Black Widow (21 page)

Achmed howled fiercely as he closed in on her.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, Ajza placed her cuffed hands behind her head and pushed to add as much momentum as she could. She powered her feet into her attacker's chest and broke his advance. Jarred and shaken, she rolled to her side and got to her feet.

Despite his injuries and having had the air driven from his lungs, Achmed got to his feet just as quickly. He shifted the knife and cursed Ajza loudly. Blood streamed down his face.

If you're not attacking, you're being attacked. That was one of the first things Ajza's martial-arts teacher had drilled into her head. If you stand still, you're a stationary target.

There was no way she was going to be able to talk her way out of the encounter. She also couldn't show too much martial-arts skill — or that would give away who she was, as well.

Achmed slashed at her three times, and three times she avoided the knife. But the slaver came closer each time. Ajza stumbled over a rock, then stooped and picked it up in her cuffed hands. She could manage only an awkward throw that had no power. The rock thudded off Achmed's chest and triggered another vile curse. When he turned back to her, his robe gaped open just long enough to reveal the grenades clipped to his belt.

"Come on, woman," Achmed taunted. "Give yourself to me and I will make your death a swift one."

Ajza scooped up dirt and launched it at Achmed. Then she followed it. The slaver closed his eyes for a moment and stepped sideways, favoring the hand that held the knife as Ajza had expected. Then he focused on her and struck.

Throwing up her hands, Ajza caught the curved blade on the short length of chain between the handcuffs. The razor-edged metal ground against the links. She twisted and ripped the knife free of Achmed's grip.

Moving swiftly, she stepped toward his side and threw an elbow into his throat, temporarily robbing him of his breath. She grabbed one of the grenades from Achmed's belt in both her hands, then roped her arms around the slaver from behind and levered a forearm up against his neck.

When he regained his breath, Achmed cursed her, then called on his men to kill her.

Ajza kept the fear pounding through her body at bay only through sheer willpower. The next moment didn't exist; only this one.

She lifted her hands and revealed the grenade in her hands. Then she pulled the ring and held the release immobile.

"I am willing to die tonight," Ajza whispered into his ear. She wasn't being brave and she knew it. She was out of choices. "Are you ready to die with me?"

Faced with certain and violent death, Achmed quickly ordered his men to put down their weapons. To his credit, his voice sounded only mildly hysterical. His composure helped a little, but Ajza didn't feel much better. She knew what the rifles could do up close.

The sound of someone clapping came from the shadows of the brush clinging to the mountainside. "Now that you have Achmed, woman," a male voice called, "what are you going to do?"

"Die in my own way," Ajza replied as she scanned the surrounding countryside. She was surprised at how much she meant that. The situation had gone decidedly south, as she'd known every undercover operation could do at any time.

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.

She glanced at Taburova sitting astride the horse. Every inch of him looked like a warrior, a man used to living in the moment between life and death. His right hand never strayed from the pistol at his hip.

Finally, as the silence between them stretched long and thin, Ajza replaced the pin in the grenade, released Achmed and stood tall. She fully expected a fusillade of bullets to tear through her body and was surprised when they didn't. She almost let out a sigh of relief, but it took everything she had to remain standing on quaking legs.

"Toss the grenade aside," Taburova ordered.

Accepting her fate, Ajza did. She stood with her hands cuffed before her.

Achmed scrambled for his lost knife.

"Do not pick up that weapon," Taburova ordered.

Cursing, Achmed pulled his hand away from the knife.

"You have the keys to her cuffs?" Taburova asked.

"Yes," Achmed said.

"Release her."

Achmed reached inside his pants and took out the key Ivan had given him. He opened Ajza's cuffs. "Do not think this is over," he whispered between gritted teeth. "If you don't die quickly as a Black Widow, I will find you and kill you."

Ajza believed the man, but she refused to acknowledge him.

"Come to me," Taburova ordered now, his gaze on Ajza.

Slowly Ajza walked toward the warrior.

Taburova drew himself up in his saddle and addressed the rest of the slavers. "These women are given to me from God. I am his holy redeemer of their souls. I bring them the vengeance their hearts cry out for, and I open the doors of heaven for them. You will not break God's trust in me."

Achmed and his men said nothing.

"You act as my emissaries while gathering these women from the homes that will not harbor them," Taburova went on. "When no one else will have them, I take them and give them lives with purpose and power. You may not harm these women — or the others I give sanctuary to — in any way. Is this understood?"

It was a pretty speech, Ajza thought. Under other, more desirable circumstances, she would have thought it melodramatic. She knew it wasn't true.

The slavers nodded and grumbled quietly.

Without warning, Taburova pulled the pistol from his holster and shot Achmed in the head. The harsh crack made the horse jump a little and Ajza draw back. As the slaver dropped, Taburova held his weapon on the other slavers as a dozen men stepped from the shadows.

"Is this understood?" Taburova demanded again.

"Yes, master." This time there was no mistaking the answer.

New York

Muting the warring feelings inside her, Kate watched the footage of Ajza's showdown with the slaver again. Due to the night, they hadn't been able to positively identify the man who had ridden the horse up into the mountainous terrain and confronted Ajza, but her gut told her who he was.

"We're close to Taburova," Jake said.