The Killing Game (11 page)

Dmitri was pleased. The man was keen to get on with the job, which meant he’d be free to rejoin his unit, might even be granted the leave as originally promised. He jogged the narrow path and through the tunnel they’d constructed through this part of the mountain to give their men safe passage. He had to duck his head and nodded greetings to sentries who regarded him with wariness. He was used to it. Maybe even proud. Spetsnaz had an almost mystical reputation and Vympel were the premier unit within Spetsnaz.

Dmitri had discovered years ago that reputation was often enough to win a fight without firing a single shot, which was fine by him.

He saw a group of
serzhánts
clustered around an impatient-looking man. He saw the large single star on the man’s field uniform and slowed his step. “
Mayór
.” He saluted.

Slowly the man turned and Dmitri felt the first hint of alarm pierce the dawn. The man’s eyes were small and round, a gleam of malice sparking from their black depths.

“Ah, you must be our famous
Vympel Kapitán
, Dmitri Volkov, graciously taking care of our infantry.”

Dmitri ignored the jibe and bowed his head. “No doubt you will do a much better job of it than I,
Mayór
.” He just wanted to get back to his unit or his wife.

The
mayór
eyed him without blinking. Dmitri kept his head bowed. He might be Special Forces but he knew how pissing contests ended in the military
.

The
mayór
nodded approvingly. Egomaniac. “I am
Mayór
Valisky. Come with me.”

Frowning, Dmitri followed the man down the slope of the hill toward the sniper positions dug into the hillside. The man hunched over and cowered from possible enemy bullets. Dmitri walked tall. They were out of range, and death did not scare him.

He followed the
mayór
inside one of the bunkers and his eyes widened when the man took one of the long rifles from the
starshiná
. The major nodded in the direction of the other rifleman. “I hear you are a crack shot? One of the best in Russia?”

He inclined his head slowly. “I once had that honor but—”

“Come then,
Kapitán
.” The major’s voice boomed into the clear quiet dawn. “We will have ourselves a little shooting competition.”

Dmitri could just make out figures on the opposite side of the Panj River, dark points against the bleak snow. Tiny, they snaked their way down the mountain carrying pots and pans.

“You have not killed a single mujahedeen rat since you took over the camp.”

Revulsion moved through Dmitri as the other man sat and sighted his rifle.

“I’ve captured plenty.”

“Captured.” Valisky spat. “So now we have to feed the vermin. What kind of soldier are you?”

Dmitri stood a little straighter and kept his eyes on the wall above the man’s head. “They are only children,
Mayór
.”

The man turned to him with indignation. “They are the rats who feed the enemy, who then shoot down our helicopters and kill our troops.”

Dmitri met his superior’s gaze. “They are children. I will not kill them.”

“Would you shoot them if they were English spies?”

Dmitri blinked with sudden understanding.

A look of satisfaction settled on the
mayór
’s features. “I’m thinking you’re not such an impressive marksman, eh? Not such an impressive patriot?”

A core of anger started to burn in Dmitri’s chest. “I serve Mother Russia,
Mayór
, and no man has ever dared say otherwise.” He stared hard at this man who wanted to grind him into the dirt for no reason.

Except he knew the reason. The blond cherub of a man he’d captured in the Wakhan last summer had told him he’d make him pay for his humiliation. Dmitri wished he’d put a bullet in the swine before he’d known they were on the same side. Now the bastard was dancing in the shadows and showing Dmitri exactly how much he liked to call the tune.

“As your superior officer I command you to prove your loyalty by destroying the enemy, otherwise I will have you court-martialed and shot,” Valisky threatened.

The idea of killing children in cold blood repulsed him. “According to the Geneva Convention”—Dmitri pointed his finger at the valley floor—“they are not soldiers and therefore
not
the enemy.” Dmitri couldn’t believe what was happening. He’d gone from having a dream about making love to his wife to being fucked by a commanding officer in the space of five minutes.

The
mayór
’s cheeks suffused with the color of wrath. “
Starshiná!
Arrest this man for insubordination and cowardice.”

No one moved.

Perhaps they’d felt the wave of fury that moved through Dmitri at the suggestion of cowardice. From this little pig of a man.

“You have no authority over me.” Even so, Dmitri took the rifle. He had no choice.

The
mayór
’s lips peeled back. “You are not leaving this camp until you have shot ten of the little bastards,
Kapitán
. Or my order for arrest will stand.”

Ten
? His heart imploded. Crumpled to dust and disappeared. Dmitri wanted to close his eyes and howl, but he was a professional soldier and he knew how to do his duty. He knew how to kill.

This was his punishment for capturing the spy, for spitting on him and making him reveal his true identity. This was his punishment for being better at his job that the other
mudak
.

These children meant nothing to
Mayór
Valisky or the spy. And now they had to mean nothing to him.

He settled into position. Cleared his mind of the man and became the machine. He no longer saw the big eyes of children who struggled every day to carry a heavy load of water up the steep slope to their starving mothers and siblings. He no longer saw their pitiful rags, which failed to disguise the shivering of their gaunt limbs.

One—he started shooting—two—faster as they began to scatter behind boulders—three—and run back up the path toward a slow death by starvation. Four, five, six. Scarlet sprayed the pristine snow. He was doing them a favor by putting them out of their misery. Seven, eight, nine…and the last child couldn’t have been more than five years old with bone-thin legs and hollowed-out cheeks. She stopped running and turned toward him. Tears running down her cheeks, she raised her hands to the sky in prayer.

Ten.

He swore he saw his soul flying to Heaven along with hers.

***

British Embassy, Rabat, Morocco. May 1988

“Come away from there, Axelle. Quickly now.”

Axelle knew better than to argue with her mother, but she flashed her a disgruntled look before leaving the fountain in the middle of the heat-baked courtyard. She shook off the water and then wiped her hands on her pink cotton dress.
Ugh
.
Pink. Vomit.

She’d almost rebelled at wearing it, but her mom had promised her a new book if she did. And finding new children’s books written in English wasn’t easy in Morocco—not when Axelle read a book a day and still had time left over to get in trouble. She winced. Trouble was a bit of a specialty of hers, much to her father’s disapproval, although she was pretty sure her mother liked it when she made her father angry.

That fact upset her more than her father’s shouting.

Axelle was scared her parents were going to get a divorce. A tight pain constricted in her chest. She didn’t want them to split up. And she was doing her best to remember not to be naughty anymore.

Palm trees rustled in the wind that came off the ocean but didn’t alleviate the hot stickiness of the day. She eyed the nearby pool with a sigh of envy and rolled her eyes for good measure as she followed her mother inside the pale square building that was the British embassy in Rabat.
God.
She huffed out a frustrated breath and kicked the doorway on the way inside.

When her mother had suggested she skip school that morning, the idea had sounded fun. But it soon became clear that rather than spending the day at the beach as she’d been promised, her mother just didn’t want to be alone on her various errands around the city.

Axelle would rather be listening to her grade-five teacher read
Charlotte’s Web
aloud, than sit down with boring grownups. She yawned and felt her jaw crack. Maybe there’d be cookies—or biscuits as her mother called them. Her stomach rumbled as she remembered she’d missed snack time.

She ran and caught up to her mother, catching hold of her fingers. “I’m hungry. Why didn’t Daddy come with us?”

Her mom paused and hefted her leather satchel higher on her shoulder. “Your father was busy.” She pursed her lips, which Axelle recognized as a sign to drop the subject. She hadn’t seen her father for more than a minute all week.

Axelle gnawed her lip as they climbed the stone stairs. She was tired and hungry and
bored
. “When are we going to the beach?”

“Soon.” Her mother smiled and Axelle was struck as always by how beautiful she was. Long, straight, shiny brown hair; light hazel eyes that looked exotic with their black eyeliner; lips deep red from the lipstick she always wore. And when her mom smiled at her like that, Axelle would promise her anything—even to sit quietly in a stuffy room when she could have been at the beach.

“I have a little surprise I didn’t tell you about.” Her mom’s eyes sparkled from some secret mischief.

Excitement raced. What could it be? A pony maybe? She’d been begging for a pony for months. Axelle grinned back and tightened her grip on her mother’s fingers. Even though today had been boring, she loved spending time with her mom.

Maybe there was a TV she could go watch while her mom talked. “Can I have candy?”

“Remember what the dentist said last time you saw him?”

“No.” Axelle pulled a face.

“He said you ate too much candy.”

Axelle hung her head to hide her mutinous expression. She hadn’t enjoyed having a filling but she still liked candy.

Their footsteps echoed down the long cool corridors. There was hardly anyone around. Well, only the usual boring men in their dull boring suits. One passed them and eyed her mother like
she
was candy. Axelle’s held tighter to her mother’s hand. Her mom shot her a grin and they swept on by.

They paused in front of a huge set of wooden doors. Her mom knocked, opened it, and looked inside. Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, he isn’t here yet. We should probably wait outside.”

“Who?” Axelle snuck beneath her arm and peeked. Only faint light filtered through the window shutters, but even so she spied a tray of fresh cream cakes and a pitcher of ice-cold water. She let go of her mother’s hand and slipped inside the room.

“Oh, I suppose we can wait in here.” Her mom looked at the Swatch watch Axelle had given her for Christmas. “How ironic that I’m actually early for once.” She laughed but it didn’t sound happy.

Anxiety worked its way through Axelle’s body and made her uneasy.

Her dad was always complaining that her mom tried to make him late on purpose. Last time, he’d left his wife behind in a huff and they’d later had a huge row. Axelle didn’t want to think about it.

Her tummy rumbled. She was starving. “Can I have a cake, mommy? Please?” There were bright couches and paintings on the wall, but the only thing that spoke to her were the cakes on the tray. They looked delicious and her stomach growled noisily.

“You can have a drink of water until your surprise arrives.” Her mom walked over to the tray and poured Axelle a long tall glass of water. Axelle drank the whole thing in one gulp, her eyes never leaving the cakes on their pretty three-tiered platter.

Suddenly there was a powerful vibration in the air, and the room seemed to shimmer like a desert mirage. Then a massive
boom
that hurt Axelle’s eardrums. The floor shifted and she screamed, but she couldn’t hear anything except that
boom
and
roar
that scared her so bad she thought she was going to pee her pants. The ceiling cracked, and huge chunks of plaster started to fall. She lunged for her mother’s hand as the floor disappeared beneath them and they were both falling.

She landed awkwardly on her back with a jarring thud. Letting go of her mom’s hand to curl up into a tiny ball, she threw her hands in front of her face to protect herself from the dust and plaster and concrete that rained down. Her whole body shook with terror. Dust clogged her throat and she started coughing and retching, her heartbeat so loud it drummed through her ears.

It took a moment to realize the noise had stopped. Axelle tried to blink the grit out of her eyes and see where they were. Where had the sun gone? It was dark, really dark—like nighttime. Then she saw a weak beam of light pierce the stone.

What had happened? Had the world exploded?

“Mommy?” Her ears still rang and she didn’t know if she’d said it loudly enough for her mom to hear. “Mommy!” she shouted and it echoed strangely.

But when the echo died away only eerie silence remained. Panic welled. She couldn’t catch her breath and she gulped air, panting as a wave of dizziness hit her. A noise behind her made her spin, and her heart lodged in her mouth. A long block of concrete had fallen and seemed to be resting on a huge solid piece of wood that creaked and groaned under the weight. The thought of it crushing her had her scrambling away from it, but there was nowhere to go.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. More plaster and timber trickled down, burying her. She clawed at it, trying to shift it to get to where her mother should be, and away from the groaning wood that was going to collapse at any moment. Sweat ran down her face as the heat built inside the dark suffocating prison. Her hands were cut and bleeding but she didn’t stop digging.

Somehow she made a tiny hole just big enough to wriggle through. Jagged edges ripped her dress and scraped her legs, and moments later she heard the wood shatter in her wake. Her lungs pumped, her mouth dropping open in shock.