The Shadow Hunter (The Phoenix Chronicles Book 1)

by R. J. Patterson

  For the most part, his trek along the river was uneventful, save for spotting a pack of wolves eyeing him hungrily as they followed him along the banks. However, the animals eventually lost interest. But if they had stuck around, they possibly would’ve been rewarded for their patience.

  Hawk went over a rocky segment of the river, but didn’t escape unscathed. When he returned to peaceful waters, he noticed that the air in his inflatable was leaking. He tried to determine the source, but no hole was visible on the outside. Running his hand slowly along the sides, he didn’t feel any air being forced out. But it was obvious something had gone awry.

  Hawk steered his vessel to the shore for a closer inspection. However, when he did, he scraped against some more rocks and the deflation quickened. By the time Hawk was safely out of the water, his kayak had been reduced to little more than a small seat affixed to a sheet of rubber. He bit his lip and shook his head, irked at his new dilemma. According to his GPS, he had another ten kilometers to travel before he reached the nearest town with a highway that could get him to Yakutsk. The plan was to steal a car in the middle of the night and drive to Yakutsk. But Hawk was exhausted and knew if he had to walk to the nearest town, he’d be unable to continue without a good night's sleep.

  Hawk stashed his blown out kayak beneath a tree and trudged through the snow toward the road. The Onon River would’ve taken him to a nearby city, where he could’ve beached his craft and slipped out of town in a stolen vehicle in a matter of minutes. But the journey had just become more difficult—unless Hawk changed his approach.

  He tried to contact Alex and let her know what he was doing, but he was in such an isolated area that his coms couldn’t even link up with a satellite.

  I’ll have to tell her later.

  Hawk knew she’d worry, fearing the worst. It’s what she did most of the time these days, more so than when they were both working for the Phoenix Foundation. He figured it had to do with the fact that John Daniel was in their lives now. Alex had grown up in a single-parent family and had expressed to Hawk on numerous occasions how she didn’t want that for their kids. It was also part of why she hesitated to agree to let him go on this mission.

  No matter what happened, when Hawk didn’t check in at the appointed time, he knew she would start to panic, running endless scenarios through her mind about how he might have died. But Hawk wanted to put Alex’s mind at ease and decided there was a way he could meet both of his original objectives. It’d require just a few adjustments.

  If this had been normal circumstances, Hawk would’ve stayed out of sight as he navigated through the Siberian hinterlands. But there was nothing normal about this operation, at least for Hawk. He usually had some sort of satellite support from Alex or drone support overhead. But this was rugged and raw, man versus wild. Hawk’s survival depended upon instinct and creativity in the midst of a fluid situation.

  Hawk noticed on the map that the Onon River flowed beneath one rural highway several times before cutting through the heart of a small village. Instead of hiking all the way to the town, he decided to hike just one more kilometer before trying to find someone to give him a ride to the village. From there, he’d steal a car and continue his journey to Yakutsk.

  It wasn’t the ideal plan, but it was better than trying to navigate his way through central Siberia while running on fumes. In a country fraught with pitfalls, he needed to be mentally alert if the mission was going to be a success. And keeping Alex sane was equally important.

  When Hawk reached the road, he started walking toward the nearest town, thumb out, ruck sack slung over his shoulder. He ambled along, straining to hear the sound of tires thrumming on the dilapidated Russian highway. While Hawk hadn’t spent too much time in Russia, he never remembered the roads being so awful. Potholes the size of basketballs, both in depth and width, marred the smooth surface. Hawk could only imagine what kind of hell he was about to face while driving to Yakutsk. He didn’t see a scenario where he wasn’t changing at least one tire victimized by the pocked highway.

  After ten minutes, Hawk had seen two vehicles, neither of which showed any interest in slowing down to pick him up. But that changed when an SUV rolled around the corner and eased past Hawk before slamming on its brakes.

  The vehicle backed up and a man in the passenger seat rolled down his window.

  “You need a lift?” he asked.

  Hawk nodded and hustled over to the car. He got inside, and the driver didn’t wait for Hawk to find his seatbelt before stepping on the gas. They started talking in hushed tones. And while Hawk was only catching bits and pieces of the conversation, he could tell the man driving wasn’t happy with the decision to pick up Hawk.

  “It’s our best chance out,” the passenger side man said. “We let him take the car and we go home.”

  Hawk scowled and leaned forward, speaking Russian. “This car isn’t stolen, is it? Because it wouldn’t be good for me if you got pulled over.”

  “Did you make the FSB mad?” the driver asked, eyeing Hawk through the rearview mirror.

  “Not yet,” he answered with a wry grin.

  The angst on the two men’s faces melted into a hearty laugh.

  According to Hawk’s GPS, the town was about ten kilometers ahead.

  “Where are you going?” the passenger asked.

  “Wherever you take me,” Hawk said. “My boat sprung a leak and I started walking for help. Once I get to a place where I can make a phone call, I will get someone to help me.”

  The two men looked at each other and smiled.

  “Ask him,” the driver said in a whisper to the other man.

  “No, you ask him.”

  Their exchange continued for a few minutes, both reluctant to ask whatever it was that seemed so pressing.

  Then Hawk interrupted them. “Do you need to ask me something?”

  Before either man could answer, the driver muttered something and glanced in the rearview mirror. Hawk could tell something was troubling the man. The passenger then turned around and looked past Hawk and through the back window.

  Both men started cursing as the driver pushed the accelerator to the floorboard. Hawk jerked backward, unable to deal with the initial inertia. He turned around to see another car speeding up behind them.

  “Get ready!” the driver shouted. He reached into the console and produced a gun. Hawk reached inside his ruck sack and wrapped his hand around his gun. The SUV roared down the highway, each bump jarring Hawk. The larger the pothole, the more pain Hawk experienced when his head smacked up against the ceiling.

  Hawk glanced out the back again and noticed the car was gaining on them. Then two men poked their heads—and their weapons—out of the side of the backseat windows.

  “Get down!” the driver shouted seconds before a hail of bullets battered their SUV.

  Hawk stayed down as the vehicle swerved back and forth across the highway. The men in the approaching car continued assaulting the SUV.

  When there was a lull in the shooting, Hawk peered just above the back seat and fired back. His first few shots stunned the two men in the front as they started screaming at him.

  “What are you doing?” the driver said. “Those men will kill us.”

  “Aren’t they already trying to do that?” Hawk asked.

  “They’re just trying to scare us,” the passenger said. “They’re not going to kill us, at least not yet.”

  Hawk ducked down and eyed the two men cautiously. “If we get them first, we won’t have to worry about them doing anything to us later.”

  “You don’t know who we’re dealing with,” the passenger said, all color gone from his cheeks. “Those men are ruthless. They won’t just stop with killing us. They’ll make our entire families vanish.”

  “What’d you do to make them so upset?” Hawk asked.

  The two men shrugged and shook their heads subtly.

  “That bad, huh?” Hawk said before turning around and firing a few more shots.r />
  Seconds later, another burst of bullets sprayed their SUV. This time, one of them found its mark, piercing a tire and sending the SUV careening off the road. As it left the highway, it hit something on the shoulder, launching the vehicle into the air. When it came back down, it bounced and then tipped over onto its side before skidding what felt like an eternity to Hawk.

  He winced in pain, disoriented from the accident. Outside the closest window, all he could see was a wall of snow.

  That was the last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER 10

  Yakutsk, Russia

  EDDIE TYSON SUCKED a short breath in through this teeth as he repositioned the bag of ice on his leg. It’d been three days since his last fight, but he still wasn’t fully recovered. Peter had called him earlier, begging for him to come in for a match that evening. But Tyson knew his limits, which required far more recovery time now that Father Time was getting some punches in of his own.

  He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the list of world times. Miami was fourteen hours behind Yakutsk. And no matter how well he knew the difference, it always confused him.

  The clock on the wall read 10:21 P.M., meaning it was 8:21 A.M. in Miami.

  Sheila would be getting the kids ready for school. He missed the frenetic pace of the morning and always enjoyed watching Sheila work her magic as she rounded up all the children and had them ready to leave the house looking like rock stars. When she had left him alone with the kids for infrequent trips out of town, they were lucky to make it to school fully dressed with their books and lunches.

  He groaned as he hobbled over to his laptop and used his secure server to tap into the family computer located on a desk near the breakfast nook. After he connected, the image came across clear. It was almost as if he hadn’t disappeared from their lives for the past year.

  Sheila was already put together, wearing a white blouse and skirt. Her hair looked as if she’d just walked out of a salon. The only thing missing was her lipstick, which she saved for the time she’d spend sitting in Miami’s congested morning rush.

  Samantha was looking far too old for her age, wearing clothes that he wouldn’t have approved of. Tyson had argued plenty of times about his teenage daughter’s attire, which was a stand Sheila obviously didn’t want to make with him gone.

  Joey was busy playing a hand-held video game, complete with virtual reality goggles. That also was a pet peeve of Tyson’s. He’d told Sheila a hundred times that she shouldn’t let video games be a babysitter. And as much as it inconvenienced her to fight Joey about it and listen to him whine about how all the other mothers of tweens his age let their kids play video games, she went along with Tyson’s request. Whenever Joey claimed to be bored, Sheila sent him outside or gave him a book to read. But that too seemed to be a battle she didn’t want to fight alone.

  Then there was Caleb. Their four-year-old son was sitting at the table like an angel, carefully guiding each spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth without spilling even a drop of milk.

  Tyson smiled as he watched his son dutifully eat his breakfast.

  “All right, gang,” Sheila said, snagging her tumbler and filling it with coffee. “Two minutes and everyone needs to be in the car. Sam, help your little brother get buckled in. Joey, take the goggles off and join us back here in reality, ok, bud?”

  Nobody bucked her, much to Tyson’s surprise. Sam whisked Caleb out of his chair, tucking him beneath one arm while toting her backpack with the other. Joey nudged his goggles onto his forehead and grabbed the rest of the things. Tyson continued watching until Sheila glided across the kitchen and disappeared.

  Tyson turned off the computer and sighed. The ache in his heart rivaled the pounding pain in his leg. He reminded himself that they wouldn’t even have the life they were living if he dared to return home. He’d be dead within a week—and so would the rest of his family.

  But for now, Tyson had to be satisfied with being a ghost and catching glimpses of their life without him. Every time he logged off, he wondered if he should continue to torture himself. He wished he could just forget about them, but they were the reason he was here—and the reason they were all still alive.

  It was just one moment, a moment he wished he could erase from his life. But what he saw, what he knew—it scared him. He realized the immediate danger he put everyone around him in with just the simple knowledge of its existence. He’d even tried to forget it, cramming it into a memory hole. But every morning when he woke up, there it was, staring him in the face.

  He hobbled back to the couch and adjusted the ice pack over his knee. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. But the pounding on his front door startled him awake.

  Bleary eyed, he tried to focus on the clock. An hour had passed since he stopped watching Sheila.

  Who the hell is banging on my door at this time of night?

  He peered through the peephole and growled. One by one, he released a series of deadbolt locks, all of which had come with the house. When he first moved in, Tyson ignored them. But after a few weeks, he found listening to the click of each one somewhat cathartic after returning from a day out in Yakutsk.

  Tyson cracked open the door just wide enough to see a Russian general standing in front of him with a pair of aides.

  “General,” Tyson said with a nod of his head, “is there something I can help you with?”

  “May I come in?” the general asked.

  “I’d prefer to keep this conversation brief,” Tyson said. “You woke me up and I’d rather get back to sleep.”

  The general ignored Tyson’s plea, pushing past him. “Let’s sit down and talk.”

  Tyson sighed and waited for all three men to enter his apartment bringing the bitter cold with them. He shut the door and followed them into the living room where they’d all made themselves comfortable.

  “I’m going to get straight to the point,” the general said.

  “Okay,” Tyson said. “What’s this all about?”

  “We know where your family is, Mr. Tyson,” the general said.

  Tyson’s eyes widened. The whole purpose of finding refuge in Russia was to avoid this type of strong arming from powerful people. Tyson now realized he was the fool for thinking the Russians wouldn’t play the same game. But he wasn’t going to acquiesce to their threats without pushing back.

  “I don’t believe you,” Tyson said.

  “Perhaps you should be more careful about how you keep up with your family,” the general said. “You use your computer to check on them quite often. And thanks to you, we know exactly where they live.”

  Tyson stood and clenched his fists. He set his jaw and glared at the general, who gave a disinterested glance.

  “Don’t you dare threaten my family,” Tyson said with a growl. “I think you saw what I did to your precious Bear.”

  The general chuckled and waved dismissively at Tyson. “First of all, I could put a bullet in your head right now if I wanted to and you couldn’t stop me. And nobody would care since you’re already dead.”

  The general gestured for Tyson to sit down, but the American didn’t move. With just a glance from the general, his two aides moved toward Tyson, who decided against fighting and took his seat.

  “Now, I don’t want to harm your family. I really don’t. I have a family of my own. They’re the most precious people in the world to me, and I’d do anything to keep them safe. And that’s why I expect your full cooperation on the assignment we’re giving you. Based on everything I know about you, keeping your family safe is your top priority, is it not?”

  Tyson nodded reluctantly.

  “So we have an understanding, right?” the general asked as he held his palms out. “You comply with our little request, and we keep your children safe.”

  Tyson sighed. “I understand.”

  “Good,” the general said. “Someone will return with all the details later this week. Just be ready to leave whenever we te
ll you to. And I suggest you start packing now. It’s going to be a long trip.”

  The general rose along with his aides, Tyson right behind them. For a moment he considered how he might take all three of them out. But then the idea was gone, buried for good. If the general knew where Tyson’s family was, someone else in the Russian military did too.

  I’ll have my revenge.

  He ushered them outside without another word and relocked the dozen or so deadbolts before going to bed.

  Tyson climbed under the covers and turned the lights off, lying in the dark and staring at the ceiling.

  What I’d give for just one more hug from Sheila … and Caleb, too.

  CHAPTER 11

  Central Siberia

  HAWK AWOKE TO THE odor of gasoline and burnt rubber. His shoulder ached and he took a few seconds to orient himself. Shattered glass lay all around him and the SUV’s engine hissed as it idled. After unbuckling his seatbelt, he grabbed his ruck sack and surveyed the damage.

  In the front seats, the front windshield was gone, pieces of it covering the two Russians. Both men appeared unconscious with slight scrapes and cuts on their faces. Hawk checked for a pulse to make sure they were alive. Once confirming they were, Hawk went to work.

  The vehicle had come to rest on its side against a snowbank, giving him only one option to exit. With the driver’s side resting on the ground, he muscled open the back passenger side door. Then he dragged the driver out and moved him a safe distance away from the car.

  When Hawk returned to get the second man, he noticed the car starting to smoke, increasing the urgency to get him out. As Hawk was climbing out, he noticed a fire lapping up the fuel, which was leaking from the tank. He growled as he climbed out and hustled the man away from the danger.

  The first man started to regain consciousness, scowling as he watched Hawk pull the second man through the snow.

  “What happened?” the man asked in Russian.