Kill Switch (9780062135285) (28 page)

Kane trotted over, his tail high, but he must have immediately sensed the black pall around his partner. The flagging tail drooped down. His entire body stiffened up, readying for action.

Anya was too skilled not to get worried. “Tucker, what's wrong?”

He lifted the rifle and pointed it at her. “Raise your arms above your head. If you so much as twitch a finger, I'll shoot you.”

“What are you doing?” she replied, feigning confusion, but he noted the microexpression of fury that momentarily flashed.

“Five seconds, Anya.”

“Tucker, you're scaring me.”

The shock that had initially struck Christopher and Bukolov wore off. They began to voice a similar chorus of confused complaints. He ignored them.

“Three seconds.”

He raised the AR to his shoulder.

Anya pushed her arms high. She looked to Bukolov and Christopher for support, fixing an expression of suffering innocence. “Tell me what is happening.”

“My ­people deconstructed the photo of the Internet café in Di­mitrovgrad. It was
you,
Anya, from the very beginning. You were the traitor. Not Utkin. He was a just a boy, and you set him up to take the fall.”

The complaints from Christopher and Bukolov died away.

“Tucker, please, I don't know what—­”

“Deny it one more time, Anya. One more time and I'll put a round in your foot.”

She stared up and must have read his seriousness. She kept her gaze fixed on him, showing no shame, but also no satisfaction. “It was not personal. I took no joy in the bloodshed. I liked Utkin. I truly did, but it was necessary. I was given a duty, and I performed it to the best of my abilities.”

Her words lacked any coldness or disdain, only a calm self-­assurance.

“How long until your ­people get here?” he asked.

“I will not tell you.”

“How are they tracking you?”

She just stared.

“Drop to your knees, then to your belly, hands flat on the rock.”

She complied, moving with surprising grace.

“G
UARD
,” he ordered Kane.

As the shepherd stalked to her side, Tucker passed his weapon to Christopher. “Keep her covered.”

With her under tight watch, Tucker quickly bound her hands and ankles. He frisked her, removing anything he found, including taking her boots and socks. He examined each item, but he found no electronics or trackers.

He was fairly certain she didn't have a phone, which meant Kharzin's ­people had to have been tracking her. But how? He would have to search through her entire pack, strip the Rover down, too.

Tucker noted Bukolov had wandered a few paces away, his back to them.

Concerned, Tucker crossed to him. He didn't need the guy falling apart. Bukolov wasn't the most stable of personalities even on his good days.

“Doc?”

Bukolov glanced to him and away, but not before Tucker noted the tears. “He died thinking I hated him.”

Utkin.

“I was such a fool,” Bukolov said. “How can I forgive myself?”

“Because Utkin would want you to.” He placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder. “He knew our distrust of him was based on deceit. He saved us because he wouldn't let that lie define him. We have to honor that.”

Bukolov nodded, wiping his eyes. “I will try to do that.”

“Forget Anya. Forget all of it. I'm going to get you inside that cave, and you're going to find that sample of LUCA. That's all that matters now.”

“What about Kharzin's team?”

“Let me worry about them. Concentrate on what you came here to do. The sooner you find LUCA, the sooner we can leave—­with any luck, before the enemy arrives. Are you with me, Doc?”

Bukolov straightened, took a deep breath, and nodded firmly. “I am with you.”

Tucker glanced back to Anya, still on her belly, her arms tied behind her back, guarded over by Christopher and Kane.

It was time to turn her betrayal to his advantage.

37

March 21, 6:12
P.M.

Groot Karas Mountains, Namibia

Standing at the edge of the pond, Tucker passed a gun to Bukolov. It was a Smith & Wesson .38-­caliber revolver. Though it only held five rounds, it was a personal favorite: for its size, accuracy, and reliability. All too often, surviving a firefight relied more on the
quality
of the gun than the
quantity
of the rounds. He'd rather have five good shots than ten poor ones any day.

“Do you know how to use a gun?” Tucker asked.

Bukolov turned the revolver over in his hands. “Finger squeezes here. Bullets come out there. I think I can manage.” He glanced down to Anya, still on her belly and bound up. “Can I shoot her?”

“Not unless she gets free and charges you. Otherwise, we're leaving you here to
guard
her until we get back.”

Christopher stood off to the side. The pair of them were going to return to the Range Rover, where Anya's pack was still stored. He intended to search both it and the SUV thoroughly. They needed to find her tracking device, and the hunt would go faster with two ­people.

He stared toward the sky.

They had less than an hour of daylight left.

He crossed and checked Anya's bindings and knots one final time before leaving.

“You cannot win, Captain Wayne,” Anya said matter-­of-­factly, as if discussing the weather, in this case a coming storm. “General Kharzin will have many men with him. Elite Spetsnaz.”

“I believe you.”

“You may hold them off for a time, but eventually you will lose. If you surrender, it will go better for you.”

“Somehow I don't see that ending with anything less than a bullet in my skull.” He gave the ropes around her ankle a snug pull. “Just answer one question.”

Arching her back, she glanced over her shoulder toward him.

“Knowing what you do about LUCA,
why
would you want Kharzin to have it?”

“It is not my place to question. I know my duty, and I serve.”

Tucker stared at her preternatural calmness, at her steady and simple gaze. It was beginning to unnerve him a little. Here was the true Anya.

“How does Kharzin plan to use it?” he asked.

“I do not know.”

Oddly enough,
this
he believed.

6:33
P.M.

“Look here,” Christopher said as he knelt on the ground next to Anya's open pack. He had already dumped the contents out and had been slowly going over them, item by item.

Tucker was performing a similar search upon the Rover, knowing a wireless transmitter could have been planted in a thousand places. As he worked, he felt the growing press of time as the sun sank toward the horizon.

“What did you find?” he asked, shifting over to Christopher.

Kane came sniffing, too.

Christopher passed over what looked like a thick-­barreled ballpoint pen. “Twist it open.”

He did, unscrewing it and pulling the two halves apart. Inside, he discovered a cluster of fine wires, a microcircuit board, and a strip of lithium-­ion batteries the size of his pinkie nail.

He smiled.
Gotcha
.

“What about the Range Rover?” Christopher asked. “Do you want me to help you look for any additional transmitters?”

“In the end, they won't matter. I just need this one in hand.”

“What next then?”

“You head back to the pond. We need to hide any evidence that we're still here. That means getting you, Bukolov, and Anya down into that cave.”

Tucker quickly instructed Christopher on how to get everyone lowered through the vortex.

“I should be back around dusk to join you,” Tucker finished. “Call me by radio if there is any trouble.”

With Christopher headed back, Tucker climbed into the driver's seat of the Range Rover. Kane clambered into the passenger seat.

He engaged the engine and slowly reversed his way back down the ravine. Once at the bottom, he headed west for ten minutes, continuing their group's original trajectory, pushing the Rover as hard as he dared, hoping Kharzin was actively monitoring his progress.

He eventually found the perfect terrain.

Three-­quarters of a mile from where he'd started, Tucker stopped the vehicle at the mouth of a narrow slot-­canyon, much like the one back at the coordinates. He hopped out and entered the narrow ravine. Using his flashlight, he studied the rubble-­strewn floor until he discovered a deep fissure in the ground. Peering down, he saw no bottom.

Good enough.

Reaching to his pocket, he pulled out Anya's pen and dropped it down the crack.

Dig for that, General.

He hurried back to the parked Rover. If there were any more transmitters aboard, he didn't care. He wanted to draw Kharzin here. He left the keys in the ignition and set to work on the second part of his plan: a surprise welcome for the general's team.

From the cargo pocket of his pants, he pulled out the waxy block of C-­4 explosives that he'd been carrying all day.

Working quickly but cautiously, he sidled under the vehicle on his back and stuffed a half block of the explosive between the muffler and the floorboard. Next, he strung a length of detonation cord to the leaf springs behind the front tire and affixed a chemical detonator.

He crawled back out and surveyed his handiwork.

If anyone tried to move or even sit inside the vehicle, the stress on the tire springs would set off the charge. With any luck, the bomb would take out one or two of Kharzin's Spetsnaz.

And while the ruse wouldn't stop Kharzin forever, it should buy Tucker and the others some valuable extra time.

He turned to Kane. “Ready for a little run?”

The tail wag was answer enough.

7:18
P.M.

Setting a hard pace, it took only ten minutes to return to the canyon and up to the pond. He found Christopher waiting for him at the pool's edge. The sun had already disappeared, but the twilight's gloaming still allowed decent light.

“Are the other two down safely in the cave?” Tucker asked, huffing heavily. “And the supplies?”

“The doctor went first with his pistol. Then Anya, all trussed up and lowered like a Christmas goose. Doctor Bukolov radioed that he has her well in hand.”

“Then we should get below, too.”

“Before we do that,” Christopher said, “I had a thought. If I call my brothers and—­”

“No. I'm not going to involve them here.”

“I do not mean to bring them
here
. I love my brothers too much for that. I simply mean to ask them to wait for us at last night's campsite. I can pass on the coordinates. If we make it out of this alive, we'll still need a way
back
to civilization, especially if our Rover gets blown up.”

It made sense.

Christopher talked with his brother for two minutes on the satellite phone, then disconnected. “They will be there tomorrow night.”

With the matter settled, they set about getting themselves down into the cave. Christopher disappeared first through the vortex. Next, Tucker lowered Kane, cinching the line through a set of loops in his tactical vest. Tucker went last after reconfiguring the rope ties, so he could pull the rope down after him once inside.

A few moments later, soaked to the skin, Tucker stood in the cave with the others. Hauling with his shoulders, he reeled the rope down from above.

“What are you doing?” Christopher asked, watching the last of the line tumble down to the floor.

Bukolov stood up from where he sat atop their supplies next to Anya, his pistol still pointed at her head. She was flat on her belly as before.

Tucker had told no one about this last detail of his plan, or they might have balked at coming down here.

“I don't want to leave any evidence that we were ever
up
there. And I certainly don't want to leave behind any clue about how to get
down
here.”

“But how are we supposed to get out of here?” Bukolov asked.

“According to De Klerk, this was an old Boer bunker.” He pictured the warren of tunnels and cellars back at the Klipkoppie fort. “So I wager there's more than one way out of this cavern system.”

“You're
wagering
with our lives,” Bukolov warned, but he ended it with an unconcerned shrug. “But you are right, the Boer were a crafty bunch.”

“And even if I'm wrong, I have a contingency plan as backup.”

“Which is what?” Christopher asked.

“Let's worry about that
after
we search this place.”

Tucker realized one of their team had remained unusually quiet. He stepped over to Anya and dropped to a knee.

Bukolov shuffled his legs a bit. “She had a lot to say while you were all gone. Very sly, this one. Gets in your head. She kept wheedling, pressing, promising, until finally I had to put a sock in it.”

Tucker smiled. In this case, the doctor was speaking literally. He had stuffed a rolled-­up sock in Anya's mouth, gagging her.

Tucker straightened back up. “That's why you're a billionaire, Doctor Bukolov. Always using your head.”

Or in this particular case,
his foot.

Tucker pointed to her and renewed an order with Kane. “G
UARD
.”

The shepherd walked over to Anya and lowered his head until his snout was mere inches away, panting. Anya leaned back, her eyes flashing hatefully, finally showing cracks in that calm professional demeanor.

Bukolov chuckled. “I have grown quite fond of that dog.”

7:55
P.M.

Preparing to explore, Tucker and Christopher donned headlamps. The cavern's only other illumination came from an LED lantern next to Bukolov. The doctor still sat among the supplies, guarding Anya. He had a pistol in one hand and De Klerk's diary in another, doing his best to get his bearings, to discern some clue about the whereabouts of the specimens of LUCA.

“There are many references in his damned diary,” Bukolov had said a few moments ago. “To bunkrooms, officers' messes, medical wards, including a place grimly noted as the
Die Bloedige Katedraal,
or ‘The Bloody Cathedral.' It seemed the Boer even brought their horses in here and wagons.”

Tucker looked up at the falling chute of water.

Not through there they didn't.

“But I keep coming to one entry over and over again. It's simply noted as
Die Horro,
or ‘The Horror.' It seemed important to De Klerk. But it would be easier to trace his steps through this subterranean world if I had some
map
of the place.”

And that's what Tucker and Christopher intended to do, with Kane's help. Tucker figured this recon mission was a better use of the shepherd's skills than merely guarding Anya. She was already trussed up and under the baleful eye of Bukolov. Besides, where could she go?

So Christopher and Tucker headed over to the two passageways that looked like the muzzle of a double-­barreled shotgun.

Tucker took the one on the right with Kane. Christopher vanished into the other. After only sixty steps, Tucker's tunnel dumped into another cavern, this one massive, with a vaulted ceiling festooned with stalactites. The floor was likewise covered in a maze of towering stalagmites. Some of the two met to form columns like in a—­

“Cathedral,” Tucker mumbled.

Was this the place Bukolov had mentioned?

Die Bloedige Katedraal.

As he stepped farther out, he saw the walls to either side had been carved into tiers. They definitely looked man-made, likely the handiwork of the Boers.

A scuffle of boots sounded behind him. Christopher stumbled into view thirty feet away, his light shining blindingly into Tucker's face. His tunnel had also deposited him into the Cathedral.

“Whoa, whoa!” Christopher said, sweeping his headlamp across the cavern. “How big do you think this place is?”

“Side to side, fifty yards. Maybe twice again as deep.” Tucker pointed to the tiered ledges on his side. “I want to check those out. Those aren't natural. See the chisel marks and ax strikes in the sandstone?”

Tucker crossed over and hopped up onto the first ledge, then the second, finally the third, like climbing tall steps. Kane followed him up. They were now ten feet off the ground. He found more Boer handiwork on top. The highest ledge had been excavated along its length to form a crude foxhole, enough room for a soldier to duck down out of sight from the floor below.

Shining his lamp into the foxhole, he saw the bottom littered with spent shell casings. Kane jumped down to explore, sniffing at the casings, shuffling through them.

Christopher had mirrored his climb on the far side of the cavern and discovered the same. They both walked along the top tier on their respective sides, heading down along the cavern, paralleling each other.

“I'm starting to see how the Boers did it,” Tucker called out. “From these foxholes, they could strafe anyone passing through the cavern below. A perfect killing floor.”

“Horrible to imagine,” Christopher said.

Tucker now understood the
bloody
part of the room's nickname.

“Let's keep going.”

They clambered back to the floor, met in the middle, and headed farther down the belly of the monstrous cavern.

Tucker noted the telltale pockmarks gouging a nearby stalagmite, evidence of gunfire. This killing floor had seen some use.

But if so, where were the bodies from that slaughter? Had the British buried them after clearing this place out—­even the Boers' remains? Was there a mass grave somewhere in these hills?

As they continued through the Cathedral, the walls began narrowing and the roof descending, until the space was only thirty feet across. Near the end of the cave, they hit a waist-­high wall of burlap sandbags that stretched from wall to wall. They high-­stepped over it, while Kane hurdled it. In another ten feet, with the walls ever narrowing, they ran into another line of sandbags, then after that another. Beyond the last one, the Cathedral's walls and ceiling narrowed to a four-­foot-­wide funnel that became a tunnel.