unimportant,” he said. “What happens to you when we get there is what matters.”
The man paused, looking around the compartment and meeting the eyes of each of the women before continuing.
“I shall make the offer one final time. Whoever tells me which one of you is the wife of Major John Chase will be set free when we reach Seattle. I will personally ensure you are given a vehicle, weapons, food and water and you will be free to go where you wish. If you do not cooperate, you will be shot when she is identified. The offer expires the moment we land.”
The smile on the Russian’s face belied the somber tone in which he spoke. But the reiteration of the offer gave Katie some faint hope. He wouldn’t be pushing so hard if he really had a photo of her in John’s file. It also gave her hope that John was alive and causing problems for the invaders. Why else would they want her so badly if not to use as leverage against him?
“You made a big mistake, asshole.” Martinez had regained consciousness and though she looked like she wanted to throw up, her voice was strong and hard.
“Ahhh… Mrs. Chase? But no, I don’t think so. I think you are an Army or Air Force pilot. Unusual for a woman, but not unheard of in America. And that means I don’t need you.”
As he said the last the Russian smiled, drew his weapon and aimed it at Martinez’ head. She glared back at him, anger burning in her eyes.
“You already killed his wife,” she said, staring down the barrel of the Makarov pistol.
“But you are all still alive,” he said.
“You fucking Russians aren’t as smart as you think you are,” Martinez smiled back at him. “You didn’t know that Major Chase is gay? That man you shot in the head back at the airport? That was his wife.”
Martinez raised her hands and made air quotes with her fingers as she said “wife”.
Doubt and confusion flickered in the Russian’s eyes, the barrel of the pistol momentarily wavering. It was all Katie and Rachel could do not to burst out laughing.
“I think you are too smart for your own good,” he said after a long pause. “That is the correct American expression, yes? You should be smart enough to tell me which of you is the Major’s wife. It will save you from further pain.”
He lowered the muzzle of his weapon a few degrees and pulled the trigger, shooting Martinez in the leg. She cried out in shock as the bullet punched through her flesh. There was a moment of stunned silence in the helicopter then Rachel began to move towards Martinez to check the wound.
She had barely raised out of her seat when Major Buzinsky hit her with a brutal backhand that sent her sprawling in the opposite direction.
“I did not say you could move,” he smiled as Rachel reached up and wiped blood off her mouth where
her lip had split open from the blow. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you help her.”
Rachel stayed where she was, sprawled on the hard deck, and glared silently back at the man. From the corner of her eye she could see Martinez hunched forward in pain, hands grasping the bullet wound. At least it looked like she was holding the outer edge of her thigh and hopefully there hadn’t been that much damage to her leg.
The Russian turned his head and looked out one of the windows above the side door. It was daylight now, grey clouds obscuring the sun. He raised his body far enough to get a view of the ground below them before resuming his seat.
“We’ll be landing in about two minutes. Last chance. Who wants to go free?”
He looked around the compartment again, the barrel of the Makarov briefly pointing at each woman as it moved in sync with his eyes.
“I’m who you want. I’m Katie Chase.”
Every head in the helicopter snapped around to look at who had just spoken. Irina looked back at them and took a deep breath as she faced their captor.
“I will cooperate fully. Whatever you want, as long as you release all three of them when we land.” She locked eyes with the Russian.
Katie was shocked at first, but as the enormity of what Irina was doing began to sink in she started to speak. Rachel’s hand shot out and clamped onto her wrist before she could utter a word. Buzinsky’s attention was fully on Irina and he didn’t notice Katie look at Rachel who shook her head.
The Russian looked at her for a long moment, leaning back in his seat and laughing. He holstered the Makarov and pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket. Unfolding it, he looked at whatever was on it for a few heartbeats then reversed it and held it up for everyone to see.
The lettering was Cyrillic and no one other than Irina could read it, but the large black and white photo didn’t need to be translated. It was a headshot of Irina, wearing a GRU uniform cap. It was a Russian wanted poster.
“I do not think so, Captain Vostov,” he smiled. “I recognized you the moment I saw you. You and the American Major each have a suite reserved at the Lubyanka Prison in Moscow. Unless you assist me, in which case I might have lost the bulletin ordering your immediate arrest.”
Irina stared at him a moment then sat back with her mouth tightly closed and arms locked across her chest. Buzinsky smiled and turned to face Katie and Rachel.
“That leaves you two,” he said. “Both beautiful women. Both younger than the Major. But one of you is his wife. I am certain. But which one? Which of you would he trade his life to save?”
The smile fell off his face, replaced by confusion when all four women began laughing. It went on for several seconds before Katie spoke.
“You know nothing about him at all,” she said.
“He is going to gouge out your eyes and skull fuck your bloody corpse, puto!” Martinez laughed as the helicopter touched down.
36
Cool, damp air smelling of mildew and other things I couldn’t identify flowed through the opening when Titus pushed the vault door open. The door swung out into a tunnel and was a twin of the one we’d come through the night before. Once again I was slightly awed by the sheer size of the door and the work it must have taken to get it down here and properly installed.
“How much does that thing weigh?” I asked, following him through the opening into the tunnel.
“Little over twenty tons,” he said, swinging it closed and locking it behind us. “Got both of ‘em at a government surplus auction. Damn things cost less than the couch you slept on last night. Our fuckin’ tax dollars at work.”
I suppressed a snort and focused on what I was doing. The tunnel we were standing in was six feet wide and ten feet tall. The floor, ceiling and walls were smooth, finished concrete. There was a gentle slope in the floor from each wall so that the center was a low spot, creating a channel.
Every twenty feet or so there was a six-inch-high row of iron bars that ran from wall to wall and formed a screen to catch debris. All of them were clogged with everything from leaves to small tree branches to plastic shopping bags and even a couple of shoes. They were there to pre-filter the largest debris before the water reached the storage tank Titus had mentioned, and I suspected there had been a routine cleaning schedule since, all things considered, the tunnel was relatively spotless.
Hanging from the ceiling was a steel rack that looked like a ladder. Several thick bundles of cables rested on its crossbars. I couldn’t tell what they were, only that each of them had a pretty serious layer of protective insulation around it.
“What are the cables?” I asked.
“Power, phone, TV and some more shit I don’t understand,” Titus said. “They’s how I got cameras all over. Some smart ass little tech from the Air Force that my son-in-law knew came down here and hooked into them. Kept saying sumthin ‘bout using bandwish from the phone company, or some such shit.”
“Bandwidth,” I said. “But don’t ask me to explain. I just know the word.”
We began moving slowly, careful of our footing around the debris traps. The tunnel extended as far as I could see in each direction. At odd intervals in the top of the walls there were narrow slits where rainwater drained in off the streets. It was apparently sunny today as light was coming in each of these, providing enough illumination for me to see quite well once my eyes had adjusted.
“All of the tunnels just like this one?” I asked.
“Yep. Surprised the hell out of me first time I came down here. Seems like a good three-foot pipe would have done the job, but I ain’t no engineer.” Titus said.
We walked about a hundred yards down the tunnel, reaching an intersection. The cross tunnel was an exact duplicate of the one we were standing in. I looked up when Titus pointed at the ceiling. A large, iron ring was set in the smooth concrete, a cast iron manhole cover resting in it. Light was visible through two small holes that would be used to lift it out of the way from above.
“That’s the way in and out,” he said. “There’s one at every intersection and usually at least one, sometimes two, between intersections.”
“That the only way?” I asked, standing directly under the manhole and craning my neck to look it over.
“Nope, there’s a couple of dozen grates at floor level scattered around. They had to build some channels to direct runoff and they kinda slope down into the ground, so they put a big iron grate at each one. Look like a jail cell door if’n you ask me.”
I was relieved to hear the news as I didn’t see any way to get out through the manhole. It was ten feet over my head and probably weighed at least a hundred pounds. Even if it was removed ahead of time I wasn’t sure I could jump high enough to grab the lip of the hole. These openings were used by guys who took the covers off at street level and had their own ladders to get in and out.
“Where’s the closest one? I’d like to get a look.”
“This way,” he said and turned down the cross tunnel.
I fell in behind him, glad he was moving quietly. Even though we were hidden from sight, there were plenty of openings to the streets above. Making a lot of noise at the wrong moment could draw the attention of a passing foot patrol. Or infected. I didn’t need either taking an interest in what was going on beneath their feet.
We walked for half an hour. I was hopelessly lost after ten minutes. But Titus seemed to know exactly where he was, so I put my trust in him and kept on going. Finally, we turned into another intersecting tunnel and after a few minutes the light began growing brighter. Soon I could see an opening ahead, covered by heavy, iron bars.
Beyond the security grate the tunnel continued on above ground, without a covering roof, becoming a flood channel. Carefully stepping up to the bars I peered through, making sure there weren’t any Russians or infected in sight. I could hear an orbiting helicopter, but no other sounds.
There was a wide gate, set into large hinges, that would swing in. It was locked with a thick, iron bar sec
ured by a massive padlock. I looked it over then moved to check the hinges. They were secure. I wouldn’t be lifting the gate off of them.
“Don’t suppose you have a key,” I mumbled to Titus.
“Yep. Son-in-law came up with it somehow.”
I turned to look at him in surprise and he smiled for the first time since I’d met him.
“Where does this go?” I asked, gesturing at the flood channel on the outside of the grate.
“That’s north,” he nodded his head in the direction. “We’re on the edge of town and it’s flat grasslands sloping all the way up to the Interstate. ‘Bout five miles of nothin’.”
While we were standing there the sun suddenly dimmed and we both pressed our faces to the bars and looked up at the sky. Clouds were moving in.
“We’d better get back,” Titus said, turning and heading down the tunnel without waiting to see if I was following. “It starts raining, these fill up in a hurry.”
I moved fast to catch up with him.
“What do you mean “fill up”?” I asked. “How full?”
“Big storm and they’ll be running at least half full of water. Average rain and there’s maybe one or two feet of water runnin’. Still enough to take your feet out from under ya if you ain’t payin’ attention.”
It took us another half hour to reach the vault door. There wasn’t nearly as much light in the tunnels and I was pretty sure it was still cloudy. I was hoping for rain. Not enough to prevent me from escaping through the storm water system, but rain at night is a wonderful camouflage. It would be much easier to evade the Russians if the weather cooperated.
37
It was approaching mid-afternoon by the time we were back inside the shelter. My plan was to leave after it got dark, so I had several hours to kill. When I asked, Titus provided everything I needed to strip down all of my weapons and give them a thorough cleaning and oiling. I couldn’t remember the last time any of them had received any attention, other than from my trigger finger, and was mildly surprised I hadn’t had any issues.