Stiletto yelled out in Russian. The door swung open and another man came out holding a pistol. Two shots from the .45 sent him tumbling down the steps. The man’s body stopped at Scott’s feet.
Stiletto ran up the steps and into the building, swinging the .45 left and right, stopping at the body chained to the wall. The man’s eyes connected with Stiletto’s.
Vladimir Glinkov smiled, though he was missing a few teeth, his upper body full of welts and cuts.
But he was alive.
Stiletto holstered the Combat Commander and took out a pocket knife. He started sawing at Glinkov’s ropes.
“My family?”
“Safe. Ravkin and Anastasia are with me.”
“I failed,” Glinkov said. “I couldn’t hold out.”
The ropes snapped. Stiletto helped the injured man to his feet. He leaned heavily against Stiletto.
“Later,” Stiletto said. “We gotta get out of here.”
Glinkov tried to walk and limped at first, but gritted his teeth and remained upright, almost falling down the steps and taking Stiletto with him. Another figure ran toward them from the shadows. Stiletto started to lift the .45 but let off the trigger once he recognized Anastasia.
“Vlad!”
She ran to assist and they started for the gate.
“Ravkin’s dead,” she said.
“Let’s just get out of here, Ana,” Stiletto said, but Glinkov suddenly felt heavier.
“I can walk,” the injured man said, Stiletto letting him go. He kept up as they moved faster toward the gate.
Sirens wailed. Half a dozen police cars with flashing cherry lights pulled up at the gate, several continuing onto the property while two stayed at the shack.
Anastasia said, “The river’s behind us!”
“Vlad, can you run?”
“I have too.”
Anastasia steered them left and Stiletto stayed behind Vlad, who jogged steadily but Scott saw him wincing and breathing hard.
But they weren’t faster than the police cars. Two stopped on a wedge behind them while another pair screeched to a halt in front of them. All three stopped short. Cops jumped out with handguns leveled and started shouting.
Stiletto started to say something when Anastasia raised her Kalashnikov and opened fire.
Chapter Eleven
ANASTASIA’S HEART sank as the cars surrounded them. She skidded to a stop and there was only one thought in her mind. She would not surrender. She’d get out of Russia or die trying.
She lifted the AK as the cops in front started shouting. Flame blazed from the muzzle as she raked the cop cars, one of the cops falling with blood bursting from the holes across his chest.
“Run!” she yelled, turning around to the cops behind her, firing some more. Another cop fell. Another fired back.
STILETTO GRABBED Glinkov’s left arm and pulled him along, the pair running around the cars blocking them and deeper into the property. Scott focused on the darkness ahead, knowing the perimeter fence lay a hair beyond.
He looked back just once and saw Anastasia fall, her AK chattering skyward as she collapsed. He let out a curse.
“Don’t look back, Vlad!”
They ran on, reaching the shadows, and then the whipping rotor blades of a chopper drowned out the alarm. The helicopter passed low over the refinery, the forward-mounted spotlight shining on the ground. It landed on them and stayed there as they kept running. Scott raised the .45 and fired until the magazine locked back, but the chopper remained, tracking them closely. Glinkov fell, Stiletto trying to catch him and falling with him. He looked back. The cops who’d stopped at the gate were powering through, heading straight for them.
Stiletto fished a spare magazine from the pouch on his belt and slapped it home, about to raise it toward the chopper once again when the refinery finally reached critical mass.
The ground shook as the first explosion began, and when the fireball burst from the center, it engulfed everything in its path, pipes, tanks, all of it, secondary explosions mixing with the first. Stiletto and Glinkov raised an arm to shield their faces and then the chopper wavered, tipping from side to side, the pilot forced to pull up and fly away before the shockwave knocked him out of the sky.
“Up, up, up!” Stiletto shouted, grabbing Glinkov, and they continued toward the fence. The heat from the blast touched Scott’s back but the fence was finally in sight. Glinkov crashed against the chain-link, clamping both hands and trying to climb, but he let out a breath and collapsed.
Stiletto looked up the length of the fence to the barbed wire on top.
“Vlad, this is going to hurt.”
“Already does.”
“Step on my back.”
Stiletto dropped to hands and knees. The fire raged beyond, catching on the buildings. The glare of the blaze lit the night.
Glinkov placed one shaking foot on Stiletto’s back, and grasped the fence. He started pulling himself up, letting out a cry of pain, but he didn’t stop. He moved his hands and feet and reached the barbed wire, rolling over, tearing his clothes on the barbs, to climb down the other side.
Stiletto jumped up, scaled the fence quickly, and dropped beside his friend. “Let’s go!”
Vlad Glinkov rose slowly but stayed at Stiletto’s heel. The cold river lay only twenty yards ahead. They moved quickly across the dirt ground, reaching the shore, splashing into the water. It looked like a million miles to the other side and, worse, the ice-cold water sliced through them, numbing in its intensity. Glinkov almost dropped beneath the surface when they reached the deep part in the middle, and Stiletto moved up beside him, throwing an arm around his back and pulling him close. Stiletto continued treading, shivering, breathing hard, the other side of the river still seemingly miles away. Vlad kept going, kicking with his legs and swinging his left arm in an arc, propelling them forward. Presently they reached the edge and crawled out of the water, Glinkov rolling onto his back, still gasping, Stiletto staying on hands and knees, coughing till his lungs hurt. He dropped onto his back and looked across the water at the blazing refinery on the other side.
They were away, but he’d left two allies behind. One of them had the bargaining chip he sorely needed to get them back to the U.S. in one piece.
“There was nothing we could do, Scott,” Glinkov said, his voice raspy.
“But we can’t stay here,” Stiletto said, forcing himself to his feet. His felt for his gun, took it out of his belt and shook out some water.
Glinkov raised a hand. Scott helped him to his feet. Vlad’s skin was cold to the touch and the man was already shivering. Stiletto couldn’t hide the shakes, either. They needed to get warm fast and no mistake.
“We’ll have to find a car to hijack,” he said. “We’re racking up all kinds of charges.”
“Where are we going?”
“Safe house first,” Stiletto said, “and then we’ll the embassy.”
“What will they do?”
“Place us under house arrest,” Stiletto said. “Then they’ll turn us over to the police unless we get a miracle.”
He was thinking of the Cabal, but would they consider him damaged goods now and rescind their offer? He hadn’t pulled the trigger on the cops, but his association made him just as guilty. His mission had gone totally out of control. If he ever had any control to begin with.
Glinkov blinked.
“Come on,” Scott said.
STILETTO AND Glinkov walked along a dirt road. The lights of homes lay ahead, but prior to that sat the Otkrytiye Arena, the circular building dark and imposing but with a cluster of cars in a parking lot.
Stiletto and Glinkov crossed a quiet dirt access road and continued on pavement toward the arena itself. Stiletto was still cold; Glinkov shivered, his arms wrapped around his torso.