Jet (16 page)

Amir watched from the café doorway as the assailants pushed Simon into the backseat and climbed in beside him. The man with the pistol leveled it at the boy and snarled a warning to tell no one what had transpired. The boy nodded, his face a blank, and the gunman slipped his weapon back into his belt and moved to the car, eyes scanning the street.

The old car’s unmuffled exhaust roared, and the sedan pulled away in a cloud of beige dust, leaving Amir and his young companion staring at its rear bumper devoid of a license plate. Amir lowered his hands and reached into his pocket for his phone. He handed the child a few coins and then made his way back down the street, speaking softly into the phone, his voice tight as he rounded the corner and disappeared, leaving the sidewalk to the boy and the flies.

Moscow, Russia

The prisoners gave Jet a wide berth when she came back to the common holding cell, her exploits of the prior day having established her as the last person in the area to be trifled with. If the three women she’d laid out had allies bent upon retribution, they kept their intentions well hidden, and when Yulia approached her in the afternoon, they had a quiet corner to themselves.

“Any word?” Jet asked without preamble.

“The head of security sent a guard over to the kitchen during the lunch prep. We’re on for tonight. We’ll be pulled from here after dinner and walked over to the men’s side. So all good on that end,” Yulia whispered, but something about her tone gave Jet pause.

“What about the guards you bribed? Are they on board?”

“They haven’t shown up for work yet. But I’m sure it will all be fine.”

“What if it isn’t? That would be a pretty major change in the plan.”

“Let me worry about that.” Yulia paused. “I got word to my men, so they’re ready.”

“Right, but if we aren’t sure that your guards will come through, it doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re going to have a major problem.”

“I told you not to sweat it. I know what I’m doing. They received a lot of money.”

Jet dropped the subject. They were committed to their course, so there was no point in agonizing over hypotheticals. If Yulia didn’t perform, they’d have to improvise, and as much as Jet hated doing so, that was no worse than any of the alternatives she’d come up with while in solitary. Depending on the security, there might be opportunity – the last thing crooked guards pimping out prisoners would be expecting was for their captives to go on the offensive, especially if drugs and alcohol were involved, which Yulia had intimated would be the case.

“Any problems with the three who attacked you?” Jet asked.

“Not that I’ve heard. Two are still in the infirmary and the third was switched to a different cell. But the fight was all anyone was talking about today. You’ve become a legend here in your first twenty-four hours.”

“So much for keeping a low profile.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Yulia agreed. “I sent word to my people on the outside about it being definitely on for tonight, but I haven’t heard back yet.”

“That doesn’t trouble you?”

“Not really. From their standpoint, it shouldn’t matter. Our change inside the prison doesn’t alter that we’ll be out tonight, which is where they’ll come into play.”

“How reliable are these people – who exactly are they?”

Yulia looked around to ensure nobody was within earshot. “They came up with the money, didn’t they? I’m satisfied they’ll come through.” Yulia gave Jet a smile. “The guards will come for us after dinner. We’re to have a little fight with each other, and they’ll take us to solitary, like they did with you yesterday. Just don’t kill me, okay?”

“I think I can manage that.”

“All right. I have to start the evening mess shift in a few minutes. I’ll see you after we eat. Wait until everyone’s back in the cell and then I’ll start an argument with you. They’ll be watching for it, so it shouldn’t take too long for them to intervene.”

Dinner was another bowl of nauseating slop, and Jet only nibbled at it. Yulia stayed on the far side of the cafeteria, and nobody else sat near Jet while she ate. She caught the sidelong glances from a few prisoners, but that was to be expected from the cell block gossip, and she didn’t read anything into it.

After the shuffle back to the cell, one of the guards lingered by the door, and Yulia came at her right on cue.

“I told you to stay away from my shit!” she yelled, and made to pull Jet’s hair.

Jet fumbled a block and they went down in a tumble as the other inmates encircled them with enthusiastic cries. But unlike the prior evening, the guards broke up the ruckus in seconds and separated Jet and Yulia moments later.

“You two are going to solitary,” one of them announced. “You know the rules.”

“She started it,” Yulia protested.

“I’m finishing it. Shut your trap or you’ll regret it,” the guard closest to Yulia threatened with a wave of her truncheon. “Let’s go. Move. Both of you.”

The guards led them to the men’s side of the prison, and once in the solitary wing, Yulia’s face stiffened when two male guards met their female counterparts and took custody of them before leading them to a cell.

“You’ll wait in here. The customers will be here soon, and then it’s showtime,” one of them said, directing Jet and Yulia through the doorway.

“Wait. We still need to know what we’re being paid,” Yulia said. “Where’s the boss?”

“He couldn’t make it. You’ll get whatever he decides to pay you. Got a problem with that?”

“I do,” Jet said. “I’m not going to do anything if I don’t know the rate.”

The guard neared her and tapped her chin with his truncheon. “Got some spirit, don’t you? Look, here’s how this works: you cooperate, or I beat you to a bloody pulp. I don’t have time to play games. So what’s it going to be?”

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“That’s the only deal you’re being offered. Whenever the boss gets here, you can take it up with him. But it’s not my job to negotiate with a pair of whores, so either get in the cell, or I’ll drag you in there by the hair after pounding your faces so hard your own mothers wouldn’t recognize you.”

Yulia backed away from the guards and into the cell, and Jet followed. When the door slammed shut, Jet turned to the Ukrainian. “What the hell’s going on, Yulia?”

Yulia appeared crestfallen. “I…I don’t know. These aren’t our guards.”

“I gathered that. What happened? Or more importantly, what do we do now?”

“I told you. They’re supposed to leave the door to our cell open, and then my men down in the common area will start a fight. More will join in, and soon it’ll be a riot. We’ll slip out along with a bunch of the other prisoners. By the time the guards can get the facility under control, we’ll be long gone – and it will be hours, if not days, before they’re able to figure out who’s missing.”

“No part of that had us turning tricks for a pair of miscreants because your guards decided to take the day off.”

“Something must have happened. They’ve already been paid. Maybe they’re just late?”

“Are you starting to understand that ‘maybe’ isn’t a very good answer?” Jet asked. “If they don’t get here soon, we’re going to have no choice but to…”

Yulia paced the length of the small cell, pausing to consider the filthy waste hole before returning and trying the door.

Locked.

She sat down beside Jet and exhaled loudly. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Forgive me if I don’t sound reassured. I get that way when a scumbag threatens to pound my face into hamburger unless I allow myself to be raped repeatedly.”

Silence settled over them as the ugly reality of their predicament poisoned the air. When a massive boom of thunder echoed beyond the walls, Yulia jumped like she’d been shocked with a cattle prod and resumed pacing. Jet sat motionless, saving her energy to extricate herself from what was to come, her worst fears about the amateur woman’s plan now an ugly reality.

Tynda, Amur Oblast, Russia

A scattering of stars twinkled in the night sky as a pair of headlights bounced southeast on the M56 highway stretching from Siberia, the unpaved road connecting a string of small towns that had been originally construction depots for the trans-Siberian railway. An overloaded tractor trailer, its truck motor groaning in low gear as it labored up a slope, crawled along toward the township of Tynda a few kilometers further down the road. It slowed as it neared a dimly lit building by an airstrip, and Valery, the driver, stubbed out his hand-rolled cigarette and muttered to his companion in the passenger seat.

“There’s our fuel stop.”

Anatoly, the slumbering passenger, jolted awake and rubbed his face. His eyes were swollen and red, and his sweat was tinged with the acrid smell of alcohol. “Jesus. Why’d you have to wake me?”

“I figured you might as well do something besides take up space.”

“Bastard.”

“Stop whining like a peasant girl.”

“You just want me to deal with it so you don’t freeze your balls off.”

“I figure your blood is still about forty proof after all the vodka you drank last night, so you won’t even feel the cold. Like antifreeze in your veins.”

Anatoly glared through the window at the darkness. “As sensible a measure as any in this wilderness.”

“Just fill the tanks and earn your pay.”

The truck rumbled to a stop in front of a two-story wooden building, the paint on its façade peeled off from the wind and snow, and Anatoly reluctantly crawled from the warmth of the cabin and approached the front door, where a handwritten sign advertised diesel fuel available. He knocked on the door as Valery dropped from the cab to stretch his legs and relieve himself out of sight of the road.

The building remained dark, and Anatoly knocked again, with the same result – no answer. His breath steamed from his mouth and he cursed Valery for waking him. He pounded on the door a final time and listened for any sign of life inside before giving up. The proprietor was probably in town, having a drink rather than sitting on a stretch of deserted road, hoping a customer came along. Only a madman would be out after dark, when a breakdown could mean disaster and a slow death from the elements.

A pair of headlights illuminated the building as a pickup truck swung off the highway and into the lot. Anatoly squinted in the gloom and his pulse quickened at the markings of the municipal police that adorned both doors. The police vehicle coasted to a stop near the truck. A burly officer stepped from the passenger side and called out to Anatoly.

“Help you with something?”

“Oh, no, officer. We saw the sign and stopped, but nobody’s here.”

“It’s hit or miss after dark. You out of fuel?”

“No. Just wanted to top up. You know – better safe and all that.”

Something about Anatoly’s tone or demeanor didn’t settle well with the cop because rather than getting back into the vehicle, he moved closer to the trailer. He looked Anatoly up and down and then shifted his gaze to the truck. “Where are you coming from?” he asked.

“Up north,” Anatoly said, the vague answer the best his groggy, booze-soaked brain could manage. He couldn’t tell the truth – that they were coming from a military base where they’d picked up a shipment of guns and ammunition stolen from the army.

“What are you carrying?”

“Construction supplies,” Anatoly said. “Machinery, that sort of thing.”

“You have a manifest for it all?”

“Somewhere in the cabin. Why? We just stopped for fuel. We haven’t done anything wrong, have we?”

The officer’s eyes narrowed. “You keep saying we.”

“Oh. Yeah. My buddy’s driving.”

“Your buddy. Where is he? I don’t see him in the truck,” the cop said, glancing up at the cab.

“I don’t know. Where’s the next fuel stop? In town?”

“Should be a place open.” The officer eyed Anatoly. “Let’s have a look at your cargo.”

“I don’t understand.”

The cop looked over his shoulder at his partner behind the wheel of the pickup and then back at Anatoly. “We’ve had reports of truckers carrying contraband on this road. Now open the back of the truck, no arguments.”

Anatoly stepped away from the building. He understood what was happening too clearly. The locals were trying to figure a way to fatten their wallets. They’d find some irregularity or invent one, and it would cost a small toll to convince them to overlook it. The petty corruption was pervasive in Russia, but it still annoyed Anatoly that their take was going to be lightened by some local scammers.

“We’re in a hurry to get home. Surely we can work something out so we aren’t delayed…”

The cop’s meaty face broke into a grin. “Let’s see what you’ve got, and then we can discuss it.”

Valery stepped from the darkness. “What’s going on?”

The cop turned to him. “Inspection. Open up.”

Valery shrugged and moved to the rear of the trailer as the second cop climbed from the pickup truck and joined them. Valery felt in his pants pocket for his keys and unclasped the padlock, and then lifted the locking bolt and swung it wide.

The cops shined their flashlights inside the container. The beams reflected off sacks of plaster, cement mixers crusted with dried material, and sundry pumps and gears stacked in the rear, the cache of weapons out of sight behind a false wall that wouldn’t be detected in this sort of cursory inspection. Valery watched the pair of cops calculate the likely paltry value of the odds and ends in the trailer with an amused smile on his face.

Which froze when the second cop’s light steadied on the base of the false wall, where the sacks that had been stacked against it had shifted. The man didn’t say anything, just clamped his light between his teeth and hoisted himself into the trailer.

Anatoly watched with growing alarm as the officer made straight for the gap by the wall base and knelt to inspect the area, and then knocked against it with his flashlight handle. When he turned to face them, his face was unreadable.

“What’s in the compartment?” he asked.

“More of the same. This used to be a refrigeration trailer about a hundred years ago. That’s why the wall,” Valery said, his tone bored.