Diana's Disciples

by Eddy Will

  “We should each have one just in case,” Jack said. “This is your last chance to get out if you choose,” he said to Styx, his eyes studying her carefully.

  “I am in,” she said, the anger over Maria’s betrayal simmering just below the surface.

  They climbed back into the car and proceeded along the narrow road toward Okhota Lodge. According to the satellite photo the building was approximately ten miles from the gate. Jack drove without headlights, making the journey slow, but he did not want to announce his arrival.

  The road was a narrow single lane, winding through a dense forest. The foliage intertwined high up over the road, creating a kind of tunnel for much of the way. A head light appeared in the distance, the bright cone lighting up stretches of forest in sweeping motions as the approaching vehicle negotiated the windy road.

  Jack drove the SUV into the brush, sharp twigs scratching at the enamel.

  “Let’s rock and roll,” Jack said and climbed out of the car, pushing his way through the thick brush. Tarpov and Styx followed. “That car was sent to check on the power outage,” he said.

  “Intercept and interrogate,” Tarpov said.

  “Right,” Jack said, “Styx, I want you to wave down the vehicle.”

  “Damsel in distress?” Styx said.

  “It still works, trust me,” Tarpov said.

  Jack and the Russian stepped into the brush and Styx stood in the middle of the road. Moments later the vehicle’s headlights lit up the waving girl. The driver stepped hard on the brakes. He rolled down the window and called to the woman. Styx did not understand the man’s language but approached the vehicle. The driver stuck his round head through the window. The confusion was unmistakable, but the presence of a lone female on a deserted private road protected by a large gate, did not tip the man’s confusion into alarm, but instead turned it into curiosity. Jack emerged from the brush and approached the stopped Jeep from the rear in quick steps. Tarpov moved in from the other side, his target the passenger door.

  Jack placed the cold steel of the gun against the driver’s head.

  “Don’t move or you are dead,” Jack said. The driver tensed instantly. He snorted his disgust at having been duped by a ruse as old as time.

  Tarpov pulled open the passenger door and finding the passenger seat empty, addressed the driver instead.

  “You heard my partner: you move, you die,” he said in Russian. “Get out slowly,” he said and pointed his gun at the driver’s face for emphasis.

  The driver shook his head in disbelief and slowly climbed out of the car as instructed and raised his hands above his head.

  “You don’t have to kill me,” he said in decent but heavily accented English. There was no fear in his voice and he was not begging. He was merely stating a fact.

  “Answer some questions and we’ll see,” Jack said, while Tarpov completed a quick search of the vehicle. The guard suddenly brought his hands down from over his head and slammed his fists into Jack’s gun. The firearm fell to the ground before Jack could close his hand. The guard pushed past Jack with a rough shoulder-tackle. Jack tumbled backwards and the guard raced for the dark forest. Jack hurled his body after the escaping man and caught hold of an ankle. The guard fell hard onto the pavement kicking at Jack’s face. Tarpov flung himself over the Jeep’s hood and stepped on the guard’s back.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Tarpov growled and pushed the barrel of his gun into the man’s neck. Jack pulled the guard back to his feet and slammed him into the side of the Jeep. The guard spat at Jack and produced a knife from behind his back. The blade sliced through the air as Jack snapped his head away from the arc of the flashing blade.

  A gunshot exploded in Jack’s ear and blood ran from a hole in the guard’s forehead before the dead body slid to the ground. Tarpov held the gun that had killed the guard.

  “He was wasting our time. He would have told us nothing,” the Russian said and pulled the body into the brush before returning to the car.

  About fifteen minutes later the road widened and the forest receded from the roadside making room for two big sheds and a garage. Beyond the garage stood the two-story log-cabin, Okhota Lodge. Much of the structure was plunged into darkness, but a few windows were lit. Not everyone was asleep. Jack switched off the headlights and pulled off the road behind the shed. He was hopeful for the first time in days. He was close to Anna and it would not be much longer. He climbed from the car and hurried to the large garage separated from the main house by twenty yards. The side door was unlocked and Jack let himself in. A half dozen utility vehicles and one extra-long black BMW were parked in the large space. Along the outside of the building a battery of gasoline canisters had been stored. Jack grabbed two and emptied the contents over the cars and workbench in the garage. He opened a third and poured a path of gasoline from the garage to the shed. Inside the shed Jack found a stash of empty wine bottles and old rags which he carried outside and placed on the lawn. He filled the bottles with gasoline and stuffed the openings with strips of rags.

  “Let’s create a diversion,” Jack said softly into the radio and struck a match. The gasoline trail lit up with a whoosh and flames crawled to the garage and shed in search of consumables. He ran across a large, well-maintained lawn to the opposite side of the lodge where he hid in a rhododendron bush and watched the fire grow.

  The flames had stormed into the garage and shed and spread at a rapid rate. A window exploded from the heat and flames jumped to the outside and crawled up the exterior to the roof. Small explosions from within the shed shattered another window.

  A side door to the lodge opened and a guard stepped out, alarmed by the sound of explosions. He stared at the rapidly spreading fire for a moment before he disappeared to muster reinforcements. A handful of men piled out of the lodge and ran for hoses and water buckets to combat the fire. It was a natural but futile notion, the materials of the structures old and dry, and the flames too far advanced. Jack spoke rapidly into the radio and checked his watch. Using the chaos as cover he raced across the lawn to a set of French doors. He smashed a window pane, opened the old door and stepped into a large room. The walls were covered with the stuffed heads of bears, wolves, wild boar and deer, the hunting trophies of past excursions, hardly representative of the new kind of hunt the Lodge entertained. A marble statue of a Greek goddess stood in the center of the hall. Jack crossed the room and entered a lobby, which led to the main entrance and a large sweeping circular staircase. Frantic shouts echoed from the second floor. The mansion was waking up to the fiery emergency. Jack had to be quick, if he was going to use the confusion to his advantage. Tarpov would have entered the building from the other side by now and Styx was to remain outside as back-up and lookout.

  A door flew open across the lobby. Jack spun around and stared at a burly unshaven man, dressed in an undershirt, his face confused and struggling to shake the sleep from his mind. Clutching a handgun the man stared at the stranger and for a brief moment both stood frozen. The guard snapped into action a fraction sooner than Jack. Unable to identify the face of the stranger, he raised his gun. Jack spun to the side as the guard fired his weapon, the sudden explosion of sound echoing off the high ceiling. The bullet did not find its target and shattered the stucco wall. Jack fired his weapon from a crouched position. The guard arched backwards and dropped his weapon before he tumbled down the stairs which he had climbed only a moment ago.

  Gunshots rang out in another part of the house. Tarpov had engaged the enemy and Jack had to move. If Anna was in the building she would be downstairs rather than on the second floor, which should be reserved for important guests, staff or even the woman called Diana. Jack raced downstairs to the basement and, stepping over the dead guard, ran along stark hallways, calling for his wife. He kicked open doors and leading with his weapon searched for Anna, prepared to take out any resistance. He was too close and would waste no time.

  “Anna,” he cried, over and over.

  He entere
d a small windowless room with bare walls and a cot, reminding Jack of a prison cell. A dark spot had stained the concrete floor near the door. Jack knew that Anna had been in this very room. He hurried from the room and deftly collided with a tall, powerfully built woman. Jack twisted his body hard to stay on his feet. He crashed into the wall and slid to the floor. The woman bounced off Jack, the trajectory of her momentum slamming her into the opposite wall of the hallway. She, too, crashed to the floor, but quickly spun around, her hand pulling at a gun in a belt holster.

  She found herself staring at Jack’s pointed weapon and froze in place.

  “Where is Anna Jaeger,” he said, giving the startled woman no time to recover.

  It took her a moment to connect the name to the woman she had helped prepare for the hunt two days ago.

  “She’s not here,” the woman said in a thick Eastern European accent. “She is not here.”

  “Where is she?” Jack snapped. The woman knew of Anna and that was progress. He was moving ever closer to finding his wife. “Where?” he said, pointing his gun for emphasis.

  “She is in the hunt. She is out in the forest with the hunter,” she said. “She is not here.”

  Jack stared at the woman, his mind racing for his next move.

  “How can I find her?” Jack barked.

  “I can take you to someone who knows,” she said and raised her hands slowly showing she was no threat.

  “You lead,” Jack said and pushed himself to his feet.

  The woman rose. She bent over to push up her body, her right hand hidden for a moment. Jack saw the gun too late. She pushed the weapon under her torso and fired. Jack spun away and pulled the trigger. The woman’s bullet smashed into the wall but Jack did not miss. The woman sunk to the ground, death had come in an instant.

  Gunshots exploded upstairs followed by shouts on the staircase leading to the basement. They were closing in on him. Jack pulled a gasoline-filled bottle from his pack and lit the soaked rag with a lighter. He threw the gasoline bomb far down the hallway. The bottle shattered and fire and black smoke engulfed the hallway in seconds. Jack ran the other way, kicking open doors, calling his wife’s name.

  Thick smoke followed him as he raced from room to room, the acrid smell burning his lungs.

  He hurried along another hallway when a voice shouted in a room ahead. The door was ajar and a man’s voice spoke frantically on a phone or radio. Jack stepped into the room, his gun at the ready.

  A burly, short man turned from a battery of computer monitors, a phone in one hand, a gun in the other. He growled into the phone and raised his firearm, ignoring Jack’s pointed weapon.

  Jack shot the man from close quarters. The guard mumbled obscenities in his native tongue as he inspected the hole in his chest, before he slowly sat in his chair and expired. Jack studied the monitors and maps on the wall. His heart began to race with excitement. The maps, marked with red and blue lines, identified the area that Jack took to be the hunting grounds. He located the lodge and the gate leading to the property. The land marked by a red line was enormous. How would he find Anna in such a vast expanse? Two computer screens contained satellite images and superimposed on the images was a red blinking dot as well as a green one. According to the scale the blinking locators were less than one mile apart. He studied the description on the bottom of the screen and stared at the display. He was looking at the location of the prey, Anna, the small red flag on the display blinking brightly.

  “Anna,” he said, touching the screen with the tips of his fingers. He adjusted the screen until he found the lodge as a point of reference. Anna’s position was approximately ten miles north. Jack’s heart jumped again. He was close, so close. Ten miles.

  The blinking green flag on the display marked the location of the hunting party. Jack cursed. The hunter was very close too. Jack searched the map and found an access road that would get him close to the two markers. He scanned the satellite image into his brain.

  Gunshots exploded beyond the door. He had to move. On his way out Jack noticed a small devices sitting on the console, reminiscent of large cell phone. When he touched the display, it jumped to life and showed a duplicate image of the maps on the computer screen.

  ‘GPS Trackers,’ Jack thought. ‘Sons of bitches.’

  He grabbed the GPS tracking device and left the small room. Thick black smoke swirled along the ceiling of the hallway. He flipped the radio and adjusted his tiny headset.

  “Tarpov,” he said, breaking radio silence.

  “Yes,” the Russian said, the sound of gun shots bursting through his microphone.

  “I have Anna’s location. She is not here, I repeat, she is not here. Back out and meet at the car,” Jack said, speaking rapidly into the radio.

  “What’s your twenty,” Tarpov said, his voice strained, asking for Jack’s location.

  “I am in the basement, heading out,” Jack said.

  “Good luck,” Tarpov said, “I’ll cut you a path.”

  “Thanks, out,” Jack said, and raced along the smoky hallway to the staircase.

  Flames leapt from a hallway as Jack turned a corner. The staircase was blocked by a guard, using the recess for cover and shooting into the lobby beyond. Jack fired at the guard who was now caught in crossfire between Tarpov and Jack. The guard turned and fired his automatic submachine gun. Jack hurled his body into the burning hallway, desperately seeking to avoid the deadly rapid fire.

  Jack pushed his back up against the wall and flipped his radio.

  “I am at the bottom of the stairs. Can you draw his assault rifle?” Jack said.

  “Heads up,” Tarpov said.

  The sound of glass smashing on the concrete steps and the whooshing sound of gasoline catching fire told Jack the Russian had tossed a ‘Tarpov Cocktail’ into the stairway.

  “Holy Crap,” Jack said and rolled into the hallway, coming to rest on his belly, his gun aimed at the steps. The guard jumped from the fast approaching flames and fired from the top of the steps.

  Jack pulled the trigger twice and the guard collapsed to the ground. Jack ran for the burning steps. He leapt up the stairs, taking multiple steps at a time, sprinting through the gasoline-fueled flames. Hurling his body upward, he crashed onto the landing by the door. Bullets smashed into the door and wall around his head. Jack rolled up into a ball.

  “I am pinned by the door,” Jack cried.

  “Can’t help, am in a tough spot by the staircase,” Tarpov said. “Taking a lot of fire.”

  The rapid fire of an assault rifle echoed from the lobby. Jack recalled the layout of the lobby: a circular staircase leading to a second floor, a hallway to the back of the house and several doors led to additional rooms, one of them being the trophy room through which he had entered the building. And there was the front entrance made up of tall wooden double doors. Jack had a line of sight of the front door but not of the rest of the lobby. He spun his body into the doorway, his weapon searching for the gunman at the top of the landing. The gunman stood at the railing, his focus directly below him: Tarpov’s position. Jack fired his weapon at the man. The guard turned his rifle on Jack but dropped out of sight as he fired blindly in Jack’s direction. Jack scrambled to his feet and sprinted for the staircase, emptying his weapon as he crossed the no-man’s land that was the lobby. He dropped the spent magazine, snapped a fresh one into the gun and jumped up the steps. The assault rifle appeared over the edge of the landing, the guard firing blindly. Jack pressed his body against the curving wall, bullets slamming into the plaster. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling above the landing. Jack fired at the chandelier, smashing glass and crystals, shooting out light bulbs and then the heavy fixture cracked from the ceiling bracket, hanging only from electrical wires. Then the copper wires snapped amid violent sparks and the chandelier went dark. A second later the heavy fixture crashed to the floor. The guard screamed in pain. The lobby and landing had gone dark, the threat neutralized.

  It was time to
go. He had to find Anna. Jack jumped down the stairs, calling for the Russian when the distinct chopping sound of a helicopter grew in volume and rattled the windows. It sounded as if the aircraft was about to land on the roof above. Jack and Tarpov ran through black smoke swirling along the floor and pushing up the walls, acrid air filling their lungs. The men burst through the front door into the fresh night air. They ran along the front of the house and stopped at the corner. Jack peered around the corner and caught a glimpse of a woman climbing aboard a helicopter, helped along by a handful of tall, athletic females. And just as quickly the helicopter rose into the sky, the downdraft blowing hard into Jack’s face, and disappeared in the black night, the receding chopping sound of the motor the only evidence remaining.

  Jack and the Russian ran across the vast lawn, when gunfire erupted in the dark and a barrage of bullets flew past Jack’s head. He dove into the wet grass, his eyes scanning the darkness for the attacker. More shots blasted the night, tufts of grass torn from the ground by large caliber rounds. Jack rolled in the grass aiming for nearby bushes. He scrambled on his hands and knees, hugging the ground, frantically racing to escape the fusillade of death aimed at him from the darkness. A soggy flower bed in the center of the lawn, the dirt several inches below the grass gave Jack a degree of protection.

  Tarpov found another flower bed near Jack’s and splashed into a deep puddle.

  “We are pinned down,” he said into the radio.

  “Can we back up?” Jack said, his eyes scanning the ground which they had just covered. The flames danced in windows and crept up the side of the lodge, creating an eerie play of light and shadows across the vast lawn. Jack estimated the distance to the corner of the lodge and to safety to be thirty yards.

  “You will be dead in five seconds,” Tarpov said, his voice crackling over the radio. A security light high up on the burning building snapped on and flooded the lawn in bright light, exposing Jack and the Russian but also lighting up the gunman and his position.