The Soul Stealer

by Alex Archer

  The cook looked at her and frowned.

  Annja sighed. “Automobile? I need to get to Magadan. My friend is injured badly and he needs a doctor.”

  At the mention of Magadan, the cook’s face lit up. “Magadan.”

  Annja nodded. “Yes.”

  The cook made a shape with her hands and then the appropriate car sounds. Annja smiled. “Da.”

  The cook nodded and then pointed to a seat at the table. “You. Sit.”

  Annja sat at the table and took a breath. Something smelled delicious. She hadn’t realized how famished she was.

  The cook returned from the kitchen with a plate of what looked like scrambled eggs and some type of meat. She brought a cup of steaming coffee and set it in front of Annja.

  “You.”

  Annja smiled. “Thank you. But I have to get back to Magadan. My friend is hurt.”

  The cook frowned, shook her head and pointed at the plate. “Eat.”

  Annja picked up a fork. Perhaps it wouldn’t make a difference if she bolted a bit of breakfast first. At least this way, she’d be in good shape for traveling.

  The cook watched her eat. Occasionally, she’d nod and say something indecipherable in Russian.

  Annja shoveled forkfuls of food into her mouth. She couldn’t stop eating the breakfast. “It’s really good,” she said around mouthfuls.

  The cook sipped a cup of coffee. “Magadan?”

  Annja nodded. “Yes. Da. My friend is hurt.” She made a show of impersonating someone who had been injured.

  The cook laughed.

  Annja sighed and pushed the plate away. “That was fantastic. Thank you so much. But I really need to get going now.”

  The cook shook her head and pointed at the clock high up on the yellowed wall. “Magadan. No.”

  Annja frowned. “What? You mean it’s too early? No one’s up yet? Something like that?”

  The cook just looked at her. Annja sighed and stood. “I need to get going. I’ll find someone else to help me with the car.”

  The cook stood up and tried to push Annja back into the seat. “Nyet!”

  Annja dodged her and set her feet. “Cut it out. Don’t try to stop me. I need to get back to Magadan.”

  The cook’s face fell. “Nyet, nyet, nyet.”

  Annja slid her gloves on and walked to the door. “Thanks again for breakfast. Really. I appreciate it.”

  She pulled the door open and walked outside.

  Weird town, she decided. I need to get out of this place. With Bob.

  She looked up and down the street. Where to find a car?

  She headed back to the hotel. Maybe Tupolov’s wife would have the keys to a vehicle she could take. She smirked. It’d be the least she could do, considering her husband was a dead nut.

  I’ll have to tell her, Annja thought.

  But not right now. Her priority was getting the vehicle and driving back to Magadan. When she got back, she could break the news.

  As she approached the inn, she could make out several muddled sets of footprints in the deep snow. By the look of it, people were at least awake now.

  She stepped into the inn.

  Small puddles of water lay about the floor just inside the door. She could see coats hanging off the line of pegs stuck into the knobby wall by the fireplace. There were several pairs of boots underneath them.

  “Hello?” Annja’s voice rang out, but she could hear nothing. There seemed to be no activity within the inn.

  She walked over to the kitchen and pushed through the swinging door. The kitchen was rustic but functional. Big iron pots hung from a rack suspended overhead. A block of wood housed several large knives. In the back, she could see a bunch of garlic garlands dangling from another rack. And the air smelled of last night’s big meal.

  Annja walked through the kitchen and toward the back pantry. She thought she could hear something.

  Static?

  As she approached the back of the pantry, Annja could see a small radio transmitter. A base microphone sat nearby.

  Maybe she didn’t have to drive to Magadan after all. Maybe she could radio for help.

  She sat down on a nearby chair and flipped a few of the switches and dials. Sharp bursts of static echoed throughout the pantry. Annja keyed the mike.

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday. Trying to reach anyone in Magadan. Over.”

  Nothing but static replied.

  Annja frowned and tried to remember anything she knew about radios. With the clear skies overhead, she shouldn’t have any trouble getting reception or transmitting a signal.

  Unless the antenna was down.

  If the storm wrecked the antenna, Annja thought, I could be wasting my time here.

  She changed the frequency and was rewarded with a break in the static as a voice came from the speaker.

  “Hello?”

  The static burst cleared again. “Amerikanski?”

  Annja grinned. “Hello? Can someone help me? I need help from Magadan.”

  Static reclaimed the airwaves and Annja swore under her breath. She’d heard someone and they’d heard her. She had to keep trying.

  The static cleared then. “Magadan?”

  Annja keyed the mike. “Yes, Magadan! I have a friend here who is injured. I need medical help sent immediately.”

  She released the send key and waited. Through the static, she heard the voice again. “Magadan. Magadan. Da. Okay. I hear you. You are okay?”

  Annja keyed the mike again. “Yes. I’m okay. My friend is not okay. He needs help.”

  The voice came back immediately this time. “Where are you? I will send doctor.”

  Annja exhaled a rush of breath. “Thank God.” She keyed the microphone again and cleared her throat. “Thank you, thank you. We’re in—”

  “Stop.” The voice came from behind her.

  Annja turned.

  The innkeeper’s wife—Tupolov’s mate—stood there holding a very ugly pistol in one hand. The barrel was aimed at Annja’s heart.

  Annja held up her hands. “Don’t.”

  Behind her, the voice at the other end of the radio kept talking. “Hello? Where are you? Hello?”

  But Annja couldn’t respond.

  37

  Annja eyed Tupolov’s wife. The gun she held didn’t waver at all. And her eyes looked as cold as steel left out in the Siberian winter. Annja moved very slowly, turning around so she could fully face her. “Don’t shoot.”

  Tupolov’s wife responded by thumbing the hammer back on the pistol. “You killed him.”

  Annja took a breath. There didn’t seem to be much point lying about it. “Yes.” But how had she found out?

  “Why? Why did you kill him?”

  “He meant to kill me. I did it in self-defense.”

  “That’s not what I was told.”

  Annja licked her lips. She had to play this carefully if she had any hope of avoiding the bullet. The situation was worsened by the fact that Annja was sitting in a chair. Her movement would be restricted.

  “Who told you?” she asked.

  Tupolov’s wife smirked. “Who do you think?”

  Dzerchenko. It had to be. Annja frowned. If Dzerchenko had been in touch with Tupolov’s wife, that meant Bob might be in grave danger. Annja had to take care of Tupolov’s wife and get back to Bob.

  She eased the chair around some more. The gun barrel was now aimed at her head. Tupolov’s wife shook her head.

  “Do not move any more or I will shoot you.”

  Annja kept her hands up. “I understand. Did you know what your husband was doing?”

  She shook her head. “Whatever he did, it was the right thing for us. I loved him dearly.”

  Her English was too good, too polished, Annja thought. “You’ve been schooled abroad.”

  Tupolov’s wife smiled. “You have keen ears. But you don’t speak Russian?”

  “Not much. It’s a language I’ve never been able to get to grips with.”

  Tupol
ov’s wife shrugged. “No matter. It doesn’t matter if you speak the language or not. Either way it translates to you dying.”

  “Tupolov was bad. He did horrible things to people. He killed people. You understand this?” Annja said.

  “The people he killed deserved what they got.”

  Annja looked around. There was nothing within reach she could use as a weapon. “You ran this hotel and lured travelers here so he could experiment on them with Dzerchenko,” Annja said with a sudden realization of the woman’s role.

  “No one missed them. No one ever came looking for them.”

  Annja shook her head. “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “Does it make it right that you killed him, then?”

  “Self-defense,” Annja said. “I had no choice.”

  Tupolov’s wife nodded. “Just as I have no choice. Now stand up.”

  Annja stood. “Where are we going?”

  “You saw the boots and coats in the other room?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have company. Some people here are eager to meet with you.”

  Annja frowned. What the hell did that mean? No one even knew she was here. How could there be anyone here to meet with her? It didn’t make sense.

  The woman gestured with the pistol. “We’re going upstairs now. Go through this door and go upstairs. I will be right behind you the entire time. If you try anything, I will shoot you.”

  “I won’t,” Annja said. If nothing else, she wanted to see who these people were.

  She pushed through the kitchen door and then turned right to the steps. She could sense Tupolov’s wife behind her, but at a measured distance. She was far enough away that Annja wouldn’t be able to attack her without taking a bullet.

  Not a good position to be in, she decided.

  The stairs creaked as they walked up them. Annja kept her hands held up so Tupolov’s wife wouldn’t get jumpy on the trigger. “You could give me the gun now, and we could settle this in a better way,” she tried.

  Tupolov’s wife jammed the barrel into her back. “Stop talking and keep moving. I don’t want to present you to our guests as a corpse.”

  Annja crested the steps. “Now where?”

  “Down the hall. The last room on the left.”

  Annja started down the hall. Her boots sounded loud on the wooden floor and threadbare carpet. She passed her old room and then Gregor’s. She winced at the thought of what he’d become. And what she had been forced to do to him.

  The door at the end on the left beckoned. From behind her, Annja heard Tupolov’s wife clear her throat. “That’s far enough.”

  Annja stopped and turned slightly so she could see.

  Tupolov’s wife gestured at the door. “Open it.”

  Annja rested her hand on the doorknob and turned it. The door opened easily. Inside, Annja counted four men. All of them looked stocky. Their faces were a bright red. Annja spotted several open bottles of vodka on the table in the room.

  The largest of the men smiled broadly as Annja entered. “Ah, so here she is!”

  Tupolov’s wife came in behind Annja and stood off to the side. Her gun stayed on Annja the entire time.

  Annja looked at the portly man in front of her. “Sorry, do I know you?”

  He laughed. “No, I would be surprised if you did.”

  “You know me, though.”

  He nodded. “Oh yes, I most certainly do. Annja Creed, world-famous archaeologist, television host and all-around interesting woman.”

  Annja cocked an eyebrow. “Thanks. I think.”

  He stood back and gestured to a seat. “Please, please, sit down. We’d like to talk to you.”

  Annja sat. The portly man held out his hand. “My name is Mischa. I have other names but you can call me Mischa. It makes everything that much easier than long Russian names, don’t you think?”

  Annja glanced at the other men in the room. They all seemed to have paused, as if waiting for something. Annja could see the look of death in their eyes. Whoever they were, she didn’t feel any safer now than she had with Tupolov’s wife.

  “Nice to meet you, Mischa.”

  He grinned and then spoke rapid-fire Russian over his shoulder. One of the men chuckled and Mischa glanced back at Annja. “Vladimir thought you would be…difficult. That you would make trouble for us. I told him otherwise and we bet on it. Needless to say, he now owes me.”

  Annja smiled. “Very nice.”

  Tupolov’s wife stood nearby still shooting daggers at Annja. Mischa glanced at her. “You can go now.”

  Tupolov’s wife shook her head. “No. I must kill her to avenge my husband. You said I could. I was only to bring her here and you would let me have her when you were through with her.”

  Mischa sighed and Annja saw him nod. There was a brief puff-puff sound and Annja heard two shell casings clink to the ground. She turned and saw Tupolov’s wife crumple to the ground, twin black holes punched through her forehead.

  Her gun slid to the floor.

  Mischa shook his head. “People are always so temperamental. And really, there’s no need for it. Business is business. It gets complicated when people allow their emotions to interfere.” He eyed Annja. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose,” she said cautiously.

  Mischa smiled. “You’re wary. I was told you are a careful one.” He shrugged. “I don’t blame you. If I were in your position, I would feel exactly as you do now. I would make sure I said as little as possible while trying to fathom the people across from me.”

  “That’s about it,” Annja said.

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “About what?”

  Mischa leaned back. “About who we are?”

  “I’m more curious about Tupolov’s wife.”

  Mischa sniffed. “She became problematical. We no longer need her.”

  Annja nodded. “All right. Now I’m curious as to who you are.”

  Mischa took a drink of vodka and then put his glass back on the table next to him. “I think you met some associates of ours.”

  Annja swallowed.

  Mischa caught it, though, and laughed. “Yes, Yuri and Oleg were my men. Scouts, so to speak. We sent them ahead to handle things here and it looks like they got themselves handled instead, eh?”

  Annja shook her head. “They were going to kill us.”

  Mischa laughed. “You’re going to use the same excuse on me that you used on Tupolov’s wife there? That you killed them in self-defense?”

  Annja shook her head. “I don’t go around purposefully killing people, Mischa. If I kill, it’s always in self-defense.”

  “I see.”

  Annja waited while Mischa finished his drink. Then he rubbed his hands together. “Fortunately for you, I’m not upset.”

  “You’re not?”

  He shrugged. “Yes, they were dear to me. All of my men are. But they knew the risks associated with our line of work. And they embraced those risks. They should be commended for falling in battle.”

  “They fought hard,” Annja said.

  Mischa nodded. “I know they did.” He eyed her.

  “And you should be commended for killing them.”

  “I wasn’t alone,” Annja said.

  “Regardless,” Mischa said. “Your skill prevailed. And that is worth a nod of respect.”

  Annja said nothing while Mischa got himself a refill of vodka. He took a sip and then belched into his hand. “Pardon me.”

  Annja smiled. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are we doing here?”

  Mischa pointed at her. “What I am doing is trying to figure out whether I should kill you or not.”

  “Ah,” Annja said.

  “You see, while I am not one to hold a grudge, my men here were very close to the men you killed. And as such, they want revenge for their fallen brothers. I am trying to decide if I should honor their request for your death or not.”

  Annja leaned back. “Well, don’t le
t me interrupt your thought process.”

  Mischa smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what happened here?”

  “In town?”

  “I sent Yuri and Oleg here to scare the villagers into moving and giving up their land rights. The area is filled with natural resources my companies can exploit.”

  Annja nodded. “I think they were trying to do just that when they followed us into the mountains.”

  “Why did you go into the mountains?” Mischa asked.

  Annja took a breath and related the entire story of Khosadam and how things had unraveled to the point that Annja was looking for medical help for Bob.

  When she finished, Mischa looked at her curiously. “And no part of what you just told me was fabricated for my pleasure?”

  Annja shook her head. “I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.”

  Mischa nodded. “Interesting. And you say this Dzerchenko character is creating supersoldiers?”

  “He’s trying to. Supposedly, he’s backed by someone very powerful.”

  Mischa pursed his lips. “Fascinating. I never thought I would ever hear a story like this, but then it just goes to prove you can’t assume anything in life, eh?”

  “That’s what I’ve been learning,” Annja said.

  “And so here we are,” Mischa said.

  “Here we are,” Annja agreed. She was unsure how much more she could take.

  Mischa looked at Annja for another full minute before finally clapping his hands and standing up. “All right, then.”

  Annja started. “You’re going to kill me?”

  “I don’t know yet. But for right now, I want to see this man Dzerchenko. His work intrigues me.”

  Annja shook her head. “He’ll pretend he’s just a priest.”

  Mischa laughed. “He can pretend he’s an earthworm for all I care. But when I ask him questions, he had better be honest with me. Otherwise, he may just die in his fantasy world.”

  Annja followed Mischa out of the room, wondering just how much longer Bob could hold on.

  38

  Mischa’s men led the way back down the street to the church. As they walked, Mischa stayed close to Annja. “You’ve been enjoying your stay in my country?”

  Annja shrugged. “I haven’t really seen all that much, to be honest. I flew into Moscow and then took the train straight to Magadan.”