The Dark Passage: A Sam Raven Thriller, page 18
Facing the front of the house was an acre of green grass, the wide space enclosed only by the white walls and an iron gate. The road leading to the villa was long and sometimes treacherous from lack of maintenance, so Anton Vercuni chose another way to reach The Wolf’s lair.
A white helicopter with its cabin crowded with passengers passed from the dark sky and into the glare of the security lights. The skids touched down on a landing pad in the center of the grassy field. When the pilot cut the motor, the blades spinning atop the chopper slowed to still silence, and the whisper of the night’s breeze replaced the noise of the helicopter engine.
The doors opened on either side of the cabin. Anton Vercuni stepped out first, felt the chill of the wind, and wished for a heavier jacket. He turned and helped Melika out. She shivered, too. On the opposite side, Dede Bizi took solid hold of Elena Corvaci’s right arm and pulled her out. The big man joined Anton and Melika.
“Nobody to meet us?” Melika asked.
“Here they come.”
Anton pointed at an approached Jeep which emerged from a garage hidden from view and crossed the grassy to them.
Anton Vercuni and his party waited as a pair of icy eyes watched them from the top floor of the house.
Dragoslav Nikolic, a.k.a. The Wolf, closed the blinds as the Jeep reached the helicopter. He’d meet them at the front door, and turned from the window to leave his den. The quiet walk along the hall to the stairs gave him a moment to think about what brought the Vercunis to his doorstep.
Nikolic was a rough-looking fifty-five. He could have passed for ten years older. Decades of hard living gave him the poor skin tone and pockmarks on his face and body, the lines, the bristly hair on his head. His eyes were dark and vivid yet no friendliness existed behind them. The only thing one saw when looking at Nikolic was a killer waiting for a silent signal to strike.
He was a former Serbian military officer who took a big part in ethnic cleansing during the Yugoslav Wars. The excuse to murder undesirables was too good to pass up, and he and his crew went overboard in their participation so much The Hague placed Nikolic on a wanted list. It was then a carefully devised “death” took Nikolic off the playing field, but he emerged as an underworld crime figure who used military connections to dominate the Balkan drug trade. When the opportunity arrived to take over the entire Balkan Cartel, he jumped at the chance. One place crash, and one dead leader, later, he was in the seat of power, and there was nobody brave enough to challenge him. Nobody brave enough to look into his icy eyes.
Nikolic descended the stairs carefully. He was a man who did not rush. Nothing was so urgent as to require speed. Slow, calculated, cold—the motto he lived by. When they opened the door and stepped out onto the well-lit porch, he had to shield his eyes from the headlamps of the Jeep. It was driving back across the grass and making a slight turn to stop before the porch. Nikolic lowered his arm as the Jeep turned so its driver’s side faced him. He frowned at the hostage, the blond woman in the combat black suit. Her face wasn’t familiar. Who was she, and why was she attempting to murder the Vercunis?
Anton and Melika looked well enough, and he noticed Melika carried a heavy briefcase. Her husband approached the porch but stopped halfway. All he was missing was a salute. Instead, he said, “Hello, General,” with a slight bow.
“Anton.”
“We brought our hostage.”
“I see.”
“Where would you—”
Nikolic didn’t snap his fingers or give an order. Three armed men appeared from the shadows, startling Anton Vercuni. Nikolic watched them take the woman from Dede Bizi and lead her away—somewhere out of sight. Nikolic noted she was staring at him as his men took her. She didn’t argue or resist. She stared at him as if fascinated. She wasn’t scared. She made contact with those icy eyes and didn’t flinch.
Nikolic didn’t hear anything else Anton said on the porch. His mind was busy trying to remember the woman’s face, because he had a feeling she knew his.
36
It was him!
He was older, but so was she. What hadn’t changed was his eyes. She’d never forget those eyes no matter how the man’s face changed.
Meeting his stare was a victory in and of itself. She saw the wheels turning behind his eyes. She looked at him and didn’t shrink back.
Now the hard part.
She had to withstand whatever violence he intended to dish out in order to make her talk.
But the stare.
He wouldn’t forget the stare.
She had thrown him off, and he wouldn’t truly get rough until he understood how she could pull off the look nobody else attempted.
Two of the armed men had her by each arm. The other walked in front of them. They led her around the villa to a narrow hallway and through a door. A set of steps led down into darkness. Elena didn’t fight or argue. She took a deep breath and let them escort her down. Whatever happened next, she’d do what she had to do to survive. Because she was sure of one thing. Raven wasn’t coming to rescue her this time. She was on her own.
The basement beneath the villa was a tomb of concrete and shadow, at least in the cramped area where they deposited Elena. A light bulb hung from the ceiling, and the bright light burned hot. One of the three gunmen grabbed a folding chair from a dark corner and slammed it into the center of the room under the light. One of the other two hit Elena on the back of the head with his hand. The blow shocked her out of her stoic state, the light cry escaping her lips replaced by a louder one as the men’s hands grabbed her and began pulling and slicing at the black suit and her underwear. They shoved her onto the cold metal chair and their leader was there with zip ties and straps to hold her in place. The men remained stone-faced and passive, operating like robots; when they were done, neither gave her a backward glance as they departed and left her in the cold under a hot light.
She tried to control her rapid breathing, shutting her eyes to disappear into a place of safety, but she couldn’t concentrate. Because she felt the bugs again, crawling up and down her skin…
Elena did something she’d never done before when faced with such a situation.
She finally screamed. Long and loud.
The study of General Dragoslav Nikolic—The Wolf—was a sanctum of dark wood and leather, its air thick with cigar smoke. Nikolic stood by a floor-to-ceiling window, his silver hair catching the lamplight, his tailored suit immaculate despite the late hour. His eyes, cold and predatory, scanned the valley below, where the pines whispered secrets to the night. Across from him, Anton Vercuni slouched in a leather armchair, his custom Damascus steel knife spinning idly in his hand, his face a mask of barely contained frustration. Melika Vercuni sat at a mahogany desk, her fingers poised over a sleek laptop, its screen casting a pale glow on her sharp features. The laptop, so Melika claimed, held the key to their current obsession: Elena, the prisoner in their basement.
Melika’s voice cut through the silence, precise and cold. “Irina Vukovic’s files are a goldmine. Encrypted, but sloppy—her security was easy for me to crack.”
A smile pulled at the corners of Anton’s mouth. His wife didn’t like it when somebody mentioned how cocky she became when discussing computer security and her ability to manipulate it like a wizard. He wasn’t going to ruin her moment in the spotlight, though.
“I traced a string of emails to a server in London,” Melika continued. “An address in Mayfair, 17 Grosvenor Square. Registered to a shell company, but the name behind it is Ana Gray.” She leaned back, her eyes flicking to Nikolic. “The heiress. Philanthropist by day, spymaster of her own intelligence organization by night. Elena’s one of hers.”
Anton snorted, his knife pausing mid-spin. “A rich bitch playing spymaster. Sounds like a fantasy, but it’s the word on the street, General.”
Nikolic nodded. “You sure about this, Melika?”
Melika’s gaze hardened, her voice like a blade. “These emails from Gray don’t lie. She was telling Irina what they needed and who might help, specifically a smuggler named Hasanaj. Mean anything?”
Nikolic nodded again but didn’t elaborate. He turned from the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his presence commanding the room. “Interesting,” he said quietly, his gravelly voice low, accented with the weight of his Serbian roots.
Anton sheathed his knife. “Elena’s not just a lone wolf. She’s got a pack behind her. I say we send a team to London. Dede Bizi can lead. Hit this Gray woman and cut the head off the snake. Problem solved.”
Nikolic shook his head, his expression darkening. “Not yet. We need confirmation. If Gray’s network is as deep as you say, Melika, we can’t afford a misstep. A hit in London draws attention—MI6, Interpol, maybe worse.” He paused, his gaze drifting toward the door, beyond which the basement stairs descended to their prisoner. “Elena’s the key. She knows Gray’s operation. We break her, we get the truth.”
Anton smirked, cracking his knuckles. “Let me at her again. My knife was starting to get answers before you pulled me off, General. She’s tough, but nobody holds out forever.”
Melika’s lips pressed into a thin line, her voice sharp. “We need her talking, not bleeding out.”
Anton’s face flushed, but he bit back a retort, glancing at Nikolic for support. The general’s eyes instead were distant.
Anton stood, restless, his hand hovering near his knife. “So what? We sit here while Gray’s people pick us apart? Elena’s in the basement, naked, tied to a chair. She’s got nothing—no backup, no tricks. Let me carve the truth out of her. I’ll have her singing in an hour.”
Nikolic raised a hand, silencing him. “No. I’ll handle Elena myself.” His lips curled into a cold smile. “I broke men in the war when you both were still children. She’ll talk, or she’ll die.”
She stopped screaming after a while, but her ears hurt from the sounds erupting from her lungs. Breathless, head down, waiting, Elena sat in the chair and the room’s chill made her skin prickle. When the sound of the door squeaking open at the top of the steps reached her, she raised her head, defiant, and took a deep breath. Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Slow, deliberate steps. Whoever was coming to her wasn’t in any hurry. And then General Dragoslav Nikolic, The Wolf, emerged into the circle of light.
She met his eyes again and he remained locked with hers. His expression was one of curiosity. If he noticed she was nude, he gave no indication. None of his guards flanked him. He was alone. She wasn’t sure it gave her an advantage. His gunmen wouldn’t be far away.
“Who are you?” His voice was gravelly, accented, each word precise. “Give me your name.”
Elena’s jaw tightened. The restraints holding her to the chair made her body ache, and her lungs hurt from screaming. She answered and her voice remained steady. “You don’t get my name until I get answers from you.”
A chuckle. “You are in no position to bargain, young lady. Why are you here? Why target my organization? Who sent you?” He leaned closer, hands braced on his knees, and his eyes remained on hers. He wasn’t interested in her pale white nudity. “And who are your associates? The American. Give me the identity of the American, and I’ll return your clothing. We only needed to check it for tracking devices.”
“You forgot to look in my asshole. I keep everything there.”
Another chuckle, and Nikolic straightened. “You are a fighter.”
Elena’s pulse quickened, but she kept her face a stiff mask to hide the turmoil inside her.
“You tell me something, General. Do you remember a farm in Croatia, summer of 1994? You burned it to the ground. Killed a family. Mother, father, brother, daughter. Ring any bells?”
“There were many of those, young lady.”
“It was just another day to you, wasn’t it?”
“Your family? You’re doing this to me for revenge?”
She laughed, a low, throaty laugh without humor. “You act like you’re the victim, Dragoslav. Ridiculous.”
“It’s General Nikolic to you.”
“Whatever, Draggy, baby.”
She watched his face twitch. His right hand twitched, too. He wanted to hit her. But his tactical mind took over at the last second and prevented the movement. He knew she was trying to break through his barriers; he wasn’t going to let her. If he determined a victory through her slight grin, he didn’t show it, either.
“I don’t remember many slipping through my fingers, young lady. Either fate smiled upon you, or you were better and faster than the rest of your family. Hmmm? And now what? You’ve come for revenge. To kill me? Hardly. You’re at my mercy, young lady.”
“And you’re at mine, General.”
“I am?”
“All I have to do is sit here and shiver until my people show up. You think I’m helpless? You have no idea.”
“Where are your friends?”
She shook her head. “You’re getting scared, aren’t you? You have this fortress, your guards, but you’re jumping at shadows. You don’t even know who’s coming for you. You have no idea how big the force I’ve spent—”
She didn’t get to finish. This time, Nikolic’s tactical sense had no power over raw fury.
He smacked her across the face with one hand and punched her in the gut with the other. Elena wretched onto her lap and her face flared with pain. After a coughing fit, she forced herself to raise her head and laugh.
It hurt to laugh, but it was better than screaming.
A distant thud shook the villa. The vibrations rattled Elena’s chair. The general forgot his anger. His expression changed to surprise. Another thud followed. The bulb above flickered, dust sifting from the ceiling. Nikolic turned as one of his men hurried down the steps and burst into the room.
“We’re under attack! Helicopters—multiple! They’re hitting the perimeter!”
Nikolic’s eyes widened, then arrowed as he turned back to Elena.
She said, “I didn’t need no tracking device, General. Get my clothes, huh?”
The Wolf instead pivoted and the guard ran ahead of him.
Pain radiated from her stomach and face, but the distant booms grew louder now. Rockets, gunfire, the unmistakable roar of helicopter rotors. Raven and Hasanaj. They’d found her, somehow. The swinging bulb above swung wildly now, and shadows danced around the walls.
Elena’s lips curled. Nikolic assumed she was helpless, but he’d underestimated her—and her friends. Raven and Hasanaj were carving a path to her, and when they arrived, she’d turn the basement into The Wolf’s tomb. She only had to hold on a little longer.
37
Four large combat choppers roared across the treetops, their rotors thumping a war drum through the night. Each carried a squad of Hasanaj’s volunteer commandos. Raven crouched near the open side door of the lead chopper. Wind whipped at his face and tactical vest. He’d finally traded his Uzi for an HK416, the carbine issued to all of the fighters in the helicopters. He wore the weapon strapped across his chest. Hasanaj kneeled beside him with NVGs pushed up on his forehead. The other three choppers flanked them, the silhouettes of each flying machine bristling with rocket pods and machine guns. They were bringing war to The Wolf’s doorstep.
“Two minutes to target.”
The pilot’s voice crackled over Raven’s headset. He glanced at Hasanaj, who gave a curt nod. They had a simple plan. Soften the villa’s defenses with an airborne assault, then land and storm the compound to extract Elena and finish off the cartel boss for good. Raven had no plans to take Nikolic alive. There’d be no trial in The Hague. The Wolf was walking dead, but didn’t know it yet.
Nikolic’s security was no joke, according to Ana Gray’s intelligence. Sentries, full-auto cannons on the roof, rumored anti-aircraft missiles. Raven’s jaw tightened. They’d hit hard, hit fast, and accomplish the mission. The odds were against them, though. But he’d never let such odds deter him before. There was always a way, especially if you fired first, and crippled your opponent before he had a chance to respond.
The choppers crested the final ridge, and the villa came into view, a glittering jewel in the blanket of green surrounding it. In the dark of the night, the green trees had no definition; the villa appeared to be floating in space.
“Engage!” Hasanaj barked the order into his com unit. The lead chopper’s nose dipped, and a pair of high-explosive air-to-ground missiles streaked from left- and right-mounted rocket pods. The missiles screamed toward the villa’s outer wall. Explosions bloomed, orange and white, shattering concrete and hurling debris skyward. Screams echoed faintly as cartel troopers scrambled for cover. The other three choppers followed the lead’s example, firing their own rockets which slammed into guard towers and a parked Jeep at the side, which erupted in a fireball and lit the property for a brief instant.
“Gunners, now!” Hasanaj shouted. The door gunners opened fire, machine guns chattering as they raked the villa’s grounds. Tracers arced like deadly fireflies, cutting down cartel troopers who took a stand in the open and returned fire with their AK-74s. A rooftop turret swiveled toward the lead chopper, its autocannon spitting rounds, but the second chopper’s gunner zeroed it, shredding the emplacement with a hail of hot tracers resembling sci-fi laser bolts against the dark sky. Raven gripped the doorframe handles, the chopper banking hard as it completed the first pass. Below, the villa’s lawns were scarred, flames licking at shattered outbuildings, but the main structure stood defiant, its walls barely scratched. Raven wondered if Nikolic had evacuated or not.
