by Greig Beck
Borya began to laugh and shut his eyes. Carter leaned forward on the table. “I have plenty of time, and once I finish with your fingers, I may start on your toes.”
Borya shook his head and grit his teeth hard for a moment, his eyes still shut. “What do you want?” he asked, seething.
“That’s better,” Carter said. “Let’s be clear before we begin. If you die tonight, it won’t be me that kills you, but your own stupidity. Da?”
Borya opened his eyes to glare. Carter grinned.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He straightened and stared into the man’s face. “An American has gone missing. Marcus Stenson. Do you know of him?”
“Never heard of him.” Borya’s eyes were half-lidded.
Carter lopped off the slumbering Egor’s thumb. The man howled and Carter punched him again to shut him up.
“Your brother is going to blame you, you know.”
“Stop.” Borya bucked in his chair.
“Then try again.” Carter’s voice was emotionless. “The guy that owned the fish farm, the American.”
“I know of him, but I don’t know what happened…”
Carter lifted the blade.
“No…” Borya shook his head. When Carter paused with the blade held aloft and over his brother’s two remaining fingers, he exhaled and shook his head. “He was alive when we saw him. He was on a train going to the authorities, in Moscow, to make some noise. We threw him off the train.” He bobbed his large head. “Maybe 10 miles out from Listvyanka.”
“So you stopped him?” Carter waited.
Borya slumped, dropped his hands below the tabletop, and began to nod slowly. “Yes, we stopped him. But not kill.”
“Then where is he?” Carter asked flatly, using every ounce of self-control to stop himself tearing the man’s head off.
Borya shrugged. “Maybe he hit head. You check hospital.”
Carter leaned forward, gripping his blade. “Here’s what I think happened. You took him off the train, tortured him until he signed a contract, and then killed him.” Just saying the words made his heart ache. He exhaled, looking down at the blade and thinking how one minute Marcus had the world at his feet and the next these creatures took everything from him.
When he looked up, Borya was smiling and his hand came up holding a pistol.
Dumb, he thought. The oldest trick in the book was to tape a weapon to the underside of a table, chair, or inside drawers. Carter didn’t wait for the man to demand to be untied. A shot rang out, but he was already leaping to the side. He came up behind the near fingerless Egor.
Borya hesitated for just a blink, and Carter shoved Egor and in turn the table, ramming it into Borya’s ribs. The Russian instinctively dropped his hands to cushion the impact. And then Carter dived.
He grabbed the gun hand and elbowed the man in the eye. The gun went off twice more, one of the shots taking the unconscious Egor dead center in the chest.
Borya screamed and went mad, but Carter held on, and finally bent the man’s hand back so the gun was at his temple.
He hissed into the Russian’s face as he strained hard. “Remember when I said it wouldn’t be me that kills you, but your own stupidity?” He pulled the trigger and the top of Borya’s head was blown off.
Carter let the body go. He knew it was always going to end this way. He knew it before he even entered their house. He already guessed his brother was dead, and he knew he came here to kill. This was just a letter in the mail to the Bratva—stay away, or there’ll be a price to pay.
He checked his watch, and then began to move quickly, untying both men, placing the vodka bottle on the table. He picked up the severed fingers and tossed them onto the tabletop, and arranged the knife in Borya’s hand.
The gun was still hanging on Borya’s finger and his head was back. Carter stepped back and surveyed the scene, picturing it as a crime scene—two criminal brothers got drunk. They had a fight, a very bloody and torturous one, and then one shoots the other. Filled with remorse, he then kills himself. He snorted. Tough town they got here.
Carter knew it would fool no one with an ounce of intelligence, but it’d throw some dust into the air. He then crossed to the door and took the chair away and peered out—all was quiet, but he bet their neighbors were listening; gunshots usually meant people kept their heads down and didn’t come out though.
He went out and shut the door, went down the stairs, and then headed back out into the night.
CHAPTER 15
The next morning, Carter and Sara met Yuri down on the dock at 8 am sharp. The Russian was already on his boat and waved, and then stepped onto the dock to greet Sara.
“The last times we went…” he puffed as he helped load the bags, “…we went by truck, because of ice.”
“I’d heard you could drive over it once it was fully iced over.” Sara jumped lightly onto the deck and walked to the rear to look out over the misted waters. The sun was just up, and the lake looked glass-like, serene, and magnificent.
Yuri came in close to Carter. “Here is your gun.” He briefly looked over his shoulder at Sara and then from under his coat he produced a small cloth bag. “Full magazine, and a spare.”
Carter took it and then looked inside. He nodded. “Good work.” He looked up. “How much?”
“150,000 roubles.” Yuri bobbed his head. “About 2,300 American dollars.”
“No problem.” He tucked the bag into his coat side pocket. “I’ll throw another hundred in for you for your troubles.” He smiled but there was zero warmth in it. “There’ll be more business to do later.”
Fact was, Carter expected to pay a lot more for a new Glock. He hoped he didn’t need the gun. But if he did run into serious trouble, he wanted to be able to fight his way out. After all, he had already lit the fuse, so whatever would be would be.
“Thank you.” Yuri nodded and then tilted his head. “Did you, uh, speak to the Orlov brothers last night?”
Carter zipped up his jacket. “Oh yeah, they were very helpful.” His face became devoid of emotion. “Marcus is dead. I think they killed him and dumped his body.”
Yuri paled for a moment, and then looked at the big American’s hands. The knuckles on his right one were abraded and red.
“I see.” He sighed and turned away. “Let’s get started. It will take us most of the day to get to the mill.” He paused, turned back, and lowered his voice. “Mr. Stenson, I know you have reason to be angry, but you have been here less than a day. Please remember the saying about an eye for an eye—eventually, revenge blinds us all.”
“And doing nothing in the face of evil will just get you dead.” Carter turned away and moved to the gunwale. He rubbed his bruised hand and stared out over the water for a moment before he went and sat with Sara in the rear of the boat. After a moment, she turned to him. Her face still looked strained and there were dark rings under her eyes.
“I’ve seen the mill; in pictures, I mean. Marcus did a wonderful job of cleaning it up.”
Carter continued to face the water. “He was good like that. Smart, focused, and diligent. I’m looking forward to seeing it for real.”
“Me too. Sort of,” she said. “I know seeing it is going to make me see him in every single thing he has done to the place.”
Carter just nodded.
Her lips drew into a crooked smile. “Did you know they say it’s haunted?”
Carter turned to her. “Yeah, Yuri told me last night. Even before the paper mill was first opened, many people have gone missing. Just vanished in the night.”
“Do you believe it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Why not? Freezing, deep water, too much vodka, not enough light. I bet that’s what snatched people, more than anything supernatural.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She inhaled and exhaled slowly. She turned to him again, her gaze level. “So, what did Yuri give you?”
Carter didn’t hesitate. “A gun.”
“Good.” She nod
ded. “I want one too.”
He leaned forward and took her hand. “Sara, I have to tell you that I think…”
“You think, you know, he’s dead, don’t you?” She looked up into his face and when he didn’t refute her, she smiled ruefully. “I knew it. It’s okay, I knew it deep down as well.”
He sighed. “I’m so sorry. You have to think about what it is you want to do now, and going forward from here, I mean.”
She nodded and drew in a deep breath. “I only wanted it because he did. Now that he’s gone, I don’t know anymore.”
“Then sell it, leave all this behind, and go back to the sunshine, and the Pacific Ocean,” he said. “We’re not even in winter yet, and with everything else going on, it might turn out to be hell here.”
“But I’m not a quitter.” She faced him. “Neither are you.”
He waited.
“Marcus wanted this farm to be a success. So do I. His legacy will be this successful operation. Besides, if I quit, they win.” She gathered herself. “We won’t be scared off.” She bobbed her head for a moment. “But I can’t do it by myself.” She reached across to lay her hand on his forearm.
Carter felt a small tingle like a tiny electric shock run up his arm and he tried to dampen down some old feelings that still rattled around inside him.
“I’ll be here for as long as you need me.” He placed his large hand over hers.
“Thank you, Carter. Thank you for everything.” Her head dropped.
“It’s okay. This has been shit all around. And no one will think less of you if you do decide to pull out and never look at this place again.”
She shook her head. “I’m not running from this. If we do, it’ll mean Marcus’ life was taken from him, from me, for nothing.”
“They need you to countersign the contract so they’ll come at you again,” Carter said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I do.” Her eyes narrowed. “But we know who they are, and we also know that they will be prepared to use violence.” She turned to him. “We know the rules now.”
He half-smiled. “And we can use them too. I can stay until this place is running smoothly, and until there are no more threats.” He sat back. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
She turned away for a moment but then back, and her eyes blazed. “No, I’m not okay, Carter. I want their fucking heads for what they did to Marcus.”
Carter’s voice was low and menacing as he looked back out at the passing water of the lake. “So do I.”
CHAPTER 16
Nearly 12 hours later, Sara stood at the gunwale and watched as Yuri pulled them into the wharf at the mill. She felt a tingling in her stomach at seeing a place she had only looked at in pictures.
She turned to Carter and he nodded back at her as he also saw the small group of men gathering, and she assumed they were the staff Marcus had recently organized.
Yuri nosed in and Carter threw the rope over the bollard and lashed it down. He jumped up and turned to help Sara, but she had already leaped up onto the wharf and stood with hands on her hips for a moment, before striding up toward the large house.
Yuri pointed at the men. “Mrs. Stenson, do you want to meet people?”
She ignored him as there was something burning she needed to do first.
“Later,” she heard Carter say from behind her.
Sara strode up the hill, smiling tightly to the young and old men as she passed by them and came to the large mill manager’s house. She grabbed the handle and paused for a moment, gathering herself, and then turned the handle and pushed the door inward.
It was getting on sundown now and orange light came in through the windows. Dust motes glowed as they floated in the air, and she smelled cleaning polish, new paint, and old wood. On benchtops were blue and white bowls, some with new fruit in them. There were also vases with wild flowers that needed changing, and rows of books, some in English and some in Russian.
She headed for the stairs and bounded up them, hearing the squeak of protesting wood, and went straight toward the main bedroom. Inside was a huge bed with fresh linen laid over the top but not tucked in. She felt her throat catch—Marcus never could make a proper bed.
She went to the bedside table and saw a photograph of the pair of them, on a beach holiday from a few years back—tanned, salt-crusted hair and eyebrows, and laughing into the camera.
Sara picked it up and sat on the bed. Then slowly laid back, holding the memory to her chest.
“All gone,” she whispered. And then. “Stolen.” She closed her eyes and let the tears come.
She didn’t know how long she lay there but a knock on the door downstairs snapped her out of her misery fugue. It was near dark now, and she turned her head to shout, “A minute.”
She sat up and looked at the picture again. “I want to finish what you started, Marcus. I’ll really try.” She put the frame back where she found it. “If I can bear it.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, stood up, and then crossed to the window.
It’d be so easy to tell Carter that she would appoint a manager to run the mill in her name. The Russian mafia could go to hell, she thought.
She leaned on the windowsill, staring out over miles of bleakness. And what if she handed half over to them? Would all her problems go away?
“Yech.” It would be exactly the opposite of what Marcus would have wanted. She turned away from the window and headed for the stairs.
As she got to the bottom of the stairs, Carter was standing just inside the doorframe. He looked so much like Marcus it made her suck in a breath and stare for a moment. She knew all about his background and also knew that he was the dark to Marcus being the light. She had loved him once, but his life seemed to be one of chaos and war, where at that time in her life she wanted calm and predictability.
She stared down at him, seeing that look in his eye he used to have so many years ago. Sara didn’t want anything to happen to him, but even if she tried to send him home, she knew he’d refuse. It was another reason for her to decide if she wanted to continue. It meant she wasn’t only putting herself at risk, but also Carter.
He smiled up at her. She knew his love of his brother was paramount, and where she wanted to have her vengeance, he’d be the instrument to make it happen if she wanted it. For security, she could have no better general. But as a friend, she could have no better… what? she now wondered.
“Meet and greet time?” she asked, brows up.
“Yep. They seem a good bunch, and all waiting outside.” He stood aside so she could step out onto the porch. She saw that her bags had been laid there and four men waited in a line, all eyes on her. On the other side was the bearish Yuri, still looking slightly morose.
She came to the edge of the porch and Carter stood looming at her shoulder. She nodded and smiled at each of them.
“Thank you,” she started. “Thank you all for supporting my husband and getting this enterprise off the ground. My name is Sara Stenson. I know of you through my conversations with Marcus, and he spoke fondly about all of you.”
She looked toward the first man, the youngest, and had a guess at who it was. “You must be Nikolay.”
The young man half-bowed, and a smile spread across his face. He didn’t seem to know what to do next, so Sara crossed to him and stuck out a hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Nikolay.”
He grasped it and shook it while bowing again. Sara smiled. “Perhaps you can introduce me to your father and friends.”
Nikolay walked her over to an older man with a grey mustache that bore a resemblance to him. “This is my father, Pavel.”
They shook hands and then she was introduced to both Leonid and Dmitry. The first puffed on a pipe that looked whittled from a tree branch and the second man had his sleeves rolled up, displaying a fading tattoo of a wolf wearing a beret with a dagger through it that looked like an old military tattoo. She stood back and saw that all of them looked a little nervous.<
br />
“You all helped get the place started. And I want to assure you that I’m not here to shut us down, but instead move us forward. There’ll be work to do, and strong hands and sharp minds will be needed.”
Pavel turned to speak quietly with his son, who seemed to push back a little, but after some urging from his father, he turned to her and cleared his throat.
“There are two things, Ms. Stenson; one, will Marcus, Mr. Stenson, be coming back?”
She drew in a deep breath. “Marcus is not coming back.” Just saying the words wounded her. She lifted her chin. “And the second thing?”
“The bratva, who came here…” Nikolay started.
“Unfortunately, they will most likely come back,” Carter replied for her. “But I’ll never let them harm anyone or anything here as long as I live. I promise you that.”
The men spoke among themselves and then nodded. Sara could see that they weren’t quite convinced. Why should they be? she thought.
She stepped forward, her voice now raised. “Marcus is gone,” she said. “But his legacy will be this successful business. Will you help me finish his dream?”
They spoke as one: “Da!”
CHAPTER 17
It was morning, mid-spring, but Carter shivered as he stepped out of his bed. He had taken one of the cabins in the mill compound, and as yet, it wasn’t one of the ones that had been fully repaired, and there was enough natural ventilation to let a nice icy breeze run straight through it.
Thankfully, the power was on, and armed with a hot water bottle and a Soviet-era kerosene heater that gave off a smell that made his eyes water, he was able to grab a few hours’ sleep.
It was just gone 5 am and it’d still be a few hours before the sun was a pale-orange wheel on the horizon. He dressed quickly and stepped outside, flipping the jacket’s hood up over his head and watching as his breath drifted away in little vapor ghosts.
They would come, the bratva, he was sure of that, but just not when. Even though the death scene he had created in town of the murder-suicide of the Orlov twins might fool the local cops for a while, he doubted it’d be too much of a coincidence for the Russian mafia to swallow, as they had eyes everywhere and would know he and Sara had arrived.
