The Hunters

67

With Anna driving, McNutt reached into the sidecar seat, pulled up his last remaining weapon, and shot it point blank at the leader of the Black Robes. There was a pop and a whooshing sound as Sidorov was enveloped in a net.

McNutt’s timing couldn’t have been better. Sidorov was knocked back against the edge of the hatch. On impact, he instinctively pulled the trigger even though the launcher was pointed aimlessly to the right. A moment later, the rocket engine of the missile ignited.

From his elevated perspective, Cobb saw it all. The warhead, designed to penetrate the armored hulls of tanks, flashed out in what looked like a thick line of yellowish smoke, then it smashed into the edge of the hill. The ground erupted in a billowing circle of red, gray, and brown debris that knocked the massive BRDM on its side. Rock and dirt cascaded onto it — some of it actually molten from the heat of the grenade. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over — save for the loud echo, which rolled through the distant hills like a roar of the gods.

When the dust settled, the BRDM was left dangling precariously from the edge of the hillside. The slightest shift in its center of gravity, and the entire thing would tumble to the bottom of the ravine, hundreds of feet below.

Cobb swung down above the armored vehicle. He edged toward the hatch where Sidorov lay half inside the truck and half outside, covered with net and earth and blood and wriggling like an earthworm. The leader of the Black Robes looked up. A curious expression came over his face as he realized he had been bested. He knew he would die today.

Cobb moved the handlebar controls and descended. He landed, unbuckled himself, and hurried over to the armored vehicle. The ground was brittle. He didn’t have much time.

‘Do you speak English?’ Cobb asked as he squatted beside Sidorov.

The Russian coughed, then smiled with bloodstained teeth.

‘I’ll make a deal with you,’ Cobb said. ‘A trade before you meet your maker. I’ll tell you what you want to know, and you do the same for me. Sound good?’

Sidorov laughed. ‘What… do… I… want… to… know?’ His English was heavily accented, and his breathing was increasingly labored.

Cobb reached into his pocket. He grasped the tiny object between his thumb and forefinger and stretched out his arm, giving Sidorov a closer view. ‘This.’

Sidorov’s eyes brightened at the sight of Rasputin’s ring. He closed his eyes and smiled, content in the knowledge that his master’s body had been found after all these years.

‘Hey!’ Cobb yelled. ‘Don’t you die on me! Not yet!’

Cobb, who had borrowed the ring while the train was moving, returned it to his pocket, then quickly pulled out his cell phone. Using the touchscreen, he scrolled through his photos. Finding the one he wanted, he held the screen toward Sidorov so he could see it. ‘Is this the man you dealt with? The man in charge of this mission?’

Sidorov laughed at the question, blood spewing from his mouth. ‘Him?… In charge?’ He laughed at the notion. ‘He is not the boss.’

Cobb pulled the phone back and studied the picture of Papineau he had taken in Fort Lauderdale. He had long since known that Papineau had associates, men and women who helped him do his bidding, but now he had confirmation that there was someone higher up the ladder: a puppet-master, pulling Papineau’s strings.

Cobb rose. He thought about shooting the Russian in the head for all the carnage he had caused but decided that Sidorov deserved a long, lingering death.

Cobb went back to the H-4 as Sidorov lay dying on the roadway, his body still lodged in the window of the heavy BRDM. As Cobb took off, the ground trembled, bringing the inevitable fall of the vehicle that much closer. Cobb floated above the BRDM and watched as Sidorov pulled a single-shot pistol from somewhere under his robe. Cobb could not distinguish the model, but he knew the weapon’s singular purpose: it was designed to take one’s own life.

Sidorov pressed the barrel into the middle of his brow.

He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

A bullet in the brain — just like Rasputin.

As Sidorov’s limbs slumped to the earth, the ground underneath the BRDM finally gave way. Cobb watched as the massive vehicle slipped over the steep embankment and tumbled into the ravine. As a final insult, the BRDM burst into flames, sending a magnificent plume of smoke in Cobb’s direction — a fire that would burn Sidorov’s corpse beyond recognition.

Satisfied, Cobb turned the H-4 toward the village and the rest of his team, but deep inside, he wondered if anyone would ever go looking for the body of that lunatic.

Having returned to the train after the BRDM was immobilized by the rocket blast, McNutt kept an eye on things until Cobb’s arrival. Garcia was there, too, standing beside Anna, who was tending to an injured Borovsky. He was lying on a stretcher made from branches and leaves that the old women had assembled in what seemed like seconds.

Everyone watched as the H-4 hovered inches off the ground before it touched down like a dainty ballerina. The two counter-rotating blades slowed, then stopped abruptly. Cobb unclipped his seatbelt and slipped out of the aircraft.

‘What’s our status?’ he asked.

‘Chief,’ McNutt blurted, ‘you’re not going to believe this, but Jasmine and the treasure train are gone. Ludmilla is still here, but the old train is—’

‘Gone,’ Cobb said, not the least bit panicked. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll explain later.’

Garcia exhaled. ‘Good, because I’m totally confused.’

‘Welcome to my world,’ McNutt grumbled.

Cobb glanced around. ‘What’s the situation here?’

McNutt frowned and refocused. ‘The villagers gathered all of the dropped weapons, and they went after the remaining Black Robes,’ he reported, admiring the industry of the people, who were, even then, helping each other as much as they could. ‘I don’t envy any Black Robes who are unable to get away.’

Cobb looked over at the handful of surviving Black Robes. They looked simply numb — tired from their massive effort in a mission that they probably had never fully understood.

‘If they haven’t been killed yet, they won’t be,’ Cobb said. ‘At least not at the hands of the villagers.’

‘Trial or deprogramming?’ McNutt asked. ‘What do they do here?’

‘Russian gunmen in Romania?’ Cobb said. ‘They’ll have their brains rewired by the Serviciul de Informatii Externe, the Foreign Intelligence Service. Then they’ll be sent back to Moscow to spy.’

‘Better than a bullet in the back of the neck,’ McNutt opined. ‘Speaking of bullets, you okay?’

‘Dandy,’ Cobb replied.

‘We haven’t found anyone that we consider, shall we say, “leadership material” amongst the Black Robes,’ Garcia prodded. ‘We were thinking maybe you knew something about that?’

‘I do,’ Cobb answered. ‘And he’s been neutralized.’

‘Neutralized? Neutralized how?’

‘Shot. Crushed. Incinerated.’ Cobb answered. ‘That good enough?’

‘It wasn’t the first time around!’ McNutt joked. ‘They did all that and more to good ol’ Raspy, and he’s still sitting in the damn train — wherever that is.’

Cobb nodded, smiled, and exhaled with honest relief. It was the first time in a while that he allowed himself to enjoy McNutt’s humor. Then he visibly brightened and slapped McNutt on the back. ‘Nice shooting out there.’

‘Anna kept her steady when all get-out was… well, getting out,’ he said.

Cobb stepped forward to where Anna was hovering protectively over Borovsky and saluted her. With a smile, she saluted back. Then he put his hand out, and she took it.

‘Spasiba,’ he said.

‘You… are… velcome,’ she replied.

Cobb knelt beside Borovsky, whose right arm was in a sling. He slipped a hand under the Colonel’s shoulder, raised him slightly, pointed to the front of the train. On the track, in front of the locomotive, were three large, burlap sacks bulging to near bursting.

‘Gold,’ Cobb said. ‘For the village. They can start over, anywhere.’

Borovsky nodded in understanding. It would have been an exaggeration to call him happy, but he seemed contentedly resigned.

He said something in Russian before Cobb laid him back.

Jasmine’s voice was in his ear. ‘He said, “If I had to lose the treasure to a thief, at least it was an honorable one.”’

Cobb wanted to point out that the man was protecting stolen treasure. For that matter, the gold itself was probably bought with awful taxes levied on the Romanian people.

Instead, he simply nodded and walked away.