Cliff Ryder - Black Widow

Five other women had joined their expedition through the mountains, bringing their total to thirteen. The number was ominous even among the slavers, and there had been some concerns about that.

Ajza sat in the darkness and tried to sink into the rough tree bark. Whenever the fear inside her rose, she thought of the other times she'd been undercover and alone. She'd narrowly avoided death on several occasions while working for MI-6. But there had always been a contingency plan.

Like the plan in Istanbul? she taunted herself. That had worked out really brilliantly, hadn't it? Memory of that only brought on a fresh wave of fear. Concentrate, she commanded herself. Stay focused. In order to get out of this, you have to believe you can get out of this.

At last fatigue settled on her like a warm blanket. Before she knew it, she slept.

* * *

Pain screamed through Ajza as someone roughly dragged her to her feet. Her mind came awake instantly, but her body lagged. She stumbled twice before she could get her feet planted.

Achmed's fist knotted in her hair. His hard scowl hovered only inches from her face. His fetid breath collided with her eyes and made her blink, and his stench clouded her nose.

"What makes you think you are so precious, woman?" the slaver snarled. "What makes you think you will not be treated as the filth that you are?"

The other men circled Achmed and Ajza, eager anticipation in their eyes. The women gazed on in fear and numbed acceptance because they knew they had no control over their lives at this point. Men assigned them worth, and at the moment they were worth nothing. Most were glad that it was someone other than themselves in Achmed's hands.

"Did you hear me?" Achmed shook the hand holding Ajza's hair.

Pain ripped through Ajza's scalp again. This time she cried out before she could stop herself.

"Does this hurt?" Achmed asked. He jerked again. "Didn't the Russians treat you more harshly while you were their guest?"

Ajza stumbled after the man as he yanked her around.

"I looked at you and I examined you," Achmed declared. "Yet I saw no marks left by the Russians. Did you not fight them? Did you not resist? Or did you give yourself to them gladly?"

No answer would have satisfied Achmed, and Ajza knew it. She gritted her teeth against the pain and read his body language so she could anticipate his moves and lessen her pain as he jerked her like a marionette.

"What I don't understand," Achmed told her, "is why the man who sold you to me would lie."

Ajza dodged to the left and blinked tears from her eyes as the pain screamed through her anew. She knew Achmed wouldn't hold back. One woman out of thirteen was no matter to him. Losing her would cut his profit only slightly. Besides that, a large part of the payment for the men was the harsh way they could use their charges.

"Do you know why this man told me these things?" Achmed demanded.

"He told you the truth." Ajza's voice sounded strained and high-pitched in agony. She had to stick with the lie that Ivan had told. One deviation, one back step from that story, and her life was forfeit.

Achmed might kill her, anyway, for sport.

"Lies!" Achmed bellowed. "You gave yourself to the Russians to save yourself! You betrayed your people!" He reached for a curved knife at his hip.

Looking into the maddened glare of the man, not knowing what had set him off, Ajza knew Achmed would kill her.

"If you cannot service me," Achmed snarled, "then we'll leave your body here to rot."

Desperate, Ajza twisted to avoid the knife thrust. She knew she couldn't pull away from the grip he had on her hair, so she drove her forehead into his face. His nose crunched and he howled in pain. When he refused to release her hair, she hammered her forehead into his face again. This time his teeth bit into the flesh above her eyebrow. Blood blinded her left eye and she blinked it away as she quickly stepped back.

Achmed covered his face with his hands.

Frenzied, breathing quickly, Ajza expected to be shot. She didn't want to die and be another loss that would never be explained to her parents. Like Ilyas.

"Do not kill her!" Achmed roared. "I will do it." He wiped the blood from his face. Even in the moonlight Ajza saw his nose was no longer straight. He took a fresh grip on his knife and lunged at her.

Ajza knew she'd never stand a chance if she tried to run. The man would be on her in one moment and her throat would be slit in the next. Instead, she threw herself backward onto her shoulders, crunched her body tight and slid her feet through her handcuffs so her hands were in front of her.

Achmed howled fiercely as he closed in on her.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, Ajza placed her cuffed hands behind her head and pushed to add as much momentum as she could. She powered her feet into her attacker's chest and broke his advance. Jarred and shaken, she rolled to her side and got to her feet.

Despite his injuries and having had the air driven from his lungs, Achmed got to his feet just as quickly. He shifted the knife and cursed Ajza loudly. Blood streamed down his face.

If you're not attacking, you're being attacked. That was one of the first things Ajza's martial-arts teacher had drilled into her head. If you stand still, you're a stationary target.

There was no way she was going to be able to talk her way out of the encounter. She also couldn't show too much martial-arts skill — or that would give away who she was, as well.

Achmed slashed at her three times, and three times she avoided the knife. But the slaver came closer each time. Ajza stumbled over a rock, then stooped and picked it up in her cuffed hands. She could manage only an awkward throw that had no power. The rock thudded off Achmed's chest and triggered another vile curse. When he turned back to her, his robe gaped open just long enough to reveal the grenades clipped to his belt.

"Come on, woman," Achmed taunted. "Give yourself to me and I will make your death a swift one."

Ajza scooped up dirt and launched it at Achmed. Then she followed it. The slaver closed his eyes for a moment and stepped sideways, favoring the hand that held the knife as Ajza had expected. Then he focused on her and struck.

Throwing up her hands, Ajza caught the curved blade on the short length of chain between the handcuffs. The razor-edged metal ground against the links. She twisted and ripped the knife free of Achmed's grip.

Moving swiftly, she stepped toward his side and threw an elbow into his throat, temporarily robbing him of his breath. She grabbed one of the grenades from Achmed's belt in both her hands, then roped her arms around the slaver from behind and levered a forearm up against his neck.

When he regained his breath, Achmed cursed her, then called on his men to kill her.

Ajza kept the fear pounding through her body at bay only through sheer willpower. The next moment didn't exist; only this one.

She lifted her hands and revealed the grenade in her hands. Then she pulled the ring and held the release immobile.

"I am willing to die tonight," Ajza whispered into his ear. She wasn't being brave and she knew it. She was out of choices. "Are you ready to die with me?"

Faced with certain and violent death, Achmed quickly ordered his men to put down their weapons. To his credit, his voice sounded only mildly hysterical. His composure helped a little, but Ajza didn't feel much better. She knew what the rifles could do up close.

The sound of someone clapping came from the shadows of the brush clinging to the mountainside. "Now that you have Achmed, woman," a male voice called, "what are you going to do?"

"Die in my own way," Ajza replied as she scanned the surrounding countryside. She was surprised at how much she meant that. The situation had gone decidedly south, as she'd known every undercover operation could do at any time.