The quiet was driving her crazy. It seemed like she’d visited nothing but dead towns since she left the Empire. Only Germany had been lively, but that seemed like a long time ago. What she wouldn’t have given for a cup of tea and a cookie in a nice little cafe. Just something normal.
Fedor grabbed her and forced her flat against the brick wall they’d been following. A truck that looked to be part tank rumbled down the street. It had a huge gun on its roof and an angry-looking man behind it. She’d been so wrapped up in her daydreams she hadn’t even noticed it approaching.
“We’re getting close,” Fedor said when the tank-truck thing had moved out of sight. “You need to focus.”
“Sorry, it’s just hard to be on alert every moment. I’m tired and hungry and scared. I’m ready for this to be over with.”
“It won’t be long now. Just keep it together for a little while longer. An hour from now you’ll be out on the ocean and the Empire will be nothing but a memory.”
She badly wanted him to be right. How long had it been since she really felt safe? It seemed like a lifetime ago. “I’m okay now. What next?”
“We need some way to flush out whoever’s watching the dock. We can’t count on anyone distracting them for us this time.”
“What about a fire? We could torch a building and when they come to investigate sneak past.”
Fedor shook his head. “Look around. No one would care if one of these dumps burned down. We need something a bit more drastic.”
The approach of another engine sent them huddling tight against the wall. A moment later a pickup with a machine gun mounted in the bed drove slowly by, the man in the bed looking left and right.
“Maybe we could borrow that,” Anya said.
Fedor drew his pistol and worked the action. “You read my mind.”
* * *
Yarik hated stakeouts. He sat on a barrel behind a half-built boat and yawned. For the better part of the day—he wanted to say Saturday but he’d lost track—he, along with Victor and Hedon, had been hiding out at the dock waiting for the girl to arrive. He feared the zealots might catch her before he did. If those lunatics got their hands on her who knew what they might do, his warnings not withstanding. Having seen their half-assed security patrols he didn’t worry about it too much.
No, Anya and her protector would find their way through the gaps and to the docks where he’d grab them and drag them back to the Empire where the girl would be transformed into a White Witch and become an enforcer for the state, bound to the czar and his will.
He sighed and thought of Irmina. She hadn’t been much older than Anya and under the veneer of her station was a scared girl. It might have been kinder if the transformation took away all their free will and made them into mindless puppets.
Tires screeched and a pickup came careening around the bend and powered toward the dock. It was one of the zealots’ patrol vehicles, but he recognized the bearded man driving it. His prey had arrived at last.
Yarik drew his pistol as the truck got closer. He squinted against the glare on the windshield. Where was Anya? As far as he could tell the man was alone.
The rebels had proven adept at distraction. Was this another one? A trick to draw them out and give the girl a path to her escape route. No, he wouldn’t abandon his charge at this late juncture. The rebel had something else in mind.
The rear of the truck fishtailed and skidded into the side of a warehouse. The front end buried itself in the building. A moment later the man staggered out and climbed into the bed. He charged the machine gun and let loose with a spray of fully automatic fire.
Bullets slammed into everything. A pair tore through the half-built ship he’d been hiding behind and pinged off the ground around him. Yarik scrambled behind the heavy steel barrel. That should provide him with a little extra protection.
He looked to where the dragon-bloods were hiding and pointed at the mad rebel. They nodded and stepped out from behind a stack of pallets. More rounds bounced off their scales. It didn’t even seem to hurt them.
Must be nice, being bulletproof. It certainly came in handy in this line of work. They strode toward the truck, flinching occasionally when one of the shots hit square, but otherwise unbothered by the spray.
When the machine gun finally went silent Yarik risked emerging from his hiding place. Victor and Hedon were halfway to the truck and the rebel was trying to climb out of the back with one arm. Yarik rushed from his hiding place and ran to join the pair. They needed him alive to find out where Anya was hiding. He didn’t want them to get carried away.
The rebel finally made it to the ground and ran. He had a hitch in his stride, probably injured something in crash.
Victor and Hedon stopped near the truck and were sniffing the air. Yarik stopped beside them. “He’s getting away.”
“I smell someone else,” Victor said.
Hedon nodded. “Yes, he’s not alone.”
Yarik looked into the wrecked warehouse. Something shifted in the cab and a terrified face peeked out. Bright blue eyes met his and he made a stupid decision.
He couldn’t stand the thought of those eyes become pale and lifeless like Irmina’s.
“Forget that,” Yarik said. “He can lead us to the girl, but not if he escapes. After him!”
Hedon and Victor ceased their snuffling and ran after the rebel. Yarik glanced at the girl and nodded before taking off after his subordinates.
The rebel had gained ground, but with his limp had no hope of escaping the rapidly approaching dragon-bloods. He seemed to know it too. A big automatic appeared in his hand and he fired at Victor. The bullets were no more effective than the ones from the machine gun.
Hedon drew a deep breath and exhaled a blast of frigid air. Ice formed around the rebel’s feet and he crashed to the pavement. Victor stomped on his weapon hand and Yarik heard the bone break.
The rebel shouted and pounded on Victor’s leg to less effect than his gun.
“Stop struggling,” Yarik said. “You’ve led us a merry chase, but it’s over. Where’s Anya?”
The rebel lay on his back and laughed. “Far from here if the universe smiles.”
* * *
Anya’s heart nearly stopped when the Imperial agent looked in her eyes. She’d been certain the game was up. That Fedor’s sacrifice was going to come to nothing. Then he ordered his monster to chase Fedor down, nodded to her, and ran off. She hesitated to break cover, but what could he have to gain by letting her go only to capture her a few seconds later?
Finally she steeled herself, climbed out of the truck, and ran toward the dock. She didn’t dare look behind her for fear of what she might see. Anya needed to be stronger and braver than she’d ever been. That’s what he’d told her just before they got in the stolen truck.
The piers each had a shiny number nailed to them. She hurried down the line until she reached number twenty-seven. A slick black boat perhaps thirty feet long was tied to the pier. On the back it said, The Wave Rider.
“Hello? Rebecca?”
There was a rustle from inside and a dark-haired woman with hard eyes and a scar emerged on deck. She held a sliver pistol in her hand.
“Anya Kazakov?”
She nodded. “Imperial agents are just up the pier. We need to leave now.”
Rebecca made no move to let her aboard. “You have the information?”
Anya dug out the thumb drive and held it up.
“Give it to me.”
“When I’m on board.” Anya looked over her shoulder. Fedor couldn’t buy her much more time.
Rebecca raised her pistol and pointed it at Anya’s head. “The drive, now.”
Anya shifted so the drive was dangling over the water. “You think your masters will be pleased if this goes for a swim? I am sick of people pointing guns and threatening me. Either kill me or let me aboard.”
Rebecca grinned and lowered the pistol. “You’ve got guts.”
She held out her empty hand a
nd helped Anya aboard. The boat wasn’t much more than a cockpit with a wheel, throttle, and some gauges. At first Anya thought there was a below-deck area, but she was wrong.
“Hold on.” Rebecca cut the lines holding the boat in place, slid into the driver’s seat, and turned the key.
The engine rumbled to life and sent a vibration through the hull. She thrust the throttle forward and they leapt away from the dock. The coast quickly grew smaller. This boat was faster than any of the cars Anya had ridden in.
When she mentioned it Rebecca said, “It’s designed for smuggling people and weapons. At full thrust she’ll make sixty knots. We’ll have you to London in three hours. When we arrive you will have to hand over the drive.”
“That’s fine. You can have it now if you want. I was just sick of being threatened.” Anya tossed the drive to her and Rebecca snatched it out of the air. “What exactly is on it and why does the Kingdom want me?”
Rebecca shrugged and tucked the drive away in an inside pocket. “Beats me. I just handle delivery. Once we reach London you’re someone else’s problem.”
“Will you be delivering the weapons to the French army? The commander we spoke to seemed eager to get them.”
“I’ll deliver some of them. The rest will be brought by others. I’ll tell you a secret. We would have provided them with the weapons they need even if the French hadn’t agreed to help you escape. The last thing Downing Street wants is a country controlled by fanatics forty miles off our coast.”
The sun slowly set as they made their way along the coast, eventually turning up a river. Rebecca wove her way through barge and boat traffic with ease. She brought them to a gleaming glass-and-steel building built right on the river.
As they drew closer Rebecca pressed a button on the control panel. A door in the cement wall slid open and she guided the boat through. A manmade canal ran a short distance to a private dock. Overhead bulbs filled the chamber with light. Two women, one in a red robe and the other in black stood flanking a slender man in a gray suit with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed goatee.
The man smiled as the boat eased up beside the dock. “Anya Kazakov, welcome to His Majesty’s Ministry of Magic.”
“Thank you?”
He laughed, warm, rich, and inviting. He gave off an air of friendliness and good cheer. Anya immediately distrusted him. She’d never met a government employee that was friendly.
“I’m Agent Carter Smith, but please call me Carter.” He held out his hand and helped her out of the boat. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough time of it. We’ll get you settled in, perhaps a shower and a bite of dinner. I believe the kitchens prepared Shepherd’s Pie. It’s quite good.”
Rebecca tossed him the drive, revved the boat’s engine, and left the way she’d arrived.
Carter pocketed the drive. “She’s a great smuggler, but weak on her people skills. This way.”
He started up the pier toward the rear wall. Anya eyed the women then fell in behind him. They were probably the Kingdom’s equivalent to White Witches. She’d have to be careful around them.
As her guide reached the end of the pier the blank wall slid open revealing an elevator. The five of them crowded in and Carter pressed a button. The car lurched and numbers lit up on a digital readout. When they hit six a chime sounded and the doors slid open.
Carter stepped out and they strode down a long, door-lined hall. He stopped again, this time in front of door number five and pushed it open. “It’s not much, but I hope you’ll make yourself at home. There’s a shower and you’ll find clean clothes in the dresser. I’ll have the kitchen send up something for you in half an hour or so. Do you have any questions?”
“No, thank you.”
“Have a good sleep. I’ll fetch you in the morning. My superiors will have many questions not to mention there are a few tests we need to run.”
Anya nodded, not really listening. Her eyes were locked on the turned-down bed in the middle of the room. A good night’s sleep in a safe place would be heaven.
* * *
When Yarik heard the rumble of the engine he knew Anya had escaped. He should have been worried, terrified even, of his potential punishment, but all he could think was that he’d saved that girl from becoming a monster. Of all the things he’d done for the Empire, this failure pleased him more than any of his many successes. If someone had asked him to explain why, he wouldn’t have been able to. It just felt right.
He looked down at the rebel who was still trapped under Victor’s boot. Despite the pain of his broken wrist the man was smiling. He’d heard the engine too. There was a moment, not that the rebel would understand, that he felt a kinship to the man. In that instant, when he let the girl escape, Yarik in his own way became as much a rebel as the prisoner.
Hedon roared, shattering the silence of the dock. The dragon-blood reached down, grabbed the prisoner by the throat, and lifted him like he was nothing. “I’ll kill you for this.”
“Hedon, no.” Yarik couldn’t let his subordinate kill the rebel, not yet.
Hedon looked at Yarik and snarled, appearing for a moment more dragon than man. “Why not? He’s worthless now.”
“We still need to report our failure to the czar. Better we have a prisoner to hand over than face his wrath ourselves, don’t you think?”
Hedon’s expression twisted to one of fear. A perfectly reasonable reaction considering how angry their master was likely to be. “I hadn’t considered that. You’re quite right, Agent. Perhaps this worm’s life will sate his rage.”
He dropped the rebel like so much trash. The big man landed with a grunt, his face scrunched up in a pained grimace.
“Victor, you still have the communicator?” Yarik asked.
“I left it with our gear at the church.”
Yarik nodded. “Grab the prisoner and let’s go back. For better or worse, our work is done here.”
9
Consequences
Yarik sat bolt upright in the hard wooden chair and stared into the communicator. He was alone in the room he shared with the dragon-bloods, waiting for someone to answer his call. He held the cool, bronze mirror as far out as he could. Nosorova’s glowing face eventually appeared in the glass. It didn’t look quite so intimidating if he kept her at arm’s length.
He’d spent the hour-long walk back to the church trying to think of a good excuse or even better several good excuses, for how the girl escaped. Another two hours of thought brought nothing better than the fact that he felt bad for her. Admitting that was the reason for her escape didn’t seem like the best way to go. White Witches weren’t big on sympathy. Yet another reason he was glad to spare Anya that fate.
“After all this time and effort, at the end you failed!” Nosorova’s shriek hurt his ears, but he kept his expression neutral.
“Yes. How could I have known that her protector would sacrifice himself to let his charge escape? He had to know the fate that awaited him if he was caught. No sane person would risk that.”
“You have a point. Our agent in London reported her arrival at the Ministry of Magic fifteen minutes ago. We know where she is. It will be up to the czar whether we make another attempt to recover her.”
Yarik seriously doubted the czar would be foolish enough to attack the Kingdom directly. So far the Four Nations’ Alliance had been content to watch and occasionally provide weapons for their proxies like the French army. A direct attack would provoke a more aggressive counterattack. No, Anya was safe as long as she stayed in the ministry.
“Do you have any orders for us?” Yarik asked.
“Hold your position for now. His Imperial Majesty is meeting with his generals. When he decides how he wishes to proceed with this matter someone will be in contact.”
She broke the connection and Yarik blew out a sigh. They escaped the ax, at least for now.
He set the mirror on the table and got out of his uncomfortable chair. Outside Victor and Hedon were waiting to hear their fate.
Yarik shook his head. “Sorry, guys. We’re on standby while we wait for His Majesty to decide what to do with us. Might as well rest and recover while you can. Heaven knows where we’ll end up next.”
“The witch sounded upset,” Victor said.
Yarik snorted. “The witches are always upset about something. I’m going for a walk to clear my head. It’s been a long day.”
“Do you wish us to join you?” Hedon asked.
“Thanks, but I’ll be safe enough. I’m just going to wander around for a while. See you later.”
Yarik left his subordinates in the hall and ambled down toward the chapel. The zealots were having their nightly prayer session so it would be a good chance to talk with the rebel.
Beyond the double doors to the chapel was a set of steps that led to the basement. Yarik descended, ignoring the cool, damp air. They’d rigged up a makeshift prison and torture chamber, or inquisition chamber as the holy men preferred.
He ignored the rack as well as the trays covered with sharp, pointy bits of metal. It didn’t look all that different from the autopsy room at home, except for the fact that inquisitors preferred to work on the living instead of the dead.
There were three cells, though only one had an occupant at the moment. Yarik unbolted the thick oak door and stepped into the eight-by-eight room. The rebel was chained to the wall by heavy manacles that allowed him just enough movement to lay down on the flimsy cot that was the room’s only furniture.
The rebel glared at him. “I suppose the torture is to begin now.”
Yarik sighed. “No, we wouldn’t want to risk any damage before the witches get a hold of you. I thought we might chat for a little while, you know, like civilized people.”
He held up his manacled hands. “Yes, just like civilized people. Go away, Imperial. I have nothing to say to you and there’s nothing I want to hear from you.”
“She made it safely to the Kingdom, so our spies say.”
The rebel finally sat up and took notice. “Anya’s okay?”
Escape From the Dragon Czar: An Aegis of Merlin Story Page 16
