“You okay, Ryan?” asked Jackson.
“Yeah, I’ll live,” replied Mitchell, sucking in air through clenched teeth.
“I’d like to go a few rounds with Herr Nazi,” said Jackson.
“You and me, both,” added Mitchell. He turned his head and looked over at Jackson. “Unless you have a skeleton key and an escape planned for us, I think we’ll be taking a chopper ride into Chile in the next few hours. After that, all bets are off.”
“Do you think Yuri knows we’re missing?”
“Probably, but there’s not a lot he can do for us, other than info Mike that we’re missing.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” replied Jackson, sounding defeated.
Mitchell said, “I didn’t say we were dead men. The first chance we get, we’ve got to take out as many of these neo-Nazis as we can and try to find a way to freedom.”
“I like the sound of that.”
Mitchell sat back and checked his watch. He prayed that Yuri had discovered that they had been kidnaped and was doing something about it. What that was, exactly, he wasn’t sure, but he knew his friends would move heaven and earth to find them.
26
Private airstrip
Ushuaia, Argentina
Yuri took a sip of his tepid coffee, then threw it into the trash. He had been drinking coffee for hours and finally could not stand the thought of another drop. He hadn’t left the airfield ever since he had spoken with Donaldson. He had called Mitchell and Jackson repeatedly over the past twelve hours, but had not been able to reach them. By now, he was quite concerned that something had happened to his friends.
Despite his repeated requests, the manager of the airport still refused to let Yuri take his helicopter over to Roberts Island. The storm was beginning to weaken, but it would not be safe to fly for another six to ten hours.
Yuri let out a weary sigh and ran a hand through his long black hair. He was tired. Perhaps if he lay down for a couple of hours, he would feel better.
The front door to the office opened, and a man wearing a long overcoat stepped inside, shaking the water from his umbrella.
Yuri looked over at the man gave him a quick assessment. Approximately mid-fifties. Thick, salt-and-pepper hair. A rugged face. The man looked directly over at Yuri, then turned and walked straight toward him.
“Yuri Uvarov?” asked the man, his accent Russian.
“Da,” replied Yuri cautiously.
The man reached into his overcoat and brought out his ID. Yuri’s eyes widened. “Mister Uvarov, is there somewhere we can speak in private?” asked the agent of the Russian Federal Security Service in Russian.
“Please, follow me,” replied Yuri. He led the agent to a small back room. He closed the door behind them and took a seat at a small table in the middle of the room. “Now, how can I help you, Mister…Petrenko?” Even though it was written on his identification, it was highly unlikely that Petrenko was the man’s real name. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the motherland’s secret service?”
“Mister Uvarov, I’ll get straight to the point,” said Vladimir Petrenko. “Your friends have been kidnaped and are on their way to Chile on board a container ship belonging to Hyperborea Shipping.”
Yuri instantly grew suspicious. Some of his black-market activities in the past had made him a target for the secret service. He stared Petrenko straight in the eyes. “How would you know that?”
“Two reasons. First, I have been monitoring your satphone, and secondly, I have intercepted communications coming from the Patricio, a ship owned and operated by Hyperborea, indicating that they had your friends in custody.”
Despite himself, Yuri’s reservations turned to curiosity. “How were you able to intercept these communications?”
Petrenko grinned. “Please, Mister Uvarov. You may be a former officer, but I’m not going to divulge state secrets to someone who only ever achieved a top-secret clearance when he was in the army.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Petrenko, but why are you telling me this?”
“Because we are working on the same mission. We may have different reasons for finding the treasure stolen from Russia during the war, but neither of us wants to see it fall into the wrong hands.”
“Go on.”
“To be blunt, I need your help.”
Yuri sat back in his chair and studied the man’s face. If he was lying, it did not show. “Mister Petrenko, it would seem that I am the one in need of assistance, not you.”
Petrenko dug out a packet of cigarettes and lit one up. He took a long drag, then exhaled. The smoke coming out of his nose gave him a dragonlike aspect. “I was once a rising star in the secret service. However, after a botched raid on a house in Chechnya, in which four of my men died along with several innocent bystanders, I was relegated to the Investigative Directorate. My job now is tracking down leads on the billions of dollars’ worth of priceless treasures and artifacts taken from Russia by the Nazis during the war. For years, I have been digging through banks and private collections all over Europe. I managed to retrieve several small items last year, but nothing of great value. General Alexander, due to his family’s Nazi past, was on my list of possible suspects. When I heard that he had hired a private security company, I naturally grew suspicious. My suspicions paid off as your friends led me to a Swiss Bank in Madrid that is, shall we say, less than honest in its business dealings.”
“That doesn’t explain why you claim to need my help.”
“My superiors in Moscow have grown weary of me and my requests for assistance. For the past few years, I have had to rely on the charity of friends working in the various embassies around the world to supply me with information. I fear that because of my constant requests for help that that well has also dried up. My contact in the Argentian embassy made it quite clear to me that the information he provided to me on your friends was the last thing he would ever do for me. If Moscow ever found out that I had been given secret intelligence information, my friends would all lose their jobs and their meager state pensions.”
“Surely after you informed Moscow about the treasure, they became interested in what is going on?”
Petrenko dug out a small silver flask from his overcoat and placed it on the table. “I have a bit of a reputation as a drunk. I fear that my career may be over and that I am living on borrowed time. If I didn’t have a brother working for the Prime Minster, I am certain that I would have been recalled back to Russia years ago.”
“What are you proposing?”
“Mister Uvarov, we need to work together from now on. We have a common goal that can only be achieved by our mutual cooperation. I have no contacts left in Chile who will help me. You, on the other hand, probably have friends who can access things for us without drawing the attention of the authorities our way.”
“Perhaps.”
“I simply need tangible evidence that the treasure actually exists. Once I have that, Moscow will have to support me in retrieving it.”
“My friends, what about them?”
“They are going to be flown ashore.”
Yuri leaned forward. “Where?”
“Punta Arenas.”
Yuri turned his head and looked out a window. The rain was coming down as hard as ever. “The storm may have grounded helicopter flights, but a plane heading east could easily take off in this weather.”
Petrenko said, “Lucky for you, I have a rented plane waiting at the airport. We can be in Punta Arenas in a matter of hours.”
Yuri stood. A fierce look of determination burned in his eyes. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
27
Safe House
Alberta, Canada
“How long until the RCMP get here?” asked Sam, her voice tense and guarded.
“According to my watch, in the next ten minutes,” replied Cardinal. After Donaldson had called them warning them that the safe house was most likely compromised, they had been packing to leave. While Sam
liaised with the local police detachment for an escort into Calgary, Cardinal and Makris had armed themselves with some of the guns in the house. Cardinal, befitting his training, had a hunting rifle while Makris held a shotgun.
“What will we do when we get to Calgary?” Elena asked.
“I’ve booked us on a flight heading back to Albany,” said Sam. “Mike said that he’ll have some men meet us at the airport. There’s a couple of spare beds in the back of the headquarters complex. We can rest there tonight and come up with a new plan to get you to Lisbon safely in the morning.”
Makris finished loading his shotgun and mournfully shook his head. “If only we had some assault rifles in case someone comes looking for Mrs. Milos.”
“Well, we don’t, so there’s no point in bemoaning the fact,” replied Cardinal. “Besides, we’ll be long gone before anyone is the wiser.”
Constable Helen Campbell slowed her car down as she approached the turnoff that led to the Cardinal cottage. A five-year veteran of the RCMP, Campbell had eagerly volunteered to escort Mrs. Milos to the Calgary International Airport. It was either that, or another boring day looking for people driving well above the speed limit on the highway. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she hummed a tune that was stuck in her head. Cambell turned off the road, then drove down the gravel path that would take her to the lake.
Less than a minute later, she spotted at least eight trucks and cars pulled off on the side of the road ahead. She could see men standing about with weapons in their hands. Instantly, the hair on the back of her neck rose. It was hunting season, but she had never known Cardinal’s uncle to allow hunting on his land.
“Goddamnit, the friggin cops are here,” said the skinny man with Nazi tattoos on his neck. His partner, the obese man, turned his head and looked at the cruiser as it slowed down. He gnawed on the chewing tobacco in his mouth for a second before spitting out a wad of dirty brown spit onto the ground. “We can’t turn back now. I guess we’re gonna have to deal with the cops as well.”
The slender man nodded his head, slung his rifle over his shoulder and strolled out into the road. He smiled arrogantly when he saw that there was only one police officer in the vehicle, and a woman, no less.
The police car came to a gradual halt. The driver lowered her window and waved for the man on the road to approach.
The skinny man strolled over to the driver’s side of the car. “Afternoon, Officer. Nice day, isn’t it?”
“It may be a nice day,” Campbell replied. “However, you and your friends are most likely trespassing on private land. Can I please see the registration for your gun? The same goes for all your friends as well.”
“Sure thing, Officer,” said the man as he reached into his jacket. Instead of pulling out his paperwork, he swiftly drew a 9mm automatic from a concealed holster and pointed it at Campbell’s head.
She never heard the shots that killed her.
“What as that?” Elena asked as she sat on the porch of the cottage.
“Gunfire,” replied Sam, looking out over the lake.
“It was from a pistol,” added Makris. “Fired three times.”
“He’s right,” Cardinal said. “It’s time to leave.”
“It sounded like it came from the direction of the road,” said Sam. “And that’s the only way in or out of here.”
“We can go cross-country,” said Cardinal. “My uncle has a quad we can use. Mrs. Milos, grab your purse; the suitcase will have to stay behind.”
They hurried to the barn where the all-terrain vehicle was parked. Sam was the first one to see the flaw in the plan…it was only a two-seater.
Cardinal clutched his rifle in his hands. “Makris and I will hold off whoever is coming until the RCMP arrives. Sam, you and Mrs. Milos will take the quad and head for the highway. You should be able to flag down a passing car without too much trouble.”
“All right.” She reached inside the vehicle and grabbed the two helmets resting on the seats. She handed one to Elena. “Here—put this on and get in.”
Makirs moved to the barn doors and peered outside. “It looks safe.” He unlatched the doors and swung them open.
Sam placed a hand on Cardinal’s arm and looked him deep in the eyes. A twinge of fear flickered in her belly, the way it did every time she and Gordon were separated, but she tamped it down. They had a job to do. She could deal with the emotions later. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“An hour it is,” replied Cardinal.
Sam placed the helmet on her head, jumped into the quad and started the engine. A well-maintained machine, the vehicle roared to life. She looked over at Elena. “Hang on, this is going to be a bumpy ride.” With that, she floored the accelerator. Like a prized stallion hearing the starter’s shot, the quad raced out of the barn. Sam turned the wheel hard over and headed straight for the path that led around the lake and into the woods.
Cardinal and Makris waited until the vehicle had vanished from sight. “Suggestions?” Cardinal asked Makris.
“They’ll head straight for the house,” said Makris. “I think we wait until they arrive and then cut them down to size. I’ll take a position in the woodshed behind the house, and you can engage them from here with your rifle.”
“Sounds like a plan,” replied Cardinal. He stuck out his hand. “For luck.”
Makris shook Cardinal’s hand. “Unfortunately, I think it’s going to take more than luck to get us out of this situation.”
The cottage came into sight. The obese thug driving the rusted pickup truck grinned when he thought of the five-million-dollar bounty that had been placed on Elena Milos’ head. Behind him, a small convoy of vehicles rumbled forward. When he was about thirty meters from the house, he pulled his truck over and stopped. He grabbed his rifle and climbed out of the vehicle. He was soon joined by the twenty other men with him.
He turned his head and looked at the skinny man. “Don, take five men and check out the house. We’ll stay back here and cover you.”
“How come I have to check out the house?” objected the man.
“Because I told you to, that’s why. Now get going.”
Bitching to himself, the slender man and four of his friends walked towards the cottage. He stopped outside the front door. “You, inside the house. Send out the Greek woman and no one else will be harmed.”
There was no response. He raised his voice and repeated his demands.
“Damn it all to hell,” said the man. He stepped forward and tried the door knob. It turned. With his gun in one hand, he yanked the door open, and looked inside. No sound, no movement.
“They’re not here?” said a gunman standing outside.
“We’ve kept an eye on the road. No one has come or gone in the past day,” replied the skinny man. “They’re here somewhere, all right.”
“Hiding?”
“Maybe. Come on, let’s search the house from top to bottom.”
Cardinal rested his rifle on the top of an old wooden trunk. He looked through the scope and took careful aim at the leader of the mob standing beside his vehicle. He took a couple of long, deep breaths to calm his heart as he gently placed his finger on the trigger. He was waiting for Makris to fire first. Cardinal reasoned that the men looked like a bunch of amateurs that would turn and run the instant they met opposition. However, if they did not, he was prepared to help them on their way.
The skinny man swore. He had to admit it, the house was deserted. He had just killed a police officer in cold blood. It could not be all for nothing. With rage stewing inside him, he hauled off and kicked open the back door of the cottage. Cursing his bad luck, he stepped outside. The last thing he saw before dying, was a man standing beside a shed with a shotgun in his hands.
The sound of a gun firing made everyone clustered around the vehicles turn their heads and look towards the cottage. A few seconds later, a second shot echoed down the lake.
“Must have found them,” gloated the fat man to his
friends.
His bravado instantly evaporated when he saw three men burst from the front of the house, running for their lives. He was confused. Surely his accomplice had killed the Greek woman. He grabbed the first man running back to the vehicles. “What’s going on? Where’s Don?”
With eyes as big as saucers, the scared man struggled to find his voice. Finally, he blurted out, “Don’s dead. Murray too.”
“Dead? What do you mean, they’re dead?”
“It was an ambush,” replied the thug before pulling himself free of the obese man’s hand.
The leader of the mob could not believe his ears. His friend was dead. He turned his head and saw the fear and hesitation written on the faces of the men he had brought with him. “There can’t be more than one or two men back there. I ain’t afraid to die. Who’s with me?”
No one moved.
“Screw all of you,” bellowed the fat man, turning toward the cottage.
A split-second later, the man’s left knee exploded. Blood and bone flew from the wound. With a cry of pain on his lips, the gang leader fell to the ground, holding his shattered knee in his hands. A man moved to help him, only to receive the same punishment.
Terrified and confused, the mob began to melt away. A couple of men ran for their trucks. When the others saw what was going on, they all fled for their lives like a dam bursting, leaving the two injured men on the ground, writhing in pain.
Cardinal watched as the vehicles turned about and sped away in a cloud of dust.
The door to the cottage swung open. Makris walked out from the cottage with his shotgun in his hands.
Cardinal jumped down from his hiding spot and ran to join Makris. He could see the anger on the bodyguard’s face. He had to stop him before he did something rash. They needed the men alive. “Makris, hold on a second,” called out Cardinal as he jogged over. “These people need to answer for their crimes. Killing them won’t help us, not one single bit.”
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