The Hunters Box Set, page 25
part #1 of The Hunters Series
“Tell them, no, ask them if I can please bring up the rear.”
Jasmine relayed McNutt’s request, which was granted.
Before he would relent to Cobb’s insistence, Dobrev took a moment to say good-bye to his old friend, Ludmilla. He knew he had to go, but he wished to God he could stay with her. It was a profound emotional parting, a psychological wrench. Dobrev was saying good-bye to more than just a beloved, vintage engine; he was abandoning an old friend. He laid a weathered hand on the cold iron of the engine’s inner wall—a final “thank you” for all she meant to him.
He did so with tears in his eyes.
Then, without hesitation, Dobrev jumped heavily and nearly slid off the back of his horse. But the rider threw his arms back to prevent it, spreading them like the wings of an eagle and turning his palms out and back to grab Dobrev’s reaching arms.
The old man beamed gratefully.
Cobb saw Sarah gesturing forcefully toward the back of the train. He heard the pop-pop-pop of McNutt’s weapon.
“There are too many!” she yelled. “They’re getting onboard!”
Cobb wasn’t surprised. Even though Dobrev had locked the throttle in place, the incline had increased and the engine was slowing. Cobb’s rider moved into position, and he jumped. He hadn’t even shifted properly on the horse’s croup when Decebal, Borovsky, and Jasmine trotted up beside him. The Russian cop was already speaking.
“They said we should not make a stand,” Jasmine translated.
“What do they recommend?”
Borovsky was already explaining.
“He says that we should concentrate on getting away,” Jasmine said.
“He wants us to run?” Sarah snarled from the far side of the group.
“The word he used was ‘retreat,’” she said. “A tactical retreat.”
“The word I use is pussies,” McNutt grumbled in their ears.
Cobb considered the odds, the potential losses, and the fact that they were on Decebal’s home turf, which meant he would know the best hiding places and most defensible positions. But Cobb also remembered Jasmine’s story about the Argonauts. It was probably Decebal’s job to make sure the treasure stayed where it was, even if it meant that he, his riders, and the would-be thieves all perished. On the other hand, Borovsky and the riders had agreed to a temporary truce before the Black Robes had attacked. Furthermore, they had just saved Borovsky’s life.
“Let’s do as he says,” Cobb announced.
The flock of villagers turned slightly, as one, toward a densely wooded spot atop a small rise. Cobb glanced back and was sickened by the sight. To Dobrev, the train had been a thing of love and beauty. To the Black Robes, it was a husk to inhabit with some vile purpose.
And that purpose was yet to be revealed.
Cobb’s thoughts were interrupted by buzzing engines and gunfire from the rear of the group. The ATVs on the front line roared to newly invigorated life, and their big-treaded tires tore up the ground like a buffalo stampede. A thick fog of dust obscured the waves of Black Robes who charged after them, their AK-47s raised.
Cobb held on tight to the man in front of him as he turned sharply to watch. The weighed-down horses were losing ground to the motorized enemy, and Cobb realized that they might need to rethink their strategy. He didn’t relish the idea of a Custer-like stand, even with the trees affording some protection, but he liked the thought of McNutt and their rear guard being mowed down in “tactical retreat” even less.
He could see that Borovsky was weighing that option as well.
From his half-turned vantage point, Cobb had a clear view of what happened next. Like an experienced trick rider, McNutt spun around, locked himself on top of the horse with just his legs, and brought up a Saiga 20K shotgun.
Cobb felt a flush of realization. When he wasn’t acting the fool, this man was a lethal professional. The Russian-made Saiga was only twenty-four inches long and could carry more rounds than any other semi-automatic shotgun—twelve, to be exact. Twelve hot, hurtling rounds that would spread amongst their pursuers like flying piranha. And, carefully employed, it could provide a bonus: the ATVs of fallen riders would then veer off into the rest of the pack.
McNutt went to work, covering their rear, leaving behind something that looked like a scene from a video game. Riders jerked, blood sprayed, ATVs careened, and wheels flipped skyward. In the wake of the chaos lay the victims of McNutt’s assault—all dead, or dying.
The remaining ATV leaders tried to get their rifles targeted, but their own jostling machines threw off their aim. Cobb heard the final two booms of McNutt’s gun just before his own rider shouted something in Romanian that contained the urgency of “hold on!”
Cobb’s next breath was sucked in as the riders jerked to the left and headed right for the trees. Cobb looked ahead, over the rider’s shoulder, to see the shadows of the forest drawing closer. His instincts told him that something wasn’t right. He didn’t like not knowing what it was. Then they were up in the air, surging forward in a mighty leap as the horses vaulted over fallen trunks, bushes, and vines just as AK-47 bullets began biting chunks out of bark and branches all around them.
Cobb held tightly on to the rider as they landed, then hazarded a look back. Despite the danger they were still in, it was an incredible sight. One after another, the horses leaped inside the forest, avoiding tree limbs in a dazzling display of skill and strength. Then Cobb saw something move behind them. Many somethings, in fact: all massing to form a solid line of defense.
The horsemen halted so abruptly that the American and Russian passengers were nearly spun off to one side or the other. The riders pivoted to face the enemy as the last villagers revealed themselves near the culvert.
◊ ◊ ◊
The people sprang forth like time-lapse flowers with thorns. Anna Rusinko, in the center, followed their lead. There were dozens of them, stretched for about fifty meters along the base of the tree line. In their callused hands, they held a net that was used to trap trout and salmon in the streams that fed the Mures River.
Anna and Cobb happened to grin at about the same time: wolves’ grins of violent certainty. They both felt the growing intensity as the remaining Black Robe ATVs sped forth into the trap.
The villagers heaved as one, Anna among them. Half of them hunkered down on each end of the net, their combined weight anchoring the thick-woven lattice against the trees through which the riders would soon funnel. As the modern ATVs collided with the ancient net, those riders who were not cut down from their seats were ensnared in the mesh. Weapons fell to the ground as the first wave of drivers gasped for air or desperately clawed for freedom. Those who followed steered hard to avoid their comrades, but there was nowhere to go. ATVs collided and careened out of control, toppling riders and upending vehicles. Heads and bodies smashed into the rocks and exposed tree roots amidst the helpless gunning of engines. The sound was followed by the drone of spinning tires and the blood-gurgling groans of the fallen.
In an instant, the villagers pounced upon their defenseless prey. The elder women shielded the young boys and girls from the onslaught perpetrated by their mothers and grandfathers; there was no need to burden them with the gruesome reality of what was about to happen. These were people of hearty stock, and they would defend their families by any means necessary. With axes, shovels, rakes, and even sturdy logs, they set about bludgeoning the stunned Black Robes, ensuring their own survival. Once all of the invaders had been silenced, a murmur of excitement spread throughout the villagers. That murmur quickly grew into a cheer.
Anna was among them. Smiling, she looked up to see a grinning Viktor Borovsky coming toward her. He had dismounted and was offering his hand.
She smiled and clasped his hand with both of hers.
In his eyes were gratitude and pride.
In hers was astonishment for what had happened.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The group remounted and rode up a breathtaking hill. They went through an awe-inspiring forest to a small village that even the most expert explorer might have missed. It wasn’t exactly camouflaged, but the way the structures were set among the boulders and even the barren trees, it would have been mistaken for terrain unless you were right upon it.
Jasmine marveled at the Russian-helmet-shaped thatched huts carefully positioned around a community well and circular stone fireplace. The entire village seemed to be grown within a natural coliseum of protective trees. It was clearly unchanged since the time it was built.
At first, the riders and the triumphant villagers went to their own huts to tether, feed, water, wash, and brush their horses. Then they all began to congregate around the central fireplace—each bringing pots, knives, sacks, and other implements. Together they began to make a communal meal.
Jasmine sidled up to Borovsky. “How long have they lived like this?”
“About a hundred years,” he said.
Cobb approached. Jasmine told him what the colonel had said.
“I’m guessing it’s exactly ninety-five years,” he said.
The colonel nodded in agreement after Jasmine translated.
“Did you know about the Black Robes?” Cobb asked.
“Of their existence? Of course,” Borovsky said. “Of their presence here today? No.”
McNutt nodded and glanced at Cobb. “What do we do about the guys we left on the train? They’re gonna come looking for us.”
“I know,” Cobb said solemnly. He ended that statement with a meaningful look at Garcia, who had just finished unloading his equipment. Garcia took that as his cue to start setting up a communications link using the gear from his shoulder bag. He sat on the ground near an open space in the trees and set the laptop on a tree stump.
“Why are you here, Colonel?” Cobb asked the old cop.
The Russian pressed his lips together hard. His eyes teared up as they took in the village and its people. “Sergeant—would you mind?” he asked Anna.
“Not at all,” Anna answered through Jasmine. On their long journey here, Borovsky had explained everything to her. “You want to know what is here and how it arrived.”
Cobb nodded once.
“The colonel’s great-grandfather, Dimitry Borovsky, was Prince Felix Yusupov’s most loyal aide. His Excellency entrusted Dimitry to keep the Romanian treasure safe from mercenaries, tomb raiders, corrupt politicians, and treasure hunters until the time is right for the Romanovs’ return.”
“The Russians hiding the Romanian treasure in Romania,” McNutt mused. “Neat trick.”
“Speaking of which,” said Sarah, “that was a neat trick you pulled on the back of that horse. You a rider, too?”
“Rodeo clown,” McNutt said. “And my sister always said it was a useless hobby.”
Cobb half listened while he thought about Anna’s last words. “When will you know the time is right?” He addressed his question to Borovsky.
The colonel considered the question carefully, then finally shrugged philosophically. “Who knows?” He quoted another Russian proverb. “‘The future belongs to the one who knows how to wait.’” He motioned for his guests to relax. “We can talk about that later. For now, sit, eat, rest. I daresay we all need it.”
He wandered away, Anna at his side, as the area filled with delicious smells. But before he got too far for Jasmine to translate, Garcia turned to him.
“Colonel, I’m having a little trouble getting a signal. Where, precisely, are we?”
“The village of the honor guard,” he replied.
“Yes, but that’s not on any of my maps,” Garcia said.
As Jasmine continued to translate, Anna frowned, worried about revealing their location. But Borovsky just tilted his head.
“We are on the Transylvanian Plateau,” he told them. With that, he playfully bared his teeth, curled his fingers into hooked claws, and hissed loudly like a vampire.
“See, I told you!” McNutt said. “Even he knows Dracula is out there somewhere.”
Borovsky smiled, his spirits buoyed by the levity, if only for a moment.
◊ ◊ ◊
Cobb did not have to worry about the Black Robes. At least, not yet. Scouts had been sent into the field to watch for them. For the time being, he knew the wisest thing to do was to sit, eat, and collect his thoughts.
The meal was delicious. They started with sarmale, but instead of the usual mincemeat, the vine leaves were filled with minced apricots, plums, and cherries. The appetizer was followed by a hearty vegetable soup, which they sopped up with mamaliga, better known as “the bread of the peasants.” The main course was broiled fish in garlic sauce.
“All from our own gardens, streams, lakes, and ovens,” Decebal said proudly.
Cobb only left the circle of villagers when Garcia had finally established the connection to Papineau. After Cobb brought him up to speed, he waited silently.
The usually loquacious Frenchman was speechless.
“Damn,” Papineau finally said.
“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Cobb complained.
“Hear me out,” Papineau said. “The Black Robes are a group of zealots who worship Rasputin. They follow his example of sinning then repenting. Through that, the mad monk gained great political power, just as these men have in their own time. They approached me when we arrived—”
“How did they know who we were?” Cobb asked.
“I’m not sure,” Papineau lied, covering for the colleague he had given the Brighton Beach letter to. “They have eyes and ears everywhere. They offered to help set up this operation using their influence in key portions of the Transportation and Migration Ministries.”
“Because?”
“I don’t know,” he lied again.
“And you just accepted that?” Cobb asked incredulously. “It never occurred to you that some sort of quid pro quo might be involved? No, don’t answer that. I already know. Of course you did. You just didn’t think it was necessary to tell us. You figured we’d muck through somehow, and if we didn’t, there was always some other team you could bribe with five million bucks.”
“Jack,” the Frenchman said. “I know I’ve lost your trust—”
Cobb made a scoffing sound. “You never had that. The best you can hope for is trying to regain some sliver of credibility at this point. Let’s just leave it at that, okay? We’ll find your treasure because we accepted the contract, and you figure out some reason, any reason, why I shouldn’t take your head as a souvenir when we’ve delivered it.”
Papineau started to respond, but Cobb made the throat-slashing motion at Garcia. Once Garcia broke the connection, Cobb looked at him steadily.
“What do you think the Black Robes want?” Garcia asked anxiously. “Some sort of revenge on Prince Felix?”
“It’s possible,” Cobb agreed. “And I think Borovsky might know the answer.” He dipped his forehead at the laptop. “So the more immediate question is about Papineau. I asked you to find out about him. What’ve you got?”
The techie looked honestly at his superior. “As far as I can tell,” Garcia confessed, “Papineau is who he says he is.”
“I’m aggressively disinterested in what he says, Garcia,” Cobb replied. “I’m interested in what he’s not saying. After you’ve eaten, dig more.”
Cobb turned around and nearly walked into McNutt.
“Hey,” the gunman said. “You okay?”
“Yeah, McNutt, thanks.” Cobb thought that would be it, but McNutt just remained standing there. “You?” Cobb finally asked him.
“Yeah. Listen, I just wanted to…you know…back in the armory?” McNutt looked down for a moment. “Thanks, okay? Just…thanks.”
“Not a problem,” Cobb assured him. “Maybe someday you’ll return the favor.”
“I hope so,” McNutt said.
“You hope so?” Cobb teased. “What do you mean by that?”
McNutt quickly realized his mistake. The only way he could save Cobb’s life was if Cobb was in grave danger to begin with. That wasn’t the type of thing he should be wishing on his team leader. “Wait! That came out wrong! I mean, um—”
Cobb laughed. “Don’t worry. I know what you meant.”
McNutt breathed a sigh of relief.
Cobb continued. “But just so you know, that’s why soldiers don’t try to put those things into words. A simple thanks is good enough.”
“How about thanks and a drink?”
“Even better.”
They both returned to the circular campfire and the villagers for some homemade cheese and that long-awaited tuica. When they were finished, Cobb, McNutt, and Sarah stretched out to look at the setting sun. They knew it was the calm before the storm.
“Okay,” Sarah said briskly. “What now, Jack?”
Before he could answer, Borovsky appeared, accompanied by Jasmine. The two had been talking with Anna and Dobrev throughout the meal.
“I have thought about this moment for many years,” the Russian said through their interpreter. “All my life, in fact. And the lives of my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather as well. And now that the time has come, I only can think of one proverb to say: ‘When you meet a man, you judge him by his clothes. When you leave, you judge him by his heart.’”
One by one, Borovsky looked at the people he had come to respect. When he reached Cobb, he spoke in slow, heavily accented English. “Would you come with me, please? There is something I would like to show you.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
As the group—minus Garcia, who stayed in the village to tend to his gear—made its way across the gentle foothills that led to a mini-plateau, Borovsky pointed out a narrow-gauge railway that cut through the sparse forest. Up ahead was a small mining train. It was covered by tattered tarpaulins and a blanket of carefully meshed twigs and branches.
