The Dark Passage: A Sam Raven Thriller, page 4
And prepared to even the score his way.
“Can you run?” Raven asked.
“I can do whatever I have to do to survive.”
Raven decided she wasn’t so much as answering the question as she was stating a familiar mantra.
“I need more ammo,” she told him.
Raven had three spare 10-round extension magazines for his .45 on his chest harness. He pulled them out and handed them to her. She stuffed the mags in the left pocket of her jeans. “Why a 1911?” she asked. “Haven’t you ever heard of a Glock?”
“That’s a stupid question,” Raven said. He smiled at her. She surprised him with a smile back.
A shot cracked behind them, and the side mirror on Raven’s door shattered.
“Hang on!”
Raven wrenched the wheel hard to the right, sending the big deuce off the dirt road and onto the thick forest floor. The behemoth flattened and crunched the foliage and Raven drove as far as he could before nature’s mass prevented further movement.
“Out my side!” he yelled, shoving the door open. He stopped the truck at an angle off the road to cover their exit. They had seconds to put distance between them and the enemy. They didn’t lack cover, but the enemy had the advantage of knowing the terrain better than them.
Raven dropped out of the cabin and readied the Uzi submachine gun with a fresh magazine. He kept the suppressor in place. If they couldn’t hear him shooting in the dark, it gave him an advantage. Elena ran with him into the darkness. The enemy may have known the terrain, but they were both fighting in the dark. And Raven also had his night vision kit handy.
Raven and Elena stopped, rustled leaves as they took cover, and waited. Elena breathed harder than Raven, with little whimpers escaping her lips. The torture of the night and the last few days was catching up.
The Jeep and motorcycle took longer to arrive than Raven thought. The leader of the team jumped out and issued orders. He was smart enough to use the deuce to block the view of him and his men. Raven had no clear shots at any of them.
“Who is in charge?” he asked.
“His name is Jocic. He’s mine to kill, not yours.”
“I’ll do my best to let you,” he told her. Raven donned his night-vision goggles and waited for Jocic to make a move.
6
Jocic and his men crawled beneath the deuce-and-a-half. He listened. The normal night sounds were gone, but Jocic wanted to hear if Elena and her rescuer were moving. They were close, he knew. Ready to fight. But so was he. One of his men belly-crawled beside him. They were under the front of the deuce.
“They can’t see us either,” the trooper said.
“Is it only the two of them, or more?” Jocic wondered aloud. The trooper had no answer.
Jocic looked up at the deuce, then began directing. He told the two who’d arrived on the motorcycle to move left; they had fifteen seconds. At the end of fifteen seconds, he was going to turn on the truck’s headlights.
“Put your head down,” Raven whispered, and removed his NVGs. Elena, seeing the motion, kept her from asking why.
When the headlights snapped on, their vision wasn’t ruined. Raven opened his eyes slowly to let them adjust. If Jocic and his men were expecting to catch him and Elena in the open, he was disappointed.
Then Jocic gave the order to fire. The two he sent off to the left let off a couple of short bursts, probing shots. The rounds went wide. Raven grinned and lined up the Uzi’s sights, switched to single shot, and fired once. The light worked for the enemy, and against them, too. Raven’s shot didn’t connect, deflected by natural obstacles, but it was enough to spook the gunmen. They stopped firing and scrambled to move.
Then Kalashnikov return fire erupted, the Jocic crew firing in random patterns. Raven and Elena flattened into the dirt. The rounds whistled overhead and smacked into tree trunks. The shooting stopped. Raven poked the Uzi through the foliage and fired twice. The Uzi whispered, only the action clicking as it cycled. This time he scored. One of the Jocic gunners near the deuce yelled and fell. Raven flipped to burst most and fired again. The yelling stopped.
“Cover me,” Elena said.
Before Raven replied, she was on the move, rising and pivoting and exposing them both. Raven responded the only way possible. Bumping the selector switch to full auto, he let the Uzi do the talking. The submachine gun stuttered some more. Elena’s fleeing figure attracted pot shots, but the enemy was keeping their head down to avoid the fusillade of 9mm death from the silent Uzi. Then the weapon clicked empty, the bolt closed, and Raven left the position to reload on the run. Enemy fire chased him, a couple of 7.62x39 rounds from the AK-203s chunking into the tree he dropped behind. Raven fired around the side, and Elena joined in with the .45 pistol. One of the deuce’s headlights winked out. Jocic ordered his men forward. Raven leaned further out from the trunk and started shooting once more.
He counted six, then five. His bursts knocked one down. The others opened fire and Raven dropped and rolled. Elena squeezed off more .45 blasts, two rapid shots; Jocic gave more orders, and the gunners spread out. Raven fired, missed, moved again. He had a clear shot at Jocic when he took aim again but held back. He was Elena’s target. Raven shifted his aim and fired; another gunner down. The remaining troops spotted Elena and turned their AKs in her direction. Raven let them have it, two stuttering bursts, ripping a pattern of holes across their chests. The gunmen tumbled into the brush.
Jocic and his last trooper advanced. Raven moved to get out of the remaining headlight’s glare. Only Jocic focused on Raven. The other looked for Elena. She popped up and fired once before the gunner reacted. Jocic fired at Raven, missing, then pivoted toward Elena. She shot him in the stomach; he doubled over, stifling a cry. He still had enough strength to raise his weapon. Raven covered him with the Uzi but there was no need to fire. Elena’s follow-up blasts of .45 ACP power hit Jocic in the head. His body dropped with the others.
Elena reloaded the pistol as she ran back to Raven. “All right, this is a good gun.”
“Good shooting, too.”
“Thanks for not killing him.”
“You had it under control.” He slung the Uzi. She offered back the pistol, and he holstered it. “Keep the mags for now,” he told her.
His boots crunched on the ground as he started for the vehicles. She caught up. “What are we taking?”
“Motorcycle is the best option.”
“Let’s take the sidecar off. I’ll ride on the back of the seat.”
Disconnecting the sidecar was as easy as lifting out two four-inch bolts. They tossed it aside. The motorcycle was an old Triumph TR6R with a 650cc engine. The cartel loved their vintage machines. Raven swung over the seat and Elena joined him, wrapping her arms around his midsection. He kicked the bike to life. The tires had good tread; navigating the terrain wouldn’t be hard, and it beat the hell out of walking. He wasn’t sure Elena was up to the challenge since the fight was over.
“Where to?” she asked.
“Ana set up a place for us.”
He accelerated, steering around a body or two, finding a narrow path to keep the tires on. Raven liked how Elena handled herself in the fight. He hoped she wasn’t badly injured. Didn’t appear so. He wanted to know the truth about her mission. He wanted to see it finished. He needed Elena to fill in the blanks. Patience, he thought. Get to the safehouse first. Regroup. The leftover cartel troops could still come after them. There was no time to relax yet.
The Triumph rumbled as they pressed on.
The safehouse was near Lake Shkodra, close to the border of Montenegro. Lake access was via a footpath, and neighbors were few and far between. Raven parked the Triumph out front. Elena hopped off first and went to lean with both hands on the high porch rail. Like the rest of the cabin, it was a well-finished piece of timber. She was breathing hard. Raven went over but didn’t touch her.
“Are you—”
“I need a minute.” She clenched her teeth, stifling a wince. He saw the pain on her face.
“There’s a shower and a medical kit inside.”
“Okay, get the door open.”
Raven unlocked the door with a heavy-duty key, and she followed him inside.
Raven checked the interior. He ignored the basic furniture. Like the crate of C-4, other Ana Gray operatives prepared the cabin in advance of Raven’s arrival. He found the bedrooms. One contained a suitcase of women’s clothes. Elena didn’t bother with it; she found the first aid kit in the bathroom, shut the door, and left Raven alone.
He kept the Uzi slung crossbody and stood outside in the dark. The night sounds returned. Critters. Nocturnal variety. None who walked on two legs. He checked the perimeter. No close neighbors, as Ana told him, and a rippling lake. He went back inside and locked the door. Time to settle down for a bit. He heard the water running in the shower, but also heard Elena crying. He went back outside to check the perimeter again.
7
Elena exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel and closed the door to her bedroom. Raven returned from outside and went to the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea. A small selection waited in one of the cupboards; he scowled at most of it. There was a lot of flavored tea. Flavored tea was “girl tea” but he finally found a few packs of English Breakfast. He wondered if Elena wanted any, so he opened three packs, filled the kettle, and waited for the water to boil. After taking it off the burner, he placed the packs inside to steep.
Elena came out of her bedroom in the new clothes from the suitcase. She stopped to look around the room as if it was her first time seeing the layout.
“Feel like some tea?”
“I didn’t use all the hot water,” she said instead, then continued. “I messed up, okay? That’s why you had to come get me.”
“I didn’t ask.”
She joined him in the kitchen and said she’d like tea, please. “How did you find me?”
Raven poured two mugs and handed one to her. He needed a shower, too. He wanted out of the combat rig in a hurry. The fabric of his black suit clung to his sweaty skin, and stank of gunpowder and motorcycle fumes.
“Ana reached me when it was evident you’d gone missing,” he said. “She feared the worst, but you apparently have friends in low places. They provided the compound location, and I jumped out of a perfectly good airplane.”
“You fell from the sky like my guardian angel?”
“Hardly. I don’t feel like an angel.”
Raven set up a laptop on the dining table the next morning after clearing off his breakfast dishes. He left food in the frying pan on the stove for Elena—if she ever rolled out of bed. It was time to call Ana Gray and tell her the results.
When Ana’s face filled the monitor, she didn’t waste time with preamble.
“Success?”
“I got her,” Raven reported.
“You look tired.”
“Still waking up.”
“Where is she?”
“Zonked. When I found her—”
“I don’t want to know. The point is you got her out and we can continue.”
Raven turned his head as Elena emerged from her bedroom in a white bathrobe. Her hair dangled in an unruly fashion. She pulled another chair from the table and sat beside him.
“Ana?” she said.
“You hurt bad?”
“Been through worse.”
“Tell me what happened,” Ana said.
“I screwed up. Vercuni’s wife caught me snooping.”
“Did you confirm—”
“I confirmed nothing, Ana. We’re nowhere closer to the new leader’s identity than we were when I started.”
“Okay. Go wash your face, sweetie. Raven, we need to talk some more.”
“I’m still here.” He watched the screen while Elena departed.
“Is she gone?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I sent Elena because the new leader of the Balkan Cartel may be the man who murdered her family during the Yugoslav War.”
Raven shook his head.
“What?”
“You always know how to exploit somebody’s motivation, Ana.”
“It gets the job done, Raven. Now listen. The man we suspect is the new leader is General Dragoslav Nikolic. Not only do we need to stop him from releasing the new synthetic opioid, but we need to deliver him to The Hague. He’s still a wanted war criminal.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this when we started?”
“You didn’t need to know then. Come on, Raven. You know how I work.”
Raven sighed. “What do you want done?”
“Elena will provide more detail. For now, focus on the cartel. I want it gone, Raven. If you discover CIA fingerprints, do what you think is best.”
“All right,” Raven said. “One smashed cartel coming right up.”
“In exchange for another fee.”
“I won’t refuse,” he said.
“On the way. Now listen. Our main contact is in Montenegro. She’s a journalist named Irina Vukovic. You can trust her—she cultivated my other sources and has published a lot about the cartel for her newspaper. She’s sort of an expert.”
“Sort of.”
“I said you can trust her.”
“I believe you,” Raven said.
“And she may have a target on her back,” Ana pointed out.
“Don’t we all.”
“I don’t.” She smiled.
“Are you sure?” He didn’t smile.
“Good luck, Raven. Keep me posted.”
“Yeah.” Raven ended the video call and the screen returned to the desktop display. He looked across the room. Elena’s bedroom door remained closed. He wondered if she heard any of the conversation.
Podgorica, Montenegro. The nation’s capital, sometimes called “the most boring capital in Europe,” but not by looking at it. Surrounded by green hills, the city looked like an artist’s color palette when viewed from one of those hills. White buildings, a lot of green from trees, red roof faded to pink from the sun. Podgorica had a lot of color and the building exteriors reflected the overall element of the city. Podgorica might not be as famous as Paris, but it was sure as hell nicer.
But there were parts of the city Irina Vukovic didn’t think were very nice at all.
She steered her compact car along a rough road which needed repaving thirty years ago and had only deteriorated to a worse state since. She drove slowly to not only avoid the bumps and potholes and cracks but also look for a specific address. She was twenty miles outside the city, where rundown buildings dominated, with some concealed by big trees adjacent or in front of the structures. Modern Podgorica development hadn’t reached this far and Irina would have preferred being anywhere else, but she was a reporter, and a good one, and getting the story often meant traveling into unpleasant areas, either in town or other parts of the globe. She’d done it all in her fifteen-year career.
Another bump. Her coffee spilled in the center cup holder. She cursed. Keeping her car clean was part of Irina’s regular routine. She spent a lot of time in the car and didn’t want it dirty. It was also how she avoided the stereotype of the sloppy reporter. Too many of her colleagues left their cars messy. Too many wore their clothes wrinkled and maintained an unkempt appearance because they thought it was cool. Irina didn’t sport designer clothes or carry an expensive purse or wear shoes costing twice her salary, but she liked to dress nicely, if not checking all the “business casual” boxes. Her long dark hair and dark eyes were her most prominent features, though most noticed her perpetual frown first. Friends and colleagues and family were always accusing her of being grumpy or unhappy. It wasn’t her fault; it was her Resting Bitch Face.
Her current assignment related to discovering the name of the new leader of the Balkan Cartel. The shakeup following the death of the previous boss was still reverberating through the halls of Montenegro law enforcement. The other Balkan territories also had a vested interest in the new man’s name. She was meeting a source who allegedly had the man’s name and knew how he’d orchestrated his rise to power. Irina wasn’t sure exposing the new leader would lead to a renewed effort on the part of law enforcement, but it would for sure rob the new boss of the mystery and let the region know who to blame for the increased drug flow. A flow bringing only death and destruction and ruining lies.
She was setting herself up for a murder attempt by writing the story, but she’d been carrying a target on her back for most of her career. One more wasn’t going to hurt.
And exposing the cartel kingpin was worth the risk. As much as she tried not to be a righteous crusader, sometimes Irina embraced the role.
She finally stopped at a cluster of mobile homes and found an empty parking spot in a section for guests. The resident must not have expected many guests, because there were only three spaces. She was the only driver making use of one. Grabbing her purse from the passenger seat, Irina exited her car.
The homes were like the rest of the neighborhood, old, paint fading, in need of more than a facelift. But the residents made an effort to keep everything neat and tidy, and she appreciated the work. Nothing was too messy; gardens aplenty; a black cat crossed the roadway in front of her, and she laughed at the thought of the feline being a bad omen. She walked and noted address numbers until she found a unit in fading blue marked 1953. Up a narrow set of steps to the door. Quick knock. When she knocked, the door opened. It stopped after moving inward half an inch.
