The Devil's Breath

by A. Nybo

  While Jason sought pen and paper, Nate fumbled for his phone and hit the Record button. Henri put the other phone near it so they had a better chance of catching all the instructions.

  “Okay,” said Henri. “Go ahead.”

  Russell relayed the coordinates and then said, “If you leave now, it will take you about an hour and a half to get here. Remember, Birch doesn’t get water until you arrive, and he’s already thirsty. Don’t bring your entourage with you. I don’t mind having to shoot one or two, but I don’t want to be outnumbered. And Birch sure as hell doesn’t want to see them so bad he’d prefer to die.” Russell paused. “Do we understand each other?”

  Henri put the phone to his mouth. “Yes.”

  “Good. I will see you then.” The line went dead.

  “I’ll just get my jacket,” said Henri as he made to leave the room.

  “You’re not going,” said Jason.

  If the situation had been less dire, his predictability would have been laughable.

  “The fuck you say.” Henri only needed to think what was in store for him once Russell reached the cottage to broadcast his horror. A shudder coursed through him. “You’re not leaving me here.”

  Nate had already begun moving around, packing several things into a partially filled bag. As he opened the flap to put a paper map and torch inside, Henri saw the NVGs and several electronic gadgets he couldn’t identify.

  “You and Nate are staying here.”

  The information didn’t slow Nate’s packing in the slightest. He held out the phone that had the recorded directions, and Jason put it in his pocket. “You keep that one.” He nodded to the phone on the table that Russell had rung on.

  In less than ten minutes from the end of the phone call with Russell, Jason was pulling out of the driveway on his way to rescue Birch. There wasn’t enough hope in the world to infuse Henri with the belief that everything would work out all right, but there was enough hope that he could believe everyone except he and Nate were safe. He needed to get rid of Nate somehow, but Jason had taken the vehicle.

  If he had his way, in a matter of hours Russell would be dead. However, the reality was that it was more likely he would be the one in the market for a coffin. That didn’t mean he was just going to give up, but if there was a chance to save Nate, he would take that too.

  While Nate rang and gave Mike coordinates for Birch’s location, Henri pondered how to tackle the Nate situation. He couldn’t tell him what was going on, at least not while they still had the ability to communicate with Jason.

  He waited until Nate had finished his call. “Can I borrow the phone for a few minutes?” Henri asked. Nate’s eyes narrowed. “They never returned mine.”

  Nate studied him for a moment before he handed the phone to him. “Be quick. It can’t be tied up for more than a few minutes.”

  Pretending to tap out a number, Henri put the phone to his ear and, after a few moments, talked to his imaginary friend “Frank.” He wandered into the bedroom and left the door open while he continued the one-sided conversation. Opening the phone, he removed the battery and quickly reassembled it. Slipping the battery behind the leg of the dresser, he moved back out into the main room.

  Keenly aware of Nate watching him, he moved about, touching things and lifting things to offer multiple places where he could have hidden the battery. He moved into the kitchen and did the same before sliding the phone onto the table.

  He pulled out a chair and straddled it. There was nothing for it but to be blunt. “I’m sorry, Nate, but you’re stuck in this with me, and we’ve got a problem.”

  Nate looked down at the phone. With closed eyes, he tilted his head back and took a deep breath before turning back to pick the phone up. He tried to turn it on. Discovering it dead, he slid it back onto the table. “Why?”

  “Russell will be here shortly, and you need to be gone.”

  Nate remained expressionless. “What’s your plan?”

  “I made a deal. Birch for me. Jason, Mike, and the cops will pick Birch up.”

  “You idiot. What do you think Russell will do with you?”

  “I can’t think about that. My choices were limited.”

  He watched Nate rise and begin to search the room. “Where’s the battery, Henri?”

  “He should be here shortly.”

  “I can’t fucking believe this,” muttered Nate. He upended the shelf with the DVDs and searched the mess on the floor for the battery. “We risk our lives protecting some arsehole who’s now going to throw himself and me to the wolf.” Nate moved on to look behind the TV for the battery.

  “The smart thing would be to leave.”

  “It’s my job to protect you, and that’s what I intend to do. Clearly you can’t help being an idiot.”

  Nate stilled. He tipped his head back and released a calming breath. Looking at Henri from the corners of his eyes, he raised his head and shook it. “All right. We’re fucked. So we need to figure out our next move.” Nate pulled out the chair opposite Henri and sat down. “How long have we got?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So he could be here in minutes?” asked Nate. Henri nodded. “Fuck, Henri!” Nate stood and began emptying his pockets of a random assortment of what looked to Henri like junk: a rubber band, a paperclip, a pen, a small plastic container shorter than a thumb’s length. “Right, you need to put the phone back together now. We need to call Mike and get him to split from Jason.”

  Henri looked at him.

  “Move! If you want to get Birch and you both out alive, you do as I say.”

  It was Nate’s fierce concentration on picking small things from the collection of rubbish that he’d emptied onto the table from his pockets that finally convinced Henri to obey.

  He returned with the battery and reassembled the phone as he watched Nate sifting through the equivalent of a junk draw.

  “Right, dial Mike’s number and put it on speakerphone.”

  As he searched the contacts and pressed the number, Nate came around behind him. “I’m securing this paperclip beneath your hair tie.”

  The phone was ringing. “A paperclip?”

  “You need to adopt the mindset of fucking Houdini. Everything that I give you can be a potential tool. A paperclip can be used for unlocking handcuffs, either by the lock, or if you can flatten an end, you can jam the ratchet system open. Some handcuffs have a double lock.”

  “Nate, what’s up?” came Mike’s voice from the phone.

  “Without a word to Jason, you need to split from him. Leave him and the locals to pick up Birch. Henri made a deal to exchange himself for Birch. Russell is coming here, and we don’t know how soon he’ll arrive. I’m just equipping Henri now.”

  Henri could feel Nate messing around with the tie in his hair. He winced as several hairs were pulled out when Nate jammed the paperclip in the middle of the bunched hair.

  “Shit! What the fuck did the idiot think he was doing?”

  “You’re on speakerphone.”

  “Right. You’re a fucking idiot, Henri.”

  Henri just shrugged.

  “Okay. Turning now. ETA approximately—” Mike paused. “Forty-five minutes. Have you got a rifle?”

  “Nope. Pistol only. I’ll give it to Henri.”

  “No. Too dangerous. Russell will shoot to protect himself. If Henri has a gun, the level of violence is likely to escalate far too quickly. But Nate, you are not to engage. Repeat, do not engage. I’ll pick you up. Have you got a personal tracker for Henri?”

  “Don’t know. I’ll have a look.” Nate retrieved one of the bags they’d brought and emptied it on the table. Electronic bits and pieces spilled and skidded in every direction. Henri picked up a small box that overshot and landed on the floor and set it back on the table.

  Nate’s eyes methodically scanned the objects and finally picked up a small plastic bag containing a slender T-shaped item a little bigger than a thumbnail. Nate said as he handed the bag to Henr
i. “Okay, he’s got a tracker.”

  “Have him either swallow it or stick up his arse. I don’t care which. Hopefully it has enough juice in it to give us time to track them down.”

  “You heard the man,” Nate said to Henri.

  “Finish equipping him and get clear. Out.”

  Nate terminated the call. “Move it, Henri.”

  “Is it okay to wash it down with water?” Henri moved to the kitchen and took the tracker from the packet. It was a bloody awkward shape.

  “It’s about to be bathed in stomach acid. What do you think, Houdini?”

  Right. He was going to have to start using his brain if he was going to survive Russell. Smoothing the way with liquid lubrication first, he hesitated before swallowing the tracker but then shoved it to the back of his mouth before he could give it another thought. He opened his throat as much as he could and poured water back like his throat was the path of a waterfall.

  When the glass was empty, he raised his head and swallowed again. It felt like he had a throwing spike in his fucking throat. Still, he guessed that was going to be the least of his discomfort. He’d willingly agreed to this, so he was going to have to accept the consequences.

  Nate had separated a tiny pile of items, and he swiped everything else back into the bag and set it aside. “Right,” he said as he lifted a flat plastic container and handed it to Henri. “It has a small blade inside, which is strong enough to go through a zip tie if he uses one. Put that in the money pocket of your jeans. Everything I give you is a multipurpose tool. The idea is to have nothing other than the obvious in your pockets.”

  Nate handed Henri a rubber band. “Back pocket, so it can’t be turned inside out. Press it along one of the side seams so there’s a possibility it can be missed.”

  “What can that be used for?”

  “Fuck knows. Shoot the fucker in the eye with it if nothing else. Use it to keep other objects together. Think, Henri. Your brain is going to be the most useful fucking tool you have. Make sure you use it, or we will be retrieving nothing more than your carcass.”

  The bluntness of Nate’s statement made it all too real, but his brain was currently preoccupied with the impersonation of a turkey with a tracker caught in its gobbling apparatus.

  “Okay, I’m going to leave the rest of this stuff with you,” said Nate. Henri looked down at the remaining items. “Bearing in mind he’s likely to strip you looking for this sort of thing, see if you can stow it somewhere it might stick, so if or when he gives you back your clothing, it might still be there.”

  With Nate’s impending departure, Henri’s anxiety started to ramp up.

  “Remember, we are tracking you. That device will probably stay relevant for seventy hours or so. Make sure you keep it for at least that long. Take care.”

  Nate disappeared out the back door and was gone before it registered what it actually meant for him to ensure he kept the tracker that long. Unpleasant as that might be, it was a minor concern.

  He looked at the remaining items and began secreting them in his clothing, threading fuse wire inside his bootlace. His hands shook and his mind behaved like a scratched CD, skipping bits of information he needed to complete a task or getting stuck on a phrase.

  Staring at the remaining objects on the table, he figured the tape might be useful, but trying to think how to stow it caused a thought loop he seemed unable to break. His mind was still repeating the words “wind it,” when the door burst open.

  Henri leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over. His heart wanted to burst from his chest, and his breaths came quick and shallow.

  Russell’s head came around the side of the doorframe as he scanned the inside of the cottage, a gun leading the way. “Where are they, Henri?”

  “Wh… who?” His throat, constricted with fear, barely emitted a whisper.

  After one more scan of the inside of the cottage, Russell gave a cursory glance backwards and entered. Henri had forgotten just how big the man was. Around the same height as Jason, Russell was far more muscular, and that hadn’t diminished any while he was in prison. The Kevlar vest that caused his shirt to sit awkwardly only added to his size. The barrel of a rifle was visible over his shoulder; the strap sat diagonally across his chest.

  He closed the door but moved to stand behind it, eyes on Henri. “I’m going to assume Freaky Jason has gone for Birch. What about blondie? Where is he?”

  Henri gave a vague shake of his head. “I don’t know.”

  Russell’s reptilian eyes remained unblinking, his head cocked slightly as if he was listening for something in the distance. “One of them stayed with you, though, right?”

  “No. They went after you.”

  Russell frowned. “You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you, Henri?”

  A war waged in Henri’s body over which part was going to fail first. His knees were threatening to collapse, but he was so light-headed he feared he might pass out. He lifted his arms from his sides. “Look around. No one is here but us.” He sounded far calmer than he felt.

  Russell’s gaze lingered on each door in the cottage. He locked the front door, and with every step Russell took forward, unable to help himself, Henri took a small step away, ensuring Russell never got close enough to touch him.

  Eyes flicking back and forth between Henri and potential hiding places, Russell moved cautiously. He checked the bedroom, locked the back door, and returned to stand between Henri and the front door.

  “Alone at last,” Russell mocked, and then his entire attitude changed, softened. “I’ve missed you, Henri.” The intimacy of his admission caused Henri to take another step back. Russell blinked and his demeanour was once again hard and callous.

  “But I like your choice of a holiday destination for us.” Russell reached behind him and a clinking sound preceded his hand coming back with a pair of handcuffs. “Northern Ontario is so much nicer than prison.” He slid the cuffs across the table. “Put them on.”

  Henri stared at the handcuffs for a few moments before putting them on. He cinched the second cuff against his body. No point in him arguing when the odds were all stacked inside the gun Russell aimed at him.

  “You are a wise man, Henri.” Russell grinned. “You know the last time I said that to someone, it was to your boyfriend. He knew what was good for him too.”

  Henri’s eyes shot up to Russell’s. A knot tightened in his chest, and he felt his mind was about to shatter. “Knew?”

  Russell tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he examined Henri before understanding lit them. “He’s alive. I would let you talk to him, but he doesn’t have a phone—not that he’d make that much sense.” Russell chuckled.

  Russell reached out to him, and Henri tried to step back out of his way, but Russell grabbed his shirt, ensuring Henri remained still, and began patting him down. “He probably wouldn’t even be able to figure out how to use a phone at this point. I gotta say, he’s amusing as fuck when he’s off his tree.” Russell shook his head, obviously recalling a particular incident. Henri didn’t want to know. He was all too aware of what sort of twisted fuckery amused the likes of Russell.

  “Okay, time to move.” Russell motioned Henri towards the front door with his Glock.

  Henri skittered to one side as Russell leaned in to unlock the door, but Russell grabbed him and used a controlling grip on his neck to steer him. The recollection of the way those fingers had dug into him had paled to insignificance against the months of bandage changes in the aftermath of the burns he’d suffered last time. But the memory blasted him, and his bladder let go before conscious control could slam it shut again.

  “We got anyone out here with a rifle, Henri?”

  “No.” Henri drew his head down on the side where Russell gripped his neck, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

  “There’s something very fucking wrong with this picture,” Russell mumbled to himself.

  It was the first hint that Henri had ever sensed of Russell feeling
uneasy, and he wondered what it was that Mike had seemingly tapped into when he’d ordered Nate to stay clear.

  Russell steered him across the open and through the trees until they reached a 4WD cargo van. He unlocked it and pushed Henri into the passenger’s seat. Despite Russell no longer gripping the junction of his neck and shoulder, the sensation of fingers digging in remained.

  Henri looked into the back and was stunned at the sheer magnitude of electronic equipment lining both walls of the van. It was like something out of a TV show where some intelligence agency was monitoring the arrangement of an arms deal.

  A chuckle from Russell as he got into the van drew Henri’s eyes. Russell reached over, grabbed a laptop, and powered it up. He started the engine as he waited for the laptop to run through start-up. “You’re costing someone a hell of a lot of money. That lot’s worth a couple of hundred thousand.” He jerked a thumb to the back of the van.

  “Not me. Your obsession is.” Henri was surprised at how easily the words had sprung from the body that sat handcuffed. His body. His hands in his lap, so familiar and yet so distant they could belong to someone else.

  Russell gave him a lopsided grin. “Pedantic little fuck.” He typed and then waited before he clicked through several pages and then typed some more. “I’m not having anyone following us this time.” Russell closed the laptop and returned it to the back before steering the van towards the road.

  Henri prayed like hell that whatever jammer Russell had employed, it didn’t interfere with the personal tracker he’d swallowed.

  “Do you even know who paid for all that equipment, or did you just steal it?” Henri almost laughed at the accusatory tone he used. This wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. It was just one of his nightmares, so what difference did it make how he spoke to Russell?

  The van bumped over rough ground and then out onto the smooth asphalt. “Let’s just say I didn’t gain the resources by conventional methods. Bit hard to when in prison. But,” Russell said as he changed to a higher gear, “you jumped the gun, Henri. I still had a few months’ planning left before we were to meet again.”