Her Rocky Mountain Defender

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  It took him less than a minute to find a room marked as Second Floor Study Lounge. It was an out-of-the-way place on a regular day, and today the Memorial Union was all but abandoned. He opened the door and crossed the threshold. A motion light turned on, illuminating the room. A woman sat in a chair, asleep. Roman recognized her at once.

  “Ava,” he said from the doorway.

  She didn’t move.

  He tried again, halfway across the room and louder this time. “Ava.”

  Still nothing.

  He moved to the chair and kicked the edge. “Ava.”

  Her eyelids rolled open. “Go away. I’m sleeping. I’ve been sick.” She closed her eyes.

  “Ava,” he repeated, undeterred by her claim at illness and obvious use of drugs. “Ava, I need to find your sister, Madelyn.”

  Without opening her eyes, Ava licked her lips and sighed. “Everyone wants Maddie and nobody cares about Ava. Maddie goes to college and then medical school, all Ava does is get high and disappoint everyone.”

  Roman’s heart raced. “Who else wants Madelyn?”

  Ava’s head lolled to the side. He kicked the edge of the chair again. “Ava.”

  Nothing.

  Roman reached for his phone and brought up Ian’s contact. He paused, and put the phone back.

  A full-fledge raid on The Prow, the most likely place that Madelyn was taken, would meet considerable reluctance. Nikolai Mateev was too big a prize to redirect their much-needed resources. Besides, the powers that be assumed Oleg was dead.

  No matter how much he needed to see justice served for both Nikolai Mateev and Oleg Zavalov, Madelyn’s life was the most important thing to him. And in order to save her, Roman would do anything.

  Including breaking all the rules.

  He left the room and sped down the corridor. Rounding a corner, Roman ran into a man wearing the dark blue uniform of a Boulder police officer. The other man’s face went pale.

  “Jackson,” Roman snarled. He grabbed the cop by the neck and shoved him up against the wall. “This is no coincidence that you’re here right now. You’ve heard from Oleg, and don’t deny it.” Roman took Jackson’s own firearm and tucked it into the small of his back.

  Jackson held up his hands in surrender. Gone was the cocky police officer on the take. “What do you want me to say? You’re right. He called and told me I had to help him. He threatened to turn over evidence to my superiors if I didn’t. Sure, I hung out at The Prow and I drank for free. My presence gave him some bona fides. I ignored a few things, but never broke the law. Not until now...”

  “Give me a reason I shouldn’t break your neck.”

  “I came back to check on Ava. I know her from the bar. They’re all lost souls if they start hanging around The Prow. She was different, I don’t know. But she didn’t look good when I was here before and I thought I should call the EMTs.”

  “Came back?” Roman tightened his grip on the other man’s throat. Jackson’s eyes bugged out and his face turned red. “Where had you gone? Never mind, I know. Oleg enlisted your help dealing with Madelyn. Tell me this—” Roman swallowed “—is she alive?”

  “She was, but she was hurt—unconscious. I’m not sure what he did to her before, or what he plans to do with her now.”

  “Why did he bring you in?”

  “Oleg needed this building cleared out and a guard while he got Madelyn in his car.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “I told you, I’m not sure.”

  “If you’re lying...” Roman clenched his fist.

  “I’m not,” Jackson choked. “I’m sorry...”

  Roman wasn’t in the mood for apologies, he wanted retribution. Then again, he needed help and Jackson might be the only person he could count on right now. If Jackson called in Ava’s condition as an overdose, she’d be treated, sent to the county jail for a night and then let back out on the streets by morning. By tomorrow, she’d once again be on the unending hamster wheel of addiction and most likely—on the run.

  That wasn’t what Madelyn would want for her sister. It wasn’t what he wanted, either.

  “Can you hold Ava as a material witness?”

  “For what?” Jackson asked.

  “As an accessory to kidnapping,” Roman said. “Ava texted Madelyn and asked that she come and meet her here. Certainly, those texts were sent at Oleg’s behest.”

  “I guess so.”

  Roman released his hold on Jackson’s neck. The other man crumpled to the ground. On hands and knees, the cop slobbered and wheezed. Roman knelt before him. “Take care of Ava,” he said, “and if you are truly sorry, get some of your fellow police officers—the honest kind—to The Prow. I’m going to need backup.”

  * * *

  Oleg pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the downtown bus terminal and mentally repeated the lie that he needed Nikolai Mateev to believe. He opened the glove box for the umpteenth time to make certain he’d brought the bug Roman Black planted in his office. A new bus pulled up and Oleg watched as the passengers shuffled down the stairs and ambled toward the terminal.

  One of the last people to disembark, Nikolai was a large man in both height and girth. With sparse white hair, he wore khaki pants, a white polo shirt and a polar fleece jacket of navy blue. He carried a single duffel bag, emblazoned with a Colorado Mustangs logo. There was nothing in his appearance that spoke of money, power or influence. In fact, Nikolai Mateev looked average and boring. Oleg couldn’t help but sag at his first impression, deflated with disappointment.

  Despite appearances, Nikolai truly was rich and influential. He had the ability to give Oleg the life he’d always wanted. If only Oleg could explain away his recent foibles, that was.

  Opening the door, Oleg stood next to his car and waved. Nikolai nodded and ambled slowly toward him. “Privet, Otets,” Oleg said as Nikolai approached. Hello, Father.

  Nikolai ignored the greeting and slid into the passenger seat, closing the door with a slam. “I am in America now and will speak English to fit in,” Nikolai said. “You will only speak English to me, ponimayu?” Understand?

  “Are we waiting for more people?” Oleg asked. He assumed that a man with almost mythical status would travel with an entourage—even on a Greyhound bus.

  “No more people,” he said. “We travel separately and will rendezvous in Denver.” Nikolai then went on to explain that seven different groups had come into the country via distinctive routes. It was meant to keep American law enforcement off balance and always running—if they ever got word of his arrival, that was.

  Oleg had to agree, the plan was wholly unexpected and, therefore, brilliant. He nodded his approval.

  “I thought Serge would be here to greet me,” Nikolai said. “What is he doing that is so important?”

  That was the one question Oleg wanted to avoid answering and he was eager to change the subject. Yet, what would he gain by putting off the inevitable? He took in a deep breath and grimaced at the residual pain from being shot. “There have been some developments,” Oleg said. “Unfortunate developments.”

  “Da?”

  For a moment, Oleg lost his confidence. His stomach dropped to his bowels and his hands trembled. He gave a fleeting thought to telling Nikolai the truth. Yet Oleg had lied to the godfather of the Russian mob when he said that Serge was fine earlier in the day. Any subsequent story must fit that narrative. To Oleg’s own defense, he’d been caught off guard and had spoken without thought. That had been his mistake and one he wouldn’t repeat. He stuck to his prepared comments. “It seems as if Serge was after your money...”

  “It is his money, too. I named him my heir. He can have anything he wants...”

  The hairs on the back of Oleg’s neck stood on end. He hadn’t expected that response. “He wanted your position, your power, your empire. I found an elect
ronic listening device in my office and evidence that they were trying to find all the accounts. I confronted them and they shot me and tried to drown me.”

  “Vran’ye!” Lies! Nikolai snarled.

  Oleg turned to him. “Look at my face. My injuries. Do they lie?”

  Nikolai glared and huffed a breath.

  “And this?” Oleg opened the glove box and handed over the bug. “This is the ELD I found.”

  Nikolai examined the black plastic box from all sides. “It is highly advanced, no?”

  “It is. They convinced an employee of mine to betray me—betray you. He’s dead, but his girlfriend is at my bar. She helped as well, and is now eager to corroborate my story.” Oleg had no idea what Madelyn would say at first, but like he had long known—a person being tortured will say anything to make the pain stop. And in the end, that’s all that mattered.

  “Serge?” Oleg asked.

  “I’m sorry to say, but he’s dead. Anton killed him and then I shot Anton.” To Oleg’s thinking, it was better to not have had a hand in Serge’s death.

  Nikolai looked out the window and mumbled, “I never liked Anton.”

  “Are you hungry?” Oleg asked. “We can stop and get you something to eat.”

  “I have no appetite. I am sick and tired.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The older man had transformed from robust into gray and drawn in just minutes.

  “Sick?” Oleg asked.

  “That is a, what do you call it? It’s an American phrase, no? The trip on the bus was thirty-six hours, all to learn that my great-nephew betrayed me. He’s not actually blood of my blood—only related to me by my wife. Greatness is in the blood you know. I am glad that you are with me, Oleg Zavalov. You are a good man, from an old and respected family. I knew your grandmother and she prepared you well. I will make sure that you go far. And maybe we do have time for a meal.”

  Oleg’s heart began to beat in a strong and steady rhythm. It was the footfalls of his ancestors as generations of Zavalovs trod through the Kremlin, Saint Basil’s Cathedral and the Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg. Important men doing the business of those who reigned supreme, and now Oleg could count himself among their ranks.

  * * *

  Roman circled the block, searching both sides of the street for Oleg Zavalov’s car. It was nowhere to be seen. Where the hell was Oleg and—more important—where was Madelyn? Roman took a third pass. Nothing. What if he had been wrong? What if Oleg hadn’t brought Madelyn back to The Prow? She could be anywhere by now and Roman didn’t have a clue as to where he should look.

  Ahead, The Prow’s automatic neon lights came on, spilling onto the broken sidewalk, calling to Roman and challenging him to investigate his folly. He threw the car into Park and stepped onto the street, tucking Jackson’s purloined firearm into the small of his back.

  He scanned the street once more and saw nothing. Anger, like lava from the pit of the earth, filled him and propelled him forward. He never should have left Madelyn alone. He’d been disappointed and embarrassed when she’d turned him away, and then too proud to insist that he needed to stay.

  And now she was gone.

  A handwritten sign hung on The Prow’s door. Four words in Oleg’s scrawl said it all: Closed Until Further Notice. Roman tried the handle, it was locked. He hadn’t expected anything less, although it didn’t matter. Within a minute, he had picked the lock. Slowly, quietly, Roman pushed the door open and reengaged the lock. He entered the darkened bar and listened. There was no sound beyond the rush of his pulse as it resonated within his chest.

  He crossed the room and stopped at the basement door. He pushed on the metal bar that controlled the lock. It depressed and the door swung open. It was strange that the door had been left unlocked, unless there was nothing else in the basement for Oleg to hide. Roman squinted into the gloom. The first two stairs were visible and beyond that—blackness.

  As he stood at the door, his pulse racing, it came back to him.

  If hell was cold and dark, then the cave in Afghanistan was the entrance. The memories of that day were almost as real as the one he was living. The mission was simple: extract the soldiers, kill the bad guys. Just like a surgery to remove a cancer, and Roman was the scalpel’s edge. He’d snuck into the cave—silent and vigilant. The rest of his team followed. The first combatant he found was a guard. His life was ended with a knife to the throat before he had a chance to sound the alarm. Four more men fell, their hot blood awash on Roman’s hands.

  The combatants must have felt their location deep in the Hindu Kush was remote enough to evade detection because there were no other guards beyond the initial five. Less than a quarter of a klick into the cave, there was an antechamber. That’s where Roman found the US soldiers. The men were bound, blindfolded and gagged—all of them, just sitting against that wall. It looked like they’d been there for days. The smell was worse than any latrine Roman ever had the misfortune to run across.

  Light from a nearby room leaked in, along with voices. Roman knew enough Pashto to piece together what the terrorists were saying. They were trying to uplink with a satellite so that the soldiers’ execution could be broadcast over the internet in real time.

  One by one, the men from Delta Force helped the soldiers to their feet and ushered them out of the cave. Had everything gone perfectly, they all would have slipped into the night, and an incoming Hellfire missile would have said farewell for them. Of course, nothing ever went as planned. There was an American soldier with a broken leg. Roman was the intel officer who should have known about the injury. The other man could barely stand, much less walk. His first step faltered. The sound was slight, but alerted the enemy nonetheless.

  Bullets. Light. Noise. Pain.

  Roman grimaced as fire filled his foot. It was a fair payment for missing the other man’s injury. As the cave vanished from his memory, Roman realized that it wasn’t just his foot that had been injured on that mission.

  His hope for a better future had been destroyed when the army let him go. Sure, he was injured—but did that mean he couldn’t serve? Or was his mistake also his career’s undoing? There it was; the fear that lurked just beneath the surface.

  It was because of Madelyn that he could finally look his personal demons in the face, and see beyond them to a brighter day.

  Focused on the here and now, Roman listened again for movement and heard nothing, not even his breath this time. Roman had never given up before, but he knew there were major flaws in his analysis.

  Yet, if Oleg hadn’t brought Madelyn to The Prow, Roman didn’t have enough intel to look elsewhere. For the first time in his life, Roman cared enough to be afraid.

  * * *

  Madelyn’s faculties returned. She still didn’t know where she was or what she supposedly had done, but her thinking was clear and she had assessed her situation—to a degree.

  The most important fact she discovered was that flexi cuffs had been used to tie her to the chair. Another fact: a bolt stuck out near her right hand. If she lifted her shoulder and listed to the side, she made contact with the serrated edge. Madelyn pulled the plastic cuff back and forth, back and forth, slowly sawing through the plastic. As she worked, her mood swung wildly between hope for survival and becoming morose over the futility of her situation. More often, pessimism won out. Even if she freed one hand, she would still be stuck to the chair. The door would remain out of reach, and locked.

  And yet, Madelyn knew she wasn’t the type of person to sit idly.

  That connection with her true self gave Madelyn courage. The plastic dug into her skin and the metal bolt ripped her flesh. She ignored the pain and redoubled her effort. Sweat covered her skin, collecting at her brow and trailing down her face.

  The plastic broke. Pain surged through Madelyn’s arm. It ended with pinpricks dancing along her palm as blood returned to the extre
mity. She shook her hand to relieve more of the discomfort.

  The sounds of the door handle moving came from just outside the room. It meant only one thing—the door would soon be open. She was still bound, but a flash of memory came to her. A male voice gave her instructions, A surprise attack is always best, but strike hard and fast. Nose. Throat. Eyes. Aim six inches beyond where you want to hit.

  Could she give herself the edge by launching a surprise attack? Madelyn sat back in her chair, her chin on her chest, and feigned unconsciousness. The door swung open. The overhead light came on and registered as yellow and red flashes beyond her closed eyes.

  “Madelyn.” Her name drifted across the room on a whisper. “Madelyn? Can you hear me?”

  She recognized the voice and fought to not react. It came from the same person who’d given her the lessons on self-defense. The man’s face appeared in her mind. This time his hands were on her breasts, lying beneath her, in the middle of making love. She had cared for him then. Did she care for him now? He was involved in this whole deadly game, that she unquestionably knew. What she didn’t know, was if he could be trusted or not.

  She sensed him kneeling before her. His fingertips grazed her cheek. “Madelyn,” he said again.

  She couldn’t pretend to be comatose any longer and her lids drifted open. She looked into his deep green eyes and every event of the last twenty-four hours came back to her in a rush. The photo of Ava. The kiss in the basement. The accusations and threats. Their escape from Boulder, followed by the time at the cabin. Every memory returned with her next breath.

  “Roman,” she said, his name making her whole.

  * * *

  Oleg popped another French fry in his mouth and shook his cup so that the last of his milkshake settled at the bottom. He usually treated his body as a temple, and on any other day would never defile the sacred space with fast food. But Nikolai insisted they go through an American drive-through. Oleg—his newest emissary—happily acquiesced.

  The restaurant hadn’t been far from The Prow, and Oleg hadn’t been gone long. Still, as he approached, he remained vigilant for any unusual activity on the street. There was none. Oleg smothered a greasy belch, confident that Madelyn was still in the basement, still cuffed to the chair and still ready to tell him what he wanted her to say. He sipped noisily through a straw and pulled up to the curb.