Sniper's Honor(109)

“We have a long journey, at least three miles to the canyon they call Natasha’s Womb. It’s a choke point holding us in this sector. We’ll get through it and find a cave or a glade on the other side. Once the Red Army has driven the Germans out of the mountains, we’ll figure a safe way to return to our side.”



* * *



They walked, they walked, they walked. It took close to two hours to make it to site of the cave at the head of the scree field where the canister was hidden. It was not far from the Womb.

“Here, rest,” said the Mili, “but only for a moment.” She gave the Teacher her rifle. “Replace it now. Your weapon, too. I will strip off my camouflage, and from now on, we are peasants fleeing the battle.”

The Teacher took her weapon and his own and ducked into the cave, replacing the two guns and all the ammunition, then latched the container tightly.

He emerged, finding them both ready for what lay beyond. They were so close.

“Just a little farther,” she said. “Another few miles. When we get close to Natasha’s Womb, we’ll go to ground, and I’ll squirm forward and make certain we’re all right.”

“Petrova, that should be my job,” the Teacher said. “Who knows what lies ahead, better I go than you, who’ve already accomplished so much.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“Certainly,” he said, “but we should take just that little precaution.”

With faith and vigor renewed, they set out along a higher trail, which seemed to take a downward track as it worked its way to the gap in the mountains at a significantly lower altitude. Still they bent against the incline and felt their thighs fight for strength as the walk became difficult with the need to defy gravity. They went down in silence, except for the sound of their labored breathing, the far-off detonation, the hum of insects attracted to the salty sweat that lubricated their skin and dampened their clothes.

As yet unseen, Natasha’s Womb came closer. So did the sense of other, larger mountains abutting them, which was why the formation afforded a gap, while the others demanded mountaineering.

At one point, Mili called a halt. “All right,” she said, “here’s where you’ll lay up. I’m going to work my way ahead and get a glimpse, just to make sure there’s no mischief up here. And—”

“Sergeant, please,” said the Teacher. “This should be my duty, and I—”

“HALTEN SIE!” came a sudden cry.

Two men stepped out of the brush ten yards away, weapons leveled.





CHAPTER 51


The Carpathians


Above Yaremche


THE PRESENT


Okay,” said Reilly as they advanced toward Jerry Renn, “you should see this. I think it explains something.”

She handed Swagger her iPhone, which displayed a message from Will. After worrying why he hadn’t heard from her, he got to the gist: Got Krulov KGB file. Longer memo to follow, but here’s the key stuff.

Bob read it.

It laid out the life and times of one Basil Krulov, his education, his wartime experience. His upward climb in the ’40s, his domestic situation, his fate.

“There’s the motive we were looking for,” said Bob. “I think I get it now. He thought he was doing the right thing. They all say they’re doing the right thing, the motherfuckers.”



* * *



Jerry lay against a rock, having pulled himself to it from the path. He was in agony, and the bone sprouting from his thigh meant he wasn’t going anywhere soon. His Sig, originally pulled as a show of bravado, lay next to him.

“You move for that gun,” yelled Bob, “and I’ll cut you in half. Offhand, pick it up by the barrel and toss it my way.”

Jerry did it.

“Now the knife. You cowboys all have them folders you think is so cool. You dump it now.”

Out came the knife, and it was tossed.

Bob came out of cover, the Sten gun leveled, and approached.

“Jesus Christ,” said the agent, “where’d you get the fucking World War II shit? What is this, Bridge on the River Kwai?”

“Shut up,” said Bob. “And listen hard. I’m going to lay out two possible futures for you. You get to pick what happens next.”

“I’m bleeding out, man.”

“Nah, you just got a busted leg. You won’t be dead for at least a day, though it’ll be a long day.”

“Christ, it hurts,” Jerry said.

“Cry me a fucking river. My friend Reilly and I are going to walk another couple of hours, and a helicopter is going to pick us up. It will fly us to Uzhgorod, and there a private jet will fly us to Moscow. In Moscow, she’s going to write the story of Mili Petrova, and her newspaper is going to publish it. All the dirty wash gets hung out to dry. Now, you can help us, that’s one possibility, and if you do that, we’ll make a phone call to a number you give us. Too bad you dropped your phone as you ran, too bad I found it, but that’s how it goes. Okay, I make that phone call, and I’ll give your people a GPS position, and they’ll get here fast enough to get some plasma into you. Maybe the Carpathian wolves get here first, I don’t know, but I can’t make no guarantee about that. The other way is just the same, except I don’t call nobody, and you become the den chew toy. Or you dehydrate out. Or you bleed out. I don’t know, I don’t care. But you ain’t going home on this op, that I will guarantee you.”