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.
Chapter Nineteen
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.