“I told you. They’re supposed to leave the door to our cell open, and then my men down in the common area will start a fight. More will join in, and soon it’ll be a riot. We’ll slip out along with a bunch of the other prisoners. By the time the guards can get the facility under control, we’ll be long gone – and it will be hours, if not days, before they’re able to figure out who’s missing.”
“No part of that had us turning tricks for a pair of miscreants because your guards decided to take the day off.”
“Something must have happened. They’ve already been paid. Maybe they’re just late?”
“Are you starting to understand that ‘maybe’ isn’t a very good answer?” Jet asked. “If they don’t get here soon, we’re going to have no choice but to…”
Yulia paced the length of the small cell, pausing to consider the filthy waste hole before returning and trying the door.
Locked.
She sat down beside Jet and exhaled loudly. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Forgive me if I don’t sound reassured. I get that way when a scumbag threatens to pound my face into hamburger unless I allow myself to be raped repeatedly.”
Silence settled over them as the ugly reality of their predicament poisoned the air. When a massive boom of thunder echoed beyond the walls, Yulia jumped like she’d been shocked with a cattle prod and resumed pacing. Jet sat motionless, saving her energy to extricate herself from what was to come, her worst fears about the amateur woman’s plan now an ugly reality.
Chapter 28
Tynda, Amur Oblast, Russia
A scattering of stars twinkled in the night sky as a pair of headlights bounced southeast on the M56 highway stretching from Siberia, the unpaved road connecting a string of small towns that had been originally construction depots for the trans-Siberian railway. An overloaded tractor trailer, its truck motor groaning in low gear as it labored up a slope, crawled along toward the township of Tynda a few kilometers further down the road. It slowed as it neared a dimly lit building by an airstrip, and Valery, the driver, stubbed out his hand-rolled cigarette and muttered to his companion in the passenger seat.
“There’s our fuel stop.”
Anatoly, the slumbering passenger, jolted awake and rubbed his face. His eyes were swollen and red, and his sweat was tinged with the acrid smell of alcohol. “Jesus. Why’d you have to wake me?”
“I figured you might as well do something besides take up space.”
“Bastard.”
“Stop whining like a peasant girl.”
“You just want me to deal with it so you don’t freeze your balls off.”
“I figure your blood is still about forty proof after all the vodka you drank last night, so you won’t even feel the cold. Like antifreeze in your veins.”
Anatoly glared through the window at the darkness. “As sensible a measure as any in this wilderness.”
“Just fill the tanks and earn your pay.”
The truck rumbled to a stop in front of a two-story wooden building, the paint on its fa?ade peeled off from the wind and snow, and Anatoly reluctantly crawled from the warmth of the cabin and approached the front door, where a handwritten sign advertised diesel fuel available. He knocked on the door as Valery dropped from the cab to stretch his legs and relieve himself out of sight of the road.
The building remained dark, and Anatoly knocked again, with the same result – no answer. His breath steamed from his mouth and he cursed Valery for waking him. He pounded on the door a final time and listened for any sign of life inside before giving up. The proprietor was probably in town, having a drink rather than sitting on a stretch of deserted road, hoping a customer came along. Only a madman would be out after dark, when a breakdown could mean disaster and a slow death from the elements.
A pair of headlights illuminated the building as a pickup truck swung off the highway and into the lot. Anatoly squinted in the gloom and his pulse quickened at the markings of the municipal police that adorned both doors. The police vehicle coasted to a stop near the truck. A burly officer stepped from the passenger side and called out to Anatoly.
“Help you with something?”
“Oh, no, officer. We saw the sign and stopped, but nobody’s here.”
“It’s hit or miss after dark. You out of fuel?”
“No. Just wanted to top up. You know – better safe and all that.”
Something about Anatoly’s tone or demeanor didn’t settle well with the cop because rather than getting back into the vehicle, he moved closer to the trailer. He looked Anatoly up and down and then shifted his gaze to the truck. “Where are you coming from?” he asked.
“Up north,” Anatoly said, the vague answer the best his groggy, booze-soaked brain could manage. He couldn’t tell the truth – that they were coming from a military base where they’d picked up a shipment of guns and ammunition stolen from the army.
“What are you carrying?”
“Construction supplies,” Anatoly said. “Machinery, that sort of thing.”
“You have a manifest for it all?”
“Somewhere in the cabin. Why? We just stopped for fuel. We haven’t done anything wrong, have we?”
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “You keep saying we.”
“Oh. Yeah. My buddy’s driving.”