sulfur pools too.”
“So you mean?” Reggie began slowly.
“We cover ourselves in the smell. That way we smell like everything around here. It’s not perfect, but we may confuse the dogs just enough. And we don’t have a lot of options. And we need to turn our jumpsuits inside out. The lining color stands out a lot less than the neon yellow.”
He ran ahead to tell Whit this. They reversed their jumpsuits and twenty minutes later, following a stronger odor, they found a shallow pool of water that reeked of the naturally occurring mineral.
“We have to go in that?” exclaimed Rice.
“If you want to live a little longer, yeah,” said Shaw. “Just don’t drink it.”
Drenched, chilled, and smelling horribly, they continued on west for a bit longer before Shaw brought them to a stop, looking frustrated. “This is all wrong.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Whit, his wet hair down in his eyes. “We’re trying to stay ahead of the guy. He’s back there coming this way. So we have to go that way.” He pointed straight ahead.
“And that’s exactly what he wants. He told us to go this way, Whit. Why do you think that is?”
Reggie answered, “Ambush? Driving us to a perimeter?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I didn’t actually believe the guy when he said it was just him against us.”
“And so what do we do about it?” asked Whit.
“I’ve always taken it as a good tactic that when your opponent expects you to go left you go right.”
“Meaning?”
Shaw said, “Meaning we skirt the ground we just covered and head back to the house.”
“What if he thought we’d do that and plans to ambush us that way?”
“Then he probably deserves to win.”
“He will win,” whined Rice.
Before Shaw could react, Reggie grabbed Rice by the neck and squeezed. “Tell me something, you bloody piece of shit. Were you cheating him on the shipping costs?”
Rice said nothing. She squeezed harder. “Were you!”
“Yes.”
“And you did try to shoot him?”
Rice nodded, looking miserable.
“Then damn you for missing the bastard. Now let’s go.”
CHAPTER
95
KUCHIN WALKED ALONE, his rifle in his right hand, muzzle down. Up ahead he could hear the baying of the hounds. It really wouldn’t matter, though, whether the animals were able to get on the track or not. Scents up here were problematic because of the terrain and the composition of the underlying rock. He felt certain that a man like Shaw would have experience in dodging even experienced scent hounds. This was a chess match and one had to think of the current and at least four future moves. Kuchin had followed traitors through the muck, mud, ice, and waters of Ukraine as part of his duties with the KGB. He had almost always succeeded, aided by an internal desire never to concede defeat. It was the same attribute that had fueled his swift rise up the security agency’s ladder. Superiors loved men like Kuchin, because they made them look good to their superiors.
He had long debated how to do this. Part of him strongly wanted to tie each of them naked to a table and then pull out his little metal suitcase. He wanted to peel off their skin, cut out their intestines, and put them through torture that Abdul-Majeed, mutilated as he was, could never have imagined. But he had finally decided against that. He had done so principally because unlike Abdul-Majeed they had shown courage. They had confronted him directly, risking their lives. They had not hidden like the Muslim and let a drugged-out lackey attempt to do the killing. For that Kuchin had grudging respect for the group. Rice was another matter. He would die either way, but Kuchin had placed him with the others solely as a matter of convenience. He did not intend on wasting too much time with Alan Rice. The man did not deserve it.
That left only the hunt. Here, on his home turf, Kuchin had given them a sporting chance, if a poor sporting chance. He was not a fool. He would survive this, they would not. But at least they had an opportunity to postpone their deaths a bit. And it wasn’t as though Kuchin would escape either. In a way he’d come full circle. They knew about his little room at his penthouse. Others undoubtedly knew of it too. They were probably there right now gathering all the evidence they needed to send him to Ukraine to stand trial, with his execution the inevitable outcome.
My fellow countrymen will probably tear me limb from limb.
His days of hiding were over. Evan Waller was dead. The Canadian businessman was a pale imitation of the man Fedir Kuchin really was. When it was over, he would not run. He was through with hiding. They would have to take him here, at his last stand. They eventually would win, through superior numbers, but he would take many with him. It was a fitting way for an old warrior to go out. On his terms.
He smiled. And perhaps this would result in his finally being written into history. The true Butcher of Kiev. But that would come later. He had four lives to extinguish tonight. He did not expect them to die easily, especially Shaw and the woman. They would fight hard. They were survivors. Well, so was he. And he intended to save the woman for last. He had special plans for her. She would take the longest to die.
He stopped, raised his rifle, and drew a bead through his electronic scope on a caribou a few hundred yards distant. The Soviets had excelled at killing via long range in Afghanistan with their snipers and attack choppers. They might have won the war if the Americans hadn’t equipped the mujahideen with handheld rocket launchers and a mountain of RPG rounds. Kuchin could take some solace in the fact that some of these same weapons were now being used against the Americans. But only some solace. The simple Afghans had brought down the mighty Red Army and with it a superpower.
If he pulled the trigger on his rifle he could have killed the large animal that was wandering over the ground in front of him searching for food. But, as before, he had no interest in extinguishing that life. He trudged on, his eyes alert, all his senses heightened.
Alan Rice had been a disappointment, but at bottom Kuchin really should have expected it. He had taken over the business of his mentor by violent ways, so why should he expect any different treatment? Ambitious men who wanted something took it. The chief difference was that Kuchin was the sort of man who could achieve that goal. He had nerve and skill. Rice had failed on both counts. His skill was not good enough and his nerve had been nowhere near where it needed to be to topple a man like him. Which was why Kuchin had hired him in the first place. Never bring in a man more ruthless than yourself.
He knew they were up ahead of him, jogging, trying to pace themselves. They would reach a point where they would question their own tactics, perhaps argue among themselves. That would waste time, diminish the lead he had given them. They might change directions on him, believe that he was herding them in a particular direction for some purpose. He had put that into his calculations too, along with several other factors.
He checked his illuminated watch. Because it was summer and they were at a high latitude the nighttime would not last much beyond six hours. Kuchin expected it to be all over by then. The remains would be taken to the ocean, weighted down, and dumped in, never to be seen again except by the sea life that would devour them.
He lifted the rifle to his shoulder once more and checked the reticle, which most people would know simply as a “crosshairs.” Kuchin for years had used the SVD Type model favored by Russian snipers. Two years ago though he had managed to obtain the American military’s widely deployed Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight, or ACOG. It was an illuminated telescopic reflex sight. The shooter used the ACOG with both eyes open instead of closing one because the brain would automatically graft the image in the reticle from the dominant eye to the other pupil. This ensured normal depth perception and a complete field of view. A lot of fancy terminology, but the result was that Kuchin could acquire and terminate a target much faster than before. And since he had four targets that n
eeded acquiring and terminating, a few seconds saved would be invaluable on the battlefield.
Kuchin was carrying a weapon that would kill with one shot whatever it hit. But he didn’t want that. Slow was the key here. Timing was everything. He had every right to be angry, furious with people who had done their best to kill him. But he was too wily to let this become too personal. When emotions dominated your mind you almost always lost. He would let his skill and reason rule the hunt. The emotion, the joy, could come later, when it was done and four more people lay dead by his hand.
CHAPTER
96
AFTER DOUBLING BACK and keeping to the far fringes of the route they had taken, Shaw and the others had managed to reach the house, which was now dark. They had first heard the baying of the hounds nearly an hour ago, but then the sounds had receded. Reggie had fallen into a large rut cut by some ancient glacier’s retreat, but they had managed to pull her out. Rice was exhausted and Shaw had had to help him the last mile or so.
The four stared at the darkened space. There were no trucks parked in front.
Reggie whispered, “Do you think they’re all out helping Kuchin look for us?”
“The guy was in the KGB. It would be crazy not to leave a rear guard,” replied Shaw.
“So how do we do this?”
“Element of surprise. All we have. We have to get some weapons.”
“Is that all?” asked Reggie. “What about your friend?”
“If she’s here we’re taking her.” He turned to Whit. “You take the rear. I’ll work my way towards the front. See anyone, just give a low whistle.”
“That’ll give us away,” said Reggie.
“Well, what’s the option?” snapped Shaw. “I left my walkie-talkie with my machine gun.”
“A whistle will have to do,” agreed Whit.
“What about us?” Reggie said, indicating her and Rice.
“If things go to hell, get away from here. Go in the direction of the water and try to signal a ship from the coastline.”
Reggie did not look pleased by this, but kept silent. It was clear she did not enjoy letting Shaw run the show, but he obviously had more experience in this than she did. And Whit was deferring to him too.
A few minutes later Shaw reached the back door and peered through the glass. He stiffened when he saw her. Katie James was sitting in a chair bound tightly. She appeared to be dozing. He tried the knob on the door. It was locked. No surprise there. What did surprise him was seeing Whit crawling on his belly into the room. He saw Shaw at the window, rose, crab-walked across the room, and opened the door.
“Got in through a window,” he said. “The place looks empty.”
They quickly woke and then untied Katie.
“Where the hell is everybody?” Shaw asked as they exchanged a brief but fierce hug.
“All out looking for you, I guess. They had dogs too.”
“We heard.”
Whit glanced around, his face creased with emotion. “Where’s Dominic’s body?”
“They took it away. I don’t know where. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Whit said.
“I don’t think he anticipated you doubling back and getting past them,” she said.
“Apparently not.”
“What now?” asked Whit.
“Gun safe.”
They found it and spent twenty precious minutes trying to break into it with no luck. Shaw finally threw down the crowbar he’d found in the garage. On the other side of that three-inch door was probably enough firepower to get them out of this safely, and he couldn’t get to any of it.
“Well, it looks like they did anticipate we might come back this way,” he said.
“You think this is an ambush?” asked Whit. “Make it seem like they pulled everybody? Let us get in, get Katie, and then hit us on the way out?”
“Nothing would surprise me at this point,” said Shaw. “But they could have killed us easily enough when we first got here too.”
They searched the rest of the house, but Shaw only came away with two serrated knives from the kitchen. He handed one to Whit.
“Knife against guns?” said Whit.
“Best we can do. Now let’s see if we can find a phone or anything that’ll let us call for help.”
They didn’t. No land line, no cell phone, not even a walkie-talkie or a computer.
“Shaw!”
It was Reggie standing just inside the front door; Rice was next to her.
She said, “Trucks are coming. We have to get out of here.”
They ran to the back of the house and outside. Beams of headlights cut through the darkness. One truck, no idea how many men were inside. Shaw thought quickly. “We need wheels,” he said.
Reggie looked around and pointed to her left. “Whit can take Rice and Katie off that way and hide behind that berm. You and I can double back, grab the wheels, and take whatever weapons if any they have in there. Then we pick the others up and get the hell out of here.”
“Okay,” agreed Shaw.
Whit led Katie and Rice to the raised mound of earth behind the house. Shaw went around one side of the cabin and Reggie the other. Four men climbed out of the truck and headed to the house. Shaw knew they only had at best thirty seconds before they discovered Katie was not there.
He raced toward the truck. Reggie did the same on the other side.
“Shit,” Shaw muttered. They’d locked the doors. He peered inside the window. No keys dangling conveniently in the ignition. He saw no guns either. Reggie joined him.
“Even if I can break the glass, it’s not like you can easily hot-wire cars these days. And—”
They both heard it at the same time. Shouts from inside the house. They’d found out Katie was gone.
“Come on, Shaw!” Reggie exclaimed. “We have to run for it.”
“Go, go,” he said, pushing her off into a sprint.
She looked back once and then was gone around the side of the cabin.
“If we don’t have wheels neither will you,” Shaw said. He used the knife to slash the two right-side tires before running off. Seconds later the front door flew open and the men poured out, guns ready. Some ran to opposite sides of the cabin and fired out into the darkness with their submachine guns. Bullets whizzed over Shaw’s head but he kept going. He doubted they could actually see him. And there was little chance that their MP5s could intentionally hit him at this distance, but they could get lucky. He reached the others and they ran as hard as they could away from the cabin. But they clearly heard the frustrated curses of the men when the truck started and then wobbled forward on the trashed tires.
Shaw leading the way, they made a wide circle around the property and headed back west. Within five minutes the lights from the cabin had disappeared from their vision.
“Close,” said Shaw as they finally stopped running. “Too close and we got zip for our troubles.”
“Where to now?” Rice said.
Shaw answered. “Now we’re behind them. They won’t expect that.”
“Yes they will. They’ll know we’ve been there because she’s gone,” Reggie shot back as she hooked a thumb in Katie’s direction.
Shaw stared first at Reggie, then at Katie, and then back at Reggie. “What, do you want us to take her back?”
Reggie blanched. “Of course not!”
“Then we’ll just have to make the best of it.”
Whit cut in, “And how the hell do we do that? Sneak up and attack them with kitchenware?”
“I thought you’d figured that out. Our goal is not to engage them. It’s to get away and find help. We didn’t get the wheels so now we have to look for an alternate. If I have my bearings right and the coast is over that way, then if we head due south we’ll run into the Belle Strait. This time of year there will be ships coming through that channel going to and from Europe. If we can survive until daylight we may be able to attract the crew on one of them. They can send out a boat for us.”
>
“Sounds reasonable,” said Reggie.
Katie looked at Shaw. “I expect at some point you’ll tell me what all this is about?”
“At some point, but not now.” He gripped her arm. “But at some point, yeah. I certainly owe you that.”
Reggie watched as Katie placed her hand overtop of Shaw’s. Then she looked away.
They had gone nearly a mile when the sound shattered the silence and all their plans ended up for naught.
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