The Killing Game (20 page)

He dialed HQ in London and was surprised to be patched straight through to the CO of the Regiment.

“You’ve got a definite sighting on your target, Alpha Alpha One Nine?”

“Yes, sir, holed up in a cave a few hundred feet from this position. We’ve been hit by a massive snowstorm.” He relayed the coordinates of the cave and his present position.

“He’s likely to stay put for a couple of hours?”

“With a female hostage, sir.” The freezing air that whipped into the cavern didn’t cool his anger. “He’ll be stuck here as long as the blizzard continues and maybe some time after that, depending on how much snow gets dumped.”

“Good job, Alpha Alpha One Nine. Stand by for orders. Out.”

Shit
.

Dempsey stared at the phone. He was stuck in a cave mere meters from his target and had no idea whether Axelle was being raped and tortured or even if she was still alive. He didn’t like those images in his brain.

But he had no clue how many people were involved or how big the cave system was. If he acted alone he might get them both killed faster. What if Volkov got away from him again?

It could take weeks if not months to find one man in this staggeringly difficult terrain. Time Dempsey didn’t want to spend away from the men in his troop. Time terrorists could use to blow up marketplaces and schools. The image of his sister, her hand tightly clasped in his, flashed through his mind. Siobhan Dempsey would have been a beautiful woman if she’d lived. She’d have championed the peace process, maybe even persuaded his family to abandon their deeply rooted hatred.

Dempsey pushed the images out of his head. Memories of his sister always stirred when he was in the mountains. Maybe he was closer to her God up here. Or maybe the lack of oxygen affected his brain.

He was done with the God and religion that had torn apart generations of people. He was done with family who murdered and blamed the authorities for bloodshed and violence. He was done with everything except trying to prevent the same thing happening to someone else’s sister or daughter—people like Axelle who tried to help snow leopards.

He put the phone away and explored the back of this cave but found a dead end. His fingers were too cold to grip his rifle so he blew on them. He braced his carbine against the wall and started a series of jumping-jacks and running in place, getting the blood flowing as he planned his next move. He gave the horse a drink and fed him a bit of flat bread he had in his pack. Next he pulled out some rations and took a swig of water before he started stuffing flash-bangs and spare ammo into his webbing.

Presumably the Russian wanted Axelle for a reason and would keep her alive until he’d attained that objective. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t be hurt.
Shit
. Dempsey swallowed and eyed the entrance. The Provos always claimed they wanted to end British rule and occupation, but his father had been driven by hatred, pure and simple. Dempsey didn’t know what had motivated an elite Russian soldier to defect and join the jihadists. Money? Revenge? Social conscience? Some said he’d betrayed his homeland and his family… The parallel with Dempsey’s own life gave him a jolt, but there the similarities ended. Dempsey wasn’t a soulless destroyer. Sure, he shot bad guys. You pick up a gun, you become fair game. But civilians? Children? Young women in the first flush of love? No way. No fucking way.

But things were never black and white, and no one knew that better than him.

His father had lost three fingers and killed more than two hundred people with his so-called skills. Yet Dempsey remembered some of the best moments of his life making sandcastles with that same man on the beaches near Wicklow. He’d grown up with Semtex and ArmaLite rifles in the pantry, and as a little kid had been thrilled with the idea of fighting the British. As he’d grown older he’d seen his father’s hatred twist the lives of his older brothers.

After his sister’s death he’d turned his back on his family and taken revenge by joining the most despised group of soldiers in the Province. He’d never gone home again. Never spoken to his relatives. He’d seen his brother Declan once while on patrol in Crossmaglen. The hatred blazing from his brother’s eyes had told him there’d be no forgiveness. Decimate shoppers on a busy market day—fine. Join the enemy? You were better off dead.

Dempsey was fine with that. Absolutely fucking fine. He’d do whatever it took to stop the violence using as much force as necessary on whoever got in his way.

He stopped exercising as heat started to bloom and he braced his hand against the wall. Bottom line—it was the least he could do to even the score for his shitty relatives.

He shook himself out of the past. Thinking about it didn’t get the job done. He was here for Dmitri Volkov who had taken a woman Dempsey could care about, from right under his nose.

The Russian had fallen off the terrorist map after 9/11 but that didn’t mean he didn’t have friends in low places. The next cave over could be milling with Al Qaeda and Taliban fighters. Dempsey checked the chamber of his carbine. Decided it was time for a little reconnaissance work.

***

She opened her eyes slowly, her lids crusted and sore. Her tongue swept the inside of her mouth, searching for moisture, instead finding fur. She made out the cavernous roof above her head and the huge dome of rock, and her bones shook and sweat drenched every inch of her skin. Memories filtered back. The roar of the explosion, the massive force of the blast, shaking walls as the building started to collapse. There’d been no chance of escape.

She squeezed her eyes closed and wished she’d never woken. Except then she’d be dead and the evil old man would have won. She forced her eyes open again and searched for him. There—a shadow in the corner, hunched over a small fire.

A sharp ache scored a line between her shoulders, and a shallow pounding settled deep inside her skull. She swallowed her fear. She wasn’t going to lose it in front of this mean sonofabitch. She shoved the terror and immobilizing panic to a small corner of her brain and concentrated on how the hell to get out of there. Her wrists and ankles were bound. Her fingers burned with cold, and she kept the blood flowing by flexing her fingers and toes every few seconds.

He glanced over, then stood.

A fierce gust of wind blew a swathe of snow inside the cave and she realized they’d been hit by a blizzard. They might be stuck here for days. The thought grew talons which latched onto her insides like retractable claws.

From what she’d overheard when she’d woken briefly from her drugged stupor, the man was trying to blackmail someone, presumably her father. But the chance of her being released before she was abused and her body dumped was as remote as this wilderness. She couldn’t hope for rescue from Dempsey’s soldiers because who knew when they’d returned to camp—and in this blizzard, they wouldn’t find any trace of where she’d been taken.

She was on her own.

The ache of despair solidified into determination. She tensed as he came toward her carrying a tin mug and a handful of jerky, which he tossed on the ground beside her.

“I can’t eat unless you untie me.” She hid the anger by keeping her eyes downcast.

He laughed. “You don’t
have
to eat.” He held the mug to her lips and forced her to take a swallow of salted green tea. Then, with his dirty fingers, he held a piece of jerky to her lips.

His eyes met hers in challenge and his brows lifted. Did she want to live? What would she do to survive? The thump of her heart sounded overloud in her ears. This sonofabitch had killed her leopards and kidnapped her.

Hatred stirred as she held his gaze. His eyes were bleak. Not just cold—empty. She opened her mouth and he fed her, slowly, patiently. Like she was livestock.

She chewed and swallowed and inside she smiled. This wasn’t his victory, it was hers. She needed sustenance to escape. Giving up wasn’t an option.
Don’t think about the thousands of tons of rock suspended over her head or the disgusting, despicable old man. Think about getting away.

After he fed her two pieces of dried meat, he gave a satisfied nod and walked away.

She glanced around, still mechanically chewing the tough jerky. The cave entrance cut through the mountain as if it had been slashed by a knife. At least there was light. She didn’t think she could sit here without screaming if there hadn’t been some light.

The man started feeding the pack animals. Steam came off their backs, which helped warm the dank cave. Her body was conflicted by panic on the inside and frigid temperatures on the outside. Fear opened her pores and sweat heated her back, but still she shivered from the icy blast of the blizzard. She was being torn apart. She watched the man from beneath her lids, flexing her hands to try to keep the blood circulating. The sat phone was near the entrance. How could she get it? He caught the direction of her gaze and strode across the cavern and grabbed it and plunked it down beside the yak. Hostility bled into her gaze.

The man stretched to his full height and smiled. “Now you begin to understand.”

Bitterness wrapped itself around her bones. She understood all right.

“Who are you?” she rasped.

He chewed his meat and spat gristle on the floor. “My name is Dmitri Volkov.”

“You’re Russian?”

He nodded.

“Why did you shoot the snow leopards?” Her grief over the leopards had gained another dimension. They’d died because of her.

“I already tell you.”

“Tell me again,” she yelled. “Because I’d have been back in the summer anyway. You didn’t have to kill them.”

“I couldn’t wait that long.”

“Why not—”

“Quiet.”

She’d never been a big fan of being told what to do and figured she was dead anyway. “Fuck you.” The incentive to cooperate evaporated. She pushed back against the wall and climbed unsteadily to her feet. Pins and needles attacked her and she ignored the pain.

The Russian glared at her. “Sit down.”

“Why? Are you afraid I’m going to run off into the storm?” she said in disgust. “I’m not an idiot.”

“All Americans are crazy.”

“And you’re not?”

He grunted and turned his back on her, fiddling with the packs.

“You’re going to sell the pelts, aren’t you?” This wasn’t just about her. It was about money and this man’s greed. The realization lessened some of the guilt. But the cats were still dead.

She picked at her bonds, loosening the knots as she strove for warmth and constant motion. She lost her balance and landed on her chin. The Russian smirked.

Bastard
. She curled onto her side, started rubbing her arms up and down her legs, surreptitiously working on the rope that tied her ankles, loosening the knot with each small movement.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re after?” she asked.

His eyes flashed from benign to remorseless. Then the light died. He sagged. “I am trying to get my grandson out of Russia because he is seriously ill.”

Yeah, right
. “Most people try charity before they resort to kidnapping.”

“Not the people I know.” His laugh was like a cold lash of air. His gaze like an icicle through her heart. She didn’t think she’d ever defrost.

“What’s wrong with him?” It was important to form a relationship with your captors. She’d learned that in Lessons for Children-of-Diplomats 101.

“His liver doesn’t work.” His fingers stopped their work. “No one would help my kin, not after what I’ve done.” He sounded disgusted with himself. “My family is innocent but I am not.”

“Didn’t you think of them when you started all this?” She didn’t even know what his crimes were. She’d assumed he was a terrorist because the soldiers were after him, but he could be a serial killer for all she knew. That thought brought fresh chills crawling over her skin.

“You are too young to know how one simple decision can shape your life.”

“You mistake age for experience.” She tilted her chin and forced back the tears that suddenly threatened. She knew exactly how small decisions could change your life. Her husband was dead. Her mother was dead. Her father estranged. Her life’s work rolled up on the back of his fucking yak. She knew exactly how one decision could impact every aspect of your life.

He studied her expression. “Perhaps you do know.” He turned away, fiddling with something on the floor. “I was naive enough to think I was helping people liberate themselves from their oppressors. It turns out I was only teaching people better ways to kill.”

“Why did you do it?” She craned her neck to see what he was doing.

His eyes crinkled in a cross between pain and amusement. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“I was angry. Angry men make mistakes.”

“I think you’ve made another one by kidnapping me.”

“Some things cannot be changed, others…” He shrugged. With the movement of his shoulder she finally got a look at what he was doing and terror raced up her body and grabbed her by the esophagus. Packs of plastic explosives were laid out neatly and he was carefully sliding them into the pockets of some sort of vest. She started to shake so hard her teeth clacked.
No
.

Her knees grazed the dirt as she crawled. Rock took skin from flesh but she didn’t stop wriggling across the barren cavern floor.

He put the barrel of her own Glock next to her forehead.

“Believe it or not, I do not want to kill you.” His breath moved her hair. “But if anyone is going to die, it is only fitting that it is you.”

Why
? Axelle wanted to slap the gun away. But she knew he would kill her. One more evil act wouldn’t burden his conscience too greatly.

Primal fear washed down her back and she fought hard to keep the tears at bay. “You’re a monster.”

The light in his eyes was flat as a sheet of ice, his regret as ancient as a glacier. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

***

Soviet Union, September 1979

Dmitri rolled over and stared at the ceiling of their farmhouse bedroom. His wife ran her hand up the warm muscles of his stomach, over the smooth planes of his chest.