Cliff Ryder - Black Widow

"Were you hit?" Mikhalkov lay nearby. The old man's face was ashen and he lay with the side of his face pressed to the floor near the desk. He held his pistol in his white-knuckled fist.

"I do not know."

"Find out."

Reluctantly, irritated that Mikhalkov made no move himself, Sergei rolled onto his back and waited for the next bullet to crash into him. Surely a moving target would draw the sniper's attention. Sergei looked down his body. He appeared intact.

"No." He tried to keep the relief he felt from his voice. "I am not hit."

"Good. I think the sniper is gone."

"Why?"

"Because we are not dead and there is no more shooting."

Sergei scanned the room. The two young bodyguards were dead. A bullet had nearly taken the head from one man's shoulders, and the other had his stomach turned inside out. Sergei shuddered at the sight. The fist-size holes in the wall let in daylight and the street noise below.

"How is Pasternak?" Mikhalkov asked.

Sergei found the big Mafiya man on his back behind the blood-spattered desk. Pasternak's chest moved slightly.

"He is alive," Sergei said.

"Mikhalkov," Pasternak whispered hoarsely.

"Yes?" Mikhalkov crawled over to the Mafiya boss, keeping a wary eye on the door.

"You have killed me." Pasternak drew his pistol and pointed it at Mikhalkov's head.

Mikhalkov made no move to defend himself. Sergei shoved his pistol at Pasternak, but Mikhalkov shook his head.

"I did not kill you," Mikhalkov said. "You know who killed you."

Pasternak's hand shook. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "They followed you here."

"Perhaps, but they would have found you, anyway." Mikhalkov ignored the pistol in his face and examined Pasternak. "Even if medical help were to arrive now, you would die. You will not survive your wounds."

Weak curses slipped from Pasternak's lips.

"Tell me who did this to you," Mikhalkov said. "Let me be your vengeance."

Bloody spittle blew from Pasternak's mouth as he attempted to laugh. "You will only get yourself killed."

"I am a hard man to kill. You know that from experience."

Pasternak's breathing grew more labored. Sergei hated the sound of it. Listening to someone die was hard.

"Tell me about Kirinov," Mikhalkov coaxed.

"This is not Kirinov's arrangement," Pasternak wheezed.

"Then who?"

Pasternak worked to get the name out. "Kumarin. Yuri Kumarin."

Sergei couldn't believe what he was hearing. "This man has the same name as the general?"

General Yuri Kumarin had been one of the staunchest foes of Chechen independence.

"You…you have such a lamb, Mikhalkov." Again Pasternak attempted to laugh. "It is a wonder that you have not lost him."

"I like Sergei," Mikhalkov replied. "I keep him around. I see promise in him." He shook a cigarette from his pack with a bloody hand. He lit a cigarette and passed it to Pasternak. "Tell me about Kumarin."

"From the beginning, this was Kumarin's project." Pasternak inhaled the cigarette weakly. "That's what he called it. A project. I am Mafiya. I do not do projects."

"What was the project?"

"I was to arrange…a shipment of weapons. Kirinov bought them from a weapons dealer."

"You were supposed to bring them into the country?"

"Yes. It seemed easy enough."

"Who were the weapons for?"

"I do not know. Ivanov met the man. He told me he had an eye patch." Pasternak tried to touch his own eye, but his motor control was almost gone.

"Did Ivanov get a name?"

"No."

"Does this man have the weapons?"

"I do not know."

"How can you not know?"

"Because I…no longer have…the weapons." Fresh blood spilled from the corner of Pasternak's mouth. "Only…a few days ago…they were stolen."

"Who took them?"

"I do not know." Pasternak shuddered and wheezed.

"What happened to Ivanov?"

"The man I was…to sell the weapons to…he killed Ivanov. Shot him…and dropped him…through the window."

"Why?" Mikhalkov asked.

"I was told to raise…the price…of the weapons. That man…he did not care…for that idea." Pasternak swallowed hard and sucked in a painful breath. "He must have been…very certain of himself. That he would…get his weapons."

"Because he knew you would still trade with him even after IvanoVs murder."

"Yes. You see…howit was."

"Do you think he found the weapons?"

"No. They were…well hidden."

Mikhalkov asked, "Who knew where they were?"

"Kirinov. General Kumarin. And me. No one…else." Pasternak smiled. "Of course…there is…the possibility…I was betrayed. After all…you found me." The Mafiya man's head lolled to one side and his eyes stared without seeing.

Mikhalkov touched Pasternak's throat, then shook his head. He took the cigarette from Pasternak's lips and put it between his own. Then he struggled to get to his feet.

That was when Sergei saw the blood pouring down the old man's side. Mikhalkov managed two steps toward the door before he fell. Sergei caught him in his arms and gently lowered him to the floor, holding him as he would a child. He placed his hand over the wound in the old man's side.

Movement at the door caught Sergei's eye. He felt a surge of panic.

A young man peeked around the frame, showing only one eye and part of a terrified expression.

"Help," Sergei said. "I need help. Get help now!"

Outside Chechnya

When Ajza stepped from the building, a guard cursed at her and told her to get back. She started to retreat, knowing she couldn't point out to the man that Taburova had told her to report to him without getting beaten. Luckily the other guard knew she was supposed to see Taburova.

"Go ahead," the second guard said. "He wishes to speak with you."

As Ajza crossed the distance to the building she'd seen Taburova enter, she felt the men's hungry and hateful eyes on her. Their faces showed that they suspected Taburova's interests were sexual and some of them resented his power over them, as well as his protection of her. Many of the men were more wolves than patriots. Anxiety knotted Ajza's stomach as she glanced at the building where the horses were kept. If she could get one of them, she had a chance.

The guard watching the door to Taburova's building stopped her with a raised hand. She stood looking down at the ground. Even though she couldn't see the man, she watched his shadow so she could see what he did and react to any attack.

The guard knocked on the door. Taburova told him to enter. The guard announced Ajza's presence and Taburova told him to let her in.

Taburova's building wasn't much different from the other one Ajza had seen. There was no furniture, only a loose gathering of ammunition and food crates, used to keep supplies. Taburova used one of the crates as a chair while he spoke on a satellite phone.

Covering the mouthpiece with a big hand, Taburova said, "Sit."

With nothing to sit on but the floor, Ajza sat against the wall about ten feet away and crossed her legs. After a moment of listening to Taburova's infrequent responses, mostly in the negative, she identified a rhythmic thumping in the background. She guessed there was a generator somewhere below or in back of the building. They had access to electric power.

She heard Taburova give a few orders to whomever he was talking to and finished the call. Then he closed the phone, shoved it into a pocket and regarded her wordlessly for a time.

"You were very brave facing Achmed," he said at last.

Ajza remained silent, then realized he was waiting for her to speak. "I was scared, not brave."

"You took Achmed prisoner."

"He would have raped me and killed me. I will not live like that."