The Killing Game (13 page)

“What?” she asked.

He cocked a brow. “Movement, remember?”

His eyes were even bluer close up and she found herself cataloguing his features. Straight, flat nose. Full lower lip. Sandy blond stubble gracing a lean jaw. Sun-bleached brows and lashes that looked white against his tanned skin and high, Slavic cheekbones.

“What?” he murmured.

For a moment she held her breath and then broke away from his gaze. “You’ve got big ears,” she said.

“All the better to hear you with.” His lips twitched. “I’ve got big hands too.”

She blinked at his hands and swallowed hard. Heat crept up her cheeks. She watched him out of the corner of her eye and decided to change the subject before she embarrassed herself. “What made you become a soldier?”

“I like guns.”

She rolled her eyes. “You should come live in Montana.”

He smiled without looking at her. “Why are you scared of caves, Dr. Dehn?”

It wasn’t a secret. Hell, it was on Wikipedia, although generally she didn’t talk about it.

But for some reason she felt compelled to answer him. Maybe it was the trust thing, which relied on a certain amount of honesty and this was old history. “I was trapped under a collapsed building for two days.”

“Holy fucking hell.”

“Yeah, it was.” A shiver of cold slid down her back and she inched closer to him. After a quarter of a century the memories generally didn’t hurt anymore, instead they’d coalesced into this childish terror of small, dark spaces. But right now she was remembering all the fear and all the terror and all the endless hours of waiting, trapped beside her dead mother. Her lungs hurt. Panic snatched her breath. Once. Twice.

His fingers found hers. Hot. Smooth, and reassuring. He squeezed and she held on.

“How old were you?” His deep murmur calmed her raw nerves.

“Ten, but I don’t remember much of it.” She’d blocked it. She’d almost died from dehydration and she’d blocked it. A freak rainstorm had kept her alive, enabling her to suck moisture from the rubble. She’d blocked that too.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” After another moment. “It’s Axelle. Not Dr. Dehn.”

“After the lead singer of Guns N’ Roses?”

“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “Mom was a big fan.”

He’d let go of her hand and had been staring down the scope of that mean-looking rifle with his trademark intensity. He looked back at her, and the smile that lit his face turned him from handsome to hot in a heartbeat.

She swallowed and shifted a little bit away from him but then felt cold again. She sighed with misery. She didn’t want to be attracted to anyone, hadn’t had this problem in over a decade. Being attracted to a soldier felt fundamentally
wrong
. The fact she was having these thoughts when some sadist was shooting her leopards made her feel like a loser on every level. But this man was helping her. Perhaps that was why she felt the attraction. It was nothing more than misplaced gratitude.

She laid her chin on her hands. “It’s French—means ‘father of peace.’ We lived there when I was born. When I went to school in DC I always wished they’d chosen something ordinary—like Karen or Julie or Susan—but no, we had to have something sophisticated and unusual…according to my father.”

“Is your dad still alive?”

She nodded.

“Brothers or sisters?”

She shook her head. “What about you?”

“Tyrone Dempsey. Sergeant. 2350045.”

After her confessions his impersonal answer felt like a slap in the face. “You’re a pain in the ass, Sergeant Tyrone Dempsey. 2350045.”

“Copy that, ma’am. Try and get some sleep. And, for the record? So are you.”

***

Time was running out. Desperation drove him onward, barely letting him sleep because with every footstep he imagined the life running out of his grandson’s frail body. He’d trudged through the night using the Soviet-era night vision goggles he’d bought in Gilgit. Now dawn was exposing the land in shades of gray. The jagged peaks were eerily silent, except for the giant’s breath of wind that pulsed and robbed his own.

Yesterday he’d been gifted with the sighting of a snow leopard and a markhor together in the same valley. It was God’s blessing on his quest. He’d taken down the shaggy goat with the magnificent twisted horns but had only clipped the predator.

The signal was gaining in strength. He was closing in on the wounded leopard so he tied his yak to a stunted tree and stealthily slid the rifle from its case and over his shoulder. The receiver and antenna were bulky but he could carry all three items over short distances. He wasn’t the man he’d once been—had spent too many years wallowing in self-pity and trying to drown his mistakes in hard liquor.

He felt ancient. But death was a mercy he didn’t deserve.

The wind came off the mountain, taking his scent with him. He climbed the ridge silently, peering furtively into the next valley. He didn’t want to spook his prey. There was more snow in the clouds, he could smell it. As long as it didn’t block the road to his hideout, it didn’t matter. Then he spotted it…a footprint. Human? And another. Two people. The biologists? Or someone else?

He listened, used the scope on his rifle to scan the opposite side of the valley. A faint trail in the light snow led to a small cave. The awareness that had kept him alive for so long prickled over his scalp and he narrowed his gaze. The biologists had set a trap. Fury welled inside. His grandson was dying and they set him a trap? He started to slither backwards, but froze as a man, swarthy as an Arab, with the bearing of a soldier, faded into position. He’d never seen him before but he immediately knew the game had changed.

Dmitri slipped out of sight and jogged to the pack animal.

Hurry.

Anger filled him, anger and fear. Fear that he would be too late, that they would stop him.
Magdalena
…the name came out of nowhere, ripping through him with a tidal wave of yearning.

Snow started to drift out of the sky again, swirling around him in an endless crystal ballet. He headed in the opposite direction to his yak, circling around, searching for signs that anyone else was here. But the snow obliterated the earth now as surely as it cloaked him.

Dmitri took the rope and led the animal into the swirling flurries. He’d kill a thousand snow leopards, shoot the last the tiger on earth to save one precious child.

They hadn’t found him yet. He intended to make sure they never did.

***

The midday sun beat harshly on this patch of barren rock, melting the inch of snow that had fallen during the morning. The woman beside him had finally stopped wriggling and fallen asleep a couple of hours ago. His team was in position and they’d been on stag duty while he caught a quick nap. Now he was wide awake and refreshed, but so far, nothing,
nada, nyet
.

What had made Dmitri Volkov turn his back on his former homeland? What made him defect to fight on the side of people who got their kicks out of brutalizing innocent civilians?

Dempsey understood terrorists better than anyone this side of a suicide vest. He’d grown up with them, would probably have become one himself if not for the tragic death of his sister. That was the family business, right alongside farming. Being immersed in that indoctrinated shit from a young age meant he understood how people born into it found it hard to break free. It was so ingrained, so fecking
normal
. Talk about brainwashed. His sister’s death had severed all connections with that life. Obliterated everything that had come before it. But this guy, this old Red Army soldier, and many like him, had actually opted to join forces with the nutters.

Silence pressed down on him. False. Unnatural. He lay absolutely still but he was starting to get one of those feelings.

He keyed his comms. “Report.”

“Nothing.”

“Clear.”

“Not a fucking thing.”

He frowned. Wishing he didn’t trust his intuition more than he trusted his men. “Taz, take a look around.”

“Copy that.”

The silence held the essence of expectation. Like everyone was waiting for something to happen.

Axelle woke and bashed her head on the rock. He automatically cupped his palm over her hair, which felt like warm silk and had red-gold streaks in the morning light. A look flashed between them. A nameless connection though he’d done his best to keep his distance. Usually he was skilled at distance and, judging from the wary expression on her face, so was she.

“Report,” he ordered Taz.

“No sign of anyone or anything along the rim of the valley,” said Taz.

Cullen and Baxter both checked in.

Axelle pulled out her radio receiver and turned it on.

“What have you got?”

She frantically scanned the frequencies and frowned. “There’s something about a mile west of here.”

“One of your collars?”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “It’s on the same frequency but…”

Dempsey slipped out of the cave. “I’ll check it out.”

“I’m coming with you.” She scrambled out.

“You won’t be able to keep up.”

Her chin jutted. “Try me.”

“You’ll make too much noise.”

“These are my leopards. You can’t stop me.” She was whispering but her voice still dared him to try.

He couldn’t exactly knock her out. Well, he could, but he didn’t want to. “Fine. But you do what I tell you, when I tell you.” He grabbed his stuff because he wanted to be able to keep after this bastard if it was indeed the Russian. And leaving your pack behind unguarded was a stupid way to die.

“Baxter—you and Cullen stay here with this collar. Taz, you and I—”

“And me.”

“—are going to check out another transmitter signal a mile due west.”

“Roger that.”

He set off fast down the cliff but had to slow when Axelle refused to hand over the receiver to allow him to follow the signal. Probably better this way even though he seethed with impatience. He joined up with Taz at the head of the valley. The trooper had his map out and Dempsey checked the radio receiver and noted the GPS position and marked it on the map.

Taz’s black eyes gleamed as they took in Axelle. “You seem to have rescued a damsel in distress, Irish.”

Dempsey grunted.

She gave him a feral glare.

There were several steep interlocking gullies in their way. Taz took the lead, moving fast. Dempsey ran, making as little noise as possible—all his kit taped down so it didn’t rattle. Axelle managed to keep on his heels and though she was breathing hard, she didn’t utter a single murmur of complaint. Soldiers in the Regiment weren’t just fit, they were run-up-and-down-a-mountain-in-full-kit-and-then-do-it-again-for-fun fit. After half a mile he slowed and she caught them. He didn’t want her left alone in these mountains with this character around.

Taz looked over his shoulder and gave him the signal to slow down. They couldn’t afford to run into an ambush or booby trap. As far as they knew the Russian was alone, but they had no real intelligence or sightings of the sly sonofabitch, so they couldn’t take anything for granted, especially this close to the Afghan-Pakistan border.

“Check the signal but keep the volume down. We don’t want to spook the bastard if he’s here,” he instructed Axelle quietly.

Her cheeks pulsed a vivid red and her chest pumped air at a rapid pace. He did his best not to notice.

The signal hadn’t moved. Her lips pressed together in a tight line as she showed him. They started forward again, Dempsey with his rifle to his shoulder. He’d given the Glock back to Axelle earlier but he was grateful she kept it concealed. They worked their way over one ridge, then the next, staying below the horizon line. When he figured the collar was over the next ridge they found an area of dense shrubs and army-crawled until they could see into the basin below.

Axelle gasped and his stomach turned.

Below them, staked into the bare earth, was the glistening red carcass of an animal—some makeshift collar attached to the body of the slain creature. There was no doubt a message had been sent. Axelle stuffed her fist in her mouth to stifle a sob.

Shit
.

The fine hair on his nape prickled with super-awareness. He grabbed Axelle’s arm and pulled them both behind a boulder. He looked at Taz. “You think he spotted us?”

Taz nodded. “And left us a little fuck-off present.”

Dempsey nodded. “Given his expertise”—he flicked a glance at Axelle, but she was staring at the corpse as if she could resurrect the dead if she just tried hard enough—“I wouldn’t be surprised if he left us more than that.”

It was a grotesque display with the skinned face of the animal—probably a goat—almost smiling at them. He felt the tremors that started to pass through Axelle’s body. He called the others on the radio. “Gig’s up. He knows we’re in the area. Get up here. Strong chance he’s set up some booby traps in the area. Go careful.”

He nodded to Taz to go ahead of him. “Let’s work our way around the valley before we go down. You stay here,” he told Axelle. He might as well have saved his breath because she stood and followed him. The glint in her eyes told him she wasn’t sitting around waiting for anyone.

“Fine.” He caught her flat stare. “Stay behind me. It’s possible he set mines or tripwires. Keep your eyes open.”

They scouted the entire rim, Taz using the thermal imaging scope on his C8 to search for any heat sources before they headed to the base of the valley floor—the least popular spot for any soldier. Drag marks were visible over the eastern ridge. Flies filled the air, swarming over the dead flesh in a feasting mass. He ignored them but Axelle started swatting at them. He touched her arm but she jerked away from him. This must be her idea of hell.

Her being blown to smithereens was his.

He caught her arm. “Put your feet where I put my feet, but stay back a little, just in case…”

Her gaze swung to his and her mouth opened as she finally registered what he was saying.
Just in case he stepped on a landmine.
It wasn’t an image anyone wanted in their heads but this offering posed a tempting trap, so why wouldn’t the Russian leave them a little surprise? A few dead soldiers would be a nice bonus after a hard morning’s work.