Black Widow (27 page)

"You'll work it out."

Kate knew she would. If she didn't, Sergei Prokhorov or Ajza Manaev was dead. Probably both of them.

All because they're caught up in the middle of a trap that was grinding inexorably closed, she thought.

"You can field an exfiltration team for Ajza," Jake pointed out.

"There are too many women and children in that camp." Kate remembered those images, too. She hated the thought of letting the Black Widow camp exist for another minute, much less the idea of days or weeks longer. "We don't sacrifice potentially dozens of innocents for the safety of one agent. That's not what we were was set up to do. We're perishable goods. Collateral damage if it comes to that. We take the hit when things go wrong. Every agent in the field knows and understands that."

"Then let it ride," Jake advised.

Kate paced and tried to relax. Those agents needed her at her best, thinking clearly.

"Why would Kumarin get weapons for Taburova?" Jake asked.

Kate knew her bodyguard was playing devil's advocate. They both knew why Kumarin had brokered the weapons deal.

"They're bait," Kate answered. "To get Taburova or the Chechen freedom fighters to come out into the open. Once Russia finds out a weapons shipment for the Chechens has hit their streets, they're going to push the military to roll over them again."

"Okay, but
why American
weapons?"

Kate looked at Jake. "The simple answer is that the American weapons were all they could get."

"The simple answer would be to sell the
Chechens Russian
weapons. Or Chinese. They've got warehouses of that ordnance over there."

It was true. Arms dealers still sold Russian overstock throughout the world. Kate turned that fact over in her mind.

"Ajza dropped a load of American weapons into the sea in Istanbul," Jake went on. "I'm betting it wasn't too easy to get
two
shipments of American weapons."

Kate didn't like the answer that came to her mind. "The United States has been heavily involving itself in East European countries that were once satellites of Russia."

"We've been accused of subverting Russian political influence in that area," Jake agreed. "How do you think it's going to look when a Russian general can point to a warehouse full of American weapons that were delivered to Chechen terrorists?"

"Bad."

Jake nodded. "Plenty bad. Sounds to me like Kumarin is trying to double-dip on this operation. He's going to bring down some of the Chechen leaders and give the U. S. a hickey in the process. Should set back our peacekeeping involvement over there for a while. The rest of Europe isn't too happy when we get overly involved in their backyard."

The theory made sense. And all the pieces came together easily.

Kate's computer screen blinked and revealed a new folder titled General Yuri Kumarin. She crossed to the computer and opened the file.

Kumarin was in his early fifties, a handsome man with close-cropped gray hair and gray eyes. His Russian army uniform was immaculate. Other photos in the file showed Kumarin on various military lines and standing in bombed-out sections of Moscow. Headlines on various articles screamed how vehemently Kumarin disliked the Chechen rebels.

After a deep breath, Kate said, "Kumarin is the key. We need to work him and find a way to him."

And get our people out safely, she added silently.

Outside Chechnya

"You will room with me," Maaret said as she led Ajza into one of the small buildings. "Three other women live here, but there is room for another. Get your things and bring them here."

"I don't have anything," Ajza replied.

Maaret looked at her suspiciously. "You're well fed. You have no wounds. Some fresh bruises, yes, but no open sores. How can you have nothing?"

Ajza was surprised at Maaret's observational skills, and she was ashamed of herself for having thought so little of the woman. Guilt over her own lack of hardships assailed her. In truth, she was nothing like the women trapped at the camp.

"The man who brought me to Taburova, Achmed, stole everything I had."

"Achmed is a very bad man. He brings in a lot of women. And girls. He and his men abuse them terribly."

"He won't do that anymore. Taburova killed him."

"One of the other women told me that." Maaret paused, then, "She also told me you threatened to kill Achmed with a grenade."

Ajza shrugged. "Better to die as I am than after Achmed and his men were done with me."

"Your husband is dead?"

"Yes."

"You loved him?"

"Yes." Ajza lied flawlessly, but still felt guilty. Maaret had lost her husband. That was why she was there.

"Why should you want to live?"

"I don't want to live without my husband, but I'm still alive." Ajza paused. "Dying... is harder than I thought." She'd wanted to die when she'd heard about Ilyas, but dying hadn't been an option.

For a moment Maaret held her gaze and her silence. "I know. Every woman in this place feels the same way. But they learn to say what Taburova and the other men want them to say. Then they die when Taburova commands it."

"Is escape so impossible?" Ajza asked.

"Yes. If anyone gets out of this camp and evades pursuit, the men kill one of the children for every escapee. They only had to do this once to make believers of everyone here."

Ajza's blood turned cold. This was something she hadn't known.

"They kill the girls first," Maaret said. "The ones who are too young to sell into sexual slavery. But no one doubts they would kill a boy, as well. No one escapes." She stared at Ajza. "If you try to escape, the women will expose you. You will find no friends in this camp if you do not put the fate of the children first."

"I understand. There is nowhere for me to go, anyway," Ajza said.

A baby's cry sounded from one of the back rooms.

"Sit." Maaret gestured to a rug on the floor. "Make yourself comfortable. We will find you more clothes and bedding. It will not be much, but we will make do."

"Thank you." Ajza sat on the rug and leaned back against the wall.

The baby cried again, more strident now.

"I will return," Maaret said, then hurried to the back room.

Ajza glanced around the squalid interior. The wooden floor was rough and water stains formed a pattern on the ceiling. Handmade candles that stank of animal fat sat on one of the crates. Further inspection of the crate revealed that it had once held ammunition.

In her mind she went over the layout of the camp and wondered if Taburova had the cache of American weapons hidden somewhere. If the weapons were here, she only needed to find out where, then escape…

That stopped her. When Ajza had agreed to the infiltration op, she hadn't known that a child would be killed if she made good her escape. Panic thrummed through her as she realized she was more trapped than she'd first believed.

After a few minutes of sitting idle awaiting Maaret's return, Ajza got to her feet and headed to the back of the building. Whatever she did about escape, she'd have to know her immediate surroundings. Her footsteps scraped against the hardwood floor.

The back room had been divided into four areas by hanging sheets. Ajza pulled one of the sheets aside and saw a young woman sleeping on a pile of bedding. Her ashen color offered mute testimony of her ill health.

"Do not get too close to her," Maaret called from the other side of the room. "We do not know what is wrong with her. Perhaps it is contagious."

Ajza let the sheet fall and backed away. She turned to the area where she'd heard Maaret's voice. When she drew the sheet aside, she saw the young woman sitting on a pile of bedding with an infant nursing at her breast.

The baby had fair hair and chubby fists. Ajza wasn't sure how best to judge babies' ages because she hadn't been around them much, but she felt certain this one was only a few months old.

"What do you want?" Maaret demanded. Her dark eyes held accusation.

"I was looking for something to drink."

"There's a water barrel in the other room. Every group is responsible for pumping it from the well."

Ajza nodded. "You have a baby." She knew it sounded stupid, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yes. A boy, thank God, and so I think he might get to live."

"He is beautiful. And he has so much hair."

Maaret pulled the baby more closely to her and looked defensive. "His father was Chechen. Some Chechens have blond hair."

"I know. My brother had blond hair," Ajza said.

"He was Chechen?"

"Yes. My mother called him her surprise. Blond hair and blue eyes."

"Like the Russians."

"Like some of the Russians," Ajza corrected. "The people here have sometimes intermarried."

"Not often in our faith." Maaret looked down at her son. "He looks like his father, though. That will make his life hard at times."

"I know. My brother had problems with people who didn't believe he was Chechen."

Maaret adjusted her child on her arm and looked up. "You sound like you are close to your brother."

"I was. He... died a short time ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You have had much sadness in your life."

"We all have."

Absently Maaret stroked her son's hair. "Before he was born, I was sure he was going to be a gift from God."

"My mother insists that they are."

"For some women, perhaps."

"You don't think your son is a blessing?"

"Look at where I am. I look at him. I feed him. I hold him. And I live with the constant fear that every day will be the last. I know I will never live to see him grow up. I will never see him take a wife and have children of his own." Maaret's voice broke. "I will not live to see him become a man. When he is grown, he will not remember me." A tear grazed her cheek. "Perhaps that is for the best."

Ajza didn't know what to say.

Maaret pulled her sleeping son from her breast, covered herself, then burped the baby and cleaned his face with a damp towel. He struggled a little against the scrubbing, then went back to sleep.

"How old is he?" Ajza asked.

"Eight months." Maaret continued to hold her child and look down at him.

Ajza couldn't imagine what it must be like for the woman to know that she wouldn't see her child grow older. It had to be horrible.

"Did you have children?" Maaret asked.

"No." Ajza looked at the sleeping baby and thought how awful it was to be brought up in this camp.

"Some of the women here lost their children to their husband's families. They took the children and threw the women out into the streets because they were not blood."

"You have your child."

"But I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse. If my husband's family had taken him, he would be safe now."

"Why didn't they?"

Maaret shook her head. "My husband was one of Taburova's men. There was no family."

"That's sad." Ajza thought about what the younger woman had said. "Your husband was one of Taburova's men?"

"Yes."

"Then your baby was born here."

Maaret nodded. "He has never known a day of freedom. I pray that one day he does." She looked at Ajza. "That is why I do everything Taburova asks me. I obey and I get to take care of my son. I fear that when I am dead, they will kill him. Or worse, they will make him as they are." She shrugged. "But there is nothing I can do about that."

For a time Ajza sat there with Maaret and they watched the baby sleep. While doing that, it seemed as though the death that waited to pounce on them at any moment was quietly kept locked away.

Outside

"Reload three rounds. Quickly. Do it
quickly.
"

Ajza reloaded the Tokarev 9 nun's magazine more slowly than she could have. The bullets clicked into place in the magazine. The thick smell of gun oil and gunpowder filled her nostrils.

For three days all the women in the camp had trained with the pistols. However, they'd been limited to groups of five and given only a handful of bullets at a time. They'd learned how to load the pistols, clean them and clear them when there was a jam. They'd also learned how to shoot targets.

"When the weapon is ready, place it on the stand," the instructor ordered. He was a heavy-set man who sat on a crate in the shade of a twisted tree. His name was Saleh and all the women hated him because he was a cruel taskmaster. He had an AK-47 across his knees and the women knew that if they tried to use their weapons against him or the other guards, he would kill them where they stood.

Months ago during a training exercise, Maaret had told Ajza, one of the women had tried to shoot a man who had constantly abused her since her arrival. Saleh had cut the woman down without batting an eye.

Ajza placed her weapon on the flat board in front of her. The target range consisted of planks nailed together to form a makeshift rail in front of the five women shooting. They shot crates that had targets painted on them. Many of the crates had some bullet holes in them, but most of the rounds had gone into the hill behind the targets.

"Ready," Saleh said.

The women picked up the pistols. Ajza lifted her weapon and felt the comforting weight of it. Her days in camp had been miserable. Every night the men verbally and physically abused some of the women, breaking the spirits of those who dared fight back and making numb the ones who were afraid. All of them learned that death was preferable to life.

In those few short days the women Ajza had arrived with were well on their way to becoming automatons. Part of their behavior was due to the drugs the men gave them, but most of the numbness came from loss of hope.

They no longer prayed to God to free them. Instead, they gave lip service to the goals that Taburova told them they should have. They asked for strength to die while bringing death to the enemies of their people. Ajza felt certain most of them simply wanted to die — quickly and painlessly. The men tortured those they killed.

Every night Ajza had gone to bed feeling guilty and powerless. As Taburova had ordered, the men left her alone. But that made her feel isolated, for the other women had learned to hate her for her special treatment. Outside of Maaret, who was left alone, as well, Ajza made no real acquaintances.