“Who is in charge of this prison?”
“The colonel.”
“Yes. I mean who is in charge of this place today, right now?”
“Ensign Kopectny, but he would be in his office.”
“Dolt! Who do you report to if something goes wrong?”
When he hesitated, she jammed the muzzle into his right kidney. He jerked away with a small cry of pain.
“It’s up to you,” she said in a sharp whisper. “Die here, or do what you’re told and have a new chance at life.”
He held his weapon in the air and turned his head to speak. “Sergeant Brezhnev.”
“Are the records of recent arrests where he is?”
“Yes.”
“Can we get there without passing any other guards?”
“Yes.”
“Do it.”
They advanced down a long corridor and entered an office where Cora noticed a rack of automatic weapons with a locked chain running through the trigger guards. The sergeant behind the desk continued to scratch slow, labored words into a ledger for a moment without looking up.
“Speak and get out. What do you want?”
“The cell numbers of all prisoners arrested in the past four days,” Cora said.
His head snapped up and his practiced frown changed to wide-eyed astonishment.
“Clasp your hands behind your neck,” she ordered.
He did as he was told. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Cell numbers for every Indian and Creole you’ve put in here in the past week.”
“What for? You don’t expect to get them out of the compound, do you?”
“Consider this; I am a very desperate woman, and if you do not do as I say, I will kill you.”
He looked at the guard. “Where’s Zabotin?”
“She killed him,” the guard said tightly.
“And you surrendered.”
“Or I would have killed him, also,” Cora said. “Now I’ll give you the same choice. I offer you a new life if you’ll join us, amnesty if you cooperate, or death if you slow me up another minute.” The knuckle on her trigger-finger whitened and resignation washed over his face.
“I need to turn the page on the ledger,” he said, nodding at the book in front of him.
“Do it.”
He quickly dropped his hand. Instead of landing on the desk, it fell behind the desk—out of sight. Cora shot him through the head with a single bullet.
The sergeant rocked back violently in the heavy chair and then fell forward onto the book.
“Get it before he bleeds all over it,” she snapped at the guard. He snatched it from under the sergeant’s ruined head.
“Hold it up so I can see it.”
The names meant nothing to her. The cell numbers were evident and the dates beside them ranged over the past ten days.
“Can you read numbers?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to take me to the last five cells listed. Right now.”
They moved silently down the corridor past three doors before stopping at the fourth. The guard opened the door and she saw Wohosni lying on the rude cot, his face crusted with dried blood.
“Damn,” she said fiercely and prodded the guard with the weapon. “Get in there.”
“Cora?” Wohosni said in a weak voice.
“Yes. It’s time. Can you move?”
“Water, I need water,” he said with a gasp. “Then I think I can do it.”
“Where’s water?” she asked the Russian. He gestured toward the door with his thumb and she gestured with her gun.
She followed him to an alcove in the passageway. He filled a bucket and led her back to her friend. Wohosni had sat up. He grabbed the water and drank deeply.
When he finished, he cleaned his face and eyes.
“Who did that to you?” she asked.
“Two guards on night duty got bored and beat me up for the sport of it,” he said tiredly. “Even though I thought this might happen when I was arrested, I’m real happy to see you.” Wohosni stood. “Okay, I’m ready to go now.”
They moved out into the corridor, Wohosni gripped the knife. They stopped at the next cell and the guard opened the door as quietly as he could. Anthony Cabinboy lay on the floor, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
They looked at him for a moment and Cora pushed the muzzle of her weapon into the guard’s side.
“Are they all dead?”
“N-no! Only this one. The sergeant killed him this morning.”
“So that’s why he tried—”
“Yes.”
“What?” Wohosni asked.
“The sergeant didn’t cooperate with me a few minutes ago, so I shot him.”
“Ha.” Wohosni’s laugh lacked humor. “He didn’t know you like the rest of us do.”
“You never beat the prisoners?” she asked the guard lightly.
“Only if I must.”
“In order to rape them, you mean?”
“Please. You said if I helped, you would let me live.”
“Take us to the next cell.”
A man with long hair tied back and sporting a moustache looked up from where he sat on the bunk. He wore beautifully made moose-hide clothing, and obviously hadn’t been born in Russian Amerika.
“Who are you?” Cora asked. “Have we ever met before?”
“I’m Waterman Stoddard, from Eagle.”
“I didn’t realize we had elements that far east,” Cora said. “What kind of an accent is that?”
Stoddard stood and smiled. “I was born in Virginia, Confederate States of America, but I’ve lived near Eagle for nearly seven years now.”
“Why are you in here?”
“I did what that damn Yankee McCloud told me to do, get arrested. So I picked a fight with two Russian ensigns and whipped both of ’em. That did it.”
“So you’re on our side?” Cora asked.
“Yes ma’am. I’m actually on Gnady Ustinov’s staff and a captain in the Dená Army.”
“Oh. Thank you for being here when we needed you, Captain Stoddard. We’re going to get you a weapon as soon as we can.” She looked at the guard.
“There’s supposed to be three more Indians in here, where are they?”
“I’ll show you.”
Heron unfolded his gangly body from the cot when the door swung open. Other than a bruise high on one cheek, he appeared to be fine. “It’s about time. I was beginning to think it wasn’t going to work. Where’s the weapons?”
“After we get the last two,” Cora said.
“Two?” His eyes moved over the group and back to her. “Don’t you mean three?”
“Anthony is dead,” she said softly.
His jaw clamped shut and his face muscles worked. “Who did it?” he said through clenched teeth.
“The sergeant. I killed him.”
He nodded once and then looked at the guard.
“What about him?”
“I have offered him a new life if he cooperates with us. And I plan to keep my word.”
“You’re the strike team leader,” Heron said flatly.
“Right.” She frowned at the guard. “What’s your name?”
“I-Ivan Yuvonovich, Private, Imperial Army, five, sev—”
“Spare me the numbers, Ivan. Just take us to the last two prisoners.”
“Yes, Cora Leader.” He moved out into the corridor, no longer hesitant. In moments he had the last two doors open. Claude and a small man named Ray emerged from the cells.
“Very good,” Cora said. “Now let’s see if I can remember my way back to the weapons.” She easily led them to the office where the sergeant’s corpse lay over the desk.
“Where’s the key to that lock?” she asked Ivan.
“Ensign Kopectny has it. Do you wish me to lead you to Ensign Kopectny?”
“No.” She picked up the heavy bayonet the sergeant had used as a paper weight, jammed it through the hasp of the lock, and jerked it down sharply. The lock fell apart.