Jet (23 page)

He’d finally touched down an hour ago, and Rudolf was dreading the call he would soon make. That Leo would be furious went without saying. That any of the events since he’d left the woman at the jail were Rudolf’s fault wouldn’t matter, at least not initially.

Rudolf read the report that had been waiting on his desk a final time, searching for any kernel of good news but finding none. The woman had escaped from the prison and dropped off the radar. After having seen her in action at the Kosovo airport, Rudolf knew that a professional of her caliber would stay gone now that she was on alert, so any assurances he gave Leo of picking up her trail would be hollow, which they’d both know.

He lifted his cell phone to his ear and dialed Leo’s number.

“Good morning,” Leo said, sounding alert and rested in spite of the hour.

Rudolf wasted no time with pleasantries. “We’ve had an unfortunate development with the woman.”

“She’s dead?”

“Worse. As you know, we had her on ice at a sympathetic facility awaiting your return.” Rudolf paused. “Last night there was a riot at the prison. It looks like she was one of a handful of prisoners who escaped.”

The news was met with silence and then the expected explosion. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You charge me a small fortune, we actually have her in our hands, and you pick the one facility in the entire country that has a prison riot during the forty-eight hours she’s there?”

“Obviously, that wasn’t part of the selection criteria. There’s never been an escape from this prison. This is the first incidence.”

Rudolf knew Leo well enough to be able to tell that he was struggling to keep calm. “So we were just lucky? Tell me again why we had her there instead of in the basement of an abandoned building?”

“The extradition. It was delicate. I needed to make her disappear within the system.”

“I’d say you did a little too thorough a job.” Leo swore, a colorful curse that involved Rudolf’s mother and a dog. “Do we have any leads?”

“We’re still gathering data as it comes in. This was only discovered a few hours ago. The prison was on lockdown and there was no clear indication that anyone had escaped. Nine guards and twelve inmates died, and a score were injured. You can imagine the chaos that caused.”

When Leo spoke again, his voice was dangerously quiet. “I want her, Rudolf.”

“As I’m well aware. The problem I face is that, because of the riot, uncomfortable questions are being asked about her. The paperwork I planted in the system is being reviewed with considerable vigor. I’ve already received a warning that it will get worse, so I’m somewhat limited on how many favors I can call in. That said, I have our network with the local police notified, and will get a report as soon as something material occurs.” The jargon sounded empty to Rudolf’s ear, and he hoped that Leo wouldn’t explode again.

Leo didn’t say anything. Rudolf could hear him breathing heavily, and gave him time. Eventually Leo came back on the line, his tone businesslike, the prior unusual emotion in it gone.

“What about the shipment to Novorossiysk?”

“En route, with no problems.” Rudolf didn’t tell him about the hitch with the local police in Siberia – the truck was a world away by now.

“It will make it in time?”

“Guaranteed.”

“And security?”

Rudolf was in charge of Leo’s protection during the cocktail reception and ground-breaking ceremony. “As we discussed. I have paid off the appropriate parties at the port – we’ll have that wharf to ourselves. The Africans won’t be searched, and the patrols will be in other areas of the waterfront, so we’ll have complete privacy.” Rudolf hesitated. “Do you expect trouble?”

“No. It’s a straightforward transaction. We collect the stones and hand them over to our American colleagues. The Africans load an extra container onto their boat. There’s nothing to go wrong, as long as you keep the customs officials and the port authority out of our hair.”

“It’s as good as done.”

“Which is what you assured me about the woman.”

“As you know, this is markedly different.” Rudolf had handled countless similarly sensitive transactions for Leo before and had performed every time.

Leo sighed. “Spare no expense in finding her. She can’t get far. She has no papers. No money. She’s alone in Moscow – our city.”

“I’m hopeful that she’ll be caught shortly. But as I said, we only just were notified, so she’s had some lead time. Rest assured that I’m doing everything to locate her.”

“Somebody at the prison had to be in on it. I want answers, Rudi.”

“You shall have them as soon as I do.”

“Very well. I’ll be in the office all day. Call me with updates.”

The line went dead, and Rudolf stared at the phone for a long moment before slipping it back into his shirt pocket. Leo’s abrupt about-face on the woman was troubling. He hoped it didn’t signal a shift in their relationship. While Rudolf provided highly specialized services for Leo, there were other, equally skilled competitors who would love the opportunity to step in and take the business away. He didn’t kid himself that their history together would count for much if Leo decided to sever all ties over the woman.

He didn’t think it would come to that, but there was always a risk.

Rudolf leaned forward and tapped at his keyboard to broaden the search criteria he’d used, looking for anything unusual on the military comm networks as well as the police. While he waited, he pulled up the names and jackets of the other prisoners the warden believed had escaped along with the woman. His pulse increased as he read their histories, and by the time he was finished, the seemingly random bad luck of the prison break had taken on more ominous shades.

His mind processed furiously, searching for any connection between pro-Ukrainian nationalists and the woman who’d killed Leo’s brother. There was nothing he could see, but that only meant that he’d scratched the surface. The truth was that they knew precious little about her except what the Americans had shared, which was virtually nothing besides that she kept company with one of their black sheep.

Could she be somehow involved in a double cross? Could the Americans? He didn’t trust them, just on principle, but this smacked of a CIA setup. Could her escape have been part of their plan all along?

Each question prompted ten more, and he sat at his desk, spinning scenarios, trying on various possibilities before discarding them in favor of more likely explanations. So preoccupied was he that he nearly missed the bulletin from near Kursk, about a bloodbath involving a number of local police who’d been manning a checkpoint designed to limit organized smuggling activity in the area.

He pulled up a map and did a quick measurement, and then tapped in more commands. One of the attackers had been killed, and his prints were being run. Rudolf stared at the screen. It could be nothing. Or everything. Kursk was close to Ukraine. The prisoners had been arrested trying to buy weapons for Ukraine.

Rudolf didn’t believe in coincidences, and he was already reaching for his landline when the system delivered a match on the dead assailant from the roadblock massacre. Taras Shumenko.

Until last night, newly imprisoned only a few kilometers from Leo’s office.

“I can’t believe they cut and ran,” Yulia said for the fifth time since she and Jet had discovered the farmhouse empty and the submachine gun along with many of the supplies gone. “They’ve always been completely loyal.”

“Nothing we can do about it now,” Jet said, leading her from the farmhouse to the barn. “Except get the hell out of here. There’s every chance they get caught – in which case, we’re next.”

“They’d never talk.”

“I’m not going to bet my life on it.”

Jet pushed against the heavy wooden barn door with her shoulder, but barely budged it. Yulia added her muscle to the effort, and between the two of them they were able to shift it to the side. Jet flicked on her penlight and did a slow sweep of the interior. Yulia’s nose wrinkled at the stale odor of rot. “I hate that smell. I grew up on a farm. Lots of bad memories.”

Jet’s beam hovered over a shape in the far corner and she stepped further into the barn. She moved toward it while Yulia waited by the door. After a few moments, Jet called out to her. “Let’s see if this thing runs.”

Jet was standing beside an ancient tractor, easily twice her age, the body as much rust as metal and the huge knobby tires worn almost flat from years of hard use. Yulia took several reluctant steps in and switched on her light. “That? Are you kidding?”

“Right now anything that can get us over these fields faster than our feet is worth considering. The roads aren’t safe. They’ll probably shut them down by dawn if they haven’t already. Barring our finding a pair of dirt bikes, this is our best option.” Jet beckoned her over. “Can you come here and hold the light while I prime the injectors? Looks like a diesel to me.”

“I wouldn’t know the difference.”

Yulia did as asked, though, and a few minutes later the tractor clattered to life, its throaty exhaust a percussive boom in the barn. Jet confirmed that the fuel tank was full, pulled Yulia up onto the bench seat, and wrestled the gear shift until the heavy vehicle lumbered forward.

Jet steered the tractor outside and checked the time. “We’ve got about an hour, maybe a little more. The road runs east to west. We want to go south. If I’m right, it’s…that way,” she said, pointing toward a section of the field.

“You really think we can make it on this?”

Jet shook her head. “No. But if we can cover a few kilometers by the time every road around here is crawling with police and military, I’ll consider it a win.”

The tractor rumbled over the dirt clods and pushed deliberately forward, never going much over twenty kilometers per hour even on the smooth sections of tall grass between the planted fields. The first rose streaks of dawn were lighting the eastern sky when they arrived at an impassible barrier – a stretch of brown water moving lazily south.

Jet killed the engine and they dismounted. They made their way down the bank to where three old wooden boats were pulled onto the slope, and Yulia helped Jet push the sturdiest-looking into the current. They were halfway across, Jet pulling on the oars, when a faint howl drifted from over the crest of the far grassy bank.

Jet pulled harder, rowing with all her might, and when the bow scraped against the riverbed, stood and jumped clear of the water. Yulia duplicated the maneuver, and they scrambled up the riparian incline.

“You heard that, right?” Jet whispered, gazing across the field.

“Yes. Sounded like a train.”

“You know this area. Do they have tracks that feed into your country?”

Yulia closed her eyes as if consulting a mental map. When she opened them, they were unblinking and lucid. “Yes. Much of our commerce arrives from Russia via train.”

“Then come on. It hasn’t passed yet. We may be able to get aboard.”

Jet took off at a hard run, and Yulia did her best to keep up. They skimmed through the tall grass with renewed vitality, the only sound a moderate wind blowing undulating waves across the plain. They were nearing the tracks when Yulia stumbled and cried out. Jet stopped and looked back at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I twisted my ankle.” Yulia struggled to her feet, her face contorted with pain and anger.

Jet moved to Yulia and slid her arm beneath the Ukrainian woman’s, supporting her weight. “Think you’ll be able to muster a final burst if we have to pour it on to make the ride?” Jet asked.

“I’ll cut my own leg off with that pocketknife if I have to.”

They hobbled the remaining distance as a long freight train snaked into view. Jet crouched low as the cars roared past, Yulia beside her, and counted what appeared to be at least a hundred freight containers down the line. She leaned into Yulia and yelled over the hammering of the steel wheels on the track. “Looks like we should be able to get onto one of the last cars. It’s not moving very fast. You up for this?”

Yulia nodded. “Try stopping me.” A thought occurred to her. “What if it’s not going to the border?”

Jet glanced at the time. “Only one way to know for sure. Any idea what the next town south of Kursk is?”

Yulia frowned. “Probably Belgorod. It’s pretty close to the border. There’s not a lot between Kursk and Belgorod – mainly little farming communities.”

“That’s good. It means there won’t be inspections, if we’re lucky.” Jet indicated the last rail cars. “Ready? Let’s shoot for that last flat car, and once we’re aboard, we can make our way forward to one of the enclosed freight containers.”

They stood and approached the train and, after an agonizing jog alongside, were both lying on the platform as dawn broke over the valley. “That was the hard part,” Jet said, and pushed herself up before helping Yulia to her feet. “That next car looks promising.”

They navigated the swaying flat railcar, and Jet jumped to the next one. “Stay there. I’ll see if we can get in,” she called, and then moved to the rear panel of the container and tried it. The steel frame didn’t move, and after two more attempts, she returned to where Yulia stood. “There are rungs leading up to the roof. Doesn’t look like we can get in, but if we climb up, nobody will be able to see us from the ground as long as we keep down.”

“I can climb,” Yulia said with determination. Jet helped her across the gap between the cars and they ascended the rungs, the surfaces slippery from grime. Once on the roof, they lay panting from their efforts. The flat landscape slid by, leaving the carnage of the night behind them as the train crawled toward the border, and hopefully, freedom.

Câmpulung Moldovenesc, Romania

“Did you brush your teeth extra well?” Matt asked Hannah as she exited their room’s small bathroom.

“Yeth.”

“Wash your hands?”

She gave him a sniff. “Course.”

“You hungry? Ready for a big breakfast?”

Hannah nodded her head vigorously. Matt smiled. He was glad to see that her usual sunny disposition had returned with a good night’s sleep. She’d only asked about Jet once, right after awakening, and had accepted Matt’s vague deflection with childlike innocence. Matt looked down at her feet. “I like the look, but it’s usually better to have two socks of the same color.”