Jet (20 page)

“We’re part of a construction crew. Pouring a foundation today.”

The officer looked skyward. “Maybe not, if it rains again.”

“The boss said it’s forecast to clear,” Jet offered.

“Hope for your sake he’s right. Where are you coming from?” the cop asked.

“Lipetsk.”

“Your van says Moscow.”

“That’s where the company’s headquartered,” Yulia explained. “We’ve got projects all over.”

“Yeah? What do you do?”

“We’re structural engineers.”

The man nodded and looked to his comrades. Yulia dared a quiet sigh of relief, and then the silence was broken by a sneeze from the back of the van. The officer’s head swiveled back to her, his eyes suddenly wary. “Who’s back there?”

“Laborers. We’re bringing replacements for the project.”

The cop stepped away, his hand on his holstered pistol, and pointed to the side of the road. “Pull over there and let’s have a look.”

“Sure. No problem,” Yulia said, her voice relaxed but her movements tight as she put the van in gear. She rolled forward onto the gravel shoulder and whispered to Jet, “Now what?”

“Everybody stay calm. You know the story. Stick to it. We can do this,” Jet replied, but her right hand was already in her pocket, touching the pistol there.

The weapon had been another bone of contention on the trip, Mikhail and Taras annoyed that she was holding onto it, and Yulia trying to keep the peace. Jet didn’t much care what anyone thought – she wasn’t handing over the only weapon to anyone, especially not a bunch of amateurs. The Ukrainians might have seen a few firefights, but they had no training, and from what Jet could tell, precious little discipline. Throw a gun into that mix, and it was a recipe for disaster.

Two of the four police by the SUVs joined the one who’d ordered the van to the roadside, and they approached the vehicle as a group. Jet noted that the one with the submachine gun wasn’t holding it like he was ready to use it, which boded well. The cops were probably sleepy and sick of the lonely duty out in the middle of nowhere – another pointless exercise in a long career of nothing happening, she guessed.

“Step out of the van, shut the engine off, and open the back,” the cop instructed Yulia.

She frowned. “Can I leave the engine running? It might not start again. You can see how old this relic is. I don’t want to get stranded here…”

The cop looked confused and then nodded. “That’s fine. But open up the back.” He looked at Jet. “You too. Out of the van.”

“Why me?” Jet asked. “It’s freezing.”

The cop’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to say it again.”

“Okay, okay. I was just asking.”

Jet saw the other two officers share smiles behind the speaker’s back, telling her that this was routine, and the main cop was just busting Yulia’s chops for lack of anything better to do. She wished she could communicate her observation to the men in the back, but there was no opportunity, and she prayed they remained calm.

Yulia moved to the rear of the van with the cops and opened the cargo doors. The police eyed the fatigued faces of the uniformed Ukrainians, and the main officer turned to Yulia. “Papers?”

“Let me see if they gave us any for them,” she said. “You know how it is. Everyone’s in a hurry, but nobody wants to do the work.”

The cop followed her to the passenger side so she could look through the glove compartment for documentation that didn’t exist, and Jet beamed a friendly smile at the two young officers, hoping they didn’t notice that her hand never left her bulging pocket. She shivered and shifted from foot to foot, ostensibly to keep warm, but in reality to keep the officer who was with Yulia in sight.

“Colder than hell, isn’t it?” she muttered, and one of the police nodded. Jet was hopeful that they’d allow them to continue, and then Yulia reappeared with the other cop.

“Figures they forgot to give me the docs,” Yulia said. “Oh, well. You can see we all work for the same outfit. It’s a company vehicle.”

“That may be, but we need to check it. Everyone out of the van. Now,” the cop ordered.

“Seriously? There’s nothing in here. You can see from here,” Yulia complained.

“Out.”

“You heard him,” Yulia said, and the men scrambled from the cargo bed. Jet pretended to watch them climb from the vehicle, but her eyes were on the police, and when she saw one of them bring his weapon to bear on the van as Mikhail stepped out, his face rigid and his body language radiating fear, she knew they wouldn’t be able to bluff their way any longer.

She whipped the little pistol from her pocket and fired at the main cop from point-blank range. The slug caught him in the throat and he gurgled a scream as he went down, and Jet was already shooting at the other two before he hit the ground. Her rounds struck them as they fumbled with their weapons, and they dropped their guns as they tumbled backward.

The night exploded with the percussive chatter of the second submachine gun from the SUVs, and Jet threw herself to the side as Yulia answered the shooting with a volley of her own, using the downed cop’s pistol she’d clawed loose from his dying grip. Bullets ricocheted off the gravel near Jet, and one of the Ukrainians screamed, hit. Jet crawled to where the cop with the submachine gun lay and freed his weapon. She felt for spare magazines and found two, and then ducked lower as slugs slammed into the ground around her. She emptied her pistol at the shooters and tossed the useless gun aside. The firing stopped for a moment, and she rolled behind the van and then jumped to her feet and sprinted for the driver’s seat as the shooting behind her resumed.

“Come on. Move it,” she cried as she slid behind the wheel and felt the van rock as the men leapt aboard. She fired a stream of slugs with the submachine gun at the police, emptying the magazine in a couple of seconds as she bought Yulia time. Bullets thumped into the side of the vehicle and someone grunted in the bed. Yulia continued firing at the cops from the rear doors, and Jet waited as long as she dared before pulling away. Yulia threw herself into the back as the van began accelerating, and then they were on the road, past the SUVs, the orange blossoms of muzzle flashes lighting the night behind them.

“Stop the van!” Mikhail cried from the rear after they’d rounded a series of curves.

“Not a chance,” Jet growled, intent on the road in front of them.

“It’s Vlad. He’s…bad.”

“There’s nothing we can do for him,” Jet said. “We have to keep moving or we’re all dead meat.”

“Sandra, stop. It’s not just Vlad.”

Something in Yulia’s voice gave Jet pause, and she bit back a sharp response as she pulled over. “What is it?” Jet demanded, twisting in the driver’s seat.

“Taras. We left him back there.”

“And?”

“He was wounded,” Mikhail said. “In the leg.”

“Damn,” Yulia said, holding Vlad’s head in her lap. She closed his eyes with a trembling hand and looked up at Jet. “He’s dead.”

Jet ejected the spent magazine from the submachine gun and slapped another into place. “I’m sorry he didn’t make it, but there’s nothing we can do except head for the border.”

“No. Taras’s been with me since the very beginning. We can’t leave him. I won’t do that with one of my men.”

“That’s very noble, but we can’t go back,” Jet countered.

“We’re going to.”

“Not with me, you’re not.”

“Sandra, think this through. We can’t outrun a radio. We have to go back, now, and finish the job, or we’ll never make it to the border.”

“They’ll already have called for help.”

“Maybe. But we can’t know for sure. What I do know is that Taras is the closest thing to a brother I have, and I’m not going to leave my family in Russian hands. If you won’t help me, give me the gun and I’ll do it with my men. I’m not afraid.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with fear, Yulia. It has to do with there being no chance of success.”

“Then wait here and we’ll try it alone,” Mikhail sneered. “We don’t need you.”

“Yes, you’re doing a fine job so far,” Jet said. She looked back to Yulia, and Jet’s eyes widened when she spotted the pistol in Yulia’s hand, pointed at her back.

“I can’t leave you here, Sandra. You’re either with us…or against us.”

“You’re going to shoot me?”

“Of course not. But if you’re not going to help, give me the keys.”

“You have no chance.”

Yulia’s voice softened. “Please, Sandra. Help me. It doesn’t have to be like this. We both know if we move fast enough, we might be able to make it.”

Jet closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, her jaw was set. “Fine. But we only have two loaded guns. So just you and me.”

Mikhail began to protest, but Yulia cut him off. “Sandra, see if you can get the van further off the road where it won’t be spotted.”

Jet pulled forward and across the hard ground until the van was hidden behind a grove of trees. When she shut off the engine, her pulse was throbbing in her ears. “All right. Let’s do this.” She gave Yulia a dark look. “He’d better be worth it.”

“I don’t leave men behind. Not when there’s a chance.”

Jet didn’t argue, it being more than obvious that Yulia was determined to return regardless of the risk. They crept through the trees, the light of the moon faint through the remnants of the storm, a light ground fog drifting between the trunks, muffling their steps. They moved cautiously through the woods, parallel to the road, pausing occasionally to listen for approaching engines, sticking to the tree line until they saw the SUV lights.

“They’re waiting for backup,” Yulia whispered. “But we’re a decent distance from the nearest town. I figured they’d stay put.”

Jet frowned. “You realize that every second we’re standing here is time we could be using to get to the border, right? That even if by some miracle we’re able to overcome the police and rescue Taras, our chances of making it with a wounded man are somewhere between slim and none?”

“You don’t understand. He knows too much. He can’t remain in Russian hands.”

“He was just in them.”

“That was one of the reasons we had to escape quickly. Before anyone talked.”

Jet fixed her with a hard stare. “How do you know he didn’t?”

She looked away. “Because he’s still alive.”

Yulia inched closer to the SUV and Jet followed her, the trees providing adequate cover but insufficient for them to get within close range. They could just make out the silhouettes of the cops as they neared, and then Yulia drew in a sharp breath.

“They’ve got Taras leaned up against the truck.”

Jet peered at the vehicles and nodded. “I see him. But it’s going to be impossible to sneak up on them unless–”

Yulia was already in motion, making for the two officers. Jet cursed under her breath and moved to provide cover fire, and then a siren’s whoop split the air and emergency lights strobed from around the bend in the road. Yulia stopped, startled by the approaching police vehicle, and retraced her steps, running in a crouch to where Jet lay on the ground, trying to present the smallest possible target.

Yulia reached her as the new arrival screeched to a stop and two more cops leapt from the squad car. Jet leaned into her and hissed a warning. “Yulia, it’s over. Let’s get out of here.”

She glared at Jet as though she was to blame, and then held out her hand. “Give me the gun.”

“No. It’s suicide, Yulia.”

Yulia shook her head. “Not to rush them. I need to finish Taras. He can’t be taken alive. There’s too much at stake.”

Jet studied the Ukrainian woman’s face, the hard line of her jaw, the tear tracing its way down her cheek as she wiped away a wisp of hair. “How good a shot are you?” Jet asked, eyeing the submachine gun. “They’re about at the limit of this thing’s accuracy.”

Yulia didn’t flinch. “Good enough.”

Jet handed her the gun with misgivings and watched her squint down the sights, confirming to Jet that she didn’t have much familiarity with the weapon. Yulia’s finger moved through the trigger guard as she gripped the gun too tightly, and then she lowered the barrel. “It’s too far.”

“No, it isn’t. I can make the shot. But you’re sure about this? There’s no going back.”

Yulia handed her the weapon with a curt nod. “Just do it.”

Jet focused her attention on the police and waited until she had a decent opening before squeezing off three controlled bursts. The first went wide and hit the side of the SUV near Taras, but several of the second and third salvos slammed into him, as well as cutting the legs from beneath one of the cops.

Jet and Yulia were up and running in a flash as the police opened fire. They ducked and weaved as they tore through the trees, pushing themselves as hard as they could, moving erratically as slugs whistled around them. The bark of gunfire continued from the SUVs until it was faintly audible in their ringing ears, and then they were clear of the shooting, running wordlessly through the forest.

After several minutes, Jet whispered to Yulia to stop, and they froze in place. A flashlight beam flickered behind them, and Jet pointed away from the road. Their best bet was to lead the chase well away from the van, in hopes that the police would give up once they were too far from the relative safety of their vehicles. Yulia signaled understanding and followed Jet, the only sound the pounding of their shoes and their ragged breathing as they vanished into the darkness.

Manbij, Syria

Simon sat in his hotel room. The exchange had gone without a hitch, the terrorists pleased to trade the missiles for a fistful of American cash. His local contacts had picked up the ball from there, and the weapons were now on their way to their ultimate destination, and Simon’s job in Syria was finished.

A ceiling fan orbited slowly overhead as he sipped from his bottle of purified water, the air conditioner predictably out of commission, blowing a tepid stream of humidity around the room. Par for the course, he thought bitterly and wondered for the thousandth time whether this would be his final field outing, the adrenaline in his system having been replaced by the usual post-operative melancholy.