The Hunt

by Jack Arbor

  Dedov stared at the floor.

  The giant suddenly reared back and launched a dumbbell-sized fist directly at Victor’s face. It connected with a crunch and blood spattered into the air. The wheelchair rolled back a few inches, and when it came to rest, Victor’s head lolled sideways. Nikita slapped him twice. “Don’t pass out on me yet, you pig.”

  He strode over to a broad window and gazed out while wiping his knuckles on a handkerchief. He spun and addressed Max. “Spartak and Dedov were against me, that much is clear. Spartak was the dull instrument, and I applaud you for dispatching him, Mikhail. You did me a favor. I didn’t know who else was in on it, but now I know that Victor was the ringleader. The so-called brains of the operation.” Nikita’s laugh came out as a dull roar. “Thanks to our discussions over the past few days, Victor has seen fit to illuminate the rest of the conspiracy for me, haven’t you, Victor?”

  Victor Dedov, a man known for his tenacity and fortitude, a man who built his KGB career on guile, cunning, and aggression, was now a shell of his former self. He was too weak to even beg for forgiveness. He said nothing, and instead slouched in his chair and cast his eyes to the ground.

  The giant made a dismissive sound and turned to the window muttering under his breath. “Useless.” His hand snaked into his jacket before he spun with the pistol out and fired. A deafening pop filled the room, and Victor Dedov’s head rocked as the bullet from the .45 cartridge pierced his face at the bridge of his nose. A distorted chunk of metal exited the rear of his skull, spraying gray-red brain matter on the white tile.

  Max sat wide-eyed. Guess this is it.

  Fifty-Three

  Somewhere in Greece

  The echo of the gunshot was replaced by the giant’s chuckles. “Never liked that little fucker.”

  He holstered the .45 as four security guards rushed in, guns drawn. Ivanov issued several commands in Greek, which Max didn’t understand. As the door closed, he added a final command in English. “And tell Delphinia to make me another mojito.”

  The giant turned to Max. “Now we’re even, no?”

  Max’s eyebrows went up. “Not even close, but how do you figure?”

  Nikita shrugged. “You helped me by killing Spartak. I helped you by killing Victor. The account is now even.”

  Max’s mouth gaped open for a second before it closed. “I think you have your math wrong. You killed my parents. The price is the twelve lives of the consortium members, including yours.”

  A knock interrupted them. A man in Bermuda shorts entered carrying a tray holding a glass of ice, rum, and mint leaves. The giant made a show of tasting the drink, announced his approval, and dismissed the servant. “Where were we? Ah, yes, you were suggesting the accounts weren’t settled. Let’s discuss this idea of yours, shall we?”

  Max smiled. “By all means. It’s simple. You killed my parents. Now I kill all of you.”

  The giant made a sound in his throat. “What if I told you I had nothing to do with your parents’ death?”

  A shrug. “I’d say you’re lying.”

  The giant stroked his chin. “But just for conversation’s sake, what if Dedov did it on his own without my sanction? How might that change our position?”

  “So Arina, Alex, and I are free to go? Our lives aren’t in danger?”

  The giant shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Well then we’re right back to where we started,” Max said. “Unless you’re offering some kind of deal, I don’t follow your line of thinking.”

  Ivanov made a conciliatory gesture with the hand holding the drink. “The consortium, as you call it, is not a static group. Even now with Volkov, Spartak, and Dedov dead, we’re grooming new members to take their place. You can’t eliminate the group by killing everyone.”

  “So people keep telling me.”

  A chuckle. “It’s like a parliament or a senate. The body exists independent of its individual members. The institution is greater than its individual parts.” He stopped to sip. “Besides, where does it stop? Do you spend the rest of your life killing every member of the council? Eventually we’ll wear you down, or it will consume you. If it hasn’t already.”

  Max raised his eyebrows. “Someone once told me the same thing right before I killed him.”

  “Yes, you’re referring to Wilbur Lynch. He was useful, but only to a point.”

  “Is this where you call me a blunt instrument?”

  A deep chuckle erupted from the giant, who took a sip of the mojito. “An animal is bred for survival. The shark hunts because it has to. A chameleon blends into its surroundings to stay alive because it has to. You were taught one thing, and quite well, I might add. You learned from the best, and I was disappointed to see the decision your father made.” He gestured at Max with the mojito glass. “You rely on one skill. You’re like a shark. You only know one mode of attack.”

  “Do you have another suggestion?”

  Ivanov nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You call it the consortium, so I will as well. Do you know why the consortium exists?”

  Max shrugged. “My educated guess is to either protect or corner the world market for oil. It’s a partnership with China, and you collude to keep oil prices high, control drilling and distribution, and ensure Russia and China’s access to the scarce resource for generations to come.”

  The giant slapped his thigh. “They told me you were smart, but I didn’t believe them. Of course, you’re partially correct. That is our outward aim.” Ivanov paced. “What if I were to provide you information that proved without a shadow of a doubt that Victor, and Victor alone, was behind the killing of your parents? That he acted independently, without authorization from me.”

  “I’d say you’re fabricating the information in order to get me off your back. And with Victor dead…”

  The giant snorted. “This is an interesting conversation, no? Here you sit, shackled to a chair. I might blow your brains out at any moment. I offer you an olive branch, which you toss away like garbage. What’s wrong here?”

  He wants me alive. But why? “I’m not dead yet. Until I am, your life is in danger.”

  Ivanov scrunched up his eyes, took a mobile phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and issued a command in Greek.

  Footsteps sounded at the door and a phalanx of guards entered the room. A chair was set on the tiled floor, and an obese man was guided to the chair. His white Oxford shirt was soiled and wet, and his eyes shifted around the room with nervous energy, lingering for a moment on the dead form of Victor Dedov. The guards were waved away, and the three men were left alone.

  Ivanov smiled broadly. “Hello, Dr. Diego”

  The fat man nodded his enormous head. “Holá.”

  “My people tell me that you, Doctor, are one of the preeminent experts on interrogation and extracting information from the dark depths of the human mind, no?”

  Dr. Diego smiled revealing yellow teeth. “That is correct.

  Ivanov caressed his chin. “And you agree there is none better at this kind of work?”

  The fat man shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I’m by no means the only expert in this field.”

  “I’m told you’re in the top five.”

  “I guess you could say that is correct.”

  “Fair enough. I’m told by the late Victor Dedov over there that you spent several weeks interrogating and questioning Kate Shaw. You’ve applied many methods, including sleep deprivation, various forms of pain including shock therapy, water boarding, and many drugs designed to persuade her to talk, is that not correct?”

  The fat man shifted in his seat. “It is.”

  “And what have you learned from our good friend Ms. Shaw?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. Any information she possessed would have come out. I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Ivanov nodded as if perplexed by this conundrum. “The wrong tree, as you say.” His cotton trousers billowed in a light breeze. “My
people assure me the information is in her head, as does an independent source I trust. If true, how is it that a man of your expansive skills cannot make Ms. Shaw reveal it to us?”

  Another shrug. “I cannot say.”

  Ivanov spread his arms. “Is there anything we have not yet tried? Interrogation techniques? Chemicals? Perhaps more distasteful methods?”

  The doctor shook his head and his voice quivered. “As I’ve written about many times, pain is not a favorable method for knowledge extraction, it simply incents a subject to lie. We tried shock treatment, as well as many psychological methods such as sensory deprivation, water, extreme noise, sleep deprivation, and other techniques to break her down and build her back up. We used various drugs and even hypnosis. My assessment at this point is that there is no information she possesses in her mind that has not come out. I can only surmise that your sources are incorrect or deliberately misleading you.”

  Max held his breath.

  Nikita Ivanov reached under his jacket, removed the pistol, and fired. The room was filled with the odor of gunpowder as the large body of Doctor Diego fell dead from his chair.

  Holstering the weapon one more time, Ivanov faced Max. “It’s not that I mind being told something I don’t like. I suspect he’s partially correct and they did try everything. I killed Dr. Diego not because he failed, but because he simply knew too much and had outgrown his usefulness. Let me ask you something. Do you trust your father?”

  Max nodded.

  “Of course you do. This may surprise you, but before he…um…went off the reservation so to speak, I also trusted him. Despite our differences, I knew your father to be a man of deep honor. He spoke the truth, and unfortunately it got him killed in the end. I have good intelligence that he told you, in a video made only for your consumption, that Kate has the information in her head. I doubt he would lie to you, and therefore I suspect the information has been coded into her brain in such a way that only you can extract it from her.”

  This is why I’m not yet dead.

  The giant’s arms hit his sides. “What do we do now?”

  Max tested his restraints. “I don’t know. Not sure I know what—”

  Nikita held up a hand. “Before you say you don’t know, think about this. If you truly can’t extract what’s in Kate’s head, I have no use for you either. Do we understand each other?”

  Rolling his shoulders, Max stretched his muscles. “If that’s true, I’m in a predicament. I stay alive while there is the potential to uncover the information. But the second you learn it, my life is over. And so is Kate’s. Wouldn’t I be better off dead so the information remains forever buried?”

  The giant’s massive head bobbed up and down. “Very good, Mikhail. I’ve thought of that too. Lucky for both of us, there is one last chip on the table.”

  Ivanov retrieved a tablet from a small table by the door. “If I have the information I’m looking for, there is no reason to prevent your sister and nephew from carrying on with their lives. They have no knowledge that puts the consortium at risk.” He held the tablet in front of Max. On it, a video showed the inside of the Swiss compound where Arina and Alex lived. “You see, Victor imparted much information before he left us.”

  Max’s chest tightened as he watched Alex playing with a radio-controlled race car in the keep’s ward. The wooden chair creaked as he yanked at his bonds. “How do I know you will keep your word?”

  A shrug from the giant. “You don’t, but do you have a choice? Besides, I honestly don’t care about those two. I’m not going to expend the energy and money to kill them if I don’t need to. It’s not good business.”

  Max kept his face blank. Where are Spencer and Kate? Baxter and Cindy can’t, or won’t, help. Not after I hijacked the MI6 Lear. There’s the detail of the plastic cords holding me to this chair, and the contingent of guards securing the property.

  Max eyed the dead form of Dedov slumped in the wheelchair. “So, where is she?”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Ivanov put the tablet on a small table near a wide open window.

  A beep emitted from Dedov’s wheelchair. Both men whipped their heads around.

  Max hurled all his weight to the side in an attempt to overturn his chair. It teetered for a second before falling. As his world tipped sideways, Max glimpsed Nikita Ivanov standing by the opening to the cliff below and watching him with a frown on his face. When the wooden arm of his chair hit the white tiled floor and splintered, a horrific boom sounded, followed by a concussion blast of hot gasses. Max was blown sideways along the smooth tile until he hit the plaster wall. Deafened, he was barely able to hear the far away sounds of debris raining down on the porcelain tile.

  And everything went black.

  Fifty-Four

  Somewhere in Greece

  Something pulled on his arm. Everything radiated pain. His head was in a vice, and he couldn’t feel his arms.

  Except for the yanking.

  Each pull shot pain through his spine and up into his neck.

  Stop. Please stop.

  Nothing came out of his mouth. From somewhere far, far away, someone called his name.

  “Mikhail! Mikhail!

  Sounds like my foster mother.

  Another yank, and he almost screamed. Did I scream?

  Let go! He attempted to dislodge his arm until another shot of pain fired through his spine.

  Maybe it’s better to stand. He allowed himself to be pulled up by a blurry form.

  Bad idea. Whatever was in his stomach came up and out his mouth. He staggered, but a strong hand kept him upright while he spit out bile.

  “Let’s go, let’s go!”

  The words were close and loud. One foot in front of the other, and he dry heaved. Something cold and hard was pressed into his hand and he gripped it instinctively while he staggered.

  One of his feet came down on a chunk of concrete, and he wavered. Something strong and solid held him steady. As he walked, the world became more clear. A gaping black crater stood where the white tile floor used to be. Little remained of the vibrant colored walls and pillars. A chunk of the ceiling near where Dedov’s chair had been was gone, revealing a cobalt-blue sky. The odor of motor oil tinged with plaster and pulverized tile permeated the room.

  Smells like C-4.

  Shredded paper and swirls of dust flurried in a salty breeze. A sea gull screeched. Something propelled him along, step after step.

  The source of his propulsion came into hazy view. A short young woman with raven-black hair and tight-fitting commando gear supported his arm around her shoulders. When she looked up, he looked into two pools of green, verdant and lush, like emeralds. They swam in his vision before coming into focus.

  “We need to move, Mikhail.”

  Confusion caused him to resist. “What are you doing?” His voice was distant.

  She urged him in the direction of the door. “Go now. Talk later.”

  Something didn’t make sense. “Where’s Ivanov?”

  “Dead. Blown down the cliff. Go!”

  Her strength drove him three more meters until he stopped. From far away the roaring cadence of waves crashing on rocks filled his ears. He pulled away from her grip and lurched around the crater to look out the ragged hole. Although his vision was hazy from the concussion, black and wet jagged rocks glistened far below.

  An arm wrapped around his waist and pulled. “God damn it, what are you doing?”

  “I need to know.” A gray gull made lazy turns as he peered at the rocks, willing his eyes to focus. The body. Show me the body.

  “Shit. There’s no time. We need to go. Men are on the way.”

  She pulled a weapon from behind her back and leveled it, aiming the suppressed assault rifle at the doorway.

  There was something in his hand. A pistol.

  He racked the slide and a bullet fell to the floor. Reaching for the bullet, he staggered, caught himself, but kicked the projectile into the bomb crater. Damn it. He
slipped the magazine into the pistol and rammed it home with his palm.

  Far below, the surf bashed against jagged rocks, sending white sea foam skyward. Three gulls floated in the air, looking for morsels. The cliff plummeted down at a steep angle and was covered by rocks and scraggly brush. The sapphire-blue ocean, dotted with whitecaps, was empty of sea craft.

  With a hand firm on the craggy plaster wall, he scanned the rubble below. Something silver flashed in the sun, and he caught his breath, but it took to the air and spread its wings. No human body. No evidence of Ivanov.

  He scanned the cliff until the shouts of men and the spit, spit, spit of a silenced rifle jolted him. Pivoting, pistol up, he fired twice and a flower-shirted guard stumbled. Three bodies sprawled among the explosion debris.

  Adrenaline focused his vision. Gun up, he followed the mysterious woman around the crater and through the destroyed double doors.

  “This way. Move faster.”

  The whitewashed walls moved in and out of focus as they hastened down a corridor littered with the bodies of Bermuda-short wearing security personnel. They moved fast without using cover tactics. A wide sweeping set of stairs led down to a domed entryway where they turned right into another corridor. Rifle up, she pointed with a gloved hand and started running.

  When they paused at a doorway that was blown apart by explosives, she slapped him hard on the cheek.

  “Ow. What the—”

  She spoke in a whisper. “Pay attention. We’re going four flights down. We might run into resistance. Slower now. Hand signals, and cover each other. Got it?” She reared her hand back to hit him again.

  He held up a palm. “I’m awake. Shit.”

  With a glare, she raised her rifle and stepped through the doorway.

  They dispatched two sets of armed guards on the way down the four flights of wooden stairs. Emerging into a spartan hallway of tile and concrete lit by long fluorescent bulbs they were greeted by a volley of fire from the hall to their right, forcing the woman to fall back into the stairwell. From her backpack she removed three canisters, pulled the pins on two, and hurled them down the hallway. They bounced several times on the tile before two muted explosions sounded, at which point, she pulled the pin on the third and tossed it.