Cliff Ryder - Black Widow

* * *

Moscow

Sergei Prokhorovs phone rang and he guessed it was his partner Mikhalkov. The old man seemed to hardly sleep these days with the case they were working. When he mulled over an investigation in the middle of the night, often questioning facts but not his gut feelings, Mikhalkov didn't hesitate to call and discuss his thoughts.

For a moment Sergei thought seriously of ignoring the phone. But if it was Mikhalkov and he didn't answer, the old man might show up at his apartment and bang on the door. That had happened before, as well, and Sergei's neighbors had made their displeasure known to him.

All things considered, Sergei didn't want to get dressed and go out into the night. He pulled his cell phone from the nightstand, flipped it open and answered.

"Alexi?" a woman asked.

The voice was unfamiliar to Sergei. He felt certain that if he'd ever heard it before, he would have recognized it.

"Excuse me?" Sergei hoped she would repeat herself. This time he would be ready. He'd listen again, more closely, and see if he could identify an accent or anything unique about her voice. He'd tried the ruse before but to no avail.

The phone clicked in his ear. She was gone.

After a quick glance at the digital clock on the nightstand, Sergei grabbed his pistol and dressed quickly. He paused only to check out his window for any signs of someone watching him. He saw no one.

Paranoia, he told himself. That's all.

* * *

North Caucasus Region Outside Chechnya

Less than ten feet above the ground, Ajza cut the parachute free of her harness and dropped into a roll. Despite her protective clothing, rocks scraped and bruised her as she spent the energy from the drop. The terrain became a dizzying blur, but she made it to a low stand of brush.

The parachute drifted away, black fabric waffling in the gentle breeze. It disappeared in the surrounding trees.

"You can come out," a thick male voice said in Russian.

Ajza didn't move. Her hand strayed to the 9 mm pistol at her hip. She hadn't been able to carry much into the field because no one wanted her identified if she was caught. She was grateful to have the pistol.

"You can come out," the voice repeated in English.

Smoothly Ajza drew the pistol and waited. Using her peripheral vision, she spotted the shadows flitting through the forest.

"Please," the man said, "don't try my patience. If we meant you any harm, you'd already be dead."

A ruby dot suddenly materialized on Ajza's hand. Her immediate thought was to flee, but she knew it was already too late. Three other laser sights joined the first. Reluctantly she got to her feet with the pistol at her side. The laser sights remained on her.

A short, squat man stepped from the shadows as quietly as a forest creature. His beard reached his chest and he wore a coat against the chill of the night. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. Effortlessly he carried a bolt-action rifle in his right hand.

"Very good. You are an intelligent woman. No one could stand in the face of such adversity." The man smiled and approached.

The other shadows in the forest closed in a little more, taking their lead from the man. The ruby dots disappeared, but Ajza's unease remained.

"Are you all right?" the man asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"Sometimes a parachute drop in the middle of the night can be hazardous," he said.

"I managed."

The man smiled again as he kept coming. "Can you speak Russian?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What about Chechen?"

"Like I was born here." During the long flights over, Ajza had listened to the language CDs that had come in the package with her replacement ID. She was already fluent in the language, but the CDs helped her pick up the local accent. She'd always been good with languages. That was one of the reasons MI-6 had recruited her.

The big man nodded. "Very good." He seemed genuinely pleased. He came to a stop in front of her. "In my years, I have seen too many of your kind come here to die. Most were men."

With an economy of movement that caught the big man off guard, Ajza brought the pistol up and shoved it beneath his shaggy chin. She pressed hard enough that the barrel dug into his flesh. The click of the hammer rolling back sounded loud in the night.

"I didn't come here to die," Ajza said as coldly as she could, trying desperately to sound as if she wasn't afraid. She locked eyes with the big man. "But I'm prepared to."

The man moved the rifle so that the barrel rested against Ajza's chest. "Maybe you have a chance," he said softly. "At the very least, you are going to be dangerous when cornered."

Ajza ignored that because she didn't know if the comment was a compliment. "You have a word for me and I haven't heard it yet," she said.

The man's smile grew huge. "You are young, aren't you? Still believe in those silly games your people teach you."

Ajza didn't say anything.

"Apple," he said in English.

"Queen," Ajza said as she lowered the pistol. She didn't put it away. Beyond the man, nine lean shadows remained partially masked by the darkness.

"I am Ivan." The man rubbed his chin and stared at Ajza as if measuring her.

Ajza cocked a doubtful eyebrow at him.

"It is as good a name as any," Ivan said. "And perhaps, with capricious fates, it is my own."

"Okay, Ivan," Ajza replied, "now that we both know we're who we're supposed to be, let's be about our business."

Ivan studied her for a moment longer. "Do not let your need to be confident overshadow your need to be afraid. The men you are going to go among are not used to strong-willed women. If they see you as a threat or as a challenge in any way, they will choose to break you." He shook his big head. "These women they influence are only chattel. Do you understand? They are only the property of the men."

"I know that," Ajza said.

The grin left Ivan's face and he shook his head sadly. "The people who sent you here are either desperate or foolish."

Ajza's face grew hot and she wanted to respond bravely, wanted to tell him that perhaps she'd been sent because only she could complete the mission. But she couldn't get the words out. Stubbornly she held his gaze and tried not to show the fear that flowed through her.

Ilyas had died in this country, and he'd been hunting the man she'd been sent here to ferret out. That thought remained uppermost in her mind, and not even her anger over her brother's death or her need for some sort of justice could move it aside.

"Come along, then," Ivan said as he turned toward the forest. "We have a long walk ahead of us and I do not want to grow too attached to you."

Moscow

Moscow cooled and quieted at night. Not even the capitalist economy managed to turn that around. In the old days the Russian soldiers had kept the streets clear of loiterers. These days crime had replaced the military and kept the night in check.

Sergei thought about that as he approached the pay phone next to the convenience store off Red Square proper. The location was a short distance from his apartment building. He'd walked, instead of taking the car the police department had assigned him. Sometimes they checked mileage, and sometimes they checked the GPS locaters in the vehicles. Also, it was easier to tell if he was being followed if he was on foot.

He held a cup of coffee in one hand and dropped coins into the pay phone with the other. The warmth soaked through the cup and into his flesh. The scent tickled his nose and washed away some of the fog that curled stubbornly through his brain. He wanted to be sharp for the conversation.

He punched in a number he'd memorized and waited. The phone was picked up on the other end and a man's voice said, "We'll call you back," in Russian.