Oceans of Fire (44 page)

“No one will leave the house,” Sarah said. “We do our best work from a power source and this house holds tremendous power. We’ll be up on the walk. You’ll feel the wind on you and that will be us.”

Aleksandr framed Abigail’s face with his large hands and bent his head toward hers. “I won’t be careless, Abbey, you know me better than that. When I come for you, be wearing that ring. I miss seeing it on your finger.” He kissed her as tenderly as possible, trying to pour as much love into it as he could convey. “I’m not about to lose you again,” he added, pressing small kisses from the corner of her mouth to her eyes.

“We’ll go out the cliff-side door into the backyard,” Jonas decided. “Just in case someone is watching the place. Keep Sylvia here. She’s liable to try to get a gun and launch a rescue herself.”

“Libby’s with her,” Sarah assured him.

Abigail walked with Aleksandr to the door, her fingers tangled with his. “You come back to me.”

“I will.”

There were no lights on in the kitchen and Jonas exited the house in darkness, sliding quickly to the cover of the shadows and waiting for Aleksandr to join him. They made their way through the thick brush to the waiting car. Jonas examined the area around the car carefully while Aleksandr checked all the high positions where a sniper might lie in wait. When they were certain they were in the clear, they slipped into the car and took off, Jonas using the radio to call his deputy, Jackson Deveau, a man who had served as a Ranger with him and, more importantly, a sniper with a deadly accurate aim.

“We don’t want to be using a marked car,” Jonas said. “Jackson will bring his. He knows the highway and his car can take the road fast if we need speed.”

“They won’t be there. They’ll have moved him,“ Aleksandr said.

“Yeah, they’d be idiots not to, and I don’t think they’re that stupid. But we might pick up a few clues. Jackson is hell on wheels with tracking. He’ll be able to read who was there and what was going on. He’ll also be able to see where Sylvia was and if it was possible for her to get away from Prakenskii.” Jonas glanced at Aleksandr. “I take it this Prakensü is a badass.”

A brief, humorless smile curved Aleksandr’s mouth. “You could say that.”

They met Jackson just north of Caspar and exchanged vehicles on one of the many back roads. “The road the barn is on is narrow and sweeps around in a big loop. There’s only a couple of houses off of it, so if someone is waiting, the minute they see the headlights, they’ll know we’re coming,“ Jonas warned.

Jackson shook hands with Aleksandr briefly. “Drop me a distance out and let me work my way into position to cover you. I’ll signal you when I’m secure and then drop Volstov a little closer so he can go through the grass to the barn.”

“I’m the decoy,” Jonas said. “Great.”

“I’ve already gotten rid of the overhead lights and I’d advise driving without headlights,” Jackson said.

Aleksandr watched the deputy’s hands smooth over his rifle. It was a sniper’s rifle and well kept. Earlier in the car, Jonas had told Aleksandr a little bit about his deputy. Jackson Deveau had served with Jonas as a Ranger and then gone on to do other things. Aleksandr was fairly certain those “other things” involved being dropped into “hot zones” and completing a lone mission before being extracted. Jackson Deveau didn’t seem too far removed from Ilya Prakenskii, a man with his own code, lethal, loyal, and a good man to have on your side when going into battle.

Jonas grinned at his deputy. “If anything happens to me, move out of town. The Drakes will most likely turn you into some kind of really ugly toad.”

“They’ll give me a medal,” Jackson muttered as the car slowed. He opened his door and rolled out onto the grass.

Aleksandr scooted over into position. Jonas kept the vehicle at a slow pace as they drove up the winding, narrow dirt road. Even so, Aleksandr hit the ground hard, the breath slamming out of him, his body jarred as he rolled into deeper grass. He lay a moment trying to catch his breath and assess his body for any damage. When he was certain there were no broken bones, he began to crawl through the vegetation toward the old rickety barn.

Jonas and Jackson had given him detailed information of the terrain and he knew there were several large areas that had once been garden beds. The weeds and wildflowers were thicker in those spots and he made his way to the first of them as quickly as possible. When he was certain he was well covered, he paused to get his bearings straight and listen to the night sounds.

The moon spilled light across the meadow. Several deer grazed a hundred yards to his left. Crickets sang to one another and frogs called out in a steady symphony. He had to move carefully not to spook the insects. The lack of sound was a dead giveaway to any accomplished sniper. He was very aware that Jackson Deveau was moving to higher ground and there wasn’t a single change in the night noises. That told him more than anything else he needed to know about the deputy.

Aleksandr listened for sounds coming from the barn, but there were none. He moved a few inches at a time over the uneven ground, gaining feet, then yards. He knew Jonas had intended to park the car at the entrance to the dirt road, back behind some trees, and would hoof it in from the other direction.

An owl hooted once, the sound carrying easily and naturally across the meadow. Jackson had found high enough ground to cover them and had signaled an all clear. Aleksandr felt some of the tension ease out of his body. There were more eyes and ears in the night than his own. His brain told him Prakenskii was long gone, that he’d never stay in the area once Sylvia was gone, but still, the man had to know Aleksandr would take the bait. How could he not? How could he leave Mason Fredrickson to be killed without at least trying to save him?

Nothing about the entire setup made any sense to him and Aleksandr was a man who preferred logic. He was familiar with treachery and deceit. It never surprised him, but there had to be logic, even if it was twisted. Prakenskii was too well trained to make such an error, unless he was banking on the fact that Aleksandr preferred to work alone. It might not occur to him that Aleksandr would hook up with the local sheriff.

Aleksandr dug his elbows in the dirt and scooted closer to the barn. The building rose up in the night, boards old and cracked, paint chipped and peeling. The entire barn tilted as if it would slide to the ground on one side any moment. There was a rustling in the bushes close to the barn. Aleksandr froze, his breath catching in his lungs. A spot between his shoulder blades itched. He eased a knife out of his belt and waited.

The owl screeched out frustration and rage at missing prey. Aleksandr allowed his breath to leave his lungs slowly at the warning, careful not to make a single sound. Jackson was amazing with his bird cries, so close to the real thing, it had taken a moment to figure out that it hadn’t been an owl. He waited, motionless, listening for another telltale rustle or whisper of movement.

A frog croaked somewhere to his left and almost immediately he heard a noise, the brush of something against wood inside the barn. Aleksandr levered himself another foot forward through the grass on his belly like a lizard. He was a big man and it wasn’t easy to move without sound. He lay motionless again, sweating, waiting for the bite of a bullet in his back.

A frog croaked again, much closer this time. His tension eased a little more when he realized Jonas was approaching from the opposite side of the barn. He rolled toward the entrance. There was no door, just a burlap sack tacked over the gaping hole where it should have been. Moonlight spilled through the cracks in the ceiling, but left far too many shadows where someone could hide. There was that rustling again, this time sounding a little more frantic. Something large bumped against the back wall of the barn. There was a muffled swearing. Aleksandr didn’t have animal noises to make to warn Jonas, so he had to hope the man was close enough to hear.

Aleksandr lay at the mouth of the barn, right beneath the burlap sack at the entrance, and studied the darker areas in the interior. He could see Mason Fredrickson, bound and gagged and thrashing to free himself almost directly ahead. It was a tempting sight. Get in, slash the man free, and get out. He smiled to himself. Surely Prakenskii had more respect for him. This was a juvenile plan.
It had drawn him there, so it had worked
. The thought came unbidden. He froze, his heart accelerating.

It was an old ploy. The simplest of traps. A basic game of cat and mouse. Movement caught the eye and he wasn’t about to move. Jackson might be able to protect them outside the barn, but once inside, once he made his move to free Mason, Aleksandr was on his own. He lay in the entrance, belly down, breath barely moving through his lungs in complete silence, waiting. Time passed. Five minutes. Fifteen. A half an hour.

Insects rustled the leave near his ear. The wind touched his face and he felt Abigail close to him. Why would Prakenskii go to so much trouble to bring him out to an old barn to rescue Mason Fredrickson? The question turned over and over in his mind with no concrete answer. But he waited, because in a game of cat and mouse the first one to move was dead.

In the far corner, up in the rafters, there was a rustle of clothing. “You tied him too tight, he isn’t making enough noise.” The voice was American.

“Shut up!” Aleksandr didn’t recognize the Russian. It wasn’t Prakenskii, but he knew where the killers were now.

A frog croaked just outside the far corner of the barn and relief swept through him. Jonas was fully aware of the men with guns trained on Fredrickson. They desperately needed a distraction.

Immediately, on the wings of that thought, came the wind, not the light touch of earlier, but a rush that brought with it the scent of the sea and carried the faint far-off chant of female voices. Almost at once came an answer. An eerie rush of wings, high-pitched pulsing sounds, filled the air. Aleksandr allowed his gaze to sweep upward and saw the night sky filled with bats. Wings pumped as the bats wheeled and dived and flowed in a spiraling circle toward the barn. The air was heavy with the migration as more bats arrived, dancing in the air, darting at insects as they flew toward the barn.

The frog croaked a friendly sort of greeting. It took a split second to register that the sound had come from
above
rather than on the ground. Jonas was in position on the sagging roof, directly over the two killers. From the edge of the tree line nearest the barn, the owl gave a soft inquiring hoot. Jackson had moved closer to them, abandoning his high position to give them more coverage for the rescue.

The bats swarmed into the barn, using every crack in the boards, the gaping hole in the roof, and the opening around and under the burlap sack. Aleksandr rolled into the barn with them, straight across the floor to Mason Fredrickson.

Chapter 18

THE bats filled the barn with the sheer weight of numbers, going high into the rafters, wings beating against the two gunmen sitting up in the beams. Chad Kingman dropped his weapon and grabbed the rotten wood, swaying precariously as the small furry bodies hit his chest and face. The Russian fought off the onslaught of bats, striking out with his hands blindly to get them away from him. His arm slammed into Chad, knocking him off the beam onto the dirt floor below. Chad hit hard, the breath slamming out of his lungs.