Ghosts of War (26 page)

S
hoshana continued obediently, and Jennifer realized she wasn't going to fight. The thought brought a blast of panic. She jerked her wire bonds sharply, trying to break them open, screaming for help. When that failed, she leapt out of her chair, falling on the ground and writhing toward the door. The Russian guarding her slapped her in the face, then pulled her upright, sitting her back in the chair. He leaned forward, and she regained her view, seeing Shoshana looking at her with pity.

Jennifer bored into her eyes and said, “Nephilim talked to me. On the radio.”

She got a response. A flicker. Jennifer continued, “He told me to tell you he wants the Pumpkin King. He wants it right
now
.”

The Russian slapped Jennifer in the face, hard enough to knock her out of the chair. Shoshana continued working the buckle.

On the ground, Jennifer felt the blood in her mouth, spit it out, and said, “Shoshana, Nephilim said you
are
the Pumpkin King.”

There was no discernable difference in the room. None that the men could see, but the world they were in shifted on its axis. Jennifer recognized it, mystified as to why, but knowing she'd finally reached her. A twisted smile spread across Shoshana's face, and the dark angel appeared, Shoshana changing in front of her eyes. A cloak of death enveloped her, and she set about doing what few on earth could.

With her right hand inside Mikhail's pants, she viciously squeezed. Mikhail screamed and flailed at her arms. She released her grip and
went at him, all elbows and sharp edges in the confining space, battering his head over and over. Mikhail fell backward and the Russian security man rose, bringing his weapon to bear. Shoshana slapped the pistol aside and hammered him in the temple. He ignored the blow, wrapping her up in his arms and bringing her to the ground.

Mikhail stumbled out of the room hunched over, his pants around his thighs, slamming the door behind him. The Russian rolled on top of Shoshana, trying to get his weapon into play. Her entire body contained within his embrace, she whipped her head forward, hammering him between his eyes with the hard mallet of her forehead, then tore into his nose with her teeth, savagely ripping.

The Russian wailed and pounded her with the butt of his pistol. Jennifer flopped over the both of them, grabbing the pistol between her bound hands. She fell backward, using her weight, and the pistol came free. She rolled over, trying for a shot without killing Shoshana.

She shouted, “Shoshana! Fall off!”

The Russian realized what was about to occur, and bear-hugged Shoshana, crushing her spine with his enormous strength. Shoshana grunted loudly, reached up with her thumbs, and plunged them into the man's eyes. He screamed and released her, bringing his hands up to his destroyed orbs. She curled her fingers at the first joint and speared his throat, crushing his larynx.

He collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain. His lungs screamed for air, but his larynx swelled with the shattering blow, cutting off his oxygen. He began wheezing, until he could no longer even do that. In seconds, he was dead.

Breathing heavily, Shoshana looked up at Jennifer, a savage smile on her face, a trickle of blood running out of the corner of her mouth. She said, “I
am
the Pumpkin King.”

Seeing the man's destroyed face, his nose hanging by gristle, both
eyes leaking fluid, Jennifer said, “I have no idea what that means. I'm just glad I didn't ask for something greater than fruit royalty. Lock the door.”

Shoshana did, right before someone rattled it to get in.

Jennifer said, “We need to get the hell out of here.”

Both of them jumped as someone on the other side began shooting into the lock. Jennifer fired three rounds through the door, ceasing the attempt at entry.

Jennifer said, “Help me with these.”

Shoshana went to work on the makeshift binds, saying, “He'll be back. Should we hunt him, or run?”

Jennifer broke the wiring to her hands and said, “Run.”

Shoshana separated the ankle bonds and said, “We should kill him. Right now.”

Jennifer saw the dark angel still there. The hatred. She said, “There's one more Russian out there with a gun. I say we take this as a win.”

Shoshana looked up at her, and the dark angel receded. “Okay, Koko. You saved my life tonight. And I will save yours.”

She turned to the window, and bullets began slamming through the door. Jennifer leapt on the bed, getting out of the line of fire. Shoshana did the same, rolling underneath the bunk. Jennifer fired three more rounds through the door, and the weapon locked open, the magazine empty. The shooting stopped from the other side.

Shoshana rolled out and grabbed the window's emergency exit lever, flipping it up and flinging the glass into the night. The air rushed in, the noise of the train exploding inside the small enclosure.

Shoshana said, “You first.”

Jennifer said, “Search that body. Get anything you can,” then exited out into the night.

She clambered up the side of the train, using the window ledge,
bolts, and seams to get to the top, the wind whipping at her, trying hard to peel her away. She pulled herself to the roof and looked below, waiting on Shoshana, the clanking noise of the wheels pounding in her ears. Shoshana appeared, clambering out the window. She was halfway to the roof when the second Russian's head popped out. He looked up, then brought his arm through, a pistol in his hand.

Jennifer shouted, and Shoshana kicked, knocking the weapon into the darkness. Shoshana climbed as fast as she could, and the man followed. Shoshana made it to the top and the man grabbed her leg. Jennifer jerked Shoshana's arms in an insane game of tug-of-war, breaking her free. They rolled on the roof of the train, the wind threatening to whip them off, the car rocking back and forth.

The man made it to the top and stood up, yelling something in Russian. Shoshana and Jennifer scrambled away. He followed, trying to run, but was reduced to a shuffle by the motion of the train.

Shoshana stood up and the man waved her forward, like a prizefighter taunting an opponent. Shoshana let loose a banshee wail and dove right at him. She hit him in the middle of the gut, knocking him backward. His eyes flew wide in shock, his arms flailing for contact to prevent the inevitable. They both hit the top of the train within inches of the edge.

He slipped over the side, holding on with one hand. Shoshana remained on top. She pounded his hand, then peeled the fingers back, and he fell screaming under the wheels.

The train kept barreling along, the wind still whistling over them. Shoshana eventually rolled over, sliding to the middle of the car. Jennifer bear-crawled to her, wrapping her in her arms.

Jennifer looked into her eyes and said, “You okay?”

Shoshana hugged her back and said, “Never better. Never.”

Jennifer laughed and said, “What about Mikhail?”

Shoshana said, “He's no threat. I saw his soul. Saw him for what
he is. He's afraid.” Shoshana let slip a smile of pure venom. “Afraid of
me
. And because of it, he's a dead man.”

The train rocked forward for a few moments, then Jennifer said, “Now what?”

Shoshana held out a cell phone she'd pulled from the man she'd killed in the cabin. She said, “Now? Now it's time for Nephilim to earn his pay. The Pumpkin King can only do so much.”

M
ikhail waited in the passageway, hearing the overloud clanking of wheels coming from the open window in the cabin but no other noise. He felt the train slowing into the second three-minute stop. He nudged the door open with his pistol, seeing a foot on the floor. He swung the bullet-riddled door wide.

The first thing he saw was the destroyed face of Pavel, the blood congealing underneath his hair. He swept the tiny cabin with his pistol and found it empty. He went to the window and looked out, wondering if the two females had simply jumped for their lives.

But if they did that, where is Adam?

He dialed Adam's number, but the phone simply rang out, going to voice mail. Mikhail looked at Pavel, and realized Adam was dead as well.
Shoshana
. He wondered if it had been as violent.

He had made a major mistake with her. He'd lost his professionalism, letting his personal feelings dictate the mission. He'd assumed he still had control over her—and he
had
. Then something had changed. He caught his reflection in the mirror, seeing the bruises forming from her attack. From her absolute savagery. She had almost ripped his dick off, and then had mutilated a former member of the Russian security services.

His choice to toy with her had been clearly ill-advised, but she'd been subservient when he'd seen her. The Shoshana of his past. The one who had obsequiously let herself be used, over and over again. The one who had recognized him as the master. The role reversal was shocking, not the least because he was now the one in fear.

He had sent Adam into the room alone, saying he would provide cover for any train officials who attempted to interfere, but that had been a lie. He had been afraid to go in. Afraid of Shoshana's capabilities. She had looked at him with a hatred that bordered on the supernatural, and he had felt her penetrating his soul. And then she had set about destroying everyone he'd brought with him.

It induced a deep-rooted terror he had never experienced in all his years working in the blackness of his profession, and he despised it. He had killed many men who thought they were better than him, but they had all been human.

Shoshana was not.

He felt the train stop and realized the first thing he needed to do was get the hell off. Get lost into the landscape, before whatever hit team was tracking him managed to reacquire him. Not to mention get the hell away from the bloodbath before the lax authorities on the train discovered it. The noise of the wheels had overshadowed the gunfight, but it was only a matter of time before a conductor came through.

Which brought up another problem: He'd have to resort to using his real passport for travel. The one that had purchased this ticket was definitely burned, and he was out of alias documents.

At the very least, he'd managed to break up their surveillance of him. The action had been an unmitigated disaster, but he was fairly sure they had no idea where he was going. If they had, they'd have simply waited at the far end instead of boarding early.

No, they knew he was on the train, but that was about it. If he disappeared now, he could regain the initiative.

Initiative for what, though?
Continuing the mission, or fleeing the continent?

He flicked off the lights in the cabin, then peeked out the gaping hole where the window used to be. The train was stopped at a concrete open-air platform with a long roof spanning the length, the cars
themselves only inches away from both. His cabin was in the front, off the platform. Below him was dimly lit track. To his right, the locomotive.

Did the engineers in front have rearview mirrors? If he left now, would they see him? He decided to wait. It was only a three-minute stop.

He saw the conductor wandering the platform, then glance above him, rotating around trying to see between the sliver of air between the roof of the train and the roof of the station. He stared for a second, then shook his head, waving to the engine and boarding the train. The wheels began to move.

The train picked up speed rapidly. Mikhail waited until the car had rolled about four meters before leaping out the window. He hit the slope on his feet, rolled, then scampered quickly into the shadows as the cars went past.

He waited until all the cars were gone before moving again, ensuring he wasn't spotted by an insomniac rider gazing out the window.

With the end of the train receding in the distance, he stayed low, only exposing himself to get over a chain-link fence. He circled around the small train station, reaching a car lot with a sprinkling of vehicles parked randomly. He saw a flash of headlights enter the lot and slammed up behind a Dumpster, waiting on them to disappear.

He thought again about his problem, wondering if he should just flee, run back to Israel. But that would be a problem in and of itself. Shoshana was Israeli. She knew who he was, and she was still Mossad—he was sure of it. And the American on the team worried him. If the United States had paired up with Israel to track him, it would prove a formidable combination. But why would the Americans care about a gold shipment from the Holocaust? Was there something about that chest that Simon had kept from him?

The Israeli connection he could manage, but the American interest was a serious concern, and it dictated his decision.

He peeked around the trash container and saw a minivan waiting on a passenger. Soon enough, the headlights washed over the ground as it left. In the darkness, he made his choice.

America was interested in him because they had that luxury. They had the ability to dedicate assets to chasing him. It was time for them to become interested in something else. Something that would consume their ability to chase thieves from a small-time gold heist.

Something like Putin and World War III.