The Killing Game

by Anderson, Toni

  “In case there are more gunmen out here. Or Dmitri Volkov isn’t as wounded as I hope. He’s clearing a hell of a lot of ground for a man with a gunshot wound.”

  “You must have only clipped him.”

  “He wore body armor, otherwise he’d be dead.” Dempsey’s lips were hard. Soldier mode. “He’s gone to a lot of trouble to get his hands on you. Something tells me he isn’t going to run away because he had a setback.”

  “It was a hell of a setback.” She scanned the hillsides, but could see nothing moving through the valley. Her skin suddenly prickled and she pressed closer to Dempsey because he was the one thing that made her feel safe in this new world of bombs, bullets and death.

  CHAPTER 12

  From the shelter of a group of boulders on the western side of the track, Dmitri lay prone on the ground and followed the man and woman’s progress through a gap in the rocks. His hand throbbed from where the soldier had shot him. The bullet had gone straight through his palm but all his fingers worked so Dmitri counted that as a miss. His chest was badly bruised but for once he was grateful he wasn’t dead.

  He was glad the soldier and the woman had survived. He admired their tenacity. But it did not change his plans. All the sacrifices and degradation his family had endured, not because he’d sinned, but because someone else had…

  Sergei’s boy was dying and needed immediate hospital care. The pelts were lost. He had to change his plan. He still needed money, still needed to get his family out of Russia. Thankfully he still had something of extreme value in his sights. And Magdalena was counting on him.

  His grandson would be saved no matter who else had to die to achieve it, but the bombing complicated things. Who ordered it? Russians via their spy? Or the US and British via the soldier? The man was impressive, Dmitri conceded. More impressive than he’d anticipated. Reminded him of himself from a long time ago.

  Dmitri had made all the wrong choices in his life, trusted all the wrong people. He was paying for those mistakes now, but it broke his heart that his grandson was bearing the brunt of his grandfather’s legacy. If Dmitri hadn’t defected, if he hadn’t taught a young mujahedeen captain how to fight, he wouldn’t be wanted in half the nations of the world and his son would still be alive today. Dmitri had been painted a monster, but he’d never believed in collateral damage or civilian casualties. Women and children should be kept out of war. The mistake he’d made, over and over, was not realizing others had no such qualms.

  He turned to the wide-eyed boy who sat beside him cross-legged on the rocky ground. “Tell your father to give them food and shelter. Tell him to put this into the soldier’s tea before he retires for the night.” He handed him a small capsule. A useful drug for those who had lost the power to sleep. “I need supplies and another horse and yak. Tell him I will pay him soon.” Just not yet.

  The young boy adjusted his hat, nodded his elfin face, and stood to gather his goats.

  “Be careful.”

  The child scooted off and Dmitri turned back to watch the man and woman move out of sight. Another time, another place and he’d have let them go. Not this time.

  ***

  The sun was sliding down the western horizon and she was still walking, although she was almost blind with exhaustion. Dempsey stopped and eyed her critically. “Do the people here know you?”

  She looked toward the village and nodded. “Some do. We met the elders in Sarhad for a meeting when we started the project.”

  “Then you and I just got married.”

  Her eyes popped. “We did?”

  “Otherwise we’ll be split up when we get to their village and I don’t trust Volkov not to pull another stunt.”

  She frowned. It wasn’t the idea of pretending he was her husband that bothered her. It was the curious pang at the thought of being separated.

  “Then we’re newlyweds because last summer I was single.” She’d had offers; one man had even stretched to a camel.

  He took her hand as they approached the squat clay structures. “Let me do the talking.”

  “As long as I like what you’re saying, you can do the talking.”

  “Stubborn doesn’t even begin to describe you, Dr. Dehn. My GPS signal should have kicked in by now. Volkov’s trail veered east about half a mile south of here. I’ll go after him as soon as the squad catches up with me. You’ll be back in your camp by tomorrow morning watching out for your cats.” His fingers squeezed tight.

  She had to clear her throat to speak. She didn’t know why she was feeling so sad at the thought of rescue. “How do we explain the rest of your guys when they turn up? Bachelor party?”

  “Students?” His grin was devilish.

  “Too many guns.” Her smile faded. She wasn’t okay with people dying. They could have family. Wives… Who were those other soldiers anyway? She assumed the target was Dempsey, but getting caught in the crossfire wasn’t her idea of fun. The thought of Dempsey being killed settled like an onerous burden on her chest and she found it hard to inhale. The force of her reaction startled her.

  “Let’s rest for a few hours. I’ll contact the CO from the village and worry about the details later.” They approached a group of squat buildings that seemed to be made of clay. Tiny puffs of smoke rose from holes in the roofs.

  A group of children ran toward them dressed in brightly colored garments and smiling gap-toothed smiles.

  “Hello.” Dempsey smiled and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “What language do they speak?” he asked her.

  “Probably a mix of Wakhi and Kyrgyz.”

  He grunted, which suggested his skills didn’t include those two obscure languages.

  “Some of them speak English,” she added.

  They marched into the center of the tiny village and a little man came to the door of his house and smiled at them widely. He wore two jackets and a knitted cap, his features those of ancient Mongolia. The others wore an eclectic mixture of clothes from the traditional to a soccer jersey pulled tight over several layers of sweaters. The man in the doorway, clearly the chief elder, chattered at them in his own language. Axelle pulled her hat more firmly over her hair until it was covered. The people here were moderate in their religious beliefs but she didn’t want to offend.

  Dempsey said, “I need a telephone, and my wife and I need somewhere to rest.” He put his hands together and leaned his head to the side, mimicking sleep.

  She swallowed the knot that formed in her throat at the words. The man was nodding and trying to drag Dempsey into his house for tea while the women urged her to follow them.

  “Go,” she said. “I doubt the guy would take on the whole village.” She could barely keep her eyes open anyway.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I’ve radioed HQ.”

  She nodded gratefully. She knew he’d check on Anji and Josef too. And her leopards. The weight of guilt wanted to crush her—so many had died so that Dmitri Volkov could lure her here a few months early. Who had he been talking to on the sat phone? Her father? Or someone else?

  The women showed her into a hut. Before she went inside she noticed Dempsey watching her from the doorway of the other hut. He smiled then turned away. Her heart hurt. She could hear him asking for a radio or telephone. The women ushered her inside and she asked to use the facilities, which were as basic as she’d expected. After she’d cleaned up, they gave her some clean clothes but she was too tired to get undressed. She pulled back the heavy cloth curtain to reveal a rich red blanket spread on top of a roughly constructed platform. It was as close to a real bed as she was likely to get in this place and she wanted to kiss the ground in relief. She nodded her thanks and, as soon as they left her alone, she fell face-first onto the bed and was asleep in seconds.

  ***

  Reports were Volkov survived the bombing raid.

  Jonathon stepped from his car outside Lucinda Allworth’s Suffolk home and ran his fingers through his hair. Security was subtle but thorough and he had to show
ID to a protection officer before he was even allowed to knock on the door. He hadn’t called ahead. Didn’t want to give her the opportunity to refuse to see him. He knew that if he turned up on the doorstep she was English enough to invite him in for a cup of tea.

  “Jonathon?” She opened the door, looking thin and delicate in a pretty cotton dress covered with summer flowers. “Come in.” She smiled and waved to her security detail before stepping away from the door and ushering him inside.

  He leaned forward to kiss her cheek and she blushed. She’d always been an oddly shy creature. Pretty, but almost embarrassed about it.

  “You look beautiful, Lucinda, but then again you always did.” He let his gaze warm as his eyes swept over her. His skin prickled with unexpected desire. This wasn’t going to be a chore at all. He was old. He wasn’t dead.

  “Oh.” She touched her cheek and blushed. He contained a smile. She always acted so…surprised when he gave her compliments. You’d think he’d never kissed her or seen her naked.

  “How are you, my dear? Coping with the circus?” He closed the door and followed her through to the kitchen. She was always baking, and the smell of scones scented the air. No wonder Sebastian had needed to lose a few pounds. Maybe if he hadn’t been so fat he could have escaped that bullet. Maybe not. Jonathon pursed his lips.

  It was Volkov’s fault. All of it.

  “I would have brought you champagne to celebrate David’s victory, but I remembered you don’t drink.”

  “It was all rather super, Jonathon.” Her eyes sparkled at him. “I did actually have a few glasses the night of the election.” And was probably dragged out of the hall and stuffed in a taxi before she’d ended up on the breakfast news, nissed as a pewt.

  He touched her arm. A calculated move. Comfort and interest. Enough of both to gauge her reaction to him—to them. “Sebastian would have been proud, my dear. You’ve done a wonderful job with your son.”

  She smiled sadly and touched his hand. “Not many people remember Sebastian anymore.” She chewed on her bottom lip, then met his gaze. “Sometimes I think you and I are the only people who knew he existed.”

  Jonathon moved closer, saw her eyes flicker with sudden awareness.

  “I’ll never forget him, Lucy. I loved him. He’s with me every single day.” He touched his heart, then tipped her chin and slowly leaned closer. “I tried to forget you, but after I saw you on the news I had to come.” He kissed her gently. Eased her into the idea of heat and passion. She kissed him back, this hollow little woman in her pretty dress in her sweet country kitchen. She kissed him back and he was going to reward her by making slow sweet love to her and then, in the dark depth of night, he’d confess his deepest darkest secret—that Sebastian hadn’t died in a plane crash at all. Instead he’d been killed by the same monster who’d tried to blow him to smithereens in Yemen. A monster who’d risen from the grave.

  He sank his hand into her hair and nipped gently at her mouth and started backing her up the stairs toward the same bedroom she’d once shared with her husband. And this sweet little woman was going to grasp wholeheartedly onto the idea of revenge for her husband’s killer because she’d be feeling guilty about the pleasure Jonathon was about to give her in ways fat old Sebastian had only ever dreamed of.

  Well, maybe they both deserved a little fun in their dotage.

  And once she found out this new truth, she’d run to her son, the Prime Minister, and he’d stop at nothing to avenge his late father. And they could all live happily ever after. Except Dmitri, because he’d be dead.

  ***

  Dempsey walked up to the small hut they’d been given for the night, gritting his teeth with frustration. The village’s Soviet-era radio wasn’t working and there were no satellite phones to call HQ. As far as the Regiment was concerned he might as well be dead. He assumed his GPS was still sending out a signal, but with a mysterious hit squad after them that signal was as likely to kill them as save them. Still, there were other troopers in the Wakhan Corridor and it wouldn’t be long before some of them caught up to him. Then they could pursue the subject—a sixty-three-year-old demon with a bullet hole somewhere in his hide—who’d so far managed to kick Dempsey’s ass.

  They were a different breed, that generation, pure gristle and spite. Like his da. The only time he’d ever seen his old man break was when he’d found out Siobhan was dead, and that hadn’t lasted long.

  He yawned, his jaw cracking. Except for a snatched hour here and there, he hadn’t slept properly in days and he was starting to drag. When adrenalin was pumping you didn’t need much sleep. In the relative safety of the village, he figured he had little choice but to finally drop his guard and get a few hours’ kip.

  He pushed in through the thick curtain that formed the door and strode to the drape that divided the room. The paraffin lantern the village elder had given him created an intimate atmosphere. He exhaled a long slow breath when he saw Axelle fast asleep on the bed. To the consternation of his hosts he’d sat with a view of the hut the whole time he ate. Volkov was the wiliest bastard he’d come up against in years and he worried about Axelle’s safety.

  But she was okay. She was more than okay.

  He didn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him like this. Maybe never. He put the tea they’d given him beside the bed. Smiled at the vision she made asleep. Like any old combat veteran she slept with her boots and hat on. He dropped down to the bed and rubbed his eyes.

  She stirred.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.

  She blinked awake and pushed into a sitting position, pulled off her hat and dragged her mussed hair over one shoulder. She suddenly looked young. Not kickass and capable. Dark circles smudged tired eyes. The set of her chin looked uncertain for once, not ready to take on every adversary.

  “There’s no working radio or satellite dish within twenty miles.” He sounded as disgusted as he felt.

  “These people have next to nothing.”

  He handed her his canteen of water and she took a drink. They were way beyond the social niceties.

  “How they survive here is beyond me,” she said.

  “I was going to ask why the hell do they stay here but having visited the rest of Afghanistan, this place has some advantages.”

  “It used to.” Her dark eyes haunted him. “Maybe not so much anymore.”

  He shrugged out of his backpack, which felt like it had been welded to his back. “The military only want Volkov. They won’t stay unless there’s a reason.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?” Her eyes drifted away from his.

  “What?”

  “Being sent on a mission to kill someone.”

  “I wasn’t sent on a mission to kill anyone. I was sent to capture him.” He closed his mouth, pissed he’d admitted that much.

  She smiled. Knew she’d got him. “Dead or alive though, right?”

  He rubbed his hands over his eyes then rested his elbows on his knees. “Axelle, you’re a smart woman. You know there are times when we can’t all hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya.’” He decided to tell her the truth because he wanted her armed with real knowledge in case she had to face this bastard again—especially if he wasn’t there to help her. The thought tore at his guts. “Volkov went AWOL from the Red Army and joined the mujahedeen in late 1980. When that fight was over, he was still so full of bloodlust he sought out Islamic militants and taught them the basics of bomb-making, which they’re now using to terrorize governments and civilians around the globe. I don’t care what his reasons were. Perhaps he’s misunderstood, but I don’t give a rat’s arse. I spent my life protecting people and he’s spent his trying to destroy them. There is no redemption for a man like that, no matter the circumstances.”

  She sat staring at him, her eyes wide with understanding rather than the horror of killing she’d expressed earlier. He’d said more than he should but after being kidnapped she was due some sort of explanation. Not that the
bosses would see it that way.

  “Are we staying here overnight or are we leaving?” Her eyes were still bleary, but she was clearly ready to go if they needed to. But, Christ, he was toast.

  “Let’s get a few hours’ sleep, and we’ll slip out before dawn.” He wasn’t sure they’d find a safer spot than this anywhere close by. He felt exposed but there was only one of him—he couldn’t stay awake indefinitely.

  He undid the laces on her boots and pulled off one, then the other. He rubbed her feet and she groaned, and he tried to ignore what the sound did to him deep in the pit of his belly. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got a few things to do before I get any rest.”

  He checked each of his weapons and made sure they were clean and loaded and within arm’s reach. He went outside and did a quick perimeter check of the village, seeing what everyone was up to and if anything seemed out of place. He didn’t know if the people here were fooled by the cover story he’d given them—that he and his wife were on a hiking trip from her camp for their honeymoon. Hell, he didn’t even know whether they’d understood any of his words, but they’d eyeballed his weapons with a healthy dose of respect and Dempsey figured they recognized the gear of a professional soldier when they saw it.

  Though he’d never told them he wasn’t a soldier. He’d just said he was Axelle’s husband—something he didn’t want to dwell on. Back in the hut he bent down and undid his boots. Slipped them off with his socks. Drank a sip of his lukewarm tea. Unstrapped his body armor and placed it on the floor beside his other stuff. Damn, he was tired. He figured he’d better keep his T-shirt and trousers on, else his reflex reaction to Axelle might scare the shit out of her if she woke and found him pressed against her like some horny git.

  He turned back to the bed expecting her to be asleep. She wasn’t. She lay watching him with an expression that made his heart stand still for three hopeful beats.