by S L Shelton
I quickly hopped down and rushed over to her, quietly following a few steps behind her up the stairs of the passenger compartment. Inside, stashed in the corner, was a rifle and an ammunition belt. Kathrin walked over to it and started to pick it up when behind her the bathroom door opened and a large dark-haired man walked out.
He paused, surprised, and then tried to reach for the gun. But Kathrin was closer and grabbed it first. The man kicked out swiftly, striking the rifle and sending sliding away.
She jumped up and flung her boot-clad foot toward the man’s face, but he caught her by the leg and slammed her to the ground with a bang, dropping his weight down on top of her.
He hadn’t noticed me at the far end with his attention focused on Kathrin, so he didn’t see me racing down the aisle toward them until it was too late. He reached for his belt, fishing for the knife there, but he looked up just in time to see me flying through the air at him.
All he could do was put his arm up as my foot went crashing down on his head. His arm caught most of the blow, but Kathrin used the freedom to punch him in the throat.
The reflex action of putting his hand to his throat gave me a clear shot at his head, and I hit him in the temple, allowing all my weight to fall into the punch that I delivered to his solid jaw.
POW!
He went limp on top of Kathrin. She paused for a second, looking first at him and then after a beat or two, back to me. “Get him off of me, bitte,” she said calmly, though she was clearly still in a heightened emotional state. As I pulled his shoulders, she kicked him backward, flipping him to the floor.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, squatting down next to her.
She checked arms, legs, and head. “Ouch,” she said.
I pulled her hair up and looked at the back of her head. There was a lump, but the skin had not been broken. The man on the floor moaned and started to roll off his side. I curled my fingers tightly into a fist again and then clubbed him once more in the face, sending him back into a silent slumber.
It really hurts to punch someone in the face. It doesn’t feel much better to be punched, but my hand was aching and skin had been pulled from my knuckles.
When Kathrin was able to get up under her own power, I began trying to locate something to tie the big guy down with.
“Help me find something to tie him down,” I said, opening a small cupboard at the front of the car.
I found nothing suitable in any of the cabinets, but Kathrin had left the railcar to search around the floor of the mill building. There, she found a roll of baling wire in a corner before returning to help me bind our prisoner.
I set him up in one of the high-backed seats and began wrapping the baling wire around his limbs, using my multi-tool to cut the heavy gage metal wire before twisting the ends together with its pliers.
By the time he woke the next time, he was securely wired to the seat, including his head. I had learned this was an important consideration when restraining someone—a lesson taught to me by Majmun in Amsterdam.
I had a piece of duct tape ready for his mouth if he cried out. He did not. He looked at me and then looked at Kathrin and a crease formed in his brow.
“CIA?” he asked.
I looked at Kathrin. “Why does everyone think I’m CIA?”
She shrugged shoulders and eyebrows in reply.
I looked back at the man. “No. Not CIA. Computer programmer,” I stated plainly.
The crease in his forehead got deeper. He was confused. The accent had sounded Russian to me, but I’m no expert. I decided to test my theory.
“Serbian?”
“Bah!” He spat in disgust. “Russian.” His chest puffed out against the wire.
“Rodka?” I asked.
He was stunned. “How do you know this name?” he asked, bewildered, looking as if he had been left out of some important conversation.
“I know Elvis,” I said, starting to build the boundaries of my adjusted game. Now was the time for the puzzle master to turn the tables.
He was suddenly angry. “That bastard betrayed us.”
“No. Majmun betrayed you,” I stated coldly. “Right before he died.” Not a complete lie. It had been Majmun’s phone that had given me their location.
He blinked again. “The Monkey?” Again shocked by my information. “I can tell you are American. Are you sure you are not CIA?” he asked.
I smiled. “I’m sure.” I sat across from him, face softened and hands open, signaling honesty. “Majmun went to the house in Amsterdam. Elvis, the girls, and I were there,” I said, weaving the story in a way that benefited me but would stand up to scrutiny if it was checked out. “Majmun was to kill all the Russians left in Amsterdam after the lot of you left for Dusseldorf.”
“I don’t believe you. These are just names you heard. You are on fishing trip,” he said, looking hard to see my reaction.
I pulled my shirt off and then tore the bandages away from my chest, arm, and shoulder to show him my burns. His face softened, and he nodded as best he could with his head wired back. He recognized the work.
“Is Elvis alive?” he asked, genuine concern in his tone.
“He is,” I replied, nodding. “He saved us all.”
The Russian’s eyebrows went up. “Elvis killed Majmun?”
I nodded. “He told me to find Rodka if I could and tell him, ‘We were betrayed.’” I looked at him, holding my eyes steady for him to read the ‘truth’ in them.
The pieces were slowly starting to come together for our prisoner. It would be easy for him to believe anything negative about the Serbs; I recognized him as the big man who had been arguing with the shorter Serb on the dock in Dusseldorf. In fact, I’d bet I could get him to believe anything I wanted about the Serbs.
His eyes stared out into nothing, darting back and forth, trying to grasp all I had said, and then a hesitant look spread across his face. One last assault of skepticism—I had expected that.
“I don’t believe you. This is trick. I will not speak any more,” he said with finality. But I could see he was nearly there.
I pulled out my phone and dialed.
“Da.” Elvis answered on the other end.
“It’s Scott,” I said. It took him a moment to reply, no doubt because he still thought of me as Alex.
It registered. “Scott! How are you, my friend? Did you find your girl?” he asked cheerfully, genuinely happy to hear from me.
“Almost. We’re close. I have a friend of yours here. I was trying to explain to him about Majmun, how you saved us all and asked me to warn Rodka when I found Barb. But I think he needs to hear it from you.”
There was a pause while his mind wrapped around what I was telling him. “Da! Put him on.”
I pressed the phone against the big Russian’s ear. “Da,” he said, his face hard, looking at me suspiciously.
I could hear the voice of the other end. A short statement and then a “da” from the big man. Each new piece of information softened his expression a little more. The tone of his voice became more questioning, less harsh.
He looked up at me from time to time. No doubt, trying to picture the “Scott” in the story he was being told. Then something was said that made him very unhappy. His face got hard again, and he said something in Russian that must have been some sort of swear. Then he nodded, said, “Da,” and looked at me.
I put the phone back to my ear. “Elvis?”
“My friend. I must thank you. I have been crazy trying to think of way to warn Rodka. You have again shown you are good friend. The man you have is Daniil. He is enforcer. Very dedicated to my brother. He will help you if it means saving him.”
“Thank you, Elvis. I hope your family is with you again soon,” I said sincerely.
When the call was completed, I looked at the big man in front of me, waiting for some indication of his state of mind. “Well, untie me, lover boy! We have to find way to get Serbs away from your girlfriend.” His face broke into a broad, too
thy grin.
I cut him loose with my multi-tool and stood back while he rubbed the circulation back into his hands and arms.
“I’m Daniil,” he said finally, reaching his hand out to me.
“Daniil, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Scott,” I said.
Kathrin was a little less enthusiastic about the sudden change in tone, but she joined in with the new pleasantries. “Kathrin,” she said curtly.
Daniil looked at her and smiled. “You hit good for girl.”
He turned his neck from side to side and winced when the side of his face touched his shoulder. “You hit pretty good too,” he said to me, working his jaw back and forth.
Daniil proceeded to tell us what he knew. “Popovich, the one in charge, said for me to hide train cars and engine,” he said. “Then go in town and listen for if we got clean away.”
“Elvis said Popovich doesn’t really trust you and the others,” I said, adding more division to the stew. “Why would he send you alone?”
“Serbs would stick out here,” he replied. “Russian is like second language in towns like this. Rodka even knows this town, he was going to go, but Popovich said, ‘No, you stay with me. Send Daniil. He causes trouble anyway.’ So they send me.”
“Rodka knows the town?” I asked.
“Da. He was stationed here,” Daniil disclosed. “And Jovanovich had business here for Soviets. Popovich as well.”
That’s the connection, I thought. “What sort of business would Jovanovich have with the Russians?” I asked.
“Civilian militia,” Daniil said, curling his lip in disgust. “No more than informer and criminal using work for army as excuse to rape and pillage.”
I nodded my understanding. There had already been a level of distrust between the groups before the hostages were taken.
I looked up at the cargo box the hostages had been in.
“The explosives are gone,” I said. He looked at me, his eyes reduced to suspicious slits. “I followed you from Dusseldorf,” I added. “I saw the container in the warehouse there.”
Daniil laughed. “Rodka said to set up cameras outside,” he said with a grin. “Serbs said, ‘No. We won’t be here that long.’” He winked at me.
My heart skipped a beat thinking how differently this would have gone if they had listened to Rodka.
“Da. Explosives were packed up and taken with hostages,” he said. “And all the food, water, blankets, yah, yah, yah,” he replied. “But I don’t think they use them. I think they go soon.”
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Just hunch,” he replied. “But when they send me here, they told others to walk airfield. Clear any debris.”
I nodded.
“I figure they bring plane and take everyone with,” he continued. “But looks like they plan on killing us along with hostages,” he said, shaking his head, a sneer building on his face. “I have to go back and warn Rodka.”
“Is Rodka the type to fly into a rage and do something crazy?” I asked.
Daniil shook his head. “Not Rodka, but others will. They would start shooting at hint of betrayal.”
“Then do us both a favor and wait until you can get Rodka alone to tell him,” I said.
He thought about it for a second and then nodded in somber agreement. He knew hot heads would not prevail. I had to give him credit—for an enforcer who had just been subdued by a girl and a computer geek, he seemed fairly clear-headed himself. I guessed we were lucky it was him we nabbed in the train and not one of the others.
“Come,” he said. “I show you sneaky way back to the base.”
“We have to grab our stuff,” I said as we exited the passenger car.
I let Daniil walk in front of us, just in case there was any lingering resentment… Better safe than sorry.
**
I rolled the scooter into the mill, and then Kathrin and I began transferring supplies from the carry-on bags to our pack and shoulder bags. Before shouldering mine, I also rolled a generous portion of bailing wire into a loose spool and tucked it in.
When we were ready, Daniil led us down an overgrown road to the back side of the base.
Cracked asphalt, barely visible through the grass growing through it, led us past ruined buildings and mounds of dirt surrounded by wire fencing—contaminated soil, no doubt. Russian military bases were not famous for ecological friendliness.
We stopped well away from the barracks.
“Wait here until dark,” Daniil said. “There is old command building.” He pointed at a one-story building at the center of several barracks, and then he set out toward the barracks by himself.
We watched as he approached the building. As he got closer, two armed men came out to greet him. They talked for a moment.
Voices were raised. Something was wrong.
The men—I assumed Serbs—talking to Daniil lifted their weapons and pointed them at him. He protested loudly but finally dropped his weapon. As they escorted him away from the door they had come out of, two more men came out, and then a third.
Russians, I thought to myself.
One followed the two Serbs holding Daniil, shouting after them. There was a heated exchange, but the Serbs turned and continued to usher Daniil down the pathway to another entrance in the same building.
The man who had run after them stopped, pausing with an agitated posture while he puffed on his cigarette. After a moment, he threw it angrily to the ground before turning.
“That must be Rodka,” I whispered to Kathrin as the man stormed back into the barracks, followed closely by the other two.
Kathrin and I waited, not knowing how to react. Our inside man had been captured and might be tortured to reveal us any second now.
“What should we do?” Kathrin asked.
I took a deep breath before replying, letting our options filter through one at a time—there weren’t many.
“Let’s stay put for the moment,” I replied finally, sinking deeper into the tall grass. “If Daniil tells them about us, the Serbs will still have to come find us. At this distance, we should have time to move…especially if it doesn’t happen until dark.”
Kathrin shook her head. “I’m worried he’ll give us up,” she whispered, sinking down close to me on the ground. “But I don’t think he’ll do it willingly.”
I thought about that for a moment before responding. “Let’s wait until it gets dark and see if anything changes.”
She nodded.
We watched for signs of any additional activity outside the barracks. There was none. When dark finally came, we crept to the back side of what appeared to be a control tower and administrative building. We entered through a broken window on the side away from the barracks.
Inside, we stepped carefully, picking our way through the debris and ruins of desks, chairs, filing cabinets: all overturned, emptied, and broken. There was graffiti covering nearly all the interior walls and signs of a campfire or two in the center of the floor in a couple of the offices.
We moved through the building quietly, careful about where we stepped for fear of breaking glass or knocking into anything that could make noise. Once we were on the side facing the barracks, we peered through a window to see if there was any activity.
“Well,” Kathrin whispered as we watched. “No one waiting for us. Maybe Daniil didn’t give us up after all.”
“It wouldn’t go well for him if he did,” I replied quietly. “The Serbs would kill him and his buddies before they dealt with us…now that Daniil knows the story about Majmun.”
“We hope.”
I nodded. “Yes…we do.”
Through one set of covered windows, we saw hints of firelight in the barracks across the yard. The light moved on the walls through the window, casting dancing shadows of movement. We saw very little else.
Occasionally one of the men—we assumed he was a Serb—exited from the door where they had taken Daniil. He would walk down to the other
entrance to chat with someone there and then return to his own door. Around 11:00 p.m., Rodka walked out of the building, striding toward the other door with purpose in his steps.
“Uh oh,” I whispered.
Kathrin nodded. “Ja,” she whispered in reply. “This will be ugly.”
Rodka stormed in, followed by all manner of raised voices and crashing noises. After a few minutes, both men came out, arguing. The Serb who had been guarding Daniil was falling backward over himself yelling at the Russian. He raised his rifle threateningly but hesitated. Rodka stepped forward, pushed the rifle aside, and slapped the Serb hard across the face.
This is a change, I thought to myself.
The Serb fell to the ground, rubbing his face before reaching for his rifle. But Rodka had his handgun pointed at the man’s head before he could complete his action, sending him crawling backward in fear.
The man raised his voice again. Rodka replied by spitting on the ground and then waved his gun at the man on the ground, indicating he should leave.
The Serb grabbed his rifle and ran, looking back over his shoulder to be sure he would not be shot in the back. Rodka watched as he left and then ran to the door that Daniil had been taken through as soon as the runner had disappeared into the other end of the building.
“Rodka is a badass.”
“He won’t be able to help us if he gets himself killed,” Kathrin replied.
“True. But if Rodka gets killed, the rest of the Russians will be next,” I replied. “If nothing else, that reduces the number of bad guys we have to deal with.”
It suddenly occurred to me how cold and calculating I sounded… And even more startling to me was how easily it came out. Kathrin nodded her agreement of my assessment. It made me look at her with raised awareness as well.
Trust her, whispered my other voice into my ear. I could feel my mind relax.