Cold Kill

by Andrew Warren

  Timur leapt towards the shattered window. Before he could clear the opening, he heard an explosion, and felt the air ignite around him.

  Caine peered down at the tiny figures stalking across the snow. From his perch high above the icy ground, he heard the crackling of gunfire. He watched as one of the commandos and his men approached the abandoned building. He watched them ready their weapons, saw the puffs of mist their breath left in the cold air.

  Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. Above him, he heard the bullet ricochet off the metal of the crane. The chunky, heavyset figure tipped over, and plunged to the ground. He ignored the falling body. It had done its job. He kept his attention focused on the empty building.

  The men advanced inside.

  Won’t be long before they find the satphone, he thought. He rested the short barrel of the grenade launcher on the rough curve of a log, and eyed the large hole in the roof.

  He only had one round remaining. Missing the shot was not an option.

  Caine hung suspended high above the camp, tucked in the bundle of logs hanging from the crane. He and Bora had hollowed out an opening in the middle of the timbers, and Caine had slipped inside.

  They had planted the dummy on the crane arm. It was a simple diversion, just an old parka and coveralls stuffed with twigs and debris. If the men below figured out where Caine’s shots were coming from, he could only hope the dummy would draw their fire. With any luck, he'd have enough time to take them out, before they zeroed in on his true hiding spot.

  The hanging logs were an unsteady perch, as they bobbed and swayed in the breeze. He leaned further out from his concealment, and aimed the grenade launcher at the building below.

  More gunfire erupted beneath him. The bullets thudded into the heavy logs. Caine heard wood splinter, and saw tiny chips of bark and timber spray through the air around him.

  So much for the diversion, he thought.

  He shouldered the heavy launcher, and grabbed his rifle. Crawling out from hiding, he used the cargo sling's cables to steady himself as he stood atop the swaying logs.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw another spetsnaz commando standing in the snow next to the dummy. Whoever it was, they were aiming their rifle up at his position. Caine fired a wild burst toward their position on the ground. As the figure below backed off, he dropped the rifle, and balanced on top of the pile of logs. He aimed the grenade launcher again, squinting as the hole in the roof spun into view.

  He pulled the trigger.

  The weapon fired, sending its heavy projectile arcing through the air. The grenade struck the top of the building, a few feet from the hole. Caine held his breath as the shell bounced, then rolled across the sloped metal surface.

  It dropped through the hole, and plunged into the darkened interior.

  An explosion shook the metal walls of the building. Then the fuel he and Bora had spilled inside ignited. Even this high off the ground, Caine felt a blistering wave of heat, as plumes of fire burst through the roof and windows. He saw a tiny, burning figure dive out the front of the building, and roll to a stop in the snow.

  Another burst of gunfire struck near his feet.

  Caine returned fire, but it was impossible to aim from his precarious position. He saw the commando circling beneath him, lining him up in the sights of his weapon.

  Climbing farther up the cargo harness, Caine grabbed at the main cable that hung from the crane. He shimmied up the taut steel line, and reached for the metal bars of the crane arm. As he grabbed the bar, his feet slipped off the cable. More bullets ricocheted off the crane. The commando stalked forward, pointing his rifle up at the beams of the crane arm.

  Caine looked down, eying his attacker's position. That’s it, just a little closer…

  The soldier took another step forward.

  Caine’s flailing legs came to rest on a small red metal box. The rig release hung between the main cable and the sling that held the timbers. He kicked at a lever that protruded from the side of the box. The logs jerked slightly, but nothing happened. He stomped down again, but the release was frozen and stiff.

  The commando's rifle fired, and Caine felt a dagger of pain as a bullet grazed his leg. More gunfire sparked against the metal bar next to his numb fingers.

  He clenched his teeth and let go of the bar, letting his body slide down the cable. His foot slammed into the release lever, striking the metal rod with his full weight.

  With a loud clank, the release popped, and the sling cables screamed through the pulleys. As if in slow motion, the huge, heavy timbers rolled apart, and tumbled through the air.

  He heard the man below scream.

  The sound was cut short by the crash of the massive logs slamming into the ground.

  Chapter Twenty

  Caine descended the crane using a ladder mounted to the tower. He took cover behind the metal structure. Peering around the corner, he surveyed the smoking building and the pile of fallen timber.

  No one was moving. No other men entered the grounds.

  He clicked on his walkie. “Bora? Do you copy? Are you there?”

  Static hissed through the speaker.

  Cursing, he checked his rifle, and found the magazine was empty. He eyed the pile of timbers once more. He jogged towards the body of the soldier pinned beneath the heavy logs. Glancing left and right, he scanned the grounds of the mill, but he saw no one else. The abandoned building still crackled and burned. The blaze sent thick black clouds of smoke billowing into the cold air. The charred remains of the commando who dove through the window lay motionless in the snow.

  Caine returned his attention to the fallen soldier before him. The man’s rifle was pinned under one of the enormous logs that lay across his torso. Both his legs and ribcage had been crushed by the heavy wood. His face was pale and still.

  Caine spotted a spare magazine clipped to the man's belt, and yanked it free. He ejected the empty one from his rifle, and tossed it into the snow. Then he slammed the fresh one into his weapon.

  He reached into the corpse’s parka, searching for a pistol or secondary weapon. His grasping fingers found a wallet, tucked into an inner pocket. He pulled it out, and flipped through its contents.

  Their was no identification inside. Only some crumpled ruble notes, and a black and white picture of a woman. Caine held up the picture, and examined the woman in the photograph. She had light hair, dark eyes, and an inviting smile. He flipped over the scrap of glossy paper. The back was labeled ‘Irena’ in scrawled black writing.

  The body beneath the logs shifted. The man began to spasm and cough. Caine stepped back and raised his rifle. The commando spat up blood and made a strange gurgling sound.

  Caine’s finger froze on the trigger. There was something unsettling and familiar about the noise the man was making. It took him a second to recognize the sound.

  He was laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Caine grunted.

  The injured man coughed again. A fine red mist spattered the snow next to his face

  “Th… That’s the second time you drop tree on me.”

  Caine was silent for a moment. He peered at the man over the barrel of his rifle. “Last night, in the forest. You were the sniper?”

  The man offered a weak nod, as more blood trickled from his mouth.

  “Da, that was me. No more sniping for me now, eh? I half the man I used to be.”

  He turned his head to look at Caine with his one good eye. The other was still shut, hidden beneath a mass of swollen flesh and scar tissue.

  “Hope you’re not expecting an apology, kid,” Caine muttered. “I think we both know you're not walking out of here. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make it quick, at least.”

  The man gasped a short, high-pitched wheeze of pain. “I don’t know much. This is my first hunt. Zasko, these men… I know it was wrong, but I was desperate. Irena… my wife. She is sick. I did it for…” His voice trailed off.

  Caine lowered the rifle. “I d
on’t have time for a sob story. Where’s Zasko now?”

  The sprawled man shook his head as best he could. “He was in the tree line, across the lake. He must have repositioned, or he would have shot you by now.”

  The woods, Caine thought. Bora was in the woods, flanking the men on the bridge.

  “Pozhaluysta,” Yuri gasped. “Please... Irena... leave me her picture.”

  Caine glanced at the crumpled photograph in his hands. “You said she’s sick. What does she have?”

  “They call it Wilson’s Disease," Yuri croaked. "Her liver will fail soon.” The man gasped. “Difficult to treat. Only medicine that will work… is very expensive. That is why I took this job, why I come here.”

  Caine eyed the coughing, bleeding young man. Keeping his distance, he kneeled down, and pressed the scrap of paper into his open hand. The soldier’s fist closed tight around the photo.

  He closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “What’s your name?” Caine asked.

  “Yuri. Yuri Duskin.”

  “And your wife… Irena Duskin?”

  The man stared at Caine. “Why do you ask?”

  “I have friends… smugglers. They have access to pharmaceuticals. I’ll see what I can do.”

  The walkie on Caine’s belt squawked and crackled. Keeping the rifle trained on Yuri, he grabbed the radio and pressed the talk button.

  “Bora, is that you? What’s your position?”

  There was silence. Then, a man’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Bora? I take it that is the name of your refugee friend?”

  The Iron Wolf.

  “I remember the reports about what happened here,“ he continued. “A revolt, a riot in the sawmill. Now I know who those people in the forest really are.”

  “Let her go, Zasko. Rudov’s not paying you to hunt North Korean refugees.”

  “True, but there is plenty of meat on her bones. Plenty of trophies, so perhaps I shall—”

  “You said you want my heart,” Caine snarled, cutting him off. “So come and get it.”

  “Meet me on the lake. Under the cliff, to the east… you will see me there. I will release your friend, and we will finish this.”

  “Fine.” Caine lowered the walkie. He glanced down at the wounded commando.

  “The refugee camp… did Zasko report its location?”

  Yuri shook his head. “Nyet. He will not report it. Not until the hunt is over. He does not want the authorities to know we are here.”

  Caine nodded. He clipped the walkie onto his belt, and aimed the rifle at Yuri with both hands. “It’s time.”

  “If you can help Irena… The medicine she needs, it is called Cupramine. Please believe me, I am not like Zasko. Not like these other men.”

  Caine blinked. The wind picked up, blowing particles of ice across the frozen ground. He squinted, shutting out the stinging cold as it howled around him.

  “I used to tell myself the same thing,” he said. “Sometimes I even believed it. But look around. No saints out here today.”

  Yuri nodded. He clutched the picture tighter, and closed his eyes.

  Caine pulled the trigger. The quick burst of gunfire echoed across the frozen field, and through the empty buildings.

  Then he turned and stalked across the blood-spattered snow, moving towards the abandoned snowmobile.

  Caine ducked low behind the handlebars of the snowmobile as he raced across the smooth glassy surface of the lake. Behind him, the lumber yard continued to burn. A dark cloud of smoke hung over the camp. Orange flames crawled up the fence and devoured the remains of the mill.

  Ahead of him, white mountains hugged the lake in a cold, rocky embrace. They rose up to the east, forming a gray, frozen bluff. The remains of a waterfall trickled down the rocks, beneath a shimmering layer of ice. It sent a steady flow of frigid water tumbling below the lake’s frozen surface. Cracks radiated from the impact of the waterfall, crisscrossing the ice like a spider's web.

  Caine could barely make out two dark figures, standing on the ice a few yards from the falling water. The sun was moving behind the mountain, and a dark shadow crept over the entire area. The air became colder as the wind picked up in strength and howled around him.

  As he drew closer, he saw Bora, her hands tied in front of her. The towering woman dwarfed Zasko, but Caine could see his shadowy form standing behind her. As he moved closer, he saw the glimmer of a blade, pressed against the woman’s throat.

  You shouldn’t be here. The whisper of experience slithered out from its lair, hidden between his nightmares and memories of death. This is a trap. You should run, leave while you can…

  Caine’s instincts had saved his life on more than one occasion. He rarely ignored them. When the killer inside him spoke, he listened.

  Not this time, he thought. I need to finish this. For Bora, for Naiyana and her brother… even for Rebecca. It won’t be over until Rudov and The Iron Wolf are dead.

  He skidded to a stop a few yards away from them. He dismounted the snowmobile, and stood up, holding his rifle at his side. For a few moments there was silence. Then the mournful howl of the wind picked up, swirling around them.”

  Bora squinted at him and shook her head. “You really come? You still can't see trap!”

  Caine said nothing.

  “Your friend is right, Mr. Caine.” Zasko's voice was muffled behind Bora’s thick winter clothes. “A man with your reputation for survival? I was certain you would cut your losses and run. Make your way to the railway tracks, and leave this place.”

  “And I was sure you’d try to pick me off from high ground,” Caine said. “Be an easy shot from up on that bluff.”

  Zasko chuckled. “I must confess, that was indeed my plan. But your friend here flushed me out from my sniper hide. When I moved to another position, I found myself caught in one of her ridiculous snares.” He shook his head. “Vines, ropes and a shovel. You two are quite the pair. I cut myself free, of course, but my rifle fell into a crevice. Speaking of which, put your gun down on the ice. Now.”

  Caine bent at the knees, and lowered his rifle. He glanced up at Zasko… he could see the man’s dark eyes, peering at him over Bora’s shoulder. For a moment, he considered trying to pull off a snapshot. But he knew it would be next to impossible to hit the man before he—

  Zasko dug the blade deeper into Bora’s neck. She grunted, as a droplet of crimson blood trickled along its blade.

  “Slowly, Mr Caine. Do not test me.”

  Caine set the gun down on the ice, and stood back up.

  “Now, kick it over here.”

  Caine glared at the man and shot him a quick grin. “Yeah. Not gonna happen.”

  He kicked the rifle behind him. It clattered across the ice.

  Zasko pushed Bora forward. They walked across the ice towards Caine.

  “Yes, it is better this way. You truly are remarkable prey. Face to face is the only way to kill a man such as you.”

  Caine stepped towards Zasko, closing the gap even further.

  They stood a couple yards apart. The wind died down, and again there was silence. Zasko’s dark eyes burned into him. The man licked his lips. “When I consume you, your strength, your pain, all that you are will become a part of me.”

  “Choke on it,” Caine said, clenching his fists.

  The other man nodded. “Very well… then let us begin.”

  BLAM!

  The muffled shot of a pistol exploded behind the woman. Bora’s eyes opened wide, and a gurgle of pain escaped her lips.

  Caine charged forward, his senses shifting into high alert. He saw Bora fall away from Zasko as though she were moving in slow motion. He closed the distance between them, and reached behind his back. Zasko raised his right arm, the one that he had hidden behind the woman. Caine spotted the lump of black metal clenched in his fist… A Makarov pistol!

  A savage grin spread across Zasko’s face as he aimed the gun at Caine.

  Chapter Tw
enty-One

  Caine’s fingers grasped the weapon behind his back. He darted left as he swung his arms out in front of him. He continued charging toward Zasko, watching the pistol rise towards him.

  Too slow, he chided himself. Not gonna make it!

  Bora fell to the ground, but deftly rolled over onto her back. She lashed out with a kick, striking Zasko with one of her thick, powerful legs. His knee buckled, and he stumbled forward. The gun roared in his hand, but the shot went wild.

  Caine felt a lance of white-hot pain slice across his right leg. The bullet tore clean through the flesh of his thigh and buried itself in the ice below. A spiderweb of cracks spread beneath them.

  Caine fought through the pain, and swung the shovel out in front of him. The sharp head slashed across Zasko’s forearm, then struck the pistol. The weapon flew from his grasp, and slid towards the crumbling ice beneath the waterfall.

  Off balance from the powerful swing, Caine struggled to recover. Zasko was faster. The man lunged forward, and Caine heard a loud crack pierce the air. A whip unfurled from his opponent’s right hand. The black leather cord wrapped tight around Caine’s throat. With an angry bellow, Zasko yanked on the whip, trying to draw Caine towards him. He spun his knife around his fingers, preparing to strike.

  Caine dug in his heels and leaned back. The muscles in his neck and throat bulged as he resisted his captor’s strength. He spun his body sideways, throwing Zasko off balance and forcing him to take a step forward. Looping his left arm around the whip, Caine turned again, pulling Zasko closer. He raised the sharp head of the shovel, preparing to strike with an overhead stab.

  Zasko made a quick snap with his arm, and the whip dropped away from Caine’s neck and arm. It flew back, and Zasko grasped it in a tight coil. Caine surged forward, jabbing with the pointed tip of the shovel, but Zasko sidestepped the blow. With a lightning fast movement, he used the circle of leather cord to tangle Caine’s weapon arm. Spinning his body around, he used his momentum to drag Caine down to the ice.