Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2)

by Irish Winters

  “Where is she?”

  Mark stilled when Yuri groaned. “Ahh. She smells like peaches I think. Like peaches and cream, maybe with a sweet taste of sugar and honey.” He murmured a low guttural rumble. “Makes a man vant to take a big mouthful, she smells so good.”

  “Give me that phone,” Mark ground out, reaching for the cell phone, ready to take over the conversation.

  Alex stuck his elbow in Mark’s face and turned away.

  “Do I have your attention now?” Yuri’s voice changed to silk. “Are you listening very carefully to me? You should know that I am big man vith very big appetite.”

  “What do you want?” Alex rasped.

  “Ahh,” Yuri gloated. “Boris said you always vere fast learner. That is good thing.”

  “What do you want?” Alex asked again, his voice suppressed and tight.

  It was all Mark could do to not shove him out of the way, take the phone, and finish the conversation. His boss was no contest, wouldn’t last one minute in a face to face. Only the threat to Libby stopped him.

  “I vant you to know I hold all the aces in the holes. I think is how you say it in America vhen you play poker. No?”

  Alex blew up. “You hurt one hair on her head and, so help me, there’s no place deep enough I can’t find you.”

  “Give me the damn phone,” Mark snarled, ready to push Alex out of his way.

  “Ahh,” Yuri said calmly. “Is not up to me if she gets hurt. Is up to my boss, and he is very—”

  “Then stop wasting my time and get your boss on the line. I don’t talk to lackeys!”

  Yuri chuckled another deep growl. “But you vill talk to me, I think. If you bring me all opium that stupid Mr. Castor thought he could steal, I vill give your leetle girl back. At least, I vill tell you vhere to find her. If not—”

  “Where? When?”

  “I think maybe you vill need two days to do it. No?”

  “I can get you that amount of opium in less. Where should I bring it?”

  “Good,” Yuri purred. “I vill call and tell you location, but one more rule to this game ve are playing.”

  “What?”

  Mark held his breath. Please don’t hurt her.

  “You must come alone.”

  “Fine.” Alex stared at Mark, his eyes flashing sparks. “Tell me where and when. I’ll be there.”

  “There must be not one single other person with you,” Yuri instructed. “Not even those two soldiers you have in car with you now.”

  Mark jerked his head around. That Russian pig knew exactly where they were. Where is he?

  “Are you going to tell me when?” Alex asked.

  Mark read the truth in his boss’s eyes. This was nothing more than a trap. Alex was going to walk right into it.

  “I vill be in touch.”

  “Wait!”

  The phone went dead. Alex no more than set it down when it rang again.

  Mother didn’t waste time on hello. “The car is approaching your twenty in two minutes. It’s northbound and driving fast. There’s an exit five miles south of your current position. If you—”

  Alex dropped the phone and gunned the engine. Hand over hand on the steering wheel, and within seconds, they were back on pavement and screaming south.

  “Black Honda Pilot.” Mark pointed to the other side of the freeway. The black vehicle raced past in the passing lane, swerving to the shoulder to make its getaway.

  “Got it.” Alex turned the steering wheel sharply to the left and executed a screeching U-turn that by all rights should have sent their vehicle rolling. Instead, the Yukon’s tires slid across the tall grass in the median between the freeway lanes. In a cloud of dust and smoke, they charged northbound, minutes behind the car that held Libby captive.

  Yuri wasn’t going down without a fight. Shots rang out across the highway when the Honda hit the one hundred mile per hour mark. Both Russians in the back seat of the fleeing vehicle fired out their windows. The concept of riding shotgun took a realistic turn as Mark returned fire. With slow and steady concentration, he centered the tires of the fleeing vehicle in his scope. It was a tough shot. No allowance for the smallest mistakes. Libby was in that car.

  He summoned the calm of the universe to him now. God, don’t let me miss.

  The Russians got off a lucky shot. The Yukon’s windshield shattered. Mark re-steadied his rifle, took a deep breath, and aimed for the rear tire again. With another curse, Alex swerved to the left and gunned the accelerator.

  Mark’s first shot missed. Undeterred and as patient as sin, he aimed again. I can do this.

  His second shot hit the rear tire exactly as planned. The Honda swerved across all lanes of the highway. Cars scattered, all except the one Alex handled. He rammed the left edge of the Pilot’s rear bumper, forcing the SUV off the freeway sideways in a cloud of dust. It fishtailed once, twice, before careening into the ditch to rest on all four tires.

  Mark scrambled to his feet, steadying his weapon through his open door window frame. The two Russians in the rear seat of the Honda tumbled out with guns drawn. They didn’t get a shot off. Mark took out the one on the left. Zack downed the other. Neither man in the front seat made a move. Mark, Alex and Zack approached with guns drawn, Alex on the driver’s side.

  Mike Castor had his hands up in the passenger seat. The driver had to be Yuri.

  “Get out!” Alex shouted. “On the ground. Now! Face down!”

  Both men complied. Castor glanced up. The stark look in his eyes jolted Mark.

  Damn it.

  Libby wasn’t there.

  Twenty-One

  Why am I in Mom’s basement pantry?

  Libby tried to think. The musty smell of concrete wrapped around her with its clammy fingers. She shivered. It was always chilly in the basement. Her head hurt. Thinking was hard.

  Did she want applesauce or onions? Libby giggled at her foolish forgetful memory. The chuckle that filled her ears sounded hollow.

  Very slowly the fog in her brain faded. She woke to a splitting headache, every part of her body aching. She was underwater somehow, but that couldn’t be. Her thinking was so muddled and disconnected. It was hard to focus, much less see. Besides, she had forgotten to turn the light on. Do all basements smell this damp and stuffy? Wriggling awake, her back hurt too. Plus there was something sharp gouging her right shoulder blade. She could barely move.

  What on earth am I sleeping on? How did anything so sharp get into my bed?

  She reached behind her shoulder. Her elbow collided with an immoveable wall above her.

  “Mom!” Even her voice sounded odd this morning.

  Frightened, she placed both hands to the wall in front of her face. Cold stone lay within inches of her nose. Similar concrete pressed against her sides, knees and feet. She had barely inches to move. The pitch-black darkness stifled. She gasped, suffocating, trapped in a concrete box with no room to move and no air to breathe.

  “Somebody help me!” she screamed with all her might. “My God, somebody help me!”

  Her screams filled the small narrow space. Nightmarish shrieks that she could not stop poured out of her mouth. Panic flooded her brain, numbing her to reason. The awful noise was too much. At last, she clamped her hand over her mouth. Screaming didn’t help. It hurt.

  Her knees banged against the stone. Terror slithered up her throat. The shakes were something else. She tried to hold still, but steeling her muscles only made it worse. She lay exhausted. There was nothing to be done. She was buried alive.

  The creep of panic was only a second away. As quickly as she was quiet, she screamed again, out of control and scared to death. Her terror came in waves, each scream louder than the next until her head pounded. This had to stop. It didn’t help. She covered her mouth again, biting her fingers to keep her teeth from chattering.

  Panting to regain a shred of composure, she tried to think. What happened? Oh yeah, that old cleaning woman in the restroom. She had an odd look ab
out her, but Libby had been too busy with her own problems to care. Too late. The odd, old woman was really a man.

  He punched me in the chest. I fell. He stuck something in my face. And now I’m ... here.

  Tears ran down the sides of her head and into her ears. She forced herself to focus.

  “Dad,” she said softly into the darkness. “Daddy. Can you hear me?” Hearing his name brought a tiny sliver of comfort even though she knew he wouldn’t answer.

  “Mom,” she choked. The enormity of her situation overwhelmed her.

  “Mark.” Rising fear clamped at her throat again.

  “Oh, God,” she pleaded between chattering teeth, her lips bitten and bleeding. Terror stormed over her again. “Please. Please help me!”

  Mark was not allowed near the prisoners.

  He and Zack were glued to the one-way glass window in the observation room. Fortunately, Alex had been given FBI clearance to interrogate, at least for now. Usually The TEAM’s authority did not include interrogating prisoners, but given the fiasco in Spencer, and a timely call from Jed McCormack, Alex’s friend and senatorial advocate, the FBI had no choice. Jed simply had more influence than the Bureau’s Director.

  “You Americans think you are so clever.” Yuri was a big man, more that twice the girth of Alex. His ham hock hands with sausage fingers decorated in gold rings were relaxed despite the cuffs chaining him to the table. Shackles at his ankles held him to the floor, but the big man did not seem perturbed with his tenuous situation. He nodded his chin toward Alex as if it was his turn to play at this very dangerous game.

  “I’m only asking one more time, Yuri Grigoryev.” Alex spit the Russian’s name out of his mouth. “Where is she?”

  “I tell you vhat.” Yuri reached for the tablet on the table. Instead of a confession, he scribbled two addresses down, tore the sheet off the tablet, and tossed it at Alex.

  Alex glanced at the writing, not falling for Yuri’s taunt.

  “Is all same to me.” The Russian relaxed back in his chair, folding his huge hands on the table. “Read it. That is vhere opium is buried that Mikey stole from my boss. New York. Oregon. Idaho. Visconsin. You dig up. You bring to me. Maybe then we make vhat you call a deal.”

  “You’re not listening. The only deal happening here today is her life for yours. You tell me where she is, and maybe I’ll let you live the rest of your worthless life some place besides Guantanamo.”

  Yuri continued as if Alex hadn’t said a word. “You must bring to me opium from your United States of Vest Virginia, too. Maybe still be time for more discussion then. You vant I give you that address, too?”

  Mark stood with his fist against the window, fighting the urge to pound the glass to get Alex’s attention. There was no way he’d get into the room with Yuri, but if he could, just for one minute—

  He stowed his desperation in exchange for a whispered command to his boss. “Make him talk, Boss. Bust him up. Hurt him. Make him.”

  “If anyone can get through to these guys, it’s Alex.” Zack stood quietly at his side.

  Mark didn’t take his eyes off the confrontation in the other room.

  “There will be no discussion.” Alex stared at the insolent man in front of him for a full minute before he continued. When he did, his voice dripped venom. “Unless you tell me where the girl is, we’re done.”

  Yuri shrugged. “Is not my problem. Is yours.”

  “It is your problem!” Alex jumped to his feet, his fists clenched. The man was holding back. By the looks of him, Alex wanted to slap the arrogant look off this Russian’s face as much as Mark did. You can take him, Boss. Hit him. Hurt him. Do whatever it takes. Find Libby.

  “No, no. I do not think is my problem. You vill bring opium, and you vill provide safe passage back to Kabul. Only then vill I tell you vhere leetle girl is.” Yuri made a sweeping motion with his fingers as if urging Alex out the door. “I think maybe she has forty-eight hours to live, maybe less by now. Then air vill run out. You are vasting time.”

  Mark’s heart stalled. Forty-eight hours before air runs out? My God, where is she? He whirled on Zack. “What have they done?”

  “Sounds like they’re holding her in some kind of a container or—”

  “They’ve buried her alive.” Mark gasped at the implication. “Just like the drugs. She’s in a coffin!”

  “We don’t know that.” Zack gripped Mark’s shoulder.

  The voice of their enraged boss caught their attention again.

  “Forty-eight hours?” Alex roared. “What do you mean? Are you telling me—?”

  “I telling you vill never see her alive again.” Yuri leaned over the table, his fingers laced together very calmly in front of him. “Is too bad. She is pretty leetle thing. Is a very hard vay to die without—”

  Alex launched across the table, his fists on Yuri’s collar until he was nose to nose with the man. Mark panicked. Muscles stood taut in Alex’s neck.

  “Don’t kill him,” Mark said to the glass window, knowing that’s exactly what he wanted to do. “Not yet.”

  “Listen to me. I’ve got the best task force in the country looking for that little girl,” Alex hissed, his words more promise than threat. “So you sit here on your fat ass, and you hold your breath waiting for that opium. Because when we find her, and we will, I’m personally going to make sure you never see the light of day.”

  Hit him, Boss. Mark’s own hand clenched in sync with his boss’s. That’s all he understands. Make him bleed. Make him talk.

  Yuri grunted, a smile wrinkling his wide flat nose.

  He’s playing with you, Boss. Mark groaned, hoping Alex had more up his sleeve than useless threats.

  “You think your friend Mikey’s gonna turn my deal down? Do you?” Alex pushed back from the table so quickly that his chair crashed to the floor.

  Yuri chuckled, but the big man’s nostril flared. A barely perceptible squint fluttered over his eyelid.

  Mark’s heart picked up hope. Keep going, Boss. Don’t stop. You can do it.

  “You think a conniving weasel like Mikey can take this kind of pressure?” Alex leaned forward on both clenched fists, barely planted on the balls of his feet. “You think a two-bit punk who runs at the first sign of trouble has the balls for this kind of conversation?”

  Again Yuri blinked.

  Tell us where she is. Tell us.

  Yuri sneered, his voice as cold as ice. “I think you got nothing. Mikey is same like me. Go see.” He nodded his chin toward the door. “Ask him. See for yourself. He knows vhat vill happen if he talks.”

  Alex stalked out the door.

  Mark went ballistic. “That’s all? You call that an interrogation? He chats the man up like—”

  Zack still gripped Mark’s shoulder. “It’s not over yet.”

  “We don’t have time for games,” Mark roared. “Forty-eight hours. That’s all we’ve got!” He shrugged Zack’s hand off his shoulder and headed for the door to confront his worthless boss.

  Zack stepped into his way.

  “Get out of my way, Lennox,” Mark rasped, “or so help me—”

  “Mark.” Zack blocked the door; his voice clear and calm. For the moment, they were two heavyweights squared off and ready to rumble. Mark scanned his opponent. He could take him. No sweat. Right now. Right here.

  “You saw him with Yuri. Now let’s watch him with an ex-Marine.”

  Mark glared at Zack, his self-control on empty, and his emotions running the show. Zack’s brown eyes pierced through the storm in his head. Zack made sense. For now.

  “Alex is doing everything he can. Right now, he’s the only one who can help Libby.” He clapped Mark’s shoulder hard, an unspoken threat in his eye. “Do you think any of us would even be watching this interview if the FBI was running the show?”

  Mark stilled. The answer to Zack’s question was easily an unequivocal hell no. They would have to read about it in the newspapers along with the rest of the world, after all
was said and done, how the FBI failed. How a young woman lost her life because they couldn’t find her in time. Mark licked his lips and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Alex will find her.” Zack nodded to the door behind him. “Get your ass into the other observation room.”

  Mark blew out a shuddering breath. Zack might be right.

  They stepped across the hall to watch one ex-Marine tear into another.

  It didn’t take Alex long.

  He circled the table in the room where Michael Castor sat handcuffed with his feet manacled and chained to the floor like Yuri’s had been. An average-sized man with a shock of light brown hair falling into nervous eyes, Castor licked his lips continually. Alex prowled behind him. Castor’s eyes rolled from side to side as if he could in any way anticipate where Alex would strike. He cringed, his shoulders tensed as if waiting to be hit.

  Alex circled the table again, his eyes hard and dark. Once more, he paused directly behind Castor and waited.

  Mark stood on the other side of the glass with the exact same expression as Alex, his arms folded across his chest and his jaw clenched.

  Castor was the key to saving Libby. He had to be.

  “You nervous, Marine?” Alex asked very quietly.

  Castor jumped, his nerves strung tighter than tight. “Ah, no, sir, ah—”

  “I asked ARE YOU NERVOUS, MARINE?” Alex bellowed at the back of Castor’s head. “You mean to tell me you smuggle opium, you steal from a dangerous cartel boss, you hide your buddy’s decapitated head in a casket, you kidnap an innocent woman—AND YOU’RE NOT NERVOUS?”

  Castor clenched his forehead in his hands. “Yes, sir. I am. I guess, umm, I am nervous.”

  “I don’t care!” Alex roared, still standing behind the man. “All the hell I want to know is where you dumped Libby Clifton. You tell me that, and then maybe we’ll talk. MAYBE.”

  Castor cowered, leaning his face into his knotted fingers.

  “Man up!” Alex stepped to his side, and slapped Castor’s hands away from his face. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

  He obeyed, facing Alex and blinking through the sweat in his eyes. “Yes, sir. I’m—”