Fractured: V Plague Book 15

by Dirk Patton

  Igor had been one of the unique children who hadn’t been frightened by the old stories. At five years old, he had begun dreaming of charging into the woods and battling the monsters. Slaying the ogres and witches and taming the wild wolves. Few things scared him, especially those that he knew he could fight and defeat.

  But the guards who were still hesitating were different. Like him, they’d almost certainly grown up as peasants in the stark poverty of rural Russia. Unlike him, they weren’t warriors. They allowed irrational, childhood fears to cause them to hesitate. To hold back. Igor suppressed a snort of derision as he waited for them to start moving again.

  Despite his lack of respect, he knew they would eventually gather their courage and come forward. The group was large enough that they would draw strength from each other. And they’d feel more confident because of the dogs and the weapons they carried.

  A man with corporal’s stripes on the sleeve of his coat turned and began berating the others, waving his arm at the dark forest. Igor recognized that he was just as frightened as the rest, but was deriding them for not having charged ahead. Soon, they would surge forward as a group, rushing in to meet the unknown before their resolve wavered.

  As the leader continued to shout at his men for behaving like children, Igor blinked in surprise when two dark objects sailed through the air, one after the other, and disappeared into the snow at the men’s feet. There were shouts of concern as they began to stumble backwards, away from whatever it was that had come out of the forest to Igor’s rear.

  A second later, there were two violent blasts as a pair of fragmentation grenades detonated. Snow and frozen tundra fountained into the air, momentarily obscuring the squad. Before it cleared, there was the sound of suppressed rifle fire from several yards behind the tree where Igor was positioned.

  As debris from the twin blasts rained onto the ground, the firing continued and one of the three guards that were still standing pitched sideways with a gout of blood blossoming from his throat. Two of the dogs were down, but the other two seemed unharmed. Their handler was dead, his limp hand releasing their leads. With snarls, they surged forward, rushing toward whoever was still firing.

  Igor hesitated for a beat, then decided that the enemy of his enemy had to be a friend, or at least an ally. He began firing the pistol, bringing down the lead dog with his first shot. The second animal was coming fast, gaining speed when it reached the ground beneath the trees that was free of snow. Still firing, one of his bullets found its mark as the dog was nearing the base of his tree. It flopped over, dead, skidding a short distance on the loose carpet of pine needles.

  Glancing up, Igor saw that all the guards were down. The suppressed rifle was silent and he twisted around to try and spot whoever had crashed his party. A man wearing a winter camouflage snowsuit stepped into view, rifle in his hands but not pointed at Igor. He raised a pair of night vision goggles off his face and looked up, smiling at the big Russian.

  “Thanks for taking out the dogs, Ivan!” he called.

  Igor recognized the man as one of the SEALs who had accompanied him and Irina to Siberia. He didn’t remember his name, but knew he was one of the more junior men on the team. He was also the only body they hadn’t found after the disastrous parachute jump.

  Holstering the pistol and sheathing his knife, Igor swung off the branch and dropped lightly to the ground. Turning to face the American, he frowned.

  “Igor. No Ivan,” he said in English.

  “Whatever, dude,” the SEAL said lightly. “Where’s the chick?”

  “Chick?” Igor asked, confusion on his face.

  “The hot blonde. Somethin’ happen to her?”

  “Irina,” Igor said, reflexively turning to look to the south where she’d gone. “She run. I fight.”

  The SEAL thought about that for a moment then nodded approval.

  “Where you go?” Igor asked.

  “Goddamn wind storm!” he said, coming forward and gently pushing on the dead dog with the toe of his boot. “Had to cut away my main when it collapsed. Got the reserve out, but was still too high and got caught up. Came down on the other side of the river. Took a while to get back. Where’s the rest of the team? They should be with you.”

  Igor looked at the younger man for a long pause, then lowered his eyes.

  “They not survive jump,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “What?” the SEAL blurted in shock. “None of them?”

  Igor met the man’s eyes and shook his head.

  “Where are they?” he asked, voice tight with pain and his jaw set hard.

  “Maybe five kilometers,” Igor said, turning and pointing to the northeast.

  “I’ve got to get them,” the man said, starting to step around Igor who held a hand up to stop him.

  “Nothing do with them,” he said. “Bodies frozen. More guards coming. We find Irina and go.”

  “Fuck that, Ivan!” he snarled, eyes flashing. “Don’t know about you goddamn Russkies, but Americans don’t leave anyone behind!”

  “What do with them?” Igor asked calmly, not rising to the insult.

  “I’ll get…,” he started to say, then his voice trailed off.

  “Have mission,” Igor said, his tone and demeanor still calm. “Rescued prisoner. Must get out him!”

  The SEAL stood there, torn between going for his fallen brothers and the reality of what Igor was saying. Maybe he would have continued arguing, or set off in the direction he’d been shown, but the sudden baying of dogs to the north changed the circumstances.

  “More come,” Igor said, looking in the direction of the sound. “We go. Now!”

  Igor hurried to the fallen guards and took two of their rifles, tossing one to the American. As the young man stared to the north with pain and sadness on his face, Igor went over each body and took all the loaded magazines, stuffing them into a satchel one of the dog handlers had been carrying.

  The SEAL didn’t seem ready to go. Every fiber of his being firmly believed that you never leave a fallen man behind. But he didn’t know what to do. There was no ride coming to pick them up. The only way out of here was on foot. As he stood there, torn, the approaching dogs barked again. They weren’t close, but would be soon. With a deep breath, he turned to look at Igor.

  “I’m coming back for them when we get your girl to safety,” he said.

  Igor nodded and put his hand on the SEAL’s shoulder.

  “I come too and help,” he said.

  The man held his eyes for a moment, then looked down and nodded.

  “Lead the way, Ivan,” he said.

  Igor shook his head and sighed, then turned and took off to the south at a run.

  23

  I stood, pistol steady on the stranger’s chest. Dog, sensing my tension, rumbled a deep growl and took a step forward, stopping when I told him. There was a rustle of bushes as Rachel moved to my left.

  “We’ve got maybe thirty seconds before the police come driving by,” he said, seemingly unconcerned with the weapon being pointed at his heart. “Probably not a good idea to be standing here with a gun in your hand when they do.”

  Sure, this was the same guy that had taken out a couple of Russians so I could escape. But that didn’t mean I was going to trust him.

  “Who the hell are you?” I asked.

  “I’m FBI, Major, and I’m here to help. But we don’t have time for this. Get in the car and let’s get the hell out of here, then I’ll answer all your questions.”

  He took a hand off his hip and gestured at the Land Rover. I didn’t respond, unsure if this was legit.

  “Twenty seconds,” he said, still seeming in no hurry. “Better make up your mind, fast.”

  I looked him up and down. He looked nothing like any FBI agent I’d ever seen. But that didn’t mean anything, especially now. Then I realized he had called me ‘Major’. He obviously knew who I was and if he wanted to harm Rachel or me, he could have done so with the sniper rifle.


  “Fifteen seconds,” he said, turning away and opening the driver’s door. “Last chance.”

  Fuck it! Whatever his intentions were, I’d deal with them. What I did know was that once the Australian authorities got their hands on me, it wouldn’t be long before someone figured out who I was. When that happened, the Russians would call the PM and he’d order the police to turn me over. That wouldn’t end well.

  “Let’s go,” I said, lowering the pistol and running for the SUV.

  I yanked the rear door open and Dog jumped in, followed quickly by Rachel. Coming in after them, I closed the door and settled on the floor behind the driver’s seat, then made sure all of us were low enough to not be seen from a passing vehicle. I jammed the muzzle of the pistol into the back of the seat hard enough for the man to feel it.

  “Betray us, or try anything, and you’re the first to die,” I said.

  He nodded and shifted into gear, sedately driving toward the exit from the parking lot onto the road. A second later, the interior of the Rover lit up as a brilliant spotlight was aimed at us. Passing cops, checking out the vehicle.

  From where I crouched, I could see the man stick his arm through the open window and wave as he braked to a stop. For a few moments, I thought we were in trouble. Expected the cop to get out of his car and walk over for a better look at the driver of the vehicle. But after several interminably long seconds, the light was turned off and I could hear the sound of an engine accelerating away.

  “How’d you know?” Rachel asked from the darkness of the far side footwell.

  “Long story, ma’am,” he said. “Now, sit tight and stay low and we’ll be out of the search area in a few minutes.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Safe house,” he said and I was sure I detected some sarcasm in his answer.

  Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I’d made the choice to trust this guy, and there wasn’t a lot I could do about it now. Still, I kept the pistol tight against the back of the seat. He might have saved my life, or appeared to have done so, but I didn’t have a problem pulling the trigger if he gave me a reason.

  He drove slowly. Cautiously might be a better way to put it. Steady and calm. Exactly the way one should drive if he doesn’t want to draw the attention of the police. But I knew that tonight it wouldn’t matter how someone was driving. Two cops were dead. Actually, more than that. There’d probably been a couple in the helicopter who’d been killed in the crash.

  Any vehicle was going to draw a lot of scrutiny. What I didn’t understand was why the cop with the spotlight had been satisfied with simply shining it at our driver. It would make sense that they’d want a better look than he could have gotten. Unless the dead officers had managed to broadcast a description of me. Including my shaved head. This guy, with his thick hair, was about as different looking from me as possible.

  Three more times in the next five minutes, spotlights were directed at the Rover. Each time, the driver slowed and gave a friendly wave. Despite my fears, the cops quickly moved on after getting a good look at him. Ten minutes later, we were on a busy street, traffic heavy despite the time of night. Rachel, Dog and I rode in silence. I’d like to say I had relaxed and started to trust the stranger, but I’d been around long enough to be cynical. He wasn’t helping us out of the goodness of his heart.

  Rachel didn’t seem any more inclined to accept him at face value. Every time I looked at her, she had a concerned expression on her face. Dog, however, was enjoying the close contact as she kept her arms wrapped around his neck.

  Finally, the SUV slowed and made a gentle turn to the right. The tires thumped over a seam and I heard the driver click a button. He slowed to idle speed, then we pulled into a cramped residential garage. Shutting the engine off, there was another click, then the rattling of a rolling door from overhead.

  “We’re here,” he said. “How about you take that gun out of my back?”

  “Exactly where are we?”

  I sat up and glanced around. We were in a single stall garage, both walls close to either side of the vehicle. The drywall was old and yellowed, the dim bulb in the opener motor making it appear even more dingy than it probably was. Other than the Rover, it was completely empty. No rusting garden tools or stored items that were no longer wanted in the house.

  “I told you. A safe house,” he said, starting to reach for the door handle.

  I jammed the pistol hard against the seat, causing him to freeze.

  “Hands on the wheel and keep them there,” I said.

  After a moment, he complied. Reaching around with my free hand, I ran it over his upper body. The first thing I retrieved was a pistol, which I handed to Rachel. I kept searching the stranger as she dropped the magazine and racked the slide to ensure it was loaded.

  A wallet and a flat, leather case were in his inside jacket pocket and I passed them over to Rachel. Finding nothing else, I stuck my hand inside his waistband and ran it around, finding a fixed blade knife and a spare magazine for the pistol which also went to Rachel.

  “You come prepared,” I said as I pushed him forward to check the small of his back.

  “Is there any other way?” he asked as I pulled another knife out of the back of his pants.

  “Okay, lean back and put your feet on the dash,” I said once I satisfied his upper body was disarmed.

  He sighed, but did as I told him after squirming around to get his long legs up and over the wheel.

  “Pull your pants legs up,” I said.

  “I’ll save you the trouble,” he said. “Small pistol on left ankle. Blade on the right.”

  “Very slowly, take them both off and put them on the dash.” I pressed my pistol into the seat again, just as a reminder. “Then get out and stand facing the wall.”

  “Ray said you were a pain in the ass,” he said as he gently removed a sub-compact pistol from an ankle holster.

  “Ray who?”

  “Cox. Said he knew you in Delta,” he said as he put a knife on the dash beside the pistol.

  “Now, out,” I said, not ready to discuss how he knew Ray.

  Moving cautiously, he complied, stepping out and gently closing the door before standing still, facing the wall. I tracked him with my weapon, the muzzle steady on his body.

  “What’d you find in his wallet?” I asked Rachel.

  “Texas driver’s license and credit cards, all in the name of Michael Bering. Also, a bunch of cash. Got to three grand and quit counting. And that other case you gave me is an FBI badge and ID. Same name and it’s his picture.”

  “No phone?”

  “It’s in a pack behind the back seat,” Bering said without turning his head.

  “Get in front,” I said to Rachel.

  She slithered over the seats, pistol in hand, then moved to the side of the SUV farthest from the stranger and aimed the weapon at his back.

  “Alright, Special Agent Bering,” I said. “I’m about to check out the inside of that house. Anything I should know before I do? Anyone going to jump out and go boo and get their ass shot?”

  “If there is anyone in there, shoot them,” he said. “Place was empty an hour ago when I left to save you.”

  I snorted, then glanced at Rachel who nodded she was ready. Popping the door open, I let Dog jump down, then climbed out, wincing as my knee popped in protest from having been bent at an awkward angle for so long. Moving to the rear of the vehicle, I raised the hatch and gave the cargo area a quick inspection. It was empty, other than the pack Bering had told me about.

  Pulling it toward me, I quickly went through it, searching for weapons. All it held was an iPhone, iPad and two charging cables. Leaving it where it was, I walked Dog to the rear corner of the SUV and told him to stay. Rachel might have a weapon pointed at the man, but she was inside and he outside. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to suddenly drop out of sight and retrieve a weapon hidden somewhere beneath the vehicle. With Dog keeping an eye on him, that wasn’t somethin
g to worry about.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m going inside. You’ve got a pistol trained on your back. If you try something and she doesn’t shoot you, the dog will tear you a new asshole. Understand?”

  “I’m fine where I am,” he said. “But I wish you’d get on with this. I’m getting bored.”

  “Asshole,” I mumbled under my breath.

  24

  The house was as empty as Bering had said it would be. It was small, at least by American standards, with two postage stamp sized bedrooms that each held a twin bed and a solo bath with chipped tub and stained toilet. In the corner of one of the bedrooms was a large safe, nearly as tall as I was, which I suspected was the house’s armory. A combination living room/kitchen took up the remainder of the space with a narrow table that sat on peeling linoleum.

  The air was musty and a fine layer of dust covered every surface. There were cobwebs in a couple of the corners and I took a quick look to make sure none of Australia’s infamous spiders were waiting to drop on my head. A memory of a friend we all called Spider flashed through my mind and I smiled, despite the situation.

  There were several windows, completely concealed by steel shutters mounted to the interior frames. The single door was stoutly braced by an iron rod that locked into it beneath the knob and ran at an angle to an attachment point on the floor. Bering had definitely been telling the truth. This was a safe house and it had been set up to be very difficult to gain access if the occupant didn’t willingly allow it.

  Returning to the garage, I opened the Rover’s door and told Rachel to go inside. She scooped up the pistol and knife from the dash before stepping out and calling Dog to follow. Once they were through the door, I walked over to Bering.

  “So, some of what you said is true.”