The Hunters (15 page)

Three skinheads in camouflage pants and mock leather jackets had rushed out of the alley. Two had lead pipes, and one held a stained AK-47 bayonet - a straight, single-edged, five-inch blade with a dark wooden handle and a black ring under the hilt for attaching it to the automatic rifle’s barrel. They came at Cobb and Jasmine like the pack of animals they were. The knife-wielding one in the middle, the pipe-swingers on either side.

Jasmine shrieked again when Cobb ran from her without a word, but the cry was cut short when she saw what he was doing. He wasn’t running from the three men. He was running straight at them, launching off the balls of his feet, and moving so fast they started to falter even though they were much better armed than Cobb.

In a flash, Cobb was on the man in the lead. He blocked the knife hand by slapping his left hand hard on the man’s wrist. That bought him the time he needed to bring his right hand to bear. Jasmine saw Cobb strike him in the face with the bony heel of his open hand. The man shuddered and staggered backward on legs that reminded her of cooked noodles.

Jasmine couldn’t follow Cobb, he was moving so fast. Even before the knife-wielder was finished wobbling, Cobb was already shifting to grab the man to the left by his pipe arm. He grabbed the back of the man’s wrist with his left hand and swung his right hand into the back of the man’s elbow. One deft move from Cobb, and he had immobilized his opponent with a classic arm-bar. The skinhead went down on his knees. Cobb planted a foot on his back between his shoulder blades and pushed the rest of him to the pavement, face first.

She could hear the crunching of broken teeth.

The one to the right tried to redirect his attack, but the knife-wielder was in his way. He had to step around him, which cost him valuable time. With the pipe of the man he had just taken down, Cobb stepped forward, the pipe extended before him. It connected with the third man’s chest, cracking something inside. Cobb quickly regripped the pipe and swung it upward, smashing the hard iron into the soft cartilage of the attacker’s nose.

Blood sprayed in all directions.

Cobb’s counterattack had taken about five seconds. That’s how long it took Jasmine to suppress her fear, remember her training, and join the fray. The man Cobb had knocked to his face was trying to rise. Jasmine pounced, straddling his neck like a horse, grabbing his hair from above, and dropping. She allowed her entire weight to fall upon his upper back. That drove his face back into the street, knocking him out - along with more teeth.

She rose just as a fourth man darted from the shadows of the apartment building behind her. Jasmine chirped with surprise as she turned to face Marko Kadurik. There was a snarl on his face as his hand grabbed her by the throat. She remembered her training and tried to break the grip by laying her forearm on the groove of his elbow, pushing down, and twisting away, but he surprised her by punching her in the belly with his free hand.

She doubled over in pain.

He grabbed her by her hair, spun her around so she was facing Cobb, and pushed her left arm high up her back while clutching her throat in a death grip.

She tried to breathe, but Kadurik wouldn’t allow it.

Kadurik wasn’t just choking her, he was wrenching her forward and back, cutting off her air entirely each time he pulled back and strengthened his hold. Then he stopped moving. He stood erect, hugging Jasmine tight against him, lifting her onto her toes.

She tried to remember what she had been taught: focus on one finger. If she could pry one digit from her throat, his grip would loosen significantly. At the same time, she thought about her stance, and how she might be able to knock him off balance.

But training is not instinct. Thought is not muscle memory. And the seconds Jasmine squandered remembering the techniques cost her air and consciousness.

Now she was helpless.

Jasmine’s face turned red. Her tongue stabbed out of her frighteningly twisted mouth. Then her body jerked forward limply as if she were trying to throw up. The sounds of her gagging made Garcia and Papineau sick with helplessness all those miles away.

‘Sarah!’ Papineau screamed in the Moscow railroad office. ‘Where the hell are you?’

But Sarah wasn’t answering.

‘There must be something wrong with her unit,’ Garcia said.

‘Quiet!’ Cobb whispered, low enough so that Kadurik wouldn’t hear.

‘You!’ Kadurik snarled in heavily accented English. ‘Kick … pipe … here!’

He clutched Jasmine to him, huddling behind her, shaking her head with his hand at Cobb like a mad puppeteer.

Cobb motioned to lower his elbow first, relax the choke.

‘Do it!’ Kadurik threatened.

Cobb shook his head. ‘She dies, you die.’

Kadurik relaxed slightly - but it was enough. Jasmine was in no condition to fight, but at least she could breathe, albeit raspingly.

Cobb agreed to his end of the bargain. He slowly placed the pipe on the ground and kicked it forward - all the while deciding when to make his move. But before he had a chance to do anything, there was a blur of motion behind Kadurik, who made a whining, wailing sound, which was drowned out by the stomach-turning noise of ripping skin and smashing bone.

Kadurik crumpled to the sidewalk like a rag doll. Jasmine fell, too, but before she hit the ground, Andrei Dobrev caught her in his blood-splattered hands. To do so, he was forced to drop his nineteen-inch-long saddle-bolt spanner - an open-ended wrench used to tighten bolts in locomotives. Covered in strands of hair and bits of flesh, it clattered to the cement in the suddenly quiet night.

Cobb blinked a few times, surprised by the turn of events.

Although Jasmine was his main concern, Cobb rushed to Kadurik first. Not to treat his wounds, but to make sure he was no longer a threat.

He wasn’t. The skinhead was dead.

Cobb patted him down and searched his pockets. Then he placed the weapons back in the hands of the men who had been carrying them - including the rock, so the police would know who had attacked their colleagues.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad result.

Six men down, but his historian/interpreter was still alive.

Cobb knelt beside her and pressed two fingers behind Jasmine’s inner left ankle. It was an acupressure technique he had learned in the service, intended to help her recover. A few seconds later, her eyes fluttered open. Her pupils were clear and her flesh was pale in the streetlight, but she appeared okay, at least physically. And she would benefit from this experience: the next time she felt that fear, she would know it, confront it, and hopefully get past it.

That was how combat worked.

Jasmine looked up at Cobb in wounded wonder.

‘What happened?’ she croaked.

Cobb put his hand on Dobrev’s shoulder. ‘You survived - thanks to your friend.’

‘Really?’

Cobb nodded. ‘Really.’

She smiled at Dobrev and thanked him in Russian.

* * *

McNutt had heard the confrontation through his earpiece, but he never had a clear view from his vantage point across the street. And he felt sick about it.

‘Chief,’ he said sincerely, ‘I didn’t have a shot. I’m sorry.’

Cobb waved off the apology. ‘It’s all right.’

‘I’m coming now. Two minutes out.’

‘Don’t. We don’t need you … Sarah?’

‘Ready,’ was all she said.

McNutt slowed to a halt. ‘Instructions?’

‘B to A,’ Cobb said quietly. ‘We’ll pick you up as soon as we can.’

‘Outstanding,’ McNutt replied.

Over the intercom, Papineau pleaded with the team, hoping that someone -
anyone
- would recognize his authority. ‘See if you can get back upstairs. Tell Andrei that Jasmine needs a drink. If you do that, see if you can get the coin. We—’

‘Shut up,’ Cobb said.

‘Boss man,’ Garcia said fearlessly, ‘it would be a big help if I was able to laser-scan it.’

‘A painful process, if I shove that coin up your ass,’ Cobb growled.

He practically heard Garcia’s mouth snap shut.

Cobb helped Jasmine and Dobrev. He was angry with himself for having assumed Kadurik was among the initial gang of three. That was a mistake that could have cost them dearly.

‘Now what?’ Jasmine wondered.

‘You hear that?’ Cobb asked.

‘Hear what? My ears are ringing.’

‘Sirens,’ he said calmly. ‘Someone must have seen the fight and called the police. We need to go before they arrive.’ He pointed at Dobrev. ‘Tell him that.’

Jasmine did, and Dobrev replied sadly.

‘He understands,’ she told Cobb. ‘He said he’ll keep our names out of it if anyone asks.’

Cobb smiled. ‘He doesn’t get. I mean we
all
have to go. Now.’

Papineau objected from afar. ‘Jack, what are you thinking? We don’t know this man. His presence puts everyone in jeopardy if—’

Anger flared in Cobb’s eyes. ‘Another word and I terminate. Got that?’

Papineau’s response was heavy breathing. The only reason Cobb was still listening at all was because he needed to stay in touch with the other team members. On most missions, this was the point when he pretty much stopped giving a damn about what the bottled-water-drinking bastards back in their ops tents thought, said, or did.

But Papineau wasn’t the only one objecting to Dobrev’s inclusion in their escape. Dobrev himself was arguing with Jasmine, shaking his head and pointing to his apartment.

It was obvious that he intended to stay.

Jasmine translated for Cobb. ‘He says he’s not leaving without the coin. He left it in the open, and he’s afraid he might never see it again if he doesn’t go get it right now. I think he’ll come with us if we just let him run upstairs and—’

‘There’s no time for that,’ Cobb replied.

The sounds of the sirens were growing louder.

‘Sarah, you copy?’ Cobb asked.

‘Heard it all,’ Sarah answered.

‘Good. Smash and grab,’ Cobb instructed. ‘Two minutes. Then get down here.’

‘Two minutes?’ Sarah repeated. ‘In two minutes we’ll be two blocks from here.’

‘Prove it,’ Cobb challenged.

Sarah jumped backwards over the edge of the rooftop directly above Dobrev’s apartment. Her rappelling gear held fast, preventing a quick plummet to her death. In a mere fifteen seconds, she had dropped several stories to Dobrev’s locked window. A quarter-minute more, and she had popped the latch that anchored the window to its sill. She climbed inside the apartment then unfastened her harness, leaving the rope dangling down the side of the building.

She would need it again in less than a minute.

Darting through the apartment with the grace of a ballet dancer, she deftly avoided the floor lamp that cast a dim light on the apartment’s only chair. The scene struck her as sad, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many nights the old man had sat alone in the dark, staring at his treasure. But it was a thought she quickly dismissed when she spotted the coin on a small wooden table near the door, right next to the closet where Dobrev had grabbed the saddle-bolt spanner from his toolbox. With gloved hands, Sarah tucked the coin into a zippered pocket, then scampered back to the open window. She reattached her harness to the rope, closed the window behind her, and began her descent.

Anyone who happened to be looking up at the side of the building as Sarah made her way down would have been forced to choose between two, equally unlikely scenarious: Catwoman exists, or the laws of gravity had changed. Dressed from hood to booties in another black catsuit, Sarah literally
ran
down the edifice. The muscles in her arms burned as she pulsed her grips to keep her pace. It was not a beginner’s move; it required practiced balance and unbelievable strength. But once Sarah had gotten the hang of it, she preferred it over the standard, backwards dismount. Today it actually served a purpose, as it was the fastest way to reach the ground … other than a freefall.

True to her word, it had been little more than a minute since Sarah had entered the apartment. As she hit the ground, she reached inside her suit and withdrew a credit-card-sized remote control. Sliding back the cover to reveal the buttons beneath, she entered the combination. On the roof, the electromagnet that held the loop of rope in place around the fire escape ladder decoupled instantly. Sarah could feel the slack, moments before the full length of the rope hit the pavement. It was the latest in climbing technology, a gift from McNutt.

This is too easy
, Sarah thought as she spooled the rope around her arm.

* * *

‘How we doing?’ Cobb asked as he slammed the door of the SUV behind Jasmine and Dobrev. She was doing her best to keep the old man calm.

‘Satellite says you’re clear for about forty seconds,’ Garcia said in everyone’s ears. ‘Cops are converging from the north and east.’

‘Look to your left,’ McNutt said.

Cobb glanced and saw a glimmer of light where the roadway curved. It could have been a small mirror, a pair of glasses, or a watch face, but he knew it was McNutt.

‘On my way,’ Cobb said as he climbed behind the wheel.

Cobb pulled the SUV into the street and started his U-turn. As he did, Sarah appeared from the shadows and ran to join them. She jumped into the passenger seat as Cobb pressed the accelerator to the floor.

‘We’re golden,’ Sarah said. ‘Literally.’

Cobb smiled. ‘Jasmine, tell Andrei we got his coin.’

They drove forward as the faint red glow of police lights illuminated the horizon. Nearly a block away, Cobb slowed just enough to allow McNutt to climb into the rear of the truck.

‘About time,’ McNutt joked. ‘I almost caught a cab.’

He slammed the tailgate shut as Cobb floored it.

Jasmine stared at the lights ahead. ‘Where are we going?’

‘B to A,’ Cobb answered as he turned off the main road to avoid the flashing lights. It was the second time he had used that expression in the last five minutes.

McNutt, who was familiar with the term from the military, leaned back and smiled. ‘B to A - music to my ears!’

‘B to A?’ Sarah asked. ‘What does that mean? You keep saying it.’