Cliff Ryder - Black Widow

She and Ilyas had talked about that once. They'd been at his apartment, sitting on the rooftop overlooking London hours after the sun had gone down. They'd both been through MI-6 training at the time, and both had accepted undercover assignments in Muslim countries.

"What will you do," Ilyas had asked her, "if you're found out while on assignment and there's no way out?"

"Die," she'd replied without hesitation. "As swiftly and as painlessly as possible."

On most of their assignments, suicide pills had been impossible. While learning to kill enemies, they'd also been taught how to kill themselves if there was no chance for escape. Spies, no matter what was released in the news, didn't fare well in enemy custody. Especially spies who wouldn't be claimed by their government.

"Let's hope that it never comes to that," her brother had said. And he'd grinned in a way that made everything seem like a joke.

"I will not die broken at the hands of these pigs," Ajza declared now. That was the truth for her and the woman she pretended to be.

"May I approach?" the man asked.

"Only so far." Ajza turned toward the voice, certain where it was now, and hunkered lower behind Achmed.

"Keep hold of the grenade," Achmed said nervously. "Keep a tight hold."

"Shut up," Ajza ordered.

"Let him keep talking," the new arrival said. Amusement and displeasure dripped from his words. "I don't think you will have to wait long to hear him beg for his life."

Ajza listened to the thuds on the ground as they approached, then recognized them as hoofbeats only a moment before the man rode into view astride a black horse. The man had a military bearing as he sat the large animal. Except for the scars on his face and the patch over his right eye, he would have been handsome.

Even in the shadows, Ajza knew the man at once. He was the man she was looking for.

* * *

"I am Mayrbek Taburova. Do you know who I am, woman?" Taburova studied the woman taking refuge behind Achmed. Fear etched the slaver's face as the woman held the grenade beneath his quivering chin.

"Yes," she replied. She peered at him. Fear widened her eyes, but she mastered it enough to hold Achmed prisoner and stand her ground. "You fight for Chechen independence from the Russians."

"That's right." Taburova kept a tight rein on the horse. He shifted slightly in the saddle and caused the leather to squeak. Briefly he gazed at the other women huddled together with their heads pressed to the ground. None of them had the fire this woman had. They were sheep. But the woman in front of him was a wolf. "What are you doing here?"

"I was captured. They were bringing me to you. To be one of the Black Widows."

"Do you not wish to be a Black Widow?" Taburova asked.

"I wish to kill the Russians who killed my husband. If not them, then I wish to kill others like them."

"You could have come to me. I would allow you to do those things."

"I have not been treated well at the hands of men since my husband's death. His father and brothers turned their backs on me. I have no reason to trust any man."

"Perhaps you could trust me."

"And perhaps you could trust me," the woman returned. "Lend me your horse so that I may make my escape from these disease-ridden rapists."

"You are very brave."

"I am not brave. I am frightened. I do not wish to live in fear. I have had enough of that."

"I can teach you to be brave," Taburova said. "Perhaps I can teach you how brave you already are."

"I will never be brave. My husband loved me. He took care of me. Now…now there is no one."

Taburova nodded and smiled as he leaned over the pommel. "My Black Widows are like you, have been through the same hardships you have faced, and they have learned to be brave. When they pass from this world to the next, the gates of heaven are thrown wide in welcome."

"So I have been told."

"Do you believe?"

"Yes. There is nothing else left for me to believe in. God is all I have left."

"At least you are left with that. What is your name?"

"Ajza."

"I like that name. It is a good name," Taburova said.

"It was my grandmother's name. And her grandmother's before her."

"Tradition gives value to things." Taburova nodded at the grenade. "Does your hand grow tired?"

"Not yet," Ajza said.

"I would not like to lose you before I get the chance to know you."

"Nor would I like to sell my life so cheaply," Ajza said. "I would not attain heaven for killing a slaver, but neither will I submit to having his dirty hands on me." She gazed at Taburova pointedly. "Or the hands of anyone else."

"I do not blame you." Taburova glanced around the camp. "I came here tonight for recruits into my Black Widow camp." He focused on her again. "The other women I am going to take with me because no one else will have them. However, since you have created an option for yourself, I will ask you. Would you be willing to come with me?"

"To trade one death for another?"

"To trade an embarrassing death for a noble and honorable one. A death made holy by God himself and manufactured by me so that you can take as many of our enemies with you as possible."

The woman hesitated. Taburova expected that. No matter how prettily painted, death was still death.

"My husband was killed six months ago," Ajza said. "He fought the Russians."

"A noble death," Taburova said.

"His family never liked me. They treated me badly, and I have no wish to live without him."

"How have you lived?"

"In the city. I worked in offices. My husband's family moved to London and I went with him, but his grandfather's stories of our country drew him back. I had skills when I returned that I didn't have when I left. But they are not enough to keep me alive. And there are too many men who will take advantage of a woman alone."

"Tell me your husband's name. Perhaps I have heard of him."

"Ramzan Gazuyeva. He fought with Asian Maskhadov until Maskhadov was killed."

Only one of the names meant anything to Taburova. Too many others had died without becoming known to him.

"I fought with Basayev," Taburova said. The two Chechen leaders held different armies and followed different paths. But they both fought for Chechen independence from Russia.

"My husband could never agree with Basayev."

Taburova sighed. "I could never agree with Maskhadov. Yet, it seems, both of them are dead and we struggle on."

The woman said nothing.

"I will make you an offer," he said.

"I am listening."

"Come with me and I will make certain you are given a chance to kill your husband's enemies."

"If I am to become a plaything for your men, humbled and disgraced, I would sooner die on this mountain," Ajza said.

Taburova grinned. He knew she spoke the truth. He liked the bravery he heard in her words. "Ah, if only I had a thousand more like you. Then we could break Russia's grip on our country. But we don't. So you and I must fight and die so that our children will remember how to live and dream of independence."

Ajza hesitated. "I am told you are a man of your word," she said.

"I am. And I don't have to give you my word. I only need to wait to see if your hand will tire and you are willing to give your life. Or if you will throw the grenade away at the last moment. I can wait to see what your word is worth."

"I am not afraid to die when there is only rape and beatings awaiting me."

"I believe you. If I mean you harm, you will die just as surely by releasing Achmed as by releasing that live grenade. You wanted a choice. I offer you one. And something to believe in."

* * *

Ajza's hand shook from the strain of holding the grenade. She knew she couldn't last much longer. Achmed's pulse beat frantically against the inside of her forearm where it pressed his neck. He stank of sweat, dirt and fear.