Red Sniper

From behind, the Mink gave him a shove.

An instant later, a bullet carved the air where Barkov’s head had been.

From the corner of his eye, Barkov caught sight of a muzzle flash.

Instantly, Barkov put his rifle to his shoulder. Through the telescopic sight, he caught just a glimpse of a figure on the hilltop. As soon as his post sight touched the target, he pulled the trigger. It was a sloppy shot, more by instinct than aim. Then he rolled away into the brush, out of sight.

• • •

Vaccaro had been in the middle of saying, “I don’t think you got—”

He had not finished his sentence when the bullet struck a rock inches from both their heads, and a moment later came the crack of the Russian’s rifle. Vaccaro took his time looking through the binoculars again.

“Goddamn, but that was close,” Cole had to admit.

“That Russian can shoot.”

“I guess that does answer the question.”

“What question is that?”

“The one about which Russian I shot. If that was Barkov down there, then I reckon the one I shot was the wrong one.”

“Now you know for next time.”

When he had fired at Barkov just now, the man had managed to shoot back in a split second. The Russian had been shooting as a reflexive action. And yet, the bullet had pinged off a rock just inches from Cole’s head. That was some shooting.

Pinged really wasn’t the right word. A high velocity bullet ricocheting off a rock a foot from your head was a noise that turned your guts to water and made the back of your skull tingle. He puckered his asshole tighter. Wasn’t really a single word to describe all that.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Cole said.

They could have stayed in position and tried to pick off Barkov and the other Russian. However, if Barkov was half the sniper he seemed to be, it wasn’t likely that he was going to let himself get picked off that easily. Cole had set out to buy the others some time, and that was just what he and Vaccaro had done. The dogs were confused now, milling about the clearing where Cole had tied the scarves. Barkov himself wouldn’t be in any hurry to continue the pursuit if he thought Cole was still occupying the hilltop. What they needed to do now was let Barkov worry about that while they slipped out the back door.

They made their way back down the hilltop on the opposite side from where the Russians were hunkered down. The others would have a huge lead on them. If they were going to catch up, they would need to hurry.

“You ready?” Cole asked.

“Let’s hoof it. I’ve got to admit, that Barkov makes me nervous.”

They set off at a trot across the taiga, hoping to catch the others before nightfall.

• • •

The Mink lay prone nearby, scoping the hill, hoping for any sign of movement.

After several minutes he said, “He is gone.”

“Did I hit him?” Barkov asked.

“Maybe, maybe not, but you at least gave him something to think about.”

He and the Mink settled deeper into the brush. A dead dog lay nearby. Barkov looked again at the scarf overhead. He realized that the Americans had made a false trail to lead the dogs here, tied the scarf in the brush, and waited. He and the Mink had walked right into the trap.

“Those three aren’t that clever,” the Mink said. “They should not have a rifle. They would not have set a trap. Someone is helping them.”

Barkov agreed. Everything was not what it seemed. When they rejoined the others, he planned on seeing what else the boy Dmitri knew. Perhaps he had not told them everything.

He stood up, sure that the sniper was gone from the hilltop. Taking his whip from his belt, he snapped it at the remaining dogs, driving them away. Then he reached up and untied the scarf. Pressed his nose into it and inhaled deeply. Smelled wool and a hint of perfume like apple blossoms, and a little of the warm bread smell that women had. Inna.

While he admired the cleverness of the trap, he felt anger at allowing himself to be fooled by it. He coiled his whip and hung it on his belt. When he caught the Americans and Inna, he would use the whip to strip the skin from their bodies. Until then he looked forward to taking out some of his frustrations while questioning that young fool, Dmitri.

CHAPTER 24

In northern Russia, on the cusp of winter, the daylight hours lasted slightly longer than the flavor in a stick of chewing gum.

Cole and Vaccaro reunited with the others in the final waning hour of daylight. Cole was pleased to see that they had put some distance between themselves and the Russian soldiers. He and Vaccaro had only managed to catch up by maintaining a steady trot. His legs sure as hell could feel that.

As if the day hadn’t had drama enough, the weather took a turn.

Just before dark, ice pellets began peppering their faces. Stinging and cold. The ice turned to snow. Along with the snow came the wind. They wrapped up their faces and covered their ears so that just their eyes looked out from between layers of damp wool flecked with ice. Still, the cold and the snow managed to sift in.