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Three deer with full antlers crossed the trail and spooked her. After the scare, she used her phone like a flashlight, checking every few yards to confirm the path ahead remained clear. Her crutches hindered her speed, but she stepped with her healthy leg in tandem and managed an awkward gallop while ignoring her pain.
In her urgent exit, she had left the car with a trajectory but no plan. Foolish. If she encountered Crimson Hammer, she carried nothing to defend herself. The silent forest remained undisturbed by sirens, thwarting her hopes for a quick rescue. How long could it take for a damn police car to arrive? Flights to the moon took less time.
While darkness made navigation difficult, she was thankful the woods offered ample cover. Dressed in her black trench coat, she blended into the night and avoided making noise. The path’s bushes grew thick, and her visibility extended to about three yards. An owl hooted above in the trees, reminding her of the forest she and Mark trekked in British Columbia. Luck might permit them to survive twice. Still no response from Mark or Declan.
1156. Four minutes left. She suspected another wild deer when a shadow passed several yards before her. An icy wind whistled through the treetops, and leaves rustled underneath her feet. She swore and soldiered on, propelling her body forward in wide arcs. Please let me find them before it’s too late. A small, open clearing appeared along with a signpost pointing uphill toward King Henry’s Mound.
Steeling her energy, she was accelerating up the steep hill when a set of arms snatched her from behind, locked around her torso, and knocked her off her feet. The point of a knife grazed her neck. The smell of cigarettes and beets hit her nose, and a bare, rough hand covered her mouth. The earthy taste of dirt and unfamiliar sweat made her gag.
“We meet again, Ms. Bennett. You can’t hide from me because I will always find you.” A wheezing Slavic voice growled.
Yuri. She screamed, but his hand muffled the sound to a barely audible rasp.
“Scream again, and I slit your throat.” The gunman’s grip around her torso tightened.
The steel tip of the knife chilled her neck, and she felt her hands freeze despite her gloves. Straining to coax her limbs into motion, she floundered, livid with herself for entering the woods unprepared. If the universe’s spiritual accounting required a zero balance, a life for a life, she still wouldn’t trade hers in payment for Sergey’s. The gunman’s weight threw her off center, and she struggled to stay upright. “What do you want?”
“Nothing but your silence. The dead cannot speak,” Yuri grumbled.
The knife remained sharp against her neck.
Yes, they can. She smirked in the darkness, remembering Kyle’s letter, and reckoned the dead had more to say than most people. “What’s so important? Why do you hate the US so much?”
“Because I do whatever Russia wants. We need your Rapadon code to bypass bank security and steal the cash.” Yuri hissed, still restraining her torso.
“So, you’re working with Russia.” Unable to escape his grasp, she needed to keep him talking.
“You techies think you’re so smart. Russia’s the first stop. The Hornet, Kostenko, routes the hacking and dirty work through Belarus,” Yuri snapped and tightened his grip.
Well, that answers one question, but where the hell were the police? Worse, if she couldn’t trust Willis and he was dirty, too, her chance of rescue, as well as Mark’s and Declan’s, dropped to zero. Scheming her next move, she emptied her mind of panic and concentrated. Pissed off to face Yuri again, she fought to extricate herself to no avail. Body tensing, she sensed the blade’s pressure against her throat increasing.
Out of nowhere, her father’s commanding voice reverberated through her head. First, survive.
In a flash of clarity, she realized nothing mattered but stalling Yuri long enough to stay alive. “Let me go.” Her request met only a cruel laugh from Yuri.
“Stupid girl, you and the doctor are trouble. You killed Alexi and that pig, Sergey, though the svoloch deserved it.” He coughed and spat on the ground.
Desperate to preserve her equilibrium, she rejected visions of pitchforks and braced herself to keep him at bay. Breathe and delay, breathe and delay. Self-preservation prevailed, and she howled. “Let. Me. Go.”
“Quiet. No more.” He repositioned the knife in his other hand.
“Stop, help!” She felt his iron grip around her neck tighten, but his hand, an immovable vise strangling her, muffled her shout. Her head tingled from lack of oxygen. Knowing few seconds remained before she passed out, she bashed at his knees with her metal crutches. In the brawl, she felt his blade nick the side of her neck, breaking open the skin. Warm blood dripped down her chest, and the nerve endings of the cut stung like electrical shocks.
Footsteps raced on the path behind where she stood, followed by the sound of a dull, metallic bump.
Yuri grunted.
He tumbled on top of her, knocking her flat.
The knife flew out of his hand into a pile of deer berry bushes.
His mass crushed her, deflating her lungs of air in one burst. Trapped, she couldn’t move and squished her face against the frosty ground.
“Lass, give me your hand,” a Scottish Highlander accent hollered.
Not believing her ears, she strained to lift her head toward the voice. Dumbstruck, she extended her hand.
Dressed in black, the Raven stood above her, brandishing the imposing broadsword from his cottage. With difficulty, he wriggled and tugged to extract her from under Yuri.
