by Eddy Will
“Stop,” she called out in English. “Stop right there.”
Anna ignored the order from the tall Amazon. As she raced upward, the Amazon descended, looking to cut off the prisoner and trap her between herself and the guard running up the stairs. Anna did not slow her pace, her eyes focusing on the woman’s long legs on their downward motion. Anna flung her body at the Amazon’s legs. The female guard bent her knees, seeking to lower her center of gravity but it was too late. She was caught in mid-step when Anna crashed into her long legs. Anna’s arms wrapped around the woman’s knees, while her legs found the steps and kicked in an upward motion. Anna twisted her body sharply to the side and gravity came to her aid. The Amazon lost her balance and unable to counter the hard push that Anna gave her, she tumbled over Anna and head first down the stairs. The Amazon screamed. Anna let go and scrambled back to her feet, moving up the stairs toward the landing. A quick glance confirmed what the sounds down the steps told her: the Amazon and the guard, a tangle of limbs, rolled down the steps.
When Anna reached the landing a female guard appeared. She slowed her run and crouched, her arms open, preparing to stop Anna’s progress. Anna dodged left, then right, the female guard instantly adjusting. The woman was tall and muscular. Anna’s body weight was no match against this woman.
Sensing her advantage, the muscular Amazon charged her prey, her hands open like claws, ready to dig her fingers into Anna and pin her to the ground. Anna crouched low as the powerful woman rushed her. Anna pushed out her arms in defense, hoping to keep the Amazon at arm’s length. Their hands interlocked, fingers digging into fingers. The Amazon’s momentum was overwhelming. Anna ducked and fell backwards, giving way to the Amazon’s powerful drive. She pulled the guard forward, throwing her off balance. Her forward charge was meant to connect and overpower an immovable object, but with no resistance she struggled for control. Anna fell on her back, pulled up her legs and locked her knees. Her feet pushed into the Amazon’s midsection and shot the guard like a projectile above her head. The Amazon’s self-generated momentum easily carried her over the elusive target and over the railing of the landing. The woman screamed in horror as she fell headfirst to the foyer floor. Anna did not look over the landing; the guard was no longer a threat. The guards on the stairs had untangled and scrambled up the stairs. Anna grabbed a tall porcelain vase containing fresh cut flowers from a side table and hurled it at the ascending guards. The vase crashed into the guards, shattering on impact, sending shards, water and flowers spewing.
Anna sprinted along the hallway, searching for an escape route. She raced around a corner and collided hard with another guard. The stocky man was heavier and had the momentum and Anna bounced off his body. She crashed into the wall and dislodged a painting. Both tumbled to the floor. The guard regained his balance and jumped on the crumpled Anna. She grabbed the picture frame and swung it across the guard’s face. The wood frame cracked and splintered as did the guard’s nose. The man roared in pain and anger, his hands holding his battered faces. Blood gushed from his shattered nose. Anna scrambled around the injured guard on her hands and knees, the remaining jagged piece of the picture frame still in her hand. The guards running up the staircase had reached the landing and were closing in. Anna raced in the opposite direction and tore down a glass cabinet, containing small statues made of marble, glass and wood. The bulky cabinet crashed into the opposite wall, spilling the substantial collection on the floor. Anna picked up a handful of statues and hurled them at her pursuers before she raced to the end of the hallway.
It was a dead end.
A tall window looked out into the black night beyond. There was no latch or handle to open the sash. The guards had been joined by others and the posse moved in on Anna. She was trapped. In desperation, she grabbed a chair and battered the glass pane in the window, but the chair simply bounced off the thick glass, leaving not even a crack. Anna kicked open an adjacent door. It was not locked. She rushed into the large room and froze.
A pale-skinned, middle aged man sat on a large four post bed, stark naked, the face of a naked woman buried in his lap.
“Jesus Christ,” the man roared in American English. He did not move to cover himself up. “Can’t you knock,” he said. The naked woman disengaged and stared at Anna in confusion and horror. Anna slammed the door into the faces of the fast approaching guards and slid the lock in place. She turned to the couple on the bed. The woman was already on her feet, but instead of running for the bathroom or her clothes, she charged Anna – stark naked. Anna was startled and slow to react. The naked woman body-tackled Anna, shoving her hard against the door. Anna’s head connected with the solid wood door, stunning her for a moment. The naked woman ripped the jagged remains of the picture frame from Anna’s hand. Shouts filled the hallway as fists beat on the bedroom door. Anna ducked down low, covering her head with her hands in an attempt to block the woman’s blows.
The woman was as enraged as she was naked. Pressing down on Anna with her knees, she swung the jagged wood over her head, taking careful aim.
An ear-shattering gunshot rang out and wood splinters exploded near the lock of the door. The naked woman froze in place, her arm still raised above her head for the blow, when a small line of red blood ran from a hole in her chest and quickly flowed down her white skin. Her blue eyes glazed over just as a second shot rang out, shattering another section of the door. The naked woman fell backwards. The stray bullet had pierced her heart and killed her instantly. More shots shattered more of the door.
Anna kicked the body off her and rolled away from the door. The heavy door crashed into the room, falling on the dead woman, her nakedness finally covered up.
Anna scrambled to her feet. A half dozen guards poured into the bedroom and tackled Anna, pinning her to the ground, pushing her face into the plush carpet, while tearing her arms behind her back. Anna screamed in anger and frustration, fighting to resist capture. Handcuffs snapped shut behind her back and cold steel dug into her wrists.
It was over.
Two guards straddled Anna’s back, keeping her from moving, taking no chances.
Tears of rage filled Anna’s eyes.
Diana entered the suite through the ruined door.
“Get her up,” she ordered, her voice cold and angry.
The guards brutally pulled their captive to her feet.
Diana stepped close and stared at her prisoner. Anna never saw the hand that slapped her across the face. The blow stung, but Anna did not give Diana the satisfaction of even so much as a wince. She defiantly stared at the woman, her lips curling in rage.
“Get her out of my sight,” Diana said, her face trembling with equal rage.
“Nothing you can do, lady, right? Wouldn’t want to ruin your sick game,” Anna said.
“Hold on,” the man on the bed said, rising in all his aging nakedness and not caring.
“I am sorry, Mr. Remington,” Diana said quickly, turning to the naked man, but making sure to keep her eyes on his face. “I’ll have this mess cleared up in no time and you’ll get another room, of course.
“No worries, Diana,” Mr. Remington said and approached the handcuffed and well-guarded prisoner. “You must be Anna Jaeger,” he said, standing too close to Anna. “I understand we have a play date tomorrow,” he said, as his eyes sized up the woman. “It pleases me to see that you have spirit. It will make our date all the more interesting,” he said. His mouth twisted into an arrogant, confident smile, but his eyes remained cold and devoid of emotion.
‘The dead eyes of a shark,’ Anna thought.
“I am happy that I made a good choice,” Remington said, still standing close, towering over Anna. She cocked her head slightly, cracked a hint of a smile, and then shot up her knee into Remington’s exposed crotch. She connected hard. Remington doubled over instantly, his face twisting in pain. He roared in agony as he sank to the floor and before her guards could pull her clear from the client, she delivered a thundering kick to Reming
ton’s face. His head snapped back from the brutal assault, sending his naked body sprawling on the floor. Blood shot in a wide arc from Remington’s nose and flowed from his mouth, soiling the plush rug underneath. The naked man curled into a fetal position, one hand holding his crushed manhood, the other his bleeding face.
“Get her out of here,” Diana barked.
The guards gruffly dragged Anna from the room and back into the basement, where they deposited her in her cell. The rapist’s body had been removed as had any sign of the struggle. The door fell shut and Anna was alone, her hands still cuffed behind her back.
Chapter 21
Beverly Hills, California, August 2, 2012, 1:02 PM
Jack Storm narrowed his eyes as he looked over the dark shades and sat up in the rental car. Office workers poured out of the building that housed the law offices of Todd Ashley. It was lunch time and the rush to eateries or to a gym was about to start. Jack could not miss the lawyer, too much was at stake and time was running out. He might have acted on a strong hunch when he forced his way into the lawyer’s office, but Ashley’s reaction had given him certainty. The lawyer might as well have signed a confession when he sent a team of killers after him. Ashley was involved, Ashley was his conduit to Anna. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind. He had rattled the crooked attorney’s cage and he was about to kick it a lot harder. Jack was a desperate man. Ashley’s mind held the secret of what happened to Anna and Jack would pry open that mind. He had made a loose plan to follow the lawyer when he left the building and seek out an opportunity to confront the man.
Jack had parked the rental across the street allowing him a view of the building’s entrance as well as the exit of the underground garage. A chatty security guard at the garage exit had let slip that Todd Ashley drove a white BMW SUV. There was nothing for Jack to do but wait. He sipped coffee, his eyes constantly darting between the front entry and the garage, scanning a steady stream of men and women in suits as they streamed from the building.
Jack was determined to get answers from Ashley. One way or another he would know Anna’s location before the day was over.
Chapter 22
Carpathian Mountains, Romania, August 2, 2012, 10:15 PM
Diana stood on the stone patio outside her bedroom suite. During daylight it afforded her spectacular views of the mountains of her forefathers. But now all she saw was black. Thick clouds blocked out the moon light and the million stars that on a clear night sparkled in the night sky. Tonight all was black. The rain battered her face and had long soaked her careful hair style, causing her aging hair to hang on her shoulders. The trench coat did little against the driving rain, water running down her neck into the coat, soaking the goddess costume she was still wearing.
Tears ran down her cheeks, mixing with rain. The violent incident in Mr. Remington’s suite had unleashed a torrent of suppressed emotions, ones she had thought to have forgotten. She had been surprised at her reaction to Anna Jaeger’s assault. For a brief moment Diana had wanted Jaeger to continue her brutal battery of the man who had paid a large fortune to hunt and to kill her. She had wanted to see the psychopath in pain and she had wanted to see him dead. For she hated the man, hated all men who had come through to satisfy their unspeakably heinous desires.
Standing in the driving rain in the black of night she remembered a young woman many years ago who had fought back against the brutal man who had wanted to hunt and kill her like an animal. She remembered a young woman who would not give up despite insurmountable odds, who had found a rage in her heart at the injustice, at the unaccountable whim of the few. She remembered a young woman who had to become an animal in order to survive in the wilderness, who had shed her humanity and had traded her feelings for one clear shot at the man who found no greater excitement than to watch the terror in her eyes before he ended her life. She remembered a woman who had buried her body in mud to avoid detection, who had sat motionless in trees, who had run barefoot for miles, who had killed birds to eat, solely fuelled by the desire to turn the tables. It had taken that young woman eight days and an ingenious trap to get her chance. The young woman had built a dummy of herself from twigs and mud and clothed her muddy double in her clothes. And when her hunter took his shot with a rifle the dummy had fallen into the brush. It was the hunter’s privilege to finish off the prey and his entourage of helpers and servants stayed behind, affording the hunter the impression that he was out in the wilderness alone, when in fact he would only be alone for the final hundred yards. The young woman had patiently waited for the hunter to enter the brush, his hunting knife drawn, ready to end the life of his injured prey with the slice of the sharp blade, all the while looking into her eyes, watching the life drain out slowly. The young woman had waited for the right moment and, finally, with a spear shaped from a skinny tree, she had charged from the brush, naked as the Lord had made her, and plunged the tip of the crude weapon into the broad chest of her hunter. The young woman had watched the surprise in the man’s eyes turn to terror, as he fell to his knees, unable to utter a sound. The young woman had pried the long blade from the man’s dying hands, and whilst looking into his eyes, she had cut his throat.
That young woman once had been Diana.
Then she had gone by Magdalena Rugova. She had been only fifteen when men came to her small Albanian village and had taken her from her parents in the name of the glorious Soviet Union. In those days the insidious hunt had been reserved for the highest members of the Politburo. The dead official’s entourage, shocked by the unexpected turn of events had demanded her death and it was the manager of the hunt, Sergey Yergacheff, who had spared young Magdalena from a bullet to the head. It had been Yergacheff’s task to organize the hunts, known as Okhota, as well as to supply the prey, usually young women. It was said that Joseph Stalin had been an early but regular guest. Yergacheff had taken young Magdalena under his wing, made her part of his staff and eventually married her. It was the only way to keep her safe he had said, for the memories of her enemies were long. But it had also tied Magdalena’s life to his and to the horrid business of Okhota. Her nightmare never ended. Though her life had been spared she had to watch countless young women hunted to their deaths. Magdalena Rugova was to be the only prey ever to turn the tables and kill her hunter.
When Yergacheff died, the task to host the events fell on her, and when the Soviet Union collapsed Rugova knew nothing else but Okhota. And so she continued onwards, expanding the operation and in the spirit of the new-found free market had turned it into a lucrative business. She soon had added suitable theatrics to the occasion and hired beautiful women to perpetuate the image of the goddess of the hunt, as well as to offer additional benefits to her exclusively male clientele. It did not surprise Magdalena Rugova, who assumed the name Diana, that there was a never ending line of men interested in her service. Rich and twisted men from all over the world had paid the non-negotiable fee for a chance to hunt and kill a human being with no accountability or consequence. It was not only the brutish Soviet leadership, whose thirst for the unimaginable required quenching. She quickly learned that such men existed everywhere and as her business boomed, her wealth and power exploded.
Diana stood in the driving rain, unwilling to move, as memories and emotion burst forth from long forgotten recesses of her mind. The crazed woman in Remington’s suite had unleashed a torrent of long suppressed memories, and she had wished that the American woman would have killed Remington and brought an end to the decades-old nightmare from which Magdalena Rugova was powerless to escape.
Chapter 23
London, England, August 2, 2012, 9:32 PM
The taxi driver pulled to the curb as instructed by the striking woman in the backseat. Maria Koshkova stepped out of the cab and onto King’s Road. She dug through her purse, re-arranging the small caliber semi-automatic hand gun with the ivory handle. She had acquired the firearm and its required license as a precaution for spending late nights alone at the gallery which contained extraor
dinarily valuable art. The license did not permit her to carry the handgun, but Maria did not care about the small but important distinction. While her hands rummaged through the purse, her eyes searched the street and sure enough the black Vauxhall had pulled to the curb a hundred feet from where the cab had stopped and two men had scrambled from the vehicle. They moved to blend in with the busy foot traffic which proved to be a challenge since the men were tall and muscular with short cropped hair, dressed in dark suits. The majority of pedestrians were hip and artsy in stark contrast to the two hard-faced men tailing Maria. She had first noticed them sitting in a car across the street from her gallery. It had not taken Maria long to notice three burly men crammed into the Vauxhall. It was the lit dome light that had given them away. And it was the ominous presence of three men in a car parked outside her gallery that had prompted Maria to retrieve the handgun from its safe in the back of the gallery’s office. She had put her suspicion to the test when she had left the gallery. She had walked down Oxford Street for several blocks, occasionally stopping at store windows displaying expensive dresses or high-heeled shoes. But her eyes did not focus on the exclusive fashion, they focused on the window glass and the reflection of the street. And yes, the Vauxhall had left its perch across the street from her gallery and had been inching along several hundred feet behind Maria. That’s when she was sure she had become a target. But who had sent these men and for what purpose? Diana was Maria’s first suspect. She certainly had the resources and reason. The next question was ‘why’. Maria thought of two options as she continued her walk along Oxford Street, her hand buried in her purse, her fingers wrapped around the small but deadly handgun. If the ‘why’ was that Diana had decided that Maria had outlived her purpose and was scheduled to end up face down in the River Thames, then Maria would not go down without a fight. She would be ready should the Vauxhall suddenly accelerate and should thugs scramble from the car looking to snatch her off the sidewalk and bundle her into the backseat.