Jet (15 page)

Matt hefted the tire iron as though testing its weight, and rose to his full height, the flashlight steady. The gypsy with the screwdriver apparently thought better of escalating the encounter and muttered an oath, and then the pair took off at a run into the night. Matt followed them with the light until he lost sight of them, and stopped to check his watch.

He’d only gotten two hours of sleep.

And he could now choose between hoping the miscreants didn’t come back with reinforcements or moving on.

Matt swung around at a creak behind him. Hannah had opened the door. He forced himself to react calmly and offered a reassuring expression. “I thought I told you to keep quiet.”

“Scary inside.”

He nodded. “I guess it is. Come on. Let’s go somewhere with more lights.”

“Now?”

“That’s what camping’s all about. Staying on the move. Now go put your shoes back on and let’s get going.”

Hannah obliged and returned a half minute later with her blanket. Matt carried her to the passenger door and glanced at the lock; the metal around it was dented from the amateurish break-in attempt.

Two minutes later he was driving back down the road, wondering when they’d finally catch at least a small break.

Not tonight, apparently, he thought with a sigh and sped up as he neared the fork in the road, uninterested in learning what other surprises the gypsies might have in store for the unwary late-night traveler.

Moscow, Russia

The bolt on the solitary confinement cell door clanked and the low-wattage overhead bulb illuminated. Jet opened her eyes, her body stiff from sleeping on the hard steel bench, and was surprised to see Yulia carrying a plastic tray laden with food. She entered without comment, and the male guard behind her glanced in at them and then closed the door, locking them both inside.

“I brought you breakfast. You should be released back into the prison population within the hour,” Yulia said, setting the tray down.

Jet sat up and made room for Yulia and, after examining the offering, picked at the food, the quality only slightly better than the prior night’s. Her stomach rumbled a reminder that she needed sustenance, and she grudgingly choked down what she could while Yulia watched.

“How did you get in here?” Jet asked.

“I bribed the guards. It’s the only way to get anything around here.”

“Where do you get the money?”

Yulia looked away. “I have…benefactors on the outside.”

“That must come in handy.”

“A bit.” Yulia paused. “Thanks for helping with those three. They really wanted my ass.”

“Why?”

“I’m Ukrainian. They’ve got something against us.” She shrugged. “The big one who tried to stab me has been trying to pick a fight with me since I arrived.”

Jet ate some more and, between bites, asked Yulia about the aftermath of the fight. Yulia waved away the questions as though they were irrelevant. “Several of the others corroborated your story – that you were acting in self-defense. The three of them are in the infirmary with broken bones and contusions. You really did a number on them. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Jet shrugged. “I grew up in a rough neighborhood.”

Yulia studied her and nodded. “I’d say so.”

Jet finished her breakfast and washed it down with tepid water as Yulia’s expression turned thoughtful. “Have you heard anything about a sex ring of some sort that the guards are running?” Jet asked.

Yulia’s eyes narrowed. “They approached you, too? Yeah, second day I was in here they put the bite on me. Apparently they have a bunch of powerful Russians that like to satisfy their power fantasies by having sex with convicts. The guards pocket seventy percent of the cash. Perverts. I told them I’d rather die.”

“Seventy?”

“Without them sourcing the men and sneaking them in, there’d be no business.”

“They threaten you?”

“Of course. Said they’d make my life hell if I didn’t play ball. I suspect that was part of what the attack was all about. They put out the word that I’m not cooperating, and a few prisoners who are trying to curry favor go to work on me.” She hesitated. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not planning on being here much longer.”

Jet cocked her head. “Your trial’s coming up that fast?”

“Hardly.”

“Transfer?”

“No.” Yulia lowered her voice to where it was almost inaudible. “Listen, Sandra. You saved my life back there. That bitch wanted to gut me, and she would have if you hadn’t stopped her. So I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve got an escape plan.”

Jet matched her whisper. “You really think it’s possible to get out of here?”

“I know it is.”

Yulia outlined what she had in mind. Jet listened in silence and, when she was finished, glanced away. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You can come with us if you want.”

“Why?”

“I…your skills would come in handy. That simple. I watched you fight – you barely broke a sweat and took down three hard cases like it was nothing. You don’t see that every day.”

“Handy, how?”

“Once we’re out of here, we’re heading back to the Ukraine. Someone with your chops would be invaluable if we ran into trouble along the way. Especially if you were willing to pay me back by helping with the cause once we’re back on Ukrainian soil.”

“What’s this cause?”

“We want the Russians out of our country, once and for all. That’s why I was trying to buy weapons.”

Jet held Yulia’s gaze. “Your escape plan has a number of holes in it. It won’t fly.”

“Really. Such as?”

Jet rattled off a half dozen problems with Yulia’s scheme. When she was done, Yulia looked like she’d been sucker punched. Jet sat back and eyed the door. “But with a few changes, it could work.”

“What kind of changes?”

“Well, first, the big weak spot I see where it will fall apart is when your men have to be snuck into the women’s side of the prison. Anyone trips to that, and you’re dead before you even get started.”

Yulia’s stare hardened. “I’m not leaving them behind.”

“I’m not saying you have to. But you can increase your odds of success by coming to them instead of the other way around. The guards that were bribed – they’re on the men’s side, right?”

“Correct. They work the night shift.”

“Do you have any way of getting word to them you want to make a few small tweaks to the plan?”

“Of course. My people are in contact with them. It’s all supposed to happen tonight. Why? What are you proposing?”

“Who’s running the sex ring?”

“The head of security. Number two man after the warden.”

“Is he involved in your thing?”

“No. He wouldn’t risk his job with an escape. He makes far too much smuggling drugs in and selling our bodies to his buddies.”

“Then maybe we can use that.”

“How?”

“Here’s what I’d do,” Jet said, and leaned into Yulia and began speaking in a murmur so soft it could have been the wind blowing through the high barred window slit above them.

Five minutes later, Yulia pounded on the door and called for the guard. The man returned and she exited the cell, tray in hand and a smile on her face. She paused at the door and looked back at Jet, and then turned to the guard. “My friend and I were talking over your boss’s offer. We might be interested. We could sure use the money.”

The guard leered at Yulia and reached out to grope one of her breasts. Yulia’s expression didn’t change. He ran his hand down to her crotch and then stepped back. “I can relay the message. He’ll be here in a few hours.”

“He mentioned the other day that the next party would be tonight?”

“That’s right.”

“How much is he offering?”

The guard eyed Yulia like she was livestock, and then looked Jet up and down with a grin. “Depends. I’ll let him discuss it with you two.”

The door slammed and Jet was again alone, but for the first time since being imprisoned, she felt a tiny flutter of hope in her gut. Yulia’s plan could work. As far as getting to the Ukraine, she could worry about that once they were outside the prison walls. Yulia hadn’t told her how she planned to traverse Russia and evade capture; she’d only assured Jet that her contacts could arrange it, just as they’d arranged for the guards to help them escape. Whether they actually could was a different story, but Jet’s clock time was running out, and she had no other option but to trust the Ukrainian – at least, for now.

Manbij, Syria

Simon Mandolfo nodded to his contact at the sidewalk café as he approached the table where the man was seated, a dusty canvas canopy shielding the area from the worst of the blazing midday sun. The streets were largely empty in this district; the heat was too much to bear until after dark, even for residents accustomed to the temperature. A Toyota truck with several gunmen in the bed, a black flag with Arabic symbols embroidered on it fluttering from a pole mounted to the vehicle’s passenger door, crept down the street, reminding the inhabitants that they were under ISIS rule.

Simon didn’t give the truck a second glance – his ivory coloring and fluent Arabic served as adequate protection from harassment by ISIS militia in the city. Outside its perimeter, the situation was more dangerous, with roadblocks manned by zealots checking documentation at will and questioning drivers and passengers alike, executing anyone they felt suspicious about on the spot. But such was the terrorist group’s grip on Manbij that only those who supported it without question remained, and the patrols were more for show than for any realistic measure of security.

A sixteen-year veteran field agent for the CIA, Simon had spent most of his adult life in similarly perilous situations, although this was arguably the most volatile, the sound of airstrikes at night his lullaby in the simple hotel where he was renting a room. On the first meeting with the local liaison, the man had regarded Simon like he was mad for setting foot in Manbij. Not far from the truth, Simon conceded.

A dun-colored dog with short dusty hair and ribs showing through its coat trotted panting down the gutter, accompanied by a cloud of flies. One of its legs had an infected wound where it had scratched away the fur down to raw flesh, and Simon averted his eyes, the sight suddenly triggering a nausea that the abundant human misery around him hadn’t.

Which probably said much about his character, Simon thought as he neared the rendezvous. Then again, animals were easier to get along with than humans and didn’t slaughter each other out of idealism or due to religious differences.

For not the first time, the idea occurred to him that the world would be a better place if wiped clean of his species and left to the animals. He smiled at the thought and pushed it aside as he freed a chair and sat opposite his contact, a local named Amir.

“Beautiful day for it, no?” Simon asked, making conversation. “What is it, one hundred twenty degrees in the shade?” He fingered his short-sleeved white linen shirt, soaked through with sweat from a two-block walk, and scowled.

“But it’s a dry heat,” Amir replied with a sad half smile. “Tea?”

“Of course.”

Amir snapped his fingers and a boy no more than eleven ran from the doorway.

“One more for my guest,” Amir said, pointing to his own half-f cup.

Simon studied the boy’s face, already hard from exposure to so much brutality in his short life, and looked away. He didn’t know why his mind had taken to wandering so much of late, but he realized it was dangerous when he was operational. Normally he was cold and calculating in the field, but recently sights like the dog and the boy had shaken his usual unflappable demeanor, even if he succeeded in hiding it.

Deep in enemy territory, with danger at every turn, was not the place for introspection. He waited until the boy had scampered off, his bare feet so callused that the blazing concrete sidewalk had no effect on them, and leaned nearer to Amir.

“Where are we?”

Amir nodded conspiratorially. “As you requested, I made inquiries and was successful in locating that which you seek.”

“That’s great news. Where?”

“Ah, that’s the sticky part. In an undisclosed location.”

Simon frowned again. “How do we know that they have any? That they aren’t just claiming to in order to get their hands on our money?”

“There is risk in all things.”

The boy returned with Simon’s tea and made an elaborate showing of pouring a steaming stream from an ornate metal pot that looked like it could have been centuries old. When he finished, the boy offered a small bow, inquired whether they would need anything else, and then left them to their discussion.

Amir fished a package of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered it to Simon, who shook his head. Amir lit one and then brushed a fly from his neck. Simon took a tentative sip of his tea and nodded approval.

“When can we verify that they have what we’re after?” Simon asked.

“Today.”

Simon’s eyebrows rose. “So soon?”

“Time is on nobody’s side. Best for them to consummate quickly than to risk losing a customer. The situation here is fluid, with constantly shifting allegiances. You know how it is in a hot zone like this.”

Simon nodded. He did indeed. “What’s the protocol?”

He was interrupted by a senile American K-car roaring to the curb in front of the café. Two bearded men toting assault rifles spilled from the rear doors and swept the street with their weapons as a third climbed from the passenger side, his pistol trained on Simon. He barked an instruction to Amir, who slowly raised his hands over his head and stood. The gunman gestured with his gun, and Amir stepped away from Simon, his olive complexion suddenly pale.

The gunman approached the table and tossed a black cloth sack to Simon.

“Pull it over your head,” he growled.

Simon nodded slowly and did as instructed. The sack was thin enough that he could breathe, but not see through it.

Another shouted order from the man with the pistol and the pair of gunmen grabbed Simon by his arms and lifted him to his feet. Simon remained silent through it all and did what he could to cooperate as the men walked him to the car.