| |
The motorcycles cut through the fields of maize and circled around to the rear of Kornev’s safe house complex. The fields had high berms cut into the ground by a mechanized tiller which created adjacent furrows where the crops could grow. The enhanced suspension of the motorbikes easily negotiated the rough terrain. The Russian had insisted on using dirt bikes for this very reason.
Carrying out this mission with the utmost of finesse was critical for success. Kornev was certain the CIA agent had discovered his stash in his tunnels; therefore, she had at her disposal access to all sorts of nasty exploding devices that could be planted anywhere on or inside the property. Kornev did not intend to be obliterated by such devices. However, this apprehension wasn’t shared by the four men assigned to him for this operation. After arriving at their destination in an area surrounded by a thin copse of trees that obscured a direct view to the targeted safe house complex 200 meters away, they turned off their motorcycles and dismounted. The officers removed their assault rifles from the holsters mounted to the sides of their bikes. Next, they verified their weapons were locked and loaded.
Kornev’s plan entailed having the men approach on foot. After they had eyes on the complex, he would gauge the situation. If everything remained still, they would quietly initiate the assault.
The men pushed forward, moving in short dashes, using the trees and bushes for cover until the farmhouse came into view. Using this methodical method, it took them a little under five minutes to close the gap to within twenty meters of the potting shed located behind the primary safe house.
Kornev gestured to the man standing beside him and ordered, “Go check it out.”
The man obviously found little danger in an innocuous-looking structure like a potting shed. In a crouch, the police officer weaved in and out of the trees until he reached it. Everything was very still. The officer stood in front of the unassuming shed’s only entrance.
Shaking his head in confusion, the officer looked to Kornev for direction, and Kornev nodded his head indicating the man should initiate the breach. The man hesitantly opened the door.
A huge explosion shook the trees and bushes. Pine needles fell from the trees nearby, and a huge dust ball formed. Surrounding the potting shed, suspended by the shock wave, the soil rose a foot in the air prior to floating toward the ground. The door to the potting shed had been attached to the pin of at least one hand grenade if not several. Once the pins had separated from their levers, it was only a matter of seconds before the door disintegrated as a grand puff of splinters and wood chips. Shrapnel embedded itself into the body of the man who had opened the door. He had fallen in a heap and now lay lifelessly next to the remnants of the door.
“One down,” Kornev mumbled to himself.
*-*-*
Inside, Kara bolted upright from her nap on the couch. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and determine what events had occurred. She thought the blast originated from behind the house. If the booby trap was triggered at the potting shed, she still had time to take defensive action.
She rolled off the couch, stood, and in the dim light collected the assault rifle off the dining room table next to her. She slid two fully loaded magazines in the abaya’s side pocket. Taking a calculated risk, she pushed the blanket covering the living room window to one side to look for any activity. Nothing. She did the same at one of the two kitchen windows overlooking the backyard. The potting shed in the backyard was riddled with shrapnel. Apparently, someone triggered the grenades she had rigged to the door. A man dressed in black tactical clothing and lightweight body armor sprawled next to the remnants of the shed’s door. She spotted no other people or activity. It was obvious the body armor hadn’t prevented the shrapnel from penetrating vital organs. The man was dead. No doubt existed in Kara’s mind.
What to do ... what to do...? Kara thought. Option one: Take a defensive position and gun down anyone who approached the shed or the home. Option two: Take offensive action and enter the tunnel and take a stand underground. Both options had strengths and weaknesses. Going underground offered a narrow passageway in which to attack. That was optimal if you were one person defending against many people, but it also limited her escape options. If she made the wrong move, she could find herself cornered with no remaining options. Kara had never enjoyed playing chess trying to estimate her opponent’s next move.
Still undecided, Kara stepped over to the other side of the kitchen window. She parted the towel exposing a sliver of the backyard to view.
From this angle, she saw movement. A second man clad in black headed toward the shed.
With all the windows covered, the home remained dark. It helped that dusk was approaching. Given those factors, she assumed her position wouldn’t be detected by anyone outside watching the home.
The man on the move seemed confident in his search. He walked past the dead man and into what remained of the tattered potting shed. Its doorway faced Kara, and she could see him inside the shed. The man reached down and gingerly lifted the wood trapdoor. After lifting it an inch without an ensuing explosion, he dropped to his knees, took out a flashlight and inspected the opening. It took him less than a minute to verify the absence of wires connected to the trapdoor. Satisfied he wasn’t going to meet the same fate at his friend, he opened the door and allowed it to fall back upon its hinges.
The man stepped out of the shed and gave Kornev a thumbs-up.
Kornev returned the gesture but continued to hide twenty meters away behind a tree.
Once the man placed his foot on the first ladder rung, a second explosion produced a shock wave that danced across the countryside. The blast sent the shed’s roof into orbit. The man on the ladder had disappeared.
Still, Kara was not pleased.
Who are these guys and how the hell did they find me? Kara thought to herself as she raced toward the children’s room.
*-*-*
“Two down,” Kornev mumbled to himself, wishing he had brought more of the inspector’s men.
The explosion fortunately opened the trapdoor to the tunnel — way open. Kornev suspected neither of his two remaining men would be happy when he instructed them to take point.
Returning to the tree for cover, Kornev again scanned the home before he stepped into the clearing. He thought he saw movement in the kitchen window, but after checking it using his rifle’s scope, he saw nothing. Slowly, he walked toward the potting shed. The second blast had laid the shed’s four walls on the ground like playing cards. A variety of planting supplies and tools littered the area.
Kornev used the barrel of his weapon to wave his men forward. Cautiously, the two officers proceeded, headed toward the smoking hole. Kornev remained hypervigilant and brandished his gun at unseen threats.
When the men safely stood over the hole, Kornev pointed to one man and ordered, “You go in first.”
Kornev could tell the man wanted to tell him to go to hell. However, he was a good and well-paid little rent-a-soldier. Grimly he removed a pocket flashlight from his pocket and clipped it onto the barrel of his gun. He switched on the light and pointed his gun down the hole.
Step by timid step, both Kornev and the other man moved backward—just in case.
The man designated to go into the opening took out a second flashlight and got down on all fours. He pointed his flashlight down the hole and scanned the subterranean deathtrap with the narrow beam of light. Sensing he may have spotted something that might prove terminal, he dropped to his belly to get a better look. His flashlight beam fluttered over the ladder. He searched rung by rung until he hadn’t detected the presence of further booby traps. Placing the flashlight in his mouth, he pushed forward with his hands until his torso dangled in the opening. He inspected the tunnel thoroughly.
Kornev appreciated that the police officer had taken well-conceived security precautions that appeared almost instinctual in nature.
If the man had uncovered any threats in the tunnel, he didn’t appear alarmed by them. He withdrew his torso from the tunnel, stuck the flashlight back into his vest, and descended the ladder. He used his gun’s flashlight for illumination.
After he reached the bottom of the ladder and looked quickly at his environment, he announced, “All clear.”
Whether he didn’t fully trust him, or possibly because he distrusted the CIA agent more, Kornev instructed the last police officer to go first. He dutifully climbed down the ladder and both men waited for Kornev to join them underground. One of the officers found a power cord that fed a series of light bulbs threaded throughout the tunnel. Above the thick cord was a wall socket. As the man reached up to insert the plug into the outlet, Kornev used the tip of his rifle to intercept the man’s arm.
“Don’t do that,” ordered Kornev.
The man dropped the cord and they continued walking down the dark tunnel, but into what, they didn’t know.
*-*-*
Kara quietly unlocked the kids’ bedroom door, which they wouldn’t have realized she had locked before. She stuck in her head to check on them. They stared back at her, wide-eyed.
“It’s OK,” Kara assured them. “Some men are blowing up tree stumps in the woods. They have to remove them to clear fields for planting crops.”
She was unsure if the kids believed her. She added, “I will be back in a little while. Put on your headphones and watch a movie on the tablet.” Little did they know they were the noise-canceling kind. “I’ll be back soon.” After pulling the door closed behind her, she relocked it.
Kara darted into the second bedroom. In dim light from a single lamp she located one of her rifles where she’d left it leaning against the wall. She snatched it up and stuffed the three fully loaded magazines into her abaya pockets. She disconnected the grenade from the trapdoor and flipped it open. Looking down, she saw nothing. No light and no nasty men coming to kill her. No threats of any type...yet. Time was her enemy. She quickly descended the ladder, doing her best to stay very quiet.
She fully expected and was prepared to be fired on as she came down the ladder. After all, she was in a precarious and vulnerable position. Her back was to the tunnel and her eyes had not adjusted to the darkness. She was more than pleased when her feet touched the tunnel’s soil and no shots had been fired. Kara raised her gun to the level of her hip. She thoroughly scanned both tunnel segments. Nothing. But it made sense whoever was aboveground wouldn’t give up. After all, two men had already given their lives attempting to gain access to the tunnel. Male testosterone-infused logic would compel them to assume control of the tunnel. If the attackers came through it, this might be her best opportunity to hold them off. Kara still didn’t know who or how many invaders were present, but the why was easy to determine. Kara guessed it was either Kornev looking for payback for her mistreatment of him in Termez, or somehow the banker had tracked his kids to her location. She would bet even money it was Kornev because how would the banker know there was a trapdoor to a tunnel in the potting shed?
The shelves holding Kornev’s goodies was immediately to her right. She briefly snapped on her flashlight to locate a pair of night optics that would allow her to see in the dark. She hid around the corner of the passageway leading to the other home. It was just a matter of waiting for the men to come to her.
Earlier Kara had drilled out the bases of ten bulbs and filled them with gasoline. She’d then replaced the bulbs into their light sockets. Kara had next zip-tied them in a bottom-up position to prevent the gas from leaking. The process had been repeated approximately every fifteen feet.
She stayed near the ladder and prepared to move should her visitors plug in the lights. A fireball moved so damn fast within confined spaces.
*-*-*
There was a high probability the cunning CIA agent had booby trapped the tunnel lights. Considering he only had 50% of his force left, the Russian opted to move throughout the tunnel with only the aid of flashlights. There was an advantage to this tactic. If a barrage of lead streamed toward them, they could flip off their flashlights and disappear into the darkness. Penned in on both sides, darkness may turn out to save their lives.
The trio walked single file very slowly, ready to drop to the ground and send bullets downrange at the slightest provocation.
The necessity of confronting that situation didn’t take long. About halfway down the tunnel, came the cataclysmic sound of rifle fire. Nanoseconds before hearing the rifle fire, the lead man was killed. In the narrow space, and with no place for the noise to go, the deafening sound made Kornev’s eyes water.
He fell to his belly alongside the only other survivor, and they used the dead man’s body in front of them as both a shield and rifle support. They returned fire with controlled bursts from their automatic weapons and watched the tracer rounds flicker and bounce down the corridor. The guns created smoke, and within a minute of continuous firing, there was limited visibility at distances further than 30 feet. All they could see was a gray cloud and burnt propellant. Bullets had hit the walls, dirt floor and presumably the back of the tunnel. Atomized dust hanging in the air made visibility damn near impossible.
Kornev and the police officer could do nothing but wait until the dust had settled to see if their bullets had hit their marks.
*-*-*
At the other end of the tunnel, Kara wasn’t waiting for the dust to settle. After emptying her first mag, she racked in another. Hoping it would buy her more time, she emptied an additional 32 rounds into the dark corridor. Kara yanked a long extension cord from a pile of mismatched cords on the shelf. Needing both hands to climb the ladder, she slung both her rifle and the extension cord over her shoulders which trailed behind her. Prior to scampering up the ladder, Kara plugged the end of the extension cord’s adapter into the tunnel lights and silently thanked Kornev’s twisted mind—or maybe it was his paranoia—for running two sets of lights along the passage so they could be plugged in at either end. Happy to be in above-ground light again, she left the hole and entered the bedroom. She closed the trapdoor, watching it sandwich the orange extension cord between the trapdoor and its frame. She backed out of the closet, continually feeding the cord until she reached the nearest wall socket. With less than three feet to go, she ran out of cord. Kara pulled gingerly on the cord, not wishing to have it disconnected from the lights below the trapdoor. It was of no use. The trapdoor had cinched the cord tight. She could lift the door to attempt freeing additional cord, but she knew while spooling it out, she had kept the cord tight. Thus, she was relatively certain it was simply too short.
Three feet. Just three frickin feet meant the difference between barbecuing the men in the tunnel and potentially dying before she could take out the banker. That was unacceptable. Kara dropped the end of the cord and ran into the living room. She picked up the only lamp in the room and ripped the brown AC cord from its base. From a kitchen drawer she retrieved a serrated steak knife and ran toward the bedroom while pulling the insulation from the ends of the wire using her teeth. She glanced down the hallway to confirm the kids’ door was still shut and darted into the other bedroom. With one set of wires stripped, Kara dropped her heavy rifle and began sawing off the end of the extension cord. As the knife severed the plug from the wire, she glanced at the trapdoor and imagined it moved. Had it moved? Certainly, the unlucky person planning to emerge wouldn’t fling it open to expose himself. It would rise just high enough for a set of eyes to peek out. Unless, of course, the person under the door possessed a death wish.
Kara used her teeth to strip the second set of wires and the rest of the preparation was easy. A few twists of a pair of wires and she extended the extension cord another four feet. Finally, it was long enough to plug into the wall socket next to her. She scooted up against the bedroom wall to wait for the man dumb enough to open the trapdoor.
*-*-*
Kornev was certainly not dumb enough to lift the trapdoor.
Once the smoke had cleared, Kornev and his only surviving man slowly crawled toward the ladder. It took several minutes of stop-and-go crawling to reach it. Once they had safely arrived, and seeing no one, they stood and made a plan.
Kornev planned for his last surviving man to climb the ladder and take a quick peek at the trapdoor. He would then report what he’d seen. That is, unless he caught a bullet in the eye. But, if he came down safely, Kornev would recommend he inspect for any strings or tripwires that could be seen or felt.
The police officer had other ideas. He thought Kornev should join him, especially after watching three of his comrades meet untimely and gruesome deaths. In the end, Kornev guilted the man into going first by telling him he was the inspector’s top man. Consequently, the inspector expected him to do such things and follow Kornev’s orders, much like he followed the inspector’s orders. It took Kornev precious time convincing the frightened and wary man to climb the ladder, but eventually he submitted.
Extremely slowly, like a drugged sloth, the man ascended the ladder, yet he moved stealthily and with purpose, as if he thought it would prolong his life. Once he reached the top rung, he pressed the top of his head against the trapdoor. Gently, like balancing a wineglass of nitroglycerin on his head, he lifted it. His plan was to open it high enough to get a quick look into the room. He hadn’t expected to see a woman dressed in a abaya, its sleeves pushed back and sitting against a white wall, holding an electrical plug in front of the wall outlet. The police officer saw her for a split second as they locked eyes, and he took a mental picture so he could report his findings to the Russian. His report would include that the woman was dressed in a black abaya. She had green eyes and extremely fair-colored skin.
Kornev never received the visual report.
*-*-*
Kara knew this time she hadn’t imagined the trapdoor opening. Her mind was not playing tricks on her. She heard the smallest of creaks and watched the hinged trapdoor open like a rusty jack-in-the-box. The jack in this box stared out from the opening. Kara looked at him. His dark eyes looked showed both fear and astonishment.
When the trapdoor lowered, Kara used her free arm to cover her face and then she plugged the cord into the electrical outlet.
*-*-*
While on the ladder, Kornev’s flashlight found the orange extension cord. He followed the cord with the flashlight’s beam up the ladder and out the hole.
Kornev’s mind raced as he tried to determine the reason for the cord exiting the tunnel in such a haphazard manner. It was certainly not one he had run when he installed the lighting years ago. The logical conclusion was that Kara added the cord. Just as the purpose of it dawned on him, he was nearly hit by a fireball racing down the tunnel toward him. Kornev jumped in the direction of the tunnel that led off in a right angle to the other house while covering his head with his hands. The fireball continued on straight, taking the line of least resistance.
The other man had no place to go. He was still on the ladder. The wall of fire, on its mission to find more oxygen, slammed into the end of the tunnel like a physical wave. A wicked blast of fire and debris caused the officer to rocket up and out the trapdoor. It was like watching a circus clown being fired from a cannon. The man’s Kevlar clothing didn’t prevent his neck from snapping after his head smacked into the ceiling of the closet. More fire and dust shot out of the opening and Kara watched the man bounce around in the closet like a super ball. His dead body finally came to rest, half lodged in the hole he entered but never had an opportunity to properly exit. Kara stood to look closely. It wasn’t Kornev. She didn’t know who it was. Her problems weren’t over by a long shot. The closet was on fire.
*-*-*
Remembering there was a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink, Kara raced to retrieve it. Moments later she’d returned and released its contents into the burning closet. The retardant quickly extinguished the flames revealing a crazy-looking scene. The burned closet contained a dead man’s torso sticking out of an opening hole in the floor. What made it even stranger was that, although the man’s right leg was in the hole, his left leg, in a very unnatural angle, pointed up toward his face. It looked like a bizarre accident in an old-fashioned outhouse.
After the fire had been extinguished, Kara contemplated the situation. It didn’t take long to understand that she had to move quickly to the other safe house. If indeed Kornev was down in the tunnel with this access now blocked, he would most likely emerge from the trapdoor in Safe House Two. Tactically, it wouldn’t be the best move because as far as Kornev knew, Kara was still in Safe House One. Therefore, Kornev would be no closer to her than he was at present. Still, unless he tried to dislodge the dead man from the hole and attempted to enter through the charred and smoking closet, it was his only move. Either that or exit via the potting shed entrance. Kara realized this might be her only opportunity to end his unexpected and unappreciated intrusion into her mission. There would be no negotiating with the children’s father if Kornev was trying to kill her.
If it wasn’t Kornev down in the tunnel, there still was no downside in relocating to the other home. Eventually, whoever was down below would discover the other trapdoor leading to Safe House Two, so it would behoove her to move now.
Kara considered taking the kids with her but discarded the idea. Weighing a situation fraught with danger, she determined it would be more perilous to move them to the other home. It wasn’t exactly safe leaving them behind, but she calculated the attack would reach its conclusion in the other safe house. It was best to leave them locked in the bedroom for now.
Checking the bedroom door one last time, Kara walked into the living room and unhooked the cord from the gun’s trigger. She left the Safe House via the front door. As she ran toward Safe House Two, her black abaya made a flapping sound in the wind. She had long since loosened the scarf that had covered her face. The scarf was great for anonymity, but in a combat scenario the fabric obscured her vision. However, the scarf was still looped around her neck trailing behind her like a small kite as she ran.
Kara approached the only window onto which she hadn’t attached some deterrent. The window slid up smoothly along its track. She set her rifle against the outside wall and hefted herself up and over the ledge. She tucked her head down as she rolled onto the bedroom floor. The closet with the trapdoor was less than ten feet away. She had purposely left it disconnected from its designated hand grenade as a safeguard for the unlikely case she needed to make a speedy exit from the underground passageway. It was a calculated risk but worth it if she got cornered in the tunnel.
Kara crawled quickly to the trapdoor. She plucked the grenade out of the sawed hole in the floorboard. Next, she repositioned it closer to the ring on the trapdoor. Once the string was tied to the trapdoor’s hook, she rewrapped the string around the handle of the grenade. Maintaining the string’s tautness, she replaced the grenade into its hole. Arming this grenade was tricky. She had to make sure the string was taut before pulling the pin first, or things would get both messy and loud. After she was certain the tension was taut enough to prevent the string from loosening around the grenade’s lever, she would remove the safety pin. Once the booby trap was armed, it could only take a few inches of slack, which equated to a couple of inches of someone raising the trapdoor, before the string unwound and released the lever. That’s when things would get loud.
As Kara attempted to tie the string to the trapdoor’s handle, she felt the trapdoor move. If someone began shooting bullets up through it, she would be a goner. With that thought bouncing around in her head, she stood and pressed herself up against the back wall of the closet and waited for the gunshots. A few seconds passed and no holes appeared. She looked around for her rifle only to realize in horror it was still outside, propped against the house. She cursed herself for not retrieving the gun after she had gained access through the window. Nothing like: a) providing weapons to your enemy, and b) pointing an arrow to where you are now. Only a short time ago securing the trapdoor had seemed to be a priority. Now, as she watched the trapdoor rise in front of her, she realized the weapon was of equal importance. She had made a huge tactical mistake, and the consequence was about to come out of the tunnel.
*-*-*
Kornev emerged from a fetal position on the tunnel floor and was surprised he was in good shape. She had only set off booby trapped lights leading to the potting shed. If the string of lights that led to the other house had also been rigged, at least for now, they hadn’t ignited. With his four disposable men dead, Kornev was on his own. He would be damned if he would risk his life trying to make it up the damn hole that was log jammed with the dead officer’s body. Fire was consuming the structure above and its golden light cast a glow into the tunnel. The Russian stood and took further stock of his physical condition. Surprisingly, he wasn’t badly burned. The explosion had flash-fried any air remaining in the tunnel simultaneously producing large, unbreathable amounts of carbon dioxide in its place. The temperature had to be well over 100°. Kornev looked down the leg of the tunnel leading to the potting shed. Gasoline was burning in patches on the ground, leaving breadcrumbs of flame fighting to stay alive. Kornev knew it would soon burn out once the oxygen had been consumed.
The heat and lack of oxygen would present a problem for him. He needed to exit the tunnel, either in one direction or the other. The Russian was enraged, and in the few instances in his life when he’d become this angry, he hadn’t made good decisions. Was the other tunnel booby trapped? Probably, but if he ran out of oxygen, he would die for sure. Instead of running down the tunnel in the direction in which he’d come, he decided to go down the tunnel leading to the other safe house and its trapdoor. Kornev flipped on his flashlight and made his way through the dense acrid smoke, headed in the direction of the exit that would come out under Safe House Two. He didn’t like this one little bit.
With limited visibility, he walked down a tunnel that held the potential of planted tripwires and booby traps. Speed was the tradeoff. He had to move as slowly as possible yet make it out before the smoke and CO2 asphyxiated him. The smoke appeared to be more caustic nearer the ceiling, so Kornev dropped down to his knees and crawled. He found this comforting on several levels. If choke wires which pulled pins from exploding devices had been set up, at least now he could avoid them. On his knees, he was also able to see if any tripwires had been set at ankle level thereby preventing a painful outcome. It was slow moving but he was making progress. After several minutes, Kornev finally reached the only other opening available to him. He hadn’t encountered any further booby traps, but that didn’t mean the trapdoor above him wasn’t wired.
Kornev readied his rifle with one hand and used the other to grab the highest rung of the ladder. His eyes teared with smoke and he used the muzzle of the rifle to carefully lift the trapdoor an inch. If the woman was above and armed, he hoped just the movement of the trapdoor would draw her fire, but it hadn’t. Kornev lifted the door three more times, allowing several seconds to transpire between each lift. Each time he elevated the trapdoor higher, he expected rifle fire to rip through the lid and lodge into the wood framing. After doing several test lifts, he lifted the door three inches and glanced around the room. He saw no threat of any type but let the trapdoor fall. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, and this time he used the top of his head to lift the trapdoor. With one hand holding the ladder, he used his other to probe around the opening’s perimeter, feeling for a wire of some type. Nothing. He lowered his head and the trapdoor closed. He was relatively certain the door wasn’t wired to blow. He removed his 9mm from his hip holster and raised his head again so it was touching the trapdoor. He adjusted his stance on the ladder so he could emerge from the tunnel in an offensive position, gun out front, ready to acquire a target and fire.
*-*-*
Kornev lifted the door with the top of his head. Taking a quick glance around the room, he was satisfied that the bedroom was still vacant.
Pinned to the back of the closet, Kara looked down and watched the trapdoor begin to rise. At first, it rose just an inch and almost immediately shut. There was a short pause until it elevated a second time. The thick wood door rose high enough for someone to take a quick peek out and once again it closed. Kara considered making a dash across the room and jumping headfirst out the window, but she wasn’t a gymnast and didn’t like the idea of turning her back on the trapdoor.
As if the wood door had a life of its own, it rose a third time, but this time it stayed up longer than twenty seconds. A large male’s hand came through the opening to probe around the opening for wires or strings that might indicate a booby trap.
Kara patted herself down, hoping to discover a hidden weapon, maybe a knife or something that she could use to subdue her attacker. Other than a few spare magazines, the pockets of her abaya were empty. She thought she might be able to slam the magazines against the head of her attacker like a whack-a-mole, but she didn’t think it was sufficient to disable a full-grown man.
Double damn! Kara thought. If she lived another five minutes, she would make sure she always had a second weapon on her body.
Feeling more confident, the intruder climbed up one rung of the ladder and allowed the door to continue opening. Another rung on the ladder lifted his upper torso out of the trapdoor opening. The trespasser blinked tears out of his eyes caused by the mordant smoke below.
The trapdoor was fully open. The square door was perpendicular to the floor and only Kara’s knees kept it from leaning against the back wall. From her current position, standing directly behind the trapdoor with her back against the closet wall, she knew the person who emerged from the opening would only see an empty bedroom. But once he exited the tunnel, she would be a sitting duck and totally screwed.
*_*_*
A man’s head came into view. Kara saw medium-length blond hair on a big head she recognized. She watched the Russian arms dealer, Victor Kornev, breach the trapdoor. He had come for her after all. Neither the threats of the CIA nor Marshall Hail killing him for such a transgression had any apparent impact on him.
Kara silently watched, not moving a muscle, frozen in place as the torso of the Russian rose from the opening. She estimated he must be standing on the third rung of the ladder with only two rungs to go. A gun was in his right hand, moving from side to side, scanning the room for a threat.
Kara’s hands found the scarf she’d previously discarded in Safe House One, but had replaced before leaving, it being vital to her disguise. With no other course of action available, she grasped both ends of her scarf and silently twisted the fabric into a narrow cord. The man’s head was no more than two feet in front of her. Sensing she couldn’t put off the inevitable, she reached forward and made a quick loop with her scarf around Kornev’s neck like a garotte. Simultaneously, she slammed her right foot into the middle of his back and pulled with all her strength.
Now, half in and half out with his pistol fully extended in front of him, Kornev felt something wrap around his neck. For a second it felt soft, but suddenly everything got very hard. A hard foot pressed into his back between his shoulder blades. Some type of strong fabric was choking him making it difficult for him to breathe. Five full seconds later, Kornev found breathing virtually impossible.
Kara experienced a moment of disbelief when Kornev appeared to give into the assault, initially making no effort to break free. But the reprieve didn’t last long. A second later, he apparently realized what was happening and started to fight back.
Instinctively, he abandoned his weapon to reach for the strangulating rope using the strength in his hands. As the gun fell to the floor, Kornev had enough oxygen left in his brain to chastise himself for not pointing the gun behind him and firing. The Russian’s bulging eyes watched his gun land with a dense thud out of reach just outside the closet. Kornev tried to wedge his fingers under the ligature around his neck but it was to no avail. The foot on his back forced him facedown on the floor. Beneath him, his legs shot away from the ladder and kicked out uselessly in space.
His hands having flown to his neck as he heard his pistol clatter to the wooden floor, Kornev was too busy trying to dislodge the scarf from around his throat, to prevent himself being pancaked to the floor. Kara eased up just enough to push him forward with her foot, flattening him. The trapdoor fell forward on him, pinning the rifle that was slung over his shoulder to his side. Kara kept applying the pressure, grinding her foot into his back like she was trying to punch a hole through his spine. Kornev flailed around on his belly—still half in and half out of the hole, panicking while groping for a solution to his current predicament. Kara pressed and pulled, horrified to see Kornev’s right hand grab his pistol which was now within reach.
“Stop...” Kornev gurgled, but the sound that came out was a thin, inhuman sounding croak. Kornev’s mind became hazy and his peripheral vision blurred. Even given his deteriorating conditions, he still thought he could retrieve the gun and turn it on his attacker. The Russian’s hands dropped from his throat as he reached for the weapon.
The gun’s barrel swung around in her direction like a mini-tank. There was absolutely nothing Kara could do to stop it. Her arms burned. Her right leg felt like rubber. Kara watched the Russian’s thumb on the trigger. She ducked her head down and created the smallest target as she could.
The boot on his back felt like someone was standing on his spine. His oxygen-starved lungs compressed. His right hand found the butt of the pistol. Discouragingly, as he grasped the weapon, the strangulation pressure increased. But he was a powerful opponent. With his thumb on the trigger and the gun pointing backward, he was able to squeeze off a single round.
The gun erupted and Kara’s ears began to ring as if hell’s bells had been struck with a sledgehammer. That was a good thing, however. Ringing ears was a good indication she was still alive, but for how much longer?
Kornev had no way of knowing if he had hit his attacker because an intense light snapped on inside his brain and then his vision blanked out. Kornev’s movements slowed. A moment later, his brain blinked out like a nightlight and everything went black. The gun in his hand fell to his side. The Russian made choking, gasping and pleading sounds prior to falling silent, his body limp like a heavily tranquilized elephant.
Kara’s arms were spent from the fight, but she continued to apply pressure. If she maintained pressure for just one more minute Kornev would be dead (or at least brain dead). Releasing the scarf prematurely was a calculated risk that might come back to bite her in the ass with sharp teeth. The good news for Kornev was she didn’t want him dead. At least not at this very moment. She felt the man could be useful to her in a myriad of ways.
Kara let go of the scarf and shook out her weary arms, trying to turn them from jelly back into useful appendages. She wished she had thought to bring a pair of handcuffs. Back in the tunnel out of reach was a pile of both metal and plastic handcuffs. She considered the scarf, but she knew she could do better. She stepped over Kornev and hustled into the living room.
*-*-*
Earlier she had carried up piles of supplies from the passageway. They were strewn about the room. Ten rifles leaned against the wall. Next to the rifles were boxes of ammunition–including jacketed, tracers and standard rounds. Five handguns sat on the table as well. Each gun was loaded and ready to fire. Coils of two green garden hoses lay in the corner of the room. On the dining room table, Kara had piles of clothing, including dozens of bulletproof vests in all shapes and sizes. Other supplies included: three gas masks, four pairs of night vision goggles, five plastic lighters, four rolls of black duct tape and an assortment of tools she’d removed from the kitchen drawer. A large box of nails and a smaller box of screws completed the stash.
Kara snatched up a roll of duct tape from the table and returned to the bedroom where Kornev lay unconscious. Placing the gun he’d dropped into her oversized pocket, she wrapped duct tape around the Russian’s ankles and wrists. It didn’t need to be perfect. It just needed to slow him down long enough so she could retrieve some bailing wire from the barn.