Poe (20 page)

Well, isn’t this interesting
, he thought as he got onto the highway several seconds behind her.

She stayed on the road only a few kilometers before turning onto a small lane. Vanko had driven this stretch of the highway thousands of times in his life, but he had never once gone down that narrow road. In fact, it was so insignificant, he couldn’t remember ever noticing it.

He pulled to the side of the highway before reaching the turnoff, and considered what he should do. While his headlights wouldn’t have seemed out of place on the main road, Irina would surely take note of them on the much-less-traveled lane. But he really wanted to know what she was up to. She had fucked with his life, so he was more than ready to do the same with hers.

He switched his lights off and examined the road, then smiled. The night was just bright enough that, if he didn’t go too fast, he’d be able to see what he was doing.

He eased the accelerator and drove forward again, hitting the brake as he got to where Irina had turned. Red light radiated from the back of his car onto the trees that flanked the lane’s entrance. He immediately pulled his foot off the brake, realizing he’d have to stick to his hand brake or simply let the car roll to a stop.

He turned down the road, and drove almost a kilometer before finally spotting her car again. It wasn’t on the road, but parked about fifty meters ahead off to the side. He jammed on the hand brake, hoping he hadn’t given himself away. When his car stopped moving, he studied Irina’s vehicle and realized it was empty.

Where the hell had she gone?

Unless someone else had picked her up, she was on foot. Which meant he needed to be, too. But he couldn’t just park along the road as she had. He might not be able to get back to his car in time, and she’d spot him as she drove away.

He made a quick assessment of the area around him, and picked out a wide opening between several bushes where he thought his car would fit. Taking it slow, he drove off the road, squeezed through the gap, and rolled to a stop.

Once the engine was off, he carefully opened his door to avoid any loud noise, and stepped out of his car. He decided to stay off the road, thinking that would cut down on his chances of bumping into her in the dark, and headed south.

When he finally found her, she was facing a tree, her back to him. He couldn’t see what she was doing, so he moved several feet to his right in hopes of getting a better view. As soon as he repositioned, however, Irina turned and headed back to her car.

Motionless, he watched her walk within twenty feet of his hiding place. He held his breath, sure she would see him, but she passed by without a glance in his direction.

He looked back at the tree, and could now clearly see a box attached to it.

He had assumed she was going to deliver the piece of paper she’d gotten from the doctor directly into someone’s hands, so it took him a moment to realize she must have left it in the box.

That was…strange.

Like something out of a spy film.

More curious than ever now, Vanko decided to stay where he was and let her drive away. He wanted to see for himself what was written in that note.

It was one of many mistakes he’d made in the last nine hours.

The old abandoned
barn stood next to a little used road outside Slavne. The stone walls had been there for a hundred and fifty years. But though crumbling in spots, they still looked as if they had several more decades in them.

The roof was another matter. It had been made of wood, and had been missing since not long after the final shots of the Second World War.

The nearest other structures were those that made up Slavne Prison, a good four kilometers away. Because of this, the barn was the perfect place for Deuce and Cooper to use as headquarters.

With the exception of when they initially set up camp, they were never there at the same time. They traded duties at the prison lookout point in six-hour shifts.

The barn had the additional benefit of being within a ten-minute walk from the message drop that had been set up with Traz. The drop itself was an old metal box nailed to the trunk of a tree along the road. Messages weren’t actually put inside the box, but in the crevasse between the box and the tree. It was the responsibility of the person at camp to check the drop every few hours in case something had arrived.

At 4:30 that morning, this duty fell to Deuce. When the alarm on his cell phone vibrated under his pillow, he was tempted to fling it at one of the stone walls. After relieving himself in the copse of trees outside the barn, he made a cup of barely passable coffee, then, mug in hand, headed out to the drop box.

The path to the box ran along the edge of the field, through some trees and into a shallow dale. As he headed down the slope, Deuce realized something wasn’t right.

He paused.

For several moments, there was nothing, then he heard a muffled crunch—leaves under a foot.

He wasn’t the only one out here.

Crouching, he peered through the bushes, but could see little in the darkness. Whoever had made the noise was somewhere ahead of him, by the road.

It could be anyone, really. A farmer getting an early start to his day. Someone out for a predawn stroll.

Zombies.

The thought gave him the creeps. He didn’t actually believe in zombies, but, well, you never knew, right? And meeting one on a back road in the middle of nowhere in Ukraine seemed not entirely impossible.

Undead monster or not, he decided to move in for a closer look, and carefully picked his way through the undergrowth until we was about twenty yards from the drop box.

There was a woman standing there, wearing a white dress that screamed nurse. She looked to be in her late twenties, but the night could have been hiding a few years. Her head was cocked as if she was listening to something. Given the fact she was otherwise stone still, he was pretty sure she was doing exactly that.

Parked on the side of the road behind her was a dark sedan that could have been as old as the woman. She held her pose for half a minute, then took a couple deep breaths. With a quick look from side to side, she jammed a folded piece of paper under the metal box.

So apparently this was Traz.

The last thing Deuce wanted to do was scare the crap out of her, so he waited until she drove away, watching her taillights fade into the distance.

He was about to move when he heard the crunch again. Another footstep.

What the hell?

He froze in place, his legs bent.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

A shadow detached itself from a group of bushes just down and across the road. A man. Not big, not small. But with a wiry, athletic frame that suggested he might be a threat.

As the man got closer to the metal box, Deuce saw he was wearing a uniform. A cop? No, Deuce realized, as the man neared. The uniform didn’t look like the ones he’d seen worn by the police in this area. There was also no gun holster.

Military? Didn’t seem right.

Private security?

Whoever he was, he was now interested in the box. He looked inside, and seemed surprised not to find anything. He checked again, and predictably came up empty once more. He started scanning the ground.

It was obvious that from where he’d been hiding, he had been unable to see where Traz had put the note. But, given his apparent keen interest, Deuce doubted it would be long before he found it.

And that would not be good.

Remaining crouched, Deuce thought for a moment. The mere fact that the guy was here right now meant he knew the nurse was up to something.

But did he know
what
?

Was he aware of her connection to Alex? And was he acting on his own, or working with someone else?

Deuce flexed his fingers, warming them up. Alex’s safety was his number one job, and whoever this asshole was, he was a threat to that.

Staying low, Deuce made his way over to the edge of the road, where he could make faster time. He checked on the uniformed man again. The guy was still searching for the note, his back now to Deuce.

Four steps forward. Pause.

Four more. Pause.

The man had no idea Deuce was there.

As Deuce started moving again, the man finally checked behind the box, and pulled the note out in triumph.

He suddenly cocked his head and listened, like Traz had earlier, but by that point, Deuce was already at his back.

“Turn around,” Deuce said, not caring whether the guy understood English. “Slowly. And don’t try anything stupid.”

Turning quickly around, the man stuffed the note in his pocket, drew an arm back, and threw a punch.

Deuce leaned to one side before the blow could find his jaw, and countered by slamming his own fist into the guy’s stomach.

The man groaned as he fought hard to keep from completely doubling over. Gritting his teeth, he made a grab for Deuce’s head. He missed with one hand, but caught Deuce behind the ear with the other and shoved him to the side.

Deuce nearly tripped over a root growing out of the ground, but managed to keep his feet. When he turned around, the man was facing him.

In an unmistakably taunting tone, the guy shouted something in Ukrainian while waving at Deuce to come over. He then raised his fists like a boxer.

“You can’t be serious,” Deuce muttered, then in a louder voice, “I warned you. I did. Don’t forget that.”

He stepped toward the guy, feigned a punch, and pulled back, knowing he’d draw return fire. He was right. The guy came at him, both fists flying.

One blow glanced off Deuce’s arm and the other missed completely, as he dodged to the side again.

Didn’t this guy learn from his mistakes?

With a quick twist away from his opponent, Deuce kicked out with his left leg, his foot landing loud and solid against the side of the man’s knee. The joint bent inward, knocking against the other leg, as most of its ligaments ripped apart.

Screaming in pain, the man fell to the asphalt. He clutched his knee and rolled back and forth.

“I told you, don’t do anything stupid,” Deuce said. “I swear to God I told you. This did
not
need to happen. Your fault, not mine. Right?”

He dropped down next to the man, and held him still long enough to take the note out of the guy’s pocket. As he let go and took a few steps back, he pulled his phone out of his own pocket, and called Cooper.

While he waited for the line to connect, he read the note.

“What’s up?” Cooper whispered.

“You should come back here. We have a bit of a situation.”

“Did you hear from Alex?”

“Yeah, but…well, you’ll see when you get here.”

* * *

A
S HE WAITED
for Cooper, Deuce contemplated staying out on the road with his catch. Traffic was usually rare along the country lane, but rare didn’t mean never, and there was always the chance of someone coming along before Cooper did.

That would turn an already complicated situation into a complete mess. So, without much effort, he located the injured man’s car and used it to transfer them both back to the barn.

When Cooper walked in a few minutes later, his first words were, “Whose car is that?” Then he saw the man tied to the campstool next to the tent. “And who the hell is that?”

“You kind of answered your first question yourself,” Deuce said. “Answer to the second’s a bit tougher. I mean, unless you read Ukrainian.” He tossed the guy’s wallet to Cooper. “He’s not talking.”

“Okay, but what’s he doing here?”

“Interesting story, that,” Deuce said. He filled Cooper in on his trip to check the drop box. “He obviously knew about Traz. So there’s a chance he knows Alex isn’t who she says she is. No way I could let him go.” Deuce waited, but when Cooper offered no response, he said, “Please tell me you agree with me.”

“I suppose so.”

“You
suppose so
?”

“No, I mean, I know,” Cooper said. “It’s just…Jesus. What a mess.”

“It could have been a whole lot messier if I hadn’t stopped him.”

Cooper nodded absently. “Was he alone?”

With a disdainful snort, Deuce said, “Do you see two of them?”

“Maybe the other guy got away.”

Deuce shook his head. “No, he was by himself. If there was someone else, they would have taken the car when my buddy here and I were having our little conversation.”

“Let me see the note.”

Deuce handed the piece of paper to him. There were only three words on it:

Message received. Complications.

Cooper frowned as he read it, then handed it back. “Wonderful.”

“Did you really expect everything to go smoothly? You put her in a
prison
. In
Ukraine
.”

Cooper looked back at their captive. “Is he the only one who knows about Traz, or is he working for someone?”

Deuce knew the question was rhetorical, but he answered anyway. “If you can get him to tell you, be my guest. But I don’t think he speaks English.”

“Then I guess we need a translator.” Cooper pulled out his phone, dialed, and said, “Cooper for Olek Morrison.” A long pause, then, “Hey, Olek, it’s Coop. I need your expertise.” Another pause. “Yeah, but FYI, he’s injured and probably not exactly happy. I’m putting you on speaker.” Cooper switched the device to speakerphone, and knelt down next to their visitor. “Olek, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” the voice on the phone said.

“Good. He’s right here. Maybe we should go for a name first.”

Olek’s next words were incomprehensible to Deuce, but the man on the ground didn’t have any trouble understanding them. He looked surprised for a moment, then said, “Leonchuk. Vanko.”

“First name, Vanko,” Olek said. “Last name, Leonchuk.”

“He’s wearing some kind of uniform. Ask him what it’s for.”

Olek did, and Vanko responded.

“He works at a prison.”

“Slavne Prison?”

The man perked up at the word “Slavne.” Olek asked the question, and the man nodded, repeating several times a word that Deuce guessed meant yes.