As he scrambled through the brush, the drone made a pass, buzzing by so closely that it almost clipped him.
He glanced at the stubby wings and gave thanks for the fact that it seemed unarmed. Then he heard a second drone coming in behind him, followed by the shrill whistle of an unguided rocket.
He dove to the ground. The missile whipped past him and exploded a hundred feet ahead. He felt the shock of the concussion and a wave of heat, but it was far enough away to be safe.
As the second drone passed him and broke into a turn, Hawker sprinted to the ridge and clambered up and into the rocks. He took cover, near the top, surrounded by a crown of boulders.
Safe for the moment, he looked around for the drones. They had pulled up higher, cruising in a lazy circle above him like mechanized buzzards. That could mean only one thing: They were there to keep their quarry treed. The real hunters were still on their way.
At gunpoint, Danielle was forced back inside the guesthouse. The man who identified himself as Saravich followed. Father Domingo and several of the townspeople were brought in. Danielle recognized Maria, the woman who had cared for Yuri and had given her the dress. They were ordered to their knees.
“Don’t do this,” Danielle pleaded. “They have nothing to do with me.”
Ivan raised a vodka bottle to his lips. “You deceive yourself, young lady. They are here only because of you. They’re hiding the boy,” he said, “just as you did.”
Danielle looked at Ivan’s men. They were young, with hard faces, the same type of men who’d come to the hotel. Undoubtedly they would want revenge for their friends. She could see it in their faces.
And Ivan … Ivan had a look in his eyes that suggested he’d done this work before, done it for a long time.
For the first time in many years Danielle felt a type of fear she could not control.
She was ordered to sit next to Father Domingo.
“Where is the boy?” Ivan asked.
She did not want to give up Yuri, but she was certain that the Russian would kill everyone if she didn’t.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“You lie!” he shouted, flying into a rage and smacking her in the side of the head with his Makarov pistol.
She fell and he aimed and fired. The crack of the powder charge shook the room. Everyone jumped and dust drifted upward from a hole in the floor just inches from Danielle’s face.
Cautiously she returned to her kneeling position, her hands raised up beside her. Saravich stepped back and took another long swig from the bottle, like a man preparing for something he didn’t want to do but could not avoid.
“We have already searched the church and the house of this woman and each of the houses on this street. And still the boy is not found,” he said.
“He’s missing,” Maria said. “We don’t know where. He must have run off.”
Saravich wandered behind her to where McCarter lay. With a finger he flicked the IV line.
“I’m not afraid of you,” McCarter said.
“You don’t look so good,” Ivan said. “Maybe I should put you out of your misery.”
Danielle held her breath, realizing any response might be enough to set him off. She relaxed only slightly as the sound of Ivan’s footsteps circled away from McCarter.
He walked out in front of the prisoners, eyeing them, waving a finger at them.
“You have all spoken the same,” he said, sounding as if he approved. “But a well-concocted lie is not equal to the truth.”
Danielle’s mind whirled, desperately searching for a method of escape. It seemed impossible. The four younger Russians stood near the exit, weapons aimed at the floor, but ready and eyeing her and the other prisoners. Ivan continued to pace. She could sense his patience growing shorter.
He pounded the floorboards, slow and ponderous.
He crouched in front of her. “You know how this is going to end,” he said. “I will kill everyone and kill you last. Spare them. Tell me where the boy is.”
She looked down toward the floor, avoiding eye contact with him and hoping to disguise the fact that her emotions had gotten the best of her. But the position caused the tears to stream across her face. She watched the drops fall and splatter on the simple wooden floor.
She closed her eyes, tight. And when she opened them, there were no more tears left to come. The fight had returned to her.
She met his gaze.
“I know who you are, Ivan Saravich,” she said. “And so do the people I work for. We take care of our own. A man from your era should know what that means.”
“‘A man from my era,’” he laughed. “Yes, once we were professionals. Now we are just roaches scavenging for what we can get.”
“If you harm me,” she said, “or any of these men and women, my people will hunt you down. You know that. So shoot me if you want, but dig your own grave while you’re at it.”
Danielle thought she saw a flicker of concern cross Ivan’s weather-beaten face, but then a sickening laugh bubbled up from deep in his being. He took another drink, then offered her the bottle, but she refused it.
“Mine was dug long ago,” he whispered.
For just an instant he looked sad, remorseful. And in that moment she recognized him: the round face, the flat bridge of his nose, and the sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
“I know you,” she said.
He stood and raised the Makarov slowly, as if it were heavy in his drunken hand.
“You knew my brother,” he corrected. “The man who kidnapped Yuri.”
“He was trying to save him,” she said.
“Yes,” Saravich said, as if it were some hated admission. “And he failed.”
Turning, Saravich centered the gun on the back of Father Domingo’s head.
“No,” Danielle pleaded.
“I’m afraid it’s time,” he said.
“May God forgive you,” Father Domingo said.
“We can only hope,” Ivan replied. He flicked the gun to the right and fired two quick shots. Two of the Russians fell. A quick turn to the left and three more shells crashed.
Bang, bang, bang.
The other Russian men went down in heaps, one squirming and writhing until Saravich finished him with a shot to the head.
Father Domingo and the other prisoners dove in opposite directions. Maria scrambled out the door. Danielle pushed back to the wall and froze beside McCarter as Saravich aimed the gun her way.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“It is simple,” he said. “I do not wish to die today.”
“Neither do I,” she replied.
“You won’t,” he said lowering the gun. “Not by my hand, at least. But these men would have buried us all.”
Before she could ask anything else, Ivan turned to Father Domingo. “Do you have Yuri?”
“I swear, we don’t know where he is,” Father Domingo said.
“I hope for his sake you’re lying,” Ivan replied. “I hope you have hidden him well and just find it impossible to trust me. But do not worry. I have no intention of taking him back to Russia.”
Father Domingo shook his head. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Hmm …,” Ivan grumbled. “You must look for him, then. If you find him, or if he comes back once we’ve left, please keep him safe. I will tell the men who sent me that he died.”
Danielle studied Ivan’s face. It seemed etched with regret.
“I still don’t understand,” she said.
“All this time,” he told her, “I have been thinking that my brother disgraced me. That it was he who had ruined our names. But it was I who disgraced him and what he tried to do.”
“And now?” Danielle asked.
“Now?” he repeated. “Now an army of men and machines are speeding toward your valiant friend, the one called Hawker. And though he seems to be very resourceful, he will soon be involved in a battle he cannot hope to win.”
Ivan offered a hand. “Unless we help him.”