The Carbon Cross (The Carbon Series Book 2)

by Randy Dutton

  As she gave directions, a twin engine Beechcraft, its wheels down, crossed over them and, through the Fuzz-draped Victoria Airport perimeter fence, Pete watched it land.

  Pete frowned. “What if they bring in reinforcements?”

  “Then we’ll go to Plan B.”

  “Which is?”

  “Demanding Swanson use his contacts to tell the Russians to back off. Otherwise, he gets exposed. He said there might be opposition to my hacking, but never said who. I wonder if he knew the Russians were suspicious?”

  “Would Swanson see you as a threat and decide to send his people?”

  “There’s that possibility,” she said matter-of-factly. “Then there’s Plan C.”

  “What’s that?”

  She chuckled. “Hey. I came up with the first two. It’s your turn.”

  “You probably wouldn’t want my Plan C.” His annoyance was obvious.

  She analyzed his stern expression, then shook her head. “Are you sure you were a Marine? Where’s your gung-ho?”

  They drove silently down the highway. In half an hour they had passed Victoria and continued toward the western coast. Their anxiety was palpable.

  “Pete?” Anna broke the silence, “Are you angry?”

  “Why should I be angry?” he said tersely.

  “Because no matter how much we talked about the possibility of danger, I suspect it wasn’t real for you until just now.”

  “Anna, what we’re doing isn’t normal. And normal’s what I thought you wanted.” He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “What’s this chase about? Are the Russians after you for doing the right thing? Or did you do something you haven’t mentioned?”

  “Pete, I don’t know why they’re chasing me. Maybe it’s revenge for switching the hacker targets against the Agenda 21 group, some were Russians. Maybe they think I led a group against the Russian oil industry, which I didn’t. Perhaps they’re doing Swanson’s bidding.”

  Pete’s eyebrow lifted. “Or maybe they’re going after the wrong person?”

  “Could be. I’ve changed my appearance and identity often enough. That’s why we need to capture one. Without knowing their reason, we don’t have solutions.”

  “I love you more than you know...But am I scared? Yes. Not for myself but for our baby...for you...for us.”

  “Pete, you do well hiding it.”

  “Combat trains us to contain our fears...to use them....but not to deny them. I feel it when what I do affects others, and I don’t know if I’ll measure up to the task.”

  “If you’re worried, then talk to me...plan with me. Help get us through this together.” Her focus remained on the laptop screen. “Turn right, here at Humpback Road.”

  To their right was a 160-meter high ridgeline of steeply sloping, aged granite outcroppings. The higher elevation breeze carried faint greenish gray dust swirling across the rocks. The rounded granite had wide gaps just large enough for trees and brush to grow on ledges and between boulders.

  “There’s a road that cuts up through the ridgeline. We’ll take that.... Pete, I have no doubt you’ll measure up.” She handed him a taser and pulled out her Walther.

  “That’s rough country up there. I’d feel more secure with an M-16 in my hands instead of a stun gun.”

  “The terrain will help split them. I prefer capturing one. If I start killing, I’ve created another problem – their revenge.” She screwed on the silencer and slid back the pistol receiver to chamber a round.

  “Telling a Marine to minimize violence was what got America in trouble in Iraq. They tried turning us into a police force.” He studied the non-lethal weapon. “You never told me where you got these.”

  “We’ll discuss my acquisitions later.” She turned her laptop toward him and pointed. “Turn left onto Mount MacDonald Road, and then take the next left in one klick.”

  “We can still bail out on this...ditch the homing device and go to ground for a few weeks – my Plan C.”

  “And look over our shoulders for the rest of our lives? No, Pete! I need more closure that than.” Her eyes were hard and tone harsher. “I need to know if they’re going after the false identity I used in Las Vegas, or after Anna Picard...or after Anna Heyward. How paranoid do you want me to stay? I don’t want to live like that. Frankly, Pete, I don’t think you do either. Now, let’s get this done, shall we?!”

  She left no room for argument. “Here’s what we’re going to do....”

  Chapter 51

  September 1, 1000 hours

  Vancouver Island, BC

  They neared the ridgeline. Anna stepped out, and Pete drove a hundred meters farther onto a fire service road that veered left from the main road. He turned the SUV around on the soft mossy surface and backed it out of sight to provide a fast getaway. Quickly walking to the main road, he joined Anna, who had just returned from a ridgeline trail on the other side of the road. Her blond ponytail lay against a white shirt.

  Pete’s brow lifted. “No jacket or wig?”

  “They’re decoys.” She pointed to the ridge. “Near the GPS tracker which is up higher and to the right. The Russians will pass my ambush spot and split up to determine how the GPS signal managed to come from that direction.”

  “How many do you think there are?”

  “At least two.”

  “Be careful, Sweetheart,” he said softly.

  She cupped his face with her hands and kissed him. “I always am. Now get into position.” Walking eastward along the ridgeline, her footfalls fell silent on the thin layer of Fuzz. She disappeared behind the rounded rocks.

  Ten minutes later Pete whispered to Anna over the radio, “A black Chevrolet Orlando minivan with BC plates is slowly rolling up the road. Two men are in front, the tinting’s too dark to see anyone in back.”

  “I’m 150 meters up the bluff top trail and the transponder’s 50 meters beyond that. Tell me how many exit the van.”

  Moments later, the radio sounded again. “The van stopped right where you walked off...the driver’s staying put as is his right side passenger. Two men are exiting the right side second seat door. You’ve got two tangos.”

  “Boris there?”

  “He has a tactical shotgun, the other has a pistol. Be careful, and remember that I love you. Don’t do anything premature! Okay?”

  “I love you too, Pete. Always remember that. What I’m doing is for our future. Out!”

  The finality of her last transmit unsettled him.

  Anna was hidden behind two large boulders nesting against each other, 15 meters north of the bluff drop-off. She figured the Russians would take the hiking path along the cliff edge. That gave her the options of a three-sided shelter, a small area to crawl underneath or between the boulders so she could scamper on top and get a higher viewpoint and an escape path through the trees to the north. She had put her wig and jacket on a bush near the transponder along the bluff.

  The Russians approached slowly and silently on the carpet of Fuzz, their weapons sweeping in front. The manner in which they maneuvered concerned her that the one with the pistol would pass unexpectedly behind her boulders.

  With them just 20 meters away, she lowered herself and cautiously backed into her hole while trying to keep sight of the man’s boots from behind the boulder’s lower curved edge. She held the taser in her right hand and the noise-suppressed PPQ in her left. She figured she could take out one behind this boulder without the other seeing or hearing anything. She aimed the taser at the point she expected his body to pass but the boots stopped a meter short.

  She tried audibly locating the second man, but the boulder and the surface Fuzz muffled all sounds. Her focus returned to the man just beyond the boulder.

  What are you waiting for? she wondered.

  As much as she tried to control her adrenalin, her heart was racing. She kept her breathing shallow and steady while relaxing her grip on the pistol.

  His ankles are starting to bend. Perhaps he’s going to look under
the boulder’s curve? That puts him leaning forward and off balance.

  She fired at his ankle. Paralyzed by the high voltage, he tumbled forward.

  Scampering out from her hole she reached for the man’s pistol. Suddenly, an explosive force hit her in the chest.

  To Pete, seconds seemed like minutes. The van’s windows were up and didn’t present an easy target. The driver was glancing around, maintaining situational awareness.

  The sound of a distant shotgun blast from Anna’s position shattered Pete’s focus. Concern swept over him. He listened acutely for other sounds and watched the reaction of the men within the van just across and up the road a dozen meters.

  Within seconds the driver put his finger to his ear.

  Pete’s mind raced. He’s talking to someone...and he’s not panicked.

  Pete whispered into his radio, “Anna, are you okay? Anna? Anna, please talk to me. Transmit...anything!”

  Nothing.

  What happened?! There was only one shot. I shouldn’t have been on this side! I should have been with her! Why did I let her talk me into this virtually unarmed?!

  The front passenger abruptly exited the van, opened the rear door and removed a sheet.

  Pete’s mind raced. Why a sheet? For a body? Anna’s body?! I’ve got to get on the other side. The driver will be distracted as the other guy walks away. With the lift gate open, this is my chance to get behind the van. Right...about...now!

  With the man’s head disappearing over the embankment, Pete dashed behind the van and used the back seats to screen him from the driver’s view. He seethed with anger at the thought of Anna hurt...or worse.

  Okay, now what? The headrest blocks a shot from the back. The driver’s window is up. I could open the door but if it’s locked....”

  Pete looked in the back of the van. “Hello! There’s another shotgun and a box of shells. The odds are changing. Hard to beat a vengeful Texan with a shotgun. Revenge’s my new Plan C.

  He grabbed the pump shotgun and a handful of shells, then looked closely at one. Bean bag rounds?

  Hope flooded his heart. If Anna was hit with one of these bean bags, she’s probably still alive. That means they meant to capture her—something she swore she’d never allow.

  Pete silently put three shells into the magazine. He swung out from behind the left rear corner, pumped a round into the chamber and aimed at the driver’s window. The driver barely registered his presence when Pete pulled the trigger, shattering the window. A second shot into the driver’s head knocked him senseless. With stealth no longer his accomplice, Pete quickly loaded four more rounds. He opened the car door and pulled out the unconscious driver. He frisked the limp body and removed a Glock 9mm pistol, two magazines, and a radio. Those went into his cargo pockets. A second GPS tracking device lay in the cup holder. He flicked it on and threw it onto the back seat floorboard. A second scanner was on the console. He tossed it into the tall brush alongside the road.

  Ten seconds had passed since he fired the shotgun.

  Pete was about to pull out the vehicle keys when a round went through the windshield and into the seat, and two rounds pinged off the roof. As he backed out, a shotgun bean bag whooshed past his head. He ducked behind the van and unloaded a blast up the trail. Moving behind the vehicle, he used the rear gate as a partial shield and returned fire, hitting one staggering Russian in the shoulder and knocking him down, but not out.

  Another pistol wielding man was moving to Pete’s right.

  Recognizing he only had seconds before being flanked, Pete used the van as cover and ran back to his previous position behind a boulder. He rose, aimed...then froze.

  Anna was draped over Boris’ left shoulder, partly wrapped in the sheet. Blood spotted her dangling blond hair.

  “Drop the shotgun or she dies!” Boris had the barrel of his pistol touching her skull.

  If I do that they’ll kill me and take her anyway. They need her alive. “No! I’ll back away, but I won’t disarm!”

  Before he would let them continue their threats, Pete moved from boulder to boulder down slope farther from their SUV. His newly acquired shotgun and pistol had a limited range, but so did theirs.

  With weapons pointed in his direction, the Russians put the unconscious Anna in the back seat and the limp driver in the rear. Boris and the injured man got into the car and drove north, leaving Pete alone, anxious and running to the brush.

  Where’s that damn scanner? Please don’t be broken!

  It took him less than a minute to find it. Dusting it off, he quickly turned it on and ran back to his SUV. Inside he turned up the volume on the seized radio – nothing. He started the engine and commenced the pursuit. The locator was operational, but it took Pete a minute to figure out how to access the tracking device. That was made doubly hard by having to maneuver the SUV on the rural road.

  Two pulsing dots of light displayed on the OLED screen.

  One’s the GPS Anna put along the bluff, the other’s moving down the road several kilometers ahead. A map overlay moved with the image. He could scale the map just like a GPS navigation system.

  He raced forward, trying to close the distance to a kilometers. Not until he hit traffic could he comfortably close the gap to visual. According to the map, the Russian vehicle had turned left on Highway 1, going north, deeper into Vancouver Island. Pete looked in the back and saw the go-bag. Pulling it forward he glanced at what Anna had packed. Duct tape, super glue, epoxy, wire, zip-ties, a lock pick gun, first aid kit.

  He pulled the laptop computer forward and brought it out of hibernation. Maybe Google Earth can help me figure out where you’re taking her. He had driven 25 klicks north on Highway 1 when the Russian dot showed a veer to the northwest off the main highway.

  In six klicks they made another left. The Russians’ path swept in an arc, finally stopping at a farm just off a rural road. To the west of the road were several large hay fields and pastures. It was as if a lake of short grass was contained by a ring of local roads. The farmhouse was east of the ring, and surrounded by forest. It was isolated, with no other farms in view.

  Pete pulled the SUV off the local road and out of sight. He looked at the map carefully to memorize the terrain. Without Anna, his heart felt empty.

  How’s Plan C working out for you, Pete? You’ve failed her.

  He took a deep breath.

  Okay, what are my options? I could attempt to contact Swanson and threaten him to get the Russians to release her. But that might make it worse by revealing her location, and there’s no assurance Swanson is even involved. I could call in the Mounties, but I don’t know who’s trusted or whether the Russians would kill her if a SWAT team showed up. And the police could just as likely arrest both of us. I could go in with guns blazing...but that’d be stupid. These guys are professionals and would probably get me before I got all of them. It would just eliminate Anna’s last hope.

  I need to reconnoiter the farm first. See what they have. It’d be better at night, but she might be seriously injured, or they might have started torturing her.

  He looked again at the Google map. An icon says there’s a fishing and hunting charter three klicks away by road...but only one as the crow flies. That means hunting rifles. That would help – a lot.

  Pete drove the long way around to the hunting outfitter.

  ‘Closed today,’ said the sign on the padlocked door.

  Damn! He looked inside and saw glass cases with rifles. If I broke in, an alarm might go off and the alert may go out. I’ll keep this in reserve.

  He fished Anna’s GPS compass from the glove box. I’ll set this up as a secondary destination...just in case we get cut off from the SUV.

  Back in his SUV, Google Earth showed an isolated clearing half a kilometer south of the farm. To get there, he drove nearly a kilometer up a forested logging trail, its irregular surface littered with Fuzz shed from the wispy trees on either side. He turned the SUV facing outward and put the key just behind the fro
nt left wheel, under a leaf.

  My recon training demands I do it safe and smart. Call in overwhelming support. How would Anna do it? Her creativity would have her in faster. Which is the better course of action?

  He was conflicted. Smart or gutsy? Hell! I can’t stand the thought of waiting longer.

  Pete laced his hiking boots and donned a heavy green canvas coat. In the cargo pockets he put the medical blowout kit, duct tape and some long zip-ties. He set the vehicle as a primary destination on the GPS compass.

  He pondered her go-bag. Why did she pack super glue and epoxy? She’s a movie buff so what’s the connection? He smiled for the first time since she was taken, and recounted the FX movie quote, something about a thousand and one uses for super glue. He now remembered how it was used. The adhesives went into his pocket.

  With the compass in his left hand, he created waypoints to expedite the journey back. His right hand held the shotgun. The taser was in his left pocket, the pistol in his right. Stealthily, he worked his way southward inside the forest boundary.

  It took five minutes to reach the edge of the clearing. From behind an old-growth stump, he knelt to observe the farmhouse. Its faded white exterior showed it had been neglected for decades. The barn red outbuildings were in equal disrepair.

  Chapter 52

  September 1, 1300 hours

  Banff, Alberta

  The James Bond Theme played on the cell phone. After listening to five seconds of the surf rock guitar riff, Duke answered, “Yes?”

  “The Russians claim they’ve got her.” Harley’s southern accent didn’t hide his fatigue in coordinating a multi-day manhunt.

  “Where?” the bounty hunter growled, annoyed he’d have to split the reward.

  “Vancouver Island, north of Victoria. I’ll text the address. We don’t trust the Russians, so you’ll verify her capture and condition. She’s not to be interrogated by them or you...understand?!”

  “Yeah, but do the Russians?” He pressed harder on the accelerator.