The Hunters

by Chris Kuzneski

  Papineau disappeared into the freight car as Jasmine appeared on the train roof. To get there, she had climbed the ladder at the far end of the conference car. Cobb felt a flash of pride. It had taken a while, but Jasmine had decided to stop thinking of herself as a liability.

  That was a major step in her growth.

  Jasmine surveyed the area from her vantage point. ‘No sign of Sarah or anyone else. She has to be under the train.’

  The men had already come to the same conclusion. By then, they were on opposite ends and opposite sides of the four-car length.

  ‘McNutt, under on three,’ Cobb said quietly. ‘One … two …’

  As he said ‘three’, both men rolled and came up crouching low beneath the train. The underside of the train was like an iron enclosure, with openings between the wheels. The ground, like the turf of so many train stations, consisted of small rocks over earth that supported the wooden ties and steel tracks. Cobb and McNutt had unstable footing on loose, uneven stones, their backs bent by the unforgiving underside of the train.

  Since Cobb was nearest the fourth car - the sleeping quarters - he spotted her first. Framed in the circle of one of the train’s wheels was Sarah. Her back was to the wheel, which she was seemingly using as a cover or shield. But something about it didn’t seem right. As Cobb peered closer, he saw that her eyes were closed and her head was lolling. She was unconscious.

  ‘Fourth car,’ he whispered. ‘Back my play.’

  Cobb knew what she had done in Brighton Beach. Whoever had taken her down so easily was more than likely not a Russian cop or a neo-Nazi. He was a professional.

  ‘Wait for me,’ McNutt whispered.

  ‘No,’ Cobb ordered, ‘just back my play.’

  McNutt growled softly but kept his mouth shut.

  Wasting no time, Cobb crept closer and closer to Sarah. He quickly realized that her body was in an impossible position. If she was truly unconscious, she should have slumped over to the ground. Instead, she was sitting upright with an arched back.

  Instantly, Cobb became still. It was different from freezing in place. When people froze they stiffened like ice, ready to crack or shatter. When Cobb stilled, he settled like calm water, ready to flow in any direction. He stilled because he realized that the backs of the train wheels were not black. They were shades of dark blue and darker gray. But behind Sarah’s blond hair, white skin, and green clothing was a black shape.

  Someone was holding her upright.

  Approaching from the front of the train, McNutt saw the action before he could comprehend it. Cobb rushed forward in a controlled sprint as a lifeless Sarah - who’d been flung by her nearly invisible assailant - flew through the air toward Cobb. McNutt blinked a few times before he saw a black figure scurry through the shadows. Only then did McNutt realize that Sarah had been thrown by a man, not launched by a wizard.

  Thank God, he thought. We aren’t prepared to fight magic.

  For Cobb, it wasn’t about thinking; it was about reacting. He reached out with both hands as Sarah’s body hurtled toward him. He caught her head in the crook of his left arm, cushioning and cradling it, while he stopped her forward momentum with the palm of his right hand. At the same time he lowered himself into a wide stance so they would be closer to the hard ground. It wouldn’t have worked on anyone bigger, but this way he could open his arm and slide her head down to the gravel. The back of his left hand took the pain of settling her head down on the stones. The rest of her body might be a little bruised, but her head was safe.

  At no time did Cobb lose his balance, but his maneuver meant a nanosecond of blindness when his focus was on Sarah instead of on his adversary. Had the shadow been attacking, that moment of inattention might have been a deadly mistake. Without coming up from his stance, he looked for the black shadow’s position and listened for breathing. He quickly felt a presence.

  The shadow hadn’t fled. He had merely gathered himself.

  He was preparing to launch an attack.

  Cobb sensed a shift in air pressure in the blackness to his left. He responded by adjusting the back foot in his stance, then unleashing his right leg in a sidekick at his opponent’s sternum. With his gloved hands, the shadow stopped Cobb’s foot with a classic V-shaped block, driving down hard on Cobb’s lower leg and pushing it to the gravel.

  But Cobb did not panic. In fact, he became calmer.

  Now he knew what he was facing.

  The man was using a Russian martial art called Samooborona Bez Oruzhiya, which was often shortened to the better-known term ‘Sambo’. Created in the 1920s by the Russian military, it literally translated as ‘self-defense without weapons’, but its combat style combined the most devastatingly effective means of killing from every other martial art in the world. Karate striking, jiu-jitsu choking, judo locking, muay thai crushing, and so on. Nothing was off limits in most martial arts around the world, but everything was encouraged in Sambo.

  Cobb almost smiled. He still couldn’t see his adversary, but that didn’t matter. He slid his right leg forward, along the gravel, toward his opponent. That’s all it took to break the figure’s pincer-like grip on his leg. Cobb knew that to execute the move, the figure would have ended up bent slightly forward, presenting his head for whatever Cobb decided to do next. That would have been to grab the back of the individual’s head and send his face into Cobb’s knee, which was there and waiting. But the figure had anticipated his vulnerability and inverted the V of his arms so it was facing up, to catch Cobb’s hand as he reached. That delayed Cobb’s attack long enough for the figure to back deeper into the shadows - back to the left, from the crunch of the rock. Cobb thrust his already extended hand after him, grabbed cloth, but his opponent had enough momentum to spin out of his grip and run away.

  Cobb hoped that McNutt knew what to do next. They’d saved Sarah; now it was time to get the attacker. A second later, Cobb was thrilled to see McNutt in hot pursuit.

  Wasting no time, Cobb scurried back to Sarah. Even from a distance, he could see that she was breathing evenly, so he had no worries about her long-term health. But just to be safe, he checked her carefully and spotted no obvious damage. In Cobb’s mind, her condition was both good and bad news. It was good because Sarah would recover and his team could move on as planned. It was bad because it reaffirmed his earlier theory: the assailant wasn’t a thug; he was a trained professional. A corrupt cop, black marketeer, or psycho skinhead would have used a weapon to take Sarah out, but this guy took her down with ease.

  Someone like that could ruin a mission like theirs.

  ‘Gone,’ McNutt whispered from the other side of the station. A minute later, he was crouching down next to Cobb, explaining how the assailant had escaped. ‘I’ve never seen anybody move that fast without a jet pack. Who the hell was it?’

  Cobb shrugged, his focus still on Sarah. ‘I don’t know, but I’ve got a bad feeling that we’ll find out soon enough.’

  34

  Garcia accessed the video feed from a security camera outside the train yard and transferred it to his computer screen. Papineau and Cobb leaned over the seated tech expert and studied the digitally recorded image of the man in black, racing from the yard.

  Meanwhile McNutt was in the freight car, doing an inventory to make sure nothing was taken, added, or sabotaged. Sarah was in her compartment, recovering, while Jasmine tended to her. Team members can bicker all they want - that’s to be expected given the danger and their close proximity - but they’re there for each other when it counts. As they went about their various tasks, they were all continuously linked via their earpieces, eliminating the need for repetitious explanations later.

  ‘Any insight, Papi?’ Cobb asked.

  Papineau glared at Cobb. ‘About what, specifically?’

  Cobb was unfazed. ‘The intruder.’

  Papineau let Cobb’s veiled accusation hang in the air for several seconds. He was ready to lash back when Garcia broke the silence.

  ‘Wel
l, I’ve seen him before.’

  ‘Where?’ Papineau demanded.

  ‘Well, maybe not him,’ Garcia corrected. ‘But someone who dressed like him. I figured he was some kind of priest. Russian Orthodox, or some religion like that.’

  ‘We’ve all seen his kind,’ Cobb said.

  Papineau looked at him with surprise.

  ‘Don’t play innocent,’ Cobb said. ‘It doesn’t suit you. There’s been one of his kind virtually everywhere we’ve gone. Walking close, passing through, talking to others. Nothing secretive like today, but they’ve been around. The first time they showed up was at the reception. You looked at him longer than the rest of us - like you’d seen him before.’

  Papineau pulsed with anger. He opened his mouth to ridicule Cobb, but he managed not to. He stood firm against the wave of emotion, realizing that it was anger rising to cover guilt.

  ‘I have seen him before,’ Papineau admitted carefully, staring into Cobb’s eyes. ‘Or at least, like Hector said, someone in similar attire.’

  Garcia found that he was holding his breath, as the two seemed to be deciding just how far they were willing to bend before one of them snapped.

  ‘Like you said,’ Papineau continued, ‘they’ve been hovering around the edges.’

  Cobb seemed to drop some of his military posture. He sighed and scratched his head. ‘Okay, if that’s the way you want to play this …’

  ‘What is “this”?’ Papineau asked irritably.

  Cobb folded his arms. ‘I said from the beginning that I’d bail if you ever countermanded my orders. Stupidly, I never said I required full disclosure, so I suppose we’re stuck with each other for a while. That said, I want to know what you know. All of it.’

  The Frenchman stared in amazement, then he honestly and wholeheartedly laughed, clapping Cobb on the shoulder. ‘Mon ami, you are truly something.’

  ‘Don’t try to flatter me,’ Cobb warned with a smile. He could play insincere as well as Papineau. ‘We could’ve lost someone today based on what you didn’t share. I’m giving you a chance to do that now. One time only.’

  Papineau grinned. ‘Do you really think you can threaten me?’

  Cobb rolled the man’s hand from his shoulder. ‘If putting your head under the wheels of a slow-moving train is a threat, then yeah, I do.’

  blurted Garcia suddenly, defusing the confrontation in pitch-perfect Russian. He was smiling up at them as if expecting a reward. ‘Jasmine has been teaching me correct pronunciation, or is it enunciation? Anyway, she figured I’d need it.’

  They stared at him, waiting for his translation.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said as he filled the silence, ‘I’ve been sitting here trying to remember their name. They’re called the Black Robes.’

  ‘Black Robes?’ Cobb echoed.

  ‘Yeah,’ Garcia said, returning his attention to the computer screen. ‘As I was about to say before you guys started antler-banging, I saw one enter an Internet cafe that I was checking out. I was trying to find some like-minded hackers in Moscow, just in case. Guys, I’m telling you: if you combined Sarah and me, you’d get someone like those Russian hack kids. They really are incredible. Money-crazy, but totally smart.’

  ‘Back on topic?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. Uh, which one?’

  Cobb shook his head. ‘One of those Black Robes looked into the cafe? He didn’t try to hide himself?’

  ‘Nope,’ Garcia said, getting back on track. ‘But it was weird. When the hackers saw him, they recoiled in obvious fear. Someone mentioned that phrase: When I asked Jasmine about it, she translated it as “Black Robes”.’ He looked back at his team leader. ‘Apparently, they’re a sect of some kind.’

  ‘What kind?’ Papineau asked.

  Garcia shrugged. ‘Damned if I know.’

  Cobb looked at the Frenchman. ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘I really do not.’

  ‘Where did you see them, then?’

  ‘The same places you’ve seen them,’ Papineau replied.

  Cobb turned his eyes on Garcia. ‘What about on the Web?’

  ‘Nyet. Nada.’

  ‘That’s disquieting in and of itself. The only things not on the Web are things that don’t exist,’ Cobb remarked.

  ‘Or things that cover their tracks faster than I can follow them,’ Garcia suggested. The concept didn’t sit well with him. He prided himself on his knowledge of technology. ‘What about you? Did you learn anything from the guy? Anything at all?’

  Cobb thought about it, and his expression did nothing to settle Garcia. ‘All I know is that they’re tough to kill. So when we step on them, we’d better step hard.’ He held Garcia’s gaze. ‘Check the entire train, inside and out, for anything he might have left behind. And get some security cams on the undercarriages. We’re vulnerable there.’

  Cobb started toward the door, then stopped. He hadn’t forgotten his confrontation with Papineau. He had merely benched it for the moment.

  ‘And Papi,’ he said, ‘you’re with me.’

  * * *

  As Cobb and Papineau made their exit, Garcia ran another search on the Black Robes. His results were varied and irrelevant - with no mention of covert ops.

  Digging deeper, Garcia accessed a handful of ‘off-the-grid’ bulletin boards - websites on hidden networks that weren’t accessible to most. These sites allowed hackers to carry on discussion under the cloak of anonymity. It took several refinements to narrow his search and translation software to decipher the answers, but Garcia found what he was looking for.

  After scanning the information, he realized that Sarah was lucky to be alive.

  ‘What’s up?’ Jasmine asked as he entered the command center.

  ‘I was just doing a little research on the Black Robes,’ Garcia answered. ‘We think they’re responsible for Sarah’s attack.’

  ‘I know,’ Jasmine said, pointing to her earpiece. ‘I meant, did you find anything interesting?’

  ‘More like terrifying.’

  ‘How so?’

  Garcia summed up everything he had read. ‘If you believe the rumors, the Black Robes have been around for over a hundred years. And during that time, they’ve been growing in prominence throughout Eastern Europe. No one knows exactly when the cult took shape, but—’

  ‘They’re a cult?’ she interrupted.

  ‘Well, they certainly fit the description. Not that they’re overly religious - ‘cause they’re not. It’s more of a spiritual bent. Revelation through suffering, that sort of thing. The punishment for one’s sins serves to heighten one’s understanding of the world.’

  ‘What kind of sins?’

  ‘Judging from the accounts of rape and violence, I’d say they’re particularly fond of lust and wrath.’ He paused, but Jasmine said nothing in reply. ‘I know what you’re thinking: why couldn’t it have been sloth and gluttony? We could handle a bunch of lazy, fat guys.’

  Jasmine was suddenly thankful for their lethal supplies.

  ‘No,’ Garcia continued. ‘We get stuck with the guys who think the path to enlightenment is found through murder.’

  35

  Cobb entered the freight car with Papineau close behind. McNutt was in the far corner, going over the last of the equipment.

  The freight car’s walls, floor, and ceiling were armored, but with several sliding and slatted windows and doors so the gear could be moved, used, or launched in a thousand different ways. Along the west wall was an array of firearms of every shape and size, from handguns and sniper’s rifles to automatic weapons. Cobb noticed the Mark III back in its place between a Kel-Tec P32 and a Springfield Armory XD9 Sub-Compact.

  At Cobb’s insistence, McNutt had supplied everyone on the team with a sidearm that best fit their size, weight, and temperament, along with intensive training during their weeks together in Fort Lauderdale.

  Garcia got a Walther PPK or, as he called it, the James Bond gun. It was the one 007 used in most books and movies. McNutt chos
e it for him because it had good firepower in a nerd-friendly, twenty-ounce, six-inch package.

  Jasmine had grudgingly accepted a Ruger LCR .38 Special revolver. Light, sleek, hammerless, and practically unjammable, it was a perfect point-and-pull weapon for their pacifist-leaning, but obviously eminently attackable, historian.

  McNutt had wanted to give the similar Charter Arms .38 Special Undercover Model 13820 revolver to Sarah, but he knew she would balk at what she considered its traditional clunkiness. It was clear to him that she was ready to reject anything he offered, lest it weigh her down or hold her back. So he presented her with the Kimber Micro Custom Defense Package .380 automatic. At thirteen ounces and hardly bigger than her hand, she had almost grabbed it from his grasp before he could hand it to her.

  ‘Find anything?’ Papineau asked.

  McNutt looked up from the polymer crates and canvas containers that lined the east wall, then shook his head. ‘I checked every inch of this place for holes or punctures, even pinpricks. The only thing missing is some backup gear that would have been way too big to steal. My guess is it never made the original shipment.’

  ‘Anything essential?’

  ‘Nope. Just redundancies.’

  Cobb didn’t ask if the Black Robe could’ve slipped something through the slatted windows or rolling doors. They were created to both men’s specifications. Nothing would get in or out without their say-so. ‘Out of curiosity, how’d you get all this stuff in here?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ McNutt asked.

  ‘Not you, McNutt.’ Cobb turned toward the Frenchman. ‘Getting us supplies in Florida is one thing, but smuggling an armory into Russia is quite another.’

  McNutt furrowed his brow, perplexed, but Papineau just waved it aside. ‘Don’t worry, Joshua. This is just part two of something we started in the command center.’

  ‘You got that right,’ Cobb said. He began to walk around the compartment, taking in all the cutting-edge weapon technology that filled the car. ‘I can’t help feeling that we’re moving faster and faster toward a collision with something that only you know about. Seriously, look at all of this artillery. Yet you smuggled it here - into the capital of Russia - so easily.’