Matthew Dunn - Sentinel

He tried to sleep, but his mind was too active. More than anything, he felt an overwhelming sense of unease.

W ill walked quickly through the lobby of the Hotel Otrada toward the entrance. He’d landed in Ukraine six hours ago, taken a room in the luxury hotel, and was now heading to his meeting with Sentinel. Outside, it was twilight and icy, and a heavy fog lay motionless over the city of Odessa. He entered a taxi and soon was being driven north along a coastal city road straddled with old-fashioned lamps that cast a dim golden glow over the route. The Black Sea was beside him but barely visible in the fading light. After two miles, he was nearing the city’s old town and its adjacent port. The taxi slowed and the driver muttered in Russian, the common language of Ukraine, that they were close to his destination.

They moved northwest, with the port to their right. The place was better lit, but the fog seemed even heavier here, allowing only glimpses of the freight ships and ferries moored alongside large jetties. Pedestrians and cars milled around the area. The taxi stopped by an arterial road entrance to one of the jetties, and the driver held out a hand. Will thrust hryvnia notes at the expectant man and stepped out of the vehicle onto Prymors’ka street.

It was nearly night now and very cold, although the ground was free of snow. Will pulled up the collar of his overcoat and looked in the direction opposite to the port. Rising away from the road was the famous five-hundred-foot-long, broad stone Potemkin Stairs. On a normal day it would give tourists who climbed to its summit a view of the whole port. But tonight it was impossible to see much beyond a hundred feet.

Will frowned, looked left and right along the road, watched cars move cautiously through the fog, glanced at the port behind him, and looked back toward the Potemkin Stairs and the few tourists he could see on it. He’d been told that this was the meeting place, but now that he was here it felt wrong-too busy, too exposed, with too many routes into and out of the place.

An SUV passed him. He watched its taillights move away from his position and disappear into the thick fog. Glancing around again, he heard more engine noises; those sounded as though they belonged to other large vehicles, and they were moving fast. His heart missed a beat. Spinning to face the vehicles, Will saw two sets of headlights coming quickly toward him.

In an instant, he knew exactly what was happening.

He also knew that he had to allow it.

Two SUVs skidded to a halt by his position; eight men jumped out and ran to him. The SUV that had passed him seconds earlier reappeared, reversing fast to his position before stopping. The men grabbed and twisted him, ran him backward to the SUVs, threw him into one of the vehicles, and slammed boots and knees against his head. Everything happened in less than six seconds. Then the SUVs lurched forward. Will was pinned to the floor of the vehicle by large and very strong men.

It was impossible to see where they were going. Will looked at the two men who held him firm. Their faces were in darkness; they said nothing. They seemed quite professional, though Will wouldn’t know how good they were until he decided to do something.

The three-vehicle convoy drove for an hour before stopping. A cell phone rang. One of the five men in Will’s vehicle pulled out his phone, listened to it, said nothing, then nodded at the two men holding Will. Doors were opened. Will was dragged out of the SUV and thrown onto the ground. Boots pressed his head against the frozen soil. The three SUVs were together, and the only light around them came from the vehicles. It showed that they were adjacent to a tree-lined road. Eleven men were on foot, all of them dressed in dark winter attire. One of them walked up to Will, nodded at the man pinning him down, took three paces away from them, and pointed a gun at Will’s head.

Hands gripped Will’s chin and forced his body into a kneeling position. All but the man with the gun moved to form a large circle around him. Will and the man holding the weapon were in the center of that circle.

Will raised his head and looked at the man holding the gun. “Fuck you.”

The man smiled, took three paces forward, and kicked him in the chest, forcing him onto his back. Will’s muscles instantly tensed. He thought about trying to escape, but he knew the thought was pointless.

The man punched the pistol into Will’s mouth and smiled wider; then his face took on a cold look. He pulled out the weapon and nodded toward some of the men. One of them hit Will on the back of the head with sufficient force to send him to the ground. Immediately after his face hit the road, a boot stamped on his neck and held him still. Hands rummaged through his overcoat and suit pockets. He had nothing in them except his wallet and passport. Both were removed.

There was more rapid talking. The man with the gun moved in front of Will, crouched down, and tossed his passport and wallet onto the ground so that both were inches from his face.

Will looked at the man and spoke through gritted teeth. “Do I pass the test?”

The man said nothing for a while before nodding. “He had to be sure you were the right person and that you weren’t being followed. You’re in the outskirts of the village of Dalnik. Wait here.”

The boot on Will’s head was removed. All of the men entered two of the vehicles, then quickly sped away, leaving Will alone on the ground with the third empty SUV beside them, its engine and lights still on. Will hauled himself to his feet and picked up his ID and wallet. He looked at the area ahead of him that was illuminated by the vehicle’s headlights. It was now very quiet, very still. The freezing fog was everywhere. He brushed ice from his clothes but kept his eyes on his surroundings, waiting, urgently trying to identify a new shape or movement. After taking two steps forward, he stood still for ten minutes, listening, watching. He moved forward again until he was standing fully in the headlights of the SUV and remained there for another fifteen minutes. The SUV behind him idled almost silently; fumes from its exhaust wafted through the air and mingled with the fog that now almost encapsulated him. He was exposed to anything around him, and he hated being this vulnerable. But he knew he had to remain calm. It was very cold now, cold enough to make every intake of air cause pain in his lungs.

The village of Dalnik sounded familiar, and he tried to remember why, something he’d learned about a long time before, maybe at school. It came to him. In 1941, Nazi-allied Romanian soldiers had rounded up twenty-five thousand Jews in Odessa and made them march along the twenty-mile road he’d been driven along to get here. Three thousand of them, mostly the elderly, children, and the physically and mentally handicapped, couldn’t walk fast enough so were shot or hanged along the way. Those who made it here alive were herded into four warehouses, probably located very close to where Will was now standing. The Romanian troops made holes in the buildings big enough for machine guns, locked the doors, placed their guns into the holes, and opened fire. Later they set the buildings ablaze and tossed grenades into them to make sure no Jew survived.

He heard a sound and looked quickly in the direction from which it had come. There was nothing else at first, but then he heard what sounded like a footstep crunching over the icy ground, followed by another, then another. He waited. The noises stopped. The motionless fog blanketed everything. Nothing else could be seen. All was quiet again. Then there was another crunch over ground, followed by another.

Then he saw him. At first he was just a dark shape, but as he drew nearer, Will could see that it was a person who was taking careful, deliberate steps toward him. He was thirty feet away, his face was still hidden in the fog, and he was holding something. It was almost certainly a pistol, and it had probably been pointing at him since he arrived here. The man stopped far enough away for his features to still be hidden. He raised his weapon high so that Will could clearly see that it was aimed in his direction, held it with two hands, and suddenly walked quickly toward him. Within a split second, Will saw that the man was tall, athletic, middle-aged, and clean-shaven, had groomed short blond hair, and was dressed in a windbreaker jacket, jeans, and hiking boots.