Betrayal (22 page)

She was grateful for the goggles and air purifier she’d been given. She couldn’t imagine spending any length of time in such conditions without them.

The shift manager started speaking and pointing off into the distance.

‘He says the foreman’s office is that way!’ Stav translated, having to yell to be heard as a massive-wheeled loading truck trundled past, its bulldozer-like bucket piled high with rocks waiting to be deposited in one of several ore chutes nearby. ‘This is fucking dangerous place, man. Stay close to me, and watch where you walk!’

With little option but to obey, McKnight hurried after him down one of the main tunnels, skirting groups of workers as they went. Easily thirty feet wide and liberally illuminated by electric lamps, the shaft reminded her more of a subway tunnel than a mining area. The scale of the operation here was staggering.

Stav was beside her. A solid, menacing but strangely reassuring presence in that confusing and dangerous underground world. Coming as she did from a military background, Samantha wasn’t the sort to be easily intimidated, but even she appreciated having someone to back her up. Especially a mile below the surface of a foreign country.

‘Most of these guys haven’t seen a woman in weeks,’ Stav remarked, guessing her thoughts. ‘You would be very popular here, I think.’

‘Can’t see myself changing careers any time soon,’ she replied, not altogether comfortable with the direction his humour was going.

He laughed out loud at that. ‘Don’t be so sure. These crazy guys make more money than either of us. They stay a few years, make their fortune then move on. Some die, but what the fuck, right? We all do.’

She didn’t quite share his fatalistic appraisal of the situation. Still, she wasn’t inclined to pursue the matter, especially when the shift manager pointed further down the tunnel and started talking.

‘Foreman’s office is up ahead,’ Stav announced.

Squinting through the dusty air, Samantha could make out the square shape of a Portakabin-like structure about 30 yards away. Several men were gathered near the entrance. One in particular, with a walkie-talkie in one hand and a flashlight in the other, was in the midst of issuing orders to the group.

The foreman pointed to him and shouted something in Russian that Stav didn’t bother to translate.

‘Leave this to me,’ he said. ‘I will scare the shit out of him, then we take him in.’

A moment later she saw him stride past her, heading straight for the group. Instinctively she picked up the pace, wanting to be close by when they lifted him.

The group had noticed Stav now and were watching him as he approached, curious but not yet wary. This was a big mine with lots of employees, and he was dressed just as they were.

‘Borz Umarov?’ he demanded, his tone making it clear this was no casual enquiry.

‘Da,’
the man with the walkie-talkie replied. His face was partially hidden by the respirator, but even Samantha could sense his unease.

Stav barked out another stream of Russian, she assumed to tell him he was to come with them and answer some questions. He was holding himself ready in case Umarov tried to run, but otherwise looked as if he had little to fear from the smaller and older man.

Umarov stood his ground, seemingly torn about what to do.

It happened fast. Realising his subject needed some persuasion, Stav reached inside his overalls for the automatic he’d insisted on taking with him. Umarov, however, was able to bring a far more primitive but equally effective weapon into play.

Unhooking the long metal flashlight from his tool belt, he swung it around like a shortened baseball bat and caught the FSB agent on the left temple, just below the edge of his work helmet. There was a muted thump, a crunch of broken glass as the flashlight shattered, and a groan of pain as Stav staggered sideways and collapsed.

‘Shit!’ McKnight cried, rushing forwards to his aid even as Umarov dropped the improvised weapon and retreated down the main tunnel.

Skidding to a halt beside the downed agent, she leaned in close. ‘Stav, can you hear me? Stav!’

Through the cracked safety goggles she could see that his eyes were glassy and unfocused like a punch-drunk boxer, but they did slowly move around towards her.

‘Da,’
he managed to say, his voice thick and heavy. He might have been suffering from a concussion after the sharp blow, but he was alive.

Umarov was the priority now. Reaching into Stav’s overalls, she felt around until her fingers closed on the butt of the automatic he hadn’t quite been able to draw, then yanked the weapon free.

‘Get him to a doctor!’ she shouted to the workers who had gathered around, hoping they understood her intent if not her actual words. ‘Doctor!’

Rising to her feet, she pulled back the slide on top of the weapon. A brass cartridge flew out of the ejection port, telling her a round had already been chambered, but it was better safe than sorry. The last thing she needed was to pull the trigger only to hear the ping of a firing pin striking an empty chamber.

Gripping the weapon tight in her gloved hands, she rushed down the main passage in pursuit of her target. Her air filter was struggling to keep up with her lungs as they greedily sucked in more oxygen, feeding the urgent demands of her body.

She had no idea where the passage led. Umarov would know these tunnels like the back of his hand and might well try to double back somehow, making for the elevator. McKnight’s only option was to keep going and hope she could chase him down before he vanished.

Rounding a wide curve, she suddenly found herself faced with three separate tunnels, all leading in different directions. Umarov could have taken any one of them. There was no way of tracking him.

Spotting two men working on the engine of a nearby loading vehicle, she sprinted over, waving the gun to get their attention. ‘Hey! You seen a guy come running down here?’

Both men stared at her with a mixture of fear, incomprehension and anger. No doubt they were less than pleased to be confronted with a woman waving a gun and jabbering in a language they didn’t understand.

‘Umarov!’ she shouted, then pointed to the tunnels up ahead. ‘Borz Umarov!’

The brighter and more cooperative of the two seemed to get what she was after, and pointed to the left tunnel while also spouting off a stream of Russian that she suspected was less than complimentary.

She ignored it. She had what she needed now.

With her flashlight beam haphazardly lighting a path ahead of her, she rushed down the left passage. This one wasn’t as well illuminated as the others, with only a couple of dim bulbs still functioning. Perhaps it was an older tunnel that had since been abandoned; she imagined there were lots of passages like that in a mine of this size and complexity.

She hadn’t gone far before the noise of the mining operation had faded into a dull echo, and the ambient light diminished to the point where she was forced to rely on her own flashlight to see. The ground beneath her feet was rough and uneven, and covered with loose rocks that had fallen from the roof over the years.

‘There’s nowhere to go, Borz,’ she called out, having no idea whether it was true or not. There could be a dozen elevator shafts leading back to the surface for all she knew. ‘We’ve sealed the mine off. You might as well give yourself up.’

Even if he spoke English she doubted he’d be inclined to believe her, but she had to give him the chance to surrender. In any case, there was no response to her offer. The tunnel remained eerily quiet compared to the roaring activity behind her.

She slowed her pace, straining to see, straining to hear anything above the thunder of her own heartbeat and the dry tinny rasp of her respirator unit.

She couldn’t go any further like this. Knowing the air purifier would limit her awareness of her surroundings, she pulled it off and laid it on the ground, taking her first experimental breath. Straight away the dry dusty air attacked her nose and throat, and unable to help herself, she coughed and retched several times before regaining control.

Spitting to try to rid herself of the acrid taste, she rose up and continued onwards.

‘All I want to know is who you sold those explosives to,’ she promised, her eyes eagerly scanning the darkened tunnel. ‘We can make a deal. We’ll protect you.’

Something was lying on the ground up ahead. Creeping forwards with her weapon at the ready, she looked down at the work hat and brightly coloured overalls discarded on the tunnel floor in front of her. Umarov had removed anything that could give away his position.

‘Shit,’ she breathed, by now very much aware that she was only one person surrounded by darkness, armed but alone, and unaccustomed to moving through such an environment. Umarov knew every inch of this mine and how to use it to his advantage.

He knew it, just as he knew where to lead her.

She started to back up, realising the mistake she’d made by rushing in here alone, allowing excitement and eagerness to override professional caution.

The logical course of action should have been to alert the manager who had remained at the elevator and instruct him to shut down the mine, preventing anyone from entering or leaving. With Umarov thus cornered, they could search for him at their leisure.

But no sooner had she taken a step backwards than a figure leapt at her from a darkened alcove to the right. Instinctively she spun round and brought the pistol into the firing position, but the crushing impact of the 200-pound man barrelling into her midsection caused her grip on the weapon to slacken. A single gunshot echoed throughout the tunnel, the round impacting somewhere overhead, while the recoil of the shot caused the weapon to fly from her grasp.

Knocked flat by the rough tackle, she landed hard on the uneven tunnel floor with Umarov’s bulk on top of her, sharp rocks tearing clothes and skin. She felt as though the life was being crushed out of her.

Instinctively she lashed out, feeling her fist connect hard with the man’s ribcage. She might as well have tried pounding the tunnel walls. The impact jarred her arm and felt as though it had broken her knuckles, but it barely seemed to faze her opponent.

Though she was likely far more skilled at hand-to-hand fighting than Umarov, the great weight of him pinning her down meant she could do little real damage, and she lacked the brute strength to force him off. In effect, she was trapped, unable either to attack or to retreat.

It didn’t take long for her opponent to capitalise on this.

She looked up just as his fist came crashing down against her, trying to dodge aside at the last second but with his weight preventing her from moving far enough.

The thunderous impact felt like a car crash inside her head. White light flashed before her eyes as the world began to fade out. She was in serious trouble now. Even dazed and hurt as she was, she knew this fight wasn’t going to end until one of them was dead. And right now, the likely candidate was herself.

She saw Umarov’s darkened form twist aside and grope blindly for a moment before picking up something. A rock, detached from the tunnel roof months or years earlier; easily the size of a brick and more than enough to stave in her skull.

Hefting the crude weapon in his gloved hands, he sat up and raised it above his head to strike.

McKnight’s reaction was one born from a combination of instinct and training. In the military she had been taught to be flexible in her thinking, to adapt her strategy to changing circumstances and overcome them. She couldn’t overpower Umarov in a fair fight – that much was obvious – so the only option was to make the fight unfair.

Taking rough aim, she drew her right knee up to her chest and forced her boot into his groin with all the strength she could muster. Her aim was true. Even through her heavy work boot she felt the impact as his delicate organs took the full force of the kick. The rock fell from his grasp as he doubled over, groaning in agony.

With her ears still ringing and strange blobs of light dancing across her vision, McKnight rolled over and scrambled away from him, desperately searching for the gun he’d knocked from her grip.

She could taste blood, and felt her jaw grinding as she opened her mouth to suck in a lungful of dusty air. Her clothes were torn and sticky with warm blood seeping from several deep cuts. She didn’t doubt she’d regret this little tussle later, and she certainly wouldn’t be doing any swimsuit modelling for a while, but adrenalin was doing a good job of suppressing the pain.

For now she had only one priority – subduing her enemy. He was down, but he wouldn’t stay that way for long, and she had no desire to go toe to toe with him again. She needed the gun.

It wasn’t easy. The ground was covered with small rocks, dips and depressions, any of which could be obscuring the weapon. And without her flashlight she was reduced to scrabbling around amongst the rubble, hoping to get lucky before her time ran out.

At last feeling her fingers brush against the weapon’s bulky frame, she snatched it up and turned to face Umarov. It had taken her only a few seconds to find the automatic, but the delay had bought him enough time to drag himself to his feet and stagger down a side passage.

‘Fuck!’ She sprinted after him, determined not to let him escape now that she had him on the run. They were both injured, both hurting. But she had the edge.

The passageway seemed to be some kind of cross-tunnel that ran between the main shafts. At the far end she could see the glow of work lights, and silhouetted against them was Umarov, doubled over but still struggling forwards.

‘Stop!’ she yelled, levelling the weapon. With her vision still blurred from the blow to the head, she knew her chances of hitting him were far from good. ‘Stop or I’ll fire!’

Emerging into the main tunnel beyond, he glanced back over his shoulder as if sensing her thoughts. He might have failed to kill her, but he could still escape her. And with her limited knowledge of this mine, it would take precious minutes to work her way back to the main shaft, and even longer to make herself understood.

His distraction lasted only a second or so, but it was enough.