by Randy Dutton
“They were told. Let’s hope for their sake they do as instructed. You’re to verify it. There’s more for your help. I’ve just wired 50 grand into your account.”
The bounty hunter grinned. “I appreciate that.”
“Duke. They say she’s been injured in the capture. You’ve got field medical training. Make sure she’s being treated and not talking to anyone. She’s to make the journey intact.”
“Will do.”
“Once you’ve confirmed her identity and condition, we’ll send a jet to bring her back.”
“I’m driving west on the TransCanada Highway, about 12 hours out, give or take. I’ll update my status every couple hours.”
He clicked off. “Damn! I hate dealing with Russians.”
His eyes settled on her photo and his head slowly shook.
“I pity the poor girl being captured by those thugs!”
Chapter 53
September 1, 1330 hours
Farmhouse
Cobble Hill, BC
The black minivan was parked in front of the farmhouse. Pete peered through the Fuzz lightly draping the narrow gap of two fallen logs. Behind the vehicle were two black Ford Explorers. Two armed men paced outside the front door of the farmhouse, and guards were posted at each of the several outbuildings to the north. Pete looked at the locator still pinging from the back floorboard. Thank God! I’ve still got the surprise advantage. Now, which building is she in?
Careful not to activate any hidden sensors, he crawled within the tree line to just 20 meters from the rear wall of the old house. The backyard hadn’t seen a lawnmower in years.
Lath trim work covered the bottom half-meter of house, its decades-old white paint peeled and mildewed. He smiled at his luck. Some of the rotten slats—intended to protect the crawl space from animals—were broken. He left the locator at the edge of the forest to simplify movement. Using dark green salal bushes and sword ferns as cover, he wormed through the half-meter high growth along the Fuzz-covered ground and around a partly collapsed firewood pile. Now he was next to the lath. He followed the base of the wall to the opening and rolled under the house, laying the shotgun just inside the crawl space.
Musty dampness, mildew, and rot assailed him in the twilight-like darkness of the old wooden building. Ambient light filtered through the lattice, illuminating cobwebs that abounded among the mouse droppings and omnipresent wooden construction debris. Fuzz had intruded even in this darkened space.
Sliding on his back, he stealthily pushed towards the center. After progressing each body-length, he lay still, straining for sounds.
Halfway in, a muffled sound came from the far right front of the house. Again he slowly pushed on, mindful at every pause. Above him, fallen insulation revealed rotting wooden joists supporting a decades-old wooden floor. Tacked to the underside were insulated wires and some copper tubes. There was an occasional murmuring of Russian, but more frequently, English.
As he got closer, he could hear a woman with a Russian accent speaking in a voice somewhat muffled by the floor. “We know you are Olga Svechinsky!”
This must be Natasha, Pete thought.
“I keep telling you...no...I’m not!” protested Anna, her sentence fragments interrupted by wheezing.
Pete’s heart raced at the sound of Anna’s shallow breathing and slightly slurred words.
“Look at this photo!”
“I can’t...see that well.... My contacts...they’re gone...when I was hit.”
“It has been confirmed to be you!”
“Who tells you...this lie?”
“The people who put a bounty on you!”
“Who would...put a bounty...on me?!”
“People you stole from!”
“I didn’t...steal...from anyone!”
“You had people do it!”
“I don’t...know what you want...from me.”
Pete was surprised. They weren’t after Anna Picard or Heyward. It really was all about her hacking.
“We know you are Nike!” yelled the Russian.
“You’re...calling me... a shoe?”
“You are the hacker called Nike!”
“Who names herself...after a shoe?” Anna’s feigned ignorance got her slapped.
Pete grimaced at the loud slap Anna received for her audacity. She’s playing the dumb blond. He continued looking for some way to make a difference.
“I don’t believe you are Holly Robinson. We have people doing a check on that – we will soon have confirmation.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Who was the bearded man with you?”
“A guy...I met recently.... Bob Kane,” Anna said defensively.
“Who is Bob Kane to you?!”
“A good lay...A fling!” Anna cried out.
Pete’s nose wrinkled at his wife’s concocted story. Shades of her sexual past intruded on his thoughts.
“Liar! You would not have tried to ambush my men if you were just a slut. And you had weapons!”
“I was...hiding. I always...carry something...for self-defense.”
“A police taser?” the woman challenged. “And a switchblade?”
“I have a friend...who got them...for me.”
“Why did you hide in ugly black hair?”
“My boyfriend likes...trashy women...it turns him on.... It was...just play-acting.”
Pete admired her chutzpah. A beam of illuminated dust caught his eye. He shimmied to the light emanating from a floorboard gap. He winced when a loose, half-meter long steel pipe poked his back. Carefully, he picked it up and gently placed it to the side.
A centimeter of space between two floor boards was enough to see Anna. Her face was brightened by a floor lamp directed at her. Pete assumed the windows were covered with some dark material because the rest of the room was relatively dark. Her condition distressed him. Both wrists were cable-tied behind a wooden chair, and her ankles were fastened to the chair legs. The slapping had reddened her dirty face and tear tracks streaked her cheeks. Blood encrusted waves of hair, and her eyes had the sunken look of defeat. Partially above her blouse, a purple bruise was visible. Below that his vision was blocked.
“Why did you leave Las Vegas so quickly?!”
“I haven’t been...to Las Vegas...in years.”
“Liar!” Natasha slapped the captive so violently two chair legs lifted and thumped back down.
“I’m not...lying!”
“This surveillance photo taken in Caesar’s is of you.”
“I’ve never been there.”
“And this one....”
Anna unnecessarily squinted at her photo. It was of her alter ego Nike talking to a booth babe. “The woman’s not even blond.”
“It’s you in disguise!” Natasha’s expression was a snarl.
“No it isn’t!”
“We interrogated your associate!” Natasha turned the light on another photo. It showed a buxom young woman dressed in black pleather.
“Who?” Anna’s spirit darkened at the thought of the innocent girl being tortured. Heather’s only job was as a receptionist to direct contest winners into the canvassed booth room. The girl had been kept purposely ignorant of the real purpose, which was for Nike to assign specific computer system attack missions to hackers.
“The girl who worked for you...Heather!”
“I don’t know a Heather.”
“Tell me what I want or you will suffer the same fate!”
“What do you mean...fate? What are you going to do to me?!”
Natasha sneered and held up another photo.
Anna gasped. It wasn’t hard for Anna to express real shock. The girl’s image was gruesome, even with Anna’s long experience in using torture.
From under the floorboards, Pete couldn’t see the photos, but Anna’s reactions seemed real.
Again Natasha pressed. “What do you know of Operation Prion?!”
“Operation Prior?”
“No! Prion! What do
you know?!”
“What’s a prion?”
As the interrogation continued, Pete focused on what little of the room he could see. He tried to hear or see if anyone else was present. The woman wandered in and out of sight, but he had a good view of Anna.
If only I could communicate with her. I still have the ear fob in, does Anna? Certainly she won’t be able to press a button to transmit, but what if?
He pressed his transmit button three times, and watched her reaction.
Nothing. They must have removed it. How else to show her?
He looked around and found a small piece of brown kraft paper used in insulation backing. Quietly tearing off a small strip, he held it to the crack and waited for an opportunity.
The moment Natasha passed in front with her back to him, Pete stuck the paper up and waved it back and forth, then pulled it away as the interrogator turned.
Anna hadn’t noticed.
Natasha again yelled and crossed in front.
Once more, Pete stuck the paper through the hole and moved it as if it were a tiny flag.
Suddenly, Anna’s eyes widened, and the corners of her mouth turned slightly upward.
He quickly pulled the paper down.
“What’s...your name?” Anna wheezed.
“That’s none of your business!”
“For Pete’s sake...we’re the...only ones...in the room...if you won’t tell me...I’ll use...Natasha.” Anna had just conveyed key information that gave Pete hope. She knew he was there.
“You will not!” the redhead snarled and back slapped Anna hard across the left cheek.
Anna’s head moved with the blow to lessen the impact. Her stressed expression didn’t change.
“Then...give...me a name...real or imagined.... You’re working...for the Russian government...aren’t you?” Anna gasped. “You have...diplomatic immunity...don’t you?”
Natasha gave a look of disdain. “Of course not, but who I work for doesn’t matter.”
“Who you...work for...matters...a lot,” Anna stammered. “You have...elegant tastes.... I’ve inherited money.... How can I buy...my way...out of this?”
“Your money means nothing to me! I have what I need.”
“You...you’re Russian mafia?” Anna feigned surprise.
Natasha was uncharacteristically quiet.
“The Russian mob...must pay better than...your government.” Anna probed further. “I’ve got...a lot of money.... Just let me go.... I need my meds.”
“What medicine? For what!”
“It’s called...Trabectedin.... I’ve got...ovarian cancer,” Anna whimpered.
Pete pursed his lips in amusement at Natasha’s hesitation after Anna planted another canary trap. He could see the Russian writing a note.
Natasha’s tone softened a bit. “What stage?”
“Stage 2A. It’s in the fallopians.”
“We know you are psychotic and nothing you say can be trusted—”
“Psychotic?! Who says...I’m psychotic?!” Anna challenged. “This proves...you’ve got...the wrong girl!”
Underneath the verbal duel, Pete grimaced at the clue that Swanson had sent the hunters. He pressed gently against wood planks testing each for weaknesses. Several floorboards moved slightly from the joists.
Natasha muffled voice paused. “I will verify what you say. But any medicine you need is not my problem as long as I can deliver you alive—”
“Deliver me? To who?!” Anna added hysteria to her response.
“You will find out soon enough.... You say you have a million dollars? Is that from Operation Prion?”
“No...I inherited it.... Why I was paranoid...when you followed me.... What would...that operation you mentioned... do that it could make...a million dollars?” Anna queried in very real gasps.
“We have been offered much more than that for you.”
“Why...would anyone...want me?” Anna cried in pretended confusion.
“Maybe for the same reasons we hunted you. You interfered with the wrong people.”
“I don’t even know...what you’re...talking about.... What did I interfere with?”
“Their trading on the Carbon Law!”
“That gasoline thing?”
“I ask the questions. You give answers!”
“The other...eight goons out there.... Maybe they would take...my money for freedom?”
Natasha smiled villainously. “The man you tasered wants 30 minutes with you...alone.... And not for money. Maybe I should give you to him. That would soften you up.”
Anna’s expression turned to fear. “Oh no! Please...not that!” Anna’s emotion had too much exaggeration for Pete to believe.
He considered possibilities. Quickly, he pulled out his multi-tool and opened the wood-cutting saw. Natasha, smirked, and walk out the door. Pete heard the woman’s heavy footsteps creak the wood as she left the house. He immediately started sawing a larger hole in the floor.
“Pete?” Anna whispered. “Is that...really you?”
“It’s me, Babe,” Pete whispered back, while working with the knife to widen a hole. “I’m going to taser the guy but I need to cut a bigger hole. Distract him and make some covering noise. Try talking him into cutting you loose. Be ready if he does. If we can take him down, I should be able to force the floor boards upward against the nails but you’ll need to make a distraction.”
Heavy footsteps thumped the floorboards as it moved from the front door to the interrogation room.
“Wait...for the signal,” she whispered in gasps.
The door swung violently against the wall. “You’re mine!” The Russian entered then slammed the door. “I’ve got an hour with you. No interruptions, no rescue! This is going to be payback for the tase.” He slapped Anna hard across the face.
“Please...don’t hurt me! What do you...want from me?” she cried convincingly, her sobs loud.
Pete felt like she was breaking.
“We’re going to party, and you’re the favor!”
“Please don’t...hit me again.” Her eyes were tearing. “I’ll do...whatever you want.... Just don’t hurt me!”
The big Russian stood in front the crying woman, weighing his options. “Anything, huh?” He held her switchblade a hands-width from her eyes. Pressing the switch, the blade sprang forward with a click.
Anna’s eyes widened. She screamed long and loud.
Pete was busy widening the hole, his hand shaking nervously.
The guard laughed as he lowered the blade to her blouse. With the tip of the blade, he flicked off the first then the second buttons.
Anna settled into fearful, loud sobbing.
The guard’s eyes narrowed and his lopsided grin widened. He ponderously moved the fabric to the sides with the blade tip, and flicked off the third button. He pushed the fabric apart revealing the cups of her bra.
“Ah, you are fine example of American woman.”
Pete aimed the taser through the carved hole, and kept the pistol on his chest ready to shoot the Russian in the back of the skull if the stun gun failed.
With only the bottom button remaining, the guard moved the flat blade just underneath the center gore—the fabric that held the cups together—turned the edge, and slightly pulled it upward.
“Please... no!” she screamed. “I’ll take it all off...for you, just...don’t hurt me!” Again real tears were streaming from her eyes. “I’ll...I’ll make it fun...for you.”
“I think I like that!” The guard smirked as he rotated the blade. He slowly walked behind her while dragging the flat of the blade against her chest and then across the side of her neck – the trail was marked by a thin red line. With two swift cuts, the zip-ties holding her hands behind the chair back fell off. He walked in front waving the knife back and forth.
Anna brought her hands to her blouse pretending to unfasten the last button. Her tearing round eyes looked into her assailant’s, then narrowed.
“Now!” Her voice was
sharp.
The grinning guard’s eyes suddenly widened and his body convulsed as two wire-connected needles in his neck sent 50,000 volts coursing through his body. The electronic clicking was audible as the pulses kept him in shock.
Anna missed catching the dropped switchblade. Instead, she whipped out the double-bladed RazorDagger held in place behind her BeltSword buckle, both items the guards had failed to catch in their preliminary search. With a deft move, she cut the cable ties strapping her ankles to the chair. Her legs pushed the chair back as she stood. “Stop!”
The electric pulsing ended and Anna roundhouse kicked the large Russian hard against his left ear. His body weaved from the blow and he staggered to his right. Her left foot shot into his chin, causing him to fall backward, unconscious.
Immediately, she began stomping her feet and screaming in fake pain. “That hurts, please stop....”
Meanwhile, Pete was on his back in the crawl space, pounding the floor boards with his titanium right knee, to the rhythm of her stomping. The rusted nails easily popped out from the dry-rotted timbers. When a large gap appeared, he passed up the steel pipe that had poked him earlier. Using it, Anna helped pry up the first board.
The guard hadn’t come in with a gun, so Pete handed her his captured pistol. She stuck it in her belt and continued sobbing and thumping the floorboards. Meanwhile Pete passed up the duct tape, cable ties, super glue, and epoxy—anything he thought she might need. His brow furrowed at the surreal image of his wife crying wildly, yet maintaining a mischievous smile and industriously securing the room. By the time he had four boards kicked up and she had finished prying them out, she also had superglued the potential rapist’s eyelids and mouth closed.
She took a small splinter of wood from the floorboard, slowly cracked opened the door, and stuck enough into the keyhole that the splinters didn’t protrude but would prevent a key from unlocking it. She closed the door and locked it from the inside. The wooden chair she propped under the door knob.
She released a loud scream for effect while putting her closed switchblade into her boot, and whispered, “Hand me...your multi-tool.”
He did so promptly.
“Head back!” Anna was pulling on a long lamp cord.
Not worried about making noise, he quickly crawled under the house to the back knowing she’d be much faster, and soon on his tail.