by Jasmin Quinn
Owen, on the phone, said, “He won’t hurt her, Mack. He wants her back.”
Mack closed his eyes as he shook his head. “You don’t know that. He’s a goddamned criminal with no morals. Sure, the fuck wants her back, but why?”
He heard the impatience in Owen’s voice. “Quit being a fucking boy scout, you jackass. The Cypriot offering her a haven is a fucking criminal too but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that. They’re all criminals, Esma included. It’s what we have to do if we want to make a difference. Play with the bad guys, sometimes agree to their terms. Burak wasn’t willing to go to war over the Turk and neither are we.”
Mack had heard this speech before. Not just from Owen, but from other colleagues that he worked with, partnered with in the field. It rankled him how they compromised their values even as he knew the truth. It was all one big clusterfuck and no one got anywhere unless they played all sides.
When Mack didn’t respond, Owen said, “Let it go, Mack. You have a job to do and it has nothing to do with the woman. You break cover and you’re finished. And you know how that plays out.”
Mack liked his boss most of the time, but not today. “Fuck off, Owen.” He hung up, waved the waiter over, ordered another draft and dropped a couple of bills on the table. He’d done what he could for the little Turk. She was on her own now.
Chapter 53
It was go-day and Esma was wound up tighter than a ballerina in a jewelry box. She wished she could have escaped under the cover of darkness, but that wasn’t feasible. To disarm the guard last night and leave then was too risky. One didn’t wander in the dark through a forest, especially in Russia and especially in winter.
She was dressed for her escape. A heavy wool sweater too big for her small frame, wool socks on her feet, warm long underwear under her pants. The guard wouldn’t notice initially because she had a plan. She heard him coming and swooped into her bed and under the covers. As he unlocked the cell, she moaned. She’d played with him a little over the past few days, trying to flirt, make him like her, treat her kindly.
He set the tray down and turned to her. “Are you okay?”
She sat up slowly, swung her feet around to the floor, tried to stand and then sank to her knees. It would bring him to her, out of sight of the cameras. The video was supposed to be looping anyway, but in case the timing was off, it would keep what she was about to do next from being recorded. It worked, the guard walked over, crouched down and touched her head. She hammered him with her fist to his chin. A hard blow for a woman her size, but she knew how to deliver. He dropped back on his ass, not out yet, but Esma bounced up, and slammed her foot into his face. That was all it took. He was young, inexperienced. Maybe well-trained but no match for a seasoned fighter like Esma.
She dragged him into the bed and secured his hands and feet to the frame with sheets she had ripped into ribbons. He was unarmed, his rifle would be in the hall. It was neither here nor there, she had no intentions of taking it with her. It would be extra weight she didn’t need and she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to use it on the men pursuing her. She thought that one of those men would be Dean and as much as she hated the sonofabitch, she knew she couldn’t bring herself to kill him.
She covered the guard with her blanket and stood back to see her handiwork. No point in gagging him as the camera didn’t pick up on sound. Then she left the cell hoping that the timing was good enough, that the tape Mack said he looped and set to a timer was in place. It would look like the guard came and went, locking Esma back in. It should be enough to give her an hour head start, maybe more if no one noticed the man missing, if no one saw her make her way across the snow. She clanged the cell door shut, locked it with the key, then threw the key into a shadowy corner.
The hall was dusky but enough light filtered in through the small, blinded windows to guide Esma to the west-facing door. A heavy jacket, a wool hat that covered her face, a scarf, gloves and ski-boots were hidden at the bottom of a box full of burlap sacks. All white. Mack was her angel and she blessed him as she dressed. Then she opened the door. Another timer set by Mack that would turn off the alarm without it being apparent.
The door was in a concrete recess, with stairs leading up to the main level. Drifts of snow had settled in and Esma had to claw her way to the top. She lost maybe five minutes and already felt the tiredness in her bones. It would take everything she had to make the coordinates Mack gave her. Not the logging camp’s airfield because that would be the obvious first place they’d think she would head. The pick-up site was about 60 kilometres away. Far enough that the sound of the helicopter would not reach Jackman’s compound. Esma figured that she could average 11 kilometres an hour, so seven or eight hours give or take, most likely take because while Mack helped her set a path that would allow her to ski most of the way, she knew it wouldn’t always be easy going. And she had more to think of now than just herself.
She regrouped at the top of the steps, hugged herself close to the house and crouched low as she ran into the forest. All the white she wore would help her to blend with the snow, hopefully making her invisible to a casual observer. Once she reached the shelter of the trees, she crouched down and looked back. Foot prints across the snow would point the way to the treeline but there was nothing she could do about that. Didn’t want to. She wanted her pursuers to think she’d gone south. She hoped they would buy into it, hoped they wouldn’t think she was going north to the airfield because it would be their first thought and while the airfield wasn’t her goal, it was on the same trajectory. She knew the hope was futile though. Jackman had enough men that some would go the airfield, some would come after her through the trees and some would head in other directions. They’d figure out which direction she’d gone in soon enough and then they would be on her.
She turned, started jogging, dodging deadfall, being careful to stay alert for unexpected hazards following the treeline for a kilometre or so. Mack told her that she would come across skis. She did, skis and poles, put the skis on and moved forward, around the perimeter until the compass she found in her coat pocket, exactly where Mack said it would be, pointed the way north.
Then the marathon began. She couldn’t stop now, not for anything. She needed to get to the pick-up spot. She had twelve hours to do it, which took into account her travel time, plus rest time and any back-tracking, or walk-arounds she’d have to do. No one was coming to meet her in the first 12 hours. If she didn’t show, they would wait until daylight, then do a search. If she got delayed for any reason, if she didn’t think she could make the pick-up in 12 hours, then she should find a shelter and hunker down until morning, then get up and go. At this point, her rescuers would be coming to her, but not indefinitely. Four hours of searching at most. They were in Jackman’s territory and they didn’t want to be picked up. It would be a death sentence.
For her too, Esma thought as she rehearsed the details in her head as she skied. The thought of dying gave her resolve. She could do this. Had to do this. But even as she thought this, her stomach lurched. No food in it and the baby objected. She stopped, used the trunk of a tree as an anchor, bent over and heaved. Nothing but bile, nothing in her stomach, but once she was done, she felt better. Except she was dizzy and weak and her frailness made her panic. She lost her bearings as she lost her mind. She leaned against the tree, her hands across her belly willing herself not to cry. Willing herself back to being Esma.
The child in her womb mattered more than anything or anyone in the world. At first, she thought maybe she wouldn’t carry it to term. Get away, have an abortion and disappear. But that was fleeting because even if she never saw Rusya again, she’d have a piece of him. That was one thought, the other thought was that she’d have someone to love, someone to live for. Someone to stay sober for. And it strengthened her determination. She shifted off the tree, put her skis back on her feet and moved forward.
As time passed, each step became harder and heavier, but she kept going. Not stoppi
ng, not resting, because she thought if she did she wouldn’t be able to start again.
Chapter 54
Rusya’s plane landed on the runway at the logging camp before the sun was up, his men disembarked, then the plane took flight again, heading to Moscow where it would stay for a couple of days before returning to the airstrip. Rusya was not on it and no dogs this time either. His men’s orders were to secure the logging camp and hold it but keep their presence secret unless Jackman’s men got aggressive with the loggers.
After his meeting with Burak and their discussion about the rescue operation, Rusya was dubious. The plan was to pick up Esma at coordinates provided for her, about 60 kilometres north of Jackman’s compound. But they were going to use the logging camp as a launching off point if Esma didn’t make the pick-up point. A bad plan to bring a plane onto the airstrip and wait overnight. Her absence would be discovered well before she was out of danger. The logging camp would be the first site that Jackman would go to. A plane on the runway full of armed men would result in an all-out battle between the factions. Someone would lose. There would be no guarantee it would be Jackman.
And Esma might be caught in the cross-fire.
Rusya came by helicopter to the meet site, 20 kilometres southeast of the logging camp. Too fucking close to the camp. Eduard was leading the men on the ground. Anto was in Vancouver holding court. A show of trust by Rusya to Anto – a test because Rusya didn’t know how long it would be before he returned from Moscow. Already documents were being arranged for Esma, but he didn’t know what shape she was in, didn’t know how cooperative she’d be.
Eduard’s orders were to find Esma, take her and bring her to Rusya. There was to be no gunfire, no risk that Esma could be hurt or killed. She was to arrive intact, unharmed, unmolested. Eduard was a good man, whatever his thoughts about Esma notwithstanding. He would do as he was ordered.
Once Esma was located and picked up, two of his men would bring her to Rusya. The rest would return to the logging camp and wait until the plane returned for them. They had supplies and weapons. Eduard would decide when it was safe for the plane to come back. He would decide when to bring his men home.
It was hard to be patient as he stood by the helicopter. For a man who rarely worried, Rusya lost sleep and his appetite. He thought he now had some gray hairs on his head too. This was what women did. They made a man vulnerable and since Irina’s death, he’d made himself emotionally unavailable. It was a creed he had lived his life by, embraced until Esma. He was angry that she was his weakness, couldn’t reconcile it with the love he felt for her. It was an obsession – to have her back where he could keep her. He didn’t know how it would be, ultimately. She would belong to him whether she wanted to or not. Whether he could trust her or not.
Chapter 55
Esma was flagging, had no choice but to stop and rest. There were some packets of dried rations and bottles of water in the pack left for her by Mack and she took a drink of water and a bite of the dry, dense, unrecognizable food. Her stomach protested and she thought she might vomit again. She sat on the ground, leaning her back against a tree for support and waited for the nausea to pass.
She was tired, so fucking tired. She didn’t think she could move another inch. She looked at the watch, six hours gone. No pursuit that she could hear. How much longer, she wondered? She had a small map with the coordinates and she checked the compass often. She thought she was on track, but woefully behind time. By now, Jackman would know she was missing, he’d have people out looking for her. Maybe they went to the logging camp and were working their way backwards, hemming her in.
Despair filtered through her. Small, untidy, painful emotions tugged at her. Her entire life was a battle, but she’d always been tenacious. She didn’t know why, what gave her the will to fight back, to be stubborn, to be independent. A Muslim girl in a country of men who didn’t value women. She wasn’t convinced she was worth fighting for, but her baby, it gave her something to strive for, to make her worthy. She could get off the ground, she could move forward for the baby.
She climbed to her feet, her legs threatening to cramp. She abandoned the skis. They were more of a hindrance now, her muscles too sore from the use of them. Then she took a step, then another and another. She would walk until she couldn’t anymore. Then she would crawl.
Twenty minutes later, a man stepped out from behind a tree, his rifle pointed at her. She stopped, stared at him, then dropped to her knees in front of him. He spoke softly into a hand-held radio. Gave his approximate coordinates. More men showed up, then Eduard, standing over her, crouching down beside her.
“Can you walk?”
Esma stared at him, confused. What was he doing here? Did Mack set her up? “Yes.” She struggled to stand up, almost toppled over, but Eduard caught her. She pulled out of his grip. She would be damned before she’d let this man or any other carry her. Eduard gave orders to two of his men. Big, with rifles on their backs. West now, she and the two men. The rest walked away to the north. She was sandwiched between them, held by her arms so that she couldn’t run. Which was foolish since she could barely walk and they were more or less dragging her. More kilometres. Endless. And then they reached the field.
By then she was exhausted, barely conscious. The helicopter, starting its rotors and a man, standing beside it, waiting as they approached. Rusya. His eyes raking her, staring at her. Saying nothing as he helped her into the helicopter, helped her into her seat and seatbelt. The other two men joined them. And the copter took off. She was in the air again, with Rusya again. If he decided he was going to finish the job and drop her on Jackman’s roof, she thought she might almost welcome it. She didn’t know what to think and then she stopped thinking, her exhaustion winning. She passed out.
Chapter 56
They radioed when they found her, approximately 15 kilometres from his location and Rusya almost wept. Three more hours to wait and he did, with impatience, trepidation, all the what if’s. So close now to having her back. What if they got lost? What if Jackman found them? What if Jackman discovered the drop point? What if Burak gave it up to Jackman?
The pilot and he exchanged some small conversation, which helped settle Rusya, but then Rusya got out of the helicopter, waiting, pacing until he convinced himself he should meet up with them. Then climbing into the bird, knowing the thought was foolish, he was still limping around like an invalid. Then out again. And back in. Out. Fuck! Then he saw them appear at the treeline.
Esma looked so small, dressed all in white, enveloped between the two big men. Each had her by an arm and propelled her forward. She could barely walk, but they kept their grip solid, made sure she was not being dragged. When she saw him, her eyes took on a haunted, defeated look. Dull, then shuttered as she drew inside herself. Rusya felt the sting but let it go. She’d been through an ordeal and didn’t know where she stood with him. Maybe thought she’d been betrayed by Burak and his people. There would be time to talk later. Now it was time to leave.
He didn’t embrace her like he wanted to, didn’t weep, didn’t even say hello. He took her hand and helped her into the helicopter, into her seat and buckled her up. She closed her eyes and was out. The pilot lifted off once his men were inside and secured. They would be going to Moscow, to the safehouse Yuri promised he’d arrange. Rusya needed space and Esma needed time.
He tugged off her boots, her gloves, her hat, massaged her fingers, her feet. His men said nothing to him, which was wise. He was edgy, angry to see Esma so pale, a ghost of herself. He wanted to kill Jackman, find a way to make the man pay for what he did to her. At the very least, he understood her now, her desperation, to make a choice to walk 60 kilometres to escape Jackman. Her truth at least that she hated the man.
When they landed in Moscow, she woke up, looked at the men across from her, then Rusya.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
She nodded, but when she tried to stand, her knees buckled. His heart stuttered as he caught her, pu
lled her to him and held her for a moment. He handed her off to one of his men as he stepped down from the helicopter, then took her back. He didn’t give a fuck about his leg, that he was limping like an old man. He had Esma back, he wasn’t going to let her go.
They got into the waiting car, he, Esma and his two men. Their guards now for the duration of their time in Russia. Yuri was there, greeting Rusya, sparing a small glance for Esma. Rusya held her on his lap, refusing to put her next to his father. Esma didn’t struggle, didn’t fight him. Huddled herself close. Afraid more of Yuri than Rusya.
At the apartment, the doctor was waiting, Yuri’s personal physician and Rusya took her into a bedroom, laid her out on the bed. She’d passed out again, sometime in the car and Rusya was getting worried. He and the doctor undressed her down to her underwear, then Rusya stood against the wall, hands in his pocket, watching closely while the doctor examined her. He ran his hands over her body, checking for frostbite, broken bones, contusions. His fingers in her hair, checking for injuries, pressed on her stomach gently. Then he said, “There doesn’t appear to be any recent injuries or fractures. Her head’s okay. Best guess is that she’s exhausted and dehydrated.”
Small wonder. “She skied cross-country maybe 60 kilometres today.”
The doctor shook his head as he set up an IV drip. “She shouldn’t in her condition.”
Rusya cocked his head. “What condition would that be?”
The doctor looked up, surprised. “She’s pregnant.”
Rusya felt his mouth dry up as his stomach dropped to his toes. “How far along?”
The doctor shrugged. “Unless I give her a pelvic exam, I can’t tell for sure.”
