Caine felt his feet skid beneath him, his weight now jerked off balance. He slammed into the frozen surface of the lake, and the wind exploded from his lungs in a pained gasp.
He heard the ice crackle around them. More cracks appeared, a series of thin white lines branching out beneath him. Caine rolled to his right as the other man stamped down onto the ice. His foot sank a few inches as the ice gave way beneath him. Frigid water began pooling up through the cracks.
Caine swung out his legs in a sweep. The blow knocked his opponent off balance. Zasko fell sideways, striking the ice with another heavy thud.
Caine rolled on top of the man, and raised the shovel over his head in a two handed grip. Even as he drove the weapon down, Zasko thrust a knee into his abdomen, tearing the stitches from the agonizing wound.
Caine gasped and the shovel bit into the ice a few inches from Zasko’s head. Using the momentum of the missed blow, the Russian flipped Caine onto his back and straddled him. He slashed at Caine's arm, forcing him to release his grip on the shovel. Zasko swept the weapon away from them. The knife spun around his fingers, then stabbed down at Caine’s throat.
Moving on pure instinct, Caine threw up his forearm, blocking the attack. Grabbing the man’s knife hand with his other arm, he pummeled his opponent with a series of knee strikes. Zasko didn’t budge, and continued to drive the knife downwards. His lips curled into a leering, maniacal grin.
Caine felt blood dripping from the torn stiches in his side, and the new gash in his leg. His vision grew hazy, as the blade inched closer to his neck.
“The hunt is nearly over,” Zasko gasped, panting for breath. “I shall cut out your heart, and roast it over a fire out here in this frozen hell. And when I have cleaned my kill, stripped your body to the bone, I will lead more men into that silly cow’s encampment.” He nodded towards Bora, who lay unconscious on the ice. “We will burn their cabins to the ground, shoot any refugees we find. And the more blood I spill, the more medals they shall pin on my uniform.”
Caine blinked. The blade sank another inch closer… it’s tip hovered above his heaving throat.
Something strange about the knife, he thought... He squinted, focusing on a tiny metal protrusion in the grip. He grasped the hilt of the knife, forcing the blade sideways, away from his face.
As soon as his fingers touched the hilt, a look of concern flickered across Zasko’s wild, animalistic face. Grunting with exertion, the man twisted the blade at an angle, keeping the hilt from pointing back at him.
That’s it, Caine thought. NR-S2, shooting knife.
The ice continued to crack beneath them. More white lines radiated from the two men, a mosaic of hairline fractures in the smooth white surface of the lake.
Caine shook his head… his vision cleared.
Clenching his jaw tight, Caine forced the knife sideways again. The blade shook and hovered between them, neither man able to drive home a killing blow.
Zasko narrowed his eyes, and glared at Caine. Even in the frigid cold, beads of sweat dripped down both their faces.
“You cannot win,” Zasko finally gasped. “It is only a matter of time.”
“I don’t care if I win,” Caine snarled. “As long as you lose.”
Caine lifted his head off the ice. He slammed his forehead into the bridge of Zasko’s nose. The man pulled back, and roared in anger. For a split second, his hold on the knife weakened.
It was just enough.
He twisted the handle down, pointing it towards the ice. His prodding fingers found the slim, metal trigger, mounted to the guard.
He fired the weapon.
The bullet exploded out of the handle of the knife and struck the ice. A final, deafening series of cracks and pops sounded beneath them. Caine felt himself rolling, falling backwards.
The ice had broken.
As he plunged into the lake, a blinding white agony flooded every sense in his body. The frigid water felt like a sea of icicles, piercing his flesh from every direction. He ignored the pain, fighting his way through the sudden burst of instinctive panic. He reached out and felt Zasko’s body tumbling beside him as they sank into the gelid depths of the lake.
He wrapped his arm around the man’s throat and pulled him deeper into the water. His sinking body carried them both into the freezing blackness below.
Above them, he saw the cracked sheet of ice, lit from behind by the setting sun. It was a massive plain of glowing white, stretching as far as his eyes could see. Then the soft glow receded. Darkness surrounded him.
Zasko struggled, but Caine kept his arm locked tight around the Russian’s throat. Tiny bubbles of oxygen exploded from the man’s mouth as he kicked and fought. Their descent began to slow, as Zasko's kicking legs drove them back up towards the surface.
As they fought, Caine saw a dark shape, tumbling towards them in the cold shadows. It was the snowmobile, plummeting past them in the water.
Caine hooked his leg under the handlebars. The heavy vehicle acted as an anchor, dragging them deeper and deeper down, farther into the icy depths. A white haze crept around the edges of his vision, blotting out all detail. His heart beat slowed, as his body succumbed to the murderous cold that engulfed him.
Zasko’s struggling grew weaker. The deathly chill was stronger than both of them.
Before his vision went dark, Caine looked up. He saw a faint gray shadow, moving across the other side of the glowing sheet of ice.
Bora… she’s hurt.
Naiyana… Rebecca… you can’t go yet. Rudov…
It’s not over…
He felt his arms go limp. He released his hold on Zasko. The body drifted away from him, spinning in a gentle circle as it floated into the distance. Beams of sunlight from above lit the man’s face. His eyes were open, staring. They were as dark and lifeless as a shark’s. His lips looked rubbery and bloated. His mouth was frozen in a twisted scream.
The body drifted into the shadows of the murky water and disappeared.
Caine struggled to free his leg from the snowmobile. His limbs felt leaden. Dead weights. He no longer felt cold, or pain. He no longer felt anything.
He closed his eyes. One last bubble escaped his lips. Then he opened his mouth, and felt the icy water rush down his throat, filling his innards with a billion stabbing needles of cold. It was the last sensation he felt before the white blur faded to a pinpoint.
He was gone.
Free.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Caine gasped. The light was blinding. He blinked, as the intense glow overhead faded to a dull, cloudy gray. He coughed, and his body shuddered as water exploded from his throat. The liquid trickled down his cheeks.
The cold… he shivered as the cold hit him like a punch to the gut. He gasped again, and clutched his body with his arms.
He was laying on his back, looking up at the bleak, empty sky. He heard footsteps walking across the ice. A heavy parka was draped over his body.
He turned, and saw Bora, kneeling beside him.
His lips quivered as he struggled to speak. Shivers ran up and down his spine. “You…You pulled me out?”
The woman nodded. Her face looked pale and tired. Her lips were thin and drawn, and had taken on a bluish tint.
Caine sat up. “You’re h-hu—“ Caine paused, unable to speak from the cold. “Hurt,” he finally spluttered. “Zasko, shot…”
She reached out and put her hand on his chest. Her thick, powerful arm forced him onto his back again.
“You rest,” she demanded. Her voice was low and hoarse. “Very cold. Your body in shock.”
Caine realized it was her parka that she had draped over him. She wore only a thermal knit sweater and her winter coveralls. The sun was a thin orange sliver, hidden behind the mountains. Soon, the killing cold would return.
She stood up, and Caine saw the puddle of red left behind where she had been sitting. It was a brilliant splash of crimson against the pale blue ice.
He looked behind h
im. The dark pool of water lapped against the edges of the broken ice. “Zasko?” he asked.
The woman stared at the water. “I watch you fight. Even match. You both almost die. Then you both fall in. I pull you out. Fight over.”
Caine shook his head. “Not an even match. I had an advantage.”
Bora squinted at him. “He almost kill you. What advantage you have?”
Caine grinned as another shiver ran through his body. “I had backup.”
Bora smiled. A booming laugh exploded from her mouth. Suddenly, she gasped in pain and dropped to her knees. She grabbed her side. More blood pumped from her wounds.
Caine threw off the parka, and forced himself to stand up. Bora had tied a bandage around the wounds in his leg, but each step still shot a spasm of pain through his muscles.
“Bora, we have to get out of here, make it back to your camp. It’s not that far—”
“No, no.” The woman shoved his hands away. “Not far, but too far for me.’”
“The sun is going down... It’s too cold, you’ll die out here.”
Bora closed her eyes. “Then I die. Everyone dies. The camp, the people living there, they are safe. I go in peace. See my friend again. That is where I belong.”
A strange look of peace drifted across her face. She grabbed his hand. “Running, hiding, surviving… I do these things for long time. Maybe whole life.” She looked up at him. “They not the same as living.”
Caine stared back at her in silence. “Right now, surviving is all I have,” he finally answered.
Bora smiled. “Now, maybe. When you old and tired like me, you feel different.”
Caine clutched his body as he shivered in the cold. The woman had done her best to dry him off, but his clothes were soaked by the icy water. Frost crystals began to form in his hair, and nipped at his skin.
She nodded towards the smoking ruins of the mill in the distance. “You go now. Back to mill, back to fire. Get dry, warm. Then follow the lake, around mountains. Train tracks not far.”
Her hand fell away from him as she slumped down on the ice. She looked up at the sky. “Stars come soon. Beautiful sky. I watch them one last time. Before I sleep…”
Her words were slurred, barely a whisper. Her eyes closed.
Caine took a step backwards. He felt lost, uncertain… Zasko was gone. His men defeated. Caine had won. He had survived.
Now what?
You know what, the killer inside him answered. This isn’t over.
He stood over her, clutching her tattered, worn parka in his hands. “Thank you, Bora,” he said.
She did not answer.
Caine shrugged on the heavy coat. He shoved his hands into the pockets, lowered his head, and turned around. He trudged forward, leaving her body and the shattered, blood stained ice behind him.
He did not look back. Her body was soon lost in the shadows of the setting sun, and the shroud of icy mist that filled the air.
Sergei Rudov paced across the cold concrete floor of his vodka cellar. He pressed his ear to the satphone, and listened as it rang.
No one answered.
“Chert!” he shouted, and hurled the phone towards the nearest shelf. It struck the row of frosted bottles with a loud crash. The glass vessels shattered, spilling their precious clear liquid across the shelf. “Where the hell is he?”
Two of his men followed in his footsteps. They exchanged nervous glances, then one of them kneeled down and took off his suit jacket. Using the jacket, he began to dab at the growing puddle of liquid.
The other man slipped a cellphone from his pocket. “Sorry boss. I get someone to clean this up, right away.”
Sergei spun around, and pulled his thick fur robe tighter. “Nyet! Find Antonovich… tell him I must speak with the Iron Wolf immediately. No more excuses!”
“Da, yes sir!” The man spun around and headed towards the stairs. Rudov glanced down at the shivering man mopping up the spilled vodka. “What the hell are you doing? Go with him. I want Antonovich on the phone, now!”
The man leapt to his feet, and jogged after his partner.
Rudov shook his head. He grabbed a bottle of vodka from the shelf, and pulled off the top. He took a long drink, then wiped his lips. Only a few lights were on, angular shadows cloaking the cold, cavernous basement. The club upstairs was closed for the evening, leaving the storeroom dark and silent.
He walked to the back of the room, and slid aside the painting. Entering the code, he watched the fake shelf slide away. He stepped through the door into his private sanctuary. He took another sip of vodka, and picked the remote up from the glass table.
The glass panel at the far end of the room slid up, revealing his trophies. Rudov sighed and slumped in his chair. The chill in the air cooled his rage. He stared at the frozen grimaces of fear and terror before him. As always, his trophies soothed him. It had been days since he had heard from the Spetsnaz commander. The hunt should have been over by now. Caine should be dead. Perhaps he was just impatient… these things took time.
Rudov glared at the empty space in his trophy cabinet. He took another swig from his bottle, and grunted. “Next time I come here, I will have a new trophy.”
The intercom on the table crackled to life.
“Careful what you wish for, Rudov.” The voice held a sharp, cool edge, like frost on the blade of a knife.
The muscular old man leaned forward. His icy blue eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. “Who the hell is this?”
“I’m disappointed, Sergei. You spent all that time and money to hunt me down, and you don’t even recognize my voice?”
“Caine.” He spat the name as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “I take it you have beaten the Iron Wolf?”
“I saw his face, Sergei. After he died, I looked into his eyes. Do you want to know what I saw?”
Rudov said nothing. He slammed the bottle on the table, stood up, and paced towards the door.
“Fear, Sergei,” Caine continued. “Zasko died with fear in his eyes. The same way you will.”
Rudov barked a short, angry laugh. “Do not be so sure. So you have bested the Wolf. Survived the hunt. Congratulations. I have other men in my employ. Men who make Zasko look like a saint. And I will send them all. For you, for the boy. And for that Thai whore hiding in her kusok der’ma village.”
He punched a code into the keypad next to the door.
Nothing happened. His eyes narrowed. “Kakogo cherta?” he muttered. “What the hell…”
“I had a little conversation with your second in command. What was his name, Antonovich?”
Rudov shook his head and punched in the code again. The door remained closed.
Caine’s voice continued to echo through the room. “It was a bit hard to understand him. Broken jaw will do that. But he told me only three men know about your little sanctuary down there. Your trophy room.”
“The code,” the man hissed. “You changed the code.”
“Guess it makes sense," Caine continued. "If you’re going to keep evidence of multiple homicides in your possession, you don’t want an ambitious rival gaining access.”
Sergei pounded on the door, his thumping blows echoing through the room. In the back of his mind, he knew it was a futile gesture. No one outside could hear.
“Solid concrete walls, soundproof, no cell signals in or out. Everything hardwired, right? Cameras. Intercom. Temperature control. Must be getting cold in there by now.”
Sergei glanced up at the wall. The digital thermometer showed the temperature dropping rapidly. Already, it had fallen from zero to negative ten degrees. Each breath sent a puff of mist into the air. A shudder wracked his spine.
“My men will find me,” he said. His words were slurred by the shivering of his body. Even the thick fur robe he wore was not enough to fend off the chill. The cold crept into his bones. “If you are on the intercom, you must be here in the building. They will kill you, and free me.”
“Wouldn’t coun
t on that, Sergei. They’ll find Antonovich and the others long before they find you. By then, it will be too late.”
Sergei watched as the temperature dropped to negative twelve degrees. The numbers continued to fall.
His face contorted into a mask of rage and hatred. He pounded on the door with both his fists. “Ty, sukin syn! You son of a bitch, I will kill you! I will tear off your head with my bare hands, I will—”
“Russo-Baltique,” Caine said.
Sergei ceased his ranting. “What?”
“The bottle on your desk. Russo-Baltique. Good stuff? Looks expensive.”
Sergei took a deep breath. “I can pay. We can come to an arrangement. I—”
“I poured myself a glass. I’m drinking a toast. To my life and your death. But look on the bright side, Sergei. You got what you wanted.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When they finally pry open the door to your chamber of horrors, your men will find a new trophy inside.”
The thermometer ticked down, as the temperature continued to drop. Sergei sank to the floor, and leaned against the metal door. His shivering was uncontrollable now.
“G-G-Go… Go to hell,” he gasped.
“Going after Naiyana and her brother was a mistake. But this? This is for Bora.”
“Kakiye? Who is—”
“Goodbye, Sergei.”
The intercom went silent.
“Caine, wait!” The old man’s pitiful wail bounced off the walls and echoed through the room. He clutched himself tighter, desperate for warmth. “Please we can make a deal!”
There was no response. The digits on the thermometer kept falling, lower and lower. Colder and colder.
The frozen faces in the trophy cabinet stared down at Rudov, welcoming him into their ranks.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Caine pulled the parka’s hood over his head, and turned away from the snow-covered street.
To his left, sheets of ice floated across the dark, glossy water of the Fontonka River. Ahead of him, in the distance, spotlights blazed off the azure domes and golden spires of the Trinity Cathedral.
Cold Kill Page 11
