CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
They came late in the afternoon on the day following his interrogation. Four men burst into Zane’s room unannounced. Three carried semi-automatic weapons, which they pointed at him, while the fourth tossed him roughly to the floor. The operative was already restrained by metal cuffs, so he couldn’t help but smile that they sent four men to do a job that could’ve been done by one or two.
Having positioned the operative on the floor, the fourth man pulled out a piece of cloth and wrapped it around his head. After tying off the blindfold, he lifted Zane to his feet and gave him a hard shove toward the door. He almost tumbled over before being grabbed and steadied by two sets of hands.
“Taking me out for a drink, gentlemen?” Zane asked.
The response was a hard blow with the butt of a rifle to the middle of his back. Zane cringed, and his knees buckled from the pain that seared down his spine. But there was no time to gather himself, as he was steadied quickly and then shoved through the door.
Zane had considered every possible manner of escape since coming to the chalet, from smashing through the window and taking his chances on a jump from several stories up, to befriending the humanoid Keiko, who had been in to see him several times. She intrigued him. She seemed loyal to Mironov, and yet there was something about her demeanor that indicated she was different. She seemed to have an air of decency and kindness, if that were even possible in a machine, and for a while it made him think she might offer a glimmer of hope.
But in the end, he reminded himself that she was a programmed computer, and no amount of emotional bonding was going to change that. If programmed to keep him captive, she would carry that out until deprogrammed or destroyed.
A hand grabbed Zane’s shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. They had apparently reached the end of a hall. He heard a sharp ding, like that of an arriving elevator, and then he heard the sound of a door sliding open.
“Get in,” said one of the men, shoving Zane forward.
He heard the doors slide shut again, and the elevator began to move. While Zane’s senses told him they were descending, he had no way of knowing for sure. He hoped they were descending, as it meant they might be leaving the chalet all together.
Finally, the elevator came to a stop, and the door opened once again. Two sets of hands guided him down another hall and then down another set of steps onto a concrete floor. He assumed they were in a garage, which was soon confirmed when he heard the chirp of a car alarm followed by the sound of a door being opened. Seconds later, he was grabbed, hoisted into the air, and dropped into what seemed to be a trunk or the back of an SUV.
As soon as he hit the carpet, he felt two blankets being tossed on top of him.
“You try to move, we shoot,” said a Russian-accented voice.
“I guess this means I’m not getting that drink?” Zane asked.
The operative’s second attempt at humor was followed by the butt of a gun being planted squarely on his abdomen.
As Zane writhed in pain, he heard the rear door close and then other doors opening in the front. The sound was clear, indicating he was not in a trunk but instead was in the back compartment of an SUV.
Seconds later, the engine started, and the vehicle began moving.
It didn’t take long for the men to begin talking amongst themselves in Russian, until one of the men shouted something. The voices lowered after that, before ceasing altogether a few minutes later. Apparently, the message had gotten through.
The ride down the mountain was quick. Zane had initially tried to determine the elevation of the chalet, but it proved too difficult to tell with the road winding back and forth. By Zane’s reckoning, the vehicle came to a stop three minutes later. He could hear the soft electrical drone of a window being opened, followed by several beeps, which he attributed to buttons being pushed. There was no doubt the driver was using a code to open a gate, which was confirmed a few seconds later when the vehicle began to move once again.
Just past the gate, the vehicle turned out onto a highway and gained speed. Zane listened for clues as to their whereabouts, but the only thing he was able to determine was that the road they were on was a busy one. Vehicles moved past them in both directions, and on two different occasions, horns were blown.
But where were they going? The German had indicated there would be a meeting, but with whom? And for what purpose? He still wondered why he hadn’t been killed. Maybe they wanted to interrogate him in order to find out what organization he worked for. Unless they had been able to salvage something from his phone — which he doubted — for all they knew he could be working for a competitor, for the United States government, or for the family of the deceased. Other than that, he couldn’t think of any reason for an interrogation.
After an hour of driving at speed, the vehicle began to slow. The men in the front, who had been silent for the last half hour or so, suddenly began to whisper among themselves. Zane felt the vehicle make a few quick turns before finally coming to a stop. The driver shifted into reverse and backed into a space. All of the men got out, and Zane could hear them speaking just outside of the truck.
At some point, the voices moved out of range, but Zane doubted they would go very far. They had brought him for a reason, one that didn’t include just leaving him in a trunk somewhere. They were likely going over plans or preparing to enter a building.
Eventually the voices returned in more hushed tones. There was a clicking sound as the back door was opened, and Zane felt the muzzle of a gun placed against his temple. The same voice that had spoken to him before said, “You try to make noise or get away, we shoot you. Understand?”
Zane nodded through the blankets.
“I love the chance to kill you, so make my day,” the voice threatened.
Obviously, the man has a fondness for American movies, Zane thought.
After seeing his nodded affirmation, the men pulled the blankets away and quickly stuffed a rag in his mouth. That was a sure sign he was about to be taken through a public area, which Zane took as a positive. Satisfied that he couldn’t make any noises, they unlocked the cuffs and placed a toboggan over his head.
Then the voice spoke to him again. “When we start moving, you walk quickly. You slow down or try to get loose, I put a bullet in your head.”
Zane doubted that he’d be shot but nodded nonetheless.
“Good. I watching you.”
Zane was pulled from the vehicle and placed on his feet. The movement was so sudden that he teetered for a moment before finally gaining his balance.
He immediately took in the surroundings. The first thing to meet his ears was the squawk of distant gulls. Water. They were near water, but it was impossible to know where.
As they began to walk, he also picked up a smell that rode in on a breeze that was coming in off of the water. It was the distinctive smell of cooked meat. Were they near a restaurant? Or was it one of those kiosks that often lined public docks? Whatever the case, it confirmed they were in a public area of some kind.
“We’re almost there,” said the voice, poking Zane in the side with a pistol. “No funny business.”
A few seconds later, Zane felt the distinctive knock of wood under his feet as they stepped up onto a dock. The sound of the squawking gulls was closer then, with some of them even flying overhead.
By Zane’s count it was twenty-five steps later that a hand grabbed his shoulder, indicating he should stop. The men spoke in Russian, and then two sets of hands grabbed him under each arm. He was lifted into the air, and his feet dragged over the gunwale of a boat. When they lowered him into a cushioned seat, the craft rocked slightly, indicating it was smaller boat.