The Carbon Cross (The Carbon Series Book 2)

by Randy Dutton

  But she wasn’t.

  Several seconds passed before she uttered one last scream and jumped into the floorboard hole.

  First out, he knelt behind the house, the shotgun aimed outward. He looked back underneath to see what was keeping her and thought he saw sparks. His eyes narrowed when she finally appeared, wheezing noticeably. He sniffed and detected propane. He peered under the house once more and saw a small fire.

  Her right hand held the pistol, her left gripped the steel pipe, a two-foot section of plumbing PVC, and a piece of yellow insulation. Her breathing was labored, but her eyes were intense. “Go.”

  He crouched and motioned to her to retrace his path.

  Whoosh! Blue and yellow flames erupted from under the house. The lattice retained some of the yellow flames and started crackling.

  The fugitives crawled through the green bushes leading to the forest when a guard in front yelled, “Ogon'!” quickly followed by a string of expletives.

  “Run! Now!” Anna wheezed and then sprinted into the trees.

  Pete followed her, grabbing the locator on the way.

  Once in the trees, Pete handed her the compass and pointed south. “The path’s preset with the car’s location. Go! I’ll catch up. Keys are behind the left front wheel.”

  “Not yet...this way.” Her blouse flapped as she scurried off.

  “But—” Pete chased her in disbelief.

  She kept inside the tree line headed to a point north. Now all three vehicles were visible, 40 meters away and conveniently near the large propane tank mounted outside the farmhouse wall.

  The house’s aged wood crackled and popped as the fire, initiated throughout the entire crawl space by the propane gas leak, grew into an inferno. Flames flared around every outer wall.

  Two guards ran into the burning house, and someone inside was cursing in Russian and trying to break down a door. Seconds later, the same men ran out, coughing uncontrollably. Natasha was outside pointing at the interrogation room but the cacophony drowned her out. Other guards pointed pistols left and right in anticipation of an attack.

  Behind a stump, Anna held the insulation over the plastic pipe that now protruded from the pistol barrel and with labored breathing, took careful aim at the minivan tires.

  Her cleverness in using the pipe and insulation as a noise suppressor startled him.

  She exhaled for the shot.

  “Don’t!” Pete whispered sharply while his hand forced down her makeshift silencer.

  The muffled shot thumped into the weeds.

  Her knuckles turned white around the pistol grip. With eyes flared defiantly, she drew in a breath, then growled, “Don’t ever...do that again!” After a labored breath she continued sternly, “With the ruckus...from the fire and the...Russians yelling at each other... I can...disable each car.... They won’t hear it...and they can’t follow.”

  Pete’s eyes were equally intense. “No! You do that, they’ll know you escaped. This won’t end! They’ll keep hunting you.... Let them think you’re dead – burned up in the farmhouse! Let everyone think you’re dead! The building’s old wood and the debris underneath is a tinderbox.” He pointed to the flames scorching the paint off the large propane tank. “And if that tank blows, there won’t be much left. The Russians won’t stick around to check the ashes.”

  She cocked her head, her intensity slackened, and, after a pang of pain, grinned. “You’re right.... Your Plan C...better.” She backed away from the stump and scooted deeper into the forest.

  He followed closely. “Cut right.”

  “How far?” Her breathlessness forced a slower pace.

  “Half a klick.” He took the lead. “This way.”

  Her breathing continued in a series of high-pitched wheezes. She said nothing until they got into the car.

  Chapter 54

  September 1, 1500 hours

  Near Victoria, BC

  The SUV bounced wildly down the forest logging trail. When the wheels hit pavement, the vehicle skidded diagonally with the sudden traction.

  Meanwhile, Anna was busy. She used wet wipes to clean fingerprints from the plastic and steel pipes, flinging them out the window into heavy brush. Her breathing’s pitch lowered as her injured lungs struggled for full breaths. With her left hand, she reached into a small plastic bag they had been using for trash and fished out a plastic chocolate bar wrapper. She pulled a pre-paid cell phone out of the glove compartment with her right. “Where are we?”

  “Cobble Hill.”

  She inserted the battery and dialed 9-1-1. She forced a full breath and started crinkling the plastic wrapper very close to the microphone. “Hello,” she started frantically with a Canadian inflection. “I want to...report the sound of gun shots...and people yelling in Russian...at Cobble Hill. There’s a farmhouse...on fire too, eh! Please hurry!” She pressed ‘End’, and stuffed the wrapper back into the trash. Her nonchalant facial expression was in contrast to the emotional voice used in making the emergency call.

  With little emotion, she pulled the battery and wiped the disposable cell phone and then threw the components out the window into tall brush. A slight grin formed, having made life more difficult for the Russians.

  Anna started cleaning herself. The heavy makeup along with the grime and blood from the morning’s events gave her the appearance of an accident victim. Her blouse was open in the front – the final button having popped off under the house. Her reddened cheeks were scratched, and a large bruise with purple in the middle had formed at her breastbone. The switchblade scratch had points of dried blood along its path. She touched the bruise with her hand and winced.

  With her still-shallow rhythmic breathing, she wheezed, “You’re a...good man, Pete.... Thank you...for coming after me.” Her bra and blouse were now off as she faced backward, pulling fresh clothes out of a suitcase. Numerous bruises and scratches covered her back.

  He waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. Astonished, he challenged her, “That’s it?! Just another tough day at the office?!”

  Anna pulled out a gray wool sweater and slipped it on. She then shimmied out of her torn and dirty jeans, revealing bruised legs. On went a clean pair of jeans, new socks and hiking boots.

  She plopped into her seat. Holding a couple of water bottles and a power bar, she tried catching her breath. She popped a couple Tylenols, gulped some water, and peeled back the snack wrapper. Seconds later she twisted off the top of another bottle and handed it to Pete.

  A full minute had passed.

  “I said thank you.” While chewing the chocolate-laden nut bar, her eyes questioned him.

  He put his bottle into a cup holder. “You almost died back there!”

  “That might be...overstating it a bit.” Despite the labored breathing, her words were calm and measured.

  In contrast, Pete had never been as angry with her. “I don’t get you! A Russian, maybe 220 pounds was going to brutally rape you, and you didn’t feel particularly threatened?!”

  Her brow raised in evaluation. “Pete, I love you”—she winced—“I appreciate you...coming after me.... But understand...I’ve gotten out of situations...like this before.”

  “What?!” he said with irritation. “My pregnant wife thinks getting captured and tortured by the Russian mob is no big deal?!”

  “Pete, before we go...too far with this...did you clean up...our ambush site?”

  “What do you mean? You think I’m worried about littering?!”

  “No, Pete,” she said patiently, as if explaining to a child. “I don’t like...leaving evidence.... Please drive back there.”

  “We need to catch the ferry and get back to the States!”

  Her eyes pressed closed in pain. “We need...to clean up the ambush site...first!” She was just as forceful. “Just do it!”

  “Fine! But this gives them a chance to get ahead of us.”

  “Maybe...but I...don’t want another...Pandora’s Box to open,” she said with finality. She picked
up the GPS locator and saw the two stationary dots. Then she took the laptop off hibernation and started web searching the ferry schedule. She frequently closed her eyes and touched her hand to her chest.

  Pete mostly stared ahead, fuming, and anticipated the turn-off that would come within 15 minutes. In his side mirror he saw a growing chimney of black smoke, which was forming into a mushroom top. Two Royal Canadian Mounted Police cars and a fire engine roared past in the opposite direction.

  Neither broke the silence.

  Pete considered his roiling emotions.

  Why am I so angry? And who or what am I angry at? Would I have been upset during a Marine op?

  He occasionally glanced at Anna who was looking at the laptop.

  How can the woman I love be so cold and distant? I thought she’d be thanking me profusely, apologizing for her lousy plan. Is she annoyed I showed up?

  While his mind rehashed the intelligence file the law firm investigators had created on her, he became more worried. This is a part of her personality I hadn’t really seen since France, and even then her chilling demeanor ended quickly.

  Several kilometers rolled by before his expression softened. Well, that’s not quite true.

  Reflecting on the past eight weeks, he thought, She was cool and calculating when she video-recorded evidence against Swanson hours before our wedding. Jim seemed unfazed, actually smiling as she recollected facts, hardly ever having her clarify or elaborate points. Why am I surprised? She’s a Harvard-trained lawyer. Did she ever take the bar exam? I’ve never asked. Odd, it never really clicked with me until now that I’ve married a lawyer. They’re argumentative and contrary by nature and training. I don’t even like lawyers! Well, that’s not quite true – Jim was a lifesaver. Anna was as clinical the day after our wedding when she returned to her villa to destroy the evidence linking her to me, and to eliminate the hacker site.

  He gulped at a realization. Going back to France was solely to protect me and my family, not her.

  Gripping the steering wheel tightly, his eyes darting between what was in front and what was behind, he revisited some of Anna’s comments and behavior back at the farmhouse.

  She seemed almost to relish the danger she put herself in. Was it the adrenalin rush?

  He glanced over.

  Her acting skills were phenomenal, but what kind of woman could do this? Maybe psychotic’s not too far off.

  His mood mellowed more as his attention was drawn toward her appearance.

  Blood’s encrusted in her hair. She looks drawn and tired, and yet, she’s so focused. Is she still in mission mode? Can she really be this strong-willed? Her bruises will be dark black and blue tomorrow, yet she doesn’t seem to care. Is she purposely ignoring me? Or is she just giving me time to reflect?

  A sympathetic wave flooded over him. He lightly put his right hand on her left leg.

  Her left hand covered his. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then turned and focused back on the locator.

  “The turn-off ...is one klick,” she said softly.

  Arriving at the ambush site, both stepped out of the SUV, again parked on the hidden road.

  She held a white spray bottle. “This won’t take long.”

  “What’s the bleach for?”

  “I’ll tell you...when I return.”

  “The hell you will! I made the mistake once not going with you.... I’m not doing it again!” He churned with renewed anger.

  Her finger rose to protest, but his wide eyes and set jaw told her not to argue. She closed her mouth and shrugged.

  With Pete carrying the shotgun, and her the Glock, they briskly walked up the mossy path. A mild onshore breeze carried pine-scented salt-air, the sounds of song birds and the screeing of a lone bald eagle. Anna was in front, staying on rock surfaces and hardly making a sound – except for her labored breathing.

  Pete saw the wig and jacket 50 meters ahead, but Anna’s path diverted left. He followed her behind the two boulders while his gun swept the area.

  She got on her knees, and started looking under the rock, but he focused on a dark red spot a meter up. The blood would be from her scalp. Touching the rough granite caused his mind to slog through a swamp of confused emotions. His sympathies rose rapidly, and his anger vanished.

  As she stood, Pete’s hands gently touched her shoulders and pulled her tight. “I’m sorry, Darling.” He kissed her forehead. “The fear of nearly losing you almost drove me crazy. And your indifference scares me.”

  Her body relaxed and pressed into him. Anna’s arms wrapped around his waist.

  “Pete”—their eyes met—“it’s not indifference.... It’s a part of my personality...that lets me compartmentalize.” Her eyes closed for a moment as the pain of drawing a deep breath hit her. “I’ve been doing it since childhood.... I’m sorry if it...bothers you...but I need it to survive...mentally. You have to...give me my...coping mechanisms.”

  Pete held up his hand. “We’ll talk later. Save your strength—”

  She defiantly shook her head and pushed off. “Let me finish.... Remember I told you...I have...nearly perfect recall?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s a blessing...and a curse.... If I don’t separate...things in my mind”—her eyes showed sadness—“the good and bad in my past...mix and overwhelm me.... If I can’t keep them separate...even a shrink...might not be able...to put me back together.”

  She turned from him, picked hair strands off the stained granite and sprayed the dried blood.

  Looking down, she fixated at a point on the ground, and while spraying more, added, “We probably rushed...getting married...before you understood...just exactly...what you were getting.... When I said I was...a broken woman...building mental boxes was part...of the details I hadn’t explained.... I’m...complicated.”

  She bent down and picked up something. Holding the butt of the Walther, she held it up for Pete to see. “This is what...I feared might be here.... I was rising...from my hiding place...when the stun round hit me.... The gun must have flown...out of my hand...and landed under the rock.”

  “Anna, I’m sorry. You were right to come here. Your prints on this weapon could be devastating.”

  She wheezed, “As could—”

  His finger touched her lips. “Yes, as could the blood and hair samples. Come on, Babe, there’s a coat and an ugly wig that need retrieving.”

  She picked up a broken bush branch and held it outward. Her twisted smile tested his understanding.

  He took the makeshift broom and bowed at the waist, his arms extended. “My, Dear, it would be a pleasure to sweep our tracks.”

  Within a minute, they had retrieved everything but the GPS tracker. That she left in place, lest the Russians figure she had survived. Anna looked around one last time. “Let’s leave.”

  At the car, Anna opened a large trash bag and scrunched her nose. “Please put...your jacket in here.”

  “Why?”

  “It reeks of...mouse droppings.”

  He turned his head and sniffed. “Really?”

  Her head nodded and she held the bag higher and closer. He took all the items out and made the deposit.

  She pulled out the original license plates and handed them to Pete.

  While he made the switch, she field-stripped the silenced pistol to clean it of dirt. She glanced at the GPS tracker – the tracked vehicle was moving east towards the airport. The ruse had worked.

  The couple arrived in the terminal’s vehicle line-up. It was mid-afternoon and Anna had things to do. She put on the black wig and a big floppy hat to hide her bloodied hair and abused face from cameras. Wearing sunglasses, and carrying a small first aid kit and concealing cosmetics in her purse, she walked to the ladies room to wash out the blood and hide the bruises.

  Meanwhile, Pete purchased the ferry ticket and had a picnic lunch waiting. Using a different set of fake IDs, they went through one more border check.

  The Customs agent gave them a cu
rsory look and asked them the inevitable question, “Any fruits or vegetables in the car?”

  Chapter 55

  September 1, 1600 hours

  Victoria Ferry Terminal, BC

  Eight lanes of cars were parked along the Victoria waterfront. Their drivers and passengers were awaiting the signal to load onto the ferry for the two-hour transit to Port Angeles.

  Anna reclined her seat, coping with the chest pain.

  “Babe, it’s the top of the hour. Mind if I turn on the news?” Pete asked cautiously.

  With her head against a pillow, eyes closed, she slowly shook her head.

  Pete pressed the button to change the station.

  “This is Jill Brent of Global Heartbeat Network. Today is September 1st, and here is the news.

  “Today marks the payment of the first installment of $100 billion in US Treasury notes, from Russia for the purchase of Alaska. President Fernandez hailed this agreement as a significant milestone for the United States, and a victory in the war against carbon-based fuels and CO2.

  “The Internal Revenue Service issued an administrative ruling today stating that Alaskan Relocation Payments given to Alaskans who chose to relocate to the U.S. are, in fact, income. Taxes will be due on all amounts after the long-form deduction of actual expenses.

  “Riots broke out in Anchorage today as members of the now outlawed Alaskan Freedom Party declared the Sell Alaska Bill null and void. They referred to Alaska’s 1959 admission to the union as entitling Alaskans to a referendum. Without such a vote, the AFP said its members would provide armed resistance to any invasion by Russian forces. To protect the sale, the US federal government has deployed 20,000 of the president’s Ready Reserve Force personnel across Alaska. They are to restore order and to protect critical infrastructure from vandalism.

  “In labor news, the official unemployment rate hit 17.8%, mostly from shuttered resource producers and transport companies. At his weekly news conference, the president argued the rate was overstated and that four million of the jobless would be eliminated from the statistics since they are no longer actively looking for work. His spokesman said the real rate will be revised much lower next month. In contrast, gasoline-powered equipment manufacturers claim higher employment rates because of the need to replace the millions of open-cycle engines that were destroyed by the increasing levels of ethanol that have been added to gasoline. An Ethanol Counsel spokesman said ethanol, meant to eliminate fossil fuels, has been a boon for US power equipment manufacturers. Citing the ‘Broken Window Theory’ of economic growth, he hailed increased economic activity resulting from replacing broken engines.