The birthday girl

by Stephen Leather

  'We have to ride single file along the trails, with me leading. If at any time you want to stop, to take a photograph or if you drop

  something, then we all stop. We don't run the horses, ever. Keep your horse on a very loose rein – that's how we work them here.

  You have to work with these horses, not against them. Always hold the reins with one hand.' He turned to Mersiha. 'If you see Red's ears go flat then slap him on the neck. It means he's going to kick.'

  Mersiha nodded. 'We can't run them at all?'

  'No,' Matt said. 'It doesn't matter how good a rider you are, our insurance won't cover it. You stay behind me all the time.'

  Mersiha's face fell. Freeman knew she was more than capable of controlling a horse at the gallop, whether on an English or Western saddle. 'Okay, let's move out,' Matt said. He headed up a trail that wound its way through the wooded hillside. 'Keep your eye out for deer,' he said over his shoulder. 'Might even see an elk if we're lucky.'

  The horses moved at a steady pace and clearly knew the trail.

  Freeman's horse needed no urging. The only guidance he had to give her was if she walked too close to a tree and he was in danger of banging his leg. Matt was a cheerful guide and pointed out the various types of trees they passed. He showed Mersiha the difference between the Ponderosa pine, with its reddish-brown scaly bark and strong smell of vanilla, and the Limber pine with its shorter needles and edible seeds. The pines predominated on the lower levels of the slopes; at higher elevations were the Englemann and Blue spruces, and higher still were Limber pine that had been deformed by the wind into nightmarish bent and twisted shapes, like arthritic old relatives of the straight, proud trees on the lower slopes.

  'You know a lot about the mountains, don't you?' Mersiha asked.

  Matt nodded. 'I was born here. Learned to ride when I was four on a horse the size of Red there.' He brought his mount to a sudden halt and raised his arm, motioning for Freeman and Mersiha to stop. He pointed off to the left. Freeman squinted through the trees, wondering what he was looking at. All he could see were patches of packed snow and the evergreen trees, but then he noticed something move behind a juniper bush, something that looked like a medium-sized German shepherd dog but was grey in colour with white fur on its underside and legs. The dog stopped and its ears pricked up as it sniffed the air.

  It was joined by a second dog, slightly smaller with reddish head and ears. They both stared at the three riders for a few seconds, then disappeared among the trees.

  'Coyotes,' Matt explained. 'They usually hunt in pairs. We're lucky – you don't see them much around here.'

  'There they go,' Kiseleva said, handing the binoculars to Utsyev.

  'Just the two of them, and a guide.'

  Utsyev focused the binoculars on the three riders. His lips tightened as Mersiha came into focus. It was her. The girl who'd killed his brother.

  'What do you wanna do, boss? Do you want to wait for them?'

  Kiseleva asked.

  'Why wait?' Utsyev snarled. 'We can do them in the woods and bury'them where no one will ever find them.'

  'What about the guide?'

  Utsyev turned slowly and glared at Kiseleva. 'What is this?

  Are you worrying about innocent bystanders all of a sudden?

  My brother's body still warm and you're bleating about who gets hurt and who doesn't?'

  Kiseleva's head jerked back as if he'd been struck in the face.

  'I didn't mean nothing by it, boss. I just thought it might be less trouble to wait for them to go back to the cabin, that's all.'

  'The longer we hang around, the more likely we'll attract attention. Let's do it now.'

  Kiseleva nodded sullenly and climbed out of the Cherokee.

  He waved to the men in the second vehicle to get out. A plume of smoke trickled from the chimney of a wooden cabin but no one came out as the men followed Utsyev over to the barn. As they got closer they could see that the paint was peeling from the wood and that the doors were sagging on their hinges. Rusting farm equipment lay around as if the owner of the property had lost interest in his surroundings. A metal notice had been nailed to one of the doors, warning that horse-riding was a dangerous business and that the stables took no responsibility for any accidents. Another notice forbade alcohol on the premises.

  Behind the barn was a large corral containing a dozen horses.

  Utsyev turned to look at his men. 'Any of you ridden before?'

  The men looked at each other, shrugging and shaking their heads. Only Jenny nodded. 'Terrific,' Utsyev said. He walked into the barn. The smell of horse manure was overpowering.

  Along the right side of the barn were stalls, but they were all empty. To the left was an office of sorts with an old desk on which lay an exercise book containing signatures and addresses.

  It was open, and against that day's date there were two names:

  Mersiha Freeman and Tony Freeman. Utsyev cleared his throat noisily and spat at the open page. The phlegm smeared the ink as it dripped down the book.

  Kiseleva appeared at his shoulder. 'Get those horses saddled up,' Utsyev told him. Kiseleva looked as if he was about to protest, but Utsyev silenced him by pointing an accusing finger at his nose. 'Don't say a word, just do it. Ask Jenny how.'

  Next to the office was a room full of tack, with saddles hanging on thick poles above the names of their horses. Three of the poles were empty. Utsyev scratched his chin. Matching the horses to the proper saddles was going to be a problem. Locating Midnight and Silver probably wouldn't be too difficult, but Montana and Bertha? He wondered if it mattered much whether the horses got the correct saddles or not. Kiseleva sniffed as he looked at the saddles, obviously thinking the same thing.

  Utsyev walked out of the barn. Something squelched under his left foot and he looked down. He cursed and used the side of the barn to scrape the dung off his boot. A tall, white-haired man with skin like chamois leather came out of the cabin. He walked with a bow-legged strut towards Utsyev, waving a stick-like arm.

  'Can I help you gentlemen?' he called, his voice a throaty growl that suggested too many cigars and cheap whiskey.

  'We'd like to hire some horses,' Utsyev said.

  'Can't help you just now. I've only got the one guide and he's out on a ride. He's gonna be gone for three or four hours. But I can book you in for a trail ride tomorrow.' He stood in front of Utsyev, his hands on his hips. They were of a similar build, though Utsyev was a couple of inches shorter.

  'We want the horses now,' Utsyev said.

  'I just said that's not possible,' the man said, frowning.

  'I heard what you said.'

  Kiseleva stiffened and reached inside his jacket with his right hand, but Utsyev flashed him a warning glance and the hand reappeared. The look that passed across the wrangler's weatherbeaten face was so transparent in its guile that Utsyev almost smiled. 'Maybe I could get another guide over here. I'll just have to use the phone.'

  'Why don't you do that?' Utsyev said agreeably.

  The old man nodded thoughtfully, then walked slowly back to the cabin. Utsyev motioned with his head for Kiseleva to go after the man. 'And use the fucking silencer,' he warned.

  The rest of the men were standing at the edge of the corral, pointing at the horses. Utsyev went over to them. 'Get a horse each. The equipment is in the barn.' He waved Jenny over.

  'Make sure these guys put the saddles on the right way, will you?

  If they do it themselves they'll end up facing the horse's arse.'

  Jenny grinned. 'Sure.'

  'You'll be able to catch up with them?'

  She shaded her eyes with her hand and peered up the slope.

  'Shouldn't be a problem. They're just walking along the trail.'

  'Okay,' Utsyev said. 'What are you carrying?'

  'A P230 and silencer.'

  He reached into his jacket and pulled out his Ingram machine pistol and suppressor and gave it to her. 'Take this, I'll take the P230.' T
hey exchanged guns. 'I want you in charge up there,' he continued. 'You tell them what to do and when to do it.'

  'You're not coming?'

  Utsyev patted his chest. 'I'm having too much trouble breathing.

  It's like I'm always gasping, you know? Like I was breathing through a pillow. And my heart is racing like a fucking train.'

  'The altitude,' Jenny said sympathetically. 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it.'

  'I know you will,' Utsyev said. 'You're about the only one I can truly rely on these days.' He stepped forward and hugged

  her impulsively, patting her on the back in a gesture that was devoid of all sexuality. 'Kill them both and bury them up there,' he whispered into her ear. 'But I want you to bring me back the girl's head. I wanna piss in the dead bitch's mouth.' He patted her on the back again, and then stepped back. Jenny went over to the tack-room with the men, and a minute later they all reappeared with rope lassoes. One by one they stepped through the rails of the corral and began catching their mounts. One thing was for sure, Utsyev thought wryly as Ostrovetsky was dragged face down through the mud. These guys would never be mistaken for cowboys.

  Jenny showed the men how to catch their horses and lead them into the barn. Kiseleva came out of the cabin and closed the door behind him. 'It's done, boss,' he said.

  'Good,' Utsyev said. 'Now listen, and listen good. I want Jenny giving the orders up there, okay? She speaks for me. Make sure the guys know that, will ya?'

  'Sure, boss. Where will you be?'

  'I'm gonna be at Freeman's cabin. You're to stay up in the mountains until they're dead.' He fixed Kiseleva with a cold stare. 'I mean this, Kiseleva. Jenny gives the orders. If she says jump, I want you all leaping like fucking frogs, right?'

  Freeman gave his horse a good kick in the ribs, but the mare refused to go any faster. She was also reluctant to change direction. If he wanted to go left around a tree and the horse wanted to go to the right, then to the right they went, no matter how much he tugged on the reins. As far as he was concerned, the trail ride was proving to be as challenging as a donkey ride on Blackpool beach. Ahead of him, Mersiha was doing much better.

  Despite Mart's instructions she was keeping the gelding on a close rein and she seemed to have him under complete control.

  She looked over her shoulder and grinned. 'How are you getting on?' she called.

  'It's the getting off that I'm more worried about,' he shouted back. They followed Matt as he rode through the trees, up a narrow trail that at times almost seemed to disappear. Freeman realised it was probably little used during the offseason, though the horses had no trouble knowing where to go.

  'Giddy up,' Freeman said. As he expected, there was no response. 'Gee up.' Still nothing. 'Yee ha,' he said hopefully.

  The mare snorted contemptuously and Freeman settled back in the saddle, the reins loose in his left hand. 'Oh well, I might as well enjoy the ride,' he said. The horse snorted softly in agreement.

  Up ahead, Matt had stopped and was standing in his stirrups, looking back down the hill. Freeman turned to see what he was looking at. A group of six riders had just left the stables and was heading towards the treeline. Matt spurred his horse back down the trail. 'What's wrong?' Freeman asked.

  'Those are our horses down there,' he said, frowning. 'There isn't another ride going out today. I'm the only guide working.'

  Mersiha rode up behind them. 'What's going on?' she asked.

  'You two stay here,' Matt said. 'I'll go down and talk to them.

  It could be they've been sent to join us.'

  'I hope not,' Mersiha said disappointedly. 'I thought it was just going to be the three of us.'

  Matt headed back down the trail. Freeman's horse immediately started after him, but stopped when he hauled back on his reins with all his might. Mersiha saw that he was having trouble and manoeuvred her horse in front of his to block its way. It worked. The two horses stood together, their breath forming clouds in the cold air. Freeman and Mersiha watched as Matt rode down the trail at a fast trot, ducking to avoid branches.

  'Having fun?' Freeman asked.

  'Oh yeah, this is great,' she gushed. 'I love Western-style, the saddles are so comfortable. And the horses are so smart. You hardly have to tell them anything. I mean, I love Wilbur and all, but his IQis well below room temperature.'

  Matt met the riders where the trail entered the trees.

  Freeman could just about see them through the pines. Matt was waving his arm. They looked like they were arguing, then

  suddenly one of the riders pointed at him and he fell back off his horse.

  'Did you see that?' Mersiha cried.

  Mart's horse galloped riderless back to the corral. 'They just shot him,' Freeman gasped.

  'What? Are you sure?'

  Five of the riders rode into the forest. The sixth, the one who'd first pointed at Matt, stood over the fallen guide and pointed at him again. This time Freeman heard a dull crack. 'I'm sure,' he said. 'And now they're coming after us.'

  'Oh God,' Mersiha whispered.

  'What the hell's going on?' Freeman said to himself.

  'Oh God,' Mersiha repeated, her hand covering her mouth.

  'Why?' said Freeman. 'Why would they kill him?'

  'It's me,' Mersiha said.

  'Of course it isn't. Don't be silly.'

  'You don't understand. It's me they're after.'

  Freeman stared at his daughter. They looked at each other in silence. Freeman could see from the look on her face that she was deathly afraid. 'Oh pumpkin, what have you done?'

  She told him. As quickly as possible, she told him what she'd done. How she'd gone to see Sabatino. How Sabatino had tried to rape her. How she'd flashed back to the school. How she'd shot him. How they'd struggled for the gun. How he died.

  And how she'd run away, leaving the Heckler amp; Koch behind.

  Freeman sat stunned. Mersiha looked down the trail, shielding her eyes with her hands. 'They're coming, Dad. We're going to have to go.'

  Freeman shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. He had barely managed to come to terms with what had happened to Mersiha three years earlier. Now he was faced with the revelation that the daughter he loved had killed a man. A man whom Maury Anderson had described as having Mafia connections. 'Mersiha…' he began.

  'Dad, we don't have time. We have to go.' She pulled her horse around and headed up the mountain. Freeman followed, in a state of shock.

  Jenny put the Ingram back in its sling. The cowboy lay sprawled at the foot of a pine tree, his blood soaking into the carpet of needles. The rest of Utsyev's crew were guiding their horses up the hillside. She smiled. None of them seemed at all at ease on horseback. Jenny had been brought up on a farm in Utah and had learned to ride almost as soon as she could walk. Her first pony was a gentle old mare called Tess. Her father would lead her, holding the reins and encouraging her. It seemed like a million years ago.

  The horse she was riding was a jet-black gelding which she presumed was Midnight. He was big and strong and very responsive, and it took the merest pressure on his girth to move him forward and up the hill. The trail was narrow but he had a long stride and happily trotted whenever the ground was level. In a few minutes she'd caught up with the rest of the party. She could just about make out Freeman and the girl in the distance. They were moving up, towards the snowline. Vincenti took out his submachine pistol and pulled on his reins to steady his horse. 'You'll never get them from here,' she said.

  'We'll see,' Vincenti said. He held the gun with two hands and sighted on the riders in the distance.

  'You're wasting your time,' Jenny said.

  Vincenti smiled tightly and pulled the trigger. The Ingram coughed and he kept die gun steady as he sprayed bullets through the trees. All he managed to hit were trees and bushes. Snow trickled from the branches above.

  'I told you,'Jenny said. 'You're just wasting ammunition.' She kicked Midnight forward and the men followed her. She drove th
e horse hard and he seemed eager to obey. Her mount was sure-footed and after a few minutes of hard riding it was clear that they were gaining on Freeman and the girl. She looked over her shoulder. Utsyev's men were strung out behind her.

  They were having trouble keeping up. She smiled to herself.

  In New York they were tough guys, killers with diamond-hard reputations, but here in the wilderness they were fish out of water.

  The trail ducked down into a hollow and for a few moments she lost sight of her quarry. She wasn't worried. There was nowhere for them to go. The Ingram banged against her side. It was heavy and cumbersome and a bigger weapon than she was used to, but it would make short work of Freeman and the girl.

  Midnight put his head down as he carried her up out of the hollow. The trail levelled off for a few hundred yards and she encouraged the horse into a canter. He moved fluidly through the trees, breathing gently, a light sheen of sweat on his flanks.

  From behind her she heard a cry of pain. She reined Midnight back and stood up in her stirrups, straining to see what had happened. One of the men at the back of the group had fallen and wasn't making any move to get up. His horse had bolted and was running back down the trail towards the stables. Kiseleva got down off his horse and bent over the fallen man. He shook his head but didn't help him up, so Jenny figured he was too badly hurt to move. It didn't matter. There were still five of them and five would be more than enough to take care of one man and his daughter. Midnight stamped his feet, eager to be going, and she patted him on the neck. He needed no encouragement to start up the hill again.

  'They're gaining on us, Dad,' Mersiha said. 'You're going to have to move faster.'

  'I'm doing the best I can,' her father responded, kicking his horse in the ribs for all he was worth. 'She won't oblige.'

  Mersiha looked back down the hill. One of the riders was out in front on a large black horse, only a few hundred yards away.