37. Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
Day 17 Petropavlovsk, Russia
His short-barreled assault rifle in hand, Wolf took the stairs two at a time. The dog’s frantic barking was audible but muffled now. He reached the bend in the staircase in seconds. There he stopped and crouched, listening. The dog had fallen silent. No sound came from above, but he knew by primal instinct their mark was up there, waiting for him. Sticking his head around the corner was not an option—unless he wished to join Jude in the web of their ancestors. Instead, he thrust his MK18 rifle around the corner.
Crack…crack…crack… came from above. The dog broke into another fit of barking.
The gunshots sounded close—just up the stairs close. The blasts echoed and deafened in the tight space, making it impossible to tell how many weapons were in play.
He compressed his rifle’s trigger. The weapon spit out a dozen rounds, for distraction more than anything. He needed to see what awaited him at the top of the stairs. One man? Two? More? Spraying the stairs with bullets would force the mark or marks to drop and cover.
Surrounded by the acrid smell of spent ammunition and hot metal, he leaned around, taking a quick peek up the stairs. A blur of green straightened from its crouch against the landing wall above. He ducked back around the corner as multiple rounds splintered the wood where his head had once been.
One shooter then, crouched at the top of the stairs.
He was facing a stalemate. Death awaited anyone who climbed those stairs. Time to deploy Shadow labs’ latest gift, or—gifts—in this case.
“Masks on,” he said through the comm and Neealaho simultaneously.
He shifted, presenting his kit to Samuel while firing consistently up the stairs to keep their mark busy. The smell of spent propellant and burning metal grew stronger.
His Caetanee opened Wolf’s kit and handed him a thin rubber gas mask. The mask was new, a recent addition to their war-ware from the Shadow Mountain labs. Still firing up the stairs to keep their shooter engaged, he removed his helmet with one hand and pulled on the mask, then donned his helmet again.
“Release in five,” Wolf said through the neural net and comm as he plucked a silver canister from the front pocket of his equipment belt.
This, too, was developed and produced in the Shadow Mountain labs. A fast acting, quickly dispersing vapor, the gas would render anyone unconscious within seconds of contact, all without harming them. Regular gas masks would not blunt the effects of this vapor, only the masks his warriors currently wore.
If the Shadow Warrior favored them, the gas would knock the ankle biter out, too, and save them from its incessant barking.
He twisted the canister’s cap, which started the five second countdown to the vapor's release, then thrust his arm around the corner, tossing the can up the stairs. More bullets splintered the wall next to him. Pain seared his biceps. He yanked his arm back. Red was already dampening the white fabric of his winter tactical jacket.
He grunted in disgust.
How bad? Samuel asked through their private neural link.
Wolf assessed the wound. It was bleeding, but not bad. He flexed his biceps and hissed in pain. That hurt. But the arm was mobile. Good enough. He sent the assessment through the link. He’d have a healer tend to it once they had their quarry in hand.
He counted the five seconds off in his head. It didn’t matter where the can landed. The dispersal system would propel the gas outward. The colorless and scentless vapor would quickly spread, knocking out every living creature in its path. Except cockroaches. During the testing phase, the vapor had not affected cockroaches.
After five seconds came and went, Wolf stuck his rifle around the corner again and fired off a couple more rounds. No return fire this time. He took a quick look up the stairs. The landing was empty. Time to move. His arm burning, tension gripping his muscles and chilling his gut, Wolf swung around the corner and charged up the stairs. Muffled barking greeted him, but no gunfire.
No shooter either.
The house lights flickered as he reached the top of the stairs. They flickered a second time and stayed on. He flipped his NVDs up and leaped onto the second-floor landing, Samuel right behind him.
The gas canister was on the floor against the wall, opposite from where their adversary had crouched, but no shooter. They advanced forward, rifles up. The barking rose and fell ahead of them, as if someone was having limited success shutting the dog up. They found their mark unconscious and naked, half in/half out of the first door to the left. They rolled him over.
Kuznetsov.
Wolf recognized the bulbous nose, fleshy face, and barrel-chested torso from the pictures and video the Taounaha had provided. They had their arms dealer.
He scanned the room as Samuel secured their naked, unconscious captive’s ankles and cuffed his hands behind his back. That high-pitched, frantic barking was louder than ever, but there was no dog in the room. His gaze slid to the closet in the corner, where the barking and snarls seemed to originate. Had Kuznetsov locked the dog in the closet before converging on the stairs?
Doubtful. The smell of sex hung heavy in the room. Benioko’s source had mentioned Kuznetsov was hiding out with his mistress, a big-breasted and shallow-brained Australian woman. Judging by the condom discarded on the wood floor, the sex this room reeked of hadn’t been one-handed. The mistress must be hiding. Probably with the dog.
He helped Samuel drag their captive across the room. They tossed him on the bed. The gas in the canister was fast-acting but fled quickly. Still, it would be several minutes until their captive was alert enough to answer their questions.
In teams of two, the rest of his warriors from Aggress One advanced down the hall to clear the remaining bedrooms. After which they’d search the rooms for anything weapon-related.
Had the vapor from the canister reached into this room? The dog was still alert, which meant the woman probably was too. There was no room beneath the bedframe for the woman to hide. She must be in the closet with the dog.
Their mark was unconscious and cuffed. Time to find the woman.
As they advanced on the closet, Samuel called for One Bird through the Neealaho . Since his Caetanee wasn’t bleeding, the request must have been on Wolf’s behalf. Ironically, he’d pushed the injury so far from his mind, he’d forgotten about it. It didn’t even burn anymore. But when he glanced down, he found the fabric covering the wound soaked and dripping.
They took position on the left side of the door, Wolf in front, Samuel behind. Wolf jerked the door open.
An explosion of ferocious barking greeted them, but the dog didn’t attack. It didn’t show itself at all. But the row of dresses and coats dangling from the wooden rod shivered. And then the dog’s barking snapped off with a squeal.
“Hush, Muffin. Hush. They’ll hear you,” a thick Australian accent said from behind the curtain of dresses. Although the words were more sobbed than spoken.
Judging by the dog’s previous barking, and the woman’s heavy, sobby breathing, the gas had never reached back here. It was likely inert now, anyway. Which meant their gas masks were unnecessary. He removed his helmet and took his mask off. He waited a couple of seconds for any ill effects. When he felt no dizziness, he tossed it to the side and pulled his helmet back on. He’d stow the gas mask in his pack after their targets were secure.
The woman’s sobs gained strength. She was crying so hard, the clothes surrounding her trembled. The dog, on the other hand, had dropped from barking to whining.
Wolf stifled a sigh. “We know you’re in there.” Of course they did. Her escalating sobs were a dead giveaway. “Leash your dog and come out. You will not be harmed.”
The sobs shifted to shrieks, and the dog started barking like a banshee again. “I have…I have a gun…I know how to use it.”
Wolf barely heard her. Were the two competing for who could cause the worst headache?
“As do we.” He waited. No movement from inside. Even the clothes were still. “Your provider is bound. He cannot rescue you. Toss your weapon out. You will not be harmed.”
The shrieks turned into screams, the barks into one long, shrill howl. Wolf winced. A miniature gun with a gold handle came flying out. Apparently, Kuznetsov’s mistress hadn’t been lying about that, if one could call this toy a gun.
“I’m…I’m not wearing…any…any clothes,” the woman said between sobbing shrieks.
Wolf shook his head, frowning at the rack of clothes above the disembodied voice. “Lady, there’s an entire closet of clothes above your head.”
Benioko’s contact hadn’t been lying about the woman’s mental acuity.
“Ho'cee,” One Bird said from behind him. “Allow me to attend to your arm.”
Knowing Samuel could handle the woman and dog, Wolf turned to greet Aggress One’s spirit healer. Aggress Two had their own healer…which reminded him. “Those shots from earlier, how bad?”
One Bird shook his head. His square face placid, he followed Wolf over to the bed. “Those who required it have received the Hee-Hee-Thae.”
Wolf frowned. “How many?”
“Two.” One Bird glanced over at Kuznetsov, who was still unconscious. “Roberto was thigh shot. He recovers.”
Wolf frowned. They had their mark, but the battle was far from over. A healer’s energy was limited. His wound was minor. Best to save the Hee-Hee-Thae blessing for the flight home, when the risk of additional wounds was in the past.
“Stitch it for now.” Wolf sat on the bed, facing their captive.
Samuel escorted Kuznetsov’s woman from the closet as One Bird finished stitching Wolf’s arm. She’d pulled on a blue, clingy, thigh length dress. Tight arms, with red-tipped fingernails, clutched a mop of white against her impressive breasts. The mop bared a set of small fangs at him. A low growl vibrated out of its open mouth. How did it know where to look? Its eyes were completely covered by fluffy white fleece.
The Australian wobbled toward him on impractical, six-inch stilettos. Even someone with the brains of a wild turnip should know better than wearing shoes she could not run in. The woman stopped dead at the sight of Kuznetsov’s naked body on the bed. Her shrieks, which had subsided, rose again.
“Oh, fuck! Fuck! You killed him!” The dog emphasized her accusation with a round of barking so rabid its forehead fleece bounced along with its cries. Round, dark eyes were periodically revealed, only to disappear again.
The shrillness of the dog’s barking along with the woman’s shrieking pierced Wolf’s head like a poker of fire. One Bird’s, too, as witnessed by his wince. Kuznetsov even responded by shifting on the bed.
“Enough!” Wolf bellowed. “Sit down, shut up, and keep that dog quiet, or one of us will quiet it for you.”
Not that he’d kill a dog because of its instinctive urge to bark. But Kuznetsov’s mistress didn’t know that, as proven by the ashen tone that edged out the white in her face and the way she urgently shushed and jiggled the dog. Her movement stopped the animal’s barking, but a queasy look settled over its furry face, like the woman’s relentless rocking was making it seasick.
Since the woman had forgotten how to move, Samuel dragged her across the floor and shoved her against the wall without bothering to secure her arms or legs. “Sit.”
The very curtness of Samuel’s order told Wolf his Caetanee had lost patience with the woman and her pet.
Kuznetsov lifted his head, his muddy brown eyes muddier. He used his cuffed hands to push himself up, only to collapse back on the mattress. The Russian was still too out of it to interrogate.
Wolf turned his attention to the arms dealer’s mistress. “Check her pockets.”
She’d had one gun. Perhaps she had another.
“Nothing but lipstick,” Samuel said.
One Bird finished bandaging Wolf’s wound and repacked his med-kit. As the healer left the room, Wolf walked around the bed. The right pillow had the imprint of a head on it. So did the left. He tossed both pillows to the floor and collected the guns beneath them. The comforter joined the pillows on the floor. No guns under it. But the smell of sex grew stronger.
With the bed devoid of weapons, Wolf returned to Kuznetsov. The Russian’s eyes were clearer and getting more hostile now.
“We’re good down here, in case anyone was wondering,” Mackenzie growled over the comm. “You find the target?”
Wolf already knew his downstairs crew was unharmed. O’Neill would have warned him otherwise. Although, Wolf frowned, perhaps not. That was the disadvantage of having the jie'van on his crew. Even though he was linked to the Neealaho, he rarely used it.
“We have our mark,” Wolf confirmed quietly.
“The butcher or the weapon?” Cosky asked immediately.
“The butcher.” Wolf studied their captive, who’d rolled over onto his back. He hadn’t reacted to his nickname. Frowning, he glanced toward the woman. Neither had she.
“Take all captives to the living room,” Wolf said into his comm.
With their hostages in one place, it would take fewer men to guard them. The rest of his warriors would tear this place apart. They’d collect all the hard drives and electronic devices. If the weapon had been sold, they needed information on its buyers.
Wolf sent a silent plea to the elder gods that the doomsday device was still on the premises and not headed off to be deployed against an unsuspecting population.
Aggress Two, update. Wolf sent the request through the Neealaho .
All guards are secure, Tomas responded.
Wolf relaxed. They had time to attend to their captive, then. He turned back to the bed. The woman had finally stopped her phlegmy crying and sat huddled with her dog against the wall.
From the awareness in the Russian’s eyes, his body had absorbed most of the vapor. What was left would not react with the truth serum. It was time to get their answers.
“I tell you nothing,” Kuznetsov suddenly said. “You not break me. I take…” he frowned slightly, his gaze turning vague, then shrugged. “Instruction to guard mind.”
Interesting. Their captive obviously knew they’d come looking for information and expected them to beat the answers out of him. But torture was messy, sweaty, and protracted work. The Shadow Mountain truth serum would provide answers within minutes.
“Samuel, prepare the syringe.” Wolf took a step toward their captive, ready to hold him still while his Caetanee injected the serum.
The woman started a sobbing ramble. Her thin, pitchy voice hovered on the edge of hysterics. “Please don’t hurt me. Or Muffin.” Her voice rose even higher. “Take everything, if you want…” her voice broke as the sobs escaped. “But don’t hurt Muffy. There’s jewelry and cash in the safe. You can have it all…” She sobbed harder, her face white and terrified. “Just don’t…don’t hurt us.”
Muffy whined and twisted in her arms, frantically licking her wet cheeks. Kuznetsov turned his head and glared at her. He said something thick and guttural in Russian.
He told her not to tell us anything , Samuel said through the Neealaho .
Wolf’s eyebrows rose. The woman hadn’t included Kuznetsov in her pleas for safety. Nor had the Russian demanded they leave her alone. There was no loyalty between the pair. This would make interrogating her easier. The fact she’d already volunteered the information about the safe was a good sign. She could be useful.
“Where is this safe?” Wolf asked, his voice mild. No need to terrify her further.
Her sobs escalated, as did Muffin’s licking. “In…in…the closet over there.” She nodded toward the closet they’d pulled her from. “Beneath…the floor.”
“You know the combination?”
Kuznetsov shouted something to her in Russian.
Samuel shrugged. He tells her to shut up .
“Don’t shout at me!” the woman screamed back, shooting Kuznetsov a blind, terrified look. “They have guns! They’re going to kill us!”
Muffin, picking up on her mistress’s panic, started growling again.
Wolf sighed. “The combination?”
Perhaps there was more than jewelry and money in this safe she spoke of. The Russian seemed determined to prevent her from giving out the combination. If they were lucky—very lucky—perhaps they’d find the nanoweapon inside.
Assuming he could hear the combination between her sobs, screams, and the dog’s growling.
“E-5-9-A-2-7-F.” She sobbed the combination of letters and numbers out.
Wolf made her repeat the combination, then turned to Samuel, who already had the syringe out of his pack. With the needle pointed up, Samuel flicked the barrel and compressed the plunger until the air bubbles were expelled.
Wolf leaned forward and pinned the Russian to the mattress. He tilted his chin toward Samuel, who stepped up to the bed and grasped the Russian’s arm. Kuznetsov rolled his head toward Samuel, his gaze falling on the syringe. He paled. “Nyet! Nyet! Is illegal!”
The response startled a laugh from Wolf. Illegal? This from the butcher of Karaveht? Did he think infecting dozens of innocent people with his insanity bug had been fair play?
“Nyet! Nyet—how you say? Nyet needles!” The Russian tried to jerk his arm away from Samuel’s grasp, but Wolf pressed it into the mattress, holding it still as Samuel plunged the needle into the muscled arm. Thirty seconds later, the drug hit his brain, and the Russian fell unconscious. Wolf let him go and stepped back from the bed.
Unlike sodium thiopental, which required intravenous injection, the drug the Shadow Mountain lab techs had developed could be injected into the muscle instead of the vein, but with the same metabolism rate of thirty to forty-five seconds for the drug to reach the brain. But this Shadow Mountain drug left the brain and distributed to the rest of the body faster. Instead of five to ten minutes for the concentration in the brain to drop to levels compatible with consciousness, the Shadow Mountain drug brought a return to consciousness—or at least, the moonlight state of consciousness—within three minutes.
Leaving Samuel to watch the woman, Wolf turned his attention to the closet. Dim light spilled down from the overhead light fixture. He made several trips in and out, dumping armfuls of colorful dresses, sweaters, cardigans, pants, and coats onto the bedroom floor. It took him several minutes to shove the endless pairs of stiletto heels to the very back of the space. Hee-nes-ce, did this female like her tall shoes. There were no flats to be found.
Once most of the floor was clear, he crouched to study the wood planks. The light was too weak to see the flooring well, so he pulled his flashlight from his equipment belt, clicked it on, and glided the beam along the boards. The grain and slats matched up perfectly. No gaps or signs of scuffs or scratches hinted the boards had been pried up.
Crouching, he ran his fingertips across the boards’ seams. A slight variation in height between the planks gave the safe compartment away. There must be a mechanism that pushed up the false floor when activated. He ran his fingertips along the edges. When he found a slightly raised, two-inch patch along the seam that had some give to it, he pressed down progressively harder until a subtle snick sounded. A two-by-two-foot section of the floor popped up.
A safe was tucked in the space below.