The road I had arrived on in the taxi had roughly followed my direction, cutting through the fields over to my left.
I could make out a few figures standing around the farmhouse, patrolling. I ducked down, keeping a low profile as I approached a large tree at the top of the embankment. I clicked the safety on my 9mm and put it on the ground.
I unslung the rifle and crouched down prone into a marksman pose, finger off the trigger, left arm crooked at the elbow, large hand steadying the gun. Steady breaths minimized movement of the scope as I looked down at the scene in front of me.
An overgrown lawn surrounded the house. The whole farm looked unkempt and abandoned. Weeds poked through untilled soil and wood hung forlornly off of rusty nails from dilapidated fencing.
The approach to the house was open on all sides. I could crawl onto my belly unnoticed as far possible, but then would be exposed. Better to shoot from range first. There was no wind or rain, the air was still. I would only have to compensate for the slight drop of the bullet over the reasonable distance to my targets.
There was an old fence that separated two parcels of land in front of me, one adjacent to the road, and one set back to the right of the farmhouse. The fence ran from the edge of the tree-line, up to an old brick wall to the right of the farmhouse.
I decided it was the best cover I could get for when I approached the house.
I shifted, perfecting my stance. Knees steady on the hard ground. Everything went still and quiet as I breathed deeply, looking down the scope. One of the guys was smoking at the edge of the lawn. He looked bored.
Sorry bro. You’re first. Smoking kills anyway, you know.
I gently pulled the bolt action up and back, chambering a .308 round into the receiver and clicking the bolt back down in one fluid motion.
I aimed the center of the crosshair just above his head. This would be a range-finder. If I got him in his forehead, I’d judged it just right. In the face or neck, I’d need to adjust the scope for my next few shots. It would only take one bullet for me to know.
I breathed in and out once, deeply. Then I held my breath, my finger moving carefully to the trigger. A calmness descended upon me. I took a second to ensure I was deadly still. I squeezed the trigger gently. The rifle bucked in my hands, the butt pushing into my muscled shoulder.
My target’s head snapped back, a red mist spraying in a cloud behind his head as he flinched horribly, instantly dead.
Bullseye.
I yanked the bolt back and forth in a quick motion, the spent cartridge flying from the chamber. The click of the action readying my second bullet.
The sound of the gunshot echoing rippled around the countryside a split second later— the bizarre effect cause by the bullet travelling faster than the speed of sound.
I could see two more targets that were easy shots in the field. Seeing movement at the window a second later, I decided to ignore them for now.
I aimed the rifle at my second victim, who’d been looking in shock at his dead comrade. I was amazed to see that he recovered almost instantly, his eyes scanning the tree-line. I doubted he could see me, unless he had the eyes of a hawk.
His momentary hesitation cost him his life. I fired off the second round, taking him cleanly through the heart. He took a stuttering step backwards before collapsing on the grass, dead.
I chambered another round, my eyes scanning for my next target.
Three rounds left.
Alexandra
A little while later, the leader returned, waking me from my restless half-sleep.
“Wake up, girl,” he said, gruffly. Something had him riled, and I guessed it was probably Cruz killing the henchman that was supposed to take him out.
I supposed he was going to find out the hard way that he probably didn’t even have enough men to compete against Cruz Miller.
“I am going to call your father. You will speak to him and tell him you are safe. The call will be quick, and he will want to see you. You will video call him briefly.” He paused, his eyes boring into mine. “It is very important that you do exactly as I say. You are going to tell him that you are safe, and that he should comply with our demands. You will tell him that I will hurt you if he does not do as I say.” He smiled sinisterly. “Oh, I should add, Alexandra, you will do as I say, or I will have fun with you first. Then I will hurt you.” He gestured violently to his men around him. “Then I will share you with my men. All twelve of them will be allowed to take their turn and take as long as they want. Then I will hurt you again, badly.” He spat the words of the last sentence out, his anger rising unchecked. “And if your friend from the hotel shows his stupid American face,” he added, “I will kill him. I will fucking string him up and force you to look at his dismembered corpse!”
Just as quickly as his rage rose, it passed. He smiled pleasantly at me.
I got the impression that he was prone to rages, and maybe even had a mental disorder. Either that or he was just a fucking psycho.
And even though I hated it, I felt I had no choice but to do as he said. At least until Cruz killed him. So I looked him square in the eyes. “I’ll do exactly what you want, I promise,” I said.
His eyes roved around my body again. “Good girl. I don’t want to hurt someone so beautiful. It would be a shame. And I have principles. I do not hurt women, as a rule. But this… this is unavoidable.”
I tried my best to look sorrowful. “I know. We all have to do things we don’t want sometimes. It’s just the way it is. When you’re ready, let me know. I’ll do exactly as you asked, sir.”
He smiled. “I’ll be back in two minutes. I will…speak to your father first. I need to appraise him of the situation. I hope he is a reasonable man.”
I sat down on the mattress, my mind racing. I knew that if my dad did not meet his demands, or if I did not do exactly what I was asked, I would be in serious trouble. This Vladimir was not a man you messed with.
I hoped he was the head honcho, and that there was no one else above him who would come after us later.
A few minutes later he returned, holding a tablet. “Yes. Do not worry. She is safe.” He turned the tablet to face me. I saw my dad at his desk, gripping the ornate wood. Whiskey was poured into a large glass tumbler in front of him.
“Alexandra! This man said… where the fuck is Cruz!”
I approached the tablet, looking around to make sure I wasn’t breaking some unspoken rule that I shouldn’t leave my little corner of the room. “Don’t worry about Cruz,” I said. “He isn’t here. I don’t know where he is. He might be dead, for all I know.” The leader smiled behind the camera, nodding at me. I cleared my throat and continued. “Listen, Daddy. I’m safe. These men have been very kind to me. They have not hurt me and will not hurt me if you do exactly as they say.” I started to cry, feeling very homesick all of a sudden. “Please, Daddy. I just want to come home.” I held my hands up in a begging gesture, palms clasped. “I promised to help these men if you comply, so they can get me home safe. Okay?”
My dad whitened. He knew the threat. Give them the money, the software, or whatever they were after, or I would not be coming home.
His eyes narrow, hardened. “I will do as you ask. But please, understand I am not at the top of the food chain here. I need to make some calls. Can you call me back in one hour?” He sounded professional, hiding his fear.
“Andrew, it’s me again.” The leader turned the camera to face him. He smiled, softly. “You see she’s safe. I promise that me nor my men will harm her if you deliver on what we ask. I will give you her location once I have the software. Then you will wire me the money. Then we will leave, and you can organize a helicopter to come and get her.”
“Deal,” my dad said.
“You have half an hour. Then I’ll call you. I expect movement, Andrew. Don’t let me down.”
Half an hour? Fuck. Come on Cruz, where are you?
I saw my dad nodding on the screen, his face distorted. Deadly si
lence enveloped the room.
Until it was suddenly broken.
There was a grunt from outside the house, followed by a shout an instant later. Then a gunshot echoed around the valley, quickly followed by another. A group of angry voices began shouting at each other outside the house.
“What was that? What’s going on there? Is Alexandra safe?” I heard my dad pleading, his voice high-pitched with worry.
The gang leader hung up the call. “Vladimir,” he said, “check what the fuck is going on outside. Now.”
Vladimir grunted and headed to the window. The two door guards had been peering through the dirty glass, hands cupped as they jostled each other for a better view.
Two more gunshots sounded again in quick succession.
“And you two idiots! Did you not hear that fucking rifle? Are you competing to see who gets shot first?” He was screaming now, veins pulsing on his neck and spittle flying from his mouth.
I sat down on the bed, hands on my head protectively. I couldn’t help but feel a welling of emotion in my stomach, a tight knot of positive energy building. I looked up at the men in the room.
I knew it. Cruz had arrived. These men were all as good as dead.
To my disbelief, Vladimir went to the window, slapping the two morons out of the way. I don’t think he had heard what the leader had said. He poked his head out and shouted something in Russian.
“Vladimir! What the fuck are you doing? You are all fucking m…”
Blood sprayed from Vladimir’s head, and he flinched back from the window as the gunshot echoed around us. He turned to look at us. There was a gaping hole in his eye socket, the wall behind him showing straight through it. He tried to raise his arm to point at the window, only to collapse to his knees, convulsing. He fell over sideways, motionless.
Cruz
My third target had been a slippery fuck. I’d shot at him, only for him to duck the moment I squeezed the trigger to take cover behind the remains of an old wall.
Motherfucker just dodged a fucking bullet! What the fuck! Ain’t never seen no one do that shit before.
I saw the pate of his bald head sticking four or so inches above the molding brick of the wall.
I quickly reloaded and took careful aim. He didn’t manage the feat twice, the top of his skull exploding with a spray of horrid gore like I’d just shot an overripe watermelon. My confidence was restored.
Four shots.
Movement at the window caught my eye again. I turned the scope toward it, seeing two stupid Russians glaring through the dirty glass. They were saved by their own stupidity, each of them pushing one another erratically as they peered through the glass. I wasn’t wasting my last bullet on a potshot at two fucking idiots.
Then, something amazing happened. The two men were slapped aside by a hulking figure. An ugly head popped out of the window, forming a perfect target. I was almost stunned by his sheer arrogance and stupidity. I reloaded the rifle, chambering my last bullet.
I took aim at his large head. Just before I fired, I saw him shouting something, probably at the mobsters hiding here and there around the farmhouse. And then he looked straight at me, his eye fixing on the scope, narrowing.
The bullet went straight through his left eye. His head jerked back, and he dropped out of sight.
Five bullets gone. Four kills. I kissed the wooden stock of the rifle and threw it away into the undergrowth beside me. I recovered the 9mm pistol in front of me and tucked it into my boot.
I didn’t have any time to waste. I had to seize this moment of confusion, and pounce on the remaining gangsters before they were able to formulate some sort of effective defense.
I edged back from the tree I was kneeling at before rolling to my right, up on my feet in one swift movement. I ran parallel to the edge of the embankment heading for the old fence, which was to be my cover as I approached the house.
I chose the revolver as my first weapon—well made, powerful, accurate and reliable. Clicking the safety off, I ran along the right side of the fence, ducking into a crouch as I sprinted as fast as I could at such an ungainly angle.
As I got halfway to the house, I stopped my straight sprint and started a monkey run instead, shifting my weight from right to left as I ran, my steps awkward and wide. It was hard to get a decent shot off at someone who was stepping from side to side erratically as they ran; I knew it all too well.
A gunshot echoed off to my left as I was spotted. It had come from outside the house, at the corner of the left wall. I spied movement from the edge of my vision.
Seeing a relatively undamaged section of fence ahead, thick with bramble and weeds, I stopped suddenly, rolling across the hard ground into a crouch. I popped up from cover, right hand extended, left hand steadying the revolver as I rested it on the wood. I then closed my left eye and lined up my target’s chest into the iron sights. I’d covered enough distance for range to be irrelevant to my aim. My finger squeezed the trigger twice, letting the recoil subside for a split second before firing off the second shot. I was up and running as my target dropped to the floor, twitching.
Bullets sprayed well above my head as I continued my run. One of the Russians was using what sounded like an UZI to shoot at me from a downstairs window of the house. But he may as well have been shooting with his eyes closed.
I reached the end of the fence, my approach masked again by thick overgrown weeds. I heard quiet Russian voices, likely on the far side of the wall where I’d shot the bullet dodger.
Approaching the cover of the fence, I stopped, picking a small rock up from the uneven ground beneath me. I threw the rock over to my right, hearing a thunk as it struck brick. Alarmed shouts from what sounded like two men, mere meters from where I was, drifted towards me.
I took a deep breath and sprung up onto my feet, aiming the revolver over the fence. Two men were aiming their guns towards the noise of the rock I’d thrown. I shot them both in the head in quick succession, the snap of the recoil light in my tensed forearms.
I hurdled the fence a moment later, landing lightly on my feet. A sudden flare of pain erupted in my left arm as I was shot, the bullet ripping through the flesh of my left tricep.
One of the Russians in the ground floor of the house had spotted me, his pistol blazing rapidly as he fired off rounds in my direction. The angle was tight, his view obstructed by the narrow window he was shooting from.
I jumped the wall and landed next to a Russian body as I leaned into the corner of the wall, where it met the outside of the farmhouse. I flexed my left arm, looking around for movement, but seeing no one.
I glanced at my forearm. Just a flesh wound.
Confident I was safe from danger, I quickly tied a bandage tightly around my left arm, staunching the blood flow somewhat. I edged along the wall of the farmhouse in silence, eyes scanning my surroundings.
I figured there were at least two Russians on the ground floor, and at least two upstairs. Alexandra would be upstairs, likely against the back wall where there were no windows. I had reached the back of the farmhouse and poked my head around the corner. Still, no one in sight. I guessed the two men I’d just shot had originally been stationed on the far side of the building.
Suddenly, I heard a woman’s scream from upstairs.
Alexandra, I’m here. Hold on, doll.
Chapter Seventeen
Alexandra
The Russian gang leader had me by the hair. He was talking quietly, likely issuing orders at his remaining men.
I heard muffled voices from outside of the building, the scrape of movement.
A gunshot sounded from outside of the house. Two more gunshots sounded, and I heard a grunt from nearby.
An automatic weapon suddenly exploded from downstairs in short bursts. It was deafeningly loud, followed by deathly silence. Then two more gunshots rang out from off to my left, nearer.
The sound of rapid pistol fire cracked from the ground floor. I heard a triumphant shout from one of the men dow
nstairs.
The leader, still holding my hair, ran towards the stairway, shouting down. I screamed in pain.
Then I heard a window smash from the ground floor. Another two gunshots sounded below me.
Guess you didn’t get him, I thought with relief.
My captor flinched as a Russian suddenly started screaming in pain from the ground floor. I could hear the blood curdling agony in his voice as he carried on screaming in a pitch even I would struggle to match.
My heart swelled with pride at the thought of Cruz and his cold blue eyes as he took out my kidnappers one-by-one.
Cruz
She was definitely upstairs. I had two bullets left in my revolver. It was time to finish this.
I looked up and saw a window above me. A plan sprang into my mind. I executed it immediately.
As I stood, I smashed the window with the butt of the Tokarev as I drew it from my waist. I pointed the revolver into the room, shooting two bullets blind.
There was a second of silence.
And then a high-pitched scream pierced my ears. I heard pure agony in the Russian’s voice as he cried out in pain, probably for his God or his mother.
I threw the revolver down at my feet, ammo spent. I raced around the wall, ducking below the high, narrow windows. The screaming masked my run.
I was at the front door. I held the Tokarev in both hands, lifted my left foot and smashed the door. Wood splintered.
I was in the room in an instant. There were three men. One was on the floor, still screaming. He was holding his thigh as blood pumped in unceasing gushes onto the dirty floor around him.
Femoral artery. Game over, you fuck.
An UZI lay next to the man, forgotten in his blind agony. The other two stared at their comrade in stunned silence as his wails started to quiet somewhat. I shot all three in two seconds, the two standing dropped like ragdolls, joining their comrade in a macabre heap. Running to pick up the UZI, I dropped the Tokarev. I didn’t know how many rounds were left, and I wasn’t risking Alexandra’s life on the preparedness of a dead Russian KGB agent.
Mr. Beast Page 59