Primal: London Mob Book Two (14 page)

S
he’d been so engrossed
in the conversation she hadn’t noticed the swiftly failing light. Now the cabin was almost entirely in darkness, and Erik Karlsen moved around the room, turning on lamps and lighting candles.

“We couldn’t possibly impose,” Jenna said.

“Nonsense,” Karlsen said. “I chose this place for its location and the near impossibility of anyone stumbling upon it. To be honest, I sometimes worry about getting lost myself. Also, other than the occasional trip into town for supplies — heavily disguised, of course — I’ve been entirely alone for nearly a year. I could use the company.”

She looked at Farrell, who gave her a nod of assent.

“Then we’re happy to stay,” Jenna said.

“Good.” He headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make us something to eat. We can talk more over dinner.”

Jenna rose. “Let us help.”

They spent the next half hour putting together sandwiches from the simple ingredients in Karlsen’s cupboards and icebox — salmon and cheese, tomatoes and meatballs made of tender lamb, mackerel and onion. They carefully avoided the subject of the Institute, the Marburg virus, the people behind them. The topic was a weighty one, and Jenna had a feeling it was going to get weightier still. There would be time for it later, and she let herself enjoy Erik Karlsen’s company and the pleasure of being hidden away with Farrell in a location where no one in the world could find them.

They ate their sandwiches with crispy, sour pickles at a simple table that might have been crafted by Karlsen himself from wood in the surrounding forest. Karlsen had brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and Jenna savored the bitterness of it between bites of salmon and goat cheese on rye. They spoke of everything — from the merits of herring to the state of the world to climate change. When they were done, Karlsen poured them each a fresh cup and sat heavily down at the table, suddenly silent. Jenna sipped at the coffee, letting the silence be, letting Erik Karlsen circle back to the subject at hand in his own way and in his own time.

“The question of who was behind the Marburg study is a thorny one,” he finally said.

“Because of who is involved?” Farrell asked, leaning back in his chair. The light from the living room barely reached the small table where they’d taken their dinner, and the candle that flickered at the center of the table cast strange shadows on his face.

“Because I don’t know for sure who is involved,” Karlsen said.

“But you have an idea,” Farrell said.

“What makes you think so?”

Farrell favored him with a small smile. “Just a feeling.”

“Petrov was my contact,” Karlsen said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Rumor had it he was a Russian expat.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Jenna said.

He seemed to think about it. “He was definitely Russian, although I’d say from his accent he was educated in the UK.”

Jenna thought about the handsome, educated man who’d flirted with her after her father’s funeral. The same man who’d killed him — or had a hand in it anyway. He’d been polished and intelligent, without a trace of a Russian accent. “I tend to agree with you.”

“What’s your theory?” Farrell asked.

Karlsen hesitated. “To be very frank, I always thought he was still allied with the Russians.”

Farrell leaned forward in his chair. “What makes you say that?”

“I overheard him once,” Karlsen said. “Speaking Russian on the telephone.”

“Wait… you think the Russians are behind the Marburg research?” Jenna asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say they were alone in it,” he said. “If that were the case, I’d think they would do the research in their own country.” He shook his head. “No, I’d say they had an ally somewhere in your country.”

“Are you saying the British government was engaged in joint bioweapons research with the Russians?” Farrell asked, his voice low.

“It remains to be seen if the research was sanctioned by the government, but I think it’s safe to say there is some kind of alliance between Moscow and someone in the British government.”

Adam Denman had been an aide to Bernard Morse, who was now poised to move into a place of power within the Labor Party. Did that mean Morse was involved? Or did the conspiracy go higher?

“We have to think big,” Farrell said, rubbing at the barely-there whiskers on his chin. “This kind of research requires money.”

“Quite a lot of money,” Karlsen agreed.

“That means it was funded by people with deep pockets, not public servants with no income but a Lord’s salary,” Jenna said.

“I think that’s a safe assumption,” Karlsen said.

Jenna rubbed her forehead as if that alone would clear away the many details that were making it increasingly hard to sort out the possibilities.

“We could make a list of people in the government,” Jenna suggested. “Cross reference it against those who might have family money?”

“Not a bad idea,” Karlsen said. “Although that still leaves a very important question.”

“What is that?” Farrell asked.

“What will you do when you discover who is behind the research?” His words seemed to sink in the silence of the darkened room. Finally Karlsen rose. “I might have something that will help.”

He disappeared into a room at the back of the cabin. A moment later, Jenna heard the sound of creaking wood followed by a loud thump that nearly seemed to vibrate across the structure’s wooden floors. When he returned, he was holding a thin folder in his hand. He handed it not to Farrell, but to Jenna.

“What is this?” she asked.

“The one and only thing I managed to get out of the Institute before I left. It’s a list of wire transfers. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t try very hard to pinpoint their origins. I was simply happy to be free of the Institute’s work, and grateful Lieve was safe.”

“And now?” Jenna asked.

“I’m still grateful, but I must confess it’s harder to enjoy the knowledge knowing people like you and your daughter may be at risk instead.” He drew in a breath, and she suddenly noticed how deeply etched the wrinkles were on his face. She wondered how much the past year had aged him. How much working on something that could wipe out millions of people would change you. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Thank you.”

He nodded, then turned to Farrell. “Will you look after my daughter if something should happen to me?” He laughed a little. “I think the lateness of the hour is making me morose, but you seem like a capable sort of fellow. It would bring me some peace of mind if I knew you would look out for her.”

Farrell nodded. “You have my word.”

“Good.” He moved toward the living room. “And now, I think it’s time we get some sleep. The light is best in the morning. If you leave first thing, you’ll be on the road well before lunch time. You can take my room. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“We can’t do that,” Jenna protested. She laughed. “We’ll flip a coin for the sofa.”

“Nonsense,” Karlsen said. “I insist. You’re my guests.” He turned to them with twinkling eyes. “Perhaps the bed will make up for my inhospitable greeting this afternoon.”

She smiled at him. “It was quite exciting.”

“Wasn't it, though?”

She saw the humor in his eyes and could imagine the way he’d been before his disease and the work at the Institute had forced him into hiding. It was no wonder Lieve was so fond of her father. Jenna was glad Farrell would look after his daughter. If anyone could make sure Lieve was safe, it was him.

They said their goodnights and retired to the small bedroom at the back of the cabin. Jenna stripped to her underwear and T-shirt and climbed into the small bed. Farrell reached for her immediately, pulling her close to his chest. She could almost believe they would be safe with his heart beating out a soothing rhythm against her ear, his big arms encircling her in their iron grip.

“Sleep, my love,” he murmured, kissing her head as she drifted off.

It felt like she’d only been in the blessed emptiness of sleep for a moment before she was startled awake. She sat up in bed, but Farrell was already on the floor, pulling on his clothes.

“Get dressed,” he said. “We have to go.”

She was about to ask what was going on when she heard the rat-a-tat of gunfire.

And it was coming from around the cabin.

H
e silently cursed
himself as he pulled on his clothes and drew his weapon. He’d been sure they hadn’t been followed, and he spent a few precious seconds trying to figure when and where someone might have tagged them with a tracking device before more gunfire sounded from the front of the cabin.

There would be time later for lessons learned and self-recrimination. Right now he had to get Jenna and Erik Karlsen out of the cabin alive.

Jenna was dressed in under a minute. He put his hands on her shoulders, looked in her eyes through the darkness of the room.

“Stay low behind me. And do whatever I say.”

He shoved her behind him and opened the door a crack, hesitating, waiting for more gunfire to give away the position of their pursuers in the woods. It was silent, and he crouched down as he moved down the short hall toward the living room and kitchen.

They’d just reached the end of the hall when more gunfire erupted, shattering what was left of the front windows.

“Fuck!” Farrell swore, looking behind him, relieved to see that Jenna was on the ground. “Stay in the hall. I’m going for Karlsen.”

He low-crawled across the living room to the sofa, relieved to see that Karlsen wasn’t there. He’d obviously managed to take cover at the beginning of the assault. It was something.

A clinking sounded from the kitchen. Farrell had only a split second to recognize the sound.

“Stay down!” he shouted as the grenade went off.

Shrapnel blew from the kitchen into the living room, and Farrell held his hands over his head as he scanned the smoke filled room. He finally spotted Erik Karlsen, leaning against the wall next to the window, his rifle in hand.

Farrell crawled over to him. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”

“Not this time,” Karlsen said. A rivulet of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “I got out once. Too lucky to expect to get out again.”

Farrell lowered his eyes to the man’s chest and immediately spotted the two holes leaking blood through his shirt.

“Goddamn it.” He started pulling off his shirt, planning to make a tourniquet to wrap around Erik Karlsen’s chest -- something that would slow the bleeding until they could get him out of the line of fire.

Karlsen reached out, put a hand on Farrell’s arm to stop him. “Promise me,” he croaked. “Lieve…”

“You can take care of your daughter yourself when we get out of here,” Farrell said.

An explosion sounded near the front door, followed by the splintering of wood. They were close, probably on the porch.

Karlsen shook his head. “It’s your fight now. Promise me.”

A thicker stream of dark blood dripped from the older man’s mouth. Farrell knew what it meant. Knew that his injuries were too serious for recovery. Maybe if they were next door to a trauma center with a staff of trained surgeons. But not here in the middle of the woods, miles from a vehicle — if it was even still there — and even farther from a hospital.

“I promise,” Farrell said. “You have my word that no harm will come to her.”

Karlsen closed his eyes, a look of relief passing over his features. A moment later he reached for the rug that covered the wood floor. Farrell didn’t know what he was doing until he flipped it back to reveal a hinged door in the floor.

Then he understood.

“It will take you about a mile back toward the road,” he said. “You’ll have to run after that. I’ll cover it once you’re gone to buy you time.”

Farrell didn't want to leave him, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one, and his number one priority was Jenna. She was the love of his life. The mother of his child.

Right or wrong, he would leave behind a hundred men to save her.

“Go,” Karlsen said. “I’ll do what I can, although I imagine I’m a bit outgunned.”

Farrell glanced at the rifle in his hands and couldn’t disagree. But it was better than nothing. He nodded.

“Tell Lieve I love her, and tell your own daughter as often as you can.”

He shifted, the blood stain on his shirt widening as he pointed the rifle at the door. A vicious round of gunfire sent Farrell’s ear ringing as the wood of the front door splintered.

It was time to go.

He crawled back to Jenna in the hall. “There’s a tunnel under the house. Let’s go.”

She crawled after him into the living room as the shouts of men sounded from around the house. A window shattered in the bedroom, and he knew they were surrounded. He had no idea if the cabin had come with the tunnel or if Karlsen had somehow anticipated this ending, but he had never been more grateful for an unexpected escape route.

Karlsen got off a round through the window before he was forced to duck under another volley of gunfire. Farrell swung open the door in the ground and gestured to Jenna.

“I’ll follow you.”

She was on the top rung of a ladder that descended into darkness when she cut her gaze to Karlsen. “You are bringing him along, right?”

Farrell hesitated. According to a certain kind of code, it would be the right thing to do. There was only one problem; Farrell didn’t see things by that kind of code. There was only one code in his world — the code of protection.

It had taken less than a minute of triage to realize that Karlsen was going to die. Jenna, however, was very much alive. He could and would get her out. They would fight about it later.

“Yes,” Farrell said. “We’ll be right behind you.”

She hesitated, then disappeared into the darkness. Farrell stepped down after her, pausing at the top of the ladder. He wished he had an extra gun to leave Karlsen. Something to even the odds a bit. But he only had the one, and he would need it to protect Jenna.

Wood cracked at the back of the house, and a few seconds later heavy footsteps sounded on the floorboards.

“Go,” Karlsen said, aiming his weapon at the hall. “Before it’s too late.”

Farrell grabbed the door in the floor and stepped down the ladder, closing the door behind him. He was instantly shrouded in darkness. He was making his way down the ladder when Jenna’s voice emerged from the ground beneath him.

“Where is he?” Jenna asked. “Where’s Karlsen?”

Farrell stepped onto the ground, turned to her. “He’s been hit. He asked to stay behind.”

Jenna shook her head. “No… We can get him out. You said you were bringing him with you.”

He hardened his heart against the horror in her eyes. He was doing the right thing — the best thing for her and Lily, who needed her mother — even if Jenna couldn’t see it right now.

“I know what I said, but he wouldn’t make it. He asked to stay and hold them off.”

“You’re a liar!” she said. “A fucking liar.”

“Sometimes,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Now let’s go.”

“I’m not leaving without Karlsen,” she said.

“Yes, you are,” he said through his teeth. “And I’ll throw you over my shoulder and haul your ass out of here if that’s what it takes.”

An explosion sounded over their heads, and she turned her face upwards before returning her gaze to his, her eyes blazing. “You’re a bully, Farrell Black.”

“When necessary.”

She pulled her arm away, crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ll have to carry me out then.”

He grabbed her shoulders so tightly that she winced. “Do you want to die here, Jenna? Do you want Kate to tell Lily that you’re never coming back? Do you want to miss her first day of kindergarten and her first boyfriend and her college graduation?” Tears welled in her eyes, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to stop until he was sure she understood. “Erik Karlsen is a dead man. The only thing that remains to be seen is if we die here with him. He doesn’t want you to die. He wants you to live, and he wants me to live so I can look after his daughter. Now do you want to stand here debating it? Or do you want to get the hell out of here while we still can?”

Heavy footsteps — a lot of them — sounded directly over their heads. She stared daggers into his eyes in the moment before she twisted away from him.

“Good.”

They started through the tunnel, feeling their way along the hard-packed dirt that made up the walls. It was dark, and without any light to guide them, they moved slower than Farrell would have liked. He resisted the urge to reach out for Jenna’s hand. She was still angry, and when Jenna was angry, the last thing she wanted was help.

The sounds from Erik Karlsen’s cabin receded behind them as they made their way deeper underground. Then they were in another world entirely, the smell of earth and decay and damp serving to make him feel like they were being buried alive.

And what if Karlsen had been mistaken about the tunnel? What if his directions had been nothing more than the delusional ramblings of a dying man? Then he and Jenna would be trapped, waiting for the inevitable moment when their pursuers caught up, trapping them in the narrow tunnel with nothing but Farrell’s single gun to protect them.

Worse, they might be lost. It was too dark to determine if there had been any forks in the path. If perhaps they’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. They’d simply followed the tunnel’s wall, assuming it only led in one direction.

“How much longer?” Jenna asked from the darkness.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But it took us a long time to get to the cabin from the car. It’s going to take awhile to get back. Don’t worry yet.”

She said nothing, but the sound of her footsteps remained steady behind his. He lost track of time, suspended in the black, soundless dark. He didn’t know how long they’d been moving before he thought the void might be beginning to lighten. He didn’t say anything at first, not wanting to get Jenna’s hopes up, but yes, a few minutes later he was able to make out his hand in front of his face.

“I think we’re getting closer to some kind of light,” Farrell said, picking up his pace.

He was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined it when he realized the tunnel floor was gradually turning into an incline. The darkness got less oppressive still as they climbed, and when they finally crested a small hill, a hazy beam of light was shining into the tunnel from above. The tunnel ended just beyond it.

He stopped under the hole in the ground and turned to Jenna. “Stay down here while I check it out.”

He put his hands on the rim of the hole and lifted himself out of it, emerging into the faint light of sunrise, the forest quiet. He held still, gun drawn, listening for the sound of footsteps or gunfire. When he didn't hear any, he reached down for her hand.

“I think we’re good.”

She took his hand, and he pulled her up next to him. Then they were both standing on the leaf-strewn ground, looking around trying to get their bearings. He’d been in too much of a hurry to leave the cabin and hadn’t grabbed the map they’d used to find it. He looked up, eying the sun’s slow rise into the sky, backtracking through the tunnel in his mind, trying to position the cabin in relationship to the direction they’d come, the direction they’d entered the forest.

Then he started walking.

“How do you know where we’re going?” Jenna asked behind him.

“I don’t,” he said. “But I have an idea, and our only other option is to stand here like sitting ducks, waiting for whoever killed Karlsen to realize how we got away and come after us.”

He was relieved when she didn’t argue, and he moved as fast as he dared through the thick underbrush, pulling branches back for Jenna when he could, hoping she could stay on her feet long enough to get to the car.

Hoping the car was still there when they got to it.

The sunlight was brighter, the day growing warm and humid when their surroundings began to seem familiar. He moved faster, spurred on by instinct, rushing toward the opening he was almost positive was just beyond the next bank of brush.

He moved it aside with his arms, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted the rental car they’d left there the day before. But it wasn’t alone.

Next to it a big SUV stood solid and menacing — but empty.

“Let’s get out of here while we still can,” he said, heading for the SUV.

“We’re taking their car?” she asked.

“We’re taking whatever’s in this car,” he said. “I’d take the car if I thought I could get away with it, but the last thing we need is to have someone report it stolen.”

He opened the hatch and couldn’t hide the grin that rose on his face.

Jenna came around to the back of the car. “Why on earth are you smiling?”

She stopped cold when she saw the weapons and ammunitions cache in the trunk of the SUV.

“Help me load this stuff into the car,” he said. He checked the safety on the weapons and then grabbed two semi-automatics and a tactical backpack loaded with ammo. He thought she might argue — Jenna didn’t like weapons — but she reached inside the SUV instead and picked one of the guns and a duffle bag.

They loaded everything into the backseat and Farrell reached into his pocket, relieved the keys to the rental had been in it when he’d dropped his pants to the floor of the Erik Karlsen’s cabin the night before. He’d like to think he would have had the foresight to bring them anyway, but his only thought in those first shocking moments had been to get Jenna out.

He reached into the backpack but didn’t find what he was looking for. He found it in the duffle in the form of a wicked hunting knife. He unsheathed it, tested its sharpness against his thumb. Satisfied, he strode back to the SUV and proceeded to cut all four tires deep and wide. The sound of air escaping immediately hissed through the quiet forest.

“Let’s go,” he said, making his way back to the car.

She slid into the passenger seat as he took his place behind the wheel. He’d just turned on the car when the first man broke through the brush.

“Get down,” Farrell shouted.

Jenna ducked, and he spun the car around as a bullet pierced the back of the car with a loud thunk. Rage seethed in his blood. He wanted nothing more than to stop the car, pull out one of the weapons, fire until he’d left a pile of bodies in his wake.

But that would be foolish. There would be time for revenge later. Now he needed to get Jenna to safety, and he couldn’t shoot behind him and drive at the same time.