by Eddy Will
Chapter 57
The Carpathian Mountains, Romania, August 5, 2012, 5:39 AM
Styx had plowed the SUV into the brush when Jack had spotted the bright fireball of a burning car in the woods. She bumped over rough terrain steering the all-wheel vehicle toward the inferno. The occupants bounced around the cabin of the car. Styx clung to the steering wheel keeping the car under control as it plunged down an incline. Gunshots erupted from the bottom of the steep drop, echoing through the trees.
“In the ravine,” Jack said, shouting over the noise and pointing to the bottom of the hill. Styx turned the steering wheel and headed for the rocky patch below. The car bounced over rough terrain until large rocks blocked its path. Jack and Tarpov jumped from the car and sprinted into the ravine, followed by the redheaded punk. More shots rang out, the echo bouncing off the ravine walls. Jack knew he was close and flew over jagged rocks, his feet searching for and finding solid footing on the rocky ground. He raced into a bend in the ravine. Two men scrambled up the steep hill side, their attention upward to the top of incline. Anna was up there, the trackers’ intense focus giving away her position. Jack lunged across the rocks and raised his weapon.
The men approached the top of the rocky incline. Another few seconds and they would be out of view. Jack stopped, aimed and fired his gun. His shots were doubled up by Tarpov, who also had seen the men. One fell like a stone. The other spun and looked, his face confused, his free hand tearing at the weapon in his belt. A bullet punched into his chest and his hand slipped from the rock. He plunged to the ground, bouncing off rocks. Jack leapt up the rock, finally in his element, and scaled the granite wall with the agility of the well-trained climber that he was. He reached the top and swung his body over the ledge, rolling away from the drop. A hunter pulled his heavy bulk over the edge with great effort. He saw Jack raise his gun and froze in place, the reality of his predicament sinking in. Then he opened the hand that was clutching the jagged edge of rock and dropped from view.
Jack scanned the terrain. A forest’s edge stood near the rock plateau. He saw no one. No Anna, no hunter. But they were nearby, the direction of the trackers had told him so. Styx scrambled over the rocky edge and then Tarpov’s arms appeared, pulling his heavy bulk over the ledge. He groaned hard, the exertion evident. Jack grabbed the Russian’s hand and pulled him so safety.
“I would have been fine,” he grumbled, “But thanks anyway.”
“Anna and the hunter must have entered the trees,” Jack said. “Let’s spread out, but stay within sight.”
“Yeah, I’d hate to get shot by accident,” Styx said.
“I’ll take the middle, Tarpov the right and Styx the left,” Jack said and headed for the tree line.
Chapter 58
The Carpathian Mountains, Romania, August 5, 2012, 5:54 AM
Anna had sprinted into the woods looking for a way to disappear: dense brush, rocks, or even a field with tall grass, but she found nothing, only tall trees, spaced out generously surrounded by little shrub. Remington would have a clear view. He had the advantage of a rifle and hiding behind a tree was too risky. Panic rose in her and as she began to feel like prey again her eyes settled on a tall tree, heavy thick branches reaching out and up to the sky. The bark was rough and hard, heavily grooved into large chunks. Anna grabbed the bark, testing its strength. It would hold. She dug her fingers into a deep groove and pulled herself up, her feet kicking up the trunk. She scaled the thick trunk much like a rock wall, reaching up for another handhold, then pulling up her body and finding a small ledge for the feet. She grabbed for the lowest branch and glanced back. Remington slowly moved through the open forest, his rifle still leading the search, swinging from one direction to another. He was headed in her direction, but had not seen her. Anna grabbed the branch and swung her legs up. She struggled to the top of the branch, when she heard a rattling sound. She looked down and froze in panic. Her remaining arrows had slipped from the quiver and fallen to the ground. Anna wanted to scream. Remington was too close. There was no time to climb back down and retrieve the arrows. Her plan had just imploded. She straddled the branch helplessly. She was trapped and once Remington discovered her, he could take all the time in the world to aim and shoot her out of the tree. Her heart pounded in her throat. Remington closed in, ducking from time to time, then suddenly spinning around and checking the area he had just covered.
He spotted the arrows scattered on the forest floor. He studied the evidence with confusion, but would not he tricked, instantly whipping around and looking for the trap. He stepped under the tree using the thick trunk to cover his back and scanned the forest for his prey.
Anna stared at the head of her killer. She could hardly believe that he had not seen her, instantly figuring it out, once he discovered the arrows on the ground. Instead he had suspected a trap.
Anna had been given one more bite at the apple.
She pulled the knife from its leather sheath and dropped from the branch. Her feet slammed into Remington. He inadvertently pulled the trigger of his rifle, firing a wild shot into the woods, as he crumbled to the ground from the sudden impact. Anna’s knees buckled and she slipped to the side, crashing to the ground next to Remington. But Anna was driven by rage and panic and ignored the sharp pain shooting up her back. She scrambled to her knees searching for Remington and an opening. The hunter had crumbled to the ground and dropped his rifle. He was shocked and confused, the brutal impact had rattled his body. The sudden appearance of his prey filled him with rage and fear at the same time. He pushed himself on his elbows and kicked at the woman flashing a knife. Anna felt the impact of Remington’s boot on her chest and tumbled backwards, the breath knocked from her lungs. Remington’s big body flew at her, his eyes crazed and filled with hate. Anna pulled her knees to her chest, kicked up and catapulted him over her body. She jumped to her feet. Remington spun his body to face her. Anna delivered a crushing kick to the man’s face, twisting his jaw askew and shattering the bone. Remington screamed in pain, blood and teeth spewing from his unhinged mouth. Anna kicked again. Remington blocked the kick with surprising speed and grabbed her ankle, his hand digging into her flesh and twisting violently. Anna screamed and spun her body in the air, scrambling to stop the ankle from snapping. She crashed to the ground face first, the impact hard and brutal. Anna twisted and kicked, but the bigger and heavier Remington scrambled on her, his big hands tearing at her tunic, fighting for control. Anna spun to face her killer. She saw the arcing fist. It was too late. She took a crushing blow to the face. Her head snapped back violently and slammed into the ground. Remington climbed on his prey, his hands working quickly to grab the hand that held the knife. He sprawled his burly bulk over Anna, smothering her, while one hand gripped her wrist and the other punched her side. Anna roared in pain, the large face of her killer close to her, his twisted mouth spewing blood and saliva as he fought for control. He punched her again and then moved on top of her, straddling her with his legs. He raised his fist for another blow. Anna blocked the strike with her free hand, throwing him off balance and his fist plowed into the mud. Anna’s hand shot up and her fingers dug into Remington’s unhinged jaw. She pulled hard. Remington screamed, twisting and shaking to free his ruined jaw. He let go of Anna’s wrist and wildly punched at her face, connecting twice. Anna’s hand slipped from the man’s face, the blows to her face stinging. Stars flashed in her eyes. She blindly swung the knife at her attacker. He screamed. The blade had slashed his cheek and blood gushed from the deep gash. Remington punched down hard on Anna’s chest. She gasped in pain. He scrambled off the woman, looking for distance. Anna followed, slashing the air with the knife. Remington kicked and connected with Anna’s wrist. The knife snapped from her hand, spinning violently as it arced away from Anna. She twisted her body instantly and smashed her foot into Remington’s knee. The man buckled hard and grunted as he hit the ground, but instantly scrambled on his hands and knees and crawled for his rifle. Anna hurled her body into the a
ir and crashed her knees into Remington’s back. He collapsed into the mud, the powerful impact too much. Anna dug her hands into Remington’s hair and pushed his face into the mud, roaring with rage. Remington kicked and struggled, fighting for breath that would not come. He bucked hard, throwing Anna’s light frame in the air. Her head slammed into the trunk of the tree and she crumbled to the ground. Her vision blurred and her head spun out of control. She barely registered Remington’s massive bulk coming at her through a blurry fog. Anna grabbed something within reach and instinctively brought her clenched fists in front of her chest in a protective reflex. Remington’s bulk crashed onto her. She was dead, she thought. She had nothing left to throw at her killer. He had won. She was blacking out from the collision with the tree. She waited for the deadly blow, but it didn’t come. Instead Remington stood up and stared at her. An arrow stuck from his chest at an awkward angle. Her hand had grabbed the stem of an arrow when she had brought the hand in to protect her body.
Remington snorted in disbelief. He wanted to say something but only blood ran from his lips. He staggered backwards, his head turning. Anna’s vision blurred again, she was unable to move. Remington picked up the rifle and twisted his unhinged jaw into a grotesque caricature of a smile. He raised the rifle.
“Die,” he said, his voice a hard guttural growl.
Anna pushed up on her elbows.
Remington pulled the trigger. Click. A click was the only sound coming from his hunting rifle. He pulled the trigger again. Click. No explosion of a gunshot, no muzzle flash, no bullet flying from the barrel at Anna’s head. Just click. Remington sunk to his knees, blood pushing from his twisted mouth with every raspy breath.
“You first,” Anna said and pushed herself up against the tree. She staggered to her feet and picked up the bow and laid an arrow into the bowstring. She took two steps forward, fighting to stay on her feet. Remington struggled to raise the rifle that had no bullets.
Anna pulled the arrow back and locking eyes with her killer, she released the string.
The arrow plunged into Remington’s chest and pierced his black heart. Anna stood over her hunter and watched the life drain from him and when death had frozen his eyes, she pushed his hunched corpse over with a kick.
Anna took several steps away from the dead body and sunk to her knees. Her vision blurred, her head spun and she feared she would pass out. Shouts and voices carried through the fog filling her mind. She had no strength left. She was done fighting. Remington was dead. That was all that mattered.
And like in a dream she heard her name called.
“Anna.”
It was the voice of Jack calling from a thousand miles away. And she felt his touch, his embrace, his warmth, as if he were right there with her in the forest.
She was ready, ready to die, ready to let go and then the foggy, blurry, spinning world turned black.
Chapter 59
THE TIMES of LONDON, August 7, 2012
ART DEALER VANISHES FROM ICU
Bob Smith, Art Correspondent
A spokesman for the London Hospital Intensive Care Unit was tight-lipped regarding an apparent security breach of astounding proportions. The proprietor of an exclusive art gallery on Oxford Street, Maria Koshkova, had been admitted to hospital with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. The circumstances of how Koshkova sustained the injuries are still under investigation by Metropolitan Police. A spokeswoman for the Department would not comment on the on-going investigation. It appears that the investigation has been severely hampered, however, by Ms. Koshkova’s sudden and unauthorized disappearance from the hospital. This is all the more astounding due to the fact that Ms. Koshkova had been in a coma when last seen by the night nurse on duty. Hospital staff and police are baffled at how a comatose patient could have vanished from a guarded hospital room.
A source close to the investigation, who declined to speak on the record because he is not authorized to speak to the press, said that local authorities are in contact with Interpol in order to investigate questions of whether Ms. Koshkova may have been involved in human trafficking and murder. Rumours abound in the small and elite circle of London art galleries, but no concrete evidence has been presented at this time, the source said. The mysterious disappearance of a major person of interest in the investigation only fuels the rumour mill, but the vanishing of Ms. Koshkova from the ICU has not been officially linked to the investigation at this time, the source said.
Maria Koshkova reached a degree of notoriety in the art world several years ago when she…
Denver Morning Post, August 8, 2012
CEO Killed in Hunting Accident
Henry Potter, Business
CEO and owner of World Wide Technologies Steve Remington has died during a hunting accident in Eastern Europe. The industry is shocked at the sudden death of one of the most successful entrepreneurs in the tech business.
Investigators are following up on an anonymous tip and are working to determine whether Remington may have been the victim of an Eastern European human trafficking ring, and have not ruled out foul play. Remington was killed by an arrow in the remote regions of Northern Transylvania in Romania, where he had been on a hunting expedition. It is not clear if he or other hunters in the party used bow and arrows, nor has it been explained who organized the event and how the party might have become entangled with criminal elements in that remote region.
A family spokesman issued a statement requesting privacy for the family during this difficult period and stating that the family mourns the loss of a dedicated husband and loving father of two daughters.
Chapter 60
Moscow, Russia, August 10, 2012, 9:23 PM
Dusk gently nudged the fading summer day to make room for the darkness of a short night. The lights of Red Square had been turned on and the view from the roof top terrace of the O2 Lounge was breathtaking. The beautiful colors of Saint Basil’s Cathedral were brightly lit while the long dusk allowed enough daylight to see the entire square and Kremlin. It was the hour when the world turned shades of blue, mourning the loss of day.
Magdalena Rugova had turned the post-modern beige leather chair toward the glass panel protecting her from the wind, while still allowing for the breathtaking view. A young waiter sporting a thin Dostoyevskian beard placed a tall Gin and Tonic on the glass-plated wicker table. Rugova smiled at the eager young man. She sipped the iced drink and lit a filter-less cigarette, gazing out at the onion-shaped domes of St. Basil and the green copper roof of the Kremlin Palace. Her relationship with the current President of Russia and former Lieutenant Colonel of the Committee for State Security or KGB was decades old and had paid off in her unexpected moment of crisis. Her old friend and former client had arranged for new papers as well as the Carlton Suite at the Ritz-Carlton, listing her as a foreign dignitary. And when the reservation came directly from the Kremlin, one did not ask questions. Rugova could certainly live in the hotel for months if not years.
But that was hardly the point. She had underestimated the American woman and she was partially glad she did. She certainly did not care about Remington. He had been a fool, but at least he had handpicked his prey and she could not be held responsible for his deserved demise. But she had not anticipated that the American woman destroy her empire and obliterate the Lodge. News of the gun battle and subsequent fire at Okhota Lodge had spread all the way to Bucharest, thanks to the American woman’s report to authorities beyond the local municipalities. A federal investigation had been launched into the activities purported at the Lodge and it would only be a matter of time before the truth surfaced. Some news outlets had assumed she had perished in the inferno that destroyed the Lodge. Let it be so, she thought. Rugova was not worried about being found or charged. She had enough incriminating information on some of the most powerful men in the world to ensure she would never see the inside of a courtroom as a defendant.
But Rugova was not ready to retire, disappear into the fog of history, remembered for nothing. Th
e American woman deserved to live, she had killed her hunter, but she went too far, when she tore down Diana’s empire and forced her on the run. Rugova sipped her drink and through a haze of blue smoke looked out at cathedral built some five centuries ago by Ivan the Terrible.