Vengeance

by Roger Weston

  “It’s not about me, Nicolai. It’s about the hostages and their fate.”

  “You can’t go it alone. I want to help you.”

  “These are American hostages.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me. They could be my brothers and sisters.”

  “I appreciate that,” Chuck said. “I really do. Just get me close. That’s all.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Brandt? Don’t you trust anyone?”

  “I have my reasons. We need to get moving.” Holding his compound bow in his hand, he slung his M16 over his shoulder by the strap. He said, “You lead.”

  Generally, Chuck’s only interest in bows was for survival in extreme situations. While training Special Forces in survival, he often included a demonstration with bow and arrows because bows were useful for hunting small game for food while creating very little noise and attracting no attention from enemy forces. Years ago, in the Comoro Islands in the Indian Ocean, he had been training French Foreign Legionnaires in survival and unarmed combat when their camp came under heavy mortar fire. Over a dozen Legionnaires were killed and many more wounded. Wearing ghillie suit camouflage and armed with a compound bow, he’d taken the fight to the terrorists and solved the problem.

  That was years ago, but Chuck practiced critical skills often to keep his edge.

  Now as he and Nicolai hiked through a peaceful birch forest, Chuck watched the trees for claw marks and the ground for sign.

  They’d gone barely half a mile when he smelled sulfur. He soon found himself following Nicolai along a steaming creek and walking past volcanic vents that were exhaling sulfur steam. The steam rose out of yellow holes surrounded by white crust. Soon the birch forest thinned out and he was hiking through a valley of varied colors and contours.

  “Stay right behind me,” Nickolai said. “One wrong step and you’ll be neck deep in boiling water.”

  The volcanic activity in this area was among the most active in the world, including countless boiling springs and geysers similar to Yellowstone. Chuck had little interest in the scenery other than its hidden dangers. He had more important concerns, mainly getting to Belkin’s compound.

  In all likelihood, that’s where the dark one—Anton “Hench” Fowler—was hiding. Chuck had been ordered to either eliminate or capture Fowler because the dark one had a horrific history—and had to be terminated. According to the intel report, Fowler had also been onboard the hijacked cargo vessel. But Chuck also had to go to Sulfur Valley because the other target, Lenoid Belkin, had too much blood on his hands. He’d murdered close to a dozen Americans just in the last week. He also needed to be terminated. Plus, at least a dozen other men were unaccounted for, so far.

  Chuck thought about what their families must be going through. Somehow he had to find these lost ones and save them. He and Nicolai followed a winding route through the valley with Nicolai in the lead.

  Their route led them between steaming lakes of brown muddy water that must have been rich in minerals because deep green moss, lichens, and other low growing foliage covered the ground. A patch of blue wildflowers grew by one lake. They walked past rents in the earth that emitted thick clouds of steam. They followed a ridge that led them up a green hillside. They avoided the steep brown volcanic mountains on both sides of the valley.

  They’d gone two miles when they came to narrow steam-filled canyon.

  Chuck took off his knapsack and leaned his M16 and compound bow against a rock. “Hold on a minute. I’ve got a rock in my boot.”

  “Wait here,” Nicolai said. “I want to scout this out. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Chuck didn’t drink the water because he didn’t need to and because he his research had alerted him to the presence of poisonous water in this area. He got rid of the rock in his boot and took a drink from his canteen.

  Twenty minutes later, he was getting impatient. He didn’t want to leave this location because Nicolai had told him to wait. On the other hand, he was starting to worry that something might have happened to his guide. Chuck waited another ten minutes and then decided he needed to look for him. Chuck hiked very slowly through a canyon that narrowed until it was a mere gorge between rock walls. There was no trail, so he just climbed over rocks along the steaming stream. Because the gorge was so narrow and there were so many vents and the river itself was steaming, visibility was ten to fifteen feet. This went on for over a hundred and fifty yards. Then the gorge broke out into another valley.

  Despite the sulfuric vents and the muddy ponds, the valley was unique and quite beautiful, but Chuck stayed focused on his objective. He figured that even moray eels had beautiful patterns, but they could be dangerous. Chuck had learned long ago to never let his guard down. Always be watchful. Always stay alert. Then he picked up fresh sign. It looked like five or six men had passed through. Nicolai was in trouble, alright.

  Chuck followed the sign. There were no footprints, nothing so obvious. He followed a trail of scuffs, creased and crushed leaves, bruised grass stems, and occasionally part of a footprint.

  He followed the sign for over a mile to where the valley narrowed again and the steam grew so thick that there were areas where he had to walk very slowly to see where he was stepping. Some of the hot springs were boiling mud, and to fall into one of them would be a quick death sentence.

  Once, the edge of a hot spring caved in under his foot. He dove ahead on the narrow path and counted his blessings.

  In many places throughout the valley floor, on both sides of the river, the lush ground cover was striking because it was such a deep, rich color of green. As always, he focused on the sign. He kneeled down occasionally and studied the tracks. He kept moving. Soon he came out of a wall of steam into a stretch of valley where the steam was limited to a few vents. They blew, hissed, and gurgled and made unearthly sounds. One of them whistled in a deep, eerie howl as it blew steam skyward. Then it went silent, and the breeze cleared out the steam. He hiked on for another hundred yards until the next wall of steam, which was thick, so thick that the river literally vanished into the gloom.

  As he was approaching the wall of hot, moist fog, he heard something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was a truly frightening sound that he heard in the distance.

  He held his compound bow in his left hand.

  He stopped and froze in his steps for over a minute. He heard the sound again.

  A grizzly bear. Chuck could hear it but couldn’t see it due to the thick steam from the river and hundreds of little vents.

  Slowly, he walked forward. Visibility was less than ten feet, but he could see no salmon fighting their way up the creek. Salmon was bear food, but there were none in sight. Plus, any salmon in this river would be pre-cooked.

  He walked slowly one step at a time, his heart rate slightly higher than usual. He was just as aware as he always was. In his life, he was always a hunted animal, but usually the hunter was man. Generally, man was the greater threat, but in this hot, thick fog, the bear could be anywhere.

  Chuck heard the growling again—closer.

  He kept walking, but didn’t see the bear anywhere. Then he saw a whirlpool in the river. As the steaming water swirled down into a hole in the lava bed, it made a growling sound. That sound and the white water combined to give a creepy effect.

  He wondered if that could be the sound he’d heard.

  Chuck took a deep breath and started walking again. A little faster now.

  Just then a massive brown bear lumbered out of the steam. A grizzly. It must have weighed over a thousand pounds.

  When it saw Chuck, it stood up on its hind legs. The bear stood nine feet tall. It looked hostile. Chuck could sense its aggressive demeanor and read the wild look in its eyes.

  It roared with a ferocity Chuck hadn’t heard before. It roared with fury.

  The bear dropped down to all fours and rushed toward Chuck.

  Chuck raised his bow, drew back his arrow, and let her fly. The arrow lodged deep into the bear’s sho
ulder.

  And exploded.

  The explosion vaporized the bear’s shoulder and blew its head off. The bear crashed to the ground, and some of the blood and guts splattered on Chuck. The concussion wave blew Chuck backwards. He landed on his back and was deeply shaken. He lay there for several minutes. His ears rang. His head throbbed. He was shaking.

  Slowly he got up and found his M16 ten feet away. The bow was ten feet past that, hanging over a ledge. The slightest breeze would have tipped it into the river and it would have been lost. He recovered it gently.

  Removing his pack, he sat down.

  He stood there for a moment looking at what was left of a brutal killing machine. He looked at it, but his mind was on the noise he had just made with the explosion. He was trying to guess how far the sound would have carried. On open ground it certainly would have carried far, but maybe not here. He was walking through a twisting canyon. All of the stone canyon walls around him would have muffled the sound, he thought. River noise factored in, too. That would have muffled the sound, especially since this river ran past where the compound was probably located three miles away. Perhaps the river noise at the compound would make it harder for them to hear a distant sound, particularly a muffled one. Problem was, he knew there was also a group of men in the area. Based on a couple of deep tracks he’d seen, he guessed they were probably carrying weapons and supplies. They were on patrol.

  Chuck could only hope that his cover was not blown, but now he had to be extra cautious.

  He sat for a couple of minutes. Then he got back up and resumed moving forward, extra wary now. The explosion was loud, and anyone nearby would have heard it.

  He had barely gone a hundred yards when he heard the voices of men. They spoke in Russian, which Chuck understood.

  “How much further?”

  “We’re getting close. Be ready for anything.”

  “What the hell was it?” a voice said. “Explosives or a gun shot?”

  “Explosives. I know the difference. Just be quiet.”

  No more voices where heard.

  The hunt continued, but now Chuck guessed he was being hunted by the most deadly predator of all—highly trained elite soldiers who had hired out to big money.

  He moved slowly through the stream, holding his M16 ready for action. His bow was slung over his shoulder.

  Suddenly he heard the sound of something running at him. Chuck lunged out of the way, ducking behind a rock. A grizzly ran past and vanished into the fog.

  “What is going on?” Chuck mumbled under his breath as he stood up.

  He eased forward. Soon he found why the grizzlies were here. They were feeding on dead men.

  These were not soldiers or criminals on patrol. They were two of the missing men from the cargo ship. They still wore fragments of torn up and bloodied jump suits. Probably ship’s engineers.

  Belkin’s men were slowly getting rid of the evidence of their crimes.

  Chuck tried not to look at the horrific scene. He moved on—slowly. The men he’d heard could not be far away.

  Then he saw the shape of a gunman in the gloom.

  CHAPTER 10

  Chuck dove out of the way as the shooter opened up on him. Chuck hit the grass, rolled, he squeezed off a burst. The shooter twisted to the ground, firing off several shots as he did so. Then he didn’t move.

  Chuck waited for the second man, but nothing happened. He heard nothing, not a sound. That told him that the other shooter was also playing the waiting game. Chuck was tempted to check on the first killer, check his I.D., and see if he was still alive. But there was no time for that. The moment he moved out into that clearing, he would be a prime target.

  Instead, he slowly backed up and then climbed up a rocky slope. They were big rocks offering lots of holes to take cover, but the steam was thick and he was willing to take a risk. He couldn’t see anyone down below and hoped he couldn’t be seen either.

  He still couldn’t hear much, thanks to the river noise. He crawled among the rocks for twenty minutes until he was well past where he’d left the first shooter. Then he descended the rocks back down to the canyon floor—and backtracked.

  He headed back toward the ambush site—slowly—steam all around him, the earth hissing from sulfur holes, the hot river rushing over rocks.

  He came up behind the second shooter, who had taken up a position and was waiting to ambush Chuck as he came up the trail.

  Chuck said, “Put your gun down or roll the dice.”

  The man twisted around and opened fire, his AK47 on full automatic.

  Chuck got off one shot and ducked behind a massive boulder. It was lucky he was still alive and a mistake not to have taken out the target when he had the chance.

  He put his hand on the rock he was behind, but quickly pulled it away. The rock was extremely hot. Sulfurous steam rose from cracks in the ground.

  Quickly, he brought his handgun around the side of the rock as he dared a peak. Bullets ricocheted off the rock. He never even got off a shot. The incoming fire was overwhelming.

  He crawled to the other side of the rock and snatched a quick look. It seemed as if life switched to slow motion for about half a second as he saw the enemy cocking his arm back to heave a grenade at Chuck’s position.

  Instinct kicked in. Chuck burst into a run, charging the enemy. He acted so fast that he actually ran underneath the flying grenade. Because the shooter had just heaved the grenade, Chuck caught him empty handed. The shooter was reaching for his AK as Chuck tackled him.

  The fighters rolled. Chuck came out on the bottom. He heard the grenade explode.

  Chuck’s fingers dug into the killer’s upper arm and pulled his elbow towards himself. Simultaneously, he secured the killer’s ankle with his foot. Chuck raised his free arm and let it touch his ribs. Then he shot his hips straight up. The soldier rolled onto his back and Chuck came out on top. The killer got an arm around Chuck’s neck and pulled his face down against his shoulder.

  Chuck drove with his legs, driving his shoulder into the soldier’s chin.

  The fighter shrimped out his left side, tipping Chuck off balance. He wrapped Chuck’s right arm. Another arm swam under Chuck’s left arm. Then, using the imbalance, he raised Chuck’s left leg with his right leg and chopped out his right leg with his left leg, rolling Chuck over and making a sweep to the top.

  The Russian framed his forearm against Chuck’s neck and used it as leverage to push himself a way. He seized the moment and started whaling on Chuck’s face with flying punches. Chuck responded with a vicious ax hand to the side of his neck. It wasn’t decisive, but the Russian loosed his grip and tried to pull away. Chuck tried an ax hand from the opposite direction, but the Russian ducked. As he came up, Chuck repeated the first ax hand, but even harder. The Russian fell away in a twisting spasm and accidently rolled off a ledge. He fell three feet into the scorching hot river. He screamed when his head came out of the water, but then the rapids grabbed him and swept him away.

  “Bad move,” Chuck said, as he watched the shooter being carried away in the rapids. “You rolled the dice.”

  Now Chuck approached the wounded shooter in the clearing, the one the second shooter had been using for bait.

  The man groaned. His shaking hand weakly touched Chuck’s tactical vest, but then fell to the ground.

  Chuck seized his shirt and shook him. “Where is Nicolai?”

  “Where is he?”

  The shooter didn’t move anymore, so Chuck let go of his shirt. “Well, you’re not gonna be any help.” Chuck sat back on his heels.

  “Another gambler. Never roll the dice until you know your odds. You could have done the right thing. You could have helped me save lives. But no. You wanted to take a chance. Did you think about the odds? Did you think of the consequences? Every effect has a cause and every cause and effect. If you don’t know the effect, be careful about the cause. You wanna play dice now? No, sir. It’s game over.”

  Chuck left the
shooter where he’d fallen and moved on.

  A large pond emerged out of the gloom—a steaming pond with a wooden dock running from shore to shore. Chuck crossed the dock because both sides of the pond were impassable thanks to a bog of boiling gray mud.

  From the far shore, a trail led the way upstream.

  Chuck had only gone a few yards when he heard a fast movement above him.

  Another ambush!

  CHAPTER 11

  Lenoid Belkin was sitting at his obsidian-topped desk in his residence in Sulfur Valley. He was studying cargo manifests and shipping schedules on his computer. He was highlighting ships that met his criteria.

  Then his phone rang. “This is Belkin."

  “Mr. Belkin, this is Timur Razakov.” Timur was part of Belkin’s security team.

  “What’s going on, Timur?”

  “I’ve got very, very bad news.”

  “What is it?”

  “They found your brother.”

  Belkin was quiet while he analyzed Timur’s tone of voice and what that might mean.

  “And?”

  “He is dead. I am sorry.”

  Belkin cursed and then said, “What happened?”

  “He was making another trip to the cargo ship in town. He ran into some trouble there.”

  “What trouble? What are you talking about?”

  “We think it might have been a SMERSH team.”

  “Why do you think that? SMERSH is a relic of history, isn’t it?”

  “They still exist, but it’s highly classified.”

  “Did they kill my brother or not?”

  “We think so.”

  “What do you mean think?”

  “I mean, video surveillance also picked up a man in a hoodie who boarded the ship.”

  “Who is he?”

  “We don’t know. The video was not clear.”

  “Who is in charge of the SMERSH team?”

  “Colonel Stas Shchedrov.”

  “Use our contacts and get a hold of him. I want to know what happened and I want to know now!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are there any other issues I need to know about?”