Black Widow (29 page)

The man's facial expression didn't alter. "You know I don't like to change anything in the middle of an operation."

"Yes, I do. If this wasn't worth doing, we wouldn't. If it works, it should accelerate things there for you."

Viktor considered that for a moment, then nodded. "All right." He glanced at Sergei. "Are you ready?"

Sergei nodded, but he couldn't help wondering if Viktor knew the woman or just worked for her blindly as he did. Viktor spoke Russian and English flawlessly, without an accent. Either could have been his native tongue.

"A moment, please." Sergei sat at the computer long enough to pull up the files on the three Spetsnaz soldiers who had been identified, then burn them to an SD-RAM chip. He pocketed the chip in his wallet behind his FSB credentials. "All right."

"Do you have a Kevlar vest?" Viktor asked.

"Yes." Sergei felt embarrassed that he hadn't thought of that.

"Please put it on."

Sergei retreated to the small bedroom and took the bulletproof vest from the chair beside the bed. He stripped off his shirt, then buckled the vest on and pulled the shirt back over the vest. He returned to the living room and found Viktor patiently waiting.

"I'll lead the way to the car," Viktor said. "Stay behind me two steps, one step to the right. Remain there. I need to know where you are at all times."

"All right."

The gray eyes focused on Sergei a moment longer. "Please be sure you do this. It would be easier to do this with a two-man security detachment. Even better with four. But it would be more conspicuous. For now I'm all you have."

"Of course." Sergei felt like an awkward child and resented it. Except if he made a mistake here, he was going to die.

Properly anxious, he followed Viktor through the door and back into the world. He hoped death wasn't waiting.

Outside Chechnya

The baby's plaintive cry woke Ajza. She lay quietly for a moment and thought Maaret had woken and tended the child, but then the baby cried out again. The fire in the stove had burned down to coals and did not give off much heat. Only a dim orange glow broke the night.

Ajza regretted leaving the warm bedding, especially when the cold darkness closed in around her. She pulled on her hiking boots out of habit. She'd been trapped without shoes while running for her life before and didn't want to repeat the experience.

She rubbed her arms to increase circulation and body heat as she walked across the room to Maaret's space. Ice crystals from freezing humidity clung to the sheet hung in front of the space. It crackled as Ajza eased under it.

The baby lay on his back, arms outspread. His face wrinkled as he let out another wail. He had squirmed out from under most of the bedding and now lay exposed. He wore only a diaper and a badly fitting, handmade nightgown.

Maaret hadn't moved. For a moment Ajza feared the younger woman had died. Then Maaret's thin chest lifted and fell with an asthmatic wheeze. She'd taken sick two days ago. There was no cold medicine in the camp. Maaret had been afraid of giving the illness to her son.

Moving quietly, Ajza picked up the child and pulled him to her chest. He felt ice cold to the touch. Shifting the baby to one arm, Ajza laid a hand against Maaret's forehead. She was burning with fever.

No wonder you moved, little boy, Ajza thought. Mommy's way too hot.

Ajza tucked the cover around Maaret and hoped the fever would soon break. Despite her illness, the men in the camp had forced her to complete her training and chores.

As she stepped out of Maaret's space, one of the other women's sheets moved. The woman had been woken by the baby's cries, too, but she hadn't done anything about it.

Ajza returned to the common area. She sat near the stove, held the baby close and fed the fire some of the branches they'd gathered earlier. Within a few minutes the fire blazed up and radiated more warmth.

When she discovered the baby had wet himself, Ajza changed him, using one of the makeshift diapers from a pile Maaret washed in the stream every day.

She also retrieved one of the baby bottles containing goat's milk that Maaret had prepared. In her malnourished state, Maaret wasn't able to produce enough milk for her son.

Ajza fed the baby, amazed at how good the simple task made her feel.

The baby ate well, then Ajza snuggled him closer to give more heat to his body. He felt much warmer, and he slept. She hoped he wouldn't catch whatever illness his mother had. His breath whispered milky soft against her cheek.

After a time she slept, too, and she felt calmer than she had in a long time.

Ajza jerked awake, discovered she'd fallen asleep with the baby in her arms and pulled him closely to her. Then she heard a woman's hoarse shout again and realized what had roused her from sleep.

"There!" the woman shouted. "There she goes!"

Men yelled at each other, and from the tone Ajza knew they were in pursuit. Their words carried anger and excitement.

Cautiously Ajza wrapped the baby in the blankets and got to her feet with him in her arms. She limped at first because her left leg had gone numb from sitting. She thought she would have known she was losing feeling in her leg.

One of the women stood at the back windows of the building. She peered anxiously down the mountainside. Beyond the dirty, cracked glass, three men with lights and a dog hurried down the incline. One of the men fell and discharged his weapon. The bright glare of the muzzle flash split the night and caused the woman to draw back from the window in fear.

Ajza didn't notice that she'd turned to protect the baby she held from a stray bullet. The man, meanwhile, tumbled down the hill and became tangled in the dog's leash. He fought for a moment, then regained his feet. Immediately, though more cautiously, he took off after the lights bouncing through the night-blackened scrub.

"She went that way! By the boulders!" Outside, Maaret stood pointing. A man stood beside her with one of his big hands around her upper arm. With her free hand, Maaret tried to pull her thin clothing close, but the wind insisted on plucking it from her.

"What's going on?" Ajza asked.

The woman at the window didn't answer for a moment, then she said, "Zamira got foolish tonight."

Zamira was the other woman in the building. Ajza doubted she'd even seen seventeen yet. Her husband had died only months after their wedding. She was young and pretty, and Taburova's men used her harshly.

"She could take no more rough handling," the woman said. "Tonight, after the men brought her back, she tried to escape."

"The men caught her?"

"No." The woman shook her head. "It was Maaret who discovered her sneaking out of the building like a thief. Zamira would not listen to Maaret. Maaret told her she would call for the men." The woman shrugged. "I guess Zamira did not believe Maaret would do such a thing. But Maaret did. And now Zamira will pay for her foolishness. Or perhaps she no longer cares."

One of the men swung his light and yelled to the others. The white beam illuminated the young woman in the darkness as she tried to take cover behind a tree. Helplessness twisted her features. Plucked from hiding, Zamira turned and ran through the brush.

Ajza watched and her stomach roiled, because she knew the young woman had no chance.

The man nearest Zamira unleashed his dog. The animal took off, racing across the night-black mountainside with feral surefootedness. Too quickly, the dog reached Zamira, then leaped up and caught her forearm. Holding on viciously, the beast pulled the young woman to the ground. Her screams ripped through the night and echoed across the mountain as she fought the growling dog.

Then the screams stopped and she lay still, even though the dog continued to savage her.

Two men dragged Zamira's body back up the mountain and threw it into the middle of the camp like a side of beef. Ripped and broken, covered in blood, the dead woman looked like something from a butcher's shop.

The men drove all the women out of the buildings to view the body. The cold wind and their fear caused the women to shiver as they stood in huddled groups. A few of them bore bruises from earlier that same night.

Maaret remained held by the big man. Her gaze caught Ajza's for a moment, then she looked away. Tears glittered on her cheeks. Ajza wondered if Maaret's tears were for the dead woman or for herself.

Saleh strode over to Zamira's corpse and kicked her. Then he spat on her and cursed her parentage and stupidity. Finished, he turned his attention back to the women.

"You are Chechen women," he snarled. "You have lost your husbands and your families. You are worthless in the eyes of God until you redeem yourselves. We are offering you a chance to redeem yourselves and find a better life after this one." He looked back at the corpse. "This woman will find no peace after her death. She will know only torment and fear. Do you want to be like her?" His gaze challenged the women.

Most of them answered negatively, their voices hushed and fearful.

"You stand there and look accusingly at Maaret because she warned us of this one's attempt at escape," Saleh said. "Some of you will condemn her — the foolish among you. But Maaret saved lives tonight. If this cow had escaped, one of your children would have died."

The mothers all pulled their children close. Whispered prayers rode the wind through the huddled women. Ajza felt the fear in them like an electric current.

"Do not hurt Maaret," Saleh said. "If you do, you will pay for doing so. She is strong enough to do God's work even when you are not."

Ajza knew that his words would only make things worse for the young woman. The baby shifted a little in Ajza's arms. She pulled the blanket more tightly around him.

"Get back to sleep," Saleh commanded. "Pray to God to give you honorable deaths." He gestured to two of the men, then at the corpse. "Find a hole to dump this in."

The man holding Maaret released her. She walked to Ajza immediately. "Give me my child."

"Of course." Ajza passed the baby over. Even in that brief contact, she felt the heat coming off Maaret and knew the fever had not broken.

Without another word, Maaret turned and walked back toward the building where they lived. She walked carefully, as if she didn't trust her balance.

Ajza felt torn. She despised Maaret for what she had done. The young woman was as guilty of causing Zamira's death as the men and the dog. Yet Ajza understood why she had acted as she had.

"You cannot trust that one," a woman whispered to Ajza.

Ajza turned her face into the wind and studied the other woman. She was one of the few in camp who was older than she was. A jagged scar split her left eyebrow.

"Even if you get on her good side, you cannot trust that one," the woman said. "She has bad luck, and that baby is cursed. Better it should die."

The harsh tone made Ajza angry. She couldn't imagine anyone willingly hurting a child, but she knew they existed.

"He's just a baby," Ajza said.

"He is made from bad luck. His father betrayed Taburova, and Taburova killed him. Exploded him in Moscow. It was supposed to be Maaret who died when she was pregnant with her traitorous husband's child. Instead, her husband foolishly tried to rescue her. When he died, Taburova brought Maaret back and let her birth her child. She has been his puppet since that time."

A chill that wasn't due to the cold ghosted through Ajza. "Her husband was blown up?"

"Yes." The woman nodded.

"When?"

"December. Only a month before the baby was born."

For a moment Ajza thought she might be sick. Ilyas had died in December, blown up by a bomb. Only lately she'd discovered that he'd died in Moscow and that he'd been tracking Taburova. It couldn't be a coincidence.

Ajza hadn't seen her brother for a year before his death. Their parents thought he was working at a new job and couldn't get away. Ajza had known Ilyas was undercover somewhere.

A wave of sickness passed over her again as she remembered her brother's blond hair and blue eyes. Now that she thought of it, in his baby pictures, he'd looked a lot like Maaret's child.

Without a word, Ajza walked back toward the building.

"Remember what I said," the woman called after her. "She is bad luck, that one. Bad luck."

Ilyas has a son. The realization kept cycling through Ajza's mind. Ilyas has a son.

I
have a nephew.

Unable to stop herself, Ajza went to Maaret's private space and lifted the sheet. She knew the woman was still awake because a tallow candle burned on the other side of the sheet.

Maaret cupped her free hand over the candle to absorb the heat. She was shivering. In the near-darkness with the candle's glow on her, she looked paler than ever. She held the baby in her other arm, letting him nurse at her breast.

"What do you want?" Maaret demanded suspiciously. She wiped tears from her face.

"Only to make certain that you're well," Ajza replied.

"I am fine."

"You're sick." Ajza stepped into the area and let the sheet fall behind her. The room was cold and drafty.

"I will be fine."

"What if you give your sickness to your son?" What if you give your sickness to Ilyas's son? Ajza thought, and that possibility filled her with dread. Looking at the baby now, she believed she could see her brother in him. She didn't know how she had missed it before.

"What do you care?"

"I don't wish to see any harm come to the baby."

Maaret pulled her son closer to her, sat up and put her back against the wall. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper. "And me? Do you wish me dead like the others will after tonight?"

The candlelight illuminated the silver of her tears.

"No." Ajza squatted so that she was on a level with the woman. "No, I don't wish any harm to you, Maaret."

Maaret wept silently for a moment, then wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. "The others hate me."

Ajza knew she couldn't lie to the woman. "Some of them. Not all."

Pain tore at Maaret's face. "The ones with children, they will understand. They will be glad they were not the ones to have to do this awful thing," Maaret croaked. "They will talk badly of me to the others. But in their hearts they will know that they would do the same thing. To save their children, they would do what I have done."