by David Wood
He decided this was a positive development. Telesh wanted them alive. If he had wanted to kill them, he wouldn’t have bothered with tape and sack hoods; he would have simply ordered Tweedledum to snap their necks, too, and left the bodies for the rats.
Maybe the gangster planned to interrogate them to learn Lia’s whereabouts. Maybe they would be held for ransom, or sold to the highest bidder. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Eventually, an opportunity would present itself for escape, and when it came, Maddock would be ready.
He could not say with certainty how much time passed. He drifted in and out of consciousness, partly as a strategy for coping with the reduced supply of fresh air, and partly because there was nothing else to do.
His captors carried him for a while, then deposited him on a flat surface—probably the bed of a truck or some other vehicle. The hood was heavy enough to muffle most sounds but he could feel vibrations rumbling through the floor beneath him and could sense changes in acceleration and turns. After a while, he was lifted and carried again, and then once more put in a prone position. Another vehicle... No, a plane. There was no mistaking the surge of power as the aircraft accelerated for take-off, the steep climb to cruising altitude, the rapid change in air pressure inside his head which he could only equalize by working his jaw to pop his ears.
The flight lasted a couple hours, which told Maddock that they were probably still in Russia. Once the plane was on the ground and not moving, he was half-dragged to another vehicle. He needed to relieve his bladder and tried to tell his captors as much, but his muffled shouts accomplished nothing. If something did not change soon, he would have no choice but to urinate in his pants.
The ride lasted another hour, and this time, he was fully awake and present for every twist, turn and pothole. The last mile or so was the worst as the vehicle crept along at a snail’s pace, grinding along a gravel road that felt about as smooth as the surface of the moon. Finally, the torturous journey ended. Maddock was dragged out of the vehicle. The change in position gave him a moment of relief, but the jostling that followed pushed the limits of his self-control. After a few minutes of being carried, he was deposited in a kneeling position on a hard, cold floor. He felt something tugging at his wrists and then, miraculously, his hands were loose. His arms were stiff and partially numb, and all he could do was let them hang limp at his sides.
The hood was abruptly snatched off his head. He winced as light flooded into his eyes, and when he sniffed in a grateful breath, he nearly gagged. The air reeked of urine and excrement.
Something rattled behind him. He turned, still blinking back tears, just in time to see a chain-link gate swing shut, closing him in a narrow stall. Through the blur and the diamonds of steel mesh, he could just make out the silhouette of his tormentor. A moment later, he heard the distinctive click of a lock bolt being thrown, and then the silhouette was gone.
He was in a jail cell.
No, that wasn’t quite right. It was a cell of sorts, but not one meant for human prisoners. The light that still brought tears to his eyes was streaming down from a single naked incandescent bulb mounted on the ceiling. It illuminated a narrow stall framed on three sides by chain link fencing. The remaining wall was concrete, as was the floor which was covered in mildew-spotted straw.
There was a disturbance outside the confines of the cell. Maddock moved closer, pressed his face against the chain-link and saw two of Telesh’s thugs with a hooded and bound figure suspended between them.
Leopov.
He tried to shout her name, and was reminded of the tape covering his mouth. He reached up with still-tingling fingers and tore it away. “Zara!” He decided to hide his relief at seeing her behind a façade of outrage. “Let go of her you bastards.”
They paid him no heed, but wrestled Leopov into the stall to his left where they cut her bonds and removed her hood.
As the men exited and locked the stall, Maddock shifted to the shared wall. On the other side, Leopov was covering her eyes with her hands as if weeping.
“Zara, I’m here.”
Leopov’s head came up, her tear streaked face searching him out. Her fingers tugged at the tape strip, ripped it away. She gasped in a breath, shuddered in revulsion. “Dane? Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, and then added. “A dog kennel, I think. That’s about all I know.”
“Was dog kennel,” said a voice from just outside Leopov’s cell—Telesh. “Former owner of this dacha raised wolfhounds. I do not like dogs so have found other use for it, as you see.”
Maddock swung his gaze in the direction of the voice. His vision was still a little blurry but his eyes had adjusted to the light level and he no longer had to squint to make out the ogre-shape of their tormentor. “What kind of sick bastard doesn’t like dogs?”
Telesh uttered a harsh laugh but did not further opine on the topic.
“Dacha?” Leopov asked.
“Yes,” Telesh went on. “Was built for senior party members. I got sweet deal. Is near Gelendzhik. You know Gelendzhik?”
Maddock did not recognize the name, but Leopov did. She nodded, and then, presumably for Maddock’s benefit, said, “It’s a resort town on the Black Sea coast. About a hundred and fifty miles from the border with Georgia.” Then, with a note of chagrin, she added, “It’s pretty remote.”
“Yes,” Telesh confirmed. “A good place to get away from it all, no?” He laughed, then his voice took on a hard edge. “I have made you...” He made a little explosion with his fingertips. “Disappear. No one will look for you here. The police think you are murderers. Your government will not come to your rescue. Your only hope is to tell me what I want to know. So, I ask you again. Where is Lia Markova?”
“And I will tell you again,” Leopov replied. “We don’t know. That was the whole reason we arranged a decoy. To distract you so she could slip away on her own. She didn’t tell us where she was going, and we didn’t ask.”
“You must have some idea where she is going,” Telesh pressed, softening a little, almost pleading. “Some way to contact her.”
“Why on earth do you think we would ever tell you?” Maddock challenged. “You’re going to kill us anyway. And if we give up Lia, you’ll just kill her, too. At least this way, she lives.”
“You are mistaken. I do not want to kill the Markova woman. Petrov made a mistake. Frightened her. I don’t want to kill her. You...” He waved dismissively. “You, I don’t care about.”
“What do you want with her?”
“Is none of your business. Now, will you tell me?”
Maddock spread his hands. “Sorry, but like the lady said. We just don’t know.”
Telesh regarded them both for several seconds. “For your sake, I hope this is not true. I give you time to think about it.” He wrapped his hands around his arms and gave a mock-shiver. “It gets very cold here at night. I’ll come visit you tomorrow morning. Maybe have hot meal for you. Maybe not. We will see what the morning brings.”
With that, the gangster turned and walked away.
Leopov watched him leave and continued to stare into the empty darkness beyond the cell. “Well?” she said, not turning to look at him. “Whose turn is it to come up with a plan?”
Maddock laughed despite himself, then reached out to weave his fingers into the steel mesh of the gate. He shook it experimentally, rattling the heavy-duty padlock which held the latch bolt in place. The lock was solid enough, but the same could not be said for the 12-gauge wire that comprised the chain-link web. Time and gravity had allowed the diamond-weave to sag in several places. “If Telesh thinks this can hold us, he’s in for a shock. But if this place is as remote as you say, then breaking out of this cage will be the easy part. I don’t suppose you’ve got any old friends in this neck of the woods.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been here, but if we can get to a phone...” She trailed off, turned to look at him. “Do you believe him? About Lia?”
“You mean that he doesn’t want to kill her?” He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“What do you think he really wants?”
Before Maddock could answer, a new voice joined their conversation. “I know.”
He whirled around to see a figure rising from a nest of straw in the cell to the right of his—a haggard looking man with greasy hair and soiled clothes. His eyes were sunken, cheeks hollow from days of privation.
“I know what he wants,” the man said. He sounded as miserable as he looked, but he nevertheless struggled to his feet and approached the barrier between them. “You are Lia’s friends?”
“Who are you?”
Behind him, Leopov gasped. “Maddock. It’s Oleg Petrov. Lia’s boss.”
In the trawler’s galley, over cups of hot coffee, Lia told her story. Her account raised more questions than it answered.
“Müller, huh?” Huntley rubbed the stubble on his chin.
“If it was Gestapo Müller,” Lia said, “Then the item mentioned might really be something important to the Reich. Something valuable.”
“If,” Huntley retorted. “It’s a pretty common name. Especially in Germany. Could be someone else.”
“It doesn’t matter who he is,” said Bones, emphatically. “What matters is that the guys who are after her—” He jabbed a finger at Lia. “This Russian gangster, Telesh... He thinks that’s who it is, and he wants whatever it was Müller supposedly took with him.”
“And that matters why exactly?”
“Jeez, you’re a real douche sometimes. Telesh is out there, looking for it. He probably has Maddock and Zara. That’s probably why they haven’t made contact.” He did not allow himself to consider the possibility that his friend might already be dead. “We’ve got to go back to Moscow. Your people are obviously keeping tabs on this guy. Tell us where to find him and we’ll take care of the rest.”
“Slow your roll Hiawatha—”
“Give it a rest, man,” Willis snapped.
“No, you give it a rest, Buckwheat. You guys don’t get to run rogue ops whenever you feel like it. Maddock and Leopov knew the risks. Now, we’ll keep our eyes and ears open, and if we get a lead on where they are, we’ll pursue it. If we can extract them, we will. But under no circumstances are the three...” He looked over at Lia and amended. “The four of you setting foot on Russian soil. Not ever again, capisce?”
“You can’t expect us to just sit on our asses and do nothing.”
Professor raised his hands. “Look, if we can’t take direct action, maybe we can work a different angle.”
“Like what?” Huntley asked the question a millisecond ahead of Bones.
“Telesh is looking for Müller, and finding whatever Nazi loot he took with him. That’s where he’s gonna go. If we can find it first, then he’ll come to us. Or we can use whatever it is for leverage to get Dane and Zara back.”
Bones snapped his fingers and pointed at Huntley. “And I know just where to start.
“The CIA has a ton of classified files from the war. Stuff that nobody wants to talk about. Nazis getting get-out-of-jail-free cards after the war. Scientists and military officers. Operation Paperclip. Operation Overcast. Dustbin. Ashcan. That’s just what the public knows about, but I’ll bet it’s the tip of the iceberg. If the Russians don’t know what happened to Müller, maybe the CIA does. And just maybe, that will lead us to whatever it is Telesh is looking for.” He paused a beat, daring Huntley to dismiss him. When the intelligence officer did not reply, Bones went on. “You get us access to those files. Help us find Müller and the loot, and we’ll leave Russia to you.”
Huntley regarded him with something that might have been skepticism or admiration. Finally, he chuckled. “What, so you’re treasure hunters, now?”
“Yeah,” Bones retorted. “I guess we are.”
NINE
Near Gelendzhik, Russia
“Lia is safe?” There was a note of cautious optimism in Petrov’s tone. “She got away?”
From the opposing cell, Leopov answered. “Thanks to your warning.”
“Thank God for that,” the Russian said, leaning heavily against the chain link wall. “At least I will not have that on my conscience.” He sighed, then looked at Maddock again. “You are Americans.”
Since there was no hiding it, Maddock nodded. “I’m...” He hesitated, wondering whether to use his alias. Since Telesh already knew their real names, there didn’t seem to be much point. “Dane Maddock. She’s Zara Leopov.”
Petrov peered through the mesh, squinting to make out Leopov. “You are Russian?”
“Born here, but raised in America.”
“Ah. That would explain why you are not Leopova.”
Maddock gave her a quizzical glance.
“In Russia, the female surname is always feminized,” she explained. “My father was Leopov, so my last name should be Leopova.” She shrugged. “There was a mix-up when I started the naturalization process. Long story, and now’s probably not the time for it.”
“Agreed.” Maddock said. “Right now, I think we should focus on getting out of here. My back molars are floating.”
Petrov returned a blank look.
“He means he has to pee,” explained Leopov. “I do too. I don’t suppose Telesh lets you out for bathroom breaks.”
Judging by the smell, Maddock already knew the answer to that question, but Petrov confirmed it. “No. I thought he would, but...” He shook his head. “Whatever you do, don’t go on the straw. You’ll need it to keep warm. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
“That’s not going to be a problem,” Maddock said. “We’re not staying.”
“I do not understand,” Petrov said. “You are prisoner here, just like me.” He paused a beat, then his eyes lit up. “You know how to escape? You must take me with you.”
Maddock exchanged a quick glance with Leopov, a look that said, Can we trust this guy? Her ambivalent shrug indicated that she both understood the unspoken message, and shared his concerns, but that was something they could figure out later.
“This cage was designed to keep dogs, not people,” he said, kneeling down to inspect one section of sagging chain link. He wiggled it back and forth experimentally. There was about an inch of free play. “We’ve got something dogs don’t have.”
“Our intellect?” Petrov suggested.
Maddock chuckled. “The jury’s still out on that, but I was talking about opposable thumbs. And one other thing.” He stripped off his belt and held it up. “Tools.”
“You have a lockpick in a secret compartment?”
“Uh, not exactly. That would come in handy though.” He knelt down and threaded the inch-and-a-half thick leather strap through the chain-link at the bottom of the gate, and then brought it back through, securing the loop with the buckle. He then stood and, gripping the end of the belt with both hands, gave it a hard yank.
The sagging mesh came up several inches, the deformity expanding across the neat diamond-weave pattern. The gate remained intact but without its early perfect symmetry—more like a tangle of wire than a net now—and at the bottom, the gap had grown by several inches.
Maddock waited a moment, looking and listening to see if one of Telesh’s men would appear to investigate the disturbance, and then yanked on the belt again, and this time succeeded in widening the gap enough to fit through.
He immediately dropped flat and squirmed through the opening. The chain-link raked his shirtless back but he kept going until he was on the other side. He immediately bounded to his feet, gripping the belt between his hands like a garotte, and started down the aisle toward where Telesh and the others had exited. As he passed her, Leopov whispered, “Hurry back.”
He didn’t stop.
Passing a few more empty stalls, he came to a simple wooden door with peeling paint. There was no doorknob, but through the crack between the door and jamb, he could see that it was held shut by a thin metal bar—probably a simple cabin hook latc
h. He inserted the end of his belt into the narrow gap and slid it up. With hardly any resistance, the latch popped out of the eye bolt, and the door practically fell open. Maddock waited a beat then edged through the doorway.
Beyond was a large dimly lit garage, that looked like it might have been a repurposed barn. There were no cars, but four Suzuki LT500R “Quadzilla” all-terrain vehicles stood lined up against one wall. Work tables sat against the opposite wall, along with shelves full of sundry tools, mechanical parts, and cartons of oil.
A quick search of the shelves yielded a wire cutter, which Maddock slipped into his pocket, and a tire iron, which he decided would make a better weapon than his belt, should the need arise. Even better, he found an old cloth jacket hanging on a nail. He pulled it on. It was a little tight around the biceps and across the shoulders, oil-stained and decidedly musky, but better than being shirtless.
Hefting the tire iron, he continued down the length of the garage to the far end which was closed off with a set of carriage style doors. A regular door was set against an adjacent wall and Maddock tried it first. It wasn’t an exit, but something even better—a bathroom. The sink basin was streaked with an oily residue, and Maddock didn’t even want to think about the stains in the bowl of the commode—he just knew this was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to pass up.
After relieving himself, he returned to the carriage doors and eased them open a few inches. Night had fallen over the world, but across the darkened driveway stood an enormous, if somewhat rustic, two-story house, with light shining out through several windows. He studied the house’s exterior for several minutes, watching to see if there were roaming sentries or motionless lookouts posted on the porch, but aside from an occasional roar of laughter from the house, all was still and quiet.
