He knew she’d already hatched some half-baked plan. That the plan was already in motion. The best he could hope for was that he would get there in time to save her life.
He wanted to be angry with her for acting so recklessly. She couldn’t bring down Viktor Karas with a few explosives and a plan, no matter how brilliant. She might be a good agent, but she wasn’t invincible.
But Bo wasn’t angry with her in spite of what she’d done to him. She’d been through hell in the last two years. First she’d lost her husband, then found herself betrayed by the agency she’d devoted her life to.
Only then did he realize he wasn’t going after her because she was a fellow agent. He wasn’t trying to save her life because he’d been assigned to do so. He was risking his life to save hers because he loved her.
He couldn’t believe he’d fallen for the one woman who was destined to hate him. The woman whose husband he’d shot and killed. The woman he’d lied to for two years. The woman whose world he’d shattered with a truth she should have been told a long time ago.
Leaning forward in the saddle, he urged the horse faster. The animal’s back curved beneath him. Its hooves pounded the dry earth. Bo moved with the horse as if he were an extension of the animal itself. It was a dangerous pace on unfamiliar ground and in the middle of the night. Especially with a storm building to the west and desperation following him with every step. But if Bo wanted to reach Rachael before Viktor Karas, he was going to have to take the risk.
Setting his hand against the rifle sheath at the rear of the saddle, he prayed he had the courage to use it when the time came.
IT TOOK RACHAEL ten minutes to reach the bend in the creek where Bo had said the caves were. Cliffs rose fifty feet on either side of the gully just past the curve. Even in the darkness, she could see the dark impressions where floodwaters had cut into the western side.
Dismounting, she tied the horse to a squatty pinion pine and threw the saddlebag over her shoulder. Storm clouds moved swiftly past a three quarter moon. Shadows ebbed and flowed around her as she started up the steep wall of sandstone. It took her another ten minutes to find the cave.
The explosives are inside a watertight ammunition box beneath about a foot of sandy soil.
Bo’s words echoed in her head as she turned on the flashlight and swept the beam along the sandstone walls. She’d considered the possibility that she wouldn’t be able to find the explosives. But Rachael had to take the chance. She had to believe she would find them before Karas’s chopper arrived.
Still, uncertainty swirled inside her as she stepped into the black expanse of the cave. It was twelve feet wide; the top rose only about six feet. The flashlight beam revealed it was a shallow cave, only about twenty feet deep.
She tried not to think about what she’d done to Bo as she swept the beam along the sandy floor, but the image of him filled her mind. The way he’d looked at her when she’d injected him. The way he’d pleaded for her not to go. The warmth and strength of his arms when he’d held her…
“I’m sorry, Bo,” she whispered into the darkness.
Minutes ticked by as she searched the floor of the cave. Doubt began to plague her. Had she found the right cave? Were there really explosives buried here? Had Karas already found them? Could she really pull this off by herself?
Sweat broke out on her back as she searched the floor a second time. She went inch by inch, looking desperately for loose sand or a stone that had been recently moved. But she found nothing.
All the while she listened for the sound of rotor blades. If Karas arrived before she was ready, his men would storm the cave. She’d take out as many as she could, but her ammo was limited. Eventually, she would run out and they would overwhelm her. In the end, both she and Cutter would face gruesome deaths.
Her rapid breaths echoed off the cave walls as she began a third sweep. Desperate, she shone the light along the walls. Her heart lurched when she spotted the slight indentation at the very back of the cave where the ceiling was only a few feet high.
Dropping to her hands and knees, holding the light with one hand, she crawled toward the indentation. Relief swamped her when she spotted the disturbed earth. Propping the flashlight on a rock, she began digging with her hands. A few inches down, her fingers brushed against something steel. More digging revealed the steel ammo box. Wrestling the box from its sandy nest, she dragged it to the center of the cave for a better look.
The box was about two feet square and heavy. A shiny new padlock guarded the hasp. For an instant she considered shooting it off, but knew that with the box filled with explosives she would risk blowing it—and herself—to smithereens.
Pressed for time, she looked around wildly for something with which to break the padlock. Several pieces of driftwood lay in a pile at the mouth of the cave. But wood wasn’t strong enough to break the steel lock. Noticing a large rock a few feet away, Rachael picked it up, gripped it tightly and brought it down as hard as she could on the lock. She hit the lock again and again, but did nothing more than dent the steel box. Sweating with nerves and physical effort, she realized she was going to have to take a chance and shoot off the lock.
She dragged the box to the mouth of the cave. Listening for the approach of a chopper, she drew her pistol. She positioned the padlock so the bullet would not penetrate the ammo box and fired a single shot. The padlock exploded on impact. The retort echoed through the canyon as she knelt and opened the box.
Bo had been cautious, wrapping each explosive in heavy canvas. Carefully, Rachael began unwrapping the cache. There were four grenades. A small supply of C-4 explosive. Fifty-caliber bullets—which were too large for her weapon. A remote control device. A small coil of wire. A switch. And a small submachine gun with an extra clip. Not the preferred weapon for bringing down a chopper, but a lucky shot just might do the trick.
He’d also included a gas mask with a ventilator, which could be used in case chemical or biological weapons were released into the air.
“You can take the man out of the agency, but you can’t take the agent out of the man,” she whispered.
Standing, Rachael checked her cell phone. The GPS chip in the phone was turned on. That meant Karas would be able to pinpoint her location. Kneeling, she removed two of the grenades and tucked them into the pockets of her coat. Next, she picked up the submachine gun and checked the large banana clip. Full. She shoved the extra banana clip into the waistband of her jeans. Her own pistol was nestled against her in a sleek leather shoulder holster.
There was one place nearby where the land was level and open enough to accommodate a chopper. She couldn’t be sure, but she was betting Karas would have his pilot land there. If he did, she would be able to hear them coming. Kneeling, she picked up the two remaining grenades along with the small roll of wire, the remote control device and the switch. Using the flashlight, she quickly improvised an explosive she could detonate remotely. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely manage the wires, but the MIDNIGHT Agency trained their agents well and in all sorts of situations. The dark, the fear, and the pressure to move quickly did not affect her ability.
When the device was complete, she wrapped the improvised explosive in canvas and stood. She was on her way to the mouth of the cave when the sound of a bullet being chambered stopped her dead in her tracks.
Chapter Fifteen
The cottonwood trees that grew in profusion near the cave had just come into view when the skies opened up. Rain and small hail fell in sheets as Bo entered the tree line. Twenty yards in, he spotted Rachael’s horse.
“Easy, boy,” he whispered as he approached.
Dismounting, he tied his horse next to Rachael’s and looked around. The land surrounding the cave was the perfect place for an ambush. Rachael had ascertained that immediately upon seeing the map. He wondered if she’d found the cave. If she’d gotten to the explosives.
He wondered if Viktor Karas had already arrived….
His stoma
ch clenched at the thought. Even though he was soaked to the skin, sweat squeezed from his pores when he set his hand against the rifle sheath.
It was too risky to use a flashlight, so Bo started into the darkness without it. He listened for the approach of a chopper over the din of rain as he wove through the cottonwood trees, but the downpour made it impossible to hear.
He moved into the sandy ravine with the silence of a nocturnal predator. Cliffs rose out of the dry creek bed on either side. Above, lightning split the night sky. Rain and wind pelted him, but he barely felt the cold. All he could think of was reaching the cave, finding the explosives intact and praying he wasn’t too late.
He was twenty yards from the mouth of the cave when he spotted movement. Two figures standing near the low growing brush near the cave’s entrance, one of which was unmistakably female.
Rachael, he thought, and his heart went wild in his chest. Ducking, Bo took cover behind a jut of sandstone. Simultaneously, his hand went to the pistol at his hip. But it wasn’t the steady hand of the expert marksman he’d once been, but the shaky hand of a man who had way too much at stake to make a mistake.
Squinting through the pouring rain, he tried to make out what the figures were doing. That was when he spotted the third figure. Male. Bound. Judging from his posture, possibly injured. Cutter, he thought. Bo was pretty sure the man with the sawed-off shotgun was one of Karas’s thugs, a Russian national—and known assassin—by the name of Ivan Petrov. He couldn’t be sure, but the man near Rachael could have been Viktor Karas himself.
The last Bo had heard, the kingpin had been in Moscow. How had he gotten to the States so quickly and without alerting the MIDNIGHT Agency? And why would he risk capture when he had hundreds of mindless goons to do his bidding for him?
But Bo knew the answer to the latter question. The only time Viktor Karas made a personal appearance was when he wanted to make a point. This wasn’t business as usual. This was personal. Karas wanted revenge for his son’s death. He wanted to save face and prove once again his penchant for brutality. In order to accomplish that, he had to kill the one person responsible.
Rachael.
Sliding to a sitting position, Bo leaned against the rock and wiped rain from his face. He glanced at the rifle, willed himself to pick it up and take aim. But the familiar fear sweat broke out all over his body. His hands began to shake.
“Come on, damn it, you can do this!” he whispered.
But there was desperation in his voice. Panic gripped him so hard he could barely speak, barely draw a breath. Rachael’s fate lay squarely in his hands.
The only question that remained was whether or not he was going to be able to save her or if the fear that had him in its clutches for two years would render him as useless as he felt.
RACHAEL STARED AT the man holding the deadly looking pistol at her chest and silently berated herself for not being more careful. He was young and as clean cut as a school boy. But Rachael knew looks could be deceiving. She was staring at none other than Ivan Petrov aka Ivan the Terrible. A young assassin who’d murdered more than twenty-five people during the short span of his career. He was Viktor Karas’s right-hand man. A man with a taste for killing and the will to climb to the top of Karas’s illicit chain of command.
“Ivan Petrov.” Dropping the last of the explosives she’d taken from the ammo box to the ground, she stepped toward him, praying he wouldn’t spot them.
“And you are the illustrious Rachael Armitage.” Amusement danced in his expression as his eyes swept over her. “I’ve heard you were stunning. The photographs do not do you justice.”
“Forgive me if I’m not flattered.”
“No offense taken.” But his smile cooled. “Drop the gun. Put your hands up. Or I’ll put a hole in that pretty body of yours.”
Knowing he had her cold, she reached for the pistol. For an instant, she considered taking a wild shot. But the appearance of a second man out of the shadows stopped her. He was taller. Dressed in a flight suit and armed with a small submachine gun. The pilot, she realized.
With the speed of a striking snake, Petrov grabbed her hand and yanked her toward him hard enough to make her stumble.
“Where’s Cutter?” she asked.
A cold smile twisted Petrov’s mouth. “We’ve been taking good care of your precious Cutter.”
“Where is he, you son of a bitch?”
The smile turned icy. “They say you are a woman of fire and ice. We’ll see how much fire you have inside you when we get you back to Moscow.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Her heart pounded like fists against her ribs. She couldn’t believe she’d screwed up so badly. It was the first rule of the game. Never let your emotions dictate your actions. Rachael had done just that. And now she would probably pay with her life. Worse, she knew Cutter would, too.
But Viktor Karas never just killed, especially when he had a point to make. Both she and Sean Cutter would die long and slow deaths….
Movement in her peripheral vision interrupted her dark thoughts. She glanced toward the bushes at the edge of the clearing to see none other than Viktor Karas step out of the shadows.
“At last we meet.”
The kingpin’s cultured voice struck her like a slap. The cold reality of just how dire the situation had become struck her just as hard. For the first time in her career, she was frozen with fear. She wasn’t going to get out of this alive. In the back of her mind she wondered if Bo had come after her. If he would find the explosives or if the drug had rendered him unable to follow…
“You’ll never make it out of the country,” she said.
Karas swept his arm in a 360-degree circle. “And who’s going to stop me?”
“People at the agency know you’re here.”
“The agency has been crushed.” He approached her, his expensive wingtips crunching through sand and stone. He wore a custom suit and expensive trench coat. His appearance was incongruous with their surroundings.
He looked at her as if she were some prized trophy animal whose head he wanted mounted on his wall. “I’ve knocked out their computers. Most of their communication.” His mouth curved. “And let’s suffice it to say I’ve cut off the head of the agency.”
“Where’s Cutter?” she repeated.
Never taking his eyes from hers, Karas snapped his fingers. As if on cue, another man shoved Sean Cutter out of the brush. Rachael caught a glimpse of a bruised face. A bloodstain on his shirt. Terrible knowledge in his eyes. His hands were bound behind his back. She wondered how many of his injuries had been sustained in the blast—and how many had been inflicted by these men.
A shove from behind sent Cutter sprawling. He landed facedown on his belly a yard from her feet.
“Cutter,” she heard herself say.
“Ah, yes, the legendary Sean Cutter, untouchable head of the MIDNIGHTAgency.” Karas set his foot on Cutter’s back and ground his heel into his spine. “Not so untouchable now, are you, Mr. Cutter?”
Raising his head, Cutter spat mud and uttered a vile phrase.
Petrov lunged forward and landed a kick in Cutter’s face, then leveled his pistol at the back of his head. “Let me kill him now.”
Karas snarled something in Russian, and Petrov lowered the pistol. Forgetting the men with guns, Rachael rushed to Cutter and dropped to her knees beside him. “How badly are you hurt?”
“Not so bad that I can’t give you a dressing down for getting yourself into this situation,” he growled.
Rachael squeezed her eyes closed at the reprimand. She couldn’t believe the situation had boiled down to this moment. That there was a very good chance Viktor Karas would kill them both and get away with their murders.
“I’m sorry.” She wrapped her hand around Cutter’s arm and helped him turn over and sit up. “Easy,” she said.
The cold steel of a gun rapped against the back of her head. “Leave him,” said Ivan Petrov.
Before rising, Rachael leaned close to Cutter and whispered, “Ruskin is coming.”
A minute nod from Cutter told her he’d heard her. She hoped her words gave him hope. At the mo ment, it was all she could do. Staring at the well-armed men surrounding them, hope seemed the one thing in very short supply.
Karas nodded at Petrov. “Bind her wrists and take them to the chopper. We’re leaving.”
Fear gripped Rachael. Boarding the chopper was the one thing she couldn’t do. She wondered how far away the chopper was. If the walk to it would give Bo time to reach them.
She’d left him unconscious. Had he come to? Had he tracked her here? Even if he’d done both of those things, would he be able to do the one thing that for two years he hadn’t?
“Get up.”
A quiver ran the length of her body at the sound of Petrov’s voice. Giving Cutter’s arm a final squeeze, Rachael rose. She was aware of the pilot starting into the brush. Karas stood a few feet away. If she were going to make a move, it had to be now. She knew she wouldn’t get away, but it might buy them some time.
Rachael bolted in the opposite direction of the men. A shout sounded behind her. Another shout in Russian to her left. She veered right and crashed through a stand of juniper. Her feet tangled in the branches, but she muscled through and somehow maintained her balance. Ahead, she saw darkness and rock and the cover of pinion pines.
Midway to the trees, a gunshot rent the air. She didn’t think Karas would shoot her; he hadn’t flown all the way from Moscow to Wyoming for such an unclimactic end. But Rachael had been wrong more often than not in the last few months and the fear that his was going to end badly never left her.
“Stop or I’ll shoot Cutter, starting with his kneecaps!”
The words shocked her brain with a new and ugly fear. It was the only thing he could say that would stop her. At the edge of the trees, Rachael halted.
“Put your hands up.”
Closing her eyes against the rush of regret, she did as she was told. She stood there, breathing hard, listening to the approach of footsteps.
Operation: Midnight Cowboy Page 15